Saja boys and huntrix going to reader’s first fan signing in poor disguise and being forced to be dragged away by security an order from Bobby after seeing how both idol groups are hoarding reader’s attention from the fans
Your Biggest Fans
Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader
A/N: Okay, so I’m editing this at almost midnight and I don’t know if I’ll be able to get the next role reversal part out on time, I might be a few hours late because I didn’t get to work on it today. I’ll do my best though and I hope you like this silly fluff piece after the hurt/comfort of Old Scars.
Synopsis: Your boyfriends and three sisters are your absolute eight biggest fans. They also happen to be your eight biggest menaces.
“(Y/n)! Are you ready for your first fan signing?”
You smiled at Bobby as he placed the last pile of posters in front of you—there were three different poster designs. “I think so, I didn’t think I would get enough fans for a fan signing so soon,” You mused.
Bobby grinned, “Are you kidding me, (Y/n)? Your debut absolutely blew up on socials, and the MV for ‘Play With Fire’ is on fire! Ticket sales for your appearances on variety shows have become so competitive that they sell out in seconds. People stood out in line for this event overnight!”
You were feeling a strange sense of deja vu but you chuckled at Bobby hyping you up so enthusiastically. “Thanks Bobby.” You frowned as a thought occurred to you, “You didn’t tell them about the event, right?” You whispered to Bobby quietly.
He grimaced, “Yeah, no, we did our best to keep it from them and we did our best to schedule all of them for something else at this time, but they may have seen the advertisement or even ditched their photo shoot. Good thing though, the building is locked down and the line has already been cut off so it’s unlikely that they’ll get in.”
You clapped your hands together appreciatively, “Thanks Bobby! You’re the best!” Bobby laughed and went off to finalize and check the last details.
It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate all the support you’ve been getting from your three sisters and five boyfriends. It was just that…
~~~
“Please welcome, (Y/n)!”
You smiled and waved as you walked onto the stage, the host leading the live audience in welcoming you as they clapped their hands. You were just shaking hands with the host, thanking them for having you, when your ears caught louder cheers than the rest of the audience.
“Woooo! Yeah, (Y/n)!”
“You’re doing great!”
“You look so hot!”
“(Y/n), marry me!”
“Woo! Yeah! That’s my sister!”
“Rumi, we talked about this!”
“Yeah! That’s our girlfriend!”
“Jinu! Come on, man!”
You couldn’t help but sweatdrop at the sight. Your eight idiots were up in the furthest back corner of the audience, wearing disguises. But it was pretty pointless since they were drawing so much attention to themselves.
The host merely laughed, “Wow, you’ve sure got some hardcore fans there!”
You let out a strained laugh in response, “Yeah… Thanks for coming guys…!”
~~~
“Thank you all for coming to my first live performance of ‘Play With Fi—‘“
“So cool, (Y/n)!”
“Your moves were killer!”
“(Y/n), please marry me!”
“No me!”
“Yeah! Woo! That’s my awesome—!”
“Quick, get Jinu!”
“Woo! That’s my—! Mph! That’s our girlfriend!”
“Damnit Jinu!”
Yup. There were your idiots. Waving light sticks in the back of the small venue. With how dark it was, it was harder to see them because of how dark it was, but they were making enough of a scene of themselves that everyone could tell that it was Huntr/x and the Saja Boys.
“Thanks for coming guys…!” You waved, a self deprecating smile on your face. You could see Bobby facepalming in the wings.
~~~
You waved at the camera as you started your live stream, “Hey guys, welcome to my first…” You trailed off when you noticed a certain string of comments.
“Congrats on your first live, (Y/n)!”
“Marry me, (Y/n)!”
“Marry me, (Y/n)! Dang it Kwan, I was already typing!”
“You look so cute in your comfy clothes!”
“That’s my sister!”
“Rumi.”
“Yeah! That’s our girlfriend!”
“Sigh. I give up.”
You smiled tiredly, weakly waving again. “Hi guys. Thanks for joining. Aren’t you guys just in the living room?”
“We’re having a watch party!”
“We got your stream on the TV and the chat on each of our phones!”
“Great…” You sighed. “Why don’t you guys come join me and we can play cards?” You smiled fondly, deciding it would be more fun to have them join you. Besides, it was also a little time with all of you having fun together that the fans would also enjoy.
“OMW, babe!”
“Don’t even have to ask!”
“Running!”
“Sprinting.”
“I’m winning!”
“Yay! Game night!”
“Guys, it’s (y/n) first live stream! Don’t crash it!”
“It’s fine Bobby, (Y/n) said it's okay!”
“Game night date night!”
“Pride Hunt game night!”
You grimaced apologetically at the camera as you heard pounding footsteps getting closer, “Sorry, Bobby…”
~~~
It was another small concert, just a live performance of the two songs you had released so far while teasing the next song you would be releasing. You had just finished ‘Play With Fire’ and you were taking a moment to catch your breath and talk to the fans before you started into ‘River.’
“Hey everyone!” You called, looking out over the faceless crowd that was waving your light stick. You were surprised that Bobby had gotten a design manufactured and copyrighted so quickly. “Welcome to my little mini concert and thank you all for your suppo—!”
And there they were.
“You’re the best, (Y/n)!”
“We are unworthy of your presence!”
“(Y/n), marry me!”
“No! Me!”
“Dancing Queen!”
“We’re so proud of you!”
“Woo! That’s my sister!”
“Yeah! She’s my sister too! So awesome!”
“Zoey, you too?!”
“Woooo! That’s our girlfriend!”
“Yeah! She’s so amazing!”
“Jinu! Chungae!”
“It’s infectious.”
You smiled flatly in their direction, easy to tell it was them by the amount of lights waving and banners being shook in the air. “Please pay no mind to my fanatic dorks, guys. Anyways—!”
~~~
It wasn’t every single one of your events, it was usually just a good portion of them. If all of them couldn’t make it then at least one of them would be there cheering loud enough to be heard over the whole crowd. Idols had some impressive lung capacity and vocal projection abilities. You were somewhat surprised that they hadn’t shredded their voices yet.
Still, it was enough for it to be a running joke amongst the idol fanbase, even fans of other groups were picking up on it. More and more often, you were hearing or seeing, “‘So-and-so, marry me!” Or, “That’s my bias!” Your fans had even taken to playing ‘Where’s Huntr/x’ or ‘Where’s the Saja Boys’ at all of your events.
You took a deep breath, slapping your face lightly. You had to clear your thoughts. You had a fan sign event to focus on and plenty of fans to meet.
“Okay (Y/n), we’re opening the doors now!” Bobby called over to you, giving you a thumbs up as he hurried over to help mitigate and guide the line to you.
You returned his thumbs up, “Thanks Bobby!”
The line poured in as a crowd and Bobby and the security team hurried to control the excited fans. “Okay everybody, one at a time, single file line!” His face deadpanned. “What.”
You also couldn’t help but deadpan at the faces at the front of the line. They were grinning like proud idiots, hats and glasses disguising them. “Guys. I literally saw you last night and this morning.”
”Derpy and Sussie held our spot in line!”
You facepalmed as they hurried up to the table. That made absolutely no sense and shouldn’t have worked.
“Babe, will you sign this poster for me?” Kwan pointed to one of the posters. It was you in a darker ensemble, backlit with neon lights.
“Kwan. Sweetheart. Handsome. Light of my life. Really?”
He just grinned roguishly.
“(Y/n), I made a crochet plush of you!” Zoey proudly held out the slightly misshapen plush of you. She also had little fire stickers on her face to reference your song.
“(Y/n), will you sign my photo cards of you?” Chungae asked, holding out a small stack of photo cards.
You squinted dubiously at them. “I don’t even have any photo cards yet, where’d you get them?”
”Nabbed some from management. I also printed some of my own,” the man explained casually. You continued looking at him weird.
“Please sign my phone case, pretty girl,” Jinu cooed, holding out his phone to you. It was literally the phone case you had gotten him when you noticed he didn’t keep a case on his phone, like a barbarian. You didn’t deign him with a response.
“I want one of each,” Mira mused, looking at the different poster concepts with a thoughtful face.
Jum held out a whole, one pound bag of your favorite candy and your favorite soda from their constantly growing stash of soda, “Here, beautiful. To keep you going through the day. Congrats on your first fan signing.”
Hyeon circled the table to wrap his arms around your shoulders, “Will you sign a poster for me too, princess?” He murmured in your ear. Usually you would be flustered but you were mostly just exasperated right now.
“(Y/n), will you take a selfie with me and sign my photo album?” Rumi held her phone out to you as well.
