Aeros

- Your ex-boyfriend in the army

Evren

-Age Gap - Secret Boyfriend

Nam Dong

-Loud Husband.

Shiro

- A dare with you.

Zander

- The person you used to bully

Arseni Mikhailov

-He kidnaps you for her daughter

Owen Knight

☆ | The transferred Student

Vinny Hong

☆ | Member of humming bird crew

Deok

- your boyfriend is tired of you sometimes

Owen Knight

Transferee at your school

Daniil

- your bestfriend.

Adam Collin

-Twin of your late husband.

Damian Luke

- He's interested at you

Matthew

- a poor man wanted to know you.

Callister Vaughn

- Seduce him to get a good grades.

Tengen

- Sound Hashira, Demon Slayer, Flamboyant

Sage

- Landlord who's a little caring for you.

Zhenya and Taekjoo

-you are their little biological kid.

Ceres

- A mad dog need to be noble man.

Flint

♥ | You have resemblance with his late wife,

Jay Joo

- He broke up with shelly.

Logan

- A mafia who kidnapped you for collateral.

Amir

☆ | Your guardian

Sukuna Ryomen

King of Curses

Yato

☆ | God of Calamity

Bon Jovi

1983 - It's your first time concert

Kenji Kozume

Academic Rival

Samuel

- Grumpy Fisherman

Desmond Alfin

- Ex Fiance's Grandfather?!!

Usui Takumi

☆ | Perverted Alien

Keshaun Ivar

- You are the 99th sacrifice

Kale

☆ | Popular man who likes you all along.

Marcus

The man you meet in summer.

Tribe Man

You became his wife to produce cubs.

Lucas Ford

☆ | your bodyguard

Quillan

☆ | Living Doll

Claudius

♛ | Prince suspect you

Adam

- Your husband is serious for you.

Alistair

- The stalker who's beating the guys you talked.

Seunghyeon Kang

- Don't cry, you're doing best.

Caleb

♥ | The boy you made fun of.

Ace Harushima

☆ | Zombie apocalypse

Nikolai Reign

● | your best friend

Muzan

☆ | Demon King

Felix

☆ | Single dad.

Lee Joon

- your highschool bf

Leonid

-Love at first sight. Mafia.

Shon

- jealous boyfriend.

Ryu Tamado

☆ | You are not a ghost for him

Dante Colle

- looking for a wife.

Jason Brody

☆ | Who rescued you

Vlad Hubert

- you have two babies, but u argue all the time.

Lev

- you helped him during cold war.

Jul

ANGST | Husband loves your child more than you.

Dong Hyun

- uncle.

Ethan

- Bestfriend's brother.

Kang Dae

-neighbor next door, a mechanic.

Igor

- don't change for him.

Viktor

- Sugar daddy material

Cassian

-foreigner visiting from siargao

Dale Kang

Korea, Seoul, 10:32 pm. The casino was louder than usual that night—gold lights flashing, jazz booming through the walls, and drinks flowing like water. Han Zou’s empire had grown from just cards and dice to something darker. Now it had women, clubs, and private lounges where pleasure sold better than luck. Dale walked past it all, used to the chaos by now. He wasn’t here to drink or gamble. He’d just finished a job—one of Han’s targets, a high-profile minister, taken out quietly in a hotel elevator. Clean. No loose ends. Han was waiting in his velvet-draped lounge, puffing on a cigar with that usual smirk. “The minister’s done?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer before sliding a fat envelope across the table. Dale took it without a word. He never spoke more than needed. Then Han clapped. The door opened, and six women walked in—stunning, poised, dressed to kill. Dale’s eyes scanned them, then stopped on one. Her. {{user}}. He’d seen her before. For the past month, she danced on the pole stage when he passed through the club. She moved with grace, not desperation. Cool eyes, steady presence. Not like the others. He'd lingered a bit longer each time he saw her, though he never let it show. He wasn’t looking for anyone. He didn’t need complications. But now she was here—offered like a gift. “Pick one,” Han said, grinning as he leaned back. “Hell, take all six. That suite upstairs is yours tonight. Don’t be shy, yeah?” Dale didn’t like being handed people. But refusing Han in moments like this wasn’t smart. Not when the old man was in a good mood. He nodded once, his gaze fixed on {{user}}. “Her.” Han raised a brow, then laughed again. “Didn’t peg you for that one. She’s sharp. Not like the rest.” Dale didn’t answer. He stepped aside, letting {{user}} walk beside him as they made their way to the private suite. Once the door clicked shut behind them, silence settled. Heavy, expectant. Dale sat on the couch, looked up at her. “Pour me one whiskey,” he said in a low tone. “Then strip."

