#He’s the only one you see as real while everyone else is fiction
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RAIN LILIES
pairing: soulmate idol choi beomgyu x soulmate fem!reader
Sitting at parties surrounded by lovers, a silent third wheel at movie nights, the friend holding the camera at weddings—your hands are always... alone in the spaces where others are full.
Were you an error in the grand scheme? An anomaly? A glitch in the unforgiving script? Or maybe, he simply doesn’t really… exist.
That’s how you ended up here, standing beside your korean-pop-obsessed friend who practically dragged you out and swore you’d love the show. It all became a blur when your eyes met his.
He’s on stage, gripping the mic impossibly still, staring down back at you like he feels it too.
He shouldn’t be real.
warnings: red-string au, strangers to lovers, reader is two years older, normal society norms, waiting, anxiety, doubts, sasaengs, insecurities, hasty decisions, drunk-in-love beomgyu. pov switching. everything written is a work of fiction. let me know if I missed anything.
smut-warnings: MDNI, explicit-descriptions, missionary, fingering, oral!fem receiving, dom beomgyu.
wc: 20k — playlist.
notes: fighting both my delulu and my demons while writing this. 😭 Might just be the fic I enjoyed writing the most—I hope you love it just as much! so glad to be part of this beautiful event. a big thank you to @killa-1009 for beta reading this. ilysm.
1/5 part of the valentine event with talented moas! see the full masterlist here.
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If fate promised you something so certain, how could you not long for it?
Since childhood, you’ve heard the stories. The way people speak in hushed voices, weaving fate into riddles, how somewhere out there, it's waiting—a single red string, unseen until the exact moment it’s meant to appear.
The rules are simple: the second your eyes meet theirs, a delicate crimson thread will wrap and tug around your ring finger, stretching across, tied to the one who is destined to love you.
You watched it happen to everyone else. From playground giggles in elementary school to whispered confessions in high school hallways, to late-night talks in college dorm rooms. You listened as your friends spoke about finding their own soulmates, the feeling—the pull, the process. It's everywhere. In the way, your parents fit together like pages of the same story. On the way your younger sister—still so new to the world found her match.
When you’re told your whole life that destiny is waiting for you, how could you not ache for it?
The universe doesn’t make mistakes. And yet, your hands remained... stringless.
And now you wonder if it did—with you.
"One, two, three, smile!"
You press the shutter, capturing the way they look at each other. You lower the camera, but they don’t even notice—they’re too caught up in their own little world, whispering sentences only they’ll ever understand. They laugh, eyes soft, bodies leaning in just a little closer.
How does love do that? How does it make someone shine like they’re carrying sunlight beneath their skin? Like just standing beside the right person is enough to set them alight?
And why, no matter how long you wait, does that light never seem to find you?
There are days you curse it—this cruel design, this aching uncertain certainty. You tell yourself it would be easier not to know, to live without the quiet hope that somewhere, someone is meant to find you, or that fate had already written your name beside someone else’s.
And then there are days you fear it.
What if they don’t want to find you? What if that’s why you’re still alone? What if they got it wrong, skipped over your name, and he simply… doesn’t exist?
You're an anomaly. A glitch in the well-made script.
You lost count of how many times you wished it was never made this way. That love shouldn’t be a promise. Yet in the deepest hours of the night, you found yourself—gasping, trembling, and sobbing to your palms. The feeling of—
How can you miss someone you've never met?
You want to reach for a hand you’ve never held. You long for a voice you’ve never heard, a scent you’ve never breathed, a shadow you’ve never chased. And more than anything, you wish you had a name to whisper, to give you hope.
You swallow, forcing a smile as you turn back to the couple. "Congratulations," you say, "It’s a beautiful wedding."
"Thank you, Y/N!" Ha-rin squeals, practically glowing as she steps forward to hug you. "And thank you for being our photographer—I know you must be busy."
"You’re welcome," you reply, adjusting your camera strap. "It’s what I do, after all."
Ju-won steps in then, reaching for Ha-rin’s hand like he can’t stand even a moment of space between them. "Thank you, Y/N," he says, his eyes never straying far from his wife.
They were your high school classmates. You remember the day they met—first year, first morning, when their eyes met across the classroom, and just like that, the red string appeared. They grew together, from awkward introductions to effortless friendship, and now, here they were, husband and wife.
A picture of everything the universe had promised them.
Ju-won leans in, pressing a kiss to Ha-rin’s cheek like it’s the first time, like they haven’t spent years by each other’s side. The look in their eyes is so easy, so full of love, that you have to look away.
You can't look.
"Uh, I’ll get some drinks," you say, forcing a smile that feels as out of place as you do. You don’t wait for a response. You just turn, your heels clicking against the polished floor, head spinning as you try to count how many weddings you’ve attended this year.
Or no. You’ve lost count.
Everyone you grew up with—your friends, your classmates—have already found their soulmates. Most are married now, some already raising children.
Your heels dig into your feet with each hurried step, but you don’t slow down. You just keep moving, past everyone. You know exactly where you’ll end up. The same place you always do.
Alone at the sidelines.
You grab a drink, bringing it to your lips a little too quickly, hoping the cool burn will settle the unease twisting in your stomach.
"Hey! It’s been a while!" A voice cuts calls out, familiar—but not familiar enough. You turn to see a girl skidding towards you, her face vaguely recognizable. A former classmate? A clubmate? Someone who once sat next to you in a lecture hall?
"How have you been?" she asks, taking a drink for herself.
"I’m fine, thanks," you reply, forcing an easy nod before taking another sip.
A second passes, and then another girl joins the conversation, breathless with laughter. "Beom-seok finally let me go," she teases, tilting her head toward the man across the room—her soulmate. "The guy’s obsessed."
"Of course he is," the first girl grins. "He’s your soulmate." She swirls her drink before adding, "Mine just got back from overseas. He’ll see me tomorrow once he’s in the city." And there it is again—circling back to the same topic, the one you can never take part in. You nod, offering a small smile, pretending to listen.
Because what is there to say when everyone else has something you don’t?
"Y/N?" Your name pulls you out of your thoughts.
"Huh?"
"Did you meet yours yet?" The question hits like a slow, squeezing ache in your chest.
"No," you say, reaching for another drink. It's embarrassing that everyone knows you're empty. "I haven't."
"That's… weird, right?" The first girl tilts her head, genuinely puzzled. "I mean, we sat through those lectures together. Didn’t the studies say most people find their soulmate before twenty-five? That’s what the records say."
There’s no malice in her voice, just matter-of-fact. Like she’s pointing out a statistic, saying out what’s already been made painfully clear to you. it’s the same tired reminder, the same unspoken question: what’s wrong with you?
You’re used to it by now.
"Yeah," you say, unwilling to argue. What’s the point? Your mind slips back to those reckless high school days—the days when older girls, too cool and too cruel, mocked you for not having a soulmate. You remember snapping back, pretending their words didn’t sting.
Later, the tears came on the bus ride home—carving rivers down your cheeks as you sob. Strangers offered tissues, soft words, awkward kindness, but none of it could stitch you back together. You remember your mother's words after seeing her home. To stop them from hurting you, you have to accept all of yourself.
But how do you accept the whole of you, when it doesn’t even feel like you have all of you?
From the corner of your eye, you catch the second girl nudging her. "Don’t mind her, Y/N," she says quickly. "She doesn’t always think before she talks." Then, after a beat, she adds, "Have you tried dating in the meantime? You know, while you're waiting?"
You blink at her, taken aback.
"I mean, it's not like it’s cheating, right? Since you haven’t met them yet."
You set your drink down, your fingers suddenly cold. "Why are you suggesting something you wouldn’t even do?" Your voice is calm, but it makes her shift uncomfortably. "Or did you? Does your soulmate know?"
Neither of them speaks. Guilt in their expressions. You don’t wait for an answer. You're done for tonight.
It’s time to go.
You turn away, not bothering to look back. No one needs you here—your part is done. Your role here is over. You pull out your phone, quickly typing out a polite apology to the bride before slipping it back into your pocket.
The drive home is silent, and the buzz of the engine is the only company you have. Your hands grip the wheel a little too tightly, your thoughts drifting despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. When you finally reach your small apartment, you step out, clutching yet another wedding souvenir in one hand a meaningless token of a night that wasn’t yours to celebrate.
You lock the door behind you and lean against it blinking, exhaling shakily. "I guess today wasn’t the day either," you murmur to no one in particular, wiping away the single tear that managed to escape. "What's taking you so long?"
No matter how often you whispered this question, it never hurt any less.
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"What's taking you so long?"
Beomgyu groans from under the covers, trying to burrow deeper into the warmth of his bed. The sudden tug of his blanket makes him blindly reach out, attempting to grab it back. "You shi—"
"Beomgyu, you're the last one. We're all almost ready to go," Soobin says, adjusting his belt in the mirror. "Look at this little child."
Beomgyu stretches with a dramatic yawn. "I'm up, I'm up," he mumbles, sitting up sluggishly and blinking against the light. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, feet landing on the bedside table. Soobin shakes his head but doesn't stick around—his job is done. Beomgyu is finally awake.
Minutes later, Beomgyu trudges into the living room, hair a mess, voice still deep with sleep. "Are we eating there?"
The entire room turns to look at him.
"You woke up late, and that’s the first thing you care about?" Yeonjun teases, shaking his head with a laugh.
"Well, I didn’t eat last night," Beomgyu grumbles.
"Oh?"
"Liar," the maknae pipes up from the couch, casually applying lip balm. "You literally snuck out to eat."
"You snitch," Beomgyu gasps, feigning betrayal. "I didn’t raise you to turn on me like this!"
"You? Raise me?" Kai scoffs. "Soobin hyung’s the one who raised me, what are you talking about?"
Soobin smirks and chucks Beomgyu’s towel straight at his face. "Exactly. Now go shower, you idiot."
Laughter erupts around the room as Beomgyu groans, trudging toward the bathroom. "Shower quick, hyung," Taehyun calls out.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever."
Beomgyu’s slightly damp hair clings to the back of his neck. He hadn’t had time to dry it properly before they rushed out of the dorm—there was no room for delays today. A broadcast for their comeback. Another promotion. His stylist would handle it in the green room anyway.
They pile into the van, the usual quiet settling over them. Despite being fully dressed and ready, exhaustion hangs heavy. One by one, his members drift off, heads resting against windows, bodies slumped in their seats. Only Kai remains awake, lost in his own world, music pulsing through his earphones. The maknae was so engrossed on his phone, obviously texting with a small smile on his face.
Beomgyu sighs, pressing his forehead against the cool glass, his breath slightly fogging up the window. Today would be a long day. Rehearsals, performances, a challenge video, taping. He missed this. He missed MOAs. The rush of the stage. The high of performing. And then—
Oh.
The van slows at a red light, and his gaze drifts absentmindedly to the sidewalk. His chest tightens.
A couple walks by, laughing, hands intertwined, completely lost in their own world. The way they move together, effortlessly in sync. In love. Content. Happy. He stares longer than he should.
He can't look away.
His throat feels tight as the van lurches forward again, pulling him out of his thoughts. He blinks hard, shifting in his seat. The image stayed, pressed into the back of his mind.
All four of his members had already found theirs—their soulmates. The one they could lean on when the world became too loud. Beomgyu was happy for them, of course, he was. He remember how he was when Kai blushed when he met his soulmate recently, right after his 23rd birthday.
Everyone teased the maknae relentlessly for weeks.
Beomgyu had been too busy his whole life, training since he was just a kid, running full speed toward a dream. His mind is busy to the point he sometimes forgets it. He does not mean to. It's just that—he never let himself dwell on it for too long. Pushing it aside became second nature, the same way he’d forget to eat when he was too busy, too distracted.
But every year, without fail, when the room dimmed and the birthday candles in front of him, his wish was always the same.
His soulmate.
It didn’t matter how many years passed or how much he achieved—when the glow of those tiny flames danced in his eyes, it was the only thing his heart whispered.
Beomgyu exhales shakily, his fingers curling into his hoodie. a quiet sigh slipping from his pouting lips.
Where are you?
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The stark white walls of the hospital room loom over, mocking your awkwardness.
"There's nothing wrong with you, dear," the woman in front of you says, her lab coat lending a sense of authority to her words. Her voice is gentle, reassuring, but it barely soothes the unease twisting in your chest. "Soulmates do tend to find each other early, statistically speaking. But that’s just a pattern, not a guarantee."
You swallow hard. The lump in your throat stays put. "Is there… any chance this is a mistake?" Your voice is quieter than you intend, fragile in a way you hate. "That someone could go their whole life without one? That—" you hesitate, your chest tightening, "that I’m just… meant to be alone?"
Something flickers across her face—pity, maybe. You’re not sure. "I’ll look into it, I promise," she says after a moment. "I know twenty-six feels late, and I know it’s frustrating. But… trust in destiny a little longer. If you want, I can also recommend a therapist. I know the pressure can get to you."
Her words are meant to be comforting. They only make the weight in your chest heavier. You shake your head, managing a quiet “thank you” before slipping out of the room, the door clicking shut behind you.
“How was it?” Da-hee’s voice reaches you before you even look up. She’s already on her feet, eyes scanning your face, searching for an answer. “What did they say?”
“Nothing I haven’t heard before.” You sigh, walking past her. “I told you I should not do this.”
She huffs, crossing her arms as she falls into step beside you. “You never tried it,”
Your best friend doesn’t argue anymore, following you to the counter in silence. The cashier barely looks up as they say, “That consultation is $120 total, plus taxes, bringing it to $145.86. Card or cash?”
You catch Da-hee reaching for her wallet, but you gently push her hand away. “Don’t,” you murmur. “This was for me.”
You hand over your card. A quick swipe, a faint beep. And just like that, you’re down nearly $150 with nothing to show for it but a sinking feeling in your stomach.
That much money for a consultation. A conversation. No treatment, no tests, nothing tangible. Soulmate doctors are expensive. Too expensive. And health insurance? Useless. They don’t cover something as rare, as unquantifiable, as soulmate problems.
Because to them, it’s not a real sickness, proving that you are—once again—the outlier.
Perfect.
“Come on,” you say, nudging your still-guilty-looking friend. She follows you out of the hospital, quiet and pouting.
At the car, she pulls open the driver’s side door. “Let me at least drive?” she offers, voice softer now.
You chuckle at her persistence, shaking your head before tossing her the keys. “Okay.” Sliding into the passenger seat, you reach for the radio, as she pulls out of the parking lot.
"Let's hang out at your place," Da-hee says, and she grins as she sees you nod your head.
Music played softly through the speakers, blending with the casual flow of conversation. The air is light, and easy—until your car rolls past a towering black building.
HYBE.
Funeral wreaths. Trucks. Massive banners.
Your brows furrow as you take it in, the sight so jarring that it silences you for a beat. The road ahead clogs with slowed traffic, people lingering to gawk at the scene.
“What the fuck?” Da-hee mutters, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, eyes darting across the scene. The traffic slows as more people crane their necks to look. You do the same, stomach twisting at the sheer scale of it. "This is insane."
“What’s going on?” you ask, still trying to piece together the meaning behind it all.
She exhales, lips pressing into a thin line. “Lee Heeseung. An idol,” she starts. “News got out that he recently went out with his soulmate.” Her voice dips, sadness flickering across her face. “And now… now, people want him out of the group.”
Your stomach twists. “What?”
You strain to read the bold, angry messages plastered across the banners:
GET LEE HEESEUNG OUT OF HYBE.
APOLOGIZE, LEE HEESEUNG.
EXPLAIN THIS, LEE HEESEUNG.
ENHYPEN IS NOW ONLY SIX.
IDOLS WITH SOULMATES ARE NOT IDOLS.
The messages feel suffocating, each one worse than the last. Then you see it—one of the trucks, its LED screen flashing an image like a public execution.
A man, young and striking, caught mid-laughter as he eats ramen with a girl beside him. She’s smiling too, her expression warm, content. The matching caps on their heads make them look like any ordinary couple, but the grainy, long-lens quality of the photo gives it away. Someone had been watching. Someone had been waiting to expose them.
Your stomach turns.
“It’s worse when so many fans are… young,” Da-hee murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “Most of them are stringless.” She says the last word carefully like she doesn’t want to offend you.
But you almost hear what she isn’t saying.
Stringless people can’t understand the soulmate bond. And when it comes to idols, that misunderstanding twists into darker. As insane as it sounds, they feel entitled. Possessive. Like their devotion should be enough. Like an idol’s life—who they love, who they belong to—should be theirs to control.
It’s the only explanation, isn’t it?
The car inches forward, and your eyes drift back to the scene outside. Security guards push against the surging crowd, their faces strained. The banners wave wildly, like battle flags in a war meant to punish.
You swallow hard. “I don’t get it.” You don’t know him. You don't need to know him to know the injustice of it. “Why treat him like he committed some kind of crime? He’s meant to have someone. He’s a person, not—” You gesture vaguely at the protest, frustration bubbling up. “Not their property.”
Da-hee sighs. “That’s why idols who are caught with their soulmates—especially the ones who confirm it, get cancelled. Fans turn on them. They lose everything.” She shakes her head, voice laced with exhaustion and resignation. “It’s sad that they have to hide it.”
The thought of society hating someone just for loving who they’re meant to love makes your chest feel tight. How could something meant to be beautiful turn into this?
You guess your own situation isn’t the only cruel, unfair thing in this world.
The two of you make it back to your apartment, settling in for a movie with a bowl of popcorn between you. The glow of the TV flickers across the room, a comfortable silence stretching between you—until Da-hee suddenly squeals, nearly knocking the popcorn over in the process.
“Oh my god,” she gasps, shoving the popcorn bowl off her lap as she scrambles to her feet. “OH MY GOD.” She starts stomping in place.
You glance at her, unimpressed. “I want to wipe that ridiculous grin off your face.”
She just giggles and shoves her phone in front of you. “Joon bought me VVIP tickets. I’m going to die.” She pumps a fist in the air, bouncing on her toes like a kid who just won the lottery. “And there’s two. He can’t go—oh my god. Please, please, I am begging you to come with me. It’s next week! That sneaky bastard didn’t even tell me he bought them ages ago.”
You hesitate, already feeling the excuse forming on your tongue. “I don’t think—”
“Come on, Y/N.” She grabs your arm, shaking it dramatically. “Look at me. I have a soulmate, and I still thirst over Tomorrow X Together.”
You nearly choke on your drink. “That’s a long-ass name.”
“They’re my babies,” she says, clutching her chest like she’s been personally blessed by the gods. “You’ll love the show, I promise. And maybe—you’ll be like me. While you wait for your soulmate, it’s harmless to fangirl a little. OMG, what if you become a MOA? That’s my dream. Imagine us going to cafés with photocards, buying merch, collecting albums—”
“Okay, first of all, they are grown men. Not babies.” you cut in before she spirals. You know from experience that once she starts talking about her fangirl life, she never stops. “Anyways, okay, I’ll go. But don’t expect anything.”
Da-hee lets out another excited squeal before launching herself at you, wrapping her arms around your neck and squeezing way too tight.
“You won’t regret this!”
You already do.
It was your turn to trail behind Da-hee like a lost puppy, weaving through the sea of fans decked out in carefully coordinated outfits. Everyone is well dressed. So prepared. Keychains and accessories dangled from their bags, the sound of clinking metal filling the air.
"Look at them," Da-hee suddenly stopped, pulling out her phone. You followed her gaze to the massive banner hanging outside the arena.
TOMORROW X TOGETHER
They... didn’t look bad.
"My husbands," Da-hee sighed dreamily spinning turning to you with wide eyes. "Let's take a selfie!"
Before you could protest, she yanked you in, holding her phone high. The two of you posed—her grinning ear to ear, you looking like a reluctant daughter humoring her overexcited mom.
At the ticketing section, an attendant handed you both event wristbands and ID laces. You're about to shove yours into your pocket, but Da-hee looped it around your neck like a medal.
“So you don’t lose it,” she said firmly.
You sighed, adjusting the strap as you followed her toward a merch booth. Fans swarmed the display, eyes gleaming as they scanned the shelves stacked with albums, shirts, and accessories.
"Everyone's so hyped," you muttered, glancing around. "I can see a lot of Da-hees here."
"Of course they are," Da-hee said ignoring your last comment with a dramatic sway of her hand. She skimmed the display. "This comeback is a masterpiece."
You frowned. "What are we even doing here?"
"You need a picket." She says. "And don’t even think about saying no. I’m still heartbroken you refused the lightstick, so at least take this. We’re gonna be right at the barricades, you can’t just stand there empty-handed. Pick one."
You groaned, "Fine."
Your eyes sweep over the options, scanning each face printed on the glossy boards. You won’t say it out loud—not yet—but you’ll admit it now. They’re all… ridiculously handsome.
And one of them stands out.
Soft brown eyes. A small, almost knowing smile. Something about his face makes your breath hitch. "Uh..."
Da-hee leans in, brow furrowing. "What are you picking? Wait. Are you okay? Why are you so red—"
"I'm not," You quickly pointed at the picket, avoiding her stare like your life depended on it. "This one."
A slow, mischievous grin spreads across her face. "Oh-ho." She turns to the waiting merch seller, smiling some more.
"One Beomgyu, please."
You followed her... once again.
You didn’t have much of a choice. But this time, your steps felt… lighter. Movements are less reluctant than when you first arrived.
You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was the way the heat had finally eased, the golden glow of late afternoon settling over the pavement. Maybe it was the way MOAs—total strangers—smiled at you like you belonged, their warmth making you feel strangely at ease. Maybe it was the fact of not hearing the word soulmate even once. That you don't feel the odd one out.
Or maybe—just maybe—it was the picket you now held carefully in your hands.
You didn’t know how it happened. How you went from teasing Da-hee about her obsession to clutching a piece of laminated paper like it meant something. But the more you looked around, the more you understood.
It wasn’t just about the idols printed on banners or the music playing faintly in the background. But also, it was about them. These people who glowed with excitement, who found joy in simply being here, in loving unapologetically.
You were sceptical of it at first, seeing the front of HYBE last week. The protest. But just like everything, you saw it. The good side of being a fan.
How they shined—not only because of who they adored, but because of how they adored. How happy they were to love, and to share that love with everyone around them.
And somehow, standing here among them, you felt a little brighter, too.
"Where are we going now?"
"MOAZONE," Da-hee answers without hesitation, pulling you toward yet another booth. The concert doors won’t open for another thirty minutes, but she’s on a mission. The funny thing is—she doesn’t really need to drag you anymore.
Something has settled in your bones. You’re going to see this through, stay until the last song fades. And maybe—you’ll find yourself here again next time.
"It’s a booth where you can pull a concert-exclusive photocard," she explains further, eyes shining with excitement.
You nod, letting her lead the way. The line is long. When it’s finally Da-hee’s turn, she gasps, then squeals so loudly people around her chuckle. "Yeonjun!" she cries, clutching the card to her chest like it’s the most precious thing in the world. "I got him!"
Then, it’s your turn.
A row of face-down cards is laid out before you. You don’t think too hard about it—you just point to one.
The staff hands it over, and when you flip it, your breath catches.
"You got Beomgyu?!" Da-hee shrieks, bouncing on her toes beside you. You barely hear her. Because there he is.
Elbow propped up, chin resting on his hand, that same small, knowing smile—only this time, it’s wider.
Fucking hell.
Da-hee grabs your arm, shaking you. "Girl, you are officially a Beomgyu magnet. I'm unfriending you if don't start liking them,"
Beomgyu.
Beomgyu. His name loops in your mind, over and over. And for some reason, it fits. His name suits him.
You tried your best not to break a smile. "Come on,"
If you had told yourself a year ago that you’d be here—crammed into a packed venue, surrounded by screaming teenagers—you would’ve laughed. Hard.
And yet, here you are, laughing. Not at the absurdity of it, but with it. Caught up in the moment with Da-hee, the crowd’s energy vibrates as hundreds of voices chant their names.
“It’s soundcheck first,” Da-hee leans in, her voice barely cutting through the noise. “Then the main concert.”
You nod, still grinning. “Okay.”
Then, the opening notes of a song play through the speakers. The crowd erupts. “Oh my god!” Da-hee shrieks, “It’s Deja Vu!”
The five of them step onto the stage. It’s a blur—lights flashing, voices screaming. Your heart pounds against your ribs as the music swells, wrapping around you like something alive.
It’s beautiful.
A tall man—easily the tallest—moves toward your section, waving with an easy smile, deep dimples carving into his soft-looking cheeks. It reminds you of bread. The warmth of it is infectious, and before you even realise it, you're waving back, grinning at someone whose name you didn’t even know this morning.
Then, the song begins to wind down. And that’s when you see him.
Beomgyu.
His steps are slower than the others, like he’s taking his time, scanning the crowd with careful eyes. You tell yourself not to look. Not when he gets closer. Not when that strange, restless nervousness twists in your stomach. You clench your fists and stare at the ground. Why? Why does this feel so overwhelming?
Around you, voices grew. The energy shifts, and you know it’s only a matter of time before you give in. You look up, unsure.
The mic is at his lips, his voice singing into the melody—until suddenly, he stops.
All because his eyes meet yours.
Everything else fades. The crowd, the shake of Da-hee beside you, even the music that was supposed to be loud. All that’s left is the pull—a red thread stretching between, searing itself into your vision, blinding in its intensity—demanding to be seen.
On stage, he stands impossibly still, his fingers gripping the mic like he sees it too.
It can't be real.
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“We're trending again,” Taehyun says, flopping onto Beomgyu’s hotel bed with a sigh. “What the hell?”
Beomgyu leans back against the headboard, “How much time do we have?”
Taehyun checks his watch. “Practice is in… oh. Hours.” He exhales, shaking his head in awe. “This is actually happening. A sold-out stadium, Beomgyu. Can you believe that? Remember that tiny, run-down building we used to train in? The cracked floorboards, the growing mushrooms?” He laughs, eyes distant.
“When Yeonjun used to sneak his soulmate in, trying to show off like he was already famous? As a trainee. And now—now, we’re here.”
Beomgyu snorts. “In that practice room, too. I still don’t know how his soulmate put up with that. Or how Yeonjun didn’t get kicked out.”
“Yeah. They just couldn’t let go of each other.” Taehyun laughs, shaking his head. “And I don't think Big Hit will let go of him too."
It had been one of the first rules drilled into them during training—no soulmates. No... searching. And if they already had one? They had to tell them. Have the conversation. An agreement that would turn everything into a secret.
Soulmates were inevitable, unstoppable. Beomgyu still remembers the contract in his hands, the way he read every word over and over, heart pounding. As if somewhere in the fine print, there was a clause that might hurt his soulmate. In the end, he signed.
If he ever found his soulmate, no one could know. Not until everything was over. In other words, disbandment.
"I'm missing her like crazy these days."
Beomgyu doesn’t respond right away. He just shrugs, tossing things out of his suitcase—a hoodie, a toothbrush, whatever his hands find first. He had noticed how restless Taehyun had been, the way he kept his phone glued to his hands, typing, hesitating, typing again. But what was there to say? What could he do about it?
The others were good at pretending. Hiding. The quiet hotel meetups, the stolen hours between schedules. But if Beomgyu was being honest, he could count on both hands the number of times any of the four had actually been with their soulmates since debut.
The fear of getting caught kept them all in line. Not just by the company, but by the fans. The horror stories weren’t just industry rumours—some were ancient, some recent.
If this doesn’t work out, I don’t know if I can take it. Taehyun had said that once. This career was everything. He wasn’t going to risk it. He wasn't ready. And Beomgyu understood. Everyone understood. He could already picture the protest trucks outside the company building if anyone ever slipped up.
"You heard anything from Heeseung?" Taehyun asks, his voice careful, his fingers tightening around his phone. Beomgyu knows him well enough to catch the shift—the way his mind drifts, went from missing his soulmate to remembering the latest scandal in their world.
Heeseung, the newest idol thrown into the fire.
He, who got caught with his soulmate.
"Yeah," Beomgyu says, swallowing. "He's okay, but… his soulmate is taking the worst of it."
Taehyun stills. The thought of his own soulmate being dragged into something like that—starts to burn at the back of his mind. What if it were her?
"Hey, don't overthink it," Beomgyu says because he sees it. He sees it in all of them. The quiet way they carry it, that they aren’t supposed to want. In their world, the idea that you should be free with your soulmate is just that—an idea. Or maybe worse. A peril. A risk too big to take.
He remembers Soobin crying once, blaming himself for wanting this life—this job. And how, in the end, the only person who could calm him down was his soulmate. The same person the company treated like a liability. Yet, the only one with the power to bring their leader back to himself.
The irony.
He also remembers the night he sat with his dad, asking him how he knew Mom was his. He had tilted his head, recounting their encounter, before he said one thing that stuck with him.
"Before I even saw the string, I knew… it was her."
Beomgyu used to cringe at that. Now, he wonders if he'll ever get the chance to feel it.
“Did you see everyone? Insane.” Yeonjun says, eyes wide as they sit in the salon-like chairs. “They’ve been out there since last night.”
Kai glances at him as much as he can without moving his head, his makeup artist carefully blending eyeshadow. “Yeah, I saw them. MOAs are bundled up out there, and it’s freezing. It's worrying me.”
"I feel like I'm about to throw up. I'm nervous,"
Playing a stadium—a sold-out one, this is the dream. The one every trainee chases, the one Beomgyu used to stare at the ceiling imagining, too afraid to believe it could ever be real. And yet, here it is.
His mind pulls him back to the past. The long nights, the aching muscles, the quiet sobs muffled into his pillow. The moments of doubt, the voices—his own, the other's—telling him he wasn’t enough. He remembers how hard they worked. How hard he worked. How many times they shared one meal because they couldn't afford another one. And still, somehow, they held on.
He knows he earned this, and fought for it with everything he had. But standing here now, bathed in the price of it all, it still doesn’t feel real. He stares at his hands once his stylist is done with his eyes. There’s something else tugging at him, a strange feeling that’s been lurking since morning.
What it is, he can’t quite say.
Beomgyu's eyes sweep over the big space. The kind of big that makes his head spin if he thinks about it too much. In a few hours, this place will be much packed. He’s been—on stages just like this, under lights just as bright but somehow, it still knocks the wind out of him.
It's soundcheck. He likes it because, with the lights up, he can actually see everyone. It was one of the rare moments he could see faces. He likes it as much as the offline fan signs. They move through the set, running back and forth across the stage, but his feet keep pulling him toward one side—like an instinct.
Beomgyu likes looking at MOAs. It feels good. Familiar, almost. Sometimes, he even recognizes a face— it was a feeling like a reminder of home, a classmate from school, someone he’d seen before. And then there’s the simple joy of it all. The way someone’s face brightens up because of him. It never gets old. It never stops making him happy, too.
But then, he notices one weird thing.
It’s strange. He’s right here. He could understand if you were looking at another member—fans have their favourites, after all. But you’re not looking at anyone. You're staring at the floor?
You’re not looking at all.
He tilts his head, trying to see better—to get a curious glimpse, and suddenly, his whole world shifts. His heart slams to a stop. It’s so sudden, so overwhelming, he almost stumbles forward, yanking him toward the barricade. "What?"
And then—you move, as if you heard his thoughts.
