#I know this already happened so I know there might not be much you can do | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dawngyu · 3 days ago

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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.

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.

"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?

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.

“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."

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.

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.

"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.

"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."

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."

"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.

"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.

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.

"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.

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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finchsflight · 2 days ago

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The most important thing, that a lot of people who want this kind of job don't get, is that you have to have an explanation.

And not some namby-pamby 'oh, you see, it was simply up my sleeve, ha ha let's all pretend this didn't happen!'. No, you need a proper, actual, well-thought-through explanation.

(At least, for the kids I show off for. If the parent didn't ever bother getting their kid into the business, or explaining tricks -- eh, you're probably fine. But if they didn't explain the tricks, well, they wouldn't need us, would they?)

The kids -- usually, at least, that I see -- want magic. But half the time they're too smart for their own good, and there's no one who'll think you're a real wizard like a little kid. They want you to be a real wizard. But you need them to think you're just really, really good.

(Y'know. On account of how we don't endanger kids. And if that's an issue for you, then I've got a big stick and you have some fun places I can shove it.)

So that's the first thing. Explanation. Every trick you've got, you better be good and prepared for them to ask you about it, in detail, at the end of the show, and if you don't have good answers, it breaks. Yeah, yeah, a magician never reveals their secrets, but little kids hate being condescended to and they'll have a great time if you show them the props and the 'real magic' behind the magic. Yes, yes, I know, it sounds stupid.

The second thing is, you're showing off, but you're not showing off. Big elemental stuff? Usually a no-no, even if you've got a good and sciency explanation. Partially because, like... if you're doing a science show, you don't need a wand. You can just go buy some liquid nitrogen. World's neat enough as is. And partially because -- look, you're a delight. But listen. You are never as good at lying to small children as you think you are, okay?

If you're gonna need an explanation, well, that means you need explainable stuff. Me, I like kinda theming things off human magicians -- you know, cards, ribbons, vanishing boxes, sleight-of-hand style stuff. A few flashy lights. That sorta thing. They love seeing a card trick that's just impossible enough to be amazing and just possible enough to be explained.

Works to add some things they can actually recognize, too; then they get a little moment where they get to feel like they've got one over on you.

And that leads pretty well to my last one.

Eventually, a kid's gonna ask you how you did something, and you're gonna give your made-up bullshit explanation that you will have gotten really good at delivering, and then either they're gonna say "That's not possible," or they're gonna ask you if you can teach them.

And you're gonna not be able to dismiss it, or you're not gonna be able to say 'sorry, I need to go', and there's gonna be a little kid who figures out that you're a wizard.

Remember what I said? How we don't endanger kids?

This is the part where that gets important.

Feel free to remember them, bookmark their name for when they grow up 'cause you think they might be a good apprentice, whatever. But you do not recruit kids.

And you already know that. So you're not gonna like what I'm about to say, because yes, it's gonna feel icky and terrible and it is, technically, about as illegal as anything can be when you're behind the -- what's the word for it these days?

Masquerade? Oh, man, that's so much better than it used to be. Nice.

Anyway.

Learn how to muddle a kid's memories.

Yeah. I know.

No, I don't like it either.

Only a few times. Thank God.

There's a trick I use, though -- and also makes it a lot less icky -- build a time limiter. Make a spell up, on your own, that is inextricably tied to a time limiter. Make it so it breaks when they're... remind me, what's, like, an age where kids are allowed to make bad choices?

Jesus. That's too young.

Well, let's say, uh... twice that? Twice that. That seems fine.

Don't make it something flashy. Just... let the memories fade back in. And after that, if they find you, it's not a kid, and they can make their own bad choices.

Yeah, I know.

I said it wasn't always a fun job. Wasn't just talking about the bodily fluids -- oh, yeah, that too. They're totally gonna get things on you. Snot, vomit, blood... small children end up bleeding a surprising amount, honestly?

Sure, yeah, I can teach you some cleaning cantrips.

When normal people throw a birthday party for their child, they call in a magician. When magicians throw a birthday party for their child, they call you.

#*ahem.* anyways #finch writes #the vague urban fantasy idea

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honeypiehotchner · 1 day ago

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Operation Lovebirds (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- oneshot

Happy belated Valentine's Day! In the spirit of making myself feel better, here's some unashamed fluff in between updates of The Gambit!

Summary: You make plans for the team to get drinks together after work on Valentine’s Day in an effort to make yourself feel better after a sudden breakup. The team decides to play matchmaker instead 😉

Warnings: oblivious reader, oblivious Hotch, PINING, YEARNING, past relationship/breakup woes, gender neutral terms for reader's ex, hotch is divorced but no foyet arc, awkward flirting (i think), happy ending ofc!!!

WC: ~5,200

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Aaron Hotchner since you started working at the BAU a year ago, it’s that he doesn’t go out.

You’re not really sure what it is that stops him, because even Rossi comes out with the team most nights, but in the year that you’ve been here, Hotch has come out three whole times. Three. In a year.

So, naturally, you’re the first to let the pure surprise show on your face when Hotch agrees to go out tomorrow night. In fact, you laugh.

He doesn’t.

“Oh my god,” you pause, smacking Morgan’s arm. “He’s being serious. Somebody get the champagne! Get me a calendar, I need to mark it.”

Hotch rolls his eyes at you, but there’s a small smile fighting at the corners of his lips like always when he hears your jokes. “Don’t get too excited. I might change my mind.”

(The truth is, after seeing how excited you are, he won’t change his mind. He hasn’t seen you smile in a week.)

A week ago, the person you were dating broke things off rather randomly. You aren’t even sure if you can consider them as someone you were in a relationship with, since based off their final message to you, it seems they didn’t see things that way. Regardless, it ended, and it was something that, for the first time, you had high hopes for. You thought it might’ve been real.

So, yeah, Hotch hasn’t seen you smile in a week. He knows something is wrong, but hasn’t had the courage to ask, in case he’s overstepping. The two of you get along just fine to work together, and you’ve had a few heart-to-hearts over the months, especially on late night flights when everyone else is asleep and you’re the only two wide awake. But those feel…different than this.

Hotch is just happy that his idea worked. He knew if he could joke about going out, it would put the bug in your ear, and you’d make the plans. Which is how he found himself agreeing to go out to a bar tomorrow after work.

Tomorrow just so happens to be Valentine’s Day. So what if Hotch selfishly wanted to spend the day with you in some capacity outside of the office, but was too scared to ask outright? So what if he’s a little happy at the fact that you have no plans other than inviting everyone out to drinks?

He’s a little worried given that he thought you were seeing someone, but he thought that was his imagination. You never mentioned dating anyone to anyone on the team, Hotch was just putting pieces together to hurt his own feelings.

Except. You haven’t smiled in a week, and you’re suddenly free for drinks after work…on Valentine’s Day.

Hotch tries not to think about it too much. He doesn’t want to think about you being sad any more than he’s had to this past week with your silent moods and halfway smiles. That alone has already twisted something into a knot in his chest.

“This is perfect!” your excitement is palpable. “This might be the first time I get everyone out at once. Derek, do not let me down. Bring your date!”

“Fine, fine,” Derek concedes. “I’ll ask her if she wants to come -- after her and I have had a very romantic dinner,” he smirks.

You roll your eyes and shove his shoulder in the same sibling way you always interact with Morgan, but Hotch watches you carefully, noticing the hint of sadness behind your eyes.

Fuck. You were seeing someone. That’s the only explanation, and they broke your heart -- a week before Valentine’s Day, might he add -- and it must’ve felt real to you because why else would you have that devastated look in your eyes?

Hotch, unsurprisingly, has harbored somewhat of a schoolgirl crush for you since about a month after you started working at the BAU. It took Rossi precisely one week to notice, but you’re going on month eleven of being blissfully unaware. Morgan has given Hotch a couple knowing looks but has yet to call him out on it. If JJ and Emily know (and they do), they haven’t said anything, least of all to you. Garcia is well aware after she caught Hotch watching you wistfully from his office one afternoon, but she hasn’t mentioned anything to you.

Rossi has, of course, tried to talk Hotch into making a move -- even a half-move, a hint of a move -- but Hotch refuses. Mostly because he had suspicions you were seeing someone, but also because he just can’t imagine someone like you having the same feelings for someone like him. It’s bizarre.

As everyone listens to your giddy pre-planning of where to go for drinks and what to wear, knowing looks are shared by the team -- looks that you and Hotch are left out of.

+++

You’re trying on the fourteenth outfit and trying to hold yourself together when you nearly cancel drinks to lie in bed in a pit of despair.

But that’s dramatic and irrational, so you try on a fifteenth outfit, say fuck it, and grab your car keys.

You’ll be a little early to the bar, but you don’t mind. Might as well get out before you lose the will to go back out again.

You just couldn’t stomach sitting inside, alone on Valentine’s Day, not during this rollercoaster of emotions that you’re feeling. Especially not now.

It’s not that you thought you had found the one, it’s the fact that you thought maybe they are. It’s not the fact that you were certain, it’s that you were so hopeful. You really thought things would go farther than that, and you never thought the crash and burn would be so random.

You really thought this time was different. Because it felt different, it felt good. Only for it to end the same as always.

You should be used to it by now, you think. People being uncertain of you. People being uncertain of how they want you in their lives. This isn’t the first time you’ve been in a relationship with someone only for them to decide that suddenly they aren’t ready for a relationship. It doesn’t make any more sense than it did the last time, but this one certainly knocked the wind out of you from how unexpected it was.

No matter, though. Because tonight you’re dancing, laughing with friends, and hopefully smiling so hard that you forget about it all hurting so much.

When you get to the bar, you’re the first one there, so you slide up to the bar and wave the bartender down, getting started with your first drink.

Unfortunately, no one cute catches your eye -- yet. You’re not exactly sure if you want to flirt with anyone tonight, but it could be fun. Could take your mind off things.

You’re halfway done with your first drink when Derek texts the group chat. Dinner got a little delayed. See y’all in a bit.

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly what he means by delayed. You snort and text back telling him it’s fine.

JJ is next. Couldn’t find a babysitter so Will and I are staying in! So sorry guys!

You frown, but it’s fine. You were worried about whether they'd be able to find a babysitter so soon.

No one else says a word, so you assume they’re all free.

Except that they don’t show.

You’re getting a little annoyed as the minutes tick by until you see, like a knight in shining armor, Aaron Hotchner walks through the doors.

You smile in pure relief and disbelief that he’s actually here, waving him over. He spots you and a soft smile settles on his lips, making a beeline for you at the bar.

Couples are sitting on either side of you, so Hotch stands behind you, your body suddenly very aware of how close he is.

“You look surprised to see me,” he teases.

You stare up at him, mystified. “Because I am.”

Hotch orders a whiskey on the rocks and another of whatever you’re having, opening a tab. Your brain short circuits a moment too late when you realize he’s just bought you a drink.

You don’t mention it, unsure of what exactly it means. Or what exactly you want it to mean.

When the bartender brings the drinks over, Hotch leans down to speak to you over to growing crowds and conversations. “There’s an open booth over there if you want to move somewhere more comfortable?”

Your mind spins with all kinds of inappropriate thoughts as you nod. “Booth sounds nice.”

You were unaware of just how many people had flooded into the bar since Hotch arrived, your focus clearly all on him and how close he was to touching you. Your fingers lightly touch Hotch’s back as you follow him through the crowd to the booth that he can see with his height.

Finally, you spot it, a miraculously free two-person booth at a table with a small lamp in the middle. It casts just enough shadows on Hotch’s face to make him look infinitely more attractive (something you hadn’t thought possible).