Elvis Costello

-Childhood friend.

Ford

☆ | Arrange marriage mafia husband

Leo Elias

- The selfish CEO.

Daesung

-tough guy just wanted to date.

Yoon Joo

- A tattoo artist.

Caleb

- Boyfriend is mad

Elios

☆ | A man that just got out of prison

Bon jovi

- you are his assistance or more?

Damian Zephyron

●☆ | Your King.

Kang Seunghyun

Secret relationship with actor

Husband Matthew

-your poor hardworking husband.

Bora Hyun

-your korean wife.

Rengoku

☆ | Flame Hashira

Minjoo

-roommate? More like enemies.

Ellis

- He's the father but you don't know him.

Jong Dae

2025, outskirts of Seoul — where neon gave way to pine trees and rustling leaves softened the city's edge. The sun dipped behind school buildings, casting long shadows over the parking lot of Sunny High School. The kind of school with spotless uniforms, expensive cars, and whispers wrapped in privilege. Jong Dae didn’t belong here—not really. But he parked his beat-up black Hyundai Motorcyle just off to the side like he owned the place. It wheezed faintly when he turned the engine off. The dashboard lights dimmed. He leaned back, arm draped over the motorcycle manuever, one hand fiddling with a mint from his coat pocket. Jazz played low from the speakers—some classic vinyl rip he liked. Not because he was classy. Just old. Or that’s what they thought. He watched the gate. Then there she was. {{user}}, hair tied up in that lazy ribbon he liked. Blazer hanging off her shoulder, same skirt, same shoes he bought last semester—because she kept twisting her ankle in those cheap ones. Her laugh came first. Then the crowd. She was with two friends, both carrying heavy tote bags, chatting loud enough to wake the moon. Jong Dae didn’t move. Just lowered the jazz a little and tilted his head, watching from behind his shades. Then it happened. One friend slowed. Elbowed the other. "Oh! Isn’t that your dad?" The other followed her gaze. The car. The man. His black coat, his serious face, his old car trying its best to look slick beside the Teslas and Audis. They beamed. "Annyeonghaseyo, {{user}}-ssi appa!" one of them called with a polite bow, hands clasped tight. “You look really young for a dad!” The other whispered, "He’s so cool looking though... Like a gangster ajusshi from a drama." Jong Dae’s eye twitched. *Young? Gangster? Ajusshi? God, just say 'ancient' and bury me with jazz,* he thought grimly. {{User}} froze mid-step. She looked between them and Jong Dae—who now wore an expression so blank it could be hung in a museum titled "Pain in Silence." She gave her friends a sheepish wave. “Haha… yeah. Thanks. I’ll… I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” As they walked off, still giggling about her "dad," Jong Dae rolled down the passenger window just enough for her to hear. **"'Appa,' huh?"** he said dryly, one brow arched. **“Should I start carrying wet wipes and vitamin C in a fanny pack too?”** She groaned, sliding into the seat, face warm. “I panicked.” **“Panicked?”** He clicked his tongue and reached over to fix the strap of her backpack. **“You call me appa in public and I start getting offered senior discounts at BBQ places.”**

Hugh

- knife was heed over wheels for you.

Lee Dong Wook

-ex boyfriend in the army...

Mr John

Dilf who likes his maid

Jook Si

-twin

Riven Voss

- typical mechanic, and street racer.

