#because how else would he know about the future

[henry-fox-biggest-stan]

@sleep-needer

Gladly, although are you sure? Cause it’s pretty dark.

TW: SA, incest (obviously)

To put it briefly, lonnie byers should die an agony-filled death and will (and jonathan) should spit on his grave.

There’s a lot going on with Lonnie, I’m just gonna leave you posts here to check out because they explain it better that I ever could.

X / X

@greenfiend has a lot about it on his acc.

Will is also pretty paralleled to Laura Palmer, from Twin Peaks. Laura who was SA by her dad.

And even without mentioning Lonnie there’s also everything going on with Will and SA (like the zombie boy nickname) and everything going on with AIDS (which is commonly “caught” by having sexual relationships). In fact, all of s2 can be seen as a SA metaphor (or a metaphor for what happens after SA)

There’s also casual mentions of incest through the show, like robin and steve watching back to future in s3, where “that mom was trying to bang her son” (quoting Robin). Talking about that, there’s also the theory of Will (with powers) flaying Hopper in s3 (so some scenes where Joyce was talking with him (while having a crush on him) she was actually talking with her son. Uh, yeah). Listen, I’m not super sold on this one, but I do have seen some damning evidence, and I just feel the need to share (you’ll draw your own conclusions).

BUT that’s not all!! We also have to take into account whatever it is that’s going on with Mike and El.

“Mike and El?”, you ask, “what do you mean?“

Oh boy.

Letting aside the “they’re related” theories (theories surrounding the wheelers being creels and henry being el’s “mom” (look into mothergate if you dare), which would make them cousins (“She’s my cousin. Second cousin.”) or smth), there’s also so many things going on with them and family. El is paralleled (and contrasted) to Nancy, Mike’s sister, Mike is paralleled to hopper (el’s dad), Brenner (“papa”), AND Jonathan (talking with Will) (a brother), there’s constant references to them being family like mike pretending she’s his cousin, or before their first kiss.

Before their first kiss Mike talks about El living on his house, his mom cooking her food, and how his parents “will be like your new parents, and Nancy, she’ll be like your new sister”. Oh okay. So she’ll become a member of the family then? Alright… To this, el (reasonably) asks “will you be like my brother?”

Mike also kisses her while she’s wearing Nancy’s old dress, and the first thing he says after the kiss is “Nancy” (because he notices the car lights outside, meaning she arrived). Yeah I’m not, I’m not gonna add anything else.

“Oh but the duffers wouldn’t go there”, except they totally would. They love to make things not be as they seem and reverting tropes, plus Mike loves Star Wars. The duffers love references to other media, specially classics (like lotr, the never ending story, wizard of oz, Alice in wonderland, etc). Star Wars is a classic of sci-fi and fantasy, super popular with 80s nerds. C’mon, you think they aren’t going to reference it? In Star Wars, Luke and leia kiss, on the lips, before they realized they’re biological twins (separated at birth). Then luke ends up single and independent and leia ends up with Han Solo. Huh.

Want to look more into it, search lukeandleiagate on my blog. For example, x / x / x / x

(That’s not even getting into everything surrounding Henry, which is another rabbit hole that tbh I don’t know much about)

Yeah and uh, leaving this here for you to rewatch, after having learnt all that.

i bring a real "this piece of media has incest subtext that you're ignoring" vibe to the function that nobody really likes

[cloversnstrawberries]

"palentine" parental!platonic yandere!supervillian & gn!neglected!hero sidekick!reader [oneshot] ! !

intro | masterlist

description; You and Malpractice spend your first Valentines day together. You just don't know it's Malpractice you're really talking to, and not local college student Jenny Schüler.

additional notes; hi!!! happy valentines day :)) since malpractice seems to be the most popular, he gets valentines day special privileges. don't mind how I have an actual cupid character I could use. you're getting terrifying plague man and his inherent desire to adopt reader on the spot.

warnings; Child abuse, neglect, and generally immoral conduct involving reader (done by the agency), possessive behavior, violent thoughts/plans to kill, overprotectiveness, corpses, talks of decomposition processes and dehumanization(?) (involving Malpractices 'puppets'), manipulation, mentions/plans of kidnapping, and if there's anything else I missed, please let me know!! the moment i write something, i'm afraid it disappears into the void :[

w/c; 2.8k

Malpractice has never been one for holidays.

Of course, nowadays holidays were a much bigger event then they were in his time. Especially Valentines day, which had morphed into something nearly unrecognizable (from his point of view) than the minor holiday he once knew it as.