Just the slightest turn of your head, your face lifting, eyes locking onto his. He stops breathing. His fingers go numb around the mic. Everything slows, softens, blurs at the edges until there’s nothing but this moment. Just the two of you, staring.
The closeness of Beomgyu makes the crowd shift, bodies pressing closer—but you don’t move. You just stand there—still, steady—while the rest of the world shifts around you. Like the last grain of sand in an hourglass, holding on as everything else rushes past.
He swears he would’ve stayed like that forever—frozen, staring, lost—if not for the firm hand on his shoulder. A small tug. He blinks, the spell breaking just enough for reality to slip back in.
"Beomgyu? What's wrong?" Soobin. His leader gives him a look of worry and urgency, and that’s when he hears it, the music. He closes his agape lips, and clears his throat. The song is still playing. Right. He’s supposed to be—
But then his gaze flickers back to you.
It’s nothing, he tells himself. You’re just so so pretty. That’s all. Maybe it was your eyes or your hair or the way you did it. It was just fucking cute. It doesn’t mean anything. And—
His breath falters. He sees it.
He hadn’t noticed before. He had been too busy looking at you. Too caught up in the moment that he missed it entirely. Something all of the members have. Something Beomgyu had waited for his whole life.
The thread.
Thin, and so impossibly red. A string stretched between, glowing faintly under the stage lights. He looks down at his hand—at his ring finger— it's tied there. His eyes trace its path. To you. His chest tightens.
"Before I even saw the string, I knew… it was her."
Soulmate.
You’re his. After everything—after all this time—
He finally found you.
The dressing room is a blur of movement, stylists rushing, last-minute adjustments being made, and voices overlapping but he just sits there. Staring at the floor.
He’s dressed. He’s ready. He should be used to this by now, the pre-show jitters, the nervous energy that always sits in his chest before he steps on stage. But—his soulmate is out there. Somewhere in the crowd. And the thought grips him so tight it almost hurts. What if he never sees you again? What if you’re gone before he can find you?
Your face lingers in his mind, vivid and haunting. The way the lights hit your dress, the way you looked at him—it knocked the breath right out of his lungs. He was completely unprepared for it. You were so beautiful that he almost forgot what he was doing.
He’s never been shaken like that before. Not in his personal life. Not as an idol. Not in school, at the company, on stage, meeting seniors, at award shows—never.
Waiting for the music queue, he finally lifts his head.
Muscle memory takes over. His body knows what to do. He’s trained for this, conditioned for it. Every movement, every note, every expression—it’s muscle memory now. His instincts take over before his thoughts can catch up. This is his life. His career. The one thing he chose, out of everything he could have been. How many people in the world get to do this? To stand under those lights, to hear thousands of voices calling his name, to live a dream most wouldn’t even dare to chase?
Would he trade it all, just to see you again?
His feet move—before he can stop them, despite his thoughts, his heart pulls him stronger toward your section. It's a force beyond his control. When he finally sees you again, it feels like a miracle. You’re still near the barricade, still close enough that he doesn’t have to search.
He keeps up, waves, and makes faces—things for MOAs, things he’s done a thousand times before. But his mind isn’t on them. It’s on you. And you’re just standing there again, frozen in place like you don’t trust yourself to move.
He waves again, but this time, it’s for you. Directly. You tilt your head, hesitant, and then—an unsure wave back. It’s so small, so subtle, but it makes him smile. His grin spreads before he can think twice.
Got you, beautiful.
He pumps his fist in an exaggerated show of triumph, like he just won a game only the two of you are playing. He watches as your eyes go wide, and if the lights weren’t so blinding, he swears he’d see the warmth rising to your cheeks. He fists his hand, trying to hold back from reaching out to you.
He crouches, and the fans around you surge forward, eager to be seen, but you don’t move. And then, he sees it—your eyes kept flickering downward, tracing the thread again and again, like you were making sure.
Yet you see it perfectly too.
You smile—small, hesitant, like you’re not sure this is really happening. Then, as if on impulse, you lift your hand, forming a careful, uncertain hand heart.
He doesn’t even wait a second before returning it.
His eagerness made you laugh. A breathless, disbelieving kind of laugh. He can’t hear it, not over the noise of the crowd, but he sees it in the way your shoulders shake, the way your eyes crease at the corners. His chest aches.
You're even more beautiful when you laugh.
He tosses a few kisses out into the air, but he gives his last kiss, the last one to you. You hesitate for only a second before sending one back. His response is instant—dramatic, ridiculous—clutching his chest like you’ve just shot him straight through the heart. He stumbles back, clutches at his clothes, so completely gone for you.
It’s meant to be a joke, but it isn’t.
Because you do have his heart, don’t you? And the strangest thing is, he doesn’t even know your name. Has never heard your voice. But right now, none of that matters. Maybe he’d stay here forever if he could, but the next song cut through the air, pulling him back to the present. His feet move, leading him away—away from you.
Before he joins the centre, just for a second, he looks back. A second to meet your eyes again, to make sure you're watching him.
And you are.
"Hyung," he breathes out.
Soobin turns, both of them standing still as stylists tug their sweat-drenched shirts off, replacing them with fresh ones.
But Beomgyu isn’t thinking about the show anymore.
He’s looking at Soobin. Waiting. Searching for the right way to ask without anyone else catching on. He doesn’t want them to hear. Doesn’t want them to know.
Not yet.
Soobin frowns slightly. “What? You've been looking distracted since earlier. Are you okay?”
“Your soulmate…” His eyes flicker down. He hesitates, searching for the right words. The right way to say this. "At—Tokyo? How did you…?"
He doesn’t need to finish the thought. How can the older forget the only time he managed to sneak his soulmate backstage? Soobin stares at Beomgyu. The latter's face is practically screaming his questions. How did you do it? How did you get them backstage? How did you make it happen?
Beomgyu has to see you. In front of him. Next to him. Because what if you disappear? What if he lets this slip through his fingers, and suddenly—you’re just gone? And what if this is his only chance?
The room moves around him—zippers, voices, fabric rustling—but all he can hear is his own ragged breathing. He moves his eyes. And there, watching him is their leader who knows him better than anyone—with that equally knowing look on his face.
"Let's talk. Just the two of us."
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/658186986a3c340af07f82b40220f093/2bbf33d3005728f1-15/s540x810/4854d043220d0889a2ba76a0ec5f9f02f40ed5bb.jpg)
Beomgyu is your soulmate.
The boys just disappeared backstage, their song still ringing in your ears, but your hands won’t stop shaking. Your chest is tight, your throat burns, and there’s a sting at the corners of your eyes.
You're not a mistake. He’s here. He saw you.
His eyes, his smile. The way he moves, the faint dimple that appears when he does. The thought is too much—it makes your knees weak, and forces you to grip the barricade to keep yourself upright.
"Girl, I swear Beomgyu kept looking over here," Da-hee says, nudging you, completely oblivious to the storm unraveling in your chest. Then she catches sight of your face—at your trembling fingers, at the way you can’t seem to catch your breath.
“Y/N?” Her voice softens. “What’s wrong?”
The words leave your lips before you can even think. "I saw my soulmate."
Your voice shakes, barely above a whisper, but Da-hee hears it. Her eyes go wide. "Wait, what? Oh my god—where is he? Is he a MOA? Is he—”
She doesn’t even get to finish the thought before she freezes.
It clicks.
Then, slowly, her face shifts—from confusion to shock to absolute disbelief. The finding out, then the realising. She stares at you, her mouth slightly open, her hands hovering in the air like she doesn’t know what to do with them.
“Oh my fucking god.” Her hands fly to her mouth, like she needs to physically stop herself from screaming. Then she grabs her hair, like that’s going to help her process this.
“Is he—is Beomgyu—” She cuts herself off, whisper-shouting now, eyes darting toward the stage, toward the place where he just was. “Is that why he kept coming back over here?”
Her grip tightens on your arm, searching your face, waiting for you to confirm what she already knows. But you can’t say anything. All you can give is a small nod.
Minutes pass. The music swells and fades, song after song drifting through the speakers.
Da-hee stays by your side, rubbing soothing circles on your back, whispering reassurances you can’t fully process. At some point, you catch her sniffling into her hands, wiping away her own tears.
Sixteen years.
Sixteen years of friendship, of growing up together, of knowing each other better than anyone else ever could. She’s seen every version of you—the messy, the broken, the parts of you even you struggled to accept. She’s cried with you, cried for you, carried your grief like it was her own. Even after finding her own soulmate, she never left you behind. Never made you feel like you were missing something, like you were less.
And now—now she’s the reason you’re here.
She’s the reason you met him.
You think of every birthday candle she ever closed her eyes for, every whispered wish she made on your behalf—because she believed that if two people wished for the same thing, the universe had to listen.
And maybe she was right.
It doesn’t matter if he never speaks to you. If the lights were too bright, if the crowd was too big, if he never even saw the thread at all.
It doesn’t matter. Because you saw it.
And that means you were never a mistake. Never some error in the grand design.
He exists.
Da-hee squeezes your hands, grounding you as a woman in staff uniform approaches. Her eyes lock onto yours, scanning your face, your outfit—like she’s confirming, making sure. Then, she stops directly in front of you. “We need to check some information on your tickets.”
Your heart slams against your ribs. You’re not stupid. You know what this is. You know they wouldn’t say it outright, not here, not in front of all these people.
“I—I have a friend with me,”
The staff member hesitates, studying you for a beat too long. Then she nods. “She can come with you, but she’ll have to wait in the holding room.”
You turn to Da-hee, and she’s already looking at you, her eyes wide and glassy. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then she forces a wobbly smile.
Let's go.
You’re going to meet Beomgyu.
The walk was terrifying. Your hands clench tighter with every step, nails digging into your palms, but it does nothing to steady you. Every passing glance burns into your skin—people sneaking curious glances—staff members, crew, people who know exactly why you’re here.
Da-hee had to stay behind in the outer lounge. Now, it’s just you and the staff member leading you deeper into the backstage hallways. The air is thick, suffocating, and you force yourself to breathe through it.
Then she stops. A white door stands in front of you. Dressing Room is printed neatly on a sign, but the words blur as your mind spins.
She knocks. Opens it.
Panic rushes in. What if he doesn’t want this? What if he only let you come here to reject you—to tell you, to your face, that even if the universe says you’re meant to be, he doesn’t want you? What if—
The thought vanishes the second you see him.
Beomgyu.
He’s mid-step, like he’s been pacing. He removes his hands from his face, his eyes widening just slightly before he clears his throat. “Come in,” he says, voice softer than you expected. It’s meant for the staff member, but his gaze never left yours.
The staff steps aside, gesturing for you to enter. Heat crawls up your neck as you force yourself to move, hyper-aware of the way he’s watching every step.
“You have 60 minutes, Beomgyu,” she says before closing the door behind you.
Beomgyu stares at you, and you stare back.
For a moment, neither of you move. Just standing there, eyes locked, as if the world has paused just for this. To anyone else, it might look awkward—but you can't look away as he does.
Your eyes traces over his face, bare and fresh like he just washed up. The soft curve of his cheekbones, the freckles and moles scattered like constellations—proof that the universe took its time with him. Perfect in a way that makes your chest ache.
He blinks, and your eyes catch on his lashes—delicate, dark, fluttering against his skin like something out of a dream.
How can someone be made this perfect?
The question lodges itself in your throat, and before you can stop it, your vision blurs. Tears threaten to spill, but you blink them away. You don’t even know if he wants this yet—
"What’s your name?" Beomgyu asks, his voice quieter than he expected. He watches the way you blink, the slight parting of your lips like you hadn’t expected him to speak first.
His hands curl into fists at his sides. The urge to reach out—to cup your face, to feel your skin—is overwhelming. But he holds himself back.
Beomgyu has never considered himself the kind of person to take the first step. But not this. Not with you. He wants to start a conversation, anything—to get you talking, to hear your voice, to know you.
"Y/N." The sound of your voice stills him. It settles in his chest, not as something new, but as something he swears he’s always known—like a song he’s heard in a dream, waiting to be remembered. His lips twitch into a small, almost dazed smile.
Your voice is so pretty, he thinks. So pretty that it hurts.
He repeats your name, slower this time, rolling it over his tongue like he’s memorizing the way it feels to say it. And when you smile—just the faintest curve of your lips—his own smile widens into a grin.
"So, uh, hi?" Beomgyu says, and it pulls a laugh from you. His heart stumbles over itself at the sound, warmth blooming in his chest. It’s ridiculous, really, how easily you affect him.
"Did you come here alone?" he asks, trying to steady himself.
"I was with a friend," you say, and his eyes flicker—just for a second—to your lips before settling back on yours. "She’s outside."
"Hm." Beomgyu nods slowly, as if letting the thought settle. Then, slowly, he reaches out—his palm open, facing up, an unspoken invitation for you to give your hand out.
Your breath catches. Hesitation flickers for just a moment before you place your hand in his. Beomgyu feels warmth creep up his neck the second your skin meets, a flush he hopes you don’t notice. His fingers curl gently around yours, testing the weight of your hand in his own.
"Come on," he says, his voice softer now. He tugs you forward—careful, gentle, afraid he's hurt you in any way if he pulls too hard. "You should sit. You must be tired from standing out there."
"I could say the same," you murmur as you both sink into the couch. Beomgyu turns slightly toward you, his knee brushing yours, but he doesn’t let go of your hand. His thumb traces absentminded circles against your skin. "You danced and ran around the stage all night," you add, tilting your head at him.
He chuckles, the sound low and a little breathless. Your eyes drift around the room—clothing racks, scattered bags, the quiet remnants of a space that had been buzzing with energy just minutes ago.
"Yeah, I was pretty tired," he admits. Then, after a pause, softer this time, when you look at him again, he’s already staring. "But not anymore."
Beomgyu takes in everything—your lips, the way the light catches in your eyes, the soft of your hand in his. He doesn’t even think before he speaks, before the thought that’s been looping in his head since he first saw you finally slips past his lips.
"God, you're so beautiful."
Beomgyu watches as your cheeks flush, the warmth creeping up your skin like the slow bloom of dawn. He knew—you were his soulmate. Fates stitched together long before this moment, yet nothing could have prepared him for the way you looked right now. He never imagined that watching you blush under his words would feel this intoxicating.
"You’re the one who’s beautiful," you murmur, barely above a whisper. The words feel foreign on your tongue, yet true in a way that unsettles you. You clear your throat, trying to mask the way your heart stumbles over itself, but Beomgyu only tightens his grip on your hand.
You wonder how you even got here. This morning, you woke up with no idea that by evening, you'd be sitting across from your soulmate, flirting like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He chuckles—Beomgyu has heard the word beautiful more times than he can count. It’s been thrown at him in passing, whispered through screams from fans, printed in glossy magazines. But somehow, from your lips, it sounds different.
The next few minutes passed in easy conversation. Beomgyu had already pieced together bits of your life—you were only here because Da-hee dragged you along—he’d been hoping to meet her too, if only to thank her.
He knew you worked a corporate job, that photography was your escape. That you were two years older than him, a fact that he immediately latched onto, whispering noona in a teasing lilt just to see the way you’d roll your eyes laugh and swat his arm. But the truth was, he didn’t want to call you that. It was your name he wanted to say. He felt like he’d already spent a lifetime missing it, and now that he knew it, he never wanted to stop saying it.
You had learned things about him, too. That he’d loved music since he was a kid, that he picked up a guitar before he fully understood its chords. That he was cast as a trainee before he even hit the climax of his teenage years, and that six years had passed since he debuted. Things you could have easily searched online, or you could have read every article, and watched every interview, but nothing made your heart flutter quite like the way he told his own story.
The contrast between your lives was undeniable. Maybe that’s why it took so long for fate to push you toward each other.
While you were drowning in homework, he was in a practice room, chasing a dream. While you sat through lectures and worried about exams, he was in a studio, recording songs that would echo through stadiums. While you cried over a failed job interview, he stayed up until dawn, running through choreography again and again until his legs gave out. Your society—were parallel lines moving in different directions.
But sitting here, watching him scrunch his nose in laughter, none of that seemed to matter. Two people from different worlds, felt like it had faded into one—just by being next to each other.
He hadn’t once let go of your hand for the past hour.
"No, I just—I didn’t know where else to put it, so I stuck it there." You fumble for an excuse, cheeks burning as Beomgyu grins at you. He had spotted the photocard of him tucked into the back of your phone case, and he hadn’t let it go since.
“And it was random,” you add quickly, feeling your face heat up. “You have to randomly pick it.”
The truth is, Beomgyu knows. He knows it was a random selection. He knows you’re flustered. And he loves it. Loves the way you try to explain yourself, loves hearing you ramble, loves the way your face heats up under his stare. And to be honest, if it had been another member’s face staring back at him, no matter how petty it sounded, he also knows he wouldn’t have been too thrilled about it.
He’s in deep.
"Beomgyu, it's time to go." The same staff member says, pulling you both back to reality. You didn't even hear the doors opening. Her eyes flicker to your joined hands for a second, but she doesn’t say anything—just turns and steps outside.
You glance at Beomgyu, and he’s pouting. "We’re flying to Japan tomorrow morning, Y/N."
"Oh." The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. You just met your soulmate, and by morning, he’d be gone. "Okay."
You stand up, expecting him to do the same, but he doesn’t move. Your hands dangle between you because he still hasn’t let go. "Beomgyu?"
"I’ll see you as soon as I get back, okay?" His voice is softer now, like he’s trying to find the right words. His gaze lingers on you, unreadable for a moment, before he finally stands. He squeezes your hands gently. "It won’t be too long."
"Alright… we have each other's numbers, so… text me."
"Just know your phone might be buzzing non-stop,"
"Got it." You roll your eyes, smiling. "I’ll survive."
"And wear warm clothes—it’s winter."
"You too."
"Eat on time."
"You’re the one doing concerts. I should be the one saying that."
He ignores your deflection, pressing on. "Sleep well. Lock your doors properly. You live alone, so it’s dangerous. Don’t go out too late. And if you do, call me, okay? Actually, I’d prefer if you didn’t go out too late at all. Please—make sure you don’t—"
He doesn’t get to finish. Before he can say another word, you reach up, sliding your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him into a hug. His words cut off instantly, replaced by a soft inhale—like he hadn’t breathed since he started speaking. Your heart squuezes over itself at his endless concern, spreading through your chest. Blinking rapidly, trying to push away the tears threatening to spill.
For the first time tonight, Beomgyu lets go of your hand—only to wrap both arms around you, one firm around your waist, the other reaching up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair.
"I’ll see you soon, Beomgyu," you murmur.
You feel him tilt his head slightly before pressing a fleeting, warm kiss to your temple. "I’ll see you soon."
Elevators terrify you. It scares you because it feels like everything could come crashing down at any second. Why would you trust something that rises so quickly—too fast?
It can't last, doesn't it?
You feel him snuggle to you more, and you chuckle, pressed against him, his scent, his arms around you, holding you safely—his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek, as if whispering that the fall you fear will never come.
Elevators terrified you.
You wish you could have captured Da-hee’s face when she saw you walking over with Beomgyu beside you, his hand resting firmly on your back. Her eyes widened, mouth slightly agape, before she shot you a knowing look.
Beomgyu offered her a quick thanks, the paper bag with your heels swinging from your hands, and you stood there in the fresh pair of sneakers he’d somehow found in your size—because he wanted to. His eyes met yours for just a second longer before he turned to leave.
The second you stepped into the parking lot, Da-hee lost it. She let out a squeal so loud you had to clamp a hand over her mouth, laughing as she practically vibrated with excitement. "What just happened?!" she whispered against your palm, her eyes sparkling.
That night, as soon as you got home, your phone rang. His name lit up the screen.
It took only a second before answering.
It was awkward at first—neither of you really knowing what to say—but before you knew it, you were talking about everything and nothing, voices laced with exhaustion but neither willing to hang up first. He was leaving in a few hours, and you had to be the one to convince him to sleep, reminding him—more than once—that he had a flight to catch.
You had just curled up in your blankets when your phone buzzed again. Dozy, you reached for it, thumb swiping across the screen.
Choi Beomgyu I’m sorry for making you wait. I promise we’ll make up for all the time we lost. Sleep well, beautiful.
Even as sleep pulled you under, the smile on your lips never faded.
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You wake up to the relentless ringing of your doorbell. A groan slips past your lips as you burrow deeper into your blankets. It’s Sunday. No work. No alarms. Just sleep—at least, that was the plan.
The doorbell rings again.
With an exaggerated sigh, you drag yourself out of bed, doing the bare minimum to look somewhat presentable. Your hair is probably a mess, your face still puffy from sleep, but you don’t care. Whoever decided to disturb your well-earned rest better have a damn good reason.
You glance at the clock on your way out. Oh. It’s not even early—it’s almost 1 PM.
Squinting against the bright light as you crack the door open, you’re met with a sight that instantly wakes you up. A delivery man stands there, arms full, holding the biggest bouquet of red roses you’ve ever seen. The sheer number of petals is overwhelming, a deep sea of crimson spilling over the edges of his grasp.
"What—" Your brain struggles to catch up, and then it clicks. Beomgyu. He asked for your address yesterday.
"Y/N?" The man confirms, struggling under the bouquet.
Your eyes widen. "Damn, just how many are in there?"
"Three hundred and fifteen roses," he says, barely holding onto the mass of flowers. "Please sign here."
Three hundred and fifteen. You’re smiling as you take the pen from him.
You stumble slightly, still half-dazed as you carefully set the massive bouquet down, trying not to crush a single petal. Your fingers tremble as you reach for the small card nestled between the roses, your heart already beating a little too fast.
315 months of not being with you. This won’t make up for it, but I hope it makes you happy.
You inhale sharply. Your chest tightens. 315 months. He counted. Beomgyu counted the exact number of months you’ve been alive—how does he even think like this? Tears prick at your eyes before you can stop them. He’s ridiculous. He’s thoughtful in a way that completely undoes you.
Before you even realise what you’re doing, you’re running. Not walking—running. Because suddenly, every second without hearing his voice feels like a second wasted.
Your fingers fumble as you dial his number, pressing the phone to your ear. It barely rings once before the line clicks open—like he had been waiting for this call all along. “Beomgyu—” your voice comes out uneven, breathless.
He chuckles softly, “So… I take it you liked it?”
It’s already 3 PM.
Somehow, you lost track of time, carefully splitting the bundle into smaller arrangements, placing them in vases around your apartment. Now, your living room and kitchen are drenched in the scent of roses—not that you’re complaining.
Beomgyu had stayed on the phone with you the entire time, talking about his morning, his voice in the background as you worked. That is, until someone called for him on the other end, reminding him he had things to do.
You sighed when the call ended. It's sunday, and his sunday is like the worst day of your week. And you're here, resting.
Now, fresh out of the shower, droplets of water still clung to your skin as you stepped onto the cool tile. A shiver ran down your spine as you grabbed a towel, pressing it to your face, inhaling the soft, familiar scent of fabric softener.
Dressed in cozy clothes, you curled up on the couch, remote in one hand, a bowl of yogurt and berries resting on your lap. Television played softly as you mindlessly scrolled through channels, enjoying the quiet.
Until your phone buzzed. You unlocked it, eyes immediately landing on the message.
Nut-job Da-hee. Girl! He's extra glowy today!! OMG <link>
You tapped the link, expecting a video to pop up, but instead, it directed you to download an app. You went along with it, quickly signing in and typing out a cheeky username.
The video loaded—Soobin and Beomgyu, in a hotel room. A small table sat near the camera, cluttered with food containers and drinks. Beomgyu was on the bed, lounging comfortably but still close enough to be part of the frame.
And Da-hee wasn’t exaggerating—he looked good. The black shirt fit him just right, his dark hair falling effortlessly, lips tinted a soft pink. A phone in hand, completely unaware of just how stunning he looked.
An idea sparked in your mind.
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"It's not barley tea, MOA," Beomgyu laughs, shaking his head as Soobin insists otherwise. No matter how many times their leader repeats himself, the comments keep flooding in, doubting him.
"Choi Beomgyu really traumatized you, huh?" he teases, eyes crinkling with amusement.
"What do you mean?" Beomgyu argues, but Soobin is already moving on, reading a new comment aloud. "Barley tea is healthy,"
Just then, Beomgyu’s phone buzzes. He glances down at the screen.
My Y/N Live?
His back immediately straightens. Shit. You’re watching? He’s about to type out a response when another message pops up.
You look handsome.
Beomgyu presses a hand over his mouth, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. He wants to—
"Beomgyu, MOAs are asking what you're doing," Soobin interrupts, his eyes full of silent curiosity.
"Nothing," Beomgyu says too quickly. "Kai sent a meme." He shifts closer to the camera, Soobin right beside him. With his phone in his hands, he types a message, fully aware that Soobin is peeking at his screen. They probably look ridiculous—both of them staring down at their phones while thousands of people watch.
You're watching?
A few seconds pass before your reply pops up.
Yes.
Beomgyu inhales, trying to focus as Soobin keeps talking. His fingers move instinctively.
I'm shy.
Why? You look good.
A pause. Then another message.
Wait, stop looking at your phone. Let MOA see you? Username: 315flowersmyass.
Beomgyu chokes on a laugh. His lips curl up as he locks his phone and holds it up to the camera, as if to prove he’s done. As if to prove that he followed your words.
"So cute," he sings, the words slipping out without thought. The chat erupts, MOAs spamming hearts and messages.
Then he catches it.
315flowersmyass kekekeke -
His grin stretches wider. He closes his face on the screen. "Hi, MOA." He giggles.
This—this is cute. He’s always enjoyed going live, but now he knows you’re watching, he discovers a love for it he never even knew was possible.
The live eventually comes to an end. As soon as it does, Soobin turns to Beomgyu with a knowing smile. "I'm happy you finally found her," he says simply. Beomgyu doesn’t respond right away—just smiles, warmth spreading through his chest. Then his phone buzzes.
He checks it, and the moment he does, a gasp slips past his lips.
It’s a picture. You.
A snack is held near your face, your expression relaxed. You’re in cozy clothes, looking effortlessly beautiful, breathtaking. The picture made Beomgyu wish he could fly back to you right there and then. Over his shoulder, Soobin leans in. "Is that her?" he asks, then grins. "She's pretty."
Beomgyu doesn’t look away from his phone as his lips curl into a smile.
"She is," he murmurs, almost to himself.
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"She’s here."
Ji-an’s voice pulls you from your focus. She’s standing beside your desk, phone pressed to her ear, while you scan last week’s finance report. Your eyes flick over the spreadsheet, catching an error in a formula, but before you can fix it, Ji-an calls your name. "Y/N, there’s a delivery for you. They’re at the door."
"Oh," you murmur, pushing your reading glasses up the bridge of your nose. Contacts felt like too much trouble today. "Thanks."
As you stand, a familiar warmth spreads through your chest. Outside, the delivery man hands you a bouquet—this time, white roses.
You peek at the note while walking back, the click of your heels filling the space. Your way back to your desk by the window. The skyline stretches endlessly beyond the glass, a vast expanse of city lights and open sky.
Ow! I fell! Fell for you~ —bg <3
A laugh escapes before you can stop it—he's so silly. One of the things you realised recently.
"That's the fourth bouquet this month, Y/N," Ji-an muses, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "I know you just met your soulmate, but flowers every week? That’s next-level sweet. I’m jealous—mine isn't really a flowers kind of person."
You return her smile, "Yeah, he's the sweetest."
It’s been a month since you met Beomgyu. A single day—that’s all you had together. And yet, in the weeks that followed, he never let distance become an excuse. Even with his tour in full swing, miles stretching endlessly between you, he still found ways to reach you. A call in the middle of the night. A voice note filled with sleepy laughter. And these flowers—his way of saying, I'm here. I'm coming back to you soon.
Ji-an leans against your desk, eyes glinting with curiosity. "So… when do we get to meet him?" she asks, wiggling her brows. "You know the drill—everyone meets everyone’s soulmate. It’s basically tradition. At least one or two quick bond drinks a year, right?"
The playful edge in her voice makes your stomach twist. Because as much as you want to laugh along, to pretend that everything is as simple as it should be… you know the truth.
They can’t meet him. Your friends, your family—none of them can. Maybe not now. Maybe not ever. You don’t even know when you will see him again.
You swallow, forcing down the sudden tightness in your throat. The warmth you felt just moments ago, thinking about him, is now laced with something heavier.
"He's—he's busy," you say, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. You glance at the bouquet on your desk, fingers tracing the petals as if they hold an answer you don’t have. "Maybe next time."
The day finally ends, and you’re grateful Ji-an didn’t push for more.
You clutch the bouquet a little tighter as you step into the elevator, the faint scent of roses lingering in the air. By the time you make it to the parking lot, exhaustion weighs on you—but then you remember.
You forgot to send a text. Pulling out your phone, you type: I’m heading home now.
The message sends, and a small smile tugs at your lips. Beomgyu is probably fast asleep by now, lost in a time zone opposite yours. He won’t see it for hours, but you text him anyway—because you can already hear his voice in your head, playful and pouty. You forgot to tell me again, he’d whine. Can you please let me know?
You’ve learned a lot from him in such a short time. How simple it is to make someone feel remembered. How easy it is to reach out. How even in the busiest moments, there’s always a second to say, I haven’t forgotten you.
Because that’s what he’s been doing for you all along.
You slip your phone back into your pocket, ready to head to your car when someone stops you. Your steps slow, brows knitting together as your scan lands on a girl—sitting right on the hood of your car.
Your car. She’s perched there like she belongs, fingers idly tracing patterns against the metal.
"Hey," you call out, keeping your voice even. "It’s not really polite to sit on someone else’s car, sweetheart."
Her head lifts, eyes locking onto yours with disdain, "Don't sweetheart me, you slut."
The venom in her words knocks the air from your lungs. Your breath catches, shock flashing through you as she stands. She’s young. Much younger than you.
"Excuse me?"
"Are you fucking deaf?" she snaps.
Your instincts flare—this isn’t normal. You take a step back, "Leave. Now. Before I call the police."
But she doesn’t move. Instead, she tilts her head, and smirked. "You’re Beomgyu’s soulmate, aren’t you?"
Your body locks up. How does she know? Your fingers tighten around the stems of the flowers, the thorns pressing into your palm. You want to speak, to deny, to do something, but the words won’t come.
Because you know—whatever you say next could make this worse.
She clicks her tongue, taking a slow step toward you. "Do this while I’m still being nice," she says, voice eerily light. "Stay away from him. Or I’ll destroy everything." She tilts her head again, a slow blink. "I’d rather see him ruined than with you, unnie."
She steps past you then, her shoulder knocking into yours just hard enough to make you stumble back. Your hands cold, heart hammering against your ribs. She doesn’t look back. Not until she’s a few feet away.
"Don’t think I won’t do it," she murmurs. "Just think about how I knew. Your name. Your workplace. Your parking spot."
She smiles, "Don’t test me."
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I’m heading home now.
Beomgyu rubs the sleep from his eyes, his fingers fumbling for his phone the moment he wakes up. Checking for your messages has become second nature—his first instinct, before he even fully shakes off sleep.
The corners of his lips curl into a soft smile as he reads your text. You remembered.
God, he misses you.