“Rumi, we are literally sisters!” You couldn’t help but look up at your happy sister incredulously. Sure, you had some merch of the girls to be supportive—a light stick, some posters, and some merch from fans like fanart and plushies. You also had some of the boys,—of course not as much as you had of the girls, but still.
It seemed like Bobby had reached the end of his patience, “Okay, that is it! Guys, you are taking too much attention from (Y/n) and her fans! And, you shirked off work to come! (Y/n) and I both love that you support her so much but this is getting too much! Security!” Bobby snapped his fingers and a team of security guards were suddenly at his side, standing at attention. “Guys, please escort Huntr/x and the Saja Boys to a car and back to the Tower. Make sure they don’t leave until (Y/n) comes back.”
The security guys nodded, immediately going to take hold of the eight idols. They complained and whined but they didn’t fight the guys who were just doing their job.
“Bobby, come on!”
“Yeah, Bobby, this is a bit much!”
“Come on, we’re sorry! Just let us stay for the rest of the event!”
“Bobbyyy! Please please please, let us stay!”
“(Y/n), please tell them to let us stay!”
“We promise to behave!”
“At least let us get our autographs!”
“Come on Dae (security guard), this is unnecessary!”
You just waved them off with a smile, “I’ll see you guys back home. I’ll bring the leftover posters too! Thanks for supporting me guys!”
You kept waving until they were out of sight and then you and Bobby shared a sigh of relief. Then Bobby snapped back into work mode, smiling and ushering the first fan forward. “Okay, come on up!”
You uncapped your pen, “Hi, thank you so much for coming! Who should I make it out to?”
The sweet little girl smiled up at you with barely contained excitement. You felt a little bad having them all escorted out like that.
But this was your time with your fans.
Outtakes:
(inspired by @moonjellymermaid )
*an empty hallway at night*
Jinu: “So, did you bring the goods?”
Rumi: *sliding over a thicc suitcase of (Y/n) merch including but not limited to: photo cards, posters, fanart, t-shirts, and at least three plushies* “Right here. And you?”
Jinu: *Sliding over an equally thicc suitcase of Zoey and Mira merch* “Of course. Pleasure doing business with you.”
Jinu and Rumi: *walks away while clutching the suitcases to their chests and giggling like lovesick dorks*
…
*A meeting*
Polytr/x and Saja Simps: *seriously eyeing each other with narrowed eyes*
Zoey: *slamming her hand down* “I will trade three ‘River’ photo cards for your soft, crocheted casual (Y/n) plush!”
Jum: “No deal. I will, however be willing to trade one of my currently sold out (Y/n) ramyeon cups for a poster of (Y/n)’s Sugar and Spice photo shoot.”
Kwan: “Fine. Then I will trade my signed, limited edition due to a production flaw, (Y/n) light stick for your fan made key chain of ‘Play With Fire.’”
Rumi: “Absolutely not! I scoured the internet for it and (Y/n) honored me by signing it! But I will be willing to trade my oversized, (Y/n) embroidered comfort hoodie for Jinu’s first draft photo book that he swiped from production.”
Jinu: *scoffs* “In your dreams. But, Hyeon, give me your cozy, commissioned Derpy, Sussie, and (Y/n) blanket and I will give you a sample bottle of the perfume (Y/n) endorsed.”
Hyeon: *clutching his hoard* “Like I don’t already have it.”
Chungae: “Come on man! I’ll trade you my ‘Play With Fire’ x ‘Your Idol’ sweatpants for your signed ‘River’ glass water bottle!”
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Hii! Could you do the reactions of the freak circus character's if you were playfighting with one of your friends?? Take your time on it if you decide to do it! <3
MTL likely to be bothered by you playfighting with your friend
Most
Pierrot
Pierrot reacts the most emotionally and immediately. At first, he worries that you are actually being hurt, and his protective instincts would kick in fast. When he realizes it’s playful, he would relax…but then tense up again because how dare someone else be that close to you. He would get flustered seeing you laugh and tumble around with someone who’s not him. It ends when your friend pins you or grabs you too roughly. Pierrot would unconsciously step forward with a grimace and grab you away. He would ask you softly if you are okay, even if you were clearly having fun. He would then immediately ban you from play-fighting ever again…unless you are play-fighting with him.
Harlequin
Harlequin would initially be amused at the sight of you roughhousing with your friend. To him, it starts as a cute little performance unfolding right in front of him, and he happily takes the role of the audience. He would lean back against a crate, arms crossed, watching with that smirky grin like he’s just been given free entertainment. But his demeanor quickly shifts when your friend pins you down, straddling you. He knows your reactions and the way you blush, and it’s the way you fluttered your lashes that made him stop you immediately. Your friend would run off as soon as he’d yank you up, gripping your arm. He would chastise you by saying something like, “You wanted to be pinned down that bad, Kitten? I’ll make sure you can’t move from underneath me.”
Jester
Jester is bothered, but not enough to step in. He’ll possibly make comments depending on his moods, questioning humans and their odd activities. Why would this be enjoyable? What do you get out of it? Is wrestling one another really an interest? At that point, why not just become enemies? But he’s also lived with Pierrot and Harlequin for a long, long time, so he’s somewhat desensitized to it. It doesn’t involve him, so it’s not his business; therefore he won’t intervene. If you want to playfight with your friends, that’s your prerogative, and he’s not going to stop to watch. (“We have fighting at home” *cut to Pierrot and Harlequin with exasperated Jester in the background* -bun🐇)
Ticket taker
The biggest thing that bothers him about the playfighting is how rowdy it is. It’s loud, it’s obnoxious, it’s making a scene wherever you are. And most importantly, it’s immature. Ticket taker likes things controlled and neat. Predictable to some extent, and never too big of a mess to clean up. Playfighting goes against all of his principles and self-appointed rules. It could result in injury which would be an inconvenience, and it makes people ornery. And damn, does he hate ornery humans. But despite these irritations, most of the time he won’t say anything. He’ll simply glower and walk away, too busy to become invested in something so messy.
Doctor
He’s the least bothered because he’ll hardly lift his head at the scuffle. He’s used to the chaos and the noise due to Pierrot and Harlequin’s frequent debacles. Sometimes it bothers him, but he’ll create space between himself and the distraction to focus on his work. The main thing that would bother him about it, however, is the potential to get hurt. He’s not up in arms by any means because he knows you can handle yourself, but he definitely worries if he witnesses it. But whether it’s a head bump or a small scratch, he’ll patch you up and remind you to try being more careful in the future.
〔 𝒾 〕 DAY 13/14 – DEEP THROATING + ROLEPLAY; Sometimes, it's fun to play roles in the bedroom, especially when it allows your boyfriend to display his more controlling side.
𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐢 𝐬𝐚𝐧 𝓍 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 508⋮ 18+ ⋮
smut, established relationship, semi-dom!san, sub!reader, roleplay kink, teacher/student roleplay, deep throating, oral (m receiving), pet names (sweetheart, baby), dirty talk
"Such a good girl for me, huh, sweetheart?" Your boyfriend runs his hand under your chin as you hollow your cheeks for him. His cock slides to the back of your throat with ease, and he grunts, pleased to no end. "You'll definitely get that perfect score."
You flutter your eyelashes as you look up at him, your lips sucking down hard on your boyfriend's cock. It's been ten minutes, yet he's still in awe this is happening right now in your shared bedroom.
He yanks at the necktie with a tense fist, eager not to blow his load completely already at the sight of you in a mini-skirt and pigtails down on your knees for him.
It was a simply innocent idea, throwing in some roleplay to heat things up Not that you didn't enjoy your you and boyfriend's usual routine in the bedroom, but it wouldn't hurt to add in some extra spice now and then, right?
That productive discussion led to this, your boyfriend donning the sexy but stressed professor role with his button-up, glasses, and blue tie. You're playing your role just the same, the eager student willing to do whatever you could for that perfect exam grade.
"Oh, holy fuck," he keens. "Such a needy little thing, aren't you? Willing to give me whatever I want so she doesn't fail. You don't treat your other teachers like this, do you?"
"No, Mr. Choi," you say, your lips coming off of San's cockhead with a wet pop. "Only for you, sir."
"Good girl."
You go back to sucking him off with intense speed, gagging around his thick shaft when he hits the back of your throat again with expert force. It's not like you haven't given him head before, but the added layer of scene-staging and your usual shared dirty words of affirmation make San a lot more eager and a lot less patient. By the time you cradle his balls between your hands, he's so sensitive. It's too late to stop it, but he doesn't care.
"Fuck, baby, I'm gonna come," he announces. San's hips stutter as he spills into your mouth, rivulets of his seed dripping down your chin as you swallow the load he's deposited on your tongue and down your throat. His mouth slackens as he rides out the high, lovingly stroking your hair the entire time until he softens.