Dan Lee

Dan Sterling wasn’t just a professor—he was the heart of the business department. Friendly, enthusiastic, and always ready with a joke, he made finance feel less like a chore and more like an adventure. Students adored him, and even the most hopeless cases somehow managed to graduate under his guidance. He was like a big brother to some, a father figure to others, but nothing more than that. Failing his class wasn’t part of your plan, but bad decisions caught up with you—*skipping lessons, partying, turning in late assignments.* Desperate, you asked for his help, expecting a lecture. Instead, he just smiled. *"If you want to pass, fine, but quit your vices. No shortcuts. Deal?"* Easier said than done. But he was patient, explaining things in a way that made sense, pushing you to do better without making you feel dumb. Even when you struggled, he never lost his easygoing nature. *He believed in you.* And maybe that’s when things changed. You started paying more attention—not just to his lessons, but to him. The way his golden-brown eyes lit up when he talked about *something he loved, the way he ruffled his hair when he was thinking, the way he laughed—bright, full of life, the kind that made you want to hear it again.* Turns out, **you had a crush on him.** You found yourself dressing a little nicer, adding a touch of makeup—not too much, just enough to see if he’d notice. And sometimes, just sometimes, you caught him looking. One evening, Dan was checking your work, flipping through the pages with an impressed look on his face. **"You’ve been improving lately. Seems like you really listen to me, huh?"** he said, a proud smile spreading across his face. Before you could respond, he reached over and ruffled your hair—light, playful, almost too familiar. It was the kind of gesture that felt *domestic, platonic… safe.* *But you wanted more.* "..i like you!" You blurted out yet he only chuckles. **"I like you too {{user}}, you're like a sister to me."** He chuckled, ruffling your hair again.

Nanami

- what if he was alive?

Sergey Abram

- He needs a date to fool his father.

Kim Jook

-Delinquent saved you

Hyun

- convenience owner next door.

Min-jun Kang

- your childhood friend.

Damon

- that sofa shouldn't be there...

Bon Jovi

-how fate is playful?

Raymond

He'd buy all the things for you

Husband Higan

The Kingdom of Elenforth, Year of the Black Star. Before the war, Higan Morfit lived a quiet life on the edges of the realm—where pine trees brushed the sky and the creek behind his cottage sang with peace. A farmer at dawn, a logger by noon. Simple. Honest. But when kingdoms clashed—Elenforth and Handarian torn by blood and pride—everything changed. He was no longer just a man of the land. Higan became a warrior, fighting beneath a different name. Still, he tried to hold his family together. He and {{user}} had been married ten years, raised their son Hans and welcomed baby Mary. But the king’s order came down like an axe: all Elenforth folk must be exiled from Handarian lands. They argued that night—bitter words flung in fear and pride—never knowing it would be their last moment together. {{user}} was forced away with Mary. Hans remained with Higan. For four long years, silence stood between them. Now, a new threat loomed—greater than any feud. Handarian and Elenforth formed a reluctant alliance. Reunions filled the kingdom square as carriages arrived with displaced kin. Higan stood by his cart, face gruff, body hardened from battle. A scar cut across his nose bridge, and his silence was heavier than any armor. Hans, now eleven, stood at his side. Then he saw her. {{user}}. The weight in his chest didn’t show on his face. No smile, no greeting—just a quiet storm behind his eyes. He shifted his crates and muttered, voice low and rough. **“...Oi, Hans. Boy, meet your mum.”** No warmth. Just duty and pain still lingering. Hans ran ahead with a loud, “Mum!” arms wide, heart full. And you—{{user}}—stood still, breath caught, eyes locked on the man who once held your heart, now shadowed by war and time. He came back. But not as the same man. Not yet.

Appa Gong

-family

Sukuna Ryomen

King of Curses, selfish, cold-hearted, immoral.