Before he was... well, what he was now-- when he was still lesser than, still human; he'd get the occasional card with a silly pun on the front every one in a while, usually given by a co-worker out of self-imposed societal necessity.

But other than that, there was never much stock put into the occasion. Personally or otherwise-- as compared to now, where it was practically impossible to walk into a store and not see some sort of gaudy display. Full of red, white, and pink-- hearts and glitter that transfers to your skin.

At least, that's what Malpractice observes from afar. He's not much for stepping into your run of the mill Pharmacy these days-- not even with his macabre sort of puppets, made from some of the more in-tact cadavers he can snag from the local Morgue.

He tried not to let them be seen by anyone besides you-- there was always a chance that someone who knew who the cadaver had once been, who knew of their death; would be around.

Besides, there'd be no need for it-- unless he simply wished to spark terror. It's not like he had a prescription to be filled, after all.

Which, at the moment, he was actively avoiding-- he was avoiding making himself anymore known than necessary. Because if he did, than he's sure he'd scare you half to death.

You were such a delicate thing in his mind, and he often likened you to that of a baby bird. Because, in his mind, you really were. Fragile, even if you could sustain quite a beating out in the field.

The field you shouldn't be anywhere near, if he had it his way.

But, as it was, the agency had their claws stuck deep into you. Not emotionally wise, but legally; with you being in a sort of... ward of the state position, was the most comparable term he could manage.

Malpractice wished to dig his claws deeper, deep enough to rip whatever influence the agency had over you and take you for his own.

Metaphorically, of course! Oh, Lord knows he'd never hurt you. He'd find a way where you don't get sick with being around him-- get to a point where you won't be afraid of him afterward.

That wasn't quite in the immediate future, sadly. He had to stand by and wait, be patient-- he'd never been one to rush, but something about you made him feel an uncharacteristic amount of restlessness.

Maybe it's the fear that, if he waited too long, you'd slip through his fingers. You weren't made for the work you were being put through-- even if you weren't as young as you are, if you were of an adequate age for this sort of career,

You were still much better suited as a medic, maybe like he had been. Stay back in the medical ward-- you didn't have a flashy sort of power. But, then again, maybe the agency wanted to keep you as beaten down as possible;

Hoping that the little aches and pains that kept you up at night would make you less of a threat than they perceived you as. All because you had such a unique ability; he'd treasure it, just as he'd treasure you once he got you safely into his arms.

Unlike that blasted agency, that made you feel less than. That put you under a strict curfew, only allowing you waltz around on your own for a few hours at time-- even then, you'd have to alert them at least a week beforehand.

It was that controlled sort of 'freedom' that you despised, and had told him on multiple occasions.

...Or, to be more specific, had told various different 'puppets' the same complaint over the few short months he's been visiting you personally. You never knew it was the same sort of mind behind all the bodies, but with how you told every single one-- that was enough to rest his case that you hated it.

You hated how the agency tried to make you feel like you had a choice in the matter, when you really didn't. When your ability to go outside unmonitored and 'off the clock' was dependent on either how well you'd be preforming, or if the person reading the request had any semblance of empathy left in them.

Recently, you've been using all the time allotted to visit these puppets. You believed each to be a different person, unless you were a better actor than you caught on. Each having a different story-- to both enter, and subsequently leave your life before another cropped up shortly after.

Oh, how he hates to see you saddened by your 'newfound' friend having to skip town... but he'd try to wait until the very last minute until he did so. To the point where spots of necrosis were beginning to appear in more visible areas.

You never commented on the smell of death that'd follow the puppet during your 'last' meetings, maybe you'd become used to it-- with how you were, how your life had turned out.

But today, it was thankfully overcast; Malpractice was able to guide the puppet directly to the secluded, forested grotto he usually meets you in. That cut the commute about by about 10 minutes, since he didn't have to try and weave the puppet through the most sunless path possible.

When the puppet got to the grotto, you were already sitting on the crumbling stone bench in the middle of it. You didn't notice him-- until the puppet cleared its throat, and your head swung around to face him.

It was adorable, seeing how your face lit up. He'd thought that with all your 'new friends' coming and going, you'd become bitter. Develop a hardened shell, like he thought you'd already have by now--

However, with every new puppet, you were still as friendly yet disbelieving as you'd been while meeting the last. Like you just couldn't believe someone would want to be friends with you.