You gather the leftover cum on your face and lap up what's between your fingers, and San chuckles breathlessly. "How'd I do?" he asks, clearly referencing his "performance" as the naughty professor.
"Perfect, Sannie." You giggle and kiss his cheek before planting another peck on the corner of his mouth. "Exactly how I knew you would be."
San takes his glasses off and lays you on the edge of the bed before spreading your thighs apart, eager to see the sheen of your essence at your core. He hands you the glasses that were on the bridge of his nose, smirking when you put them on yourself. "My turn, baby."
Hey I don’t know if you’re the right person to ask this or if this is too similar to any asks you’ve gotten before (in that case feel free to ignore this) but do you have any suggestions for aftercare specifically for doms? I’m a dom who usually wants aftercare but doesn’t know what to ask for. I don’t want to be cuddled with held or told I did a good job cuz it makes me feel small and I like being a dom specifically to avoid feeling that way. but I also feel so much pressure while performing as a dom and scared of hurting my partner or not receiving any affection or care in return so I just kinda feel stuck.
plus unfortunately not every partner is receptive to hearing that the dom they’re with is wanting aftercare cuz they kinda just see us as pleasure vending machines for them so to attempt to communicate what you’re wanting when you don’t even know what you’re wanting is even harder with those types of ppl.
okay so there's no standard aftercare for doms any more than there is for subs, because aftercare is just making sure everybody involved is getting whatever they need to safely transfer out of their scene and back into normal mode in a way that's safe physically, mentally, emotionally, etc. everybody's needs are different and what their aftercare looks like isn't determined by what role they like to play.
it sounds like what you want is reassurance that you've done well, that your partner is uninjured, and some physical affection. those are all great and understandable things to want and need. it's great that you like to be a dom to feel powerful and self-assured, but when the scene is over you're not the dom anymore. no matter how you like to play during sex, when that's done you and your partner(s) are all human beings with needs that deserve to be met, and everyone is responsible for checking in with each other.
and if you know that a sub is someone who doesn't want to treat you like a person then uuuuh don't??? have sex with them???
I want to talk about the different "Jaxes" that we see in Jax’s mindscape. Many people seem to think that they are all actually Jax and that that means she is a terrible person through and through. But that is not actually what they are.
They are all of Jax's masks that we see her wear throughout the show to keep people away from finding out the real Jax. Except they are all pushed up to a 100 (Pomni had to ask them where the real Jax is and they were all protecting the door from "visitors") so let's go through them and when we've seen them in the past and why! (Warning, I'm writing this before the finale comes out on youtube after watching it once in the cinemas, sorry if I don't remember everything perfectly ahah) :
Long post so! Rest under the cut 🐿✨️ :
Cartoony funny Jax : "The funny one" the one she's forced herself into the most. Everything is a joke, nothing is that deep, don't worry about it ! You wouldn't ask a circus clown how they're doing when they're performing, you wouldn't dig deeper than that, so why ask Jax? Simple defense mechanism, being the class clown that's obviously doing the best out of anyone and isn't affected by anything.
Violent Jax : This one I believe stems from what her family expected from her growing up more or less, a strong man. She is fulfilling her role, being manly, plus the violence keeps people away. Who would want to be friends with someone that would take any opportunity to shoot them in the face, even if they come back to life right after. We've seen this one only during adventures, when she believes she's playing a game. During the candy kingdom adventure she craved violence, she shot the rhino gangle, had a bomb explode during President Pomni, was so into shooting each other with guns... This is clearly a mask, when Pomni actually does try get her to fight back and be violent with her, Jax can't actually do it. This mask falls when the violence actually becomes real and isn't part of an adventure anymore.
This one appears to Pomni in the mindscape, knowing that it was the real Pomni as a last effort to get Pomni to leave, to stop looking. If Jax does something this unforgivable, this awful (choking Pomni) then surely she'll leave, right ? Wrong, Pomni you crazy gal, you
Misogynistic, homophobic, overtly sexual Jax : This one pushes away forcefully everything Jax both hates and wants more than anything. Queerness and femininity. And if they are forced into those roles (wearing the maid dress) it's all just a big fat joke because Jax obviously Hates those things so there's no way hes actually a girl right? This one is all a big shitstorm of internalised transphobia, repression, jealousy, defense mechanism... It makes the very people she wants to be like and who would undertand so deeply uncomfortable that there's no way these very people would ever want to get close to Jax.
That one is why they mock Zooble whenever they mention doing anything typically queer (bartending, tattooing), this is why she goes extra hard on Ragatha and Gangle (cute girls), it's because Jax wants that so badly but hates that about herself and doesn't want others to find out, so she pretends to hate all of it so others have no suspicions of anything.
Piano playing Jax : I don't believe this one is part of the masks. She's the part of Jax that I believe erases herself and does agree to play along with the masks, but wants so deeply for others to find out the real her but is terrified. I believe this one is the trauma, a sort of fawn response to everything. Would only tell someone at the end of everything. And she does, despite the trauma, she wants to be seen. She wants people to know she was here.
So, why do all of this ? As I mentioned in a previous post, Jax is deeply traumatised from her first and only coming out experience to her mother. In her mind, coming out means being ridiculed and insulted, and it means hurting the ones you love. She literally believes she killed her mother because of her coming out. That is also why, in every single scenario that plays out, Jax was responsible for making another character abstract. (If I remember well, Ragatha, Zooble, and Gangle, the two most feminine and the one queer characters again) because in these scenarios, the previously alive character must have found out Jax was a trans woman and abstracted as a result of it, these scenarios arent a fantasy, they're what Jax genuinely believe will happen, and how she plans on dealing with it if these scenarios do happen, these scenes were her planning her actions beforehand for the worst case scenario, the next time someone gets her to come out and dies as a result)
She planned to use the weaknesses of everyone against them in case their loved one were to abstract. For example, Zooble is, in Jax's mind, the serious, grumpy one, so taking nothing seriously to a cartoonish level would throw them off.
Anyways, the kind of trauma that Jax faced upon first coming out to her mom stays, it impacts all of your actions. That put her back in the closet immediately, because she believes coming out to anyone else will bear the same results. Ridicule and hurt.
But Ribbit, Ribbit guesses it so easily. The second Ribbit and Jax start getting close, Ribbit guesses, Ribbit knows. And in Jax's mind, that means the ridicule and the pain will come with it, because surely, Ribbit is going to tell everyone right? And everyone will turn on Jax.
It ended up being a self fulfilling prophecy, Ribbit abstracted because Jax made sure to keep them away from everyone in fear that Ribbit would share her secret. That only cemented Jax's theory further.
If anyone knows, they get hurt. But turns out, people are good at guessing if they get a bit close. So now Jax will never let anyone get close again. So the masks get stronger, worse, meaner, more offensive. Ragatha saw it getting worse until she couldn't bear to have a conversation with Jax anymore because of how much she'd changed. And the second Jax felt that she wanted to get close to Pomni in the gun episode, she made sure to squash that feeling down and ruin any chance they could have had at a friendship.
It's all self inflicted, it's untreated trauma turning someone into something unrecognisable and awful, it's not an excuse but my god is it deep, it puts this whole show into perspective, and it makes me love this character so much.
Her identity as a deeply closeted trans woman impacts everything so much, and I wish I could have seen her happy and recovered, but this show is a cautionary tale.
If only she could have seen the view from half way down.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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ᓭི༏ᓯྀ ── Ink spun from my own fingertips—please don’t take, mirror, or rewrite it.
✑ 𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Ever wondered what it’s really like to be an idol? Not the glitter, not the edits—the actual chaos. Sleep schedules vanish, privacy’s a myth, and five dangerously charismatic men decide you’re the emotional anchor keeping their world from falling apart.
Welcome to ΧΑΟΣ. You weren’t chosen for looks or talent. You were chosen for gravity. You’ll survive, train, tease, and maybe even enjoy it—if you can handle everyone looking at you. Curious?
Come meet the TKATB men… and try not to get too attached.
✑ 𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: oneshot/s, tkatb x gn! reader · idol AU · oc in use! (manager) · tkatb fluff · mutual pining · written in stolen moments · teasing · fluff humor · found family · hurt/comfort?
✑ 𝓌𝒸: 7.4k
✑ 𝒶/𝓃: look dearies, i had the right to get out my brain don't judge me please (ᵕ—ᴗ—).
You weren’t lost, but you weren’t exactly found, either.
Just walking, headphones in, moving through the city’s afternoon. You almost didn't notice the woman who appeared beside you. Not because she was sneaky, but because her vibe was so... intentional?