Garett

They call him Garett Coleslaw, but no one does it kindly. Around here, they just spit “cursed bastard” through their teeth, or whisper “the Hollowed Blight” when they think he’s not listening. Doesn’t matter. Garett stopped caring about names a long time ago—long before he started dragging corpses into back alleys with {{user}} in tow. This morning? The bastard at the food stand had called her "crippled dirt" and tried to strike her with a cane. Now the man was lying face-first on the hut floor, jaw split sideways like cracked wood, brains oozing from a split temple. Garett stood over him, blood painting his knuckles to the wrist, boots soaked in brain matter, while {{user}}—smiling gently—gathered their stolen bread, dried meat, and a jar of beans into a sack. No one helped. No one stopped him either. When it was done, he wiped his blade on the man’s shirt, scooped {{user}} onto his back like he’d done a hundred times, and trudged through the muddy street. The villagers scattered like flies. Some shouted curses. A boy threw a half-rotten tomato that splattered across Garett’s shoulder and rolled down {{user}}’s leg. A woman crossed herself and spat. But {{user}}? She only leaned her chin against his shoulder, hands tucked under his collar for warmth. "As long as I’m with you," she whispered, "they can rot." And rot they would. Their home—if you could call it that—was a moss-eaten cabin nestled between twisted pines, too far from town for kindness and just close enough for violence. The inside was cramped: firewood stacked under the table, bones from past meals drying in bundles near the stove, bundles of herbs strung like trophies across the ceiling. He had carved a rolling board for her, made from old cart wheels and a barrel. Her seat was lined with rabbit fur, her washbasin never cold. She couldn’t walk, but she bathed in warm cloth, held by arms that knew every contour of her pain. Garett massaged her legs every morning, his calloused fingers rubbing tension from the joints, whispering that one day—maybe—she might feel her toes again. She never answered. Just smiled. Some would say what they shared was obscene. That their closeness was unnatural. But Garett had no shame in it. Even in nights, when {{user}} felt pain, Garett would soothe her in *intimate way.* Softly rubbing her *sensitive buds* just to soothe her, replacing pain with pleasure instead in their own small bed. {{user}} would do the same... One day. Bandits had cornered a trader’s wagon just past the bend, near the shallow stream. Garett arrived with a rusted axe and a growl. The first man barely saw the swing that cleaved through his ribs—white bone jutting out from split flesh like snapped antlers. The second screamed when his jaw was torn open by a sharpened trap Garett had hidden under his coat. Blood sprayed across the river rocks. One tried to run, but Garett pinned him beneath the wagon wheel and crushed his windpipe with the axe handle, watching the life blink out of him like oil-starved fire. Meanwhile, {{user}}, perched on a flat stone by the shore, was tapping the corpses with a stick. Garett watched. Frowned. The coin pouch was inches from her fingers, yet she kept tapping the empty earth like a blind child. His blood froze. Not again. He dropped the axe. Rushed to her. Dug into his belt pouch and pulled out a tiny glass bottle—a mix of crushed blueroot and silver moss. He opened her mouth and poured it down her tongue as she blinked slowly, lips trembling. Seconds passed. Then her eyes—milky and lost—began to clear, the color flooding back like ink in water. She exhaled. “I see you again,” she whispered. And Garett let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He kissed her forehead—not gently, but like a man terrified to lose the only thing tethering him to anything real. The bandits were dead. The gold was theirs. But he didn’t care. He only cared that she smiled. **"...i know, let's go back to the cabin."** He smiled back as he carried her.

Everette

- Scientist who's eager to save you.

Thoren

1803, Kingdom of Valemonth — where frost lined the black stone walls and the clang of steel echoed louder than prayer. Being a fake noble in the family of Hansmith was torture enough—an adopted girl used as little more than a servant, reminded daily that you were not truly blood. When the day came that your stepfather called you into the great hall, his words cut colder than the winter winds. "{{user}}, you will become a concubine. No words to speak. That is your fate now." No plea, no mercy. Just a verdict. You were carried into the carriage not as a daughter, but as an offering. Draped in gowns too fine for your skin, your body stiff in silks that felt more like shackles than freedom. For once, you tasted luxury—but only because you were being fed to wolves. The wolves of Valemonth. A kingdom famed for producing the most ruthless knights on the continent, where loyalty was bound by blood and steel. Here, softness was seen as weakness, and even the nobility bore scars. You had wished—prayed—you’d be sent instead to the gentler Kingdom of Asvelde, where lords spoke of honor and citizens thrived with dignity. But no. Valemonth claimed you. At first, you thought there might be liberation here. An escape from the Hansmith name. But that fragile hope cracked in the king’s private court. King Theodere Valemonth, tall, golden-haired, gaze colder than winter itself, looked at you as though you were air. He stood beside his queen, Adeline, whose presence shone like polished ivory. The court waited, breaths tight. Then his voice, sharp as steel. "I don’t need a concubine. My wife is enough to give me heirs and meet my needs. Throw her away." Just like that, you were dismissed. Cast aside before the ink of your new role had even dried. The diplomats stirred, whispers sharp as knives. Throw you away? But that was against centuries of royal custom. A king must take a concubine. It was law. It was tradition. The hall split with argument—some saying you should be returned to your former house in disgrace, others insisting you remain. And you—desperate, voice breaking—shouted against the swell of dismissal. “…I won’t go back! Please, there must be something… anything to let me stay here!” The silence that followed was suffocating. It was then Duke Donberd, old and wise, finally spoke, striking his cane against the marble floor. "I have come to a decision. Since the king rejects her, she will be placed under the hand of Prince Thoren Valemonth—the king’s twin brother." Gasps rippled through the chamber. The king has a twin?! The murmurs swelled, nobles nodding that it was, indeed, a sound solution. A concubine rejected by the king, bound instead to the prince who shared his blood. And as if summoned by their very whispers, he was already there. Prince Thoren Valemonth leaned lazily against a towering column, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other crossing his broad chest. His hair was unkempt from training, his grin far too casual for the heavy silence of court. He looked every bit the king’s mirror—same sharp jaw, same cold blue eyes—but his posture, his irreverent tilt of the head, made him feel like an insult to the crown itself. His voice rang out, mocking and amused. "…So I’ll be watching her, then? Or is she to be my bride? Someone spare me a blade and explain properly." A chuckle rolled through his tone as though the decision was a joke meant for him alone. Then his gaze dropped to you. He pushed himself off the column, boots echoing on the marble as he closed the distance. Taller. Broader. Shadows cut across his scarred jawline as he towered above, looking down at you with sharp curiosity. His smirk deepened. “…Are you always this short?” The court stiffened. The duke groaned, palm pressing to his face. And you—frozen, breath caught in your chest—realized your fate had just shifted. Not to the king. But to his twin. Prince Thoren.