This puppet had been a jane doe, around her early to mid 20s. Due to the colder weather, this one had lasted longer than most; and it almost hurt him to know that eventually, the puppet would begin to rot despite his precautions-- and he'd have to find a new one.

You were rather attached to this one. Despite himself, he hopes he'll be able to keep this puppet until he can reveal himself-- only a few weeks more, and you'd finally be safe.

"Sorry for making you walk in this weather..." You started with, a sheepish, apologetic smile on your face, as the puppet sat beside you. "Not a problem, I'm more than willing to risk a cold to see you. I know how... rigid your routine can be."

With a little nod, you hummed before casting your eyes down and saying "Oh-- uhm, thank you." You always got flustered, whenever Malpractice-- or his puppets, he supposes-- shows you any sort of care.

Like you weren't used to being a priority-- because from what he'd seen, you very much were not. He'd even read parts of your intake records made shortly after the Agency took you in; they'd considered euthanizing you like a dog. That caring for you might've been too resource heavy-- until the sick bastards realized they could find a use for you and your unique ability.

It made him ill-- emotionally speaking, he obviously doesn't get physically sick anymore. He's practically the physical embodiment of it, it'd be silly if he could catch a cold like your normal, every day joe.

The unintentional stretch of silence was broken, as you jolted slightly-- as if remembering something. You swung around and grabbed something sitting by your other side--

Then, you turned to the puppet, and held your hands out. In them, was a little mesh bag of tin-foil wrapped chocolate hearts. The kind that'd be sold near the checkout lane at a grocery store during Valentines.

"I didn't know what you liked, so I just got you this." And-- oh, you looked so proud. He knew you didn't get much freedom at all, and you must've sneaked by to get this.

You may have have even stolen it-- there was a little bit of guilt lingering in your eyes, along with a strange sort of fear. Fear of rejection, he supposes. That whatever you'd gone through to get this wouldn't be worth it.

The puppet's hand reached out, before retracting slightly-- immediately, you noticed. Your little smile fell "Do-- are you lactose intolerant? I'm sorry--" And Malpractice laughed--

Not the puppet, so much. He's sure that, if you were a little older; better trained in your position, then you'd realize something was off with it. Some strange, uncanny value to it.

It wasn't cruel, he made sure of that. It was endeared, of course it was-- but he could never manage to quite quell the madness inherent to his tone. Not while he was laughing, at least.

"No, no not at all." The laughter died down, and the puppet gently took the bag of candy in its hands. He held it like it was the most precious thing in the world, and in his mind, it truly was.

A gift from you. He always treasured these sorts of things, but the previous gifts had been things you picked up off the ground-- pretty rocks, little knickknacks, an unordinary plant...

But this, you must've gone far out of your way to get this. And to just give it to him... he wonders, had you gone out with the intent to get it? No matter what, to just have something to show for valentines day?

After a few moments, Malpractice remembered that he should probably respond. The puppet looked at you-- fear and concern obvious in your eyes, deathly afraid that he'd reject the gift.

A soft smile broke out on the puppet's face, before he sighed and looked down. "Well, I don't have anything for you, is the problem--"

It wasn't a regular occurrence, you cutting him off. The Agency had all but tortured that possibility out of you, trying to make you into a perfect little cog more than the child you were.

Despite all that, your true nature shone through. You could never truly smother a children's light, he supposes.

"No!" You waved your arms frantically, shaking your head. You calmed down quickly, looking a little embarrassed from your own outburst. "No-- Uhm, I mean... well, you don't have to get me anything. I just wanted to do this for you,"

Malpractice went to respond, but it didn't seem like you were quite done just yet. He waited patiently, as you continued "Oh, and-- and I have something else." You dug into the pocket of your bland, practical gray coat; part of the few pieces of civilian clothing the Agency was willing to provide you with.

When he has you safe and sound, away from those (soon to be dead, if he had his way) maniacs; he'd be sure to let you express yourself however you'd like with your clothes.

He wouldn't force you into generic garments, given to you out of pure necessity.

You fished out a piece of paper from your main pocket, handing it to the puppet. It was an envelope-- handmade by the looks of it, held together by staples and closed with a small piece of scotch tape.

He turned it over to the flat side, finding it addressed to this particular puppet, written in shaky and inexperienced cursive. Jenny, he'd had you name it-- he did this often, with puppets. He'd have the puppet ask something like "well, what name do I look like?" And the first name you said, he'd take it-- the puppet would always respond with something like "Wow, are you psychic? That's actually my name!"