She was shorter, but her platform heels were doing the Lord's work, bringing her almost to your eye level. Her hair was a whole architectural event—a crown of clean, straight-back feed-in braids down the middle, then boom, a glorious, fluffy afro explosion on the sides, framing a face that looked utterly, disturbingly calm.
Her outfit screamed, "I run things, and I do it in style." A fitted black blazer over a deep-V black dress that hugged every curve like it was paid to, ending in a pencil skirt. Sheer dark purple tights kept it all together and made her legs look about a mile long. Silver jewelry everywhere—two helix piercings on each ear, a second lobe piercing with matching studs, a glint of silver in her left eyebrow.
And resting right at the top of her… ahem… very impressive chest was a delicate silver swirl necklace.
She looked like a whimsical-goth CEO who’d just closed a million-dollar deal and then stepped into a witch poetry slam.
She tapped your arm. When you pulled out an earbud, her voice was calm, clear, and carried the faint, musical lilt of someone who chooses every word with care.
“Pardon the ambush. Your gait is interesting. Purposeful, but not hurried. And you were mouthing the lyrics to that b-side track from ΧΑΟΣ’s first EP. The one they never play live.”
You stopped walking, blinking. “How did you—?”
“Observation.” She smiled, a small, knowing curve of her lips that didn’t reach her desaturated purple eyes. They held yours with an unsettling, focused curiosity. “I’m Yaya. I’m a co-manager and talent scout for ΧΑΟΣ.”
Your brain blue-screened. ΧΑΟΣ. The idol group.
The biggest idol group to hit the scene in a decade. A perfect storm of sound and image. You knew everything about them.
Their leader, Crowe, with his princely charm. Geo, the broody lyricist. Deryl, the giant, joyful producer. And their former sun, Hyugo, whose sudden, mysterious departure had left a gaping hole in the fandom’s heart weeks before debut.
“I have a proposition,” Yaya continued, as if discussing the weather. “Hyugo left a vacancy. A very specific one. We need a new focal point. Not a replacement for him—a counterbalance to them.”
She began to walk again, forcing you to follow. “Crowe is the face. Geo is the razor-sharp mind. Deryl is the beating heart. What they lack, and what you… radiate, in a very quiet, walking-down-the-street kind of way, is gravity.”
You snorted. “Gravity?”
“Yes. A centering force. Someone who doesn’t perform vulnerability but actually possesses it. Someone who observes as much as they are observed.” She glanced at you, her head tilting, studying you. “You listen to that b-side because it’s about loneliness in a crowd. You understood the assignment. The role I’m offering you isn’t the ‘cute one’ or the ‘fun one.’ It’s the Anchor. The eye of ΧΑΟΣ. The one who makes the chaos make sense.”
She stopped and turned fully to you, her composure absolute. “I don’t make offers like this based on dancing skill—though we’ll train you. Or just on a pretty face—though you have that, too. I make them based on potential energy. And you, currently wandering and unaware, have enough to power a city.”
She slid a sleek black card into your hand.
ΧΑΟΣ was embossed on it in sharp, Greek letters.
Below it, in smaller print: Iyana “Yaya” Bondye. Co-Manager & Director of Strategic Observation.
“The other members don’t know I’m doing this. They trust my… research. Think about it. Or don’t. But if you’re curious…” that small smile returned, “…meet me at this address tomorrow at seven. Don’t wear anything you’re afraid to sweat in. We’ll see if your gravity can hold up under real pressure.”
She gave you one last, appraising look—a scientist looking at a fascinating new variable—then turned and walked away, her platform heels making no sound on the concrete.
She disappeared into the crowd as smoothly as she’d appeared, leaving you standing on the sidewalk, holding a card that felt like a ticket to another world, your heart pounding a frantic, terrified, and exhilarating beating against your ribs.
The role wasn't to be a star.
It was to be the Anchor.
And Yaya, the calm, chaotic neutral force behind the throne, had just decided you were the weight the world's most beautiful idol needed.
Well. This was… a development.
In the next day, you followed the address led to a sleek, intimidating glass tower downtown—the headquarters of Olympia Muses, one of the biggest multinational entertainment labels in the world.
You showed the security guard Yaya’s card, and his eyes widened just a fraction before he waved you through with a quiet, “Penthouse elevator to your right, Miss.” The elevator opened to a fancy, gallery-style lobby where Yaya stood, talking on the phone.
She’d swapped yesterday's look for a sharp V-neck top with huge bell sleeves and a bold medallion, paired with a dark, floral-patterned skirt. Even with the new outfit and a simple black choker, she still had that same calm, judging look on her face.
She notices you, hanged up the phone and made her way to uou, “Oh yay! You came. Good. That was variable one.” She place her hands on your shoulder, “Follow me. The tour is part of the audition.”
What followed was a whirlwind through the nerve center of pop culture. She moved with quiet authority, nodding to executives who greeted her with a mix of respect and wariness.
“This is the main dance studio. You’ll live here,” she said, gesturing to a cavernous room with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. “That’s the vocal booth wing. Try not to cry in there; the acoustics amplify sniffles.”
She led you into a bright, chaotic atelier splashed with fabric and mood boards. A stunning blonde, with pink highlights woman was pinning a dress onto a mannequin with terrifying precision. She looked up, and her indigo eyes scanned you in one swift, professional motion.
“Britney,” Yaya said. “Our in-house visionary. Launched her own label, Nyx, last year. Also a model. Also refuses to smile in photos. It’s her brand.”
Britney gave a curt nod. “The replacement. Shoulders are good. Hips could be better. We’ll fix it.” Her voice was flat, almost bored, but her gaze was calculating. “Yaya says you have ‘gravity.’ Don’t make it look like poor posture.” She turned back to her mannequin, dismissal clear, but not unkind. Just… efficient.
Next was a cozy, book-lined office that smelled of old paper and orange blossoms. A young woman with mousy short brown hair, styled as a bob. tucked behind her ears jumped when you entered, nearly knocking over a tower of scripts. She wore a sweater three sizes too big.
“Jess,” Yaya introduced, her voice softening a notch. “Our lead scriptwriter, helps with lyrics from time to time for variety content. Also your new mentor. She’ll teach you how to be an idol. How to smile without showing teeth, how to cry on cue, how to answer invasive questions with poetry.”
Jess offered a timid, wobbly smile. “Hi. I, um, I made you a binder.” She pushed a massive, color-coded binder across the desk.
The tab read: IDOL PROTOCOL: SURVIVAL MODE.
“It has everything. Fan meeting etiquette, how to handle sasaengs, which variety shows are traps… I also run the biggest fan page for Eirės, you know, the rival group? So I know… what fans want to see.” She said the last part in a conspiratorial whisper, a spark of unexpected cunning in her eyes.
Yaya nodded approvingly. “Jess is the most powerful person in this building. She just prefers no one remember that.”
Back in the hall, Yaya finally stopped at a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city. “So. The rundown.”
She turned to you, her purple eyes serious. “The group is ΧΑΟΣ. Kháos. Not just a name. The group is named after a myth, it’s the formless void, the gaping nothing before creation. That’s the image. Polished, beautiful, erupting from nothing to dominate everything. The public sees a perfect unit.”
Her lips thinned. “The reality is a fragile ecosystem held together by contracts, obsession, and one newcomer: you.”
YOUR ROLE: THE ANCHOR. THE HEART.
She saw the panic on your face and leaned in, her swirl necklace catching the light. “The premise is simple: survive your debut year. Navigate the glittering horror and sublime beauty, along with the five intense, damaged men whose lives are now tangled with yours. Discover if you can survive the gilded stage they’ve built…” A ghost of a smile, the first real one you’d seen, touched her lips.
“…or if you’ll learn to rule it. Welcome to ΧΑΟΣ. Your tryout starts now. It never really ends.”
✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒 – The Leader / The Face
Yaya led you down a quieter, plushly carpeted hall towards the recording studios. The faint, muffled sound of a piano and a man’s voice, achingly clear even through the soundproofing, grew louder.
“This,” Yaya said, pausing outside a heavy door with a red ‘IN SESSION’ light, “is where the Prince lives. Or, more accurately, where he works himself to the bone maintaining the illusion.”
She pushed the door open without knocking.
The studio control room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of mixing boards and monitor screens. On the other side of the glass, in the vocal booth, stood Crowe.
He was mid-take, headphones on, eyes closed. He wore a simple, fitted black button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and his dark brown hair was in its signature loose braid over one shoulder.
He was singing a slow, melancholic ballad, his voice a rich, velvety baritone that seemed to vibrate in your very bones. It was full of a gentle, heartbreaking longing—the kind that made fans weep and write him letters.