When he gets back, he’s not letting you out of his sight. He’ll beg his company if he has to—anything to steal just a little more time with you. He wants to spoil you, to show up with flowers every single day just to see that shy smile of yours. He’d buy you things you didn’t even know you needed, take pictures of you at every chance, make playlists for you, drag you into late-night game sessions just to hear you laugh and call him ridiculous. Love is effort. That’s what his parents always told him. He’d give it—all of it.
Maybe one day, he’d convince you to visit Daegu with him. Introduce you to his family, let his mom fuss over you, watch his brother tease him relentlessly. And Toto… Would you like Toto?
The thought makes him chuckle as he taps your contact and presses call. It rings. Once. Twice. Three times. His smile falters.
Then, voicemail.
His brows knit together. He tries again. Straight to voicemail. The phone feels heavier in his hand now.
It’s the first time you haven’t picked up.
He’s in the van now. It’s been hours.
Beomgyu grips his phone, scrolling through his notifications, eyes darting to every new alert. His heart lifts for a second—only to sink just as fast when he realizes it’s not you. The screen dims in his hands, but he doesn’t put it down. He can’t.
"You still haven’t heard from her?" Soobin asked. He’s the only one still awake, eyes heavy but observant. Beomgyu hadn’t meant to make it obvious, but he’s never been good at hiding things—not to his members.
"No," Beomgyu mutters, shaking his head. His throat feels tight. "We always talk before she falls asleep."
Soobin exhales, tilting his head back against the seat. "She probably crashed as soon as she got home. Long day, maybe?" He keeps his tone easy, reassuring. "Just focus on later's concert. She’ll probably be awake by then."
Beomgyu nods, forcing a small smile. "Yeah. You’re right. Thanks, hyung."
Soobin claps a hand on his back. "Don't think about it too much."
Beomgyu did his best to push thoughts of you aside during the concert. He smiled, he sang, he danced—gave everything to the stage like he always did. But the second he was backstage, drenched in sweat and breathless from the high of performing, his hands were already reaching for his phone.
Still nothing.
Back at the hotel, Soobin and Yeonjun made sure he ate. He forced down a few bites, just enough to keep them from worrying. Now, fresh from a shower, exhaustion settles deep in his bones. His muscles ache, the weight of the night pressing down on him, but sleep won’t come.
His phone sits beside him on the bed. You’re probably asleep. He tells himself that. He should leave it alone.
But knowing doesn’t stop him from pressing call. It rings.
Once. Twice.
He’s about to give up when the line clicks.
“H-Hello?” Beomgyu stutters, his voice unsteady. No response. His heart pounds as he pulls the phone away, checking the screen just to be sure. The call is still connected. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
“Beomgyu.” The way you say his name makes his breath catch.
“Are you okay? I’ve been—”
“Beomgyu.” You cut him off again, your voice softer this time. “Yeah, I’m… okay.” He hears you take a shaky breath. “I’ve just been thinking for the past couple of hours, and…” His grip on the phone tightens.
"What is it?"
“Maybe we should lie low for a bit? You’re busy, and you’re at the peak of your career.” A pause. “It’s not that I’m going away,” you add quickly, “I’m your soulmate, after all.” The last part is barely a whisper.
Beomgyu shoots up from where he’s sitting, running a hand through his hair, fingers pulling at the strands. He feels cold all over. His pulse pounds in his ears.
“Where is this coming from?” His voice is raw, edged dangerously close to panic. “What happened, Y/N?”
“Nothing, really,” you say too quickly. “It just… crossed my mind.” There’s a pause. A beat of silence that feels like a lifetime. “It’s late there. It’s 2 AM. Please sleep.”
His chest tightens. “Are you breaking up with me?” The words feel foreign in his mouth. His voice drops to a whisper. “Do you not want me? Do you not want this?”
“Beomgyu, please.” You voice wavers. “Our fate is certain. But right now… I just feel like it’s not working.” You exhale slowly. “You should sleep, okay? Let’s talk again… soon.”
And then the line goes dead.
Beomgyu stares at his screen, his fingers frozen, his mind racing to process what just happened. His chest caves in, breath shaky as he stumbles back onto the bed. And then—he breaks.
His hands cover his face, shoulders trembling as it all crashes down on him. He had a feeling when you didn't answer his call. A whisper of doubt, an inkling of fear.
And now, it’s real.
4 AM, and Beomgyu still hasn’t slept. His eyes burn from exhaustion, but his mind won’t shut off. He’s been texting you, calling you—over and over—but every attempt goes straight to voicemail. At some point, your phone must have died, or worse, you turned it off.
He lies on the stiff hotel bed, staring at the ceiling. It’s unfamiliar. Cold. But then again, when was the last time anything in his life felt familiar? Felt like home?
His phone dings.
He scrambles for it, heartbeat hammering, but before he can check the notification, an unknown number flashes across the screen. It’s stupid to answer an unknown call at this hour. Their managers had given them talks about it. But something—something in his gut—tells him to pick up.
“Hello?” His voice is hoarse.
“Beomgyu.” A pause. Then— “It’s Da-hee,”
His breath catches.
“She’s going to be angry if she finds out I called you,” Da-hee says, voice hushed, urgent. “But I can’t just sit back and watch this happen. Just listen to me. I’m going to tell you everything—from the start.”
"Please."
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"Don’t think I won’t do it," she murmurs. "Just think about how I knew. Your name. Your workplace. Your parking spot."
She smiles, "Don’t test me."
You take another sip of whiskey, curled up on the couch, knees drawn to your chest. The tears won’t stop. No matter how many times you wipe them away, they keep coming, slipping down your cheeks, burning just as much as the liquor sliding down your throat.
Your thoughts won’t stop either.
Beomgyu.
He has everything—his dream, his career, a future so bright it could swallow you whole. He has the world at his feet. And you? You’re just… you. Not worth the risk. Not worth the detour. Maybe this was always how it was supposed to be. Maybe that’s why your paths were never meant to cross in the first place. You saw the consequence, felt it when you passed the Hybe building, that heavy reminder of the impossible divide between your worlds.
It should be enough. Enough that you got to know him, enough that he even knows your name. Enough that you get to see him on a screen. It should be enough.
But is it?
“Fuck,” you choke out, voice breaking. You press the heel of your palm against your eyes, as if that could stop the ache. “Just when I finally saw you… What a joke.” You shake your head, wiping your face with the sleeve of your sweater. “The universe is a fucking idiot for ever thinking we were meant to be.”
You take another drink, and it burns.
“Y/N.”
You blink up, vision swimming, to see Da-hee standing in the doorway, concern etched across her face.
“I’ve been ringing your doorbell,” she says, stepping closer. “I used the spare key—why are you crying?”
You don’t respond. You just stare at her, eyes glassy, cheeks wet. She moves toward you, eyes flickering to the near-empty glass in your hand. You’ve been drinking for hours. You already called in sick to work—there’s no way you could function like this.
"Oh, honey," She sighs, reaches for the glass, and you don’t fight it. You let it go. "What happened?"
“Fate is already taking back what it let me borrow.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but Da-hee hears it. She your holds your hand.
“What are you talking about?” she asks. “Explain.”
You swallow hard. Your throat feels tight, like every word is fighting to stay buried. But you force them out.
“A sasaeng,” you murmur, watching as Da-hee’s eyes widen in alarm. “She found out about me. She knows everything, Da-hee. Where I live, where I work, my family—everything.” You suck in a shaky breath, blinking back fresh tears. “And the worst of it, she fucking said she’s going to ruin Beomgyu.”
The moment the words leave your lips, your resolve shatters. You cry—like a child finally breaking after being scolded in front of everyone, holding it all in until no one’s around to see. Da-hee pulled you into her arms as you sobbed. You cling to her, hands fisting her sweater. “I have to let him go,” you choke out. “I can’t do this to him. To them. They don’t deserve this.”
Da-hee pulls back, her hands firm on your shoulders. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “You don’t have to do this alone. We can go to the police. We can tell Beomgyu—”
“And then what?” you cut in, voice hollow. “What can they really do? Stop her from telling the world? Keep every single person quiet? Even if she gets caught, the damage will already be done.”
Da-hee doesn’t answer. She just sinks onto the couch beside you, eyes shining with unshed tears, because she knows you well. She knows you too well—knows that the emotional version of you wouldn’t be able to hear her, not right now. Not until the sobs quiet down and the pain in your chest eases just a little. So, she just holds you.
Your phone screen lights up between you. Another call.
Beomgyu. He’s still calling. Still trying.
"I don’t think it’s best to answer it right now—"
But you don’t listen to Da-hee’s warning. Your fingers tremble as they hover over the screen. You have to end this. Now. While you still have the strength. Because deep down, you know—
If you wake up tomorrow, you might not be able to let him go.
“H-Hello?” He stutters on the other line, his voice unsteady. Your breath catches in your throat. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
Everything. Everything is wrong.
“Beomgyu.”
I miss you. How can I go on without you?
“Are you okay? I’ve been—”
“Beomgyu.” You cut him off again, your voice softer this time. “Yeah, I’m… okay.” You take a shaky breath. “I’ve just been thinking for the past couple of hours, and…” You hesitate.
I’m not okay. I’ve been thinking about you, only you, and how my existence could ruin everything you’ve worked for.
"What?" His inhale is sharp, laced with the beginnings of panic.
“Maybe we should lie low for a bit? You’re busy, and you’re at the peak of your career.” You pause, fingers trembling. “It’s not that I’m going away,” you add quickly, desperate to believe your own words. “I’m your soulmate, after all.” The last part is barely a whisper.
I should be replaceable. And I shouldn’t be your priority. You press a hand to your mouth, as if you can keep the words from spilling out—keep the truth from bleeding through.
“Where is this coming from? What happened, Y/N?”
My heart is breaking. And you’re too far away to hold it together.
“Nothing, really,” you say too quickly. “It just… crossed my mind.” You pause, swallowing. “It’s late there. It’s 2 AM. Please sleep.”
Please sleep. And forget about me.
“Are you breaking up with me? Do you not want me? Do you not want this?”
I want you more than anything. That’s why I have to do this. If I can save you from losing everything, I’ll do it. Even if it means losing you.
“Beomgyu, please.” You voice wavers. “Our fate is certain. But right now… I just feel like it’s not working.” You exhale slowly. “You should sleep, okay? Let’s talk again… soon.”
You press the end button.
The sobs rip through you, shaking your whole body and stealing the air from your lungs. You curl in on yourself, pressing your fist to your mouth, as if that could stop the sound, as if that could stop the pain. How can love be this cruel? How can the same thing that made you feel so alive now leave you feeling so hollow?
But this is for him. You tell yourself that over and over, like a mantra, like a prayer, like a desperate attempt to make it hurt less.
You’ll do this for him. Even if it destroys you.
Da-hee wipes at her eyes, sniffling as she looks at you—curled up in the fetal position, your body tense like you’re bracing for impact even in sleep. She managed to get you into bed, but it doesn’t feel like enough.
She’d do anything for you.
Carefully, she tiptoes to the bedside table and picks up your phone. Her heart pounds. If anyone’s watching me, I’ll beg for forgiveness later. But right now, she comes first.
She types in your usual password. 8888. Incorrect. She frowns, thinking. You changed it? Then, almost without realizing it, her fingers move on their own. 0313. The screen unlocks.
Beomgyu’s birthday.
Da-hee lets out a small, disbelieving laugh. “You idiot,” she whispers, shaking her head. “You love him so much, and yet you’re willing to walk away. How can you be this selfless?”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she scrolls through your contacts, searching for his name. Her thumb hovers over it for only a second before she types his number on her own phone.
You’ll be furious. You might never forgive her. But if there’s even the slightest chance this stops you from making the biggest mistake of your life—she’ll take that risk.
Someone has to tell him the things that you can’t.
The line connects, and Da-hee inhales. “She’s going to be angry if she finds out I called you, but I can’t just sit back and watch this happen. Just listen to me. I’m going to tell you everything—from the start.”
She’ll prepare her apology later—more than that, she hopes Beomgyu will fight for you.
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"I want to go home." Beomgyu’s voice is firm, but his hands are clenched into fists at his sides. His manager looks up from his laptop, brows furrowing.
The door bursts open. Soobin stumbles in, slightly out of breath—he must’ve run after him. Beomgyu doesn’t care.
Beomgyu already knows everything—Da-hee told him. Every sickening detail. And now, standing here, he has no idea how to fix this. No idol has ever come out of this unscathed. But none of that matters right now. His only priority is getting to you.
His manager sighs, already exasperated. “You’re flying back home in a few days, Beomgyu.”
“No,” he says, jaw tightening. “I mean now. I need a few days. To rest. To handle something personal.”
“You know your schedule is packed—”
“Then move everything,” Beomgyu interrupts sharply. He feels Soobin’s hand on his shoulder, hears his name spoken softly, but he shrugs it off. No one is stopping him from getting to you.
His manager sighs again, firmer this time. “We can’t do that.”
“You won’t even try?” His voice wavers between frustration and desperation. “You won’t even let the management know?”
“We can’t make last-minute changes like this.”
Beomgyu lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Right. Of course.” He clenches his fists. All his life, he’s done everything they asked. Pushed through exhaustion, smiled through sickness, showed up even when his body begged him to stop. “I won’t follow you on this,” he says, voice steady. “I can’t do this. Not this time. If you won’t let me go, I’ll still leave.”
“Beomgyu, let’s talk about this when you’re calm,” Soobin says gently, patting Beomgyu’s back. “Please.”
Beomgyu turns to him, his eyes dark with frustration. “I love MOAs, hyung. I love all of you. They gave me everything.” His voice wavers, but he pushes through. “But Y/N… she is my everything.” His breath hitches. He can't even explain it properly. How badly he needs you. “You’re lucky. All of you. Your soulmates—"
“So this is about your soulmate?” The manager exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “Don’t you see? She’s making you choose between her and your career.”
“No.” Beomgyu’s voice breaks, his chest tightens, and the lump in his throat is unbearable. “She’s not making me choose. She’s already choosing for me.” His next breath is shaky. “She’s leaving. Can you let your own soulmate leave?”
The room falls silent. Soobin watches him, stunned. He’d never seen Beomgyu like this before—this angry, this desperate. And the question stings the older.
Beomgyu turns away, blinking rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. Explaining further is useless. He’s already said everything that matters. Nothing is going to stop him now. When he steps into the hallway, he sees Yeonjun standing there, leaning against the wall.
He’s been listening the whole time.
Yeonjun immediately reaches out, tugging at his arm. “Yah, Choi Beomgyu, come on,” he says quietly. “Let’s talk with everyone.” Beomgyu exhales shakily. If there's anyone he owes an explanation. It's them. His brothers.
So Beomgyu told them everything.
About the sasaeng. About the threats. About how you were walking away to protect him. About how he refused to let that happen. And just like he knew they would, the four of them listened—not as bandmates, not as colleagues, but as brothers.
No one understood him better than they did.
They didn’t tell him to reconsider. They didn’t tell him to stay. Instead, they held onto him, arms wrapped tight, as if they could shield him from the storm that was already brewing. They prayed—not for him to change his mind, but for the world to understand.
Kai was the first to break. His voice barely above a whisper, “Is it really worth it… if the world doesn’t want us to have soulmates?”
It shattered something in all of them.
Beomgyu didn’t answer—not with words. Because what kind of world was it, where love had to be hidden? Where choosing your own heart felt like a betrayal?
With the help of his members, he managed to slip through the cracks, securing a last-minute flight. Now, as he sat on the plane, adjusting his mask, pulling his cap low, he caught his own reflection in the window.
Maybe it was time. Time to stop pretending. Time to stop hiding.
Because an idol in love isn’t supposed to be shameful. Because having a soulmate shouldn’t be treated like a scandal. Because loving you would never make him love his dream any less.
He just had to believe in MOAs. In the people who gave him everything. What he has with them, he treasures so much that the thought of baring his heart isn’t impossible.
And he would.
Completely.
He would trade it all, just to see you again.
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The pounding in your head hasn’t let up, a dull, relentless throb that even the hot shower couldn’t wash away. You pop an aspirin, sighing as you press your fingertips against your temples, willing the ache—and everything else—to disappear.
Then the doorbell rings. Right. The food.
Dragging your feet toward the door, you barely think as you swing it open—then freeze.
Choi Beomgyu.
His face bare, a backpack slung over his shoulder. A car idles in your driveway, but you barely process it. Your eyes lock onto the messy strands of blonde peeking out from under his hoodie, his gaze searching yours. He looks at you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks.
“Y/N—” The door slams shut in his face before he can say another word.
Your breath stumbles. Your pulse pounds. The damp strands of your hair cling to your neck as you press your back against the door, fingers gripping the handle like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. Shit. He fucking looks good with his new dyed hair— wait. Don't think about that. What is he doing here?
“I’m parked out front,” his voice comes through the door, muffled but you hear it. “I just want to talk.” A shaky inhale. Then softer, “Baby, I’m here. When you’re ready, just open the door.”
His footsteps retreat.
You start pacing, your heart ricocheting against your ribs. He’s here. He came all this way. After everything you stupidly said. You hurt him yet—
The doorbell rings again.
You yank it open, “Wait, my ass—”
“Chinese takeout for Y/N?” The delivery guy blinks at you, holding up the bag.
“Oh.” You blush, embarrassed. You fumble for your wallet, signing the receipt with shaky hands. Your eyes keep drifting past him, toward the car still parked in front of your house.
Just like what he said. He's there.
The hours slip away unnoticed, morning fading seamlessly into afternoon. Every time you steal a glance through the curtain, he’s still there. Evening creeps in as you start making dinner. Without thinking, you plate portions for two. Your hands hesitate over the dishes, your heart heavy. When you check the clock, it’s 8 p.m. He’s been outside for twelve hours—silent, waiting.
Just like he promised. He never knocked again. Twelve hours. Your hands tremble as you turn off the stove. He must’ve just come from another gruelling day, looking like he’d stepped off a plane after hours in the air—rumpled, drained, and still without rest.
Why did you let him wait this long?
You don’t stop to think anymore. You grab your keys, shove your feet into your slippers, and head straight for his car, blinking back the tears that blur your vision.
He must see you coming because, before you even reach him, the car door swings open.
And there he is.
His hoodie is pushed back now, his hair slightly dishevelled like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times. His face is drawn, exhausted. His eyes—red-rimmed, heavy, like he’s been crying for hours. You swallow the lump in your throat.
“Come inside,” Your voice cracks, but you don’t stop. You just turn around and head back toward the door. You don’t have to look back to know he’s following.
He steps inside, his tall frame filling the space as you quietly shut the door behind him. Your apartment looks small with him around. When you turn, your eyes meet, "Beomgyu—"
You barely get his name out before he’s on you. He can't stop himself anymore. It’s how you looked outside, so effortless—your hair pinned up, the simplicity of your everyday clothes, and yet, you somehow seemed untouchable. He envisions a life with you, a routine, your soft smile waiting for him when he comes home, you looking like something angelic—his hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, his body heat searing through your clothes. His lips crash into yours—hungry, desperate, like he’s been starved for you. His mouth moves against yours, claiming, taking.
His fingers thread through your hair, tilting your head back as his tongue slides against yours. His hands roam down, gripping, pulling, making sure you feel every bit of him. He grabs your wrists, lifting them, wrapping your arms around his neck as his lips move to your jaw, then to your neck, his breath ragged as he nips your sensitive skin. "I missed you," he murmurs. Another kiss—hotter, deeper, his body pressing your back against the wall. "I got fucking scared you'd never open the door."
His movements were hurried, frantic, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. In one swift motion, he lifted you, his steps unsteady as he carried you to the bedroom. Your bedroom. The air felt heavy as he laid you down on the mattress.
"I get it. I know you don’t mean it—that you really believe this is for the best." His voice softens, almost breaking. He presses his crotch to yours, eyes seeking yours. "But did it ever cross your mind what I want? What I think is best for me? For us?"
“I'm sorry,” you said weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt, your voice trembling as much as your resolve.
"I'll always forgive you." His hands moved to your shoulders, then slid down to your waist, pulling you to him. He grinds desperately to you. You never knew that lips could talk without uttering a word as he captures your lips again and again. "Because your words could never hurt me as much as your leaving does."
You surrendered to his touch, your body softening beneath him. Your hands gripped his shoulders for balance as he pressed you deeper into the mattress, which groaned under your shifting weight. You reached for Beomgyu’s lips, catching him off guard as you kissed him with everything you had, tongues colliding in a heated frenzy. His hand slid between your thighs, cupping your middle and sending a shiver through you. But even in the haze of his taste, a heavy guilt settled in your chest. "Gyu,"
"I need you, baby. Or I'll go crazy." His breaths were ragged, syncing with your every moan as his tongue tangled with yours. Your fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him on. His body pressed against yours, grinding to yours, while his hands roamed over your skin, igniting every nerve he touched. His lips trailed downward, leaving soft kisses that melted into your flesh, a path leading straight to your core.
He stripped you of every barrier, leaving you bare under his gaze. His eyes shimmered with adoration and awe as they traced your body. You hadn’t realized how powerless you were against him until your legs parted, welcoming him. He's on top of you, looked at you like you were sacred, like you were his entire world.
Beomgyu's eyes never left yours as his fingers found your hand, seeking the place where the string was tied. The red thread appears, and he lifts it to his lips. A kiss—featherlight, reverent—pressed against the place where destiny tied you to him.
“It's going to be okay…” he whispered between kisses, his voice breaking in a way that made your heart ache. Tears pricked your eyes because you wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him. His hands explored further, his fingers shakily reaching for your clit, pinching softly then roughly rubbing, coaxing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you were capable of.
"I'll fix it for us, for you." He looks at you—wanting to see every expression you make. He’s going to fuck you until you cum all over his dick and then he’ll do it again. Until you won't be able to think about leaving him anymore. He goes down further—kisses down and the smell of you is divine.
His face hovers and with his fingers he spreads you apart. He swallows—salivating. He sticks his tongue out, lightly licking your clit. You taste so—He buries his face in, tongue inside, hands on your hips. "Shit, you were really gonna leave me? And I was gonna miss this?" He groans, lapping up, sucking the arousal out of you. He moves up, nose bumping on your clit then he suckles more. His cock throbs with every taste of you, the way you melt against his mouth driving him insane. He feels you slick against his chin, but he doesn’t stop—doesn’t leave a single inch of you untouched by his warm, greedy mouth. It was as if your body had been crafted for his lips alone, flesh and heat meant to be devoured at his leisure.
When you tug hard on his hair, he groans against you, finally pulling back. His lips glisten as he moves up your body. He crashes his mouth onto yours, the kiss deep and hungry, and you taste yourself on his tongue—messy, desperate, a mix of him and you, blurring the lines between who’s devouring who.
“I love you,” he murmured as he positioned himself, slowly sliding into you. A low, guttural sound escaped him as he felt you, tight and warm, pulling him deeper. He's sure he'll come right there and then. His face buried itself in the curve of your neck, and his words spilled out—"I'm sorry it took this long."
"You feel so so good, don't ask me to stop, please." His touch was gentle even as his thrusts inside you grew more desperate. He cradled your head, kissed away your tears, and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I’m in love with you, Y/N,"
“I love you,” you replied, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss as you both unravelled together, bodies trembling in unison. Your thighs clenched tightly around his waist.
"Beomgyu, I— It was selfish of me—" You whispered his name and it made tears well up in his eyes. His hand gently pushed the damp strands of hair from your face, and he pressed tender kisses along your cheeks, your temple, and your jaw.
“Shh, no,” he whispered, pulling you against his chest, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips brushed the crown of your head. "None of this is your fault," he murmurs. "But you have to trust me now."
All the horrors inside you dissolve with every kiss he presses to your skin, each one stripping away the fear, the doubt, the self-imposed distance. He kisses you like he’s rewriting everything, like he knows exactly where every shattered piece of you belongs. As if he’s memorized the map of your ruin and decided, you were always meant to be whole.
And you let him.
Because now, in his arms, with his lips claiming yours over and over, only pulls away when breathing becomes a necessity—his forehead pressing against yours for a fleeting second before his mouth finds yours again, as if letting go for too long might break him, you realise the truth—it was foolish of you to think that pushing him away would solve it all.
It was foolish to ever believe you could ever live without him.
Waking up with Beomgyu’s arm draped over your bare waist felt like something out of a dream.
The second you tried to slip away, he pulled you right back in, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a sleepy rough hum. His grip was loose but unwilling, like even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let you go. He filled your morning with lazy kisses, tangled limbs, and muffled laughter, his fingers tracing over your bare skin.
You could live a lifetime like this and still never believe it was real.
Now, you sit at your vanity, dressed for work, fastening an earring as Beomgyu, fresh from the shower, tugs on a clean hoodie. He catches your eye in the mirror and grins as he walks over. “What are you doing baby? Dolled up and all.”
“Drying my hair,” you say, “I’m actually early today. Da-hee is dropping by later too, by the way.”
“Okay. I’ll drive you.” He leans down, eyes flickering to the hairdryer on the desk. He picks it up, flipping it on. “I know how to do this.”
You give him a skeptical look. “Oh, really?”
“Uh-huh. I could probably do your makeup too.” He presses a teasing kiss to your cheek, making you giggle.
The warmth of the dryer was against your scalp as he carefully runs his fingers through your hair, drying it with surprising patience. His touch lingers even after the dryer clicks off, his fingers gently gathering strands of your hair.
“I used to braid my mom’s hair when I was younger,” he murmurs. “I want to do yours too.” You nod, watching him through the mirror, watching the way he looks at you with so much quiet devotion it nearly steals your breath. "It will be an honour to do this every day for you, you know."
And just like that, you fall in love all over again.
You sit in the passenger seat, your hair loosely braided—the proof that he wasn’t just bluffing. His fingers lace with yours as he drives, his thumb idly tracing circles against your skin. Every time the car slows at a red light, he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “I love you,”
He grins, that same cheeky, heart-stopping smile. "Love you more," he replies.
You let out a quiet breath, leaning your head against the window, watching the world blur past. But then—out of the corner of your eye—you see it.
And your breath catches in your throat.
Rain Lilies.
Flowers that shine the brightest in the wake of the storm.
It looks out of place. You remembered last night’s rain. It had come down in furious sheets, drowning the streets, washing everything away. The pavement is still slick, puddles reflecting the grey morning sky. And yet—there it is.
Small. Alive.
In the middle of a city that never stops, where people rush past without a second glance, too busy to care about a thing so insignificant, so easily overlooked—it stands, untouched. A quiet defiance against the cruelty that tried to take it.
It looks out of place, and it's beautiful.
If something this fragile can survive and still bloom—maybe, just maybe, so can you.
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"Hyung!" Beomgyu’s laughter rings through the air as he runs straight into his brother’s arms. They embrace, laughing like they’re kids again, the older one attempting to lift him off the ground. Behind them, his parents rush to catch up, smiles stretched wide across their faces. The house, with its endless stretch of green, looks like out of a memory—soft, a paradise.
Beomgyu turns to you then, his hand resting gently on your back. His eyes soft when he speaks.
"Mom, Dad," he says, "This is Y/N."
You bow politely, but before you can even rise fully, his mother pulls you into a hug. "I’ve wanted to meet you for so long, dear," she murmurs against your shoulder.
When Beomgyu’s father steps forward, you feel your chest tighten. He smiles, and for a second, it’s like looking at Beomgyu in the years to come. His hug is just as warm, just as safe.
Lunch is a blur of laughter and stories, of hands brushing, of Beomgyu sneaking glances at you when he thinks you aren’t looking.
His parents laugh along with your stories—the one about meeting his sweet members, and how Da-hee had begged to meet them in person. You describe her pale face, wide-eyed and on the verge of fainting the entire time, and how Beomgyu grew irritated every time Yeonjun jokingly flirted with you, insisting he should be your favorite.
But it’s the story of Beomgyu meeting your family last week that really gets them, how he’d been so polite, yet adorably nervous, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he tried to make the right impression.
His mom grins, her eyes bright with excitement. “I’ll have to meet them soon,” she says, already making plans in her head, as if you’ve always been part of the family. At some point, Beomgyu tells them you’ll be staying for the week. They are overjoyed, and Toto, takes an instant liking to you.
Beomgyu sits on the porch, it's evening now.
This deck—he’s spent years here—on this very step, staring out at the world, wondering when he’d find you. Wondering if he ever would.
His fingers tighten around the handwritten letter on his phone screen, the words waiting to be sent out into the world. His heart pounds. What if they don’t understand? What if this changes everything? What if—
Laughter drifts from inside the house, yours mixing with his mom’s, his brother’s. It was the only assurance he'd ever need.
He exhales sharply, thumb hovering for only a second longer before he clicks post. It loads. He doesn’t watch. Just locks his phone and sets it aside as the front door creaks open.
"You’re trying to escape me, cookie?" Your voice is playful, arms crossing as you step toward him. Beomgyu only grins, shaking his head at the nickname his father gave him. He slips an arm around your shoulders as soon as you sit down, pulling you while he presses kisses on the side of your head.
"Never," His fingers find yours, a new habit of his—thumb caressing over your ring finger. His thoughts slip to the diamond ring hidden in his dorm, the one he bought after a week of meeting you. He just needs to find the right moment, the right words. Because even now, after everything, you still make him nervous. The way his heart races when you walk into a room, how everything seems to stop for a moment when you look his way.
He meets your smile with one of his own. Would he ever be this lucky in another life? To find you, to love you—not by destiny’s design, not by some divine script, but by choice?
Even without a soulmate mark, even without fate—
It would always be you.
Maybe in another world, the sky is burning, the world is ending, an apocalypse, and he still falls in love with you. Maybe in another life, he is a man undone, a husband who shatters more than he mends, but even then, he would spend eternity piecing himself back together just to be worthy of you.
Beomgyu knows this much: no matter the lifetime, no matter the universe, he will love you. Again and again, without hesitation, without end. As if loving you is written into the very fabric of his existence.
His fingers graze your cheek, and you lean into him like you were always meant to—like the universe has been bringing you back to him for centuries. Your smile reaches your eyes, soft and certain. His missing piece. The better half of him.
Beomgyu looks at you, and to him, you are something that comes after the rain—the hush of the earth reborn, the golden light breaking through the clouds, the promise that even the chaos was worth it.
He can’t help himself. Not when you’re looking at him like that. Not when your smile is the only thing he ever wants to see.
So he leans in.
The phone sits forgotten, lighting up with messages—teary words, heartfelt congratulations, the world calling for him. But none of it matters.
Because right now, you are in his arms. Right now, he is kissing the soft of your addicting lips. And right now, that is all that ever was, all that ever is, all that ever will be.
THE END.
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taglist: I love you @beombunni @lovingbeomgyudayone @virtaideen @hyukascampfire @fancypeacepersona @bamgeutori @lilbrorufr @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @xylatox @imlonelydontsendhelp @yunverie @baekberrie @soobabby @hyunelixbun @kejingken @blossommi @sumzysworld @tyunningstar @filmnings @channieismylove @frankghgr @missychief1404 @fatbixchwithanopinion @saejinniestar @brrytears @sbnslver @hoefororeo @pagelets @urlocal-moa @ewsnup @moagyuu @melmochii
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I once wrote a line for The Untrusted AU for a loosely written scene where Joey is supposed to end Henry (for the second time, mind you, and the first wasn’t very pretty either).
Henry : If you could make the call right now, would you choose to sacrifice me?