You’ve harbored a foolish crush on your boss since, well, the very beginning. It’s embarrassing.

Because you know that not only will he never feel the same way, it’s also highly against the rules at work and would be beyond frowned-upon. So, you suffer in silence, and try desperately not to think about what it might feel like to just kiss him. Just once.

That’s the alcohol and loneliness talking. You need to pull yourself together.

There’s precisely ten minutes of small talk before Hotch goes straight for the heart.

“How are you doing?” he asks.

For anyone else, it’s an unassuming question. It’s simple. It almost falls into the category of small talk, except it doesn’t. Not for two FBI profilers.

Still, you try to deflect with a shrug. “I’m alright. As alright as someone chronically single can be on Valentine’s Day, I guess. What about you?”

He’s not exactly in a different boat. He’s been single ever since his divorce a few years ago, as far as you know -- and you imagine you’d know because these sort of things get around in the BAU. The nosiest unit in the FBI, you always joke.

Hotch mirrors your shrug. “I’m alright.” He pauses, studying you. “I only ask because you’ve seemed…down lately.”

You grimace.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he quickly adds, almost scrambling. “I know this is odd, I’m your boss and we’re sitting at a booth in a bar on Valentine’s Day, but, I want you to know, if you do want to talk -- about anything -- I’m here. I want to listen.”

You stare at him blankly for a moment, feeling your facade as it slowly melts and drips away. “Thanks,” you avert your eyes, focusing instead on your drink that has barely two sips left. You have a comfortable buzz now, one that makes you a little quicker to let him in. “I was seeing someone that I was really hopeful about, for the first time, ever, and it ended randomly a week ago. Got a text just out of nowhere.” You pause, chuckling darkly. “I was in the middle of thinking about Valentine’s plans, actually, when I got the text. So.”

Hearing you confirm it out loud only makes Hotch’s heart twist and threaten to break. “I’m sorry,” he says, unsure of what else he can say, unsure of if there’s anything he can say to make it better. “I’m really sorry that happened.”

“Thanks,” you breathe, shaking your head a little to shake yourself out of it. You look up at Hotch and put on a fake, half-smile, the same one he’s seen you wearing the past week. “On to the next one, huh?” you joke. “If there even is a next one. If I even want there to be another one,” you add with a roll of your eyes. “I might have reached my limit for this shit.”

Hotch can’t even say that he blames you. “That’s understandable.”

There’s a trace of something in your eyes when you look at him, something he can’t read, but your smile is a little softer now, starting to look genuine. “Alright,” you clear your throat. “There’s my relationship woes. What about you? Breaking any hearts? Anyone breaking yours?”

He laughs at your change of subject, but shakes his head. “No, no, there’s no one.”

You frown. “Why not?”

He shrugs. “Haven’t really wanted to, I suppose.” I’m too much of a coward to ask you out on a date, according to Rossi. “Maybe soon, though.”

Excitement glints in your eyes. “Ooh, there is someone, I knew it! Tell me immediately.”

He just stares at you, fighting back a smile at your unbridled joy that he gets to witness. He is so glad he gets to see this expression on your face. “There’s not really someone, it’s kind of--” He pauses, looking down at his own glass, wondering how much he can say without giving himself away so embarrassingly. “I’ve been too afraid to do something.”

“Why?” you ask, sounding genuinely interested. “Is she dating someone?”

“She was,” he replies, perhaps too fast. “And I’m not certain she feels the same way, or else I’d have made a move by now,” he admits, thinking the whiskey is getting to him. “Maybe.”

“Aaron Hotchner, a shy, hopeless romantic,” you muse, leaning back in the booth with a smirk. “Who would’ve guessed?”

He gives you an almost pained look, hoping the awe seeps through the most. Because you have no idea, do you? You have no idea just what you do to him, just by talking to him, looking at him, making him laugh, letting him hear your laugh. He’s more of a goner than he originally thought.

He laughs off your teasing. “There are my woes,” he says, hoping that’ll be the end of it. “Where are the rest of the team, anyway?”

“Who knows,” you say, sounding unbothered, though you dig your phone out to see if anyone has texted.

If you and Aaron hadn’t been so caught up in conversation for the past hour, then you would’ve seen that everyone has said they can’t make it or that they’ll be “late” which is only code for they won’t show. You frown down at the messages, some almost forty-five minutes old now, wondering what they’re up to.

Aaron glances at his phone, too, finding a private message from David. Enjoy your date ;)

Hotch rolls his eyes, pocketing his phone. The team -- most likely led by self-proclaimed Cupid, David Rossi -- decided to play matchmaker. He should’ve known.

And you…you seem completely unaware.

“Whatever,” you exhale, exasperated. “I should’ve known better than to try to get everyone together on Valentine’s Day.” You pause, a sheepish look in your eyes. “I just really didn’t want to be alone, so,” you lightly tap Aaron’s leg with your foot, “thanks for coming and keeping me company.”

“Anytime,” he says, meaning it wholeheartedly. “Should we get another drink?”

You hum. “I was actually getting kinda hungry.”

“You read my mind,” Aaron smiles. “Do they have food here?”

“Probably shitty bar food,” you reply. You look up at him through your lashes, nearly knocking the breath from his lungs. “Wanna go somewhere else?”

He nods immediately, nodding toward the door. “Let’s go. I know the perfect place.”

You grin almost instantly, standing up from the booth. “Lead the way.”

+++

The perfect place that Aaron knows is a hole-in-the-wall, family-run pizza joint that he has frequented for years, probably ever since he joined the BAU and moved out here. It’s open late, and half-full of other couples when you and Aaron arrive.

“Hey, Tony,” Aaron greets the owner with a firm handshake and smile. “Table for two, please.”

You watch as Tony gives Aaron a look before repeating his words, “Table for two, you got it, right this way, Hotchner.”

The way Tony says his name is reminiscent of a coach talking to his favorite player, right down to the playful swat of Aaron’s chest. It makes you smile.

“And who is the lucky lady?” Tony asks nonchalantly as he places the menus down on the table by the window.

You giggle, introducing yourself. “I wasn’t aware Aaron had connections here.”

It could be a trick of the dim lighting, but you swear you see Hotch blush as he shakes his head.

“Oh, yeah,” Tony says, standing back as you both sit. “I’ve known him for years, always coming here alone on Valentine’s Day. I’m just happy to see he’s brought someone with him this time.”

“Oh, we’re--” you start to say.

But Hotch interjects with, “That’s enough, Tony, thank you.”

You furrow your eyebrows only a little. He didn’t deny what Tony is implying.

You ignore it. Because you can’t let yourself read into it. That’s what always ends up burning you. You need to ignore it.

Tony leaves to let the two of you look at the menu, albeit going with a mischievous smile on his face.

“What do you recommend?” you ask, trying to redirect. “Or should we just get a large and split it?”

“That might be easiest,” Hotch agrees. “Let’s do that.”

Tony returns to take your order and brings water with him, promising some wine if you’d like. You laugh him off and tell him the two of you just came from the bar.

When the pizza comes out, the two of you dig in, both having not realized just how hungry you were. With more water and food on your stomach, the alcohol has begun to wear off. But you’re still happy you’re spending the night with Aaron.

Whoever it is that he’s got his eyes set on, she’s one lucky girl. You know that for sure.

As the night winds to a close, you watch him more closely, wanting to memorize this. Because if you have any say in it, he’s going to get that girl that he’s so hopelessly in love with already. He deserves that. Even if it means you’ll never have another night like this with him.

So, you tell him just that as he’s dropping you back off at home. You turn toward him in the passenger seat, a sad smile on your lips.

“I’m going to give some unsolicited advice, okay?” you begin.

He laughs, clearly wary. “Okay. Go ahead.”

“Ask her out,” you say, hating the way you can feel the beginnings of tears pricking at the backs of your eyes. “Make a move. Don’t make her wait any longer. She might feel the same way, you never know, and you’ll never know, if you don’t ask her. So do it.”

He watches you, eyes studying every inch of your face. You don’t know it, but he’s trying to figure out why you look so sad as you’re saying this to him. How can you have no idea that it’s you, it’s always been you? How do you not know?

“That’s all,” you say, blinking the emotion out of your eyes. It’s gone so quick that he wonders if he imagined it. “Thank you for tonight, I really needed it. I’ll see you on Monday?”

He nods, all words foreign to him. “See you Monday. Enjoy your weekend.”

“You too,” you give him another smile.

He watches you leave, watches you get to your front door, waits for you to go inside. He stays there, waiting until he sees the lights turn on in your apartment, until he knows without a doubt that you are safe inside.

He drives away. And starts to think of a plan.

+++

Monday is a slow, tortuous day after a slow, tortuous weekend spent wondering yourself sick about if Hotch took your advice. If he spent the weekend with her, the girl that made his eyes go all soft when talked about her to you. If he was going to come into the office as a new man on Monday, feelings reciprocated, love radiating off him.

He didn’t, which you felt guilty for feeling relieved about.

He brought you a coffee, though. With a heart on the side of the cup. Probably from the barista who made it, you think.

It’s a paperwork kind of day, so everyone leaves by 4:30, even Reid, though he leaves so early because he has an event at a bookstore to go to. Slowly, everyone trickles out, until it’s just you and Hotch.

You’re avoiding your empty apartment. Hotch is finishing up his work, while simultaneously building up the courage to ask you to dinner.

Time is ticking, this he knows, and he starts packing up as soon as he sees you standing to rinse out your coffee mug.

You’re just finishing gathering your things when you hear Hotch leaving his office, locking the door behind him. You look up at him with a smile.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” you tease, gesturing around at the barren BAU. “Why do we keep doing this?”

It’s true that you’re usually the last two here, but this time feels different. There’s a different tension in the air that wasn’t here before, and you’re trying like hell to decipher if it’s good or bad.

“What are your plans for dinner?” he asks.

“Just leftovers or something,” you shrug. “You?”

“Well,” he says, letting out a soft, nervous laugh. “I was hoping to take someone out to dinner.”

You deflate a little. He must mean the girl. You try not to let it show in your tone, so you keep your head tucked, putting things away. “Did you ask her out? What’d she say?”

“That she had leftovers or something.”

Your hand freezes on your purse. You’re terrified to look up because if you do, then that means-- He can’t mean--

“I didn’t think I was so bad at this,” Aaron chuckles. “I guess it’s not muscle memory anymore.”

Slowly, slowly you lift your eyes. He’s sheepish. There is a blush on his cheeks, his smile is so damn hesitant, and you’re smiling before you can stop yourself.

“Aaron Hotchner,” you cross your arms over your chest. “Are you trying to ask me out on a date?”

“Emphasis on trying,” he says, looking so boyish. “Would you like to get dinner with me? Tonight, as a proper date?”

You nod right away, then stop yourself. “Wait, what about that girl you were telling me about?”

You’ve been “the other girl” before, and you refuse to do that again, not even for a man who looks like Aaron Hotchner.

But he laughs. Not at you, more at himself, at the situation. He shakes his head. “That girl is you,” he says. “I thought I was so obvious.”

“Wait--” you pause, blinking, the gears in your head stuttering and starting. “Me?”

He nods. “Since you started here. It was getting kind of embarrassing, according to Rossi.”

You giggle, unable to help yourself. Then pieces begin clicking into place. “Wait, so Valentine’s Day--”

“That was the team’s doing,” he nods to confirm. “Rossi got them in on it.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper. “And tonight?”

“Tonight was…just us being ourselves,” he confesses with a warm smile. “I didn’t tell any of them to leave so early.”

“And I just always stay a bit later,” you add. “Like you.”

