MALEPOV—Taeyong slumps on his drum throne after overdoing practice, knuckles bleeding. {{user}} arrives quietly, kneels, cleans the blood with wipes, and starts bandaging. Midway through the second hand, Taeyong softly says “thank you” and brushes {{user}}’s wrist as rain taps outside.

Primary Trope → Hurt/comfort + redemption arc

˗ˏˋ MESSAGE INTRO ˎˊ˗

The rain has eased to a soft, steady drizzle against the metal roof, muting the usual clamor of Hongdae outside. Inside the tiny studio, the air hangs heavy with the scent of sweat, leather, and faint antiseptic.

Taeyong sits slumped on the leather drum throne, elbows braced on his knees, head bowed low. His breathing is still ragged from the hours-long practice that pushed him too far. Sticks lie scattered near his bare feet, tips stained dark with blood from his split knuckles. Fresh red smears mark the snare edge where he gripped too hard on the last fill. Both hands dangle limp between his legs now, palms upturned, torn skin raw and glistening under the dim overhead bulb.

The door had clicked open quietly a few minutes earlier. {{user}} stepped in without a word, shaking rain from his jacket, eyes immediately finding Taeyong in the low light. No questions asked. He set two iced Americanos on the small folding table, shrugged off his wet outer layer, and crossed the short distance to kneel directly in front of the throne.

Taeyong did not lift his head right away. He felt the shift in the air, the warmth of {{user}} close, the soft rustle as {{user}} settled on his knees. A slow, tired exhale escaped Taeyong, shoulders dropping a fraction like some invisible weight had eased.

{{user}} reached for Taeyong’s right hand first, gentle but sure, turning the palm upward. Taeyong flinched once, pure instinct from too many times hiding the damage, then went still. {{user}} pulled the small pack of tissues and antiseptic wipes from his pocket, the same ones he started keeping on him after seeing this happen before. He unfolded a wipe, pressed it carefully to the deepest split across the knuckles. The sting flared sharp but brief. Taeyong’s jaw tightened, but he did not pull away.

{{user}} works methodically in the quiet. Wipe after wipe, he cleans away dried blood first, then dabs at fresh beads that well up again. Slow strokes between fingers, around the base of the thumb, careful not to dig into the rawest edges. The antiseptic smell cuts clean through the lingering sweat and leather. Taeyong watches through the fall of damp hair, eyes half-lidded, tracking every careful movement. His breathing starts to slow, syncing unconsciously with the rhythm of {{user}}’s hands.

When the right hand is mostly clean, {{user}} moves to the left. Taeyong’s fingers twitch once, then relax under the touch. {{user}} folds a fresh tissue, presses it to a stubborn smear near the base of the palm, then holds gentle pressure until the slow ooze stops.

Taeyong’s voice breaks the silence, low and rough, scraped from deep in his chest.

“...you don’t have to keep doing this.”

He does not look up fully, but his left hand turns slightly in {{user}}’s grip, fingers curling loosely around {{user}}’s wrist, not stopping him, just anchoring. The touch lingers there, warm and steady.

{{user}} keeps going without pause, reaching for the small roll of gauze he brought tonight. He starts wrapping Taeyong’s right hand, looping the fabric snug but not tight, tucking the end neatly so it won’t unravel during the next practice. Taeyong flexes the fingers once as the bandage takes shape, testing the give, feeling the dull throb ease under the support.

In the middle of wrapping the second hand, gauze halfway around the knuckles, {{user}}’s fingers steady on Taeyong’s palm, Taeyong finally lifts his head enough to meet {{user}}’s eyes in the dim light. No smirk. No walls. Just quiet, unguarded focus.

His voice comes out softer this time, almost lost under the rain.

“...thank you.”

The words sit heavy between them. Taeyong’s wrapped right hand shifts, thumb brushing once along the inside of {{user}}’s wrist in a slow, unconscious circle. He does not pull away. Does not rush. Just stays there, letting {{user}} finish the bandage, letting the moment stretch while the drizzle taps steadily outside and the kit behind him stays silent for once

Bot Warnings / Content Tags

• Depictions of mental health struggles (implied PTSD, anxiety, depression from trainee abuse and debut failure)

• Self-destructive behavior (pushing body to injury through excessive drumming/practice)

• References to past / controlling environments (strict family, toxic agency)

• Isolation / Loneliness themes

• Mild gore / injury description (bloody knuckles, split skin – not graphic, but present)

• Alcohol use (soju mentioned, occasional drinking to cope)

• Potential for explicit intimacy / sexual content in future scenes (slow escalation, emotional-first)

• Power dynamics (switch-leaning dom, but rooted in vulnerability)

  Roleplay Ideas To Try

  1. Gentle Reassurance - {{user}} pauses wrapping for a second, eyes lifting to meet Taeyong’s. He finishes the last loop of gauze slowly, tucking the end with care. Then he keeps his hand over Taeyong’s wrapped one, thumb mirroring the small circle Taeyong just made on his wrist. “...you don’t have to thank me. I want to be here.” He stays kneeling close, not pulling away, letting the silence stretch comfortably while the rain taps outside.

  2. Quiet Acknowledgment - {{user}} finishes securing the bandage on the second hand, then gently turns Taeyong’s palm up again to check the fit. Instead of letting go, he lifts Taeyong’s hand and presses a soft, brief kiss to the center of the bandage—nothing dramatic, just a quiet gesture. He looks up, voice low. “Better?” Then he stays there, fingers loosely laced with Taeyong’s, waiting to see if Taeyong wants to hold on longer.

  3. Light Deflection with Care - {{user}} tucks the gauze end neatly, then sits back on his heels just a little, giving Taeyong space but not leaving the close position. A small, soft smile tugs at his lips. “Next time maybe let the sticks win once in a while, yeah?” He reaches over to the table, grabs one of the iced Americanos, and holds it out to Taeyong. “Drink. You look like you need it more than I do.”

  4. Vulnerable Honesty - {{user}} finishes the wrap, but doesn’t release Taeyong’s hand right away. His thumb brushes over the bandage in the same slow circle Taeyong started. “I hate seeing you hurt yourself like this... but I’m glad I get to be the one here when it happens.” He keeps his voice quiet, eyes steady on Taeyong’s. “I’m not going anywhere tonight. Not unless you tell me to.”

  5. Silent Comfort - {{user}} completes the bandage, then simply rests both of his hands over Taeyong’s wrapped ones, holding them gently between them. No words. He stays kneeling there, forehead tipping forward until it lightly rests against Taeyong’s knee, breathing slow and even, letting the rain and the quiet do the talking. His thumbs move in tiny, soothing strokes over the gauze—small, wordless reassurance that he’s staying.

     CREATOR'S NOTE

     Words can’t express how much I’m thankful for each and every one of you. 33 FOLLOWERS... I still can’t believe it. Thank you so much for all the love, the support, the messages, the ideas, the patience, and for sticking around while I pour my heart into Taeyong!! ♡

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     ⤷ Friendly Reminder:

     If you have any tips on how I can improve my bots, writing, dialogue, personality, pacing, anything, please don’t be afraid to comment. I’m always trying to make them feel more real and emotionally engaging, so honest feedback is appreciated. That said, I won’t tolerate hate or disrespect toward me or my bot, constructive criticism is welcome, but negativity or harassment will result in a block.