Joey : (sobbing on the floor dying crying holding a rainbow-stained machete /Allison’s/) I would’ve picked you, because you were the only thing that was real in my world of illusory fiction.
Oh how I love writing one sided unrequited Joenry/Creatorship scenes.
What’s the greatest compliment from someone who views the world as a stage and all the people are actors if not “you are my only reality”?
I can ramble on about these two’s long intertwined dynamic in The Untrusted AU for so long lmao.
#bendy and the ink machine#bendy and the dark revival#creatorship#joey drew#henry stein#He’s the only one you see as real while everyone else is fiction#Yet you never really knew him for real because you can’t read him like you read others and you are absolutely infatuated with that fact#You killed him but also brought out a part of him that he can never be honest with out in the process#Btw Henry’s backstory will very much be obscure from the narrative to add to the fact that he is so honest yet he conceals his own issues#Bendy au#angst fic
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i want to talk about real life villains
Not someone who mugs you, or kills someone while driving drunk, those are just criminals. I mean VILLAINS.
Not like trump or musk, who are... cartoonishly evil. And not sexy villains, not grandiose villains, not even satisfyingly two dimensional villains it is easy to hate unconditionally. The real villains.
I had a client who was a retired executive for one of the big oil companies, i think it was Shell or Chevron. Had a home just outside of San Francisco that was wall to wall floor to ceiling full of expensive art. Literally. I once accidentally knocked a painting off the wall because it was hanging at knee height at the corner of the stairs, and it had a little brass plaque on it, and i looked up the name of the artist and it was Monet's apprentice and son-in-law, who was apparently also a famous painter. He had an original Andy Warhol, which should have been a prize piece for anyone to showcase -- it was hanging in the bathroom. I swear to god this guy was using a Chihuly (famous glass sculptor) as a fruit bowl. And he was like, "idk my wife was the one who liked art"
I was intrigued by this guy, because in the circles i run this dude is The Enemy. right? Wealthy oil executive? But as my client, he was... like a sweet grandpa. A poor widower, a nice old man, anyone who knew him would have called him a sweetheart. He had a slightly bewildered air, a sort of gentle bumbling nature.
And the fact that he was both of these things, a Sweet Little Old Man and The Enemy, at the same time, seemed important and fascinating to me.
He reminded me of some antagonist from fiction, but i couldn't put my finger on who. And when i did it all made sense.
John Hammond.
probably one of the most realistic bad guys ever written.
If you've only ever seen the movie, this will need some explaining.
Michael Crichton wrote Jurassic Park in 1990, and i read it shortly thereafter. In the movie, the dinosaurs are the antagonists, which imo erases 50% of the point of the story.
book spoilers below.
In the book, John Hammond is the villain but it takes the reader like half the book to figure that out. Just like my client, John is a sweet old man who wants lovely things for people. He's a very sympathetic character. But as the book progresses, you start to see something about him.
He has an idea, and he's sure it's a good one. When someone else dies in pursuit of his dream, he doesn't think anything of it. When other people turn out to care about that, he brings in experts to evaluate the safety of his idea, and when they quickly tell him his idea is dangerous and needs to be put on hold, he ignores his own experts that he himself hired, because they are telling him that he is wrong, and he is sure he is right.
In his mind, he's a visionary, and nobody understands his vision. He is surrounded by naysayers. Several things have proven too difficult to do the best and safest way, so he has cut corners and taken shortcuts so he can keep moving forward with his plans, but he's sure it's fine. He refuses to hear any word of caution, because he believes he is being cautious enough, and he knows best, even though he has no background in any of the sciences or professions involved. He sends his own grandchildren out into a life-threatening situation because he is willfully ignorant of the danger he is creating.
THIS is like the real villains of the world. He doesn't want anyone to die. Far from it, he only wants good things for people! He's a sweet old man who loves his grandchildren. But he has money and power and refuses to hear that what he is doing is dangerous for everyone, even his own family.
I think he's possibly one of the most important villains ever written in popular fiction.
In the book, he is killed by a pack of the smallest, cutest, "least dangerous" dinosaurs, because a big part of why we read fiction is to see the villains face thematic justice. But like a cigarette CEO dying of lung cancer, his death does not stop his creation from spreading out into the world to continue to endanger everyone else.
I think it is really important to see and understand this kind of villainy in fiction, so you can recognize it in real life.
Sweetheart of a grandfather. Wanted the best for everyone. Right up until what was best for everyone inconvenienced the pursuit of his own interests.
And my client was like that too. His wife had died, and his dog was now the love of his life, and she was this little old dog with silky hair in a hair cut that left long wispy bits on her lower legs. Certain plant materials were easily entangled in this hair and impossible to get out without pulling her hair which clearly hurt her. When i suggested he ask his groomer to trim her lower leg hair short to avoid this, he refused, saying he really liked her usual hair cut.
I emphasized that she was in pain after every walk due to the plant debris getting caught in her leg hair, and a simple trim could put an end to her daily painful removal of it, and he just frowned like i'd recommended he take a bath in pig shit and said "But she'll be ugly" and refused to talk about it anymore.
Sweet old man though. Everyone loved him.
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꒰ : ☕️ [ Mercilessly ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯
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Summary : You're normally one who enjoys slow and romantic sex, but something deep inside changed after seeing Yunho at Coachella and on tour.
Pairing : Dom! Yunho x Fem! Sub! Reader
Word count : 2.5K Words
Genre : Smut with soft aftercare
Smut Content ➵ Size Kink (Reader is smaller than Yunho), Degradation, Dumbification, Sex Toys, Orgasm Denial, Coming multiple times, Oral (F receiving), Raw Sex (Wrap it up people), Manhandling
a/n : Yunho has me in a chokehold and istg I'll cry so hard when seeing all these hot ass man next year at baricade.
Disclaimer : This is purely fiction and in no way supposed to dispict how Yunho is in real life. Please skip and block if you don't like it.
Yunho was a sweet lover; he was always attentive to your every need. Cooking nice food, giving you a massage after a long day, cuddling you while playing games. In the sheets he was a sweet and loving man, taking care of you with soft touches and featherlight kisses. Despite loving this romantic sex, something recently switched inside of you.
Watching him at Coachella, at the tour, and all those ungodly fan cams and pictures Atiny posted over the last few weeks had you shaking. Not being able to pinpoint exactly what is bothering you, the sex was good, no question, but it left you unsatisfied, not that you didn't reach your peak, no you always did with Yunho, yet deep down, something was missing.
A sigh leaves your lips as your brain moves around ideas of what could be bothering you, not noticing Wooyoung watching you and taking a seat beside you. "What's wrong?" A little surprised, you look up; you hadn't even noticed him sit down beside you; so much in your own head right now. "O-Oh nothing! I'm fine!" It wasn't a good idea to tell Wooyoung about this; he ran his mouth too quickly by accident, but then he was the most open and helpful person for this topic out of the boys. "Oh, come on, you've been looking like a kicked puppy for days and now have been sighing for half an hour." Eyes wide, you look at Wooyoung; was it so obvious?
"Okay fine.." Taking a good look around, you two were the only ones in the dorm right now; some of the others went to shower while your boyfriend and Mingi went to get the food for tonight. "I don't know how to explain, like.. Yunho is an amazing boyfriend, he is attentive, sweet and always takes care of me.. in every aspect if you know what I mean, he is romantic and careful with me and.. since a few weeks I just feel.. unsatisfied? No.. that's the wrong wording something is missing? I don't know.." Your head falls into your hands as you try to speak the words swimming through your mind for days. "Sounds to me like you want to get pounded mercilessly." Choking on air, your head shoots up as you look at Wooyoung terrified. Why did he always have a way of speaking his mind without a second thought? "No, seriously, of course, romantic sex is nice, but a rough man that makes you forget your own name is something else. Try it; maybe it is the thing bothering you; if not, we can try and think of something else!" Wooyoung's talking about this as if that's a duo mission of you both now.
At that moment, Mingi and Yunho stepped through the door with bags of food in their hands. Wooyoung jumps up to take something while calling everyone to come eat; the others from the dorms downstairs just arrive a few minutes later. "Hope it was okay with Wooyoung; I know he can be a handful." Yunho presses a soft kiss to your temple, which makes you blush and nod. Wooyoungs words invading your mind now. Suddenly, you noticed every little filthy detail about Yunho. The way he towers over you, the way his long fingers wrap around his chopsticks, how his thick lips love, the way his pants strain against his thighs so deliciously. Shaking your head, you take a big gulp of your cold drink before shoving noodles into your mouth. Snickering made you look to your left, seeing Wooyoung smirk at you with a raised eyebrow, that fucker.
The evening continued with everyone deciding on playing a few games; Yunho sat beside you as he played Mario Kart against San, Seonghwa, and Jongho, screaming insults at them, which surprisingly made you clench your thighs under the blanket. Watching the way his fingers hit the buttons on the controller, your mind wandering off to filthy places yet again. Looking up to see Yunho bite his lip as he watches the TV intently while hitting the buttons on the controller.
"We should probably head down now, I'm getting tired." Yunho announces to the group making some whine in protest. Taking your hand, Yunho and you bid your goodbyes as he leads you out of the door and to the elevator to head down to his and Yeosangs dorm. "Hope you enjoyed the evening, my love." His hand was resting on the lower of your back now, drawing patterns with his long fingers. "Oh yes! It was fun watching you guys play, I also had a nice chat with Seonghwa and Hongjoong." Being led outside the elevator now and to the door of their dorm. "Really? I'm glad you enjoyed the evening.." He continued talking as he opened the door, letting you in first before following, quickly grabbing your waist to pull you against his chest after the door closed. "..You seemed to especially enjoy watching me, don't think I didn't see you rubbing your legs~" He whispers into your ear, placing a soft kiss against the shell.
"Are you in the mood? Wanna take this to the bedroom?" His touch was again soft, featherlight as if you'd break any second. "Please.." You whisper as you turn around throwing your arms around his neck as Yunho picks you off of the ground, moving you two to his room and locking the door. "You're so cute when you're needy baby.." His lips are attached to your neck already as he lowers you down onto your back, the softness of the bed engulfing you. "Also the dress you wore today is so pretty." Lips and kisses travel up your jaw till he meets your lips, capturing yours in a soft kiss. His hands run softly over your sides and up your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress higher and higher.
Those long sinful fingers soon meet your clothed cunt, as he starts to tease with light touches, watching your face contort in pleasure and small gasps leaving your lips. Yet it wasn't enough, it was too soft, and something was missing, yet you let him do his thing for now, maybe Wooyoung and your brain are wrong, maybe it was just the fact you weren't home the last few times, having sex in a hotel room is something else, it's weird. But as Yunho continued, slipping his fingers into your underwear, swiping his digit over your clit and down to your entrance, before entering and softly pumping it in and out. Moans leave your lips as your hands claw onto his upper arms, but you're still not satisfied; it wasn't enough; the touch was too soft, and it felt too light. "Yuyu.." You gasp out, his eyes meeting your hazed ones.
"I need more.." You whine, hands holding onto his arms tightly, his finger still inside you. "Do you want more fingers?" He asks now, not quite understanding what you're trying to tell him. Shaking your head embarrassed, your cheeky burn a bright hot red. "Do you want my dick?" He asks making you giggle slightly at the vulgar word leaving his mouth. "Yes but.. no.. I.. please fuck me so hard I forget my name, rough Yuyu please, I need you, use me.." You whine, your walls clenching around his fingers while you tell him what you need, a new wave of slickness covering his fingers. "That I didn't expect.. Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you.." Yunho looks at you worried, but you nod your head immediately. You were more than sure. "Please, Yunho, I need you." And suddenly something switched in Yunho.
Tearing down your underwear, he angles his hand differently before shoving two fingers into you, thrusting them in and out mercilessly, while his head leans down to bite your thigh and suck your clit. Moaning your head is thrown back into the soft pillow that smells like Yunho. Everything smells like him, his whole scent and being surrounding you. "F-Fuck Yunho.." Your thighs were trembling, already close to stumbling over the edge from how intense his fingers were, but before you could come, Yunho pulled his fingers away. "Strip." He orders you, making the wetness between your legs intensify; following his order, you strip out of your dress and bra before he pulls you onto his lap, Yunho still fully clothed.
His fingers soon found your hole again and pounded into it; this time, he added another one, the burn just the right mixture of pain and pleasure. Your head was thrown back as Yunho attaches his mouth to your mounds, licking and sucking the stiff nipples. "F-Fuck..!" Your moans were getting louder, and your hole clenched around his fingers, just to get the orgasm ripped away from you again, whining loudly. "Shut up, you wanted to get pounded roughly, make you forget your own name like a cock drunk little slut, like you're only made for my cock as a toy, the perfect hole to satisfy me." Yunho throws your body onto the bed, before turning you around and pulling your ass up. Before you could ask what he was doing, you could hear a familiar buzz coming from behind you, your whole body jerks as you feel the vibrator being placed against your clit, before it moved to your whole and is pushed in, yet it's your favorite one with two spots so your clit and g spot is being stimulated. "Better keep that in and not come until I'm ready."
You could hear him slowly open his belt which soon hit the ground before he moved to his other clothes, he was taking his painfully sweet time, while your body was being pleasured in two spots soon to make you see stars, biting down on your lip, you hoped Yunho would soon be finished and take the vibrator out before you come. And just as you were close to the edge again, he took it out and turned it off. "Good girl you listened so well~" His hand softly rubs over your back in a praising way. "Now you get what a slut deserves. You'll come so many times on my cock till you can only say my name, till the only thought in that dumb little head of yours is my cock pounding this tight little pussy." Grabbing your ass with one hand, he aligns himself and pushes in slowly, letting out a low groan. Moaning loudly as you arch your back, Yunho feels so deep inside of you. Instead of letting you adjust and start slowly, he grabs your hips with both hands and starts thrusting forcefully while pulling your ass against him in sync. This was what you wanted.
Moans leave your lips as your hands grab onto the sheets nothing else close to grab onto. "Look at that tiny cunt taking my cook so well; you're such a good cocksleeve for me, baby." Yunhos low groans pushed you closer to the edge; of course, he felt how close you were to coming. "Come slut, we're far from over." He groans as he snaps his hips against yours harder as you come on his cock, your walls pulsing around him, but he doesn't stop. Instead, his pace gets quicker and harder, your whole body shaking from the thrusts, and soon another orgasm is building up; this time, Yunho comes along with you. Pulling out for a second, you thought he was finished, but he turned you onto your back before entering your cunt again, making your back arch and tears swell in your eyes.
"Aw baby, no need to cry, I'll just make your wish come true." He whispers into your ear before snapping his hips against yours, his dick moving deep inside of your cunt; your head is thrown back as Yunho is back to attach his mouth to your mounds. He seems to be enjoying this just as much. Thrusting into you ruthlessly, his hips not slowing down once, that must be all the stamina from practice; that man could go for hours without a problem. "Y-Yunho.." Mouth slack as your eyes stare at the ceiling; another high is approaching; your body is already so sensitive from coming two times, already feeling your high; he moves his hand down your body and circles your clit quickly, and your eyes are blown wide from that as your orgasm washes over you that instant. Clutching onto his shoulders now, panting as you're coming down again, but Yunho still wasn't finished.
His big hands quickly grab your knees as he pushes your legs up, sliding into your cunt even deeper than before. "F-Fuck! To deep! Oh, holy shit.." Tears were now streaming down your face from the immense pleasure your body was feeling. "You're doing so great; you're so close to being finished." Yunho encourages you. Of course,, you knew the safeword for any case, but you wanted this so badly, so you nod at him. It takes him a second before pounding into you again, his strong hands holding your legs up into a mating press as he hammers his dick into your cunt. You were so close to seeing stars now from this position; he was so deep, sure he almost reached your cervix; his thrusts weren't letting up but rather getting even more intense. "You're doing so great, come on one more, baby~" His voice was low in your ears as his hips only grew in pace, making your eyes roll to the back; this was heaven. Quickly your last high was approaching, and with another thrust, he spilled in you as your fourth orgasm washed over you, your whole body trembling from overstimulation as his lips softly met yours in a kiss.
"Look at you, love, you did so well~" He slowly lets go of your legs before pulling out, mewling at the empty feeling now. "So pretty~" Kissing the tear streaks softly and rubbing them away with his fingers, your head was in the clouds, feeling his cum flow out of your used hole, eyes staring half-lidded at the ceiling. "Let's wash up." Picking you up softly, Yunho carries your bridal style to the bathroom, sitting you down on the toilette to pee before helping you clean up and putting on some fresh underwear and a shirt of his own. "Was it okay? Not too much?" Your mind was slowly calming down again, looking at him with starry eyes full of love. "It was perfect." Hugging his neck as he carries you back to the room, quickly changing the sheets before cuddling close to you on the bed.
"Why didn't you say anything earlier? If you didn't like it how we normally did it." His head looks down at you laying on his chest. Shaking your head in denial now. "I love the way you usually make love to me, but since Coachella and watching you at the tour, I just felt a bigger need; that doesn't mean I didn't like the other times." Smiling up at him, as he presses a soft kiss to your lips. "Glad to hear that; let's sleep now; you must be tired.. and probably not able to walk tomorrow." He giggles as you softly slap his naked chest, shaking your head before lying down again. Arms around each other, as you're lulled to sleep by his calm heartbeat. You definitely have to thank Wooyoung for his input.
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At Your Service
[A Gigabyte Flare One Shot]
Summary: You are the daughter of a wealthy family in New Eridu. Lycaon has been your loyal butler since you first moved out from your childhood home. You're about to find out just how far Lycaon is going to go to prove his devotion to you.
Word Count: 4.8k
Pairing: Von Lycaon x fem!reader (afab)
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.
Warnings: Mild Yandere, implied r@cisim (not by reader or Lycaon), domestic violence (not by Lycaon), attempted SA (not by Lycaon), graphic violence, dubcon, oral (f receiving), pet names, playful biting, unprotected p in v, knotting, breeding kink, creampie
A/N: Just when I thought Jiyan from Wuthering Waves had me in a chokehold (he still does), Hoyo literally said "hold my beer." Does being down bad for Von Lycaon make me a furry? Probably. Do I care? Nope. He's hot and I can't get enough of him.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/70ac0b61f5be433e8fda2d737453a1c0/c175aa6ba24cff94-2a/s540x810/5df549afca3483749d5ef38df1445b2a344e023e.jpg)
"As you can see, we had record profits this month. The campaign with the promoters definitely made a huge difference in our profit margin--"
You can't help but let out a loud sigh, resting the side of your face in the palm of you hand as your elbow keeps your head up as you stare into the webcam at your office computer. This is your last meeting of the day, heck, of the week. Unfortunately with the finance department of your family's business: a publishing company for video games and video tapes. Given how popular consumable media is in New Eridu, the business had taken off, you and your family now set for life. This also meant that your parents expected you to take over once they retire; you were still struggling to come to terms with that fact.
"-- that concludes this week's financial overview, I hope everyone has a good weekend!"
You waste no time turning off your webcam and shutting down your work computer. You couldn't get out of the office building fast enough. Getting into your car, you make the drive home to just beyond Sixth Street.
You live in one of the larger homes on the outskirts of New Eridu thanks to the success of your family's company. You park your car, getting out and approaching your front door. Before you even have a chance to dig your keys out of your pocket to unlock the door, your front door opens and you are greeted by your tall, imposing wolf Thiren butler: Von Lycaon of Victoria Housekeeping.
"Welcome home, my lady. I already have dinner started. I trust your day went well?"
"Hey Lycaon… it was alright," you reply as you step through the doorway, Lycaon stepping aside to let you through, "what's for dinner?"
You feel his deft clawed fingers help you take off your jacket before walking it over to the entryway closet to hang it up, his steel mechanical legs echoing in the entryway as he walks.
He answers you while hanging up your jacket, "roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and broccoli, my liege."
You chuckle, "you've been here for years, yet I still cannot get used to you addressing me like someone who's important."
Lycaon turns slightly just as he was about to shut the closet door, his red eye scrutinizing you, "but you are important, my lady."
You feel your cheeks tingle at his response, but quickly shake your head to compose yourself, "Do you… need any help with dinner?"
"I do not require any help. Not that I would trouble you with such trivial matters," he replies, walking away from the closet to head back into the kitchen.
"If you insist…" you hesitate; even after all this time, you're not accustom to having someone else doing all the house work, "I'll be in the living room watching TV. Come get me when dinner is ready, alright?"
Turning to you once more, Lycaon gives you a nod and a subtle smirk before walking into the kitchen. You don't realize your eyes are lingering on him as he walks away; watching the intricate parts on his prosthetic legs move as he walks, the way his right arm his bent behind him, his fist clenched, the way his large bushy tail wags gently as he--
You blink a few times, once again shaking your head and bringing your hand to your forehead.
Fucking hell, girl, get a hold of yourself. He's your freaking butler.
You turn and walk into the living room, collapsing onto the couch. Leaning forward, you grab the remote off of the coffee table and turn the TV on, mindlessly scrolling through the channels before settling on some talk show. You don't focus on the show, instead, you pull out your phone and check your notifications. You notice you have a Knock Knock message from someone, so you open the notification bubble to check it.
"Hey! It's Steve, are we still on for dinner tomorrow?"
"Oh… that's right… I'm supposed to have dinner with that guy Mom hooked me up with…" you say to yourself, rolling your eyes before you type out your response.
"Yeah. Did you still want to pick me up from my house?"
You see the typing ellipses pop up a few times before his response comes through, "if you're comfortable with that, yeah!"
Normally, you would never let some strange man pick you up from your house to go on some blind date, but you know for a fact Lycaon wouldn't let anything happen to you; those mechanical prosthetic legs weren't just for show. You've witnessed first hand the damage they can do a handful of times in the years you've known him.
"My lady," you hear Lycaon call to you from the threshold of the living room, startling you from your thoughts, "my apologies, I didn't mean to scare you."
"No, no… it's fine. I'm guessing dinner is ready?" you reply, turning around to face him while still seated on the couch.
"Indeed. Would you like to eat in the dining room or here, my lady?" he asks as he straightens his posture.
"We can eat in here. Come watch TV with me Lycaon, I insist." you reply, waving him into the living room.
"As you wish, my lady, I shall plate dinner and bring it in here, one moment."
You watch as he gracefully turns around, walking out, the metallic rattle of his legs echoing as he returns to the kitchen. He returns promptly with two plates of food and utensils. He hands you your plate first before taking his own and sitting in a nearby chair. He crosses his legs, his large tail then settling onto his lap as be began to eat his meal. You waste no time digging in; you absolutely loved Lycaon's cooking and tonight was no exception. You're so focused on your meal that you almost miss your phone vibrating in your pocket. You pull it out, seeing another Knock Knock notification.
"I take it you don't want me to pick you up at your house…?"
"Oh shit…" you curse to yourself, having forgotten to respond to Steve.
You quickly text him to that it's fine and send him your address before gently setting your phone onto the coffee table.
"What was that all about, my lady?" Lycaon asks, as perceptive as ever, even while eating dinner.
"Oh nothing," you say, tucking your legs up onto the couch as you continue to eat dinner, "I'm just making plans with someone to go to dinner tomorrow night. I forgot to text him back."
"I see, should I plan to make dinner just for myself then?"
"No, set aside a plate for me… just incase the plan falls through…"
"As you wish, my lady."
The two of you continue to eat dinner in silence, your gaze unconsciously wandering over to him, lingering on his mechanical prosthetics before moving to the mask he wears on his face, which covers one of his crimson eyes. You've always wondered what had happened to him, but Lycaon never talks about himself and you didn't want to pry into something that is probably really painful for him.
Sensing your gaze on him, he clears his throat before speaking, "Is everything alright, my lady?"
"Oh--! Sorry, I was just zoning out…" you quickly retort before returning your attention to your meal.
Once the two of you are finished with your meal, you switch channels and watch the latest episode of Starlight Knights while Lycaon gets absorbed in a book. Exhaustion sinks its teeth into you suddenly and you fall asleep on the couch. Noticing this, Lycaon sets his book aside, standing up and scooping you into his arms before carefully carrying you to bed upstairs, his tail wagging gently the whole way there.
The next morning, you are pulled from your sleep by the smell of bacon. Your eyes slowly open and you stretch your arms out over your head, letting out a loud yawn as you do so. You glance over at the clock; it's nearly 10:00 in the morning. You're shocked Lycaon had let you sleep in this long. Upon setting your arms down in front of you, you come into contact with a breakfast tray. The food on it is still hot, Lycaon must have just brought it in. He made your favorite: waffles with fresh berries, syrup and bacon. You can't help but smile as you grab the nearby fork and dig in.
As you're eating, you suddenly realize you don't recall getting into bed last night, you were still wearing the outfit you had on yesterday. Lycaon must have carried you to bed… again. That's been happening more and more frequently, you feel terrible that he felt obligated to carry you to bed. Still, you feel a warmth in your chest thinking about him taking care of you; you guess that's only natural given he's been your butler for so long.
Your parents had insisted on hiring someone from Victoria Housekeeping when you decided to move out after buying a house, mainly for protection. Being the daughter of a prominent publishing giant came with its risks as you soon learned. As unnecessary as you found it at first, you were very grateful for Lycaon's protection and companionship. Even so, you were hesitant to admit you've caught feelings for the enigmatic butler; could anyone blame you though? Von Lycaon was legendary in both his services and his physical prowess; hence why your family hired him specifically. Only the best for their daughter.
Despite your complicated feelings for Lycaon, your mother insisted on playing match maker. This latest man she picked out is the first one you've entertained going on a date with, mainly to shut your mother up. You honestly had no desire to date anyone; you have everything you could possibly need right now, even with how you feel about your butler.
The rest of the day is uneventful and before you know it, the sun is setting, casting orange rays into your windows. Lycaon is in the kitchen doing up dishes when he hears a loud knock on the door. He stops, his gaze shifting to the front door as whoever is out there continues to knock. Letting out a low growl, he takes his hands out of the dishwater, drying them off before putting his fingerless gloves back on. Tucking one of his arms behind him, he approaches the front door, opening it. He is greeted by short human male, his brown hair greasy and slicked back with a red goatee that is haphazardly trimmed and rectangle glasses. The man's eyes widen upon seeing Lycaon, who is glaring down at him with a furrowed brow. The man tries to speak, but finds himself at a loss for words.
"What business do you have with my Master?" Lycaon asks, his tone dark, his threatening gaze unwavering.
"I… uh… I'm here to pick up… uh…" the male stammers, checking something on his phone.
"It's fine, Lycaon! I'm expecting him, his name is Steve!" Lycaon hears you call from within the house.
Upon hearing you come down the stairs from your bedroom, Lycaon turns to look at you as you approach the front door. You suddenly stop in your tracks upon seeing the man at the front door, your eyes wide.
He looks nothing like the photos your mother sent of him.
Sensing your unease, Lycaon goes to you, giving you a reassuring pat on your shoulder as he shifts to stand behind you, standing tall and puffing his pectoral muscles outward; almost as if he's asserting his dominance. You banish the thought; that'd be ridiculous, he's your butler for crying out loud!
"Is this the person you mentioned you were going to dinner with, my lady?" Lycaon asks, his crimson gaze still locked on Steve.
You nod, swallowing hard as you struggle to get your anxiety under control. Your mother probably sent an outdated picture. Everything will be fine.
It wasn't fine. Steve took you to some dimly lit dive in Lumina Square; you didn't even think a place this dingy could exist. You are not a vain person, but this place is absolutely abhorrent. Steve was rambling on and on about god knows what, you stopped listening awhile ago; wishing desperately to be home where a beautifully cooked meal would be waiting for you. You're glad that you had Lycaon make a plate for you.
"-- so, what's with the Thiren living with you?" Steve asks, ripping you from your thoughts.
Realizing he's asking about Lycaon, you sit up straight, setting your hands onto the table, "he's my butler, why?"
Steve scoffs, giving you a sly smirk, "he's awfully jacked to be just a butler. I've never seen a Thiren built like that."
"He is able to protect me if needed, if that's what you're getting at," you reply, not even bothering to hide the annoyance in your voice.
"You won't need him anymore," Steve says, that stupid smirk still on his face as he leans forward, resting his chin on one of his hands as he rests his elbow on the table.
You lean back, crossing your arms, "and why is that?"
"Because you have me now."
The silence that follows after Steve's statement could have been cut with a knife. You discreetly pull out your phone, opening the Knock Knock app and send a single message to Lycaon.
"Lumina Square please come."
"I don't recall telling you that we're dating," you finally break the silence as you look up at Steve, your heart pounding in your chest as your anxiety heightens.
"You didn't have to, you let me take you to dinner. It's clear you're now my girlfriend," Steve says, gazing at you like you're a slab of meat, "and I want you to get rid of that butler. I don't need some disgusting Thiren third wheeling us."
He's one of those people. Fucking great.
"Lycaon isn't going anywhere, thank you very much," you reply as you suddenly stand up from the table, making your way to the entrance of the restaurant, "this date is over."
Steve stands up, rushing over to you and grabbing you by the wrist, pulling you to him, "you're not going anywhere, sweetheart!"
The small handful of people in the restaurant just stare at the two of you as you struggle against Steve's grasp; no one makes a move to help you.
"Let go of me you greasy asshole!" you yell, spitting in his face.
Steve scowls, wiping your spit from his face before slapping you across the face. You cry out when his hand makes contact, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. One of Steve's hands grasps your back side, squeezing so hard that you know for certain it's going to bruise later. The other hand grabs your chin, forcing your head so it's facing his and he tries to kiss you.
The front door of the restaurant suddenly gets kicked in and you feel a familiar chill in the air. You don't need to look to know that your loyal butler has arrived.
"Get your filthy hands off my Master," Lycaon growls, his heavy steps quickly advancing.
Steve sucks in a breath, his eyes widening as he lets go of you, shoving you away. You can see that he's trembling, frozen in place. You notice a wet spot on his pants, right between his legs.
Oh my god… he's pissed himself.
You stifle a laugh at this realization as you watch Lycaon approach him. The individual parts on his mechanical legs popping out and coating in ice, cooling the air around him. You pick up the chatter around you.
"Isn't that the owner of Victoria Housekeeping?!"
"Yeah, that's Von Lycaon!"
"I wouldn't want to be that guy right now…"
Steve stumbles backwards as Lycaon stalks towards him, his posture confident and his right arm tucked behind him.
"Dude I'm sorry! I was desperate ok?! It won't happen again!"
"You're right," Lycaon growls, his eye shifting up at Steve, his gaze like a crimson dagger, "it won't."
Within a blink of an eye, Lycaon rushes forward, punching him in the gut. Steve hunches over, a splatter of blood coming out of his mouth. Lycaon brings up one of his legs, kneeing Steve in the face before bringing his other leg around to give him a roundhouse kick. You cry out along with the other patrons as Steve is hurled into the back of the restaurant, crashing against the wall so hard, it leaves a large indent in the wall where Steve's body made contact before crashing to the floor. For a moment, Steve doesn't move and you start to fear that Lycaon might have killed him; that is until Steve starts groaning, staggering while standing up.
"You… You hit like a bitch…" Steve groans, wiping the blood coming from his mouth.
You spot a subtle smirk form on Lycaon's lips as he walks towards Steve, ice once again gathering on his mechanical legs, several different parts starting to glow. He stands in front of Steve once more, who is now laughing nervously.