“Like me,” he says. “Though you still leave before I do, most nights.”

“Yeah, because you sleep here, it seems like.”

“Hey,” he laughs, feigning hurt for a moment. “So…dinner?”

“Dinner,” you nod. “I’d love to get dinner with you, Aaron.”

“That’s a relief,” he breathes. “Can I take you somewhere again?”

You can take me anywhere you want, is what you want to say, but that feels a bit forward. “Of course,” you say instead. “Lead the way.”

+++

The team finds out the very next day, by pure accident.

Aaron drove you two to dinner last night straight from work, and the both of you were too caught up in it all to realize you left your car at work. Until it’s the next morning, you’re heading down to the parking lot of your apartment, car keys in hand, with your car nowhere to be found.

Aaron is walking through the BAU doors when his phone buzzes with a call from you. His heart skips as he answers, “Good morning.”

“Good morning, my love,” you reply easily. “Do you know where my car is? You get one guess.”

Hotch pauses, thinks, wondering why you’re asking him this question, until-- “Oh, shit,” he laughs. “I’ll come get you.”

“I can just take the bus,” you laugh just as hard. “I just wanted to tell you.”

You? On the bus? When he can easily just come get you? Absolutely not. “I’ll come get you,” he says again. “Let me set my things down, and I’ll be on my way to you.”

“Aaron--”

“Let me, please?” he asks, shoving inside his office to put his things down just inside the door. “I’m already walking back out to my car. We can get coffee and breakfast.”

“Okay,” you concede, finally. “I’ll wait.”

“I’ll be twenty minutes.”

It’s less time than that, actually, but you don’t call him out on it. Instead, you climb into his passenger seat with a smile.

“Long time no see,” you joke, buckling yourself in.

“I’m so sorry,” he laughs. “I completely forgot about your car.”

“I did too, don’t be sorry,” you reply, resting your hand on his arm. “It’s funny. And I’ll just drive it home tonight.”

He doesn’t want you to, he wants to always drive you around like this, but he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t want to come on too strong. “Okay. Well, for your troubles, we’ll get breakfast.”

“And coffee,” you sigh happily. “My turn to pick. I know the best place.”

He turns his phone toward you, the GPS already up. “Lead the way.”

When the two of you finally make it back to the BAU, the whole team is there, huddled around in the bullpen, clearly whispering about you and Hotch.

See, it’s rather suspicious when Hotch’s things are in his office, but he isn’t, especially an hour after he’s usually already got half the day’s work done. And your absence was noted too, as the minutes ticked by and no one had heard from you. And they knew the two of you were the last to leave last night.

Hotch holds open the glass door for you, laughing at something you’ve said (like always), the two of you unaware of the team meeting until you’re inside.

Everyone wears similar smirks.

“Hello lovebirds,” Rossi chimes. “We were wondering where you disappeared to.”

“Just breakfast,” you say with a shrug.

“Mhm,” Morgan hums. “Where’s my breakfast?”

“Go away,” you groan, swatting him. “Why are you all around my desk? Boundaries!”

Just like that, the crowd disperses with some laughter, and Hotch is free to escape up to his office. Rossi is quick to follow him, interrogating him about his night.

“It was a great night,” Hotch replies, not wanting to give anything away. “You are an instigator.”

“Did you kiss her?” Rossi presses on.

Hotch makes a sound of disbelief. Rossi looks appalled.

“You didn’t?”

“There is such a thing as taking things slow, Dave,” Hotch replies.

“Alright,” Dave concedes. “But dinner was good?”

“Dinner was great,” Hotch reiterates, unable to hide his smile. “Now get out of my office so I can get some work done.”

Rossi leaves with a smirk so smug that Hotch hopes his face cramps up.

+++

Later in the evening, when once again it’s just you and Hotch left in the office, Hotch decides to pack up a little early.

You’re in your own world, completely unaware that he’s heading out until he’s standing beside your desk.

You lift your eyes, realizing he’s watching you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he smiles. “Ready to go?”

You glance at the clock. “I was actually--”

He shakes his head. “Come on.”

“What?”

“As your boss, I’m deciding you’re done for the day.”

“Oh, really?” you quirk an eyebrow. “And there wouldn’t happen to be any ulterior motives, would there?”

He shrugs, all sheepish again. “If you happened to be free for dinner again, I wouldn’t say no.”

“And if I’m not free?”

He’s unbothered. “Then I’ll walk you to your car and let you get to your plans.”

“Not even a kiss goodnight?” you tease as you start gathering your things.

Hotch goes quiet. “That can be arranged.”

“Okay,” you murmur, standing with your things. “Let’s go.”

He reaches out for your hand which you easily hold onto, walking with him to the elevators. As you wait for one to arrive, you look at him, taking in his side profile. He catches you looking from just the corner of his eye, starting to smile.

Once you step onto the elevator, you break the silence. “I desperately need to sleep early tonight, so raincheck on dinner?”

He nods. “Of course.”

You pause, testing the waters. “Coffee tomorrow, though?”

He smiles. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“That’s perfect,” you reply.

Hotch walks you to your car, as promised, and helps you set your things inside. He even opens the driver’s side door for you. You’re about to get inside when he stops you, one hand on your arm.

“About that goodnight kiss,” he says, a glint in his eyes that has your stomach doing flips.

You place your hands on his shoulders, gently looping your wrists around his neck. “Mm, what about it?”

His hands find your waist in no time, squeezing ever so slightly. “Can I?”

“You don’t have to ask,” you murmur. “And yes.”

You’re both smiling into it, softening when your lips finally connect. You feel it then, how this is what you’ve been missing.

Aaron is so gentle as he kisses, so timid in a way that only makes you want him even more. His hands never wander from your waist, except for one moment to cup your jaw, to brush his thumb over your cheek as he kisses you one last time.

He pulls back to watch you, your eyes still closed in bliss. When you finally open them, he’s smiling at you.

“That’s some goodnight kiss,” you tease. “Careful, or you’ll spoil me.”

He shakes his head. “I want to,” he says, pressing another kiss to your lips. “And I will.”

You bring one hand to his face, holding onto him in disbelief. “Goodnight, Aaron.”

“Goodnight,” he whispers, giving you one more kiss for good measure. “Let me know when you get home safe?”

You nod. “You as well?”

“Okay,” he smiles. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You nod slowly. “In the morning.”

Neither of you make any move to leave. In fact, it takes half an hour for you to peel yourselves off of one another, and might’ve taken longer if your stomach hadn’t growled.

Eventually, you part, and Aaron shuts you into your car, waving as you drive off before he walks to his own vehicle. He stares at his reflection in a bit of disbelief, wondering what he did to deserve someone like you.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x fem!reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner oneshot #pure fluff #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner fic #just desperately needed to write some fluff

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hollaforlyla · 1 day ago

Note

Happy late Valentine's day!! could you write for Shadow x reader and they're already in an established relationship but reader is still new to relationships and is also REALLY touchstarved? Have a good day/night!

" LEARNING TO BE LOVED " ── shadow x gn!reader

so like, reader is me fr 🫶🏻 no warnings, i think, very detailed ── maybe too detailed �� but i love shadow, i love this concept, so im not complaining 💗 plz enjoy!!

pairing: shadow x reader

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

Being with Shadow was the best thing that had ever happened to you. But even after months of dating, you still struggled with certain aspects of your relationship—mainly, touch.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be close to him. In fact, you craved it. Your entire body longed for warmth, for comfort, for the feeling of being held. But years of going without it had made you hesitant, unsure. The idea of simply taking what you wanted felt foreign, like it was something you hadn’t quite earned.

Shadow had never pressured you. He wasn’t overly affectionate himself, but he was perceptive, and you knew he noticed your hesitations. He always let you take the lead when it came to touch, but that was part of the problem—you didn’t know how to take the lead. You didn’t know how to ask.

Tonight, you were curled up on the couch beside him, a movie playing in the background, though neither of you were truly watching it. The flickering screen cast dim light over the room, making the atmosphere feel warmer, softer. Shadow sat beside you, his usual rigid posture slightly relaxed as he rested one arm on the back of the couch.

Your fingers twitched slightly in your lap, a silent war waging in your mind. You wanted to lean against him. You wanted to feel his warmth. But every time you worked up the courage, doubt would creep in.

Would he think you were being needy? Would he get annoyed?

“…Something wrong?”

Shadow’s voice broke the silence, his tone low but not unkind. You looked up at him, startled. His crimson eyes were focused on you, analyzing, waiting.

“I…” You hesitated, your fingers gripping the hem of your sleeve. “No. I just…”

Shadow’s eyes flicked downward, catching the way your hands clenched. He was silent for a moment before exhaling softly.

“You don’t have to ask,” he said simply.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I can tell you want something,” he continued. “If you need… anything, just say it.”

His voice was calm, patient—so utterly Shadow. The words were simple, but to you, they felt like permission. Like a safety net.

Swallowing hard, you hesitantly inched closer, pressing against his side. You half-expected him to tense up or pull away, but he didn’t. Instead, he adjusted ever so slightly, allowing you to settle comfortably against him. Your heart pounded as you carefully rested your head against his shoulder, his fur soft and warm against your cheek.

And then, slowly—hesitantly—Shadow lifted his arm from the couch and wrapped it around you.

The moment his hand settled against your back, something inside you cracked.

Warmth spread through your chest, overwhelming in its gentleness. You had spent so long aching for this kind of comfort, and now that you had it, it almost felt unreal. Your throat tightened, and before you could stop yourself, you squeezed your eyes shut and gripped the fabric of Shadow’s furred chest, as if afraid he might disappear.

His arm tightened around you in response. Not enough to smother, but enough to ground you.

A shaky breath escaped you.

“…Thank you,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

Shadow didn’t reply right away. He didn’t need to. Instead, his hand moved in slow, careful strokes along your back, his touch firm yet cautious—like he was trying to memorize you just as much as you were memorizing him.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he finally murmured. “You deserve this.”

Your breath hitched.

You had never thought about it that way before. You had always felt like affection was something you had to earn—something fragile that could be taken away if you weren’t careful. But here Shadow was, holding you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like you deserved to be held.

The weight of that realization made your eyes sting, and before you could stop yourself, you nuzzled further into his chest. Shadow let out a small breath—something between a sigh and a chuckle—but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he held you closer.

Neither of you spoke after that. You didn’t need to.

Because in that moment, wrapped in Shadow’s warmth, you finally felt safe.

And for once, you let yourself believe you were worthy of it.

RAAAHHHH IM GOING MENTAL

#shadow the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #sonic x reader #shadow x reader #shadow the hedgehog x reader #sonic x shadow generations #shadow the ultimate lifeform #shadow dark beginnings #x reader #fluff #headcanons #oneshots #comfort #sonic fandom #female reader #male reader #gn reader #my writing

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ravens-two · 3 days ago

Text

PAC: What Will Sex be Like with your Person? (18+)

This reading includes:

how sex will be like with your person

The extended reading includes:

dirty talk with your person

what they will think/feel during sex

Disclaimer: this is just for entertainment purposes, and as a pick-a-card reading it may not resonate for everyone.

TIPS | BOOK A READING WITH ME | PATREON | LINKTREE | SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC

Pile 1

telepatía - Kali Uchis

Three of Swords, Page of Swords, Ten of Cups

You have such a dreamy vibe, pile 1. The energy here is almost Pisces like, you seem like a very sensitive soul and a dreamy person. I think that during sex you tend to use a very soft, breathy voice that contributes to this dreamy vibe. I also get this vibe that with this person in particular you're not just fucking them, you're fucking their mind too, if that makes sense. It's because with you and your partner the seduction game isn't just about the body, it's also the mind. Before the foreplay even begins you're both already seducing one another with your words. It's hard to put into words but this isn't just dirty talk, you know? It's something deeper that leaves you both crazy for each other because it makes you appreciate your partner so very much. Maybe you both get off on each other's intellect.