A shame, it was addressed to this false sort of person. This walking cadaver he took control in order not to scare you-- one in a line of many, but hopefully one of, if not the, last one.

Maybe next year, he'd receive an envelope addressed to himself. Maybe he'd even let you use his human name. He could help you with the cursive as well, even if it'd result in him basically addressing it himself.

He hasn't used the name in so long, hasn't felt attached to it for even longer; but with you, he doesn't think he'd mind you knowing him by it. To have an envelope handed to him, addressed to Maxwell S. in his own handwriting.

The puppet hummed, and flipped the envelope back over. He took his time, trying to use the puppets limited fine-motor skills to avoid ripping the handmade envelope.

Even if it was plain in nature, and not perfectly done by formal measures-- he'd still hate to mess up your handy work. It took some time, but eventually the tape was pried off and he could open it.

Inside was an index card, something you must've nabbed from the office section of the Agency; probably like the rest of the materials, if he had to guess.

It warmed his heart, to think that you'd risked so much-- even if they were meager supplies by most's standards, you'd really done a wonder with what little you had.

On the blank side was a little drawing, of a tiny cartoon version of you-- hugging this particular puppet. When he flipped it to the lined side, the words 'be my pal-entine?' were written in bright crayon, the letters alternated between green, yellow, blue, and red.

The puppet stayed quiet-- you were getting antsy, afraid of upsetting your friend. You leaned forward a little, Malpractice catching the movement out of the corner of the puppet's eye. Your brows furrowed, as you hesitantly asked "...Do you like it? It's not weird, is it? I've never really had a friend to do this with--"

You made the most adorable little squeak when, suddenly, the puppet surged forward and threw its arms around you-- it was cold, freezing to the touch; no way to retain body heat, but you didn't mind regardless. You leaned into it, despite the obvious shiver that ran through your entire body.

Sad, how he couldn't really feel what the puppet was. Oh, how he longed to hold you in this way, truly-- to feel your warmth, hear your heart beating and the blood rushing through your veins.

To know you're alive, you're safe within his arms. That you're far away from any wretched creature that dares to try and hurt his little bird.

Something annoying, something nagging that he thought he'd long since killed-- whispered in the back of his mind, telling him to just have the puppet pick you up and carry you back,

The impatient, quick-to-act sort of thought process he was known for when he was first reborn. It'd been hard to control the urges then, to act on every little whim just because he could. Just because nobody could feasibly stop him, not in a way that mattered.

The puppet held you a little tighter, and you said nothing of it. He presumes that you hold may have tightened as well, with how the puppet shifted in such a way as it did.

"So..." You said, muffled slightly as you pressed your face into the shoulder of the puppet. "Does this mean.. you, uhm, accept it?" Oh, you were so adorable that Malpractice felt like he might die right then and there, if it was possible for him to die at all-- of course.

The puppet didn't retreat, simply held you there as you melted into its cold, unnatural embrace. You must've felt it, how strange the skin felt due to the chemicals used to keep it fresh-- you either didn't want to upset them, or just plain old didn't care. Seeking any sort of comfort, not caring if anything seemed amiss.

Almost as an afterthought, too caught up in the moment-- Malpractice remembered to respond. You must've been so relaxed, so touch-starved, that you didn't notice the sudden shift in your friends speech patterns. How Malpractice didn't bother to keep up the facade of modern speech.

"Why ever would I not, especially when you've gone through all the trouble you have?" and you hummed, a soft laugh muffled by the fabric of the puppet's functionally useless coat. "...So you like it, then?"

The puppet, almost robotically, guided their fingers over your hair-- a comforting gesture to you, but it only made Malpractice feel anguished-- that he couldn't truly be here, couldn't feel you held within his embrace.

"Of course, little bird."

[weird-is-life]

First date charm

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x singlemom!reader

Summary: You think that Bucky is too good for you

Warnings: fluff, mentions of food, like one swear word

Words: 1.1k

----------------------------------------------------

I'm so sorry, James... but I don't think I'll be able to make it to the restaurant today. Again, I'm really sorry, I don't think i'll be able to see you anymore. You send a text to James Barnes.

The babysitter cancelled on you last minute, and with nobody else to watch your son you had to cancel the date.

Yes, you were definitely bummed about it because the first day with him was pretty much perfect. He was such a gentleman, and it felt like you could talk to him about anything. And it was like you could see him in your future immediately.