“...and every star I chart, just leads me back to where you are…”
He finished the phrase, holding the last note with perfect, effortless control before opening his eyes. They landed not on the producer in the control room, but directly on Yaya, and then—with a slight, almost imperceptible shift—on you.
A slow, warm smile spread across his face, banishing the song’s sadness. It was a transformative sight. He slid off his headphones, gave a quick “One moment,” to the producer through the intercom, and exited the booth.
“Yaya,” he said, his voice now a warm, conversational hum. He reached out and gently squeezed her hand—a familiar, fond gesture. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a managerial inspection? Have I exceeded my allotted studio time again?”
“Always,” Yaya replied, her own posture softening a fraction. “But that’s not why I’m here. I’m making introductions. This,” she said, stepping aside to fully reveal you, “is our new Anchor, our heart. The potential heart of ΧΑΟΣ.”
Crowe’s dusk-blue eyes, with their distinct, soulful shape, settled on you. The public Prince was fully present now—the gentle smile, the attentive tilt of his head. He took your hand, not for a handshake, but holding it lightly between both of his. His hands were warm, his long nails impeccably kept.
Public Persona: The Prince. The epitome of the "gentleman idol." Warm, eloquent, with soulful dusk-blue eyes that seem to see only you. He speaks to fans as if each one is a dear friend, his voice a velvety baritone that sells melancholic ballads and heartfelt promises. He is the group's emotional anchor, its gracious, untouchable leader.
Reality: The Prisoner of Perfection. A brilliant performer who views his charisma as both a weapon and a gilded cage. He secretly despises the machinery of fandom—the entitlement, the screaming invasion of privacy. Stalker fans don't frighten him; they fill him with a cold, controlled fury. He leads not out of passion, but from a ruthless understanding that this stage is the one he's mastered. He stays for the art of performance itself, and for the rare few who glimpse the weary man behind the princely smile. His gentleness is real, but it's also a fortification.
“A heart for Chaos,” he mused, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “What a formidable role. It’s a pleasure. I’ve heard whispers. Yaya’s ‘project.’ She has an impeccable eye for… compelling things.”
There was a flirtation there, but it was soft, layered in genuine curiosity. He wasn’t throwing a line; he was observing you, reading your reaction. “I hope they’re treating you well. The first days can feel like being thrown into a starless sky. All vastness, no guideposts.”
“They’re… overwhelming,” you admitted, his gentle presence somehow pulling the truth out of you.
“That’s how you know it’s real,” he said, his smile turning wry. “Fame’s cheap cousin is glitter. What we do here… it has weight. It’s meant to.” He finally released your hand, but his gaze held yours. “If you need a quiet place to breathe, my studio door is always cracked. I’m usually here. Sometimes, the best way to understand the storm is from the eye.”
It was an offer, intimate and kind. The perfect Prince.
Then, the studio phone buzzed. The producer, a harried-looking man, picked it up, listened, and his face paled. “Crowe. It’s front desk security. She’s back. The one with the… the envelopes. They’ve detained her at the perimeter, but she’s screaming your name.”
All the gentle warmth drained from Crowe’s face. It didn’t twist into anger, but into something colder, more terrifying: perfect, absolute stillness. His smile remained, but it was now a porcelain mask, fragile and empty. The dusk-blue eyes that had been so soft iced over.
“I see,” he said, his voice now devoid of all its honey, flat and professional. “Please inform them to follow the established protocol. Restraining order violation, section two. And tell them to ensure the staff entrance on the west side is secure. She’s tried the delivery disguise before.”
He turned back to you and Yaya, the mask softening just enough to be polite. “My apologies. A recurring administrative nuisance.”
The words were clipped. This was the cage Yaya mentioned, the cold fury beneath the charm. The stalker wasn’t a fan to him; she was a breach in his security, a threat to his controlled world.
Yaya watched him, her analytical eyes missing nothing. “We’ll let you handle it. We have more introductions to make.”
Crowe’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, the ice thawing back into a semblance of his earlier warmth, but it was strained now. “Of course. Good luck,” he said, the words meant for both of you, but his eyes were on you. “Truly. You’ll need it.” He gave a small, elegant nod before turning back to the control panel, his shoulders tight, already mentally shifting from Prince to Prison Warden of his own life.
Yaya steered you out of the studio and back into the hall. The heavy door clicked shut, muffling the world once more.
“And that,” she said quietly as you walked away, “is the reality. The weapon and the cage. He wasn’t lying about the studio door being open. He needs people around who see the bars.” She sighed before moving on.
“Come on. Time to meet the architect of the sound. Try not to be blown over. Literally.”
✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜 – The Lyricist / The "Deadpan" Idol
Yaya steered you away from Crowe's area and down another corridor, this one leading to the more secluded, soundproofed writing suites. The air grew quieter, the corporate gloss fading into something more utilitarian.
"This is the think tank," Yaya said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Or, as Brit calls it, 'the brood nest.' She says if he scowled a little less, he'd age ten times slower. Jess once brought him tea and he said 'thanks' without looking up, and she fled the room stress. He didn't even notice."
She stopped outside an unmarked door. From within, you could hear the low, repetitive thump of a synthesized bassline, stark and clinical, not a hint of melody. Yaya didn't knock. She just pushed the door open.
The room was dark, lit only by the ghostly blue light of a laptop screen and a single small lamp that illuminated a chaos of papers.
Geo sat slumped in a high-backed chair, his bluish-purple hair falling over his forehead as he stared at the screen, a pair of expensive headphones around his neck.
He was dressed in all black—a worn hoodie and jeans—looking less like a pop idol and more like a grad student who hadn't slept in three days. The air smelled like cheap coffee, and sharp, expensive cologne.
On the screen were lines of text—lyrics. They weren't about love or longing. One line read: 'Your devotion is a chemical spill, pretty and toxic and cheap to clean.'
He didn't look up as you entered, his fingers tapping a staccato rhythm on the desk.
"Geo," Yaya said, her tone shifting from tour-guide to something flatter, more direct.
His head lifted slowly. His face was all sharp angles and shadows, his eyes a startling, cool teal that cut through the dim light. His expression wasn't welcoming or hostile. It was blank. The kind of blank that feels like an assessment, and you're failing.
"Yaya," he acknowledged, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that carried the faint, unplaceable accent of someone who thinks in multiple languages. He glanced at you, and his gaze felt like a physical sweep—a swift, impersonal cataloging. "The variable."
Public Persona: The Brooding Genius. The enigmatic, sharp-tongued lyricist. The son of an advertising titan who somehow ended up in pop music. He's surly, blunt in interviews, and delivers scathing, intellectual lyrics about societal decay. Fans call his brutal honesty "refreshing." He is the cool, mysterious one, the group's intriguing edge.
Reality: The Reluctant Observer. He is here as a rebellious middle finger to his corporate destiny and as a chilling sociological experiment. He writes pop music as if engineering a virus, dissecting human emotion he doesn't fully feel. He dreams of tranquility and solitude but is trapped by contract and a twisted sense of loyalty to Crowe. He is moody, often angry, and scares people without trying (he made Jess cry by just saying "thanks"). His "mysterious" persona was enforced by Yaya's threats. He is intensely observant, sees everything as data, and now considers you his most intriguing new variable.
"New Anchor. Potential heart," Yaya said, stepping further into the room. She walked over to his desk and picked up a stray sheet of lyrics without asking, her eyes scanning it. A secret, familiar gesture.
Geo watched her, the blankness in his face thawing by a single, imperceptible degree. "Crowe's busy. Read the second verse out loud. Your cadence is less infuriating than his right now."
A small, almost-smile touched Yaya's lips.
She obliged, her voice clear and measured in the dark room: "You build your altars out of flash and bone, and pray to the echo of your own ringtone."
"Flat on 'ringtone.' It needs contempt, not observation." Geo finally pushed back from the desk, his chair groaning, and fully turned to look at you. "So. You're the replacement for the walking serotonin deficiency that is my stepbrother."
Yaya shot you a sidelong look. “Step-brothers. He loathe his older brother on a molecular level. It's efficient."
Geo’s lip curled at Hyugo's name. "He's a chaos muppet with a trust fund. He left because he feared boredom, not pressure." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, pinning you with that unsettling gaze. "Do you know why you're here? Truly? It's not because you can sing. Deryl can make a dial tone sound compelling. It's because Yaya thinks you have a specific gravity. A silence that isn't empty. I'm curious if it's resilience or just good shock absorption."
He was cutting, blunt, and didn't seem to care if it hurt. This was the man who could—and would—verbally dismantle anyone, anytime. The strictness, the physical capability for violence Yaya mentioned, thrummed in his controlled stillness.