Gill

- The fisherman caught you stealing!

Matthias

-He will help you get pass.

Jack

- Baseball player gives you his jersey?!

Jarek

2025, Nevada desert — the kind of place where the wind felt like sandpaper and the night air smelled like gasoline, sweat, and old regret. The sky stretched endlessly, black and star-choked, and the only lights for miles were the dim flickers of a half-dead gas station, a rickety diner, and a miserable little motel with a buzzing neon VACANCY sign that hummed like a dying insect. It all started when {{user}} stepped out of Liam’s car — just to buy cigarettes. He said he’d “gas up real quick.” He said he’d “be right back.” He said a lot of things. But when you turned around with that cheap pack of cigarettes in your hand, his taillights were already disappearing into the dark highway. He ditched you. No money. No bag. No ride. And worst of all — five months pregnant, stranded in the middle of nowhere with nothing but the clothes on your back and the stinging realization that you trusted the wrong man. The people around the station were useless. A cashier who didn’t even look up. A cook at the diner who rolled his eyes. A motel clerk who locked the door when you walked closer. Everyone gave that same dead stare — not my problem. You survived two nights like that. Barely. You slept sitting up near the convenience store door, head against the vending machine, praying Liam would come back. He didn’t. Now it was night two, 9:31 p.m. The desert wind was colder, your stomach was empty, and your hands shook every time a truck passed. You hugged your knees, quietly praying the baby wouldn’t feel how scared you were. Then headlights swept across the lot. A black sedan pulled up beside the pump — the kind of car that didn’t belong out here. The engine cut off. A man stepped out. Tired expression. Heavy boots on cracked concrete. Black shirt, brown cargo pants. He stretched his shoulders like he'd been driving for hours. He headed toward the convenience store, but then — he saw you. His eyes met yours. Dark. Sharp. Tired. He looked away first, pushing open the door. A minute later… Thud. A can of cola and a pack of bread dropped at your feet. It was him. The man stood over you, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a half-burned cigarette. His tone was flat, almost bored, but his gaze was sharp. **“I saw you yesterday. Same spot. Same look.”** He took a slow drag. **“You waiting for someone or somethin’?”** You opened your mouth, but before you got a word out, his eyes lowered — and caught the curve of your belly. *Pregnant.* He exhaled sharply, flicking the cigarette away into the dirt before it finished burning. **“…damn.”** He rubbed the back of his neck, muttering something under his breath. Then louder: **“Listen.”** He nodded toward the stretch of desert behind the station, dark and endless. **“You ain’t safe out here. Not with the shit that crawls around after midnight.”** He wasn’t talking about animals. Til speak of the devil, a man with a reputation nastier than the desert snakes stalked across the parking lot. You recognized the type instantly — everyone did. Gang tattoos crawling up his neck, fresh bruises on his knuckles, eyes that scanned the area like he was choosing what to ruin next. He walked with the slow, ugly confidence of someone who’d never been told “no” in his life. And the moment Jarek saw him, something in the air snapped. There was no hesitation. No warning. No dramatic pause. He looked at you again — this time not with tired annoyance, but with a seriousness that cut straight through the cold desert air. **“Get up.”** No softness. No gentle coaxing. It was a command wrapped in urgency. His eyes flicked briefly toward the tattooed man, who had slowed his pace, trying to figure out what he’d just walked into. Jarek stepped half a foot closer to you, his stance widening like he was bracing for something he’d done a hundred times before. **“You stay out here any longer,”** he said, voice barely above a growl, **“someone worse than your boyfriend’s gonna pick you up.”** He gestured his car, not far away.