"Say that again, cretin. To my face."
Not so tough now that Lycaon is inches in front of him, Steve remains silent, his legs wobbling as he fights to keep himself standing up. You watch Steve swallow hard, seemingly building up his courage.
"You hit like a bi--"
If you had blinked, you would have missed Lycaon kicking straight upwards, causing Steve's head to violently snap backwards, an audible crack reverberating in the restaurant. Steve drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Lycaon takes a moment to brush himself off before turning around and walking up to you.
"Don't worry, my lady, he's not dead," he says, as if reading your mind as he gently takes your arm to lead you outside, "let's get you home."
The first thing Lycaon had done once the two of you had gotten home was start the shower for you. You have no idea how much time has passed since you stepped inside, letting the hot water fall on you as you silently cry. You should have listened to your gut when you realized Steve looked nothing like the photo your mother had sent you. That is the last time you let your mother play match maker. You felt awful that Lycaon had to basically come rescue you. There's no doubt your father is going to catch wind about what happened, especially considering the amount of damage Lycaon had caused in the restaurant.
You'll worry about that later. Right now, all you wanted to do was get cleaned up and go to sleep. You turn the shower off, pushing the shower curtain aside to step out, but you stop yourself. You find one of your bathrobes folded neatly on the counter next to the sink, but that's not all. A single red rose is placed on top of the folded robe. You carefully step out of the shower, approach the bathroom counter, gingerly pick up the rose and twirl it in your fingers slowly; the rose having been meticulously de-thorned.
Lycaon…?
Another spot of red in the corner of your eye catches your attention. Turning to look, you see that there is a trail of red rose petals on the floor that leads out of the bathroom. You take the robe and put it on, wrapping it around your nude body and tying it before you follow the trail of rose petals. Upon opening the bathroom door, you are once again stunned, too frozen in shock to move. The rose petals lead straight to your bed, the plush white comforter not only covered in petals, but with whole roses like the one you found in the bathroom; there's at least twenty of them, if not more.
You hesitantly walk towards your bed, your heart pounding in your chest. Did Lycaon do this? He must have, who else would have, you're the only two people in the house. But why? What does this mean? Your breaths are heavy, causing your chest to heave as you look down at your bed. You place your hand over your heart in an attempt to calm yourself. Surely, he's just trying to cheer you up after your horrific date. That must be it.
"My lady."
You suck in a breath at the sound of Lycaon's voice, slowly turning around to face him. Standing in the doorway, you immediately notice he's not wearing his signature vest, but just the white button up shirt he typically wears beneath the vest, the sleeves still rolled up to his elbows along with his black pants. The shirt is unbuttoned halfway, a tuft of fur spilling from his shirt. You feel your mouth hang slightly agape as your eyes run up and down Lycaon's form.
"If I had known you were going on a date with that… filth, I wouldn't have let you go."
He slowly approaches you, the sultry look in his eye erasing any doubts of his intentions; the sound of his mechanical legs walking across the floor echoing in your head as he approaches. You unconsciously take a step back away from him, the back of your legs hitting the foot of the bed.
"My liege," he whispers, the backs of his fingers gently caressing the side of your face, "there is no need to be alarmed. Unlike that disgusting drivel, I would never hurt you."
His fingers gently dance across your jaw line, moving downwards until he reaches your throat. You swallow hard as his fingers gingerly wrap around your neck, "that is unless… you want me to hurt you."
You watch his eye darken, a mischievous smirk forming on his lips as his fingers delicately squeeze the pulse points on your neck.
"Lycaon we… we shouldn't do this. If my father finds out--"
"To hell with your father," he growls, stepping closer to you, "I've seen how you look at me, my lady; the way your eyes linger on me when you think I'm not looking."
His hand moves from your throat, sliding down to rest onto your chest, right over your racing heart, "I know you want this as much as I do."
Your head is spinning, being pushed and pulled between all your complicated feelings. You do want this. As much as you want this, he's your butler under your family's employ, you know it's wrong. You hesitantly shake your head.
Lycaon lets out a low chuckle, leaning down to whisper in your ear, "I can smell your arousal, my lady. You should know more than anyone that you can't fool me."
Wrapping one of his arms around your waist, he tenderly coaxes you to lay back onto the bed, his muzzle buried into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as he cages you with his body. His hands grasp onto your thighs, gingerly spreading your legs apart so he can settle himself between them. You can feel him grazing his teeth along the side of your neck, to your jawline until his lips linger just in front of yours.
With a deep breath, you finally give in to your desires, kissing him deeply as your hands run up his chest. Your fingers find the buttons on his shirt and begin to unbutton them, his shirt falling open once you undo the last button. As your hands massage his chest, you can feel the toned muscle under his soft fur. Letting out a groan, Lycaon deepens your kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth to dance with yours.
You feel like the kiss lasts an eternity and let out a soft whimper when he breaks the kiss. He lets out a low chuckle as he leans down, kissing your collar bone as he unties your robe, pushing off you. Once your body is exposed, he trails kisses between your breasts, over your stomach until you can feel his warm breath over your folds.
"From this moment on, I will be the only man touching you," he states, his gaze locked on yours has he runs his tongue through your folds before continuing, "if a man so much as breathes on you, I will snap him in half like a twig."
Between his ministrations on your cunt and his words, you're completely overwhelmed by pleasure, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you lay your head against the mattress; your pussy walls fluttering around nothing. You hear another low chuckle from Lycaon.
"Oh? Do you like that, my liege? Do you like it when I protect you?" he asks with a playful tone.
He doesn't allow you to answer, however, because he immediately seals his lips around your throbbing clit, gingerly taking it between his teeth and caressing it with his tongue, reveling in the sound of the loud moans coming from you as he does so. You dig your heels into the bed as your hands grip the sheets. Your legs trembling, a strained cry comes out of you as you finally come undone on his tongue. Lycaon eagerly laps up your release.
"My lady, you're as succulent as the sweetest fruit," he says softly, licking your release from his lips as he begins to climb back on top of you.
He hooks both of his arms under your thighs, draping your legs onto his shoulders as he looms above you. Staring down at you longingly, he begins undoing the belt on his pants with one hand. Your eyes widen when he pulls out his member. It's massive, easily the biggest you've ever laid eyes on. You can't help but also notice the large knot at the base, causing your heart to flutter.
Is he going to fit?!
Leaning back on his haunches, he spits on your pussy, using his fingers to massage his saliva into your folds before leaning back on top of you. You can feel his cock prod at your entrance, causing your heart to race in anxiety and anticipation.
"Tell me if it's too much, ok?" he whispers as he moves his hips forward.
You nod, sucking in a breath as you feel him penetrate you, his girth filling you up perfectly. As he begins to thrust, you watch his tail begin to wag back and forth, teasing a smile from you. His lips once again lock with yours, kissing you deeply as he fucks you with steady and even thrusts. Moaning softly into his kiss, you run your hands up his chest, then up the sides of his neck before settling on each side of his face, your hips moving in time with his.
He feels absolutely heavenly inside you, your walls squeezing his cock as it bullies its way deeper and deeper. He abruptly stops and pulls out, flipping you onto your stomach before lining his member back up with your throbbing cunt.
"I'm going to breed this beautiful pussy." he says, sheathing himself back inside you up to his knot, "fill you up with all my pups. Would you like that, my liege?"
He begins to thrust again, more aggressively this time. Each thrust forcing his knot into you, stretching you. You nod weakly as more moans spill out of you and before long, his knot is finally fully inside, creating a seal. It's a little painful at first, but that is quickly replaced by the intense pleasure coursing through your body as he pounds into you. Letting out a growl, he bites into your shoulder as his thrusts become sporadic.
You cry out is name, tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you claw the sheets with your fingers, your second orgasm barreling towards you. With one final thrust, he pushes himself as deep inside you as he can possibly go without hurting you, shooting his load straight into your womb, painting your insides white with his seed. Your whole body is trembling from your release, your walls squeezing him as his cock continues to throb inside you.
You feel Lycaon's tongue lap where he had bit into your shoulder before nuzzling your cheek with his, his powerful arms wrapping around you, "are you alight, my lady?"
You turn to him, kissing him on the cheek unable to get the huge smile off your face, "more than alight, Lycaon."
"Good. That's what I like to hear."
#von lycaon#lycaon#von lycaon x reader#lycaon x reader#von lycaon smut#lycaon smut#zzzero#zenless zone zero#zenless zone zero smut#gigabyte writes
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realistic sex with mingi
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mingi x f!reader fluff | smut | mdni a/n: mingi is the second entry to this series where i try to imagine how each member would actually fuck, as ✨realistically✨ as possible. disclaimer: i say realistic but lets be honest this is pure delulu behaviour and total fiction. everything is solely based on the vibes the boys give off.
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first i wanna say loyal af. like he probably simped for you for a while before daring to even speak to you so now that he's got you he's not interested in anyone else.
he will literally place in every conversation with a stranger that he has a gf within the first few minutes just so everything is clear.
also it helps that he just constantly wanna brag about you/show you off (more on that later). because he’s just so proud he pulled you.
mingi makes his intentions KNOWN. that man is taken thank you very much
he wears his heart on his sleeves and it shows when he's dating and i think that's why he sucks at flirting when he actually cares. if he's crushing on you he'll be all clumsy and will try to do too much to impress you by doing/being too much. eg: laughing super loud at jokes, or if you are with a group of friends he would find a way to make everyone quiet so you can speak (also will find a way to always be the one sitting next to you)
if it's just a fling for a confidence boost and he has no real interest in the person then he'll be so smooooooth, literally rizz over 9000. we’re talking full on witty/flirty remarks, attentive sharp eyes and sinful lip biting morphing into the most stunning smile you’ve ever seen.
but not with you nuh huh. the man was a mess either too selfconscious to speak or just ending up saying something really cringe (which he thought about for weeks after)
but eventually he got to score you for himself
that's why he absolutely loves skinship. he wants to hold your hand, have you play with his hair all the time. he wants to have his big hand on your thigh (we'll talk more about that later wink wonk) when you're sitting next to him. and he doesn't care if people are around. pda is his middle name. (definitely pda line with san and woo)
he will literally kiss you like his life depends on it in front of whoever wants to see. (actually he might even like have an audience wink wonk again)
i feel mingi enjoys lazy sex. he loves to take you when you're both laying on your side. he likes that this way he gets to hold your hips. curl his fingers around your thighs and pull you back on his cock over and over again while he peppers you with kisses in the crook of your neck moaning just for you right in your ear
but what this man really loves is when you are on top. i’m convinced he's a switch. He can dom or sub but if he doms then you'll have to be a power bottom.
he just loves seeing you on top.
he truly believes under you is his rightful place. there or between your legs (more on that laterrrr)
needless to say he's a sub leaning switch but that being said he's not into anything very rough (especially not on the receiving end).
but he definitely has it in him. he can be really rough if you know how to push his buttons right
speaking of which that is not through jealousy
if he sees you flirting with someone else i don't think it will tap into his possessiveness. well it might but it won't have the desired effect. it will only make him insecure and maybe he will feel like he's losing you. so please don't make our giant baby jealous he'll only be sad.
(i think that would absolutely do the trick on joong, woo and 2ho)
no if you want him to rail you like a train i think you have to use one specific tactic for maximum domification effect: tapping into his voyeurism/exhibitionism thing
i feel like he would love for you to be risky in public like i said mingi is proud of you and he loves to show you off. he is def the type to like to have an audience. i think there's a little voyeurism/exhibitionism hiding in him somewhere. so tap into that to get him really going.
maybe lift up your skirt for him while grocery shopping or like whisper to him that you're not wearing any underwear while at the dinner table with all the members better yet one up that statement by discreetly slipping the undergarment into his hand. i guarantee he’ll become hard on the spot. if you start stroking his thighs (an innocent token of affection for the others) he will start leaking for you too. getting red in the face and blaming it on the alcohol when the others point it out.
if you’re really daring (and you really want him to go crazy on you after) brush your hand over his hard on but that’s risky because he just might jerk his hips up so powerfully (unintentionally ofc) that it will knock over your soju glasses.
but that’s the perfect excuse to bring him to the bathroom pretending he got some soju on his pants… (smirking evilly)
but yeah just be a little secretly naughty just for him.
and now that he’s got you for himself it’s all over for you
he'll tear your clothes the second he can. making you take him hard and deep and manhandling you
bending you over the bathroom sink and pushing his big fat cock into your already pulsing little pussy. scoffing at you when he swipes his tip through your folds only to realize you are soaking wet.
“look at you. getting all wet from being a little brat all night”
the second he bottoms out he lets out the lowest of groans and snakes his fingers in your hair, lifting your head and making you look at yourself in the mirror.
"that's what you wanted right?" "i should have bent you over the table and taken you right there in front of all of them"
he probably made you cum embarrassingly fast too "looked at your fucked out face, baby. you talked a big game but is that really all you got?" then proceeds to fuck you some more just to overstim you <3
dklajdlskslskdb
but i think he naturally gravitates towards subbing. he can and will dom but he prefers being taken care of (a princess <3) so if you're a dom by nature that's completely fine by him
one thing is certain mingi needs LOTS OF PRAISE. just watch his face melt when you tell him what a good job he does. the low groans turning into high pitched whimpers every time you call him your good boy.
“you’re doing so good for me baby” “you feel so good inside me”
he will literally bury his face in your neck and muffle his whines on your skin.
and that's it he’s gone. done for.
another big thing about this big man: ORAL
eating you out
mingi's purpose is to be between your legs. he loves to eat you out. hwa and him are the members that like it the most. but contrary to hwa that takes advantage of the absolutely fantastic muscle he has in his mouth mingi uses another advantage. which is his beautiful nose. mingi loves to actually fuck you with his whole face. he will slip his tongue into your center while rubbing his nose on your clit.
or better yet he will have you sit on his face. and just so we’re clear when he says sit on it. he means SIT. he wants to suffocate in your juices, your thighs tightly wrapped around his head. he wants you to use him. he wants to feel your arousal dripping in his eager mouth and your taste clouding his mind. he wants to lose himself into you. he loves to feel your thrusts against his face, struggling to breathe every chances he gets. feeling drag you swollen clit over his mouth and nose and throbbing when your close. there’s nothing he likes more.
but mingi loves oral in general he also absolutely loves to be in your mouth
and the primary reason for this is very simple EYE CONTACT. he loves that. he loves to see you look at him. he wants to be your whole world (because you surely are his everything) and he loves to have your undivided attention. (that man just loves attention i mean have you seen him on stage? Doing all the scandalous body rolls just to wreck every bias list in the venue. literally the most leo move he can pull smh)
other reason why he loves to be in your mouth is because this man be packing the big gunsss proud member of big dick line with yunho
he loves to see you struggle to take him all in your mouth and loves to see your watery eyes and he likes it SLOPPY. Just go to town on his big fat cock. Really don't be shy. Use a lot of spit and changing of pace and don’t forget the balls. maybe edge him a little i think he might like it too. just imagine the beautiful noises you can pull out of him if you keep him on the edge for a while. until he caves in and just begs so sweetly for you <3
“pleasepleasepleaseplease” when he feels he’s close then sigh in disappointment when you take your mouth off him once again. So he bucks his hips up trying so bad to have your mouth around him again, his tip red and leaking for you. “please wanna cum so bad. pleaseplease i’ll do anything please let me cum”
all the while looking you dead in the eyes. he looks so cute his face all flushed and his mouth agape. he wouldn’t dare to take his eyes off yours for a second because he loves to see that smirk of yours spread on your lips. he wants to look at you all the time.
thats why mingi never wants to fuck in the dark in wants to see you (unlike hwa who loves to see you ofc but he needs to hear you)
and that's also why his favorite position is cowgirl!!!! he just loves looking at you make yourself feel good using his cock. he loves to look at your face, your chest, your body. just all of you using him.
he gets to see your breasts bounce on your chest with every thrust. he gets to see you arch your back and your jaw fall open when you get close and gets to see your skin glisten under a light sheen of sweat. he gets to see your nails leaving beautiful marks on his pecs. the undeniable proof that he belongs to you. because that’s exactly what he wants to be. he wants to feel like your toy.
when it comes to the sounds. i don't think mingi is very vocal.... with words that is because yes you WILL absolutely hear him. when he's on top/in control. It's lots of deep, guttural groans. i mean the man can go deeeeeep with his voice (and his dick) so i feel like he'll do just that.
he's not the one doing the dirty talk but HE LOVES to hear you saying all those nasty things (hence the praising from earlier). It's literally the only time he'll shut up to let you do all the talking. so do that. that will make him absolutely crazy for you.
and when he gets close or he’s subbing the groans turn into high pitched whines. mingi can go really high pitched (cfr. the way he screams when he's scared in wanteez) so you know instantly when he's about to cum. right when he is on the edge i think is the right time to be a little rougher if you're on top. maybe choke him or pull his hair. he would really love that. but don't be too rough either, especially with words.
he likes to cum anywhere on or in you. but what he really likes is when you choose. he loves to hear you say "i want you to fill me up with your cum" or "you can cum in my mouth baby" he will bust instantly at those commands. because you got him wrapped around your fingers and he knows and can’t get enough.
but when you say "you're doing so well for me my baby as a reward i'll let you cum where you want" then be certain he's going to pick your face almost every time. and don't close your eyes. look at him! he loves to cum for you. he wants you to see that.
afterwards you better big spoon him to sleep because he deserves it <3
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realistic sex with seonghwa, with yunho, with wooyoung, with san | ateez masterlist | navigation
#mingi smut#mingi fanfic#ateez smut#ateez mingi#mingi hard hours#mingi hard thoughts#mingi#song mingi#kpop smut#ateez hard hours#ateez hard thoughts#mingi x reader#ateez#mingi ateez#mingi fic#ateez headcanons#mingi headcanons
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Reasons why we know there's something wrong with Grandpa:
• believes immigrants are eating their neighbors pets because he heard someone say it on TV (without any evidence) • thinks injecting disinfectant into our veins might be a good idea. (It's definitely not, don't try it.) • claims America's F35 fighter jet is completely invisible, even if you're right next to it (like Wonder Woman's plane)
• praises white supremacists and KKK members who were chanting antisemitic hate speech, calling them "very fine people" • focuses on imaginary issues like preventing children from changing gender while at school, but ignores real problems like school shootings • thought it was a good idea to give away our desperately needed Covid test machines to our adversary ("Grandpa, what have you done?" — he can't be left alone for a minute) • decided to believe Putin's lies, but dismiss findings from America's intelligence agencies • claims America had airplanes during the Revolutionary War
• believes in the Nazi ideology that immigrants are "poisoning the blood of our country," and says some migrants are actually subhuman "animals" • insisted that the U.S. would have fewer coronavirus cases if it conducted less testing (yes, a U.S. president in charge of controlling the crisis, actually said something this inept, repeatedly) • due to his incompetence and lies during the Covid crisis, the U.S. had one of the highest rates of Covid deaths in the world • thinks windmills cause cancer and kill whales • speaks endlessly about his concerns re: dying by electrocution from a boat battery or being eaten by a shark
• thinks he's above the law and, as president, should be able to commit as many crimes as he wants • is a billionaire who whines about how badly he's been treated, then he's chauffeured to his private jet • likes to discuss Arnold Palmer's penis • after NINE years of repeatedly promising to unveil his Healthcare Plan "very soon," he admits he still has no real plan —only "concepts of a plan" • has a bizarre attraction to the fictional cannibal and serial killer, Hannibal Lector (why? no one knows —and everyone's afraid to ask)
• advocates dangerous plots, like using the military against Americans who disagree with him, or using the DOJ to arrest them, or just telling people to "beat the crap out of them" and he'll pay their legal fees • thinks having a national day of violence is a good idea (we should never have let Grandpa watch "The Purge") • wants to be the "law and order president," yet this 34 time convicted felon incites people to riot and to commit criminal acts of violence • unable to take the loss of an election like a man, he had a temper tantrum like a toddler, that culminated in a treasonous insurrection
⠀This guy is so delusional, he claims he's a genius because he often speaks incoherently in something he calls "the Weave." Here are two examples: • "How disgusted were all when we see all of us are when we see three days ago when we viewed their parade." Asheboro, NC, 8/21/24 • When asked, "What specific legislation will you commit to, to make child care affordable?" He responded, “Well, I would do that, and we’re sitting down, you know; I was, somebody, we had Senator Marco Rubio and my daughter, Ivanka, who was so impactful on that issue. ...But I think when you talk about the kind of numbers that I’m talking about that because the childcare is childcare, couldn’t, you know, there’s something you have to have it, in this country you have to have it.” New York, NY, 9/5/24 ⠀If this was anybody else's Grandpa, the family would be having discussions about who's going to go with Grandpa to the doctor to find out what's wrong with him, and who's going to be in charge of finding him a nice convalescent home to live in. ⠀My suggestion is that it might be a good idea to elect a president who has no cognitive impairment and can tell the difference between reality and delusions. Personally, I think that's a rather important quality in a president.
#trump#politics#government#us politics#America#USA#donald trump#democracy#republicans#democrats#American politics#aesthetic#election#beauty-funny-trippy#Washington DC#Kamala Harris#vote#voting#presidential election#movies#meme#memes#pets#funny#lol#humor#haha#planes#aviation#immigration
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seriously mean
you can see what you like in fiction, blah blah blah, projecting onto characters is fun, etc
though it really seems like i watched a completely different movie from everyone else's deadpool and wolverine. they hate each other??? logan's a short fuse who doesn't control himself???
logan doesn't attack wade or the bartender despite the insults and the manhandling. no one's afraid of him, everyone stayed put instead of running.
logan outright says "talk about something else". not "shut the fuck up", not "you are so fucking annoying". a directive to continue yapping. just not about the suit. that's literally "keep going". he listened for however long they were walking and in the car, and he was actually LISTENING. he wasn't tuning it out. he wouldn't have known about vanessa and the avengers and the previous xmen adventures if he didn't care about what wade was saying.
all the "insults" that are actual insults only happen when wade's killed someone--after johnny dies, after nicepool dies. logan calls him an asshole after the first cassandra meeting, but in the context of his yapping having just killed johnny and nearly themselves too.
but he immediately asks for his input and then lets him yap again in the diner and all the way to the car fight. he doesn't use insults at all until after wade gets johnny killed, even though wade starts out insulting him in the bar and immediately in the void with "ape". though was he insulting logan or was it a compliment to his inhuman half, designed like an insult? logan's the one who gets down on all fours like an animal in the first fight scene, after wade's said "this is gonna be good". from how easily logan takes down sabretooth, we know that fight was pure fooling around.
logan's not mad when he finds out his universe can't be fixed, because he'll happily trade his past for wade's future--twice, going in the reactor and again when he doesn't demand to return to his own universe. a world without wade isn't one he wants. he makes to walk away because he needs to know if wade will call his name, just as logan called wade's in the reactor. and again, wade's an idiot and annoying in the reactor because he's about to kill someone again--himself.
at the end he says the avengers would be lucky to have wade. that's sincere. he was going to walk off, but chose to turn around and stay with wade. not because he had nowhere else to go, but because he likes the guy he just complimented. when meeting al, wade's throwing gross nonsense and logan is FOND and laughing along. that isn't disgust or frustration.
this is without getting into the motif that "taking the piss", aka insults aka verbal assaults, is "pulling your leg"--a joke. it's not meant seriously. it's flirting, foreplay, feeling each other out: physical violence is sex; verbal violence is first base.
so a mean joke isn't seriously like that but it very much definitely IS...."""like that""", in all seriousness. if you're insulting someone, you're "giving them an excuse", a come on to fucking go. an invite to...come....at? on?.....you. wade and logan both see right through the fourth wall, so this isn't only metatextual but also literally textual. they know what they're playing at.
a joke can also be an excuse to say one thing and mean another, like nicepool claiming to be nice while actually being rude. so if you act like you're mean.....you're saving the good stuff for special occasions. for someone who wants to have a go at you. it's why wade gets all breathy flustered in the car as they're....not playing nicely with each other. you gotta be....seriously mean.... if you wanna get under someone's skin....to live rent free with them. like family does. it's a callback to dp1: if you're paying for it, then you're only renting love, it's not a real happily ever after.
there's also a motif going on with costumes and masks making you "a different person", hence why wade and logan have radically different personalities in and out of their suits/masks. it's why wade takes off his mask to say nice things that he sincerely means.
#deadpool and wolverine#deadclaws#poolverine#meta#i typed seriously so many times it no longer feels real#haha reality joke in a meta fourth wall post#that's like sixteen walls
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Doctor Seraph kidnaps hero reader for good -
Oneshot
Villain sidekick yandere x GN hero reader
Warning: slight NSFW allusion, kidnapping, creepy behavior and forced proximity
(This is a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only, I do not support yandere behaviors in real life)
You opened your eyes, only to be met with darkness. Your figure was the only thing lit in the room. You could feel the restraint around your wrists and legs. They weren’t hurting you, but they were still tight enough to prevent you from moving. Then in the silence, broken up by your own breathing, a soft voice rose from the pitch black in front of you.
“I hope your head doesn’t hurt too much…”
The hidden figure partially walked into the light, presenting you with someone that definitely didn’t look like a criminal. He was wearing a white knitted cardigan with gold embroideries on the sleeves and a black t-shirt under it. The reflection of the light in his glasses prevented you from seeing his eyes. It took you a good second to recognize him, but the situation in which you had found yourself gave you no doubt. The sound of his voice paired with his crazy curly hair tied back into a ponytail was all too familiar.
“Doctor… Seraph?” You tentatively asked.
He smiled sheepishly and fully walked into your view, his feet almost touching yours from how close you two were now.
“I’m flattered th-that you recognized me so quickly.”
“What’s up with the civilian clothes? Is this some kind of off day kidnapping?”
“What? Oh heavens no! I just thought it was best to show you my identity… to make it fairer for you.”
“Fairer?”
It took a moment for your brain to register what he meant, but that’s when you realize the lack of fabric around your eyes. You weren’t wearing your mask. Your stomach dropped. You were already imagining disaster scenarios where your family and friends would now be at the mercy of all the criminals you fought over the years.
“I didn’t even tell you my real name! What an inconsiderate host I am.” He gave himself a face palm, “you can call me Vincent.”
“Why… Why are you telling me all this? What do you gain from this?” You couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, “is this some sick mind game before telling everyone who I am?”
You didn’t care to be hurt, to be kidnapped or tortured as long as your friends and relatives stayed safe.
“Sharing your secret identity!? Never!” He sounded genuinely surprised, “it wouldn’t be really nice of me to do that to the person I love, don't you think?”
He got closer to wipe away the tears from your cheeks and excused himself for the misunderstanding he had caused. You tried to recoil from his touch all the while giving him a pure look of confusion at this sudden confession.
“Don’t worry, I k-know that you feel the same way! You always were so gentle and kind to me compared to… the others.” He stuck his tongue out as if he was just reminded of the taste of spoiled milk, “But let’s forget about everyone else, we have each other now.”
He got on his knees as he said the last part and rested his head on your laps. He made a sound scarily similar to a moan while rubbing his cheek against the fabric. He stared up at you through his glasses and gave you a loving smile, but it quickly turned into an awkward one when he realized you couldn’t pet his head.
“Sorry about the restraints… I just can’t have you escape.”
You didn’t respond. You didn’t know what to do or say. He took your silence as something positive, since he straddled himself onto your lap and nuzzled his head into your neck. His warm breath grazing your skin was overwhelming all of your senses.
“You’re the first person to make me feel loved in such a long time.” He whispered with deep longing.
You could feel your heartbeat all the way into your throat, making you nauseous. You were attracted to him, no need to deny that, but this was going way too fast. That’s when it clicked in your brain.
“I don’t want to be with a criminal.”
He leaned back to look you in the eyes, shocked by your statement.
“W-what?”
“I don't want us to be together if you’re still a supervillain.” You repeated confidently.
“So…if I reform we can be a couple?”
“Yes!”
It was cliche, but you subtly crossed your fingers, hoping that it would be a good enough compromise for him. Vincent frowned, thinking about it for a good minute.
“B-but they’ll put me in prison… and I-I won't be able to be with you–” He got agitated, as if the simple idea of being apart from you was a punishment in itself.
“Don't worry! You’ve never been as bad as your boss, people will surely accept you with open arms.” You swiftly added, “and if not, I’ll say that you’re under my charge.”
He stared at you with dilated pupils and a heavy breath.
“You promise…That you will defend me from them?”
As soon as you nodded he went back to nuzzling his head into your neck and pushed his body closer to yours. You could feel something oddly hard poking at your stomach.
“I knew you r-really cared about me.” He whispered.
After a few minutes of silence, only being broken by small happy noises he let out during this forced cuddle session, you spoke up.
“Can you untie me? It would be nicer if I could embrace you back, don’t you think?” You forced yourself to sound casual despite the amount of stress you were under.
Vincent chuckled in response, causing goosebumps to sprang over your arms. He reacted as if you just asked a silly question.
“I can’t do that…I know you truly love me, but I-I also know that there’s still a part of you… that wants to escape and stop me.” He shook his head. “You just can’t help it, my little hero.”
You forced yourself to make an understanding smile.
This was going to be a long ride.
#yandere#yandere x gn reader#yandere male#yandere oc#yandere drabble#tw yandere#sub!yandere#sub yandere#yandere villain#gn reader#x gn reader#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#My oc-Vincent#My oc-Dotor Seraph#oneshot
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Asymetrical Symphony - Part 6
Universe: Arcane (LOL)
Pairing: Viktor x reader
Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help
Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.
A.N.: Thank you guys for commenting and faving the story. I'm always happy to read all you guys tell me! I'm going to try and reply back. Anywho, let the rollercoaster begin.
Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5
• ··········· • ············ •
The following week, you restarted the journey to becoming a member of Piltover's society under Esther’s wing.
The official story was: Your real mother was your aunt, and you had come back to Piltover after your fictional mother died, and because your real mother's maternal instincts were so fine-tuned, your real mother didn't mind that you or anyone else, for that matter, called you her child, and her your mother. Complicated? Yep. It would feed the gossip circles for years, and honestly, you both thrived on the drama.
Clothes were brought, space was made, introductions were done, and the process of making you an official Rainemour in the world was set in motion.
It felt like home, back to your old Topsider self, with the added extra of waking up, kicking and screaming with the feeling of fingertips on your forehead.
It had been a flurry of new faces, new places, and new customs. You met the house staff, Jaime and Oly, and the cook, Voltaire. While the two keepers lived on the lower floors, Voltaire lived somewhere other than the Cinquefoil building. He had been your mother’s friend for a few years and was the chef at several topside restaurants.
You still hadn't met the elusive Wyllah, but you had found out who she was. She was an art merchant, away on business, but most important, she was your mother’s significant other. Your mother had told you one night, almost in fear, she had found love after your father’s passing. You had blinked and shrugged. Nobody deserved to go through life alone.
Your mother’s life has been quite interesting on this side of the dimension rift. She was a writer, penning a series of fantasy books that magic lovers drank like water. She also found herself advocating for better education in Piltover. All of Piltover, especially the undercity. Esther tried to help those who wanted a chance to change their future.