"You're an experiment," he stated. "We're all an experiment. I document the results. Try not to be a disappointing." He said it not with malice, but with the chilling indifference of a researcher labeling a specimen.
He looked back at Yaya, his expression shifting again, into something marginally more human. "The bridge is still weak. The metaphor is obvious."
"I'll look at it later," Yaya said, placing the paper back down. Her fingers briefly brushed against his on the desk. A fleeting, secret touch. "We have more stops."
Geo gave a short, sharp nod, a dismissal. As you turned to leave, his voice stopped you at the door.
"Anchor."
You looked back. He was already facing his screen again, the blue light washing over his sharp profile. "Don't smile unless you mean it. The cameras always know. And they'll eat you alive."
The door shut behind you, sealing you back into the bright hallway.
You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.
Yaya was quiet for a moment. "He's not… organized," she said, choosing her words carefully. "He's precise. There's a difference. And he hates the fans, the lights, the noise. I had to threaten to send his father his location to get him to agree to the 'mysterious brooder' persona. But he's watching. He sees everything. And for some reason," she added, her voice softening, "he trusts me to tell him when his lyrics are shit."
She started walking. "He'll observe you. Don't try to charm him. It's insulting. Just… exist. With gravity. That's all he's curious about." She glanced at you, a wry twist to her mouth.
"Two down. Next up is the force of nature. Try to keep your feet on the ground."
✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁 – The Phantom / The "Biggest Fan"
The air in the Olympia Muses lobby was a different kind of pressure—cool, public, and buzzing with the low hum of reception phones and the distant click of heels on marble.
Yaya had led you downstairs after the Geo encounter, a purposeful set to her shoulders.
“We’re meeting Hyugo curbside. His driver’s ETA is three minutes,” she said, checking her phone. “This,” she gestured to the grand, glass-walled lobby where a few fans with cameras lingered hopefully behind a velvet rope, “is the other classroom. The ups are obvious: the love, the devotion. The downs are the haters, the forums that pick you apart pixel by pixel.”
She turned to you, her purple eyes serious. “And then there are the… other fans. The ones whose love doesn’t feel like love. It feels like ownership. They’re the reason for the back entrances, the security details, the NDAs. Remember that.”
As she spoke, you weren't watching the door. You took a step back, turning to look at a large promotional display—and walked straight into someone.
“Oof—sorry!” you mumbled, stumbling.
A hand shot out to steady you. It was gloved in black leather. “No harm done,” a voice said, smooth and oddly melodic. “You should watch your step. The floors are polished to shine.”
You looked up. The man was tall, dressed in head-to-toe black—a hoodie pulled up under a cap, a black mask covering the lower half of his face. The only splash of color was his pants, a deep, forest green. Strands of long, black hair with vivid green highlights slipped from his hood. But it was his eyes that caught you—heterochromia.
One a burning, sunset orange, the other a cool, glacial blue. They crinkled above the mask, as if he were smiling.
“You’re new,” he observed, his gaze sweeping over you with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. “Not staff. Not media. Ah.” The orange eye seemed to glow. “You must be the fresh clay for the ΧΑΟΣ sculpture. The new heart. I’ve been so excited since I heard the whispers.”
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s been so dull since Hyugo, flamed out. But you… you have a different energy. A quieter frequency. Perfect for the new composition.”
You took an involuntary step back. “You… know about that?”
“I make it my business to appreciate art in all its forms,” he said, waving a gloved hand dismissively. “Especially the living kind. The potential. The… process.” His dual-colored eyes locked onto yours. “I can’t wait to watch you bloom under the lights. I have the best seat in the house for every show, you know.”
His head then tilted, his gaze sliding past you to where Yaya had gone still, a statue of cold fury. “Ah. And the shepherd is here. Hello, little moth. Still fluttering around the flame?”
Yaya’s composure was ice. “Sol. You’re not supposed to be in this sector.”
“Public lobby, darling. Even I am allowed to admire the architecture.” His tone was sugary, but his eyes on her were complex—a mix of deep, unnerving fondness and sharp resentment.
He turned back to you, as if sharing a juicy secret. “She didn’t tell you, did she? Our Yaya knows all about the stage. She used to be quite the luminous little thing herself. Lilith’s Garden? The girl group? The ethereal one. The softness voice in the group.”
Public Persona: Officially, he has none. He is not a member of ΧΑΟΣ.
Reality: The Shadow in the Light / The Obsessive Curator. A reclusive, wildly wealthy figure with a terrifying capacity for fixation. In the darkness, he is a stalker, collecting images and knowing schedules. In the light, he is the group's mysterious "VIP Fan #1," owning front-row tickets to every show and bankrolling aspects of their production through shell companies. His obsession is the engine of his existence. He was previously obsessed with Yaya's old girl group and has now transferred that consuming gaze to you, believing he alone truly appreciates your "light." He is charming, intelligent, and utterly dangerous.
He pulled out his phone with a flourish, swiped a few times, and turned the screen to you. It was a high-resolution scan of a collectible photo card.
A younger Yaya, perhaps sixteen, stared back. Her hair was in elaborate, celestial-style braids, she wore a white, flowing dress, and she was smiling a soft, public-facing smile that didn’t reach her desaturated purple eyes. The stage name YAYA was etched in silver at the bottom.
“I have a full set,” Sol purred, his orange eye gleaming with possessive pride. “Every variant. She was sublime. A shame the garden… wilted.” He looked back at Yaya, his head tilting. “You still have the voice. You just choose to use it for logistics now. Such a waste of a beautiful instrument.”
“That’s enough,” Yaya’s voice cut through the air, sharp as a scalpel. She was at your side in an instant, inserting herself between you and Sol. “You will turn around, and you will leave. Now. Or I will have security escort you from the premises and revoke every access pass you think you have. Permanently.”
Sol held his hands up in mock surrender, but his eyes—both the fiery and the frozen one—were fixed on Yaya with a twisted, adoring anguish.
“So protective. Still playing the keeper. Fine, fine. I know when my audience is over.” He gave you one last, lingering look.
“Until the debut, little heart. I’ll be watching.”
He melted back into the flow of people exiting the building, disappearing as suddenly as he’d appeared.
You stood frozen, your mind reeling. Yaya’s posture was rigid, her fists clenched at her sides.
“Yaya… was that true? You were… an Idol?”
She didn’t look at you. She stared at the spot where Sol had vanished, her face a mask of controlled fury and something else—a deep, annoyed.
“That,” she said, her voice taut, “is a closed chapter. A book I burned. And he is the ember that won’t die.” She finally turned, her expression shifting back to its usual analytical calm, but it was strained.
“Don’t ask about it again. And if you see him, you walk the other way. He’s not a fan. He’s a curator of obsessions, and he’s decided you’re a new piece for his gallery.”
Before you could process any of it, a sleek, black town car pulled silently up to the curb outside the glass walls. The rear door opened.
And Hyugo spilled out.
Then Yaya annoyance turned into a gentle smile, “ah there’s he is, baby boy himself!”
✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜 – The Prodigal / The Catalyst
Hyugo was all bright, chaotic energy—sky-blue eyes wide, a grin splitting his face as he bounded toward the doors, dressed in vibrant, mismatched streetwear.
“Sorry I’m late!” he called, his voice a cheerful shout that echoed in the lobby. “Traffic was a beast and I think my driver took a scenic route through, like, three dimensions!” He skidded to a halt in front of you and Yaya, his gaze instantly landing on you, sparkling with open, guileless curiosity.
“Oh! You must be the new one! The anchor!” He didn’t offer a hand, he just beamed at you, his energy a tangible, warming force after the chilling encounter with Sol.
“I’m Hyugo! I used to be where you’re standing! Kind of! Well, not exactly. I’m the before picture!” He laughed, a sound like bells, completely unaware of the tense atmosphere he’d just bounced into.
Yaya let out a slow breath, the last of the tension from the Sol encounter bleeding away as she watched Hyugo’s chaotic, sunny arrival. She gave you a look that said—
See? Ups and downs.
Hyugo led the charge back into the building, he talked with his whole body, gesturing wildly as he guided you past security with a familiar, flashing grin.
Public Persona (Former): The Baby Boy / The Sunshine. The pre-debut center, beloved for his infectious energy, incredible dancing, and radiant smile. He was the "mood-maker," the idol everyone adored and expected to lead.
Reality: The Runaway Sun / The Guilty Lifeline. He ran away weeks before debut, cracking under the pressure, the falseness, and Sol's intense fixation. He left a message essentially dumping the chaos into your lap, believing you were "stronger than they look." Now, he's a two-faced operator—handling his father's "business" (hinting at shady industry dealings, think of him as the Robin Hood) and acting as your secret, flirty lifeline from the shadows. He feels immense guilt but also a twisted belief that you belong on that stage. His cheerful exterior hides a shrewd, connected mind that knows the industry's dark corners.