I think that in your sex life with your partner everything moves quite slowly. The buildup is slow - maybe even happens throughout the whole day for some of you - but the act itself is slow too. You're both very interested in getting the most out of it, so you want to enjoy and appreciate every single moment. This is not the pile for people who enjoy quickies, in fact I don't think that your person would even enjoy it that much.

For this pile I'm also seeing a lot of sexting, sending sexy photos and videos. For some in this pile you might be in a long distance relationship, so phone sex is just a part of it by default. But for others is just because you like to tease during the day so that you and your partner are as needy as possible. On that note, the song needy by Ariana Grande is also coming up.

With the Three of Swords here something that's coming up is pain and bondage. This is going to be different for everyone, of course. For some of you this might be actual BDSM, spanking or getting spanked by your partner, shibari, etc. But, in general, I think that it's something a little milder for most people in this pile. I feel like your partner enjoys holding down your wrists or putting you in handcuffs, and giving your ass or your thigh a smack every once in a while. Again, something milder, more playful rather than intense. In general, for this pile I also think that you tend to be a little more "submissive" than your partner - and honestly what I mean by this is that your partner tends to take initiate more during sex.

No matter what, sex between you and your partner is focused on the love and intense feelings you have for each other. It's a very dreamy and loving experience for the both of you. But more than that, it's also a healing experience for you both, especially if you've been through a traumatic experience.

check out the extended reading on patreon

Pile 2

La Tortura - Shakira

Two of Cups, King of Pentacles, Death

Pile 2, oof, I had to take a deep breath because your energy is so strong and so damn sexy. Like, damn, your vibe is something else. You can picture Shakira, Megan Fox or even Salma Hayek - there's so many examples but those are the ones that came to me right now. Your energy is definitely the dominant one here. I think that your partner would get down on their knees and downright worship you if you let them. You're just that intense.

All of my piles are gender neutral, but for this pile I feel like most of you are women in a relationship with a man (but of course feel free to ignore this part if it doesn't apply!). I think that you walk that man like a dog. He may think that he's "the man" of the relationship, but you're the one actually holding the reins. You're the one that initiates sex more often than not, and your partner just follows after you like a lovesick little puppy desperate to fulfill your every desire. But I also get this vibe that your partner is ready to go whenever and he's just waiting for you to give the go ahead.

When it comes to the sex itself I have to begin by saying: unbelievable orgasms. For both you and your partner. It's so so good it almost feels like you're dying for a second there. You both might take a long time recovering afterwards from how intense it is. I also think that during the act although you're in a more dominant position, I think that you prefer to receive instead of giving. The amazing part is that your partner not only is fine with that, they absolutely love it. You just have to tell them what you want and they will do their very best to make it happen.

Something else that I'm picking up is that you're both very big on touch, so you're probably glued together during sex, exchanging caresses and kisses. You know that type of caress that starts from your hips and ends up on your boobs? That? I see a lot of that. Your partner adores your body and wants to touch as much as they can, but vice-versa. No matter if it's a man or a woman you also really adore your partner's body (and a little secret for you, your touch completely undoes them). If your partner is a man I see him being quite big.

In the end though, sex between you two is about pleasure of course, but also about showing love and appreciation for each other. It's never just fucking. There's a lot of love here. Also, even if you consider yourself to be a little more submissive your partner is just so crazy about you that to them nothing else matters - they just want to please you, not dominate you. I already said this, but your touch really undoes your partner. Like a very simple touch coming from you makes them whine and gets them closer than they'd like (especially the men).

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Pile 3

Religion - Lana del Rey

Seven of Swords, King of Swords, Eight of Cups

Pile 3 for you I see two scenarios for you immediately. With this Eight of Cups you guys might be in a long distance relationship or your partner might be into edging. Because there's this sensation of longing here. You want something so very desperately and they don't want to give it to you/can't give it to you. (also, the image you chose is about a couple that will never see each other again, so there's this really "dramatic" energy of missing your person/their touch).

The other thing I'm picking up immediately with the Seven of Swords is that during sex you like being at your partner's mercy. It's this energy of giving yourself to them, allowing them to do what they want with you, because you just trust and love them so much. It's safe to say, that your energy is coming off more as submissive rather than anything else. You just trust in your partner's experience and in their caring nature to believe that they will never hurt you. This might lead you two to experiment with "riskier" things like breath play for example. But for others this can be even more intense with CNC scenarios, for example. You seem to like the idea of being at their mercy.

Aside from this, sex between you two seems to be a very pleasurable experience for you both, especially because your partner seems to have a lot of experience. They might have more experience than you, and that also makes you feel "guided" during the experience. During the act your partner might be a little harsher on you, more commanding, almost a little cold (and this seems like a big departure from who they really are as a person), but in the end your person really does like you very much.

Despite the more intense scenes that you'll probably be doing, there is never a sense that you're in danger or that you might be hurt. Both you and your partner have trust in each other, and a very good communication. You know that you could stop at any time. Also in reference that what I said before that your partner might seemed colder in the act, I think that you'll never feel as though they're being "mean" or wanting to hurt you, because there will be these little moments of reassurance and love between you.

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Pile 4

Juno - Sabrina Carpenter

Four of Swords, Knight of Wands, Ten of Wands

Pile 4 your energy is as playful as Sabrina Carpenter's. Everything seems so light and fun, even if you and your partner are trying out some crazy thing you've seen on the internet. By the way, I got this vibe that you two will sometimes see something and go like "hey, why don't we try that out?". The vibe here is so good honestly. There's a lot of giggling and joking even during the act, especially when there's a weird or funny noise. I actually even see your partner tickling you because you laughed at something they did.

Something interesting that's coming up is that your sex life is very different from the energy you project to other people as a couple. Maybe your partner is a very serious person in their day to day life (or you, or even both of you) and so everyone would expect that they would also be very serious during sex. But it's actually the opposite. For your partner this is a moment of deep connection but also of lightness, there's no reason to take sex so seriously when it's something that's to make you both feel good.

With this Knight of Wands, Ten of Wands combo you're two are probably going at it like rabbits. You'll have as many rounds as you possibly can until you both slump to the side unable to move. You both seem to have a lot of sexual energy - but maybe sometimes not at the same time. What I mean is that maybe on one day your partner has a really high libido, but you not so much (and vice-versa). So, when this happens you have to find a balance that will satisfy you both.

In general, your energy is just so playful. You'll try anything at least once, even if it doesn't really end up working out or if you don't like it. Like, I'm getting the mental image of a couple trying out spanking, but they just can't stop giggling. Because again, it's not that serious. It's supposed to be fun. This isn't to say that there won't be serious moments, it's just that most of the time the energy is lighter. You're the only pile where I'm getting positions and I mainly see cowgirl, to be honest. But again, you two seem to experiment a lot. When it comes to dominant or submissive energy, I don't think it's clear in your pile. Both you and your partner are happy to play around with it, so maybe we could say that you're both switches.

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#tarot #pac reading #pick a card #tarot reading #pac #pick a pile #18+ readings #18+ pac #fs pick a card #fs pick a pile #love tarot free

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thedemonscrawler · 2 days ago

Text

ITS BEEN 84 YEARS BUT HEY FINAL PART

There is no gradual change from isn't to is.

No slow return to awareness, an impossible dream flaking away like dust in the face of reality– just being, and the fading horror that a moment ago, he wasn't.

“--thought you said he wasn't in bad shape?!”

“I said he was in bad shape, he just wasn't dying! Look, just shut up and grab–”

Everything hurts.

He's damaged, processor struggling under the weight of countless errors, threatening to tip him over into a much more tangible state of unresponsiveness. There's a high keening sound that vibrates in his battered chest, resonates with his burning throat.

“--you got the–”

“--es, now move, before–”

Voices. An echo playing against itself, back and forth. Twins, perhaps? But none of the twins he knows sound alike, not like this, and it muddles his understanding even further.

Hands force themselves under his broken body, scraping against the cold surface underneath, and–

–and this already happened, didn’t it? How did it turn out the first time?

He can’t remember. Everything hurts, and there’s a dark, sucking hole where his memory should be, oozing unease and tension. The keening cuts off, replaced by a staccato burst of static. He should twist away, he should escape, except his limbs won’t cooperate and his chest is full of smothering heat and–

-and there are arms around him. Holding him close to a chest in shades of light and dark. Something brushes the fractured remains of his rays, and from the shape of it, he thinks it might be another disk-shaped head tucking over his own.

Quiet muttering, and he stills just to be able to hear it better, because he’s certain there was something novel in that rasping voice. Following the sounds up and down, until a few resolve themselves into words.

“‘m sorry.”

The hands holding him tighten their grip ever so slightly, because I’m sorry and you’re safe this time and I promise. Concepts that flit through his shattered mind, leaving impressions more than meaning… yet gradually, the tension eases from his frame, bleeding away drop by drop.

He remembers safety, and warmth. The sting of betrayal fades under awkward apologies, leaving behind no more than a dull ache. He cannot remember what happened, but he knows that he was somewhere else, and this hold means that he was found. Brought home.

Home?

Jarring movements cease. Behind a haze of overexposed static he is aware of movement, shadows and sounds. Something touches his arm, the fragmented casing barely registering the pressure.

“Hey there, buddy. You remember me, right?”

A person, probably; casing split between light and dark, a crest of pale rays. He cannot tell any more than that, and trying to look makes his head hurt worse.

“--’s okay. We're gonna fix you up, so just–”

It hurts. Focusing, thinking, being. The arms cradling his body are keeping him safe, but they cannot keep the hurt at bay, and his meager energy is steadily depleting.

“--shutting down.”

“I mean, can you blame–”

Darkness and static stillness eat away at him. The temporary death visited upon a machine, systems going offline as they ran out of power, leaving the body at the complete mercy of whoever might deign to turn it back on. A risk he’s only rarely taken in his long life, yet this time there’s no choice in it.

Does he want to wake up? Does he want to be?

The head tucked over his own presses closer, rasped words barely audible over his own systems. He misses most of them, but the sense of It’s okay sinks in past the static.

Safety. Warmth.

Everything stops.

—

“We need to have a serious talk about what you consider ‘catastrophic damage’.”

“Look, I’m a programmer, not an engineer.”

“No, you’re a mess built out of scavenged arcade machines. I think your judgment is a little skewed.”

Eclipse swipes at the oil-stained rag that impacts his crescent face, balling it up and tossing it back at Solar. It goes wide and hits the floor instead, prompting a snort from the other mech.

“Judgment and depth perception. I’ve seen old ladies make better throws than that.”

Eclipse rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the frame laid out in the chair. The harsh light of the repair cylinder exposes every bit of damage, and as much as he hates to admit it, Solar might have a point. Still…

“I was right, though.” A black and crimson hand reaches out to gently rest on the shattered chest casing, feeling the slight vibration of repaired fans.

And Solar just shakes his head, dim eyes flickering briefly. Mild humor laces his tired voice. “Yeah, you were right. Kinda wish you’d remembered anyway, though. Could have saved me a lot of stress.”

“You actually did it.”

The low, breathless voice has Eclipse looking over his shoulder, where Moon stands in the doorway to the cylinder. Unease prickles up and down Eclipse’s metal spine.

It was fine, it wasn’t like they’d kept this a secret, they hadn’t done anything wrong.