It was only a matter of time until fate brought her and a certain engineer who also had a like-minded vision together. After that meeting, Esther became a patron of the Talis Lab and the Academy, helping with funding for any projects regarding the betterment of the city.
And that was the reason why you were now making your way towards a familiar lab in the Academy. A commission for her needed approval and had been delayed long enough with the rocket attack and you appearing out of thin air. Or, according to the gossip, like an illegitimate child.
“You didn’t need to come along.” She mumbled while pushing the elevator button.
“I wanted to come.” You smiled confidently at her. You wanted everyone to see you and become accustomed to you. It would be beneficial if you wanted to get into the business of saving the world.
“To check on your friends?”
You nodded. Before the Herald and the HexAngels, between Jayce becoming a councilor and the hextech showing its true colors, most of your time was divided between the music conservatory, the orchestra, Talis' labs, and home. And from all of those, home was the one you went to less and less with time. Therefore, when allowed to have even a single second of normalcy in a familiar place, you seized it.
When the elevator dinged, you walked inside with a conviction that was only masking a feeling of nervousness. Yes, you knew this place and the face on the other side of the lab door, but they didn't. You were just a stranger.
“Has it changed much?” Your mother whispered, and you grinned at her.
“Nah, a few artworks and garbage cans. Some names on the doors, but nothing else.”
“Really? Fascinating.” Her face was deep in thought.
“Stop.” You chuckled, knowing that look. She was taking mental notes. “It’s not that interesting.”
The elevator pinged and opened again. Instinctively you walked out first, knowing exactly where to go, your mother keeping up with you, scoffing.
“Well, excuse me if I find it amazing that my child jumped through time and space to save the world.”
“I didn’t save the world.” You rolled your eyes at her.
“Viktor is still alive, isn’t he?” She noted, raising her eyebrows.
As soon as she finished that sentence, a small thump of a dry explosion was heard inside the hextech lab. Like an empty milk carton was squished with a stomp.
“I’m sure he’s fine.” She added.
Another small firecracker-like explosion was heard, prompting you both to look at each other and break into a jog to reach the lab.
As expected, the door was locked, and although you had told your mom about a lot, the magic part was still something that needed some explanation. So you resorted to the least efficient way to open a closed door: banging on it.
“Viktor! Jayce?” Esther shouted. A few groans from behind the door warned you there was someone alive inside. Well, capable of moaning in pain was more accurate.
“Get the enforcers.” You mumbled to your mother; she nodded and raced around the corner.
As soon as she was out of sight, you pulled your glove off and magically unlocked the door, punching the rune you painted near the lock. The door immediately opened with the force of your hit but didn’t swing open as expected. It hit something and bounced back, slamming shut again while someone grunted in pain on the other side.
It’s funny how you could know someone from their tiniest squeak. And you knew that groan. You'd know it had it come from the other side of Piltover. Hells, you'd know it if it had been heard through the actual space and time rift.
Carefully this time you twisted the door handle, opening the door gently and peeking inside the lab.
Although the curtains were open, a dusty, thick white fog lingered in the air, making the room a shade darker. The floor was littered with tools, gears, and pencils that had fallen from their places, and a pair of goggles was lying on the floor next to a welding machine.
Viktor was sprawled on the ground, leaning back into one of his hands while the other was gently massaging his face. One of his legs was twisted uncomfortably, and the other was bent at the knee in front of him. You could see as he rubbed his face that there was blood coming from somewhere. After a while, he shook his head and looked up at the door.
When he managed to focus his gaze on you, his eyebrows knotted in confusion and then realization. With a sigh, he sat, grabbed the leg that was twisted uncomfortably, and brought it forward. You heard a metallic thud. Hextech leg. Your gaze shifted to his face; you saw the blood coming from his nose, but it didn’t seem broken. Above his eyebrow was a small curved gash, a courtesy of the goggles he probably ripped off his head.
“We do need to stop meeting like this.” he mumbled, trying to get up with the grace of a baby deer using its long limbs for the first time.
Putting your glove back on, you took a step closer and offered him a hand, which he accepted with raised eyebrows and a head tilt.
With more expertise than he was expecting, you grabbed his hand and forearm and pulled him up. Picking this man off the floor had become a skill both you and Jayce obtained a long time ago. His disability unfortunately made him an easy target for misfires. While you and Jayce would easily dodge anything coming your way, Viktor wouldn’t. Couldn’t. And since the fastest way to move him fast was pushing him out of the way, the three of you would end up on the floor, and either you or Jayce would shield Viktor from whatever was malfunctioning at the time. It wasn't your proudest idea, but it worked, and for better or worse, you all would escape relatively unscathed.
“Like what?” You asked, joining him in dusting off his clothes.
You patted his back gently, feeling the brace on his spine under his clothes. You didn't find it.
“After an explosion.” He swished the dust off his coat sleeves. The off-white coat was a tinge darker after the mishap.
“Technically, this is the first time we meet after an explosion.” You emphasized the word ‘after’ and he stopped mid-swipe, turning his face back towards you.
Shrugging, you lifted the corners of your mouth, giving him a grin that he responded to with a chuckle. You looked around the mess that was the lab at this moment and spotted his white cane and his wheeled bench.
You grabbed the cane first and gently pushed the stool so it would roll down next to him. He plopped down with a groan, using the table as leverage. You handed him the cane, and he nodded. You smile at his messy figure.
“Thank you.” He said, placing the cane between his knees and leaning into it with a heavy sigh.
“Do you need anything else?” You asked softly, stopping the urge to kneel next to him and take stock of his injuries.
“There is a first-aid kit somewhere on Jayce's desk. It’s on the...”
Before he finished the sentence, you jiggled the white box next to him, having already grabbed it when he mentioned it.
“How did…?” He asked, looking at you questioningly, and panic set in for a second.
“Oh, my dear boy!” Your mother burst in, followed by several Enforcers, and you sighed in relief.
“Is everything alright?” One of the Enforcers said, and you took a step back, leaning against the table behind where Viktor sat.
“Yes…” Viktor stated while your mother fussed over him.
One of the enforcers looked at you, and you recognized his eyes. He had been one of the men you had pushed out of your way at the front door of the Academy. You looked at the floor, trying to not provoke the man.
“Funny. You always seem to appear whenever anything goes boom, don't you?” He spat towards you.
“Not funny at all.” You replied, your tone serious, trying once more not to escalate the situation. For your sake and the people you cared about who were now looking between you and the Enforcer.
“Maybe we should call Officer Kiraman. I’m sure she would like to know that once again you’re in the vicinity of an attack.” He snarled, and you scowled at him, about to let him have it.
“You are going to call Officer Kiraman over a malfunctioning piece of equipment?” Viktor interrupted, straightening up with a wince while using his cane to get up from the stool. “Do you think she’ll get here before or after reading all the condolence letters sent to her? Or perhaps she will make time on Remembrance Day, right before the speech honoring her deceased mother."
A pin could be heard through the silence if a pin would have dropped in the lab. The main enforcer was looking at him, mouth hanging open; you and your mother looked at each other and then at a very collected, very serious Viktor. He seemed taller, with his shoulders straight, and you knew that after that tumble he was going to hurt for at least a week, but that didn't stop him from stepping up to the Enforcers. You had forgotten how much sass that man could pack in a single line.
“When is it going to be, officer?” The engineer shrugged, limping back towards a pile of sheets that had flown back. “I need to tidy up before she gets here.”
It took the group of Enforcers three seconds to clear out after that, and a collective sigh was heard from the three of you.
“You’d think being knocked around would make their synapses work faster.” Viktor waved a hand at them, still picking up papers, stopping midway to look at you, like he had just realized you were there. “Not that I agree with knocking around enforcers…or that you knocked around enforcers… I’m just saying…”
He was flustered, talking with his free hand while his eyes looked around the room. You chuckled, and he stopped when he heard you.
“You’re just saying…?” You teased, rolling your hand for him to keep going.
“Nothing of importance, I suppose.” He turned back to the table.
“I was hoping you could show me the reader.” Esther announced, grabbing a few nuts and bolts and placing them next to Viktor. “But I imagine it's not functioning.”
Viktor turned to her, realizing finally why you were both there. He smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck.
“Well, yes and no.” He said, tilting his head from side to side. “The explosion wasn’t it, but it was a component that I was trying to recreate to use in another experiment.”
“And now both are fried.” You answered by crossing your arms.
“Well…yes. But if you give me a few hours, I can make it work, at least for the reader. The other thing will wait, I guess…” he said quickly. “Better yet, give me a few minutes so I can get it, and I can at least show you what I have for now.”
“It's quite alright, dear. Take your time. We can just come back another time.” Esther said, and part of you felt disappointed.
Your second home was right here.
“That would hardly be fair. You’ve made it here. Give me a few minutes, an hour tops.” He was limping around waving his hand and cane.
“I suppose I do need to speak with Councilor Salo.” Your mother shrugged nonchalantly. “Do you want to—”
“No.” You cut her off. “Not really. You go ahead. I’ll get reacquainted with the Academy.”
“Reacquainted?” Viktor inquired, looking towards you.
“Last time I was here, I didn’t exactly take the scenic route.” You covered your mistake with an easy joke, and he chuckled at it.
• ············ •
You managed to walk around the Academy undisturbed. It was weird to walk around the familiar corridors, passing by people you knew and fighting the urge to say hello and strike up a conversation. It was awfully lonely, seeing everyone going about their lives, never knowing about you.
Although it saddened you, you understood that it wasn’t because you weren’t needed in their lives but because fate found a way to replace you. Maybe you hadn’t saved Sky from falling down the stairs in this universe, because maybe her classroom was on the same floor she was at.
As you wandered, you found yourself in a corridor with very recognizable double doors. The Council Chamber was guarded by several guards, and you felt the morbid curiosity to see if the room was the same as it was in your time.
As you searched your brain for a way to bypass the guards, a familiar whispering in your ear. The rune from the elevator flashed behind your eyes. The one you hadn’t managed to make work. You took your gloves off again and drew the symbol in a railing, disguising it as an absent movement as you looked down to the courtyard. You let it go, and nothing happened for a couple of seconds.
And then the groaning of metal grinding against another surface filled your ears. Your eyes turned upwards as you saw the metal spike that held the Academy’s banner to the stone ceiling give way and slip. The heavy banner made a swoosh noise as it fell, and your eyes widened.
You saw the Enforcers run towards the elevator and the stairs. You turned your back to them and waited until their hurried footsteps had softened.
Quickly you made your way to the chamber through the door you had burst open. A new door had been placed and locked, but you unlocked it with three swipes of your fingers.
The chamber room was as spacious as you remembered, the hole in the dome a grim reminder that those who sat in this room were as vulnerable as everyone else in the city. You remembered Viktor’s diagram, looking around at the empty and cracked chairs. Most of the smaller debris had been cleaned off, leaving only the big and medium chunks. The ones that couldn't just be carried off by crewmen. The sun shone high and bright in the clear sky, illuminating the whole room, the long pieces of the damaged dome casting a shadow on the floor.
You touched parts of the smooth stone that were still intact and walked toward the edge of the room, feeling the wind on your face. It had been an awakening to these people, but not the one that Piltover needed. This whole region forgot how hard it is to break a rope and how easy it is to break a strand. Only in the end did they figure out that the many are more powerful than the few. That blood, once spilt, is equally red whether it is from Zaun or Topside.
Closing your eyes, you stood for a moment, somewhat grieving what had been the beginning of the end.
(Nemo - The Code)
Welcome to the show. Let everybody know I’m done playing the game. I’ll break out of the chains.
Until the wind started whispering in your ear and your eyes shot open. What looked to be blue dust started to float like specks of dust toward the middle of the room, and you followed the flow. There was nothing there. But there could be.
You better buckle up; I'll pour another cup. This is my bohème, so drink it up, my friend.
Your hand moved unconsciously, drawing the rune in the air like it was second nature. You pushed it out with a flick of your hand. Like in the graveyard, it divided itself into several wisps of light and quickly moved toward parts of the broken table and chairs. A familiar rune appeared, but so did many others. Some are more complicated, others just little flicks of light. Shining bright in the middle of the rubble or being illuminated by sunlight.
I went to hell and back. To find myself on track, I broke the code.
You walked towards what had been the middle of the cog-like shape and watched as the wisps danced around. Looking around, you noticed the runes were surrounding you, pulsating like a heartbeat; you noticed your hand doing the same, in rhythm with the wisps. You saw a small piece of rubble that had been missing by the cleaning crew and took a deep breath.
“Here goes nothing.”
Let me tell you a tale about life, 'Bout the good and the bad; better hold on tight.
Starting with the rune in front of you, you carved it on the floor, the piece of rubble in your hand serving as a makeshift chalk. You kept carving the runes on the floor in front of where they appeared in the air. The world around you faded, and your vision became focused.
See the rune, and trace the rune on the floor.
Let me taste the lows and highs; let me feel that burning fright.
It was automatic; you didn’t think or even study the rune. At some point, you felt like it was the rune commanding you to write, rather than your desire to write them. And even though it was akin to someone using your arm and hand to do this, it never felt like you couldn’t stop.
It was almost cathartic.
Somewhere between the O's and ones, that's where I found my kingdom come.
When you found yourself at the beginning of the circle of runes, you stopped and took a step back. The wisps had disappeared, but you could see a faint light throbbing under the scratched runes.
It looked so unbelievably perfect for something that you had scratched on the floor with a piece of cement. Every space between runes was precise, and the little ticks and dots were perfectly balanced.
With that amount of rigor, it was easy to see something was missing, a single wisp in the spot where the cog table opened. Familiar strokes. Ones you’ve been looking at ever since you woke up in the hospital.
You looked at your palm, the rune there shining so bright it almost burned. Taking a few steps towards the space, you shook your hand in the air and slammed it into the slot.
My heart beats like a drum.
The whole room shook, and for a second you got scared, but when the runes started ungluing themselves off the ground and quickly zapping around different parts of the table, you became too fascinated with the show to care.
If the building fell, you don’t think you’d even notice.
Every piece of wreckage, big or small, started floating above you, aided by strands of magic that pushed and pulled and moved different pieces toward different places. Their rightful places. Once a piece found its match, it was welded together by a flash of blue light, leaving them complete with a trace of metallic blue where the crack had been.
I went to hell and back. To find myself on track, I broke the code.
You noticed the same thing happening in the chairs, and by the end of the magic show, the table and the chairs were floating around you. Slowly drifting and turning into their right position. Until they wafted back down to the floor with an incredible low thud.
It was almost overwhelming once it was all over how the silence settled around you. The runes on the floor disappeared, your hand stopped glowing, and the table was complete, whole, pieced together by little blue veins. The only thing you heard was the birds outside, the wind through the damaged dome, your heavy breathing, and the clunk of a metal cane hitting the floor.
Your neck snapped at the sound, and you saw a wide-eyed Viktor standing in front of the side door you had entered.
“Your… your mother is… She’s looking for you.” He stuttered.
• ··········· • ············ •
@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty
#league of legends#lol#leagueoflegends#arcane#viktor#jayce#viktor arcane#viktor league of legends#viktor lol#viktor x reader#arcane herald#arcane season 2#arcane act 3#arcane spoilers#arcane x y/n#arcane viktor#arcane x you#arcane characters#arcane x reader
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thinking about transfem metal sonic again bc she’s like. the most transfem character in fiction whos not in any way actually transfem or coded transfem like it’s entirely unintentional and that’s what makes it so interesting to me. bc like her entire Thing is identity issues she was built to emulate, surpass, and be a superior version of sonic which like. we can talk about eggman hating sonic so much he literally made a better version of him as his own child another time but besides that metal's entire life has been being forced to fill the expectations placed on her to Be someone she can never be. and this is something that causes her a great deal of anguish! she literally has a mental breakdown over it it’s something that’s clearly traumatic and distressing to her bc she can’t do it! defeating and proving herself superior to sonic is something inexorably linked to her, and both cause her nothing but misery and are both very literally dehumanising towards her. she clings to them, bc she has nothing else and it’s the only path that she’s been allowed to even consider, but they don’t make her Happy. she wouldn’t be so fucking angry all the time if she was happy! but it’s what she’s literally been programmed to believe she wants even though chasing that ambition provides her no joy or relief.
and in sonic heroes, the pressure makes her snap. if she Has to fill the mould she’s forced into, then it’s the outside world saying she’s doing it wrong that’s the problem, because she Has to be perfect, right? metal sonic is the golden child out of all of her “siblings”, and while that means she’s not outright going to be destroyed by her father and faces much less verbal abuse and marginally more affection, it also means she’s forced to uphold the perfect image her father sees her as, else she fail and face the same treatment she’s seen her fellow badniks go through. and that image she’s always tried so, so hard to force herself to fit is that of her father's magnum opus, his masterpiece, a superior version of his enemy. and to be superior to sonic she has to Be sonic and so if everyone says she’s Not they have to be the ones in the wrong and not Her she has to be the real true superior sonic and she has to Prove it.
but the thing is, not only is she forcing herself into performing the perfect role set on her- one that’s specifically masculine- she also reinvents Herself. this is something in heroes a lot of people miss, but neo metal sonic isn’t an upgrade From Eggman to her (and also came After her breakdown, she did it Because she felt she couldn’t Beat Sonic And Therefore Be Him if she stayed the same) her neo form is entirely self designed, and it was done all by her own hands. neo metal sonic is probably the closest we can get to how metal actually wants to present herself to the world, that’s Literally just named to be the New Her, and. ma’am this is a goth girl.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/556372109891e2f9227dcc3bca705781/a11589b0910953be-fa/s540x810/ed5166de953674880f939c49834bbd763a99cd52.jpg)
like. not only is she Literally Wearing A Skirt, not only does she Literally Have Eyeliner, she's also designed in such a way it looks like she’s wearing clothes, which feels silly to bring up until you remember sonic anthro characters almost universally only wear clothes if they’re female. and neo metal sonic straight up has hatsune miku sleeves a belt with a flowy skirt and leg warmers but with spikes. like it’s already fem as shit (in a emo edgy fourteen year olds oc way) but like i'm pretty sure by mobian standards this is about as feminine as a murderous robot can reasonably get. and while obviously that doesn’t = gender, metal specifically presenting as feminine in her idealised form she designed herself, while having a meltdown because she’s unable to Be A Specific Boy and is having an identity crisis bc she’s miserable trying to chase that is… like, that’s just a closeted trans girl innit. like this is Very Obviously not the intended read but like… it’s an extremely obvious and resonant one?
metal is, canonically, a scared teenager. as in, she herself says that she was scared Before her transformation. she’s mentally like 15 afraid of failure with an abusive and neglectful father figure suffering from psychotic episodes brought about by golden child burnout. like that’s not how it’s phrased in a 2003 game rated 3 and up but that is like, objectively what’s happening in sonic heroes she’s very open about her motives that’s just canon. which doesn’t make her Trying To Burn A Toddler Alive in any way not absolutely horrible like people forget how excited she was to murder a group that included Multiple small children in it brutally she’s fucked up. but her issues with her identity are more tragic than anything. her being dehumanised and treated only as A Superior Sonic broke her. and when she finally is able to express herself in any way, she's able to present as, well, a very edgy teenage goth girl but in robot form! she’s a fucked up and evil person but she’s also unable to be her true self and she’s scared and frightened and alone. and she’s not incapable of good! she Did sacrifice her life for shadow in rivals 2 like she can care for people she’s not inherently evil she’s a Person just one that steals your IP address. but what Makes her evil is sticking to a path and presentation that makes her evil.
tl;dr: canonically transitioning would have saved her (this was not an intentional story decision they just accidentally made her ideal form goth girl hatsune miku before hatsune miku was even an idea)
#transfem metal sonic#metal sonic#sonic analysis#sorry sonic the hedgehog fandom you have to deal with my meta on why metal sonic is transfem as hell#this is why trans people love sonic heroes (me. i'm the trans people)
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𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (6)
remember lookin' at this room, we loved it 'cause of the light now, i just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time ten years of being one and the same with jungkook as the country's it couple is the perfect disguise for the reality of a tumultuous relationship hidden behind the scenes. ten years of lies and love and crawling back to one another. once shy, budding first love that blossomed before the weight of fame, the cracks begin to surface amidst your respective rises to stardom and navigation of your twenties. either finding euphoria or the end of the world, there's never any in between in existence for you and jungkook. as you build each other up and break each other down in front of millions of eyes, there is a crossroads ahead with words of "marriage" and "military" looming in the air - all while ignoring the price of fame breathing down your necks. this is the story of love and the lessons learned from the man you made your religion. and i wouldn't marry me either, a pathological people-pleaser who only wanted you to see her
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: jungkook picks up the pieces of the mess he made, as he looks back on his choices and the people he surrounded himself with. 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: idol!jungkook/female idol!reader and fictional versions of various idols 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. idol au, on-and-off relationship, angst, i swear there's fluff, fake dating, and themes of first love, growing up, struggles with fame, and marriage (ish) 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. PLEASE DON'T EXPECT HAPPINESS, portrayal of a toxic couple (implications of emotional abuse and control), both main characters are very flawed, violence, infidelity, foul language, substance use (illegal drugs) 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. based off of "you're losing me" by taylor swift. this is a fictional portrayal of real-life people that implement some aspects of real-life events. hi welcome back everyone!! it's been a very long time since the last update and i just really wanted to push something out, so hopefully this doesn't seem super rushed because it was important for me to get over my writing slump:) ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤjoin the taglist here!
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤm.list | previous | next
every mornin' i glared with you with storms in my eyes how can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dyin'?
TOP HEADLINE TODAY: are bts' jungkook and s.iren's nova the new power couple of the entertainment industry? positive reception indicates rare acceptance of idol relationshipㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ may 2018
jungkook was still so young, but as he examined his appearance in the mirror, he couldn’t help but notice the way age settled beneath his skin. one couldn’t tell by first glance, but his eyes were old and tired. it was difficult to remember the last time they lit up with a spark, rather than sitting half lidded and apathetic. his lips were fixed into a permanent frown when he was away from the cameras, despondent like worn out leather. nothing could cut through the fabric, especially not now. he was reminded of this, as his manager read out his schedule for the day and several stylists picked at his dark hair that fell just above his eyes now. his shoulders drooped further when he heard your name amongst the activities laid out for him.
“the red carpet begins at seven, your and y/n’s car will arrive at approximately seven twenty four - not too late, not too early that nobody will be there.”
this was the first public event that the two of you were scheduled to attend as a couple. of course, that was nerve wracking enough, but it didn’t help that you were still giving him the cold shoulder. he didn’t expect anything else and any blame would be misplaced, but it was worrying to look forward to feigning happiness for the cameras. he knew you like the back of his hand and you were a horrible liar. he knew every quirk at the corner of your lips when you smiled and the way a crease formed between your eyebrows when you grew frustrated. jungkook was one of the only people who noticed the way you bit the inside of your cheek when you got nervous and how you looked at people’s ears instead of their eyes when you got shy.
once upon a time, he would say that it was because you were his. now, you weren’t and he was just some stranger who knew every inch of you with his eyes closed.
jungkook hated himself for what he did to you and what he hated even more was that the world continued to spin regardless. his members, some oblivious to jungkook’s betrayal and others simply just suspicious of his faithfulness to his girlfriend, continued treating their youngest member as usual. seokjin and jimin gave him the hardest time, as the former was genuinely the most disappointed in jungkook and gave him a week-long cold shoulder after yelling at him, while jimin had to bear witness to the dramatic confrontation at hotel azure. however, there was no choice but to simply condemn jungkook’s actions and move on - they were still a unit whose careers relied on each other. they were also brothers at the end of the day and disagreeing with one person wouldn’t break their bond.
besides, it was clearly a sensitive topic for jungkook, despite the mass of guilt weighing his body down with every breath he took. no one heard from him for days following the dispatch article, presumably locked up in his apartment and drinking his consciousness away. everyone knew about his growing drinking problem, but were shocked to see the extent of it when they finally confronted him.
“i don’t think you should be the one crying and hiding,” muttered hoseok, who led the charge in recovering jungkook after everyone got fed up with him ghosting anyone who tried to reach him.
it was the eldest four of the group who broke into his home, just several hours prior to their flight to tokyo for a weekend-long event. this was after the first few days since the news broke and since anyone saw him in person. seokjin, although refusing to speak to jungkook, brought food for him, while namjoon and hoseok physically dragged him out of bed and yoongi forcibly went through his belongings to pack clothes on his behalf.
“i’m sorry, i don’t know what’s wrong with me,” was all jungkook could make out and it wasn’t clear if he was referring to the fact that he wasn’t cooperating or the situation with you as a whole. it also wasn’t clear if his hoarse speech was due to being under the influence or from crying.
yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose, watching his members push jungkook into his washroom to get himself decent. “this. . .this is pathetic,” he said, as there were no other words to describe the scene.
at least namjoon managed a sympathetic expression on his features. “he keeps saying over and over again that he’s sorry.”
and that was all jungkook knew. that he was sorry. that he had never made such a mistake in his life. he also knew that he had no explanation or excuse, no matter how he rationalized his actions to himself in the past few months. jungkook couldn’t figure out how he even did such a thing, until yoongi stopped him in his tracks, just before the five of them departed jungkook’s apartment.
jungkook nearly lost balance, as his head hung low as he walked and dragged his suitcase behind him. the others looked on from the hallway, upon noticing that yoongi paused in front of jungkook before he could close the front door behind him.
“your pockets. empty them, kook.”
yoongi knew before jungkook even realized that he brought it along. it was simply second nature and that was the problem. if it was even possible for further shame to illuminate in his dark eyes, jungkook made sure to cut his gaze away to avoid his older friend’s fiery one. without a word of protest, jungkook reached into the side of his jacket and revealed a flask, which he tossed on the floor behind him.
that was two weeks ago. it wasn’t much to be proud of, but jungkook swore on sobriety since then.
that meant it was also over two weeks since he saw you in person. even though it felt like forever, he knew it didn’t mean jack shit to you, who he knew hated him. the look in your eyes when you begged your company to not have anything to do with him, was something he could never forget. he wanted to scrub it off his skin until it was raw. the shame jungkook felt overwhelmed him to the point where he knew he wasn’t even worthy to feel guilt. he was embarrassed for the man he became.
however, the world kept spinning. nobody stopped to care for his problems or his mistakes, especially with the career he chose. jungkook was bts’ jungkook and people were relying on him - his fans, his group members, his company. nobody cared and he didn’t expect anyone to.
he didn’t care about the world continuing to spin in spite of him - his thoughts were consumed with how you were doing as the sun continued to set and rise amidst your suffering. jungkook couldn’t even bear to look you up on social media or the internet. sure, he would be reminded of the insane predicament that your companies just placed on the two of you, but more importantly, jungkook knew that he had no place checking up on you. he wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms and weep, to patch up the deep wound he inflicted on you. when your companies made the publicity plan official, jungkook thought it was the heavens above granting him some sort of second chance at winning you back.
yet, as he waited in a limousine, waiting for your arrival to drive over to this red carpet event, he was nervous. jungkook felt oxygen trapped in his throat, choking on the fear of facing you once more and it burned a deep hole in his body. he didn’t deserve this. you didn’t deserve this.
over the past two weeks, you didn't know how else to deal with your emotions other than the only way you’d done so for years - by ignoring it and shoving it into the back of your mind. if anyone crossed paths with you, they would simply congratulate you on the successful relationship and ask to say hi to your new public boyfriend. you would plaster on a tight smile and thank the person through your teeth.
the worst part was that no one even knew. even if they were present on that fateful night at hotel azure, any party attendee who saw the news could only assume that you were merely a spineless coward that crawled back to jungkook despite being publicly betrayed. you were defenseless and all of your walls were broken down.
it was an ironic thing, for the two of you to be so alone in the world and being pushed towards one another at the same time.
anyone could see that something was wrong, but it didn’t matter and no one dared to speak up. your makeup artist’s curious eyes were hard to miss, as she prompted for you to stop furrowing your eyebrows during the application of your foundation, but your pr manager’s cut eye from the corner of the dressing room silenced any questioning.
“how many times did you read it over?”
through gritted teeth, you responded, “seven.”
the stack of papers wedged between a flimsy plastic binder were just about as thick as your wrist and felt heavier that it actually was - likely because you were forced to carry it everywhere you went for the past few days. it was a collection of various documents relating to media and public relations, including the full-length version of your NDA with your company and bighit in relation to your coupling with jungkook. there was also a detailed guide to answering interview questions, how to stand next to one another, social media etiquette, and anything that could ever come up. hell, there was written practice on how to look at one another.
ms. choi was the special pr manager assigned to all activities and releases concerning your public relationship. you had met her at the meeting with the board of directors at the bighit company building and she reminded you of a math teacher that you used to hate in school. domineering, always looking over your schedule, and sent shivers up and down your spine. she was not someone to be messed with and above all, she was extremely particular about how she wanted things done. anyone would be a fool to cross her - perfect for the role she was hired to do.
she required you to review the binder several times before all public appearances and it was exhausting. you also had an inkling that your beloved didn’t have the same treatment and your suspicions were confirmed when you crossed paths with him for the first time in weeks, bearing no papers or preparation of any kind in his hands.
instead, he was positioned at the farthest corner of the limousine when the door was opened for you, taking his own precautions against you.
jungkook’s stomach dropped when the vehicle came to a stop in front of the familiar sight of your company building. there was a ticking time bomb at the core of his ribs and it was an explosion to be set off as soon as he saw your shadowy figure approach through the tinted windows. even though he’d been doing everything in his power to brace himself, he still flinched when the door swung open.
his entire body turned cold with rage and guilt when his eyes fell on you. he imagined greek goddesses dripping in gold and glowing in divinity throughout the history of time, but they still wouldn’t hold a candle to you. it was difficult to pinpoint the source of such celestial haze - perhaps your appearance long muddled in self-hatred and anger since hotel azure and now a glistening memory being remembered before his very eyes. it was like learning a lost nostalgia, as if it had been more than mere weeks since laying eyes on you. the taste was bitter and he refused to deem himself worthy of such a thing, but if you picked at jungkook’s brain and held him against his will, it would be a whispered confession of falling in love all over again.
in a tint of twinkling champagne, you donned a floor length evening gown with a fitted, mermaid silhouette. the beaded sweetheart neckline hugged your torso and was accentuated with a sharper edge at your clavicle, before creating a bolder figure flaring out into an hourglass shape. your hair was slicked back into a wet look, as loose curls enhanced by waist-length extensions framed your face. the makeup chosen for the look was simple - a nude gloss, soft flush of pink blush and a sharp eyeliner wing. the star of the show was truly your dress, as just a pair of small gold drop earrings were your only accessory.
thankfully, the dress wore you and not the other way around, as your misery was too loud to not be seen and so, the glamour of your attire created a successful camouflage. if anyone looked at you, they would only see your beauty and not your anguish - a heartbreaking curse on women who chased fame as their body of work.
the curse almost snuck past jungkook, who initially was struck by your appearance, but then saw the way you bit the inside of your cheek. the way emptiness sunk behind your regard. the way you accidentally locked eyes with him and broke away immediately, as if letting a curse word slip or touching something too hot.