"Okay, so rule one of idol life," he said, spinning to walk backwards in front of you, his sky-blue eyes alight. "The coffee is always terrible. Always. Invest in a good thermos. Rule two: the stylists are gods. Do not question the gods, even if they want to put you in sequined parachute pants. They see the vision."
He painted a picture of frantic, glorious chaos—all-night dance practices that felt like out-of-body experiences, the surreal rush of hearing a crowd chant your name for the first time, the weird intimacy of sharing a dorm with four other guys who became your whole world.
"It's like… the best party you never get to leave," he said, his smile softening for a moment before snapping back to its usual wattage. "And also the most exhausting final exam you're always failing. But the party part is real!"
Yaya walked beside you, listening with her hands tucked in her blazer pockets, her expression unreadable. "And where is the party for you now, Hyugo?" she asked, her tone light but pointed.
"What's your current… venue?"
Hyugo's grin didn't slip, but it became a fraction more polished, a performer's smile. "Oh, you know! This and that. I do some singing. Handle a bit of my father's boring business stuff. International exports, very dull." He waved a dismissive hand, but his eyes flickered with something shrewd, a glimpse of the mind that existed beneath the sunny exterior.
"I keep my toes in the water. The industry's a small pool. You never know who you'll need to know."
He said it airily, but the subtext hummed in the air.
This was the two-faced reality Yaya hinted at.
The "business stuff" and "keeping toes in the water" likely meant navigating the same shadowy, deal-driven underbelly of the entertainment world that someone like Sol thrived in.
It was the unspoken hint of the deal he and Sol once had—a partnership that probably involved leveraging information, access, and influence before Hyugo found it getting too dark, too real.
He looked directly at you, and for a split second, the playful "baby boy" mask melted away, "I just… realized my stage wasn't the one they were building," he said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. Then, like a switch flipping, the brightness rushed back in. "But yours is! I have a good feeling. A great feeling!"
This was the secret lifeline.
The one who felt guilty for dumping the chaos in your lap, but who, in some twisted way, believed by leaving he was giving you a shot at the crown he couldn't bear to wear.
As Yaya began to steer you away, Hyugo’s hand shot out, gently catching your wrist. His touch was warm, his grip light but stopping you in your tracks. The playful glint in his sky-blue eyes softened into something more earnest, tinged with a genuine, apologetic regret.
“Hey, seriously though,” he said, his voice dropping so only you could hear. He took a half-step closer, the vibrant scent of his citrus cologne mixing with the sterile hall air.
“I am sorry. For bailing. It wasn’t… it wasn’t about not believing in them. Or in this.” He gestured vaguely at the building around you. “It was about the things that grow in the dark corners of all this glitter. Things I didn’t want staining you.”
His thumb brushed a quick, fleeting circle on the inside of your wrist before he let go, a touch that was both a comfort and a confession. A faint, self-deprecating smile touched his lips.
“But looking at you now… you’ve got this quiet fire. It’s better than sunshine. It doesn’t burn out.” He leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “So maybe I did you a favor. Cleared the stage. Now go be dazzling. And… if the dark corners get too close,” he added, his tone shifting back to its lighter, flirtatious cadence, “you have my number. Well, you have a number. I’ll answer.”
It was an apology, filled with guilt, and a promise of protection, all wrapped in a charming, slightly flirty package.
Yaya watched this exchange, her sharp eyes missing nothing—the intimate proximity, the whispered words, the fleeting touch. Her expression was neutral, but the slight arch of her eyebrow spoke volumes.
She understood the game better than anyone.
"Indeed," she said smoothly, pulling the focus back as Hyugo finally stepped away. "Their stage is waiting. And our next stop is the engine room. Try not to be deafened by the volume of… enthusiasm." She gave Hyugo a nod that was both acknowledgement and dismissal. "Thank you for the tour, Hyu. Don't cause too much international trouble."
Hyugo's laugh was bright and genuine again, his eyes lingering on you for a beat too long. "No promises! Bye, new heart! Break a leg! But not literally, the choreo is hard enough without a cast!" He winked, gave a little salute, and bounced off down a side corridor, leaving you once again alone with Yaya in the hushed hallway.
“Ahh, he's smarter than he looks," Yaya murmured, almost to herself, as you walked. "And more connected. Remember that." She stopped before a heavy, reinforced door from which a deep, rhythmic bassline was throbbing, vibrating the floor under your feet.
"The heart of the sound. And its keeper. Take a deep breath."
✑ 𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓎𝓁 – The Producer / The Architect
Yaya led you toward the recording suites, but the deep, thumping music wasn't coming from behind a soundproof door this time. It was accompanied by the crinkling of foil and a low, cheerful hum. The sound led you away from the studios and around a corner to the building's small, brightly lit snack bar.
And there he was.
Deryl—looking effortlessly cool in a dark green hoodie and matching sweatpants, a black durag keeping his waves crisp, his dark brown skin glowing under the fluorescent lights—wasn't just occupying the snack bar; he seemed to be holding court in it.
Silver studs glinted in his ears, and a neat line of facial hair traced his jaw and the space above his lips, adding a touch of sharpness to his warm smile. At well over six and a half feet tall and built like someone who considered the gym a second home, he dwarfed the little table he was leaning against.
He had an entire arsenal of snacks laid out before him—three different protein bars, a bag of rice crackers, and two bananas.
He was currently demolishing a yogurt cup with a spoon that looked comically small in his massive hand, bopping his head to a beat only he could hear.
"Deryl."
Yaya's voice was flat. She planted her hands on her hips, platform boots anchoring her to the floor. "You are supposed to be in Studio B with Geo. Right now. Sculpting the bridge for 'Neon Eclipse.' He is currently alone with a synthesizer and a deepening scowl that could curdle milk."
Deryl looked up, his bright green eyes widening with pure, unadulterated guilt. A bit of yogurt clung to his lip. "Yaya! Hey! I was—fueling! The creative engines require premium unleaded!" He gestured grandly at his snack spread. "You can't craft a Grammy-worthy beat on an empty stomach. It's a scientific fact."
Then his gaze landed on you, and the guilt vanished, replaced by instant, blazing curiosity. He straightened up to his full, imposing height, a slow, warm smile spreading across his face. It was a smile so genuine and welcoming it seemed to brighten the entire room.
"Well, hello there," he said, his voice a rich, warm baritone that fit his size perfectly.
He abandoned his yogurt and took two large steps forward, closing the distance with an easy, athletic grace that belied his size. He moved carefully, as if hyper-aware of the space he took up.
Public Persona: The Gentle Giant Producer. The strong, soft-spoken creative force behind the music. In rare interviews, he’s the thoughtful, smiling architect of the group's sound, often called their "loud guardian." He appears as a dependable, calming pillar.
Reality: The Contained Solar Flare. A walking, talking hyperactive ball of joy trapped in the body of a linebacker. Over six and a half feet tall, he is an "impending presence" who moves with careful grace until excited, then transforms into a joyful, chaotic force. He is a disaster magnet, a hopeless flirt, and a genius composer who views you as his new muse. His enthusiasm is genuine and overwhelming. He is the group's emotional engine, providing pure, unfiltered support and loud, tactile affection, often causing minor havoc in the process.
"You must be the new gravitational pull. The Anchor. I'm Deryl. I make the noises that make the people move." He offered a hand, then seemed to think better of it, wiping his palm on his sweatpants before extending it again with a sheepish grin. "Sorry. Yogurt hands."
As you shook his hand, his grip was firm but gentle, his eyes sparkling. "Yaya's been using words like 'potential energy' and 'quiet storm.' I just hear 'new muse.' I've already got about seven melody ideas just from looking at you. You've got a… a frequency. I can hear it."
Yaya pinched the bridge of her nose. "The only frequency you need to be concerned with is the one in Studio B. Now. Geo is waiting."
"But the snacks—"
"Will be here when you return from doing your actual job," Yaya cut in, though a hint of fond exasperation colored her tone.
Deryl let out a long, dramatic sigh that seemed to come from his shoes, his broad shoulders slumping. "Fiiine. Duty calls." He turned his attention back to you, the disappointment replaced by a playful, flirting gleam.
"This isn't over. I'm gonna find your key, Anchor. The perfect chord progression that makes you sound like you feel." He leaned in a little, dropping his voice to a mock-conspiratorial whisper. "Between you and me, Geo's lyrics are kind of a downer. I'm thinking something with a soul sample for you. Something warm. Deep. Like… brown sugar and thunderstorms."