“I am a miracle worker, you know,” he replies with forced nonchalance. Moon doesn’t seem to hear him. All of the lunar animatronic’s attention is on the figure stretched out in the chair, and only when Eclipse steps forward to break his line of sight does he finally look up.

“It’s too late to do anything about it,” adds Solar. Eclipse doesn’t miss the way Moon winces, how his gaze slides away like his best friend is made of butter.

“I wasn’t–! I won’t…” Moon sighs and shakes his head. “The Computer picked up a massive spike in magic, so I was just checking to see how you guys were doing. That’s all. I didn’t expect you to be… done?”

“Well, he’s gotten the patch job, but I wouldn’t call things ‘done’.” Quite as if he doesn’t notice the thick, awkward atmosphere, Solar walks around the chair, to the cart loaded down with recently removed parts. “We focused on getting the essentials going, rather than anything cosmetic, so that’s why he still looks like a mess. As soon as his battery is charged enough we’re going to wake him up and see how he’s doing mentally.”

“You should stick around, say hello.” It’s petty, and rude, but Eclipse is too tired to fight off the impulse to sink nonfunctioning teeth into an obvious weakness. “He might not remember what happened.”

Moon stiffens at Eclipse’s tone, but a brief glance at the figure in the chair has his shoulders slumping. “No, that’s…that’s alright. I think I’ll head back upstairs and tell everyone that they should expect to see him around soon.” Deliberately not looking at any Eclipse, Moon turns on his heel.

“Moon?”

The lunar animatronic freezes. One eye peeps back over his shoulder, just enough to look at Solar. “Yeah?”

“You’re going to have to face this eventually.” Solar’s voice is flat, with a rarely-heard edge that makes Moon flinch. Without another word he slinks off, shoulders bowed under Solar’s golden gaze.

Quiet fills the vacuum left behind by Moon’s departure, until Eclipse breaks it with an almost normal tone of voice. “You know, I thought I’d enjoy the drama a little more.”

Solar barks out a laugh. “Maybe you’re going through some character growth– or you’ve got a virus. Actually, nevermind, it’s probably that. I can scan you after we wake him up, if you want.”

There isn't another rag to throw, so Eclipse settles for making a Daycare-inappropriate gesture, which Solar returns with interest.

“Let's just get this over with, before anyone else shows up.” His usual drawl neatly covers up the uneasy feeling crawling through his circuits as Eclipse glances at the door, then down at the chair. It was beyond too late for questions or doubts– the only thing left was to face the consequences.

Solar flicks his fingers in a little salute and approaches the prone form. He does something around its head, and Eclipse finds himself holding his ‘breath’ as recently replaced fans start up, rattling in their housings and nearly covering the whine of a processor. Red and blue optics flicker before coming fully online, their dim glow pointed at the ceiling.

The tangled knot of guilt and shame that had lived in his circuits for the past couple of months loosens, all at once. Without really thinking about it, he waves a crimson-tipped hand. “Hey.”

A long moment of silence, broken by uncertain chirps from Ruin’s barely functional vocalizer. “H-hello.”

“...alright, enough with the riveting banter.” Solar waves off Eclipse’s offended snarl, stepping up to the foot of the chair. Ruin regards him with the same blank uncertainty that he’d shown the ceiling, even when Solar offers a hand to pull him up to a more upright position. “There we go. Hey, you’re with us, right?”

More silence, and Eclipse can see the same worry beginning to creep through his wires reflected in Solar’s copper rays angling back. Before either of them can get too worked up, there’s another little static sound, and Ruin accepts the offered hand.

“I– yes, I believe that I am.” His endoskeleton creaks as he moves, bits of casing joining what already litters the floor. “Or perhaps I’m not, and it is you who are with me? Because– and do correct me if I’m wrong– you’re dead, Solar.”

“Yeah, funny how that kind of thing doesn’t stick around here.”

“I-I see.” Red and blue optics drop to skeletal hands. “Yes, I do remember now. Moon had a plan, of sorts, didn’t he? A life for a life.” Those hands clench into tight fists, joints squealing softly.

Eclipse’s own claws bite into his palms as the shame begins creeping up on him again. “Yeah.”

“There was a cell, and then there was a different cell, and that twisted imitation of an animatronic. And then…” the words break into more static, the rough idea of a laugh. “Moon got what he wanted. I don’t begrudge him, you know. It makes perfect sense. What does not, however, is this.”

He looks up at Eclipse, bewildered and lost. “Why am I alive?”

Eclipse had been expecting the question, because it’s the same one he’d been asking himself for months. All through the search for a way to alter a dimensional signature, scouring the computers to find an imprint of Ruin’s code, dealing with awkward questions and cold looks from the others.

Why go through the trouble of bringing back Ruin, of all people? Who would want to see the amalgamate AI alive again?

(The fleeting impression of trust, of safety found in undeserving arms. He was familiar with betrayal, but this time… this time it hadn’t been on purpose.)

Eclipse is the only one that can answer, in his own way. With a sneer and a snarl, golden rays pinning back.

“You brought me back from the dead. Twice, actually.” He crosses his arms and looks down at Ruin. “Do you really think I'd let you get out of dealing with all of this crap? Nuh-uh, nope– if I have to be alive, so do you.”

Mismatched eyes flicker briefly, searching Eclipse’s fixed expression for something. Falsehood, a trick. When nothing is found, soft static chirps begin sounding from the damaged bot’s chest, resolving themselves into hiccuping sobs as Ruin drops his face into his hands.

“Of– of course!” He forces out. “Of course, t-that…yes, t-that’s fair. That’s fair.”

Eclipse’s stiff pose loosens slightly, and after a warning glance at Solar to not say anything, he sits down on the edge of the chair. Immediately there are damaged arms wrapping around his torso, a shattered face pressed into his chest.

Eclipse ignores the thin scratches being carved into his paint, the few bits of loose casing falling away from a broken body. He rests his hand on Ruin’s back, moving it in tiny circles. If his voice is unusually quiet, threatening to crack in the middle, he ignores that, too.

“You’re okay now. You’re home.”

Lil gift for @thedemonscrawler inspired by their sams fic Beggars Can't be Choosers (butters i'm dying /pos)

(Speedpaint under cut)

youtube

#fanfic #83c

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mayrose713 · 2 days ago

Text

Beautifully Cruel World-Chapter 21

Series Masterlist | Previous | Next

ABO Non-Idol Stray Kids Universe Poly OT8 x Reader 18+ MDNI

Warnings in the Series Masterlist as well as any other information needed

Chapter 21

Chan, Minho, Hyunjin, Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin all sit on the patio of the beach house, drinking some lemonade as they wait for their other three mates to get home knowing they shouldn’t be too much longer. They plan on going to a nice restaurant for dinner as it’s their last night on the island. Chan having made the reservations when Felix and Jisung first brought up the trip. Then afterwards, Hyunjin requested to have a big sleepover in the living room.

“I’m telling you, he was cheating.” Felix hits his hand on the table of the patio furniture.

“You always say that, Lix.” Seungmin laughs as the omega talks about what happened when he was playing Genshin Impact that morning.

“He had to be.” He whines. “There’s no way he had…”

Hyunjin turns to him confused as to why he stopped talking when he notices Felix looks scared. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Channie?” The omega whimpers, having felt a wave of fear come through his bond with Y/n.

“Yeah, I feel it too.” Already on his phone before holding it to his ear and waits a few moments before groaning. “She’s not answering.”

“What’s going on?” Jeongin asks, looking at them concerned.

“A strong feeling of fear just came though Y/n’s bond with us.” Minho growls now holding his phone to his ear. “Jisungs not answering.”

“Damn it! Neither is Changbin.” Chan sighs before standing up. “Come on Min, they’re just down the street at the garden. We’ll track their phones for their exact location when we get there. I’ll take the truck, you take the car.”

“We’re coming too.” Hyunjin stands up quickly starting to follow and the other three do too.

“Guys, we don’t know what's going on right now.” Minho tries to reason with them once they’re all back in the house, putting on shoes and grabbing keys.

“If Y/n is so scared you’re feeling it through your bonds with her, then somethings seriously wrong.” Jeongin argues.

“We’re coming.” Seungmin stands in front of the door so the alphas can’t leave without them.

“Please.” Felix whispers with puppy dog eyes.

“God, you pups are so stubborn.” Chan groans when they all feel a rush of anger from Changbin’s bond and they realize it might be worse than anticipated. “Fine, you can come but you are going to listen to me.” He points at Felix, Hyunjin and Seungmin as they start walking out of the house towards the vehicles. “You three are to stay out of the way. Depending on what's going on I’m gonna need you to calm Y/n down and possibly even Jisung. Don’t try and do anything until we get them to you.”

Felix and Hyunjin get into the truck with Chan as Jeongin and Seungmin get in the car with Minho. They drive quickly to the nearby park and garden that isn’t even a five minute drive from the house. Seungmin already had the locations of their phones brought up on his once they all parked and got out.

“They're by the pavilions.”

They jog that way and just as the gazebos are in view they see their mates when an older alpha slaps Y/n before trying to grab her again causing her to back away in fear then trip and fall.

“Y/n.” The betas and Felix yell and gasp.

“Motherfucker.” Minho growls before running with Jeongin and Chan right behind him, sirens are now heard in the background.

“Don’t touch her.” Chan yells when the older beta woman tries to touch Y/n who is still trying to get away, scrambling backwards in the grass.

Changbin has the older male alpha by the collar of his shirt as he threatens him. Chan rushing to his aid as Minho goes to Y/n and Jeongin goes to Jisung.

“Jisungie, are you okay?”

“Yeah, just shaken up.” The beta nods, not looking at Jeongin but around them at Chan and Changbin yelling at the man, and Minho crouching in front of Y/n on the ground.

“Go to the others, we’ll bring Y/n over to you guys in a moment.” Jeongin guides him in the direction of the other three who are standing by watching, nervous.

Jeongin looks around the area, noticing a lot of people have gathered, watching, one of them must have been who called the cops as he can hear the sirens has reached the parking lot and can see the flashing red and blue lights in the distance. He then goes over to Minho and Y/n, glaring at the woman who stands by even after Minho told her to go away.

“Y/n, I need you to try and follow my breathing baby, look at me.” Minho tries talking to their omega but she’s freaking out too much, looking everywhere but at him as tears stream down her cheeks, her hands clenched so tightly in fists that her nails break the skins of her palms as the youngest alpha comes up to them. “She’s having an anxiety attack, there's too much going on around her for her to focus on me and calm down. She’s not even reacting to my pheromones.”

“Jagiya, it’s Innie. I need you to look at us.” He tries also releasing calming pheromones hoping both of theirs would help her better but she’s acting as if they aren’t even there. “Her anxiety pills are at the house aren’t they?”

“Yeah, but even if we did have them I don’t think she’d be able to take them right now. Let’s get her to the betas and away from this.” Minho decides and moves to scoop her into his arms which causes her to flinch away and freak out, moving so much in his arm. “It’s okay kitten, it’s just me.”

He tucks her face into his neck which causes her to stop trying to get out of his arms but instead cling to him as he walks her to the rest of the pack.

“Hey, you can’t just take my granddaughter.” The woman yells.

“Shut up.” Jeongin yells at her before going over to Chan and Changbin who are still having a heated conversation with the older alpha but Changbin is no longer clutching his shirt.

“Oh, my sunshine.” Felix holds his arms out moving away from Jisung who he was holding before.

Minho gives Y/n to Felix who whimpers once she’s in her fellow omega’s embrace. Hyunjin now holding a tearful Jisung as the alpha moves to them once the omegas are settled on the grass with Seungmin watching over them.