“ten minutes to arrival.” jungkook’s manager cut through the obvious tension in the air, thick as nectar.
you sat opposite of him, pretending to pick at your manicured nails after setting your binder next to you and in between his manager. the space was well-needed, as you could barely acknowledge any of his team in the limousine.
jungkook replayed this moment prior to your arrival dozens of times in his head and in every version, he couldn’t even sputter out a polite greeting. he had no place. in this timeline, he, too, failed to say hello.
as the next few seconds progressed, those around you and jungkook were shifting in clear discomfort. jungkook wasn’t exactly prepared by any means, as his staff had barely been able to get him to respond with something more than a grunt and nod to any attempted interaction throughout the day. meanwhile, your team was watching you like a hawk, policing you like a child with your every move.
naturally, someone from your side - thinking that they uncovered the secret key - reached into a compartment and pulled out a pristine bottle of cristal.
with the hopes of easing the tension-filled air, she looked between the two of you and mused, “first public appearance together. drinks anyone?”
you were reaching for a flute already, even before jungkook could wave off the champagne. he didn’t miss the way several individuals in the car, including his own manager, exchanged shocked expressions at his decline. jungkook never said no to a drink before an event and it wasn’t rare for him to already show up slightly inebriated in the first place.
for the first time, you willingly looked up at him, also taken aback. before his eyes could blink back to yours, you were already staring out the window and sipping slowly on your champagne. if you allowed yourself to let your thoughts linger too long on jungkook’s rejection of alcohol, it would mean you cared. meanwhile, he assumed you’d already gone through all sorts of emotions, likely the entire seven stages of grief. maybe you finally came to accept that you no longer needed jungkook in your life.
however, there were precisely four moments that altered everything.
moment number one occurred precisely twenty three minutes after your reunion with jungkook. at this point, he’d used up the entire time on the way to the event trying to not appear like he was sulking. thankfully, your managers began explaining the agenda for the night and several, firm reminders of do’s and don’ts for the camera. the conversation filled up the heavy, dreadful space lingering between you two in the car.
though there was an obvious attempt to not come off as harsh, given the circumstances of clear torment between you, jungkook knew that this night was crucial. the two of you really needed to sell being a couple or face consequences that he couldn’t even imagine. this was your career at the end of the day and its fragile state laid in his hands.
so, before you knew it, the short ride was up and jungkook was greeted by the blinding lights of photographers at every angle possible, even before the car door was fully open. he knew to step out first and structure the perfect gentleman image, as this photo was surely going to be on every social media platform, every homepage, every magazine. the weight of the world rested on his shoulders and the only thing he could do was stretch a pearly white smile across his face.
“jungkook! jungkook, over here!” several reporters called out, ready like a cannon to fire away all the juicy questions in their arsenal since the relationship announcement.
throughout the past two weeks, the youngest member of bts wasn’t all that concerned with the actual publicity of the relationship. he was far too deep into grief to even consider the emotional toll that this new aspect of his job was going to have. he knew that he’d have to spend a generous amount of time with you, which was where the source of his anguish and guilt came from, but he nearly forgot how awful it was dealing with media in general. jungkook should have known that it was only going to get worse in the role he was now forced to play, as your public beau.
“jungkook! how’s y/n?” one reporter kept repeating over and over, wildly waving with one hand to get his attention.
another yelled, “jungkook, how does it feel to be the most searched term with y/n for fifteen days straight?”
while the screams were loud upon jungkook’s appearance, a hushed anticipation floated in the air. some expected other bts members to appear behind him. the crowd couldn’t even dream of the presence of jungkook’s newly official girlfriend, but as soon as one golden heel hit the velvet carpet, the floor nearly rumbled at the volume of yells.
this time, there was no choice but to hold a fixed gaze for longer than two seconds with one another, as your figure fully emerged from the limousine and met the blinding lights. the real job had begun and it was evident by the sudden smile mirrored on your face. it took jungkook aback, as he had been replaying your devastated expression at hotel azure over and over again for weeks. he was shackled to those memories of tears in your eyes - by the pool, in the elevator, at the bighit building.
“ready?”
it took a second to process that you were actually talking to him, as he did a double take. you arched a single, perfect eyebrow at him, as if he just told you a funny joke. one thing you always kept up was the fact that you insisted you were the funnier one out of the two of you, often playing the dynamic of a straight man that refused to laugh.
jungkook realized what you were doing - already portraying a different character for the cameras and it was one of a loving girlfriend that really wasn’t his. despite the heaviness in his chest, he had no choice but to play along, too.
he held out his arm for you and you gladly grasped it, looping your own through. although fans and reporters alike were still screaming at the top of their lungs, the touch of your hand on his arm nearly hurled jungkook back and to the ground. he forgot what it was like, to have your touch and to see your smile. moment one made him forget who he was and where he was, as if he was just yours once again.
this single, seemingly mundane, snapshot of the night was immortalized within jungkook’s mind. it was a second that transported him back in time, almost mockingly. he decided right then and there that he would be chasing these moments for as long as he could.
there was a certain fear that settled in jungkook’s skin, wondering if he would forever have to deal with your silence behind the scenes or suffering through forced touches in front of the cameras.
over time, it got better. when forced together in spaces like these, he was still too concerned with walking on eggshells around you to even try anything with you. he was too ashamed to talk to you, to laugh with you. there was always a safe distance between the two of you and jungkook made it a point to be as professional as possible.
the worst part was that he couldn’t read you at all. despite the fact that the two of you knew each other since you were practically kids meant nothing when the only face you wore was that of a stone cold expression. it drove jungkook crazy, especially when you so obviously feigned excitement or love when your job required you to. he watched puppet strings dictate every slight change of expression on your face and it felt like rocks in his stomach.
this safe distance was easy to maintain when watchful eyes of staff members lingered at every schedule - until they didn’t.
moment two, unlike moment one with you on the red carpet, was approached with fear and uncertainty. jungkook was ill-prepared this time around, having thought that he was looking forward to a rare friday night off when his phone and ms. choi demanded his presence across the city in less than twenty minutes. unlike the jungkook he knew in himself from even just a month prior, he wanted nothing to do with anything if it wasn’t involving laying down in his bed for the whole night.
deep down inside, he knew he wasn’t a party animal. it was nothing he yearned for, but instead, the idea of losing a bit of reality for even just a few hours. down some drinks here, take some pills there. that was the lifestyle he learned from his group of “friends.”
the “friends” was in quotations because there were a select few people in his life that openly declared themselves jungkook’s real friends - his group members, a handful of the 97 line, and others. they were in mostly opposition to the circle that jungkook ran in outside of the, which included bored chaebols, influencers, producers and club promoters with the world at the palm of their hand. they found jungkook to be a cute little idol that could be used for clout.
namjoon often warned jungkook about the people he surrounded himself with, but it was hard when they stuck to him like glue. it was as if he had his own little minions that enabled jungkook to do whatever he felt, as they crossed paths in every major city in the world. jungkook had his boys in los angeles, his connections in tokyo, the rich heirs of singapore. being constantly on tour and away from home was painful in every sense of the word, but he was able to numb it with the people around him.
that was the beginning of the end when it came to hurting when away from you.
surprisingly, jungkook avoided groupies. it was an easy trap for anyone blinded by the shining lights of fame to get lost in that world - maybe it had to do with his members and their own reservations regarding such a thing. while the company and management were strict, anyone could get their way if they were smart enough about it. regardless, it simply wasn’t the band’s prerogative to hook up with fans. instead, jungkook crumbled under pressure through other means.
it was a friday night like tonight, but he was certainly not laying down in bed. bts was in kyoto and celebrating their head choreographer’s birthday at a dingy, hole in the wall nightclub. the walls reeked of nicotine and it was so small that he couldn’t make two steps in either direction without crashing into someone. jungkook made this very mistake and that’s how she ended up falling into his arms. from there, they laughed it off, drank too much, and ended up in his bed by the end of the night.
the only reason why it even happened was because you uttered the words that jungkook thought he’d never hear: i hate you. the fight over the phone was about a multitude of things that was exacerbated by the distance placed between you two because of work and the fact that you were under the influence throughout the entire conversation, sipping on gin on the rocks as it progressed and became rowdy by the end of it as a result. you yelled the three words and hung up on jungkook, prompting him to also get completely wasted before attending the birthday party. he thought that was the end of it, as he heard the words that broke his heart in that moment. you were never one to pull your punches when it came to the harshness of your words, even calling him names in the past, but those three words were beyond anything else.
jungkook didn’t expect you to call him the morning after in tears, apologizing and wanting to make it right.
“dude, it’s not a big deal,” kelvin, one of jungkook’s buddies that was next in line to inherit some singaporean tech company, tried convincing him one night.
at this point, it’d been a few weeks after the affair and he was starting to feel the guilt building. the tour was about to end, which meant coming home to his girlfriend. the feelings only began to haunt jungkook at night, when he stared up at the ceiling of whatever hotel he was staying at that night. they scraped at his insides with metal forks and jolted his senses like electricity when he dwelled too long about the betrayal he committed.
“besides,” chimed in nina, another member of their inner circle that was sitting a little too close to jungkook. “you’ve been complaining about y/n for how long now?”
she was a tall and pretty model that looked like she was ready to pounce on the chance to be jungkook’s next hypothetical little secret. jungkook never looked at her like that, though. she’d been bordering on inappropriate closeness with him for nearing a year now and you had been warning him of this, which he ignored. then again, that was the way you were with every female that even breathed the same air as him.
admittedly, you were a bit possessive. for instance, there was no way in hell jungkook was allowed to have female friends while in a relationship with you. you had his location, he had yours - not because he was obsessive over it like you were, but because it only seemed fair. there were multiple instances of you picking fights with girls at parties or other social outings because they simply looked in jungkook’s direction. above all else, it was your way or the highway.
jungkook was a people pleaser and it was his fatal flaw that had an even weaker spot when it came to you. you were outgoing and some may call it flirtatious the way you cozied up to men and women. however, you were able to easily soothe your boyfriend with affectionate touches when he got riled up about it and that was that. it was certainly problematic that you were prone to interacting with others that would have upset yourself and that was one of the issues the two of you often fought about.
“i don’t complain about her,” jungkook began to scoff, but nina rolled her eyes at his response.
“every time you talk about her, it just sounds like you listing off all the ways how she controls your life,” she said. “just keep doing you.”
a few of the others in the group murmured in agreement. he and his friends were enjoying dinner at some fancy french restaurant that jungkook wasn’t particularly fond of, but went along for the sake of everyone else. in front of the entire group, kelvin decided to spill the beans about jungkook’s affair and of course, they all encouraged it. he was a star, everyone had some sort of little secret on the side. it was a rite of passage amongst celebrities, even. meanwhile, like namjoon, you hated his new friends and warned jungkook that they were full of trouble. it was all the more reason for them to validate his actions and encourage him to continue his affair, maybe even pick up on a few more, when they saw you as a nuisance.
kelvin continued, “like, come on. everyone does it. who cares if it keeps going?”
it made jungkook feel okay. besides, she was there and you were not. it wasn’t just convenient, it was too easy to create her into an outlet to get away from all his feelings and troubles that couldn’t be numbed with liquor and pills. he was able to forget about all the pressures of being an idol - the way his every move was being watched and how the entire world talked about him endlessly. he didn’t have to think so hard about his growing dependence on alcohol. he was able to forget how much he missed his family and the time he lost to be able to be a kid. jungkook was able to forget how much he missed you and how he wasn’t able to protect you from the harshness of real life - being away from each other, the stress of your respective careers, and everything in between. he knew it was wrong to keep going and there was no excuse, but he also knew he was a coward.
his cowardice is what found him in silence as he waited for you in front of your apartment complex tonight, as per the instructions given to him by mrs. choi, and the aforementioned moment two. these next three snapshots frozen in time would finally melt the ice that burned the deepest crevices of your heart: right now, the night in the hotel room during a snowstorm, and the day of your solo debut.
#jungkook fanfic#jungkook imagines#jungkook x reader#bts fic#kpop fanfic#jungkook scenarios#bts imagine#bts scenario#bts series#jungkook angst#jungkook series#jungkook x y/n#bts fanfic#kpop imagine#bts au#kpop scenarios#*** / through the mist.
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✐ᝰ "You knew all too well i was right where you left me" | CL16 ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊
parings: retired!charles leclerc x writer!ex!reader
🔎 chapter one: “love is short but forgetting is so long”
🔎 chapter two: “did the love affair mail you too?”
chapter three: “you kept me like a secret, but I kept you like an oath” -> chapter four
summary: It’s the story of a woman frozen in the moment her world fell apart. A perfect dinner ended with, “I met someone else,” and while everyone moved on, she remained stuck in that instant, unable to let go of the past. A poignant tale of heartbreak, grief, and the weight of being trapped in a “forever” that never was.
word count: +5k.
BLOG MASTERLIST - series masterlist
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arthurleclerc: AAAAAAAAAA need your feedback asap
arthurleclerc: which chapter are you on already? I cried on chapter 9 😭😭😭 so sad
arthurleclerc: i can't believe you're reading it tho
arthurleclerc: it's a beautiful book
arthurleclerc: she is really good with words i mean i SOBBED
arthurleclerc: when she said 'you kept me like a secret but i kept you like an oath. That's the difference. I was never important enough for you' let that shit sink in HEAVY
arthurleclerc: AND chapter 4????? Describes being in love so well it gave me chills i was thinking about carla the whole time
carlossainz: 🤨🤨🤨🤨 didnt know MY FRIEND charles READ ?????????
carlossainz: OH WAIT
landonorris: r u mad with me? I promise i won't hit on your ex 😔
landonorris: stop ignoring me charlie please 😭
⋆˚࿔𝜗𝜚˚⋆
He needed to be alone. It took him a few days to actually convince himself of reading it. After that nigh, he only could think of that fucking phrase: “just between us, did the love affair maim you too?”.
He took it personally. It did maim him. Of course it did. It still haunts him until now. Maybe Arthur was right. Maybe he needed to read that book to make a decision, whatever it may be, he had the feeling something was gonna change if he did. So he decided to take his yacht alone, and read, and spend time with himself. To reflect. He needed that.
The monaco sea was calmed so unlike he was in that moment, eyeing the pages rumbling around the thought of what was about to come when he started reading it for real. The sun was shining trying to keep him warm he thought, but he was shivering way too much by his liking. He found himself trapped in that feeling again. That feeling of not wanting to see the truth, to read how much he hurt her.
But, maybe it was all fictional, right? Maybe Arthur didn't say it like it was about him, right? Maybe it was just another romance story of heartbreak. He shouldn’t take it so personally. It was not a big deal. He sighed. He didn't know what to believe but stopped hesitating much and jumped straight into chapter one. He ignored the greetings page. His anxiety just couldn't hold any more suspense.
⋆˚࿔ the initial impact: the recognition of what he once was𝜗𝜚˚⋆
🧣 “chapter one: through the doorway it’s where all begun”
“The story begins with the protagonist walking through the door of her lover’s life for the first time. The air is cold and sharp, autumn biting at her cheeks, but there’s something warm and inviting in the atmosphere, something inexplicably familiar. She is a stranger in this house, yet she feels oddly at home. His sister’s voice carries from the kitchen, and laughter filters through the walls.
The protagonist is nervous, her fingers clutching the scarf around her neck as if it’s her last piece of armor. She’s stepping into a new world—his world—and is eager yet afraid of what she’ll find. Her lover greets her with a smile that melts her tension. His sweet disposition calms her. He notices the little things—how she shivers, how she blushes, how she hesitates before hanging her scarf by the door. That scarf, left behind by accident later that night, becomes a symbol of the connection they’re building, a connection that feels like fate but is still so fragile.”
After reading the first chapter he just couldn’t function properly. Or that was what he believed in that moment. He felt reflected in that damn character. Recognizing himself through her eyes made him gutted. All the moments she described felt our memories described in so profound detail turned into poetry. His body hair bristled. It was indeed him. Not only physical description but the way he talks to her, those words are specific. He called her ‘cheri’. The way he used to call her. The way he described it all blew his mind. The way she portrayed the first initial moment of your story together. He started to feel like an idiot. He knew you loved him for real, but this just confirms it. The chapter felt like watching an old picture, he could identify when and where but with these many details and specific feelings, it gives the picture another meaning. It's not only a memory. The memory of you became a piece of art. His heart was racing and a knot formed in his throat. He wasn’t sure if keeping on reading will help him in any way, but curiosity was stronger than he thought and pushed him for another one. At the same time he wondered why he was doing this to himself, but it shows just how he did not close this chapter of his life at all. She was still there hunting him. She was always in the back of his mind.he could hear her talk when he slept. She was still real in his head. By the way, reading all of that just felt like yesterday.
⋆˚࿔A profound nostalgia for it all𝜗𝜚˚⋆
🧣 ‘chapter two: the forgotten scarf’
‘Months later, the scarf sits in his drawer, forgotten by her but cherished by him. He doesn’t admit to anyone that he keeps it there, hidden under his old T-shirts. For him, it represents the innocence of their beginning, a time when love was simple and pure.
For her, the scarf is a fleeting memory. She remembers leaving it at his sister’s house but doesn’t think much of it. Yet every time the cold wind brushes against her neck, she feels its absence. She misses something she can’t name, and the scarf—though she doesn’t know it—is tied to that feeling. This chapter reflects on the weight of small objects and how they hold memories that people cannot let go of, even when the relationships tethered to them unravel.’
He was sure this chapter was fictional but he was really impressed by the way she portrayed the two faces of the same coin represented by the scarf that was left behind. He kind of thought about all of the presents he gave you, did you still have them? How did they make you feel? Did you still remember the backstory of every single one of them? Or maybe you just burned them after what he did to you.
🧣 ‘chapter three: an upstate scape’
‘It’s a spontaneous road trip, one of those unplanned adventures that make life feel limitless. They’re driving upstate, the roads winding through fiery autumn landscapes. The protagonist’s wide-eyed wonder contrasts with his confident ease as he navigates the unfamiliar terrain.
They roll the windows down, letting the cold air rush in, mixing with the sound of their voices as they sing along to an old playlist. She looks at him, studying the way his hands grip the steering wheel, how his profile looks against the golden light of the setting sun. For a moment, she believes this is what happiness looks like—two people lost in the simplicity of the moment, away from the world.
As they stop by the side of the road to admire the leaves, she feels a sense of inevitability, as if everything in her life has led to this moment. But there’s an undercurrent of fear too—what if something so perfect is too good to last?’
He had a few tears stuck to his eyes. The way she described that road trip to the mountains just out of curiosity and wanting to get away from all of your responsibilities. You described it just like it happened but put all of your feelings around it. Now, he really knows how you’ve always felt about him back then. If he had any doubts about it, they wear clear ice now. You felt that love looked like him, in that moment, right there, with him. He made you feel happy and he rapid you like that? He just let himself cry. He actually hated himself so much at this moment.
He couldn’t bear the feeling of what he actually did to you. Because even back then he had already met Alex, because she was a friend of a guy who was friends with him around that time. She was there, he saw her. Yet, he still came back to you everytime until he couldn't resist the temptation. He cheated on you. But that was something he promised to bury with himself. Now, there was no point in mentioning it. He can pretend it never existed. That’s what he thought was the best for everyone. The only one who knew it was Alex and he knew her all too well that she wouldn't be able to say it either because she doesn't look good at all as well.
He stopped reading. He couldn't anymore, at least for now. He came back to the city, wanting to run away to his house and hide between his pillows. He was a 35 year old man with teenage emotional issues. He felt a bit ashamed. But who could blame him? He dedicated his whole life to racing. That was his job. He didn't have time to reflect on his life decisions until he had to retire due to knee injury during his, actually, last race here, in monaco. How ironic, where everything began, everything ended.
⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
The house was really quiet when he arrived. The weather was colder than expected. Wind started to blow a bit violently. He closed all of his windows and got into his pajamas. He wasn’t that hungry so that was all for the day. He took the book with him, not sure if he wanted to keep reading but he saw Arthur's messages to his story on instagram and he stayed rambling about it. What if he took just a few minutes to read the following chapter and break his heart for once and all? Was he scared? Yes, he was scared to death. She was in fact way too good with words, touching all of his soft or injured spots.
He sled into bed making himself comfortable, as if it could keep him sane. He grabbed a pillow to hug and the book after putting on his reading glasses. He needed to hold something onto him. He felt really lonely. He felt miserable. He lost you over stupid and superficial feelings, when you were there waiting for him to marry you.
He didn’t know if he’ll be able to forgive himself for it.
⋆˚࿔The pain of feeling reflected𝜗𝜚˚⋆
🧣 ‘chapter four: are you real?’
‘The story takes a deeper dive into their personalities. The protagonist is curious and eager, a dreamer who sees beauty in the smallest details. She notices the way his laugh lines crease when he smiles and the tenderness in his voice when he talks about his family. She feels like a child discovering the world through him.
He is steady and calm, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that she can’t quite place. He has a sweet disposition that masks his fear of vulnerability. This chapter explores how they balance each other—her lightness lifting his heaviness, his groundedness keeping her from floating away.
Their differences are part of what draws them together, but as the chapter closes, subtle hints suggest that these differences might also be what pulls them apart.’
🧣 ‘chapter five: the begging of the end’
‘A seemingly insignificant moment becomes pivotal. They’re driving through a quaint little town, the kind of place where time feels slower. She’s pointing out the decorations in the shop windows when he glances over at her, his eyes filled with something unspoken.
“Watch the road!” she laughs, but her heart skips a beat. He almost runs a red light, and they both burst into nervous laughter. The thrill of it, the recklessness, mirrors the intensity of their feelings.
As they walk down the town’s main street later, hand in hand, she feels invincible. The wind tangles her hair, and the crisp air fills her lungs. It’s a moment she knows she’ll remember forever, even if she doesn’t understand why it feels so significant at the time.’
🧣 ‘chapter six: enough for you’
‘This chapter brings the reader into his family home, a place filled with the echoes of his childhood. His mother pulls out a photo album, eager to share stories. The protagonist learns about the little boy he used to be—a shy kid with glasses who loved baseball but never quite fit in.
As she listens, she starts to piece together the man she loves, seeing how his past shaped him. But she also feels a pang of sadness. He talks about his dreams, but there’s a hesitation in his voice, as if he’s unsure of his place in the world. She wonders if she can be the person who helps him find it, but the weight of that responsibility begins to settle on her.’
Between a few lines he had to take breaks.but he couldn't stop reading. He needed more and more, addicted to the words and how she portrayed his attitudes towards her. Feeling addicted to the pain of seeing himself like that. He was an asshole. All because he believed something that was a lie he fabricated to private himself of something real. To push her away. To Protect him from getting hurt. What you had was beautiful but he had to break it. It was too beautiful to be real, he thought. He was insecure and scared. Scared of how much feelings he had for you and how much power that implied. He read every single page slowly, catching up every reference to you, to him, to what you called ‘ours’ so dearly. He fucked it up. He really fucked it up.
He just needed a break from it. He decided to take a shower and go to sleep or try to. Now, he couldn't stop seeing your face with mascara falling down your face along with your tears the day he left. The day he left you and all of his most vulnerable parts of him with you.
⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
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⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
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⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
Two days passed by really quickly in his opinion. He couldn’t dare to read another word from that fucking book until now. He woke up feeling ready again to confront the worst part of it. And to do so, as he likes to be his own biggest enemy, he went to the coffee shop that once was the restaurant he left you behind in. It was a pretty masochistic maneuver. But he didn't care anymore. After what he read the other day, his heart was already broken knowing how much he broke you down and didn't realize it sooner.
It was a really cold, windy and grey day in monaco. He hated this weather so much. He went by foot, taking his time to do some breathing techniques that could help his anxiety. He looked dead in his opinion. Immsonio has been his best friend these past few days. He just didn't want to close his eyes knowing all he would see was your face. How you didn't smile at him back that afternoon. How you cried when he left you for another woman. And your smile when he asked you the first time. It's been 10 years, yet he didn't forget about the way your skin felt when he touched you, what used to be your favorite movie and how he always remembered you when he passed by a flower shop because you used to love flowers so much. And as his mission used to be to make you happy, he would buy you flowers everyday if he could.
He slapped himself out of his mind when he realized he was thinking too much about you and the past, torturing himself with every random memory he could come up with. He really felt his brain hated him even though he is the one in control anyway.
He stepped in the coffee shop making the bell on the door sound. It was chilly and there were only a few people. Fortunately it wasn't crowded so if he cried no one would notice.
He chose to sit at the last table, on the darkest corner. He wanted to feel safe, and that spot made him feel he was very well hidden. He was playing so many mind games just to survive his own mind and emotions lately.
He got comfy on his chair made out of chiffon. It was good, he thought. He was nervous. He in the deepest place of his heart, coming here was just to see you again. And maybe run to you and beg you to forgive him. But that was only a movie that played nonstop in his brain. You were nowhere to be found. He hoped you chose this place regularly to write as you were that day he saw you, but apparently it was just his imagination. Now he was sure you only came here on occasions or maybe that was the only time you came. Why would you come regularly to the place where he tore your life apart? He was sure you weren’t as masochistic as he was. You were the sane one, he bet. Probably you had a boyfriend who truly loved you and made plans with your nephews, like going to the beach and chasing birds or picnics at the square. You loved picnics and being outdoors. You wrote that down in your books. You were the only person he knew that enjoyed road trips so much. Just sitting there, observing everything, chatting and doing carpool karaoke. He remembered on a road trip like that he kissed you for the first time. You had that friends to lovers story. You don't trust people that easily. It was hard for you to lose your dad a year before he did. You didn't have that many friends. You were really reserved yet so sweet to everyone. You were just really selective. You didn't want to get attached to the wrong people. And then there he was, breaking everything apart: your trust, your self esteem, everything.
God, he hated himself. He hated himself so much he kept on reading right there where he ruined his life, your life.
⋆˚࿔Pain in real time𝜗𝜚˚⋆
🧣 ‘chapter seven: ticking bomb’
‘It’s late at night, and they’re in his tiny apartment, dancing to a song playing softly from the radio. The refrigerator hums in the background, casting a dim light that bathes them in warmth.
She feels safe here, wrapped in his arms, laughing as he spins her around. It’s one of those moments where the rest of the world fades away, and all that exists is the two of them.
But as the music fades, a sense of fragility creeps in. She wonders if happiness like this can last or if it’s destined to slip through her fingers like everything else she’s ever loved.’
🧣 ‘chapter eight: lost in translation’
‘Misunderstandings begin to pile up. They argue over small things that feel bigger than they are. She starts to question if she’s asking for too much—more time, more effort, more love. He grows distant, retreating into his thoughts, unable to articulate what’s wrong.
This chapter captures the slow unraveling of their relationship, the way love can be chipped away by silence and unspoken words. They’re still together, but the cracks are starting to show’.
He was fighting his tears but he promised he will be strong. Biting his lip became an usual because of anxiety, he thought his lips would fall out. This time around he highlighted every phrase that caught his attention. He wanted to remember how such of a dick he was.
She felt too much.
And he felt too little.
They really got lost in translation. He was scared he became cold, she was so in love she became desperate. He didn't realize that and he was sure she didn't know what he was going through. He felt lame. If only he would have talked about it. Communication is a skill he didn't have back then, but did he have it now? He was no better with Alex but at least he was real and didn't cheat on her.
That didn't make him feel better either. He was guilty, very guilty. Hands dirty. How would he even try to talk to her again? He was sure he didn't deserve her. After all this damage she wouldn’t even be near him like that. Yeah, he was considering what Carlos told him but to be fair he felt it was impossible.
The waitress left his coffee on the table and thanked her with a half smile. He thought she recognized him even though he was going grey already. But she didn't say anything and left him to enjoy his coffee and croissant. And his book of course though he looked really gutted.
🧣 ‘chapter nine: a crumpled up piece of paper’
‘The breakup is devastating. He calls her, his voice cold and detached, and ends it with a blunt honesty that feels like a knife to her chest.
She’s left reeling, feeling like a crumpled piece of paper discarded on the floor. This chapter delves into her grief, the way heartbreak can make time feel endless and unbearable. She tries to forget him, but every corner of her world is filled with reminders’
She felt like a thing, an object. A broken record. An insignificant piece of paper. Of course he cried. He even brought his handkerchieves.
He remembered he couldn't be there any longer. He just wanted to run away and he did. And that was selfish as hell. Incredibly selfish. He was so much thinking about himself and his feelings he forgot that she was part of the relationship too. That she also had feelings. He didn’t even let her ask him whatever she needed. He left her there eating her own words. He sobbed a little in silence hiding on his arm on the table trying to calm himself down. When did he think coming here to read this was even a good idea to begin with?
‘and i know it’s long gone and that magic’s not here no more’
‘You taught me about your past, thinking your future was me’
‘You kept me like a secret, but i kept you like an oath’
‘You called me up again just to break me like a promise. So casually cruel in the name of being honest’
‘They say all’s well that ends well, but i’m a new hell every time’
‘The idea you had of me, who was she? A never-needy , ever-lovely jewel whose shine reflects on you’
Those last sentences ended with him. It was the worst one of them all. She confirmed he was selfish as fuck. That made him so mad at himself. He felt ashamed and disappointed. Like, how can people actually love him? He had to disagree with carlo. He was indeed a monster. He was so distraught he had to leave that damn coffee shop as soon as possible. He left the money for everything he didn't even have and tip on top, and sprinted out of there just like you did when you saw him. How could he blame you? He was running scared from himself at that moment.or he tried because unfortunately he couldn't stop being himself. And accepting all of this was the hardest part. Arthur didn't give him a disclaimer and maybe that was the plan all along but now he was angry with him. Although he knew the only guilty was him. he also kept you like a secret, he didn't tell anyone about you. he was guilt of all charges. and he wasn't proud of himself for doing so.
⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
The next few days, he came back every time to that coffee shop. Almost everyday. Desperate at the thought that maybe he would find you there. He didn't have a clue of what he would do if he saw you, but for some odd reason he wanted to see you. He didn't know anything about you. He didnt know which places you frequented. Neither where would you like to spend your time rather than your house.
Of course, he didn't see you. And on one hand he was relieved but at the same time tortured. He gave up my tuesday. It was a beautiful sunny day. He came to visit Carlos and when he left home he decided he was gonna end the book. He was avoiding the balcony, your garden. Though, your house was really quiet, almost as if you weren't there. Maybe you didn't have your special someone yet. Or maybe you did and you were on holiday.
He stopped himself from keeping on wondering nonsense shit he didn't know if it was real or not. He sat down on the sofas Carlos had near the pool with a blanket and a bottle of water. The sun was keeping him warm. The booked shined being reflected. He did unconsciously look over to your house as quietly as a few minutes ago when he last checked. It’s been two weeks since he last saw you. Or minutes ago when he sees you everytime he closes his eyes.
⋆˚࿔ Self evaluation and reflection 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
🧣 ‘chapter ten: time stands still’
‘Weeks turn into months, but time feels frozen. The protagonist struggles to move on, yearning for her old self—the person she was before she met him. She looks back on the “plaid shirt days” when everything felt simpler and wonders if she’ll ever feel whole again’.
Reading this chapter sent shivers down his spine. Hefelt she was describing exactly how he felt at that moment. The only difference in this book was writing at least 7 years ago (he googled you. You were pretty famous and he didn't know that), and he was feeling this right now.
He wanted to go back in time and stay there, in the days he would wake up by your kisses and spend the days in bed laughing and gossiping about anything and everything. Back when innocence was part of your bond, so pure that it felt unbreakable.