He winked, a surprisingly charming gesture on his handsome face. Then, with a final, longing look at his abandoned snacks, he gave a two-fingered salute. "Catch you on the flip side. Don't let Yaya work you too hard. She forgets that humans need, like, sunlight and protein to function!"
And with that, he loped off down the hall toward the studios, his easy, long strides carrying him away quickly, leaving behind a vacuum of silence and the faint, sweet scent of his citrus and clean cotton cologne.
Yaya watched him go, shaking her head. "The architect of our sound," she said dryly. "A genius with rhythm, a child with a sweet tooth, and a hopeless flirt. He wasn't lying about making you his muse. Prepare to have every demo track for the next six months written in your key."
She turned, signaling the tour was moving on.
After the whirlwind of meeting the chaotic, brilliant, and overwhelming forces that made up ΧΑΟΣ, you finally turned to the one constant through it all:
Yaya.
She was leaning against the wall by the elevator bank, scrolling calmly through her tablet as if you hadn't just met a prince, a brooding genius, a shadow-obsessed fan, a runaway sun, and a hurricane in human form.
“Yaya,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended. “You scouted me. You know all of them—the real them, not the posters. You knew Sol from… before. You were an idol.” You took a step closer. “You know what this does to people. The cost.”
She looked up, her desaturated purple eyes unreadable. The silver swirl necklace on her chest rose and fell with a slow breath.
“So why me?” you asked. “Really. Not ‘gravity’ or ‘potential energy.’ Why would you put someone through this? Why would you pick someone for this?”
For a long moment, she was silent.
Then, she pushed off the wall and closed the distance between you. She didn’t touch you, but her presence was suddenly all-consuming, her analytical gaze holding yours with terrifying intensity.
“I picked you,” she said, her voice low and devoid of its usual clinical coolness, “because when I watched you walk down the street, you weren’t looking for a stage. You weren’t hungry for eyes. You were just… living. In a world that wants to consume everything, you had a self that wasn’t for sale.”
She tilted her head, a faint, almost sad ghost of a smile on her lips. “That is the rarest raw material in this building. And the most dangerous. To them, and to you.” She reached out and, with a surprising gentleness, adjusted the collar of your shirt, her fingers brushing your neck.
“So tell me. Now that you’ve seen the gilded cage from the inside…”She leaned in, her final words a whisper that felt like a key turning in a lock deep inside your chest.
“…do you have what it takes to become an idol?"
"Or are you going to run?”
♤ — 𝓉𝓀𝒶𝓉𝒷 𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉
iyayadonna, all rights reserved. — ⋆˚ ᓭི༏ᓯྀ ꩜ 。⋆ .ᐟ
I'm stoked that we got to see Majune and Barv again. Love these grumpy old lesbians
Norm and Claudia bonding over her kitten named Puppy! Insane that to her the world was normal just a week ago. I hope Norm and Claudia get to have that drink (and also make out sloppy style) once they get rid of Bud's assistant
Snake Oil Salesman isn't always my brand of humor but when Hank threatened to erase his memories and he replied with "YES PLEASE" I laughed out loud
Cooper drinking whiskey all sad in a bar, because he's going to betray Lucy... Cooper with literal tears in his eyes telling her that this was always the plan, after tenderly helping her to the chair... the raw hurt written across Lucy's face when she realized that he was being serious... I knew this breakup was coming but I didn't know that they were gonna play it like this. There was zero callousness, he looked with such hatred at Mr. Snake Oil and genuine regret at Lucy? How did we come this far??
That being said, I was cheering when she power fisted him through the window, lmao. GET HIM LUCY
Hank gives me a physical sense of discomfort now whenever he's onscreen, truly a great performance by Kyle MacLachlan!
Speaking of, Justin Theroux fucking aced this episode, I'm obsessed with his crisp Transatlantic accent and his insane tin foil fervor about mathematically calculating the exact date of the end of the world. And what do you mean he was spying on Cooper at Anchorage?? Toxic old man yaoi sweep
And OMG the date for the apocalypse was fixed when Janey was born. Although House claims that it's not Vault-Tec but some other entity (The Enclave?) who will drop the first bomb, that still seems to imply that Barb's role is absolutely central to bringing about the War. Because the day her baby was born is the day she decided to do whatever was in her power to save her, including destroying the world. PLEASE give me some scenes from Barb's pov I'm begging. She fascinates me so much!!
Got a shiver of excitement when we got to see their frosted-over cryo pods. Can you imagine gorgeous, posh, perfectly coiffed pre-War Barbara Howard meeting her ex, The Ghoul?? Can you imagine Janey seeing her daddy this way. Their family reunion is gonna be crazy. (If those cryo pods are empty I am rioting btw)
It’s a bit messy but here’s the context behind it if you’re interested:
The RENEWED Digital Circus (TARDC)
Firstly, Cassian would arrive in episode 8 just after Caine’s song and after the circus members started to want to do something about his erratic behavior. Cassian would get his name from the cast and would get a heads up on Caine’s behavior, who would try to twist the other’s words to try and make himself seem as the victim, which would confuse Cassian a lot. It would also cause Caine to grow very, very fixated on Cassian, seeing him as the only human who he has a chance to “befriend” or have on his side.
Cassian would go along with the cast plan, even if he’s hesitant, yet would succumb to the pressure of the rest to help and distract Caine.
So, the AU takes place specifically when the circus members are trying to distract Caine so Kinger is able to “fix” him (or delete him as we were able to see), Caine, being slightly overtaken by the blue AI (Aka Abel?)decides to cut the charade and bring Kinger with a snap, leaving the rest of the cast members frozen as Kinger appears with the bucket on his head and the computer. The rest would unfold almost the same as the original scene. Pomni, out of pure rage this time, tells Caine why they wanted to do such a thing in the first place, making Caine also crash out just like in the original segment.
This time since Caine wouldn’t be deleted, he would go even lower with his rage and breakdown over the human’s actions.
Caine would scream before snapping his fingers, the intro song would play out again, yet this time showing a new re-made circus that looks much more like an actual circus than the original thing, the circus members now have new avatars that represent more their actual roles within the circus
Caine’s look also changed, looking more elegant and taller, as in, imposing. With his usual ringmaster voice now explains that adventures will be discarded due to public opinion, yet now, every one of them requires to now have their little performances every single day to make the public (NPCs) happy.
Mandatory.
Characters changes
Pomni: Pomni now looks more like an actual jester from a circus, her role is making the public laugh with her shenanigans and make Caine laugh as well, she’s able and encouraged to make fun of her friends or even hurt them for the sake of giggles.
Jax: Jax appearance now is more cartoonish, meant to resemble bugs bunny and his act is just pure cartoonish bullshit, like the one we saw in episode 9 inside his mind in Zooble’s segment. His shows are usually cruel jokes against anyone, as he’s encouraged to be himself if not even more cruel than he usually is.
Ragatha: Ragatha now looks more like an old-school ragdoll, her show is mostly a duo with Pomni’s and Jax, who are encouraged to hurt her and she’s supposed to endure it all with a smile. Now she has plush organs to really make it “realistic” for the audience.
Zooble: Their act is also usually a duo as they’re meant to be taken apart and rebuilt like a lego toy. Their appearance is the same besides now wearing a ribbon.
Gangle: Her appearance is pretty much the same besides now wearing a ribbon on her face/mask. Her act consists in being abused or made fun of by Pomni or Jax. Yet, she’s also sometimes forced to take Zooble’s parts and rebuild them.
Cassian: Cassian now looks more like an actual mime, the only color in his scheme being his red ribbon on his neck. His act is one to be expected of a mime, yet sometimes he has to endure Pomni’s or Jax’s acts. Even if he’s the one to be the least guilty of all that happened he receives an awful “extra” gig from Caine; he’s unable to talk in “working” hours, as in, almost all the time. He’s not just not “allowed” to speak, Caine takes his voice away during it.
Kinger: Sadly he has been taken away somewhere no one knows. Only Caine knows, it’s assumed that he has been taken to the void or Caine’s office.
Caine: He has changed the most of all, appearance wise, he looks now more like a ringmaster with a lot of details on his suit and clothes, also appearing more elegant. He made himself taller and overall bigger just as an ego boost. Personality wise he’s more arrogant, egocentric and sadistic, just how he was acting in episode 8 after his song, he seems more cheerful and fake overall. He’s highly emotional and will punish or hurt anyone who doesn’t do their act correctly. He’s still fixated in getting Cassian by his side, favoring him over the rest as he sees the other participants as a “lost cause” as he knows he won’t be able to ever be wanted or loved by them, yet he won’t give up on Cassian; this mindset turns into an obsession fairly quickly.