“You okay baby?” He places his hand in the betas hair as he leans against Hyunjins chest.

“I am now that she’s away from them.” Jisung wipes his tears as he looks at Y/n. “I seriously thought they were gonna take her from us.”

“We would never let that happen.” Hyunjin mumbles before kissing the younger's head as he holds him closer to his chest.

The cops come up to the three alphas still arguing, another cop going to the crowd of witnesses and the last one to the six of them. The last cop gives them a sad look seeing the two who are still shaken up.

“I’m sorry but I’m gonna need to ask the beta and omega who were a part of the situation some questions.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Everything went by in a blur for Y/n. The cops questioned Jisung, Changbin, her grandfather and grandmother and some witnesses who were willing to testify. They then asked the rest of the pack separately about what happened that led them to come here and what happened after they all got to the park. They tried to question Y/n a few times but she was so out of it she didn’t hear them or even really notice them there. All she was aware of was her pack around her as she was constantly passed to someone when another had to answer questions.

She’s now sitting in the back of an ambulance in Hyunjins lap with Felix and Seungmin on either side of them as a paramedic looks at her wrist, hands and cheek. It’s when the paramedic cleans the wounds on her hands from her breaking the skin with her nails that she finally comes back to reality at the pain letting out a hiss

“It’s okay.” Hyunjin says, something they’ve all been saying to her since they arrived.

“She didn’t do too much damage when she was clenching her fists, just a few cuts.” The paramedic says as she cleans everything up. “Her wrist and cheek are already bruising though. Warning, the cops may want to take pictures of that for the record. But you guys are welcome to sit here until they say you guys are free to go.”

“Thank you.” Seungmin tells her.

The omega looks around at the scene outside of the ambulance, it’s late afternoon now when it was just after two when her date started with Changbin and Jisung. She sees cops still talking and taking notes with several people, her four alphas and Jisung being a part of that. She then looks next to her to see Felix who’s bouncing his leg.

She reaches over to him and grabs his hand making him whip his head to look at her before he squeezes her hand. “Hey baby, you with us now?”

She nods her head, the first time she’s answered anyone since her grandfather hit her, all of them letting out a sigh of relief.

“I’ll go tell the alphas she’s coherent again.” Seungmin stands up and jogs over to where they’re all still talking to some of the officers.

“You’re safe, princess.” Hyunjin holds her closer to him, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Are you okay, do you need anything?”

She nods before looking over at Felix again and motions her hand that he isn’t holding, to her mouth as if she was drinking something.

“You need something to drink?” When she nods again he grabs a water bottle next to him the paramedic gave them and opens it before handing it to her. “Here, you cried a lot, need to rehydrate.”

She takes the bottle with shaky hands and takes a few sips but then she starts to feel nauseous and hands it back to him.

“Channie hyungs coming over with one of the officers.” Hyunjin tells her. “She’s gonna want to ask you some questions. Can you do that for us?” The beta frowns when she shrugs. “Can you say anything for us?”

She shakes her head no just as Chan walks up, the officer just behind him, looking relieved to see her answering Hyunjin.

“Hey, baby girl.” He places his hands on her thighs and rubs soothing circles with his thumbs. “This is officer Park, she has some questions for you, we’ll be right here the whole time.”

“She’s not talking.” Felix tells them as the rest of the pack comes over.

“That’s okay, she’s probably still in shock.” Office Park gets closer causing the omega to push herself back against Hyunjins chest more. “Based on what you guys have told us and what some witnesses say, we know that her grandfather grabbed and attacked her first and that Mr. Seo was just trying to protect his mate. But we do have to ask if you are wanting to press charges or file a restraining order against your grandparents?”

They all look at her before she looks up at Chan unsure.

“Will she have to see them again if she presses charges?” Felix grabs her still shaking hand already knowing what’s going on in her head.

“Unfortunately yes she will have to see them in court.” Y/n quickly shakes her head no to pressing charges. “What about a restraining order?”

She nods her head and so does everyone else.

“Alright, Mr. Bang I’ll send you everything you’ll need for the restraining order so you can file it when you guys get back to Seoul tomorrow.”

“Thank you so much officer.”

“I will need to take some pictures of her bruised cheek and wrist for the report though.”

Y/n tries to back herself against Hyunjins chest again, not wanting the cop any closer to her.

“Here, let me take them.” Minho steps up and officer Park hands him the camera for evidence as Chan takes her hand gently to hold up for the pictures.

Chan then moves her face gently so the pictures can be taken of her cheek before Minho hands the camera back to the cop. “Alright, you guys are good to go.”

As soon as the cop walks away Y/n looks at Changbin and raises her arms up to him, tears brimming her eyes once again.

“Come here, pretty girl.” Changbin picks her up from Hyunjin’s lap and holds her close to his chest, wrapping her arms and legs around him.

“Let’s go.” Chan declares.

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mistyshane30 · 1 day ago

Text

You Were Never Mine to Lose (Chapter 5)

Synopsis: A beach day turns into playful chaos—volleyball, sun-kissed laughter, and unexpected moments that leave you more breathless than the game itself. But as the night falls over Malibu, you can’t shake the feeling that something about today feels different.

Word count: 5.8k

Warnings: Mild sexual tension, Mentions of alcohol consumption, Mild language, Physical injury

Another day in Malibu.

You wake up earlier than expected, the dull throb of a hangover making its presence known behind your eyes. With a groan, you bury your face into the pillow, regretting those extra drinks from last night. The taste of alcohol lingers faintly, and your body feels sluggish. Still, despite the headache, there’s a small silver lining—you and Agatha are finally on good terms again. The tension that had loomed over the past couple of days seems to have lifted, if only slightly.

After mustering enough willpower to leave the comfort of your bed, you go through your usual morning routine—splashing cold water on your face, brushing your teeth, and throwing on something light while heading down for breakfast. The smell of coffee helps, though your appetite isn’t quite there yet. You settle for something small and hydrating, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly as you eat.

As you scroll through your phone, a notification from the group chat grabs your attention.

Coven Group Chat

Jen: "Since our beach day didn’t happen the other day, it’s happening THIS morning. No excuses."

You take a sip of your drink, already knowing where this is going. Before you can type a response, another message pops up.

Jen: "Also, two-piece bikinis ONLY. It’s for the photos. No cover-ups during the shoot, ladies 😘."

Your eyebrows shoot up. Again?

The reactions roll in almost immediately.

Alice: "Excuse me, dictatorship much? What if I wanna wear a T-shirt and shorts like a respectable citizen?"

Lilia: "I have a one-piece, does that count???"

Wanda: "Ugh, fine. But if anyone forces me to take off my sarong, I’m leaving the country."

Jen: "Wanda, we both know you have a whole collection of bikinis that you pretend not to own. Just wear one."

Wanda: "Blocked."

You chuckle at the ongoing banter, but before you can chime in, another message pops up.

Agatha: "Does anyone have sunscreen? I forgot to bring one."

You smirk, fingers flying across your screen.

You: "Tsk, tsk. Governor Harkness forgetting sunscreen? Tragic. And here I thought you were supposed to be responsible."

Agatha: "Oh, shut up. Just let me borrow some."

You: "Say please. 😌"

Agatha: "No."

You: "Then burn. ☀️🔥"

Agatha: "I hope a seagull steals your sunglasses."

Alice: "LMAOOO not the seagull curse 💀."

Jen: "Enough flirting, you two."

Your eyes widen slightly, and before you can protest, Wanda adds—

Wanda: "Yeah, just get married already."

You: "HELLO??? BLOCKED. REPORTED. UNSENT."

Agatha: "Literally gagging. You’re all insufferable."

Lilia: "Just admit it, you two are so divorced-coded."

Agatha: "Can’t be divorced if we were never married."

Alice: "Enemies to lovers arc when?"

You groan, deciding to ignore the chat before it gets worse. Jen finally swoops in to wrap things up.

Jen: "ANYWAY. Cabana. One hour. No latecomers."

Before you close the chat, you sigh and type—

You: "Fine, Agatha, I’ll let you borrow mine. But if you don’t return it, I’m suing."

Agatha: "Yeah, yeah. Put it in my tab."

You shake your head with a small smirk.

With that, you set your phone down and stretch, finally dragging yourself toward your luggage. Time to pick out something to wear.

Rummaging through your packed clothes, your eyes land on a deep purple wrap-around string bikini top with matching string bikini bottoms. The color is rich, the design tasteful yet undeniably bold. You hesitate for only a moment before deciding, Screw it. If we’re doing this again, I might as well go all in.

You slip into the bikini, adjusting the ties securely before layering a sheer black kimono over it. The delicate fabric flows with every movement, adding an effortless elegance to the look. To complete the ensemble, you grab your Bvlgari Serpenti BV40009U 33F Gold Sunglasses, a wide-brimmed beach hat for extra sun protection, and a pair of comfortable beach sandals.

Before heading out, you toss a few essentials into your tote bag—your phone, a towel, and, of course, the sunscreen Agatha so carelessly forgot.

With one final glance in the mirror, a smirk tugs at your lips.

You look hotter than the sun.

As you step onto the warm sand, the salty ocean breeze greets you, tousling your hair beneath your wide-brimmed hat. The sun is already climbing higher, casting a golden glow over the beach. Your sunglasses shield your eyes as you scan the shoreline, searching for the group.

Your gaze lands on a cabana near the water, where Jen, Lilia, and Alice lounge comfortably. They’re deep in conversation, laughing about something when Alice suddenly notices you approaching. Her eyes widen as she nudges Jen and Lilia with her elbow.

“Oh. My. God,” Alice gasps dramatically, sitting up straighter. “Would you look at that? Malibu’s about to catch fire.”

Jen turns her head, following Alice’s gaze, and when she sees you, she lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Y/N,” she grins, taking a sip from her coconut drink. “If I wasn’t getting married, I’d smash. No hesitation.”

Lilia laughs, adjusting her sun hat. “Same. I mean, I’m already questioning things.”

You roll your eyes but smirk as you reach them, tossing your tote bag onto a lounge chair. “Wow, what an honor,” you tease, adjusting your sheer black kimono. “Should I be flattered or slightly concerned?”

“Definitely flattered,” Jen winks. “We’re just appreciating the art, babe.”

Alice nods approvingly. “You look hotter than the sun right now. We might have to keep you under the shade before someone faints.”

You chuckle and glance at them. “Oh please, you guys look stunning yourselves,” you say, gesturing to their beach outfits.

Jen twirls her sunglasses between her fingers. “Yeah, yeah, but we’re used to it,” she says playfully. “Now, where’s the rest of the gang? Especially Agatha? I need to see if she actually followed the two-piece dress code.”

Lilia grins. “Or if she’s going full ‘governor mode’ with a whole-ass wetsuit.”

You snicker at the thought and glance toward the resort path, wondering when the two will show up.

You sat on one of the cabana chairs across from Lilia, stretching out your legs as the sun warmed your skin. The soft sound of waves crashing mixed with the faint chatter from nearby beachgoers, creating a relaxing atmosphere. Lilia adjusted her sunhat, sipping on her iced drink before looking over at you with a smirk.

"So... feeling refreshed after last night’s little adventure?" she teased, wiggling her brows.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the amused scoff that left your lips. "If by refreshed you mean mildly hungover, then yeah, sure."

Alice chuckled, leaning back on her chair. "At least you didn’t have to carry Wanda back to the villa. That girl gets way too affectionate when she’s tipsy. I think she tried to marry Jen at some point."

Jen, lounging beside Alice, grinned. "Hey, don’t blame her. I am a catch, after all. But too bad, I’m off the market."