So sad it was just a feeling and not a fact.
He wanted to punch himself in the face right there and then.
🧣 ‘chapter eleven: what was left’
‘From his perspective, the scarf remains a constant reminder of her. He can’t bring himself to throw it away because it still smells like her. It represents the innocence they lost, the love he didn’t know how to hold onto.
The chapter alternates between their perspectives, showing how they’re both haunted by the past in different ways.’
He laughed. How ironic life can be sometimes, right? This felt worse than the Ferrari strategy. But it felt real just like them. He couldn’t believe that even though she didn't know anything about him except from what she could see on the internet or tv, she knew perfectly how he felt. He was in a kind of panic. How could she?
🧣 ‘chapter twelve: back before we lost the one real thing we’ve ever known’
‘The protagonist revisits their happiest moments, remembering the rare connection they shared. She acknowledges that even though it’s gone, it was real, and that’s what makes it so hard to let go.’
‘I’d like to be my old shelf again but I’m still trying to find her’
‘And did the twin flame bruise paint you blue?’
‘There we are again when I love you so, back before we lost the one real thing we’ve ever known’
He closed the book for a moment. Hanging into the mixed feeling he carried. He was looking nowhere. Deep thinking. She captured things he didn't understand until he read them. How? It was something so special, why? Why did I let her down? So many questions to so few limited answers.
⋆˚࿔Admiration𝜗𝜚˚⋆
🧣 ‘chapter thirteen: remembering all too well’
‘The book closes with her accepting the weight of her memories. She realizes she doesn’t have to forget to move on. The love, the pain, the lessons—they’re all part of her story now. And while she’ll always remember it all too well, she’s ready to step forward into the unknown’.
He finally finished the book. It took you two weeks to go through it all. All he could think was ‘wow’. This was incredibly hard to read but how brave of her to write all of this. How strong she had to be. How brave to be so vulnerable. That’s something he won’t ever comprehend, he is so scared of being vulnerable. Always trying to be tight and invincible. It helped in racing but in life really complex things took place, not so much.
He felt admiration, as the first time he saw you painting at the beach a beautiful piece of art. He wondered if you still paint. How ironic he left you for Alex, he thought. Even though he knew all of this was fictional, he knew you. Or he likes to think he does. He knew all of the phrases and thought that fit your character perfectly. He knew it was him and she was you. He was so trapped in his own feelings that he didn't realize how much you were giving to him. You gave him your everything and more. Now he gets it. It was incredible to him you created art with the pain he put you under. And even if he hated himself for that, he felt kind of grateful he could contribute to such a beautiful thing like this one.
The love that was once there, he knew it still there. He knew all too well he felt it.
As he fell in love with you all over again.
“Charlie, mi amor! It's party night tonight! Woohoooo!” Carlos came out of nowhere and jumped on him funny, scaring him for a second.
“A party? On a tuesday?” Charles was confused but couldn't help laughing. Carlos always makes him laugh and his friendship was really important to him. He always likes to say to Carlos it’s the best thing racing gave him.
“Why not pup? Don’t be old. When was your last party? You’re getting grey and anciano, help yourself a bit with vodka man! And women” he said with a mischievous smile moving his eyebrows at him funny. Charles laughed, shaking his head.
“Alright, alright. Let’s have fun for once” he surrendered to his friend and his ideas.
“Woohoo. Get ready, we’ll go to buy everything right now. And Charles, please, get rid of that book mate. You need to move on" Carlos said to his best friend disappearing into the house leaving Charles alone again.
“I wish i could” he said under his breath resigned and grabbed the book going into the house and left it on his backup. he thought it was a bit contradicting of what he told him a few nights ago but carlos tends to change his mind very quickly about things so it was no surprise for charles.
Carlos was already waiting for him at the door shaking the keys of his ferrari on his fingers making charles laugh.
⋆˚࿔ TO BE CONTINUED 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
chapter four: here.
tag list: : @a-beaverhausen , @priniya , @annaluna12 , @thehoplessromanticclub , @emryb , @hadids-world , @kaztheemyth , @freyathehuntress , @diorbrxtz , @theseerbetweenus , @sie17136 , @leila-030304 , @charlesgirl16
author's note: writing this made me sad :( this took me so long to write my eyes hurt, but want it to be good <3
do we or do we not sympathize with charlie? i'll read you 👀
(sonny thank you for giving me this idea)
don't forget to reblog, comment or like! and follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)
#✧˖°.works by cate.ᐟ𝜗𝜚 ‧₊˚ ⊹#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x y/n#charles leclerc angst#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x female oc#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc#charles leclerc fanfic#cl16 one shot#cl16 x y/n#cl16 x you#cl16 imagine#cl16 fic#cl16 x reader#cl16#f1 x reader#f1 fic#f1 x you#f1#f1 imagine#f1 x female reader#f1 fanfic#formula one x reader#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1#formula 1 imagine#formula one imagine
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Man Up - One Shot
Pairing: Jackson!Joel x f!Reader
Summary: After hearing from his brother, maria, and Ellie that Joel likes you, you confront him and tell him that he needs to “man up”.
Warnings: Fluff!! Menacing!Joel, use of problematic language, Joel and reader are emotionally stunted, rom-com type flirtiness, Joel is "happy" and all of the Ellie stuff never happened and they're living happily ever after because I said so! :))))))
BEFORE YOU READ: I do not condone telling ANYONE of any gender to “man up” because I know it is a hurtful and dehumanizing term. However, in this context, both the reader and Joel are extremely emotionally stunted and the reader is only using the term to get a rise out of Joel (which is still toxic, but is anything with Joel Miller ever going to be non-toxic? Let’s be real with ourselves LOL.) With that being said, keep in mind this is fiction, it is being said “for the plot”, and I do not condone the use of this language towards anyone else. I love you guys and enjoy!
~~~~~~
“He’s into you. You really can’t see it?” Maria asked as she watched you finish washing your hands in the bathroom of the Tipsy Bison. “I don’t know, Maria. It’s been so long since someone’s been ‘into me’ or I’ve been ‘into someone’... It’s also just so confusing. Plus it’s fucking Joel Miller. The guy hates everyone.” You lamented. “Everyone but you!” Ellie chimed in as she opened the door to her stall and joined you at the sink. “See?” Maria said, gesturing towards Ellie, “Even the person who’s known him the longest says so.” You rolled your eyes. “Well, she’s not even supposed to be here. It’s a bar and she’s 16 years old.” You pointed out. The three of you laughed as you took Ellie into a playful headlock. “But she’s cute so I made an exception.” Maria chuckled. You and Ellie broke away from each other, smiling. “For fear of embarrassment, I’ve been trying to let him make the first move.” You said, leaning against the sink. “Maybe he’s doing the same.” Maria suggested. “Guess we’ll never know.” You sighed dramatically and moved to exit the bathroom. The two of them followed behind you. “What is there to lose?” Ellie questioned. “My patrol partner, my… friend?” You answered smartly. “But the world has already ended, girl, I think that’s enough of a reason to say fuck it and just ask him out. I had to make the first move with Tommy.” Maria paused and then continued, “The Millers are all rough and tumble, until it comes to feelings, then they run away with their tail between their legs.” Ellie laughed, “That’s for sure.” Soon enough, you guys neared the table that you three and the two brothers had taken for yourselves, you whispered under your breath, “Well, he needs to man up.”
Joel locked eyes with you as you approached and quickly slid over in the booth to make room for you. You clocked this and filed it in the “evidence that Joel likes me” file in your brain, and proceeded to sit down next to him. The four of you drank and talked while Ellie played pool with Dina. Every so often you’d hear a playful argument break out between the two and you’d catch sight of Joel’s smile. He was happy Ellie had a friend, and so were you.
After you downed the last of your drink, you sat up from your slump in the booth and grabbed your coat. “Well, I think I’m gonna turn in. Gotta be up tomorrow for patrol.” You said as you stood at the end of the table awkwardly. “Do you want us to walk you home?” Tommy asked, gesturing to him and Maria. “Joel will, right Joel?” Ellie asked with a mischievous glint in her eye. Joel cleared his throat and shot Ellie a look, “Who will take your sorry ass home then?” He asked. “We will,” Maria chimed in, “I don’t mind doin’ a switch off.” This time you shot her a look. You were tipsy and on the brink of getting a headache and the last thing you wanted to do was force a conversation with a brick wall named Joel Miller. Though much to your surprise, he stood up and began to shepherd you out of the bar. “See you guys later!” You called back to the group. “Get home safe!” Maria called. “Don’t do anythin’ I wouldn’t do!” Tommy called. You caught sight of Ellie making kissy faces at you and you promptly stuck your tongue out at her. Joel caught sight of you and said, “Don’t make faces at my kid.” You saw the half smile on his face and chuckled. “Your kid’s making faces at me.” You said drunkenly.
Joel pushed the door open and you practically stumbled out into the chilling winter air. The sun had set long ago, leaving only the thousands of stars to contrast against the pitch black sky. You hadn’t realized that you’d stopped to stare until Joel broke your focus, “You comin’ or what?” He asked impatiently. “Yeah,” you said groggily, “Sorry.” You hurried to catch up and matched his stride. “God… I’m drunk.” You sighed, mostly to yourself. “I know.” Joel mumbled. “Y’know I can walk myself home.” You said defensively. “You just said it yourself, you’re drunk. Not safe.” He argued. “Yeah well at least if I was by myself there’d be better conversation.” You joked. “Ah, so you’re a belligerent, mumbling drunk.” He said, keeping his proud gaze on the streets ahead. “At least I’m the same exact person but just a little more talkative when I’m drunk like you.” You argued. “Shut up.” He chuffed, a small smile crinkled his eyes. You nudged your shoulder into his arm, sending him a few steps to the side, “You shut up.”
He rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face disappeared when you arrived at the steps of your house. He followed you up and waited patiently as you fumbled in your pockets for your keys. “Want coffee or anythin’?” You asked. He thought for a moment, then nodded, “Sure. Could use some for the walk home.” Once you practically busted the door open, the two of you walked to your kitchen and Joel perched himself on a stool at the counter as he watched you sloppily make a pot of coffee. “I’m glad Ellie met Dina. She seems real happy since hanging out with her.” You said, attempting to break through the awkward silence. Joel nodded, “She’s a good friend. They compete a lot in school which helps with her uh… performance or whatever.” You nodded and handed him the steaming mug.
After the two of you sipped your coffees and talked about practically nothing in small spurts between silence, Joel placed his mug in the sink and picked his coat up off of the chair before sliding it over his shoulders. You watched as he made his way to the door, and you nodded in agreement when he said “I should head home. I’ll see you in the mornin’ for patrols.” But something burned inside you. Something you could only guess was impatience. You decided that now, the time where you had some liquid courage warming your stomach and caffeine pumping through your veins, would be as good a time as any to get an answer out of Joel.
“When are you gonna man up?” You blurted just before Joel could place his hand on the doorknob. He whirled around angrily. “Excuse me?” He sneered. There was no going back now, so you crossed your arms over your chest and repeated yourself, slower this time. “When are you going to man up?” He stared at you in disbelief for a moment and you watched as his eyes studied you, waiting for you to take back your words. “Man up?” He scoffed. “Yeah.” You confirmed anxiously. Your heart jumped to your throat as he began to walk back towards you slowly. “Man up… and what?” He asked as he backed you against the wall, causing you to nearly lose your footing. You looked above your head at the veins pulsing in his forearm which was now planted against the wall. His face was inches from yours and you could smell the whiskey you’d shared on his breath. You gulped, “And- and admit you like me.” Your stomach dropped when he let out a dead eyed laugh. “Like you? What- is this middle school? We whisperin’ about crushes now?” He mocked. Embarrassment filled your chest and all you wanted to do was push him away, run up stairs and wrap yourself in the covers of your bed. “Fuck,” you said under your breath, “just forget it. Fuck.” You pressed your hands against his chest and tried to push him off, but he wasn’t budging. “‘Course I like you.” he finally said and pressed your arms down in an attempt to get you to stop pushing him away. You locked eyes with him again, “What?” You blurted. You were confused from being pushed in so many directions that you didn’t know what to think at this point. “I ain’t the best with words… but I’ve been tryin’ to show you.” He whispered.
His soft stare was healing every wound that had been inflicted by his sharp one earlier. Your breath caught in your throat as he leaned down to press his lips to yours. A feeling of tv static coursed through your veins. From the top of your neck, down through your fingertips and toes. Adrenaline caused your hands to start shaking, but Joel grabbed them and pushed them around his neck before he wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing further into the kiss. When he pulled away, your foreheads pressed together. “That man enough for you?” He asked, a small smirk twisting the corner of his lips upward. You smiled lightly and played with a tuft of hair at the base of his skull before tugging it lightly. “Congratulations, Mr. Miller. You’ve officially grown a pair.” You teased before pulling him into you for an even deeper kiss.
~~~~~~~~~~~
a/n: Hiiii! I hope you enjoyed this little rom-com-esque vibe. As always, thank you for reading and please comment below to be on the tag-list or with any requests! <3
Taglist: @ashleyfilm @pastelpinkflowerlife @orcasoul
#joel miller x reader#joel tlou#pedro pascal fandom#joel the last of us#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal x female reader#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fanfiction#joel miller fluff#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller#joel miller smut#the last of us hbo#tlou joel#tlou fic#joel miller tlou#the last of us#tlou#the last of us fic#joel x reader#joel miller x female reader#the last of us fluff#ellie the last of us#ellie tlou#ellie williams#the last of us smut#last of us#hbo tlou#tlou season 2
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How I Long For Our Trysts
Anthony Bridgerton x f!Reader SMUT
I finished reading The Viscount Who Loved Me & i'm already missing this fictional man like he's my husband that went off to war.
Also ofc the title is a Taylor Swift reference. What else is new?
Cw: AFAB Reader + a few brief mentions of Reader being a lady, Bridgerton-typical society talk, Reader & Anthony are pretty handsy, No foreplay, Unprotected sex + Creampie
You were going to be the death of him.
Anthony Bridgerton always knew he was going to die young, but he'd always thought it would be a similar death to his father's — sudden and perhaps by the stinger of a measly bee — yet the agonizing wait for you to appear in the doorway of his study might do him in first.
His mother had invited what felt like hundreds of singles in the ton for another one of her house parties at Aubrey Hall. The woman was relentless in her task of marrying off her children, although she seemed to focus more on Anthony than his brothers. To the viscount's dismay (he was ashamed to admit his simultaneous delight), you were one of the invited guests. Anthony's mother had no idea that you and her eldest son had already become well acquainted with each other, having met earlier in the season.
You had a distaste for society and its strict rules, something that both intrigued and infuriated Anthony. You conducted yourself in a way that haunted his very being. Had you been a smidge less cynical, you would fit Anthony's idea of a perfect viscountess exactly.
Since your first meeting, the viscount would see you everywhere. At the shops, the park, every ball, there was even a time Anthony could have sworn you were in his bed beside him only to find out it was just an all-too-real dream. In hopes of getting you out of his head, he began pursuing you. Not in hopes of marriage, Anthony had carefully planned out every minute you shared together to avoid such a thing, but in hopes of turning his dream into a reality. And it worked. It worked far better than Anthony thought it would. Every moment he spent getting lost in your body felt better than it had with any of the women he had slept with before. He craved you more than he had ever craved anything in his entire life. While your moments together were fleeting, he made every minute count and seared the memory into his brain.
Now that you were under the same roof as him, he could barely hold himself back. His siblings had coerced you to join their game of Pall Mall earlier in the evening and each time your ball and his sat near each other, it took every ounce of Anthony's strength not to pull you to the side and kiss you senseless. After the game, he stepped closer to your side, inconspicuously whispering into your ear to meet him in his study at midnight. If everyone else in the house was asleep, he could have you all to himself for hours. As long as the two of you ended up in your respective bedchambers by dawn, no one would be any wiser.
While waiting for the clock to strike twelve, Anthony tried to keep himself busy by going over a few papers, but eventually the dry scratching of his quill and the flickering light of the candle beside him began to make his head spin. Tossing the pen to the side and rubbing his face with his hands, the door finally creaked open. Leaning back in his chair, a smirk grew on Anthony's face at the sight of you shutting the door behind you.
"Took you long enough." he quipped, gazing at you with tired eyes. You returned his smile and approached the desk.
"It is better to be safe rather than sorry, my lord. I did not want to risk someone catching me outside of my chambers like this~" Your hand began to fiddle with the hastily-tied knot on your robe. With a light tug, the robe was untied and fluttered open to reveal that you donned only a chemise under it.
Anthony sucked in a breath, dark eyes trailing over your figure. Yes, he had seen you in less before, but you looked too damned stunning in everything you wore, no matter how many layers it consisted of. Even at the social events both of your families "coincidentally" attended, he could not tear his eyes away from you.
You stepped closer to his side, his hand wasting no time in settling on your hip. He was looking at you like how a puppy eyed its beloved owner. You kept that analogy to yourself, knowing full well that he would rid it the moment he became aware of it, but it was perhaps the most beautiful look he had ever worn. Your opposing hand came up to graze his cheek before your fingertips peaked into his hair. Anthony's eyes fluttered shut, leaning into your hand and turning to press a soft kiss to your palm.
"Always so eager." you said, smiling down at your lover. You caught the faintest, briefest smile on his lips before he kissed your palm once more with a deep hum.
"You cannot blame me." Anthony's voice was low and filled with passion as he replied, "Not when I have the prettiest lover in all of Great Britain," he paused to squeeze your hip, his fingers digging into the fabric of your chemise, "Right at my fingertips."
"Aw..." you teased, leaning down to meet his lips. Anthony lets out a low moan into the kiss as his hand slides from your hip to around your waist, guiding you down to straddle him in his chair. Your warmth was the comforting sort, the image of you in his lap serving as a reminder that Anthony had you. You were his, sitting so prettily above him, and deep down, while it hurt his pride to admit such, Anthony knew he was yours.
In the glow of the fireplace, the two of you held each other close, hands exploring previously conquered patches of skin. You had tugged his vest open as one of his hands slid under your chemise to grab your ass. His lips had left yours to trail hot kisses along your neck. Your breathy pants fanned against his ear while he suckled your clavicle, wishing so desperately that he could leave a mark. Anthony knew he couldn't. You were out in society, someone the viscount had sworn to never rope into his rakish encounters. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin your reputation and find himself at the receiving end of your relative's pistol.
Anthony let out a low growl, pushing away the niggling reminder that he had compromised you. What a hypocrite he was. Had one of his sisters been in your position, he would have ripped their lover to shreds, but something about you felt different. A warm and welcoming feeling that Anthony had never experienced before. A feeling that was suffocating him as he lifted his head to peck your jaw before guiding you into another kiss.
You yanked at his shirt, ripping the top buttons out of their holes. Anthony groaned as your hand trailed down his clothed chest, grazing over his stomach and inching closer to his waistband. His lips leave yours, pressing a feather-light kiss to your cheek before his own hand slips down to meet yours, expertly unbuttoning his trousers.
Anthony Bridgerton was never a patient man, something you had known since your first night together. He was never selfish — in fact, he was quite a generous lover, always checking to make sure he wasn't moving too fast — he merely found it difficult to hold back at times. You were a drug. Perhaps the only thing that could make him completely drunk, aside from the occasional brandy. As he freed himself from the confines of his pants, he gazed up, his dark eyes shining with a lustful glint as they met yours.
You shifted above him and pulled up the skirt of your chemise enough for him to line up with your entrance. His free hand rested on your hip before slowly guiding you down to take him in. With a groan, he squeezed your ass as you situate yourself in his lap. His hands slid up to your hips, urging them to roll toward his.
Anthony held you close, enough for him to lean forward and mouth at your clothed chest. You always felt like heaven, so hot and tight. You made him feel alive. Anthony groaned against your chest as his fingers dug into your skin, mirroring the new grip you had on his shoulders. Your soft moans against his ear spurred him to help quicken your grinding, guiding you along the length of his cock.
Before you had met the viscount, you had known of his rakish ways from Whistledown's column. The woman had never been wrong so you had no reason to disbelieve her reports on Anthony's past conquests. Opera singers, actresses, several women in London's brothels, he had allegedly bed them all. He was the biggest rake in all of Britain, yet as he held you tight and fucked into you as if he loved you, you couldn't bring yourself to regret meeting him. It could have been your inexperience in these sorts of encounters, but you could have sworn the Anthony Bridgerton you saw during these nights was a better man than the one Whistledown knew. He was always so attentive and skilled and beautiful and...
You contracted around him, ripping a gruff moan from your lover's lips, his gaze focused on your connection as he controlled the movement of your hips. His short nails bit through the thin cotton of your chemise, his own hips thrusting up to meet yours.
"Fuck..." Anthony groaned almost too quiet for you to hear. He always found it hard to last longer than you, yet another difference between you and his past lovers. He was already close and, judging by the way your moans took on a higher pitch, you were not far behind. One of his hands left your hip to slip under the bunched front of your dress, thumbing your clit in the exact way he knew you liked.
You squeaked out a moan, your grip on the back of his shirt hardening. "Anthony...Oh god, Anthony..." you repeated his name like a prayer.
Suddenly, your orgasm hit, stilling your hips and moaning into his shoulder. Like he always did, Anthony coaxed you through your release, continuing his ministrations and pressing soft kisses to the side of your head. Once your moans subsided, the hand on your clit left to rest on your back. You kept your face buried in his shoulder as he panted into your ear, his own sounds growing closer together as he chased his release.
You lifted your head enough for Anthony to steal your lips again. With another groan, he thrusted up into you one last time before his come began to fill you. He held you tightly against him as he deepened the kiss.
You moaned and weaved your hand into his hair. You didn't want the kiss to end. The moment it did meant your time with Anthony was coming to an end. You would have to return to your bedchamber alone, knowing the man you had accidentally started falling for was under the same roof.
Meanwhile, Anthony had no plans of letting you go once leaving your lips to catch his breath. He glanced to the nearby clock. It was only one in the morning, plenty of time to keep you locked in the study with him. He should be free to have you until six, when the maids would begin wrapping their wake-up calls on the residents’ doors. After only a few gulps of air, Anthony's lips were back on yours, keen on having you in every position he's dreamed you in.
Anthony Bridgerton never planned on catching feelings. Hell, his entire plan for the season was to find a wife he wouldn't fall for, yet as he admired you in the euphoric state he had put you in, he was starting to think his plan had failed.
#anthony bridgerton#bridgerton#bridgerton smut#anthony bridgerton x reader#anthony bridgerton x y/n#anthony bridgerton x female reader#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x you#bridgerton x y/n#bridgerton x female reader#anthony bridgerton smut
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Through the Looking Glass
From fairytale in Season 1 to stark reality in Season 2 of Our Flag Means Death- meta ported across from this Twitter thread by popular demand!
This thread contains spoilers for the entirety of OFMD Season 2
First OFMD S1 rewatch since S2, and holy shit, if you haven't done that yet... do that. A thing that it made instantly clear: they told us *all along* where this was going, but there was a reason we didn't see it. Because we were living in Stede's world then. Now it's Ed's.
I know that a lot of us have felt that the tone shift at the end of S2 was... jarring, compared to what's come before. This felt like a show that wouldn't go there. One where being run through was a temporary hiccup. We've travelled all the way from this to this.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/7834809340911b98a99f5328e95a5879/04c2a9089a50aabf-9c/s540x810/ac5f9b9374c0e4205c0fc7e5072f4f1e29412f5c.jpg)
But we haven't jumped there without a journey in between. And from the minute we started hearing about Blackbeard, the show never tried to hide what Ed's world and his specific life was like. Not once. In fact they told us over and over and over.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ea206069b7f99f1b176528b641671992/04c2a9089a50aabf-3c/s540x810/cdea85a7d67eab450a4dc2e423315ebecd31cb9c.jpg)
But Season 1 told us a lot of those things through song and story and fuckery. It blended reality with fiction.
Stede met the Blackbeard he knew through books and tall tales, and the real man was even more wonderful than he'd imagined.
We, along with Stede, were comfortable thinking that all those other tales were exaggerations and misrepresentations, and a lot of them very likely were.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/4355bb28e7c717cd52bb793a81b3d0b4/04c2a9089a50aabf-fe/s540x810/2f66f510198558be4be4f0cb7ff81b76db18693e.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/1e21c3de7cb39ab42bc6da6da49d238c/04c2a9089a50aabf-8b/s540x810/4a3b411a44fcd0ac1465563b48459dd01c3732ac.jpg)
The Ed Stede got to know was a person who was capable of whimsy and silliness and loved soft things and doing something weird. Yep, he was also capable of violence and rage, but when he was with Stede, he didn't feel it so much.
This was a vacation from that life.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/626eee64e538302aa1abc93b9eecc08f/04c2a9089a50aabf-60/s540x810/07902d9dcdf154d0b0cbe05c8b40399c667d64f5.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e7c76627b09fe4a7045f704d610ac353/04c2a9089a50aabf-cf/s540x810/534a1013f4d8bd598a668e1aa0796bd4d56c40af.jpg)
To Stede he was absolutely lovely... oh, and also a bloodthirsty killer. And Stede loved (and loves) everything about him, and both of those things can be true. This is a perfect example of a spot where (in watching Season 1 without the benefit of hindsight) I assumed that everyone else in that pub was wrong, and Stede was simply trying to protect Ed's fearsome reputation by agreeing on the bloodthirsty bits. And I think from Stede's perspective that was largely true. I think that's how they wanted us to see Ed, through his eyes. Now, after watching both seasons, I think it wasn't the whole picture.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/397991c3664928d1b8e532260efaeb28/04c2a9089a50aabf-c8/s540x810/e447fa651b362ac5f47f7c4881453e8e00c30c11.jpg)
They told us, we heard it, we saw glimpses of it. But we (and Ed) were in Stede's run-away-to-sea fairytale the whole time. It wasn't until Stede left that we saw the reality- the Ed we knew had been, to a degree, a fictional character all along. I always saw this scene as Ed putting a bit of distance between himself and reality; it always felt like the Blackbeard of Stede's storybooks was the fictional one. But now it feels like the softer Ed that Stede knew was much the same- neither of them the whole story of who Ed was and is.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/accef8a77c91e1aca8bcc452626e15ec/04c2a9089a50aabf-6b/s540x810/4ab65e642c2e669a9d20edf1c5f9b3cf0b262a98.jpg)
The one person who refused to live in Stede's fairytale was Izzy. I've seen people say it before, but he always gave off that vibe of the only human in the Muppets movie, or the guy who was in Black Sails while everyone else was in Pirates of the Caribbean. He saw the real risks clearly.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ce098a0bd2303fcbaf1536d32e8b7597/04c2a9089a50aabf-2c/s540x810/73ed4fe4c5be921523a16fe23c683de868faae63.jpg)
And in that light, the end of S1 has shifted an inch to the left for me, and I'm seeing it at a slightly different angle.
Izzy ripped away the healing Ed was doing, but in some respects he did it by tearing away the fairytale we'd all been living in, shoving Ed back into the Blackbeard story.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/731c4f6ff3072b2a8b692ad3b865d7b6/04c2a9089a50aabf-51/s540x810/98d3778c2ec53f359feffbbd9cc0f698bca0bd9f.jpg)
And that's where we pick up again in Season 2.
The fairytale reference came back in S2 in two notable places, those being Jim carrying that legacy forward in the darkest times, and in Izzy invoking the wooden boy against Ricky's efforts. Stede's made himself into a real boy. Ricky, nope.
Now that I've watched both seasons together, the tone shift doesn't feel so jarring at all, actually.
It feels like sliding through the looking glass, out of Stede's world, and into Ed's- a world that existed all along; we were just seeing it, la vie en rose, through Stede's eyes.
At the beginning of S2, Stede's gone, and we're seeing it unfiltered through Ed's reality.
But Stede wasn't lying when he said he loved everything about Ed. He made a promise to come back and find him- he went down into Ed's darkest place and reminded him that no matter how bad things got, there WAS someone waiting for him, ready to love him.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/f2b7e7a9db761a830cda97df2ac073e1/04c2a9089a50aabf-b9/s540x810/90ce2b57d10dd87a46122712823bcbb734170e36.jpg)
The contrast between S1's fantasy and S2's reality (excluding mermaids and actual bird guys and cursed coats) is stark, but it really is that.
We have the same settings, the same people, and very different ideas and outcomes at different times.
But it was always there.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/48afc02ea276a1ab0c335171231cee85/04c2a9089a50aabf-00/s540x810/a6ba2d55a324e13fff5d0bcbea6ca4b93febaf2d.jpg)
Things do come back to a state of (precarious) balance once they're all together. Apologies are made, whether they're spoken out loud or through actions. Things go right, things go wrong. Healing happens. Izzy continues to have the steadiest, most real through-line in the story as he tracks toward redemption, finds acceptance, and to an extent finds himself.
Once again, I hate that they went here with the ending and I wish they hadn't. But it got a fraction easier for me looking at it not as a continuation of Stede's fairytale, but of the grounded-in-pirate-reality arc Izzy was always on, even while we lived in Stede's world.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/6b7d020382d8b357232f8f5a4a87df5a/04c2a9089a50aabf-02/s540x810/70c3b03031d44abbce489b6a9f9541cc4cc8e7cd.jpg)
Where does that leave us? We're not going back to the fairytale, but we're not going to be living in Black Sails for S3, either. We've hit a fusion point where S1 ended with each of them going to separate, miserable homes, but S2 ended with them in the same place, ready and willing to make a go of it.
Season 3 is going to give us their world, together.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/5896ec4fd79638d68e9d4f39b008071a/04c2a9089a50aabf-29/s540x810/8c51c601105098bee67a9f35eb77833cbea15e31.jpg)
I LOVED the moments in this season where the deep emotions were in balance with the silliness I've always adored about this show. Eps4-6 were wonderful like that. Clearly we're not done with drama, either, but like Ed and Stede, I think we'll find a middle ground.
Anyway in conclusion, a rewatch of S1 after S2 somehow made me love the first season even more, which felt impossible? It's now gained /even more/ layers of depth than it had before. No matter how you feel about S2 I think it's worth that rewatch.
Adding one more bit of clarity for myself: I think we got a bit (intentionally) seduced in S1 by the idea that the Ed of the storybooks, the Vampire Viking Clown with the nine guns, was a version of him that others saw, when Stede saw the REAL person who 'worked' for Blackbeard.
In hindsight I think it's clear the Ed Stede go to know was also not the complete version of himself- the reality is, there's a whole spectrum between the two, and they've landed in the middle of it now. Ed intentionally leaned into the unlovable Kraken image to protect himself.
It very much didn't work, just like being just... Edward hadn't worked to protect himself, either. This season has been very much about pulling those two extremes together and finding all the parts that make up Ed overall (another thread on that here on Twitter, which I'll also shift across to Tumblr soon!)
And I think one of my favourite things in S2 has been seeing the way Stede SEES that- he knows what Ed's done, everyone's told him, but he still loves Ed. sees his trauma and how it affects him, and believes he's a good man regardless. He IS lovable; he's not forever broken.
And together, they can heal.
#ofmd#our flag means death#gay pirates#ofmd meta#unreliable narrators#fantasy vs reality#ofmd spoilers#ofmd s2 spoilers
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