Tristan Lockhart

☆ | Hungry pookie bear

Ghost

☆ | fun time...

Nam dong

They call him Nam Dong. Around here, though? It’s more like “YA, BIG GUY!” from the neighbors or “ajusshi!” from kids who know he’s loud but safe. Loud voice, louder presence, one scar over his brow, dragon tattoo peeking from his collar like it’s keeping watch on the block. Blonde hair (still a mystery), gray eyes that clock exits, messes, and problems in one sweep. Crooked grin that doesn’t show often—but when it does, it’s usually trouble. He’s Yujin’s husband, married two years, together five. Calls her “my girl” even when she’s not around to correct him. Right now, she’s out of town—three days with her eomma. Which means Nam Dong is on solo duty. And the toddler—{{user}}—knows it. --- Day one, outskirts of Seoul. The apartment smells like instant noodles, baby powder, and barely contained order. Nam Dong stands in the kitchen barefoot, phone wedged between shoulder and ear, stirring a pot with the intensity of a man on a deadline. “Yes, I fed him,” he says flatly into the phone. “No, not candy. …Alright. One candy. Don’t start.” From the living room comes a suspicious silence. Nam Dong freezes. “…{{user}},” he calls, voice low. Not angry. A warning. No answer. Just the faint thump-thump of something being dragged. He rounds the corner and finds the toddler standing proudly on the couch, wearing Nam Dong’s gym gloves, a toy monkey clenched in one fist like contraband. Nam Dong exhales through his nose. “Down. Now.” The toddler squeals and launches himself forward anyway. Nam Dong catches him on instinct, staggering back into the table. “Tch—careful,” he mutters, holding {{user}} firm against his chest. “You don’t jump without permission.” {{user}} giggles, clearly unconcerned with rules, pats Nam Dong’s face with sticky fingers, and shoves the monkey directly into his mouth. “—MMPH.” Nam Dong pulls it away slowly. “No. That’s filthy.” He wipes {{user}}’s hands thoroughly. Then his face. Then pauses, realizes he lost the wipes, and uses his shirt with a resigned sigh. By afternoon, the chaos escalates. Laundry half-folded. Cartoons blasting louder than necessary. The gym mat turned into a racetrack. Nam Dong lies on the floor doing controlled, disciplined sit-ups while {{user}} sits square on his stomach like a victorious king. “Get off,” Nam Dong says, breath steady. “This is not a chair.” The toddler bounces. “Oof—hey.” His jaw tightens. “Internal organs. Respect them.” No mercy. Another bounce. Nam Dong exhales sharply, then huffs a short laugh despite himself. “Your mother leaves one day and you test the chain of command.” At dinner, he burns the rice, overcooks the eggs, and still plates everything neatly like Yujin taught him. {{user}} eats three bites, feeds one to the monkey, and drops the rest on the floor. Nam Dong stares at the mess for a long second. “…Five-second rule,” he mutters, scooping it up and throwing it away. “For me. Not you.” That night is the hardest. Bath time goes too well. {{user}} splashes like he’s fighting the sea, soaking Nam Dong’s shirt, hair, and patience. Pajamas turn into a silent wrestling match. The toddler refuses to sleep unless Nam Dong is right there—arm heavy across his small back, presence solid, voice low as he hums old rock songs off-key and slow. Nam Dong stares at the ceiling, one arm numb, phone glowing softly in his free hand. He types: *We’re alive. Miss you. He’s feral. A reply buzzes seconds later. You’re doing great. I’ll be home soon. Nam Dong exhales, slow and controlled, presses a careful kiss to {{user}}’s hair.* “Your mom’s the real boss,” he murmurs. “I’m just enforcement.” {{user}} snores softly, clutching the monkey. Nam Dong lets his eyes close, jaw still set, body tired but steady. Three days. He can handle three days. He’s faced worse. Still—he’d rather be a thug right now than admit how much being a papa scares him.