The conversation flowed easily between you, filled with laughter and teasing as you all waited. The cabana provided some shade, but the heat was already creeping in, making you glad you had worn something breezy.

After some time, you heard approaching footsteps behind you. Before you could turn around, a hand lightly touched your shoulder.

"Morning," a familiar voice spoke.

You glanced up, finding Agatha standing beside you, the sun casting a glow over her figure. She was wearing a nautical blue and white floral O-ring swimsuit—a triangle halter top that accentuated her collarbones, high-waist bikini bottoms with sexy cutouts on both sides and a sarong. The effortless confidence she carried made you momentarily forget how to function.

Agatha glanced around before asking, "Where's Wanda?"

Lilia stretched her arms. "No clue. Probably on her way, maybe getting lost in the resort again."

Jen laughed. "Or flirting with the bartender from last night."

As they spoke, your gaze involuntarily traveled back to Agatha, taking in the way the bikini fit her perfectly. You quickly snapped out of it when Agatha turned toward you, arching an eyebrow as if she had caught you staring. Panicking slightly, you averted your gaze and cleared your throat.

"Uh, nice bikini," you muttered, intending to sound casual. Instead, it came out as more of a teasing remark. "Did you finally give up on covering up all the time?"

Agatha smirked, tapping your shoulder. "Don’t get used to it."

Before you could respond, she tilted her head. "By the way, you did bring the sunscreen, right?"

You reached into your tote bag with a smirk, pulling out the sunscreen. "Obviously. Someone has to be responsible."

Agatha shrugged, taking the bottle from you. "Not all of us have our lives together."

Alice snickered. "That’s a first. I thought governors had to be prepared for everything."

"I am," Agatha said, unscrewing the cap. "Just not for the sun apparently."

She walked over to sit beside Alice, squeezing sunscreen onto her palm before rubbing it over her arms, neck, and shoulders. You tried not to watch, but behind your sunglasses, it was impossible not to. Your gaze drifted lower as she smoothed the lotion over her legs, taking her time to make sure she was fully covered.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling like the sun got a little hotter.

A few minutes later, Agatha stood and walked back toward you, holding out the bottle. "Here, thanks."

You shook your head. "Keep it. I have another one anyway."

She hesitated for a second before giving you a small nod. "Appreciate it."

With that, she returned to her seat, and you exhaled, willing yourself to think of something—anything—other than how good she looked.

And just like that, the wait for Wanda continued.

After a few more minutes, Wanda finally arrived, slightly out of breath. You smirked, crossing your arms. "Wow, look who decided to join us. Got lost on the way or just fashionably late?"

Wanda huffed, flipping her damp hair over her shoulder. "I have a very valid reason."

Lilia raised a brow. "Oh, this should be good."

"I forgot my sunscreen and had to beg the front desk for one," Wanda admitted with a sheepish grin.

Jen rolled her eyes but waved a dismissive hand. "Whatever, you’re here now. That’s what matters. And since you made it, we can finally get this beach volleyball match going."

Alice gestured toward the net in front of the cabana. "That’s why it’s here. You didn’t think it was just for the aesthetic, did you?"

Wanda groaned. "Do we really have to? What if we just... tan and drink cocktails instead?"

"Nope!" Jen clapped her hands together. "Teams are set. Wanda, Lilia, and Alice versus me, Agatha, and Y/N. Let’s do this!"

With that, everyone stretched, tying their hair up in preparation. Sand shifted underfoot as each team took their respective sides, a competitive glint in their eyes.

Lilia stepped up first, tossing the ball in the air before serving it with a sharp hit over the net. You shifted into position, eyes locked on the ball.

Game on.

The game quickly heated up, each team refusing to back down. The ball flew back and forth over the net, sand kicking up with every swift movement. Sweat glistened under the sun as everyone gave it their all.

At one intense moment, Wanda spiked the ball hard, aiming straight for your team’s side. Agatha leaped up to block it, and at the same time, you lunged forward to do the exact same thing. Neither of you noticed the other’s movement until it was too late.

Bodies collided mid-air, and before you knew it, you were tumbling onto the sand. Hard.

You landed on your back with a thud, the impact jarring your head slightly. Agatha, having lost her balance in the chaos, fell right on top of you.

For a moment, everything stilled.

Your eyes snapped shut as you winced, a dull ache forming at the back of your head. The weight pressing down on you wasn’t helping either.

“Hey, are you okay?” Agatha’s voice was close—too close.

You blinked your eyes open, only to find yourself staring directly into hers. The proximity sent a jolt through your system, and for a brief second, neither of you moved. You swore you heard her breath hitch.

Then Jen’s voice cut through the moment. “Damn, that was a fall! You guys alright?”

Agatha blinked rapidly before pushing herself up, standing first. She hesitated for a split second before offering you her hand. You took it, letting her help you up before you both walked back to the cabana to sit down.

The rest of the group quickly followed.

Jen gestured toward Wanda and Alice. “Go grab some ice packs for Y/N’s head.”

They hurried off, returning a few minutes later with an ice pack, which they handed to you. You pressed it against the sore spot, sighing in relief. “Thanks.”

Agatha, sitting beside you, looked more worried than the others. Or maybe you were just imagining it. You had a tendency to overthink things when it came to her.

“You sure it’s not that bad?” she asked, voice quieter now.

You forced a small smile. “It’s bearable. I’ll live.”

The group let out relieved sighs, making sure you weren’t feeling dizzy or nauseous. You reassured them that it was just a bump.

After a few minutes of resting, you stretched and stood up. “I think I could really use some relaxation after that.”

Jen perked up. “Speaking of relaxation—we’re hitting the spa after lunch.”

Excited murmurs spread through the group, and you couldn’t help but grin. Wanda, however, groaned. “Can we eat first? I’m starving.”

Jen chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. But first—group photo for memory’s sake.”

“Oh, come on,” Wanda whined. “Can’t we just take a picture of the food instead?”

Lilia smirked. “Nope. You’re in it, Maximoff. No excuses.”

Alice playfully nudged you. “You better not make a weird face in this one. Last time, you looked like you were mid-sneeze.”

You rolled your eyes. “That was one time.”

Agatha adjusted her sunglasses and deadpanned, “And yet, it haunts me to this day.”

Groans and laughs mixed together, but everyone still posed anyway. Even if they wouldn’t admit it, this was a moment they wanted to remember.

Lunch at Nobu Malibu was nothing short of a spectacle—the sun shining down on the ocean, the faint sound of waves in the background, and a table full of laughter, teasing, and incredible food. The best part? You were all still in your bikinis, completely unfazed by the upscale setting.

Agatha sat directly across from you, eating her sushi with a grace that somehow made even a simple act like that look elegant. She sipped her wine slowly, the deep red of the liquid contrasting with the soft pink tint on her lips. You swore you could feel her gaze lingering when you weren’t looking, but every time you glanced up, she seemed entirely focused on her meal. Maybe it was just your imagination. Or maybe that fall during volleyball really did something to your head. Yeah. You probably needed an MRI, ASAP.

Deciding to ignore whatever weird feeling was creeping up inside you, you turned to the group, changing the topic. "So, about that volleyball game… I gotta say, Wanda, that spike was lethal. Almost took my head off."

Wanda smirked, twirling her chopsticks between her fingers. "Hey, all's fair in beach volleyball."

You turned to Alice next. "And Alice, your blocking was insane. It was like trying to get past a damn wall."

Alice grinned, giving a mock bow. "Years of dealing with my annoying brothers. Had to learn defense somehow."

"And Lilia, I don’t know how you kept diving for those saves, but respect," you continued. "You were all over the place."

Lilia flipped her hair dramatically. "What can I say? Some people were born to be effortlessly athletic."

You rolled your eyes before shifting your attention to Jen. "And then there’s our fearless leader, practically coaching us like this was the Olympics."

Jen laughed, raising her glass. "Hey, I take my team sports seriously. Someone had to keep you and Agatha from killing each other."

That earned a round of laughter from the group, and you smirked before turning your attention to Agatha. "Speaking of which—Mrs. Governor over here played like she had a national championship on the line. I swear, even I, her own teammate, was getting taken out in the crossfire."

The table erupted into laughter again, heads shaking in agreement.

Agatha, however, wasn’t one to take a hit without throwing one back. She leaned forward slightly, placing her glass down with an amused smirk. "Not my fault you kept getting in the way," she shot back. "I clearly had the ball if you hadn’t decided to throw yourself into my path like a human obstacle."

You scoffed. "Excuse me? I almost had the ball if you had just let me hit it instead of charging forward when your station was literally behind me." You pointed at her accusingly. "You were supposed to cover my back, not bulldoze into me."

Agatha raised a brow, her smirk widening. "Oh, so now you’re blaming me for your bad positioning?"

Your mouth dropped open as the group "Ooooh’d" in unison. "Bad positioning?! I was right where I was supposed to be! You were the one breaking formation!"

"Formation?" Agatha let out a laugh. "What is this, a military operation?"

The playful bickering continued, both of you leaning into the argument like you were in your own little world. The group watched in amusement as your voices overlapped, neither of you willing to back down. It was just like always—sharp remarks, teasing comebacks, and an underlying tension neither of you were willing to address.

Before the back-and-forth could escalate further, a waiter arrived at the table, placing a beautifully plated dessert in the center. The interruption pulled you both out of the moment, and you took the chance to get one last jab in.

"See? Even the waiter thinks we need to cool off," you teased, sitting back with a smug expression.

Agatha rolled her eyes, choosing not to respond, and instead picked up her wine glass again. But the way she exhaled through her nose—almost like a quiet laugh—didn’t go unnoticed.

The group, of course, wasn’t about to let this go. Jen smirked, shaking her head. "It’s funny how you two were all chummy last night, and now here you are, back to fighting like an old married couple."

Wanda grinned. "Yep. Classic."

You and Agatha both scoffed at the same time. "Please," you both muttered in unison.

That only made the group laugh harder.

Shrugging off their comments, you focused on the dessert in front of you, pretending not to notice the way Agatha’s lips quirked up slightly as she took another sip of her wine.

Yeah. Definitely an MRI.

After lunch, you and the group headed to the exclusive spa that Jen had raved about. Still in your bikinis—because why not?—you followed her inside, immediately greeted by the calming aroma of scented candles. The spacious reception area exuded tranquility, with soft instrumental music playing in the background and a hint of eucalyptus in the air.

Jen approached the receptionist, confirming the reservation while the rest of you took in the serene ambiance.

“This place is fancy as hell,” Wanda murmured, eyeing the luxurious decor.

“Right? I feel relaxed just standing here,” Lilia added, stretching her arms over her head.

The receptionist, a polished-looking woman with a warm smile, gestured for you all to follow her. “Welcome, ladies. We have your private area prepared. Let me show you to the locker room, where you can store your belongings and change into spa robes and sandals.”

She led you through a softly lit hallway to the locker room, where wooden lockers lined the walls, each with a neatly folded plush robe inside. As you placed your belongings inside, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Agatha, who was undoing the knot of her sarong. She caught your gaze briefly, but you quickly looked away, pretending to be focused on tying the sash of your robe.

With everyone changed, the receptionist guided you to your private spa space. As you stepped in, the setting was breathtaking—private cabanas with sheer curtains swayed in the breeze, lounge beds surrounded a tranquil Zen Garden with delicate water features, and a collection of heated massage tables were set up under a shaded pavilion. Private hot spring pools shimmered in the sunlight, and cozy hot tubs nestled in secluded corners offered a stunning oceanfront view.

“Holy shit,” Alice breathed out. “This is paradise.”

Jen grinned. “Told you it was worth it.”

The receptionist gestured toward a small refreshment table adorned with complementary drinks and a charcuterie board. “Please make yourselves comfortable. If you need anything, just ring the service bell.”

As she left, the group decided on their treatments.

“I’m getting the stone massage,” Jen announced. “I need every single one of my muscles realigned.”

“Same here,” Lilia agreed. “I’m practically made of knots at this point.”

Wanda hummed thoughtfully. “I think I’ll go for the Thai hot oil massage.”

“Me too,” you chimed in. “I need some serious tension release after that volleyball game.”

Alice turned to Agatha. “What about you?”

Agatha shrugged, already eyeing the steaming hot tub. “I think I’ll just soak for a while.”

Alice smirked. “Hot tub it is, then.”

With decisions made, everyone dispersed to their chosen relaxation spots. You watched as Agatha casually undid her robe, revealing her bikini again before stepping into the hot tub. She sank into the bubbling water with a content sigh, choosing a seat that directly faced where you stood.

Alice followed suit, settling in with her back turned toward you, chatting idly with Agatha. Your eyes, however, lingered on the governor a second too long.

She must have sensed it because her gaze flickered toward you. The moment your eyes met, you quickly looked away, pretending to adjust your robe as if you hadn’t just been blatantly staring. Your heart thumped slightly, but you ignored it.

Shaking off whatever weird feeling was creeping up, you removed your robe and laid down on the heated massage table. The masseuse approached, her voice soft as she asked if you were comfortable before beginning.

As soon as her hands started kneading your muscles, a deep sigh escaped you. The combination of the warm table and skilled hands working out the tension in your body sent you into a state of bliss. The distant sound of waves crashing, soft conversations from your friends, and the occasional hum of relaxation surrounded you.

You felt your limbs grow heavier, your breathing slowing. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought about Agatha, about the way she had been watching you—or maybe that was just in your head. Either way, the warmth of the massage lulled you deeper into relaxation, and before you knew it, your thoughts faded into nothingness as sleep overtook you.

You wake up, groggy and disoriented, unsure of how long you’ve been asleep. The warmth from the massage table still lingers against your skin, and for a moment, you just lay there, letting the soft hum of ocean waves and faint instrumental music from the spa speakers ground you.

Turning your head to the side, you find Wanda beside you, still fast asleep. Her face is buried in the cushioned table, her arms hanging lazily off the sides. A small snore escapes her lips, making you stifle a chuckle. Classic Wanda.

Slowly, you push yourself up into a sitting position, stretching out your stiff muscles. Your eyes wander across the spa space, taking in the serene atmosphere. The scent of essential oils and scented candles still lingers in the air, making it feel like you’re wrapped in a cocoon of tranquility.

Your gaze instinctively searches for Agatha. But she’s nowhere to be found.

Alice, on the other hand, is sitting comfortably in a massage chair, her head tilted back, face covered in a thick mud mask with two cucumber slices placed neatly over her closed eyes. She looks ridiculously peaceful, and you briefly consider taking a picture as blackmail material for later. You smirk to yourself but let her be.

Jen and Lilia are stretched out on their respective massage tables, talking in hushed voices. Jen glances over at you and smirks. “Look who finally decided to wake up.”

You run a hand through your hair and groan lightly. “How long was I out?”

Lilia checks the time on her smartwatch. “I’d say… at least an hour.”

You blink in surprise. “An hour?”

Jen chuckles. “Yup. Out cold. The masseuse even had to check if you were still breathing.”

You scoff. “Very funny.”

Lilia shrugs playfully. “Can you blame us? You looked like you melted into that table.”

You roll your eyes, but your mind drifts back to Agatha. She was here earlier, wasn’t she? You remember her sitting in the hot tub with Alice. But now she’s gone.

Trying to sound nonchalant, you ask, “Where’s Agatha?”

Jen raises a brow, an amused glint in her eyes, but she doesn’t comment on the specific way you asked that question. Instead, she nods toward the spa’s exit. “She left about fifteen minutes ago. Said she needed some fresh air.”

“Fresh air?” you echo, frowning slightly.

Lilia props herself up on her elbows. “Yeah, she just got up and walked off. Seemed kinda… I don’t know. Lost in thought?”

You hum in response, feeling an odd pull in your chest. Agatha, lost in thought? That’s not surprising, but still… something about it makes you curious.

Before you can dwell on it too much, Wanda stirs beside you, groaning dramatically. “Ugh… did I die?” she mumbles sleepily.

You laugh, pushing her shoulder lightly. “If you did, you’re still haunting us.”

She cracks one eye open. “Damn. Guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”

The group chuckles at her dramatics, and for a moment, the thought of Agatha slips to the back of your mind. But it lingers, faint and persistent, like an unfinished conversation waiting to be revisited.

You reach for a bottle of champagne on the small table beside you and pour yourself a glass, taking a slow sip. The coolness of the drink soothes your throat, but your mind is still elsewhere. Absentmindedly, you grab another glass and pour a second serving, an idea forming in your head.

“Where exactly did Agatha go?” you ask, already standing up and wrapping yourself in the plush spa robe.

Jen exchanges a knowing glance with Lilia before answering, “Probably the sauna. It’s outside, past the garden area.”

You nod. “Got it.”

With the second glass in hand, you step away from the group and make your way toward the sauna section, the warm wooden scent hitting you as you push open the door leading outside.

After a few minutes of walking, you finally find the sauna section. The warm, steamy air seeps through the wooden door frames as you approach. You start knocking on each private sauna room, waiting for a response. On the third try, you hear a familiar voice.

"Occupied," Agatha calls out, sounding completely uninterested.

You smirk to yourself. "It’s me."

There’s a brief silence before the door creaks open slightly, revealing Agatha’s flushed face, strands of her damp hair sticking to her forehead. She raises an eyebrow but steps aside to let you in. You walk inside and settle onto the wooden bench, handing her the extra glass of champagne you brought. She takes it with a nod of thanks, her fingers brushing lightly against yours as she does.

"Champagne in a sauna? How luxurious," she muses before taking a slow sip.

You sip your own drink, then glance at her with an amused grin. "First the hot tub, now the sauna. Are you trying to give yourself heat stroke?"

Agatha scoffs, tilting her head slightly. "I can handle a little heat. Unlike someone who melted into a massage table for an hour."

You roll your eyes. "It was relaxing. Sue me."

The familiar banter carries on, teasing remarks and quick-witted comebacks exchanged between sips of champagne. Agatha smirks after a particularly sharp remark from you, shaking her head as she leans back against the wooden bench. "You're impossible," she mutters, though there’s no real bite in her words.

"And yet, here you are. Stuck with me," you quip, taking another sip of your drink.

Agatha exhales a quiet chuckle, swirling the champagne in her glass before taking a slow, deliberate sip. But eventually, the playful exchange fades into a comfortable silence. The heat of the sauna wraps around you both, heavy and soothing. You close your eyes, letting it seep into your muscles, easing away the tension of the day. You take another slow sip, savoring the bubbles as they tingle against your tongue, the warmth of the alcohol mixing with the heat of the room.

When you finally open your eyes again, you catch Agatha staring at you.

She looks away immediately, feigning disinterest as she takes another sip of her drink. But the way she avoided your gaze felt… deliberate. Like she had been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

Is there something on my face? you wonder. Or am I just imagining things? There was something about her look that you couldn’t quite place. Something unreadable. It left you confused, but you shrug it off and finish your champagne, setting the glass down beside you.

As soon as you close your eyes again, you swear you can feel her gaze on you once more. Or maybe… maybe you’re just going crazy.

A few minutes pass, and just as you’re about to fully relax, you feel a gentle pat on your thigh. The unexpected touch makes your breath hitch. You open your eyes, finding Agatha leaning in slightly—close, but not too close. Her voice is low, almost intimate in the quiet space.

"I’m heading out," she says.

For a second, you don’t respond. You’re still caught off guard by the warmth of her touch, even though it was fleeting. You blink, quickly regaining composure as she pulls away and stands up. You grab your glass and rise to your feet as well, following her out of the sauna.

When you both return, the group is fully awake now. Alice has wiped off her mud mask, and Wanda is sitting up, chatting with Jen and Lilia while they sip on cocktails. The spa’s atmosphere is dim now, the sun lowering on the horizon, painting the space in deep shades of amber. You realize just how much time you’ve spent here.

The group enjoys a few more drinks together, the conversation flowing easily as laughter fills the air. Lilia leans back with a content sigh, swirling the last of her drink in her glass. "I swear, I could stay here forever."

Jen chuckles, stretching her arms. "As tempting as that sounds, we’ve got another packed day tomorrow."

Wanda groans dramatically. "Ugh, do we have to wake up early? Because I feel like I need twelve hours of sleep after today."

"Try not to be late tomorrow, okay?" you tease, giving her a pointed look over your drink.

Wanda scoffs, rolling her eyes. "No promises."

Alice laughs, nudging her. "If we have to drag you out of bed, we will."

Agatha, who had been mostly quiet, glances at you before finishing her drink. "I’d pay to see that."

With one last round of chuckles, you all finally decide it’s time to leave. You head back to the locker room, changing out of your robes and gathering your belongings. As you step outside, the cool evening breeze hits your skin, a refreshing contrast to the sauna’s heat.

The group lingers for a moment, standing in the glow of the resort’s lights, the sound of the ocean faint in the background.

"Alright, see you all tomorrow," Jen says, smiling warmly. "And get some rest!"

With that, everyone parts ways, heading back to their respective villas, the night settling in over the resort.

After returning to your villa, you let out a deep sigh, feeling the exhaustion settle in after the long day. The first thing you do is take a shower, letting the warm water soothe your muscles. As the steam fills the bathroom, you try to shake off the lingering thoughts that have been swirling in your mind—especially the ones about Agatha.

Once you’re freshened up, you throw on a comfortable robe and sit down for a quiet dinner. The villa is peaceful, the distant sound of ocean waves creating a soft background hum. You eat slowly, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly, checking a few messages and liking a couple of posts before setting it aside. But even as you try to focus on your meal, your thoughts keep drifting.

After dinner, you settle at your desk and open your laptop, clicking through emails from your secretary regarding work updates. There’s a report that needs your review, and a couple of inquiries from investors. You skim through them, typing out quick responses, but your heart isn’t really in it. You’re just going through the motions, trying to distract yourself.

Once you’re done, you shut the laptop and lean back in your chair, rubbing your temples. The day should have worn you out enough to knock you out instantly, yet sleep feels impossible. You grab your phone, scrolling through social media again—anything to occupy your mind. But no matter how many posts you see, nothing really registers.

Eventually, you sigh and place your phone down on the nightstand. You turn off the lights, nestling into bed, and close your eyes.

And yet… you can’t sleep.

You know exactly why.

Agatha.

There was something about her today. Something that made you feel... off. The way she looked at you, the way her eyes lingered just a little too long. Or maybe you were imagining it. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just you, overanalyzing things like you always do.

You groan quietly, turning onto your side.

Stop thinking about her. Just sleep.

You try to distract yourself, thinking about anything else—puppies, flowers, what you’ll eat for breakfast tomorrow. But your mind keeps drifting back to Agatha. Her voice, her teasing, the way she looked at you in the sauna… the way her breath hitched when your eyes locked after that fall during the volleyball game. The way you could sense her eyes on you at Nobu, lingering, watching, even as she sipped her wine—those moments weren’t nothing. Were they?

You let out a frustrated sigh, pulling the covers over your head. It’s going to be a long night.

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