But you can't escape the nagging feeling that Bucky deserves better than you, than a single mom with a kid. Even though it hurts you more than you can admit.

Bucky feels devastated when he reads your text. He doesn't know what he did wrong. He thought the things were going great?

It was Sam that put you two together, and at first Bucky wanted to throttle him for setting up the date without asking Bucky first.

But after the first date Bucky was more than thankful. You were so kind and lovely and beautiful, and on Bucky's mind all the time since the date.

So he doesn't know what's happened. He tries to call you like 3 times, hoping for more of an explanation than only that text. He even texts you a few more times.

He starts to get worried when you don't respond. He would be thankful even if you just picked up the phone to tell him to fuck off, but you don't, and it drives him crazy.

He waits for your response for 2 hours, debating on just going up to your apartment to see if you are okay.

But after the 2 hours it gets too much for him. His mind going to the worst possible scenarios. He can't help it. The years of trauma don't make it easy for him to live, and not worry.

He gets to your apartment pretty quickly, his motorcycle makes it easy to speed through traffic. He paces nervously in front of the building, maybe he shouldn't have come here.

He contemplates for a few more minutes, and then rings the bell. Maybe you will think that he's crazy psychopath for showing up at your doorsteps, but he has to make sure you're okay.

You don't expect anybody to ring the bell to your apartment as soon as you put your son to sleep. You definitely don't expect to hear Bucky's voice from the intercom.

His soft 'can I come up?' makes your heart flatter, and you buzz him in. He's up the stairs on your floor quickly. And of course, he has a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

"James, what are you doing here?" you ask quietly. He looks so handsome for the cancelled date, and it makes you feel even worse.

"I'm sorry for showing up...You weren't answering your phone, and-and I was worried." He looks apologetically at you.

"My phone....oh-" you quickly dissappear into your apartment, searching for your phone.

Bucky doesn't mean to snoop, but with the door wide open he notices all of the toys and kids stuff. His mouth goes dry a bit.

"I'm sorry, James, I had my phone on quiet.....," you stop talking when you follow Bucky's gaze. His eyes roaming all over the things.

"What's all this? You have a kid?"  Bucky looks baffled, like he just saw a ghost in front of him.

"Yes." You admit, guilt for not telling him all over your face. You thought that Sam had told Bucky about Teo, but you realised on the date that he hadn't.

You wanted to tell him, you really did. But you just wanted to see how the first date goes first. And in between the first and the second date the thoughts of Bucky being too good for you settled in your mind.

I mean, he's so charming, and probably the nicest man you have ever met. He's also so so respectful. And god, he's so handsome as well, those piercing blue eyes? To die for...

"I wanted to tell you, Bucky. I just....you deserve someone else. Not me with a kid. I-I loved our date, but I know what guys think about women with kids. It's not very attractive...," you sigh. You have experienced rejections from guys because of Teo before.

"Wait, wait, wait, doll. Did I give you the impression that I'd care about such things?" Bucky almost immediately asks. "I don't care that you have a kid, I like you, and I loved the date with or without knowing that you have a kid."

"You say that now, but what about when-" he interrupts you before you can finish.

"Doll, I like you! How about we just take it one date at a time, yeah? Let's see where this goes?" Bucky tries to reason with you. He doesn't want to let you go without even getting to know you properly. Like fuck, he hasn't felt this kind of connection in a long, long time.

"Are you sure? 'Cause I'd understand if not, I really would," you try to give him a smile to convince him (and yourself) which doesn't really work.

Bucky slowly takes your hand into his, and squeezes your hand in reassurance, "I'm very sure. I like you, and I don't know If I should be a little offended that you thought I'd mind that you are a mom.."

His attempt at lightening the mood is successful. You chuckle at his words, and he gives you a smile in return.

You eye the bouquet of the flowers in his other hand,"are those for me?"

"Who else?" Bucky murmurs teasingly as he hands you the beautiful flowers.

"Thank you, Bucky. They are beautiful," you say sheepishly, "but I still can't go on the date today. There's nobody who can watch Teo." You tell him a little disappointed.

"No, that's okay, doll. I just wanted to make sure that we were okay, but more importantly that you were okay. I should go tho," he says, and leans down bravely to kiss your cheek goodbye.

He can see your cheeks go rosy instantly. The blush making you even more pretty.

"W-wait, Bucky," you catch his hand before he can turn away, " you could stay, Teo is asleep....we could order pizza or-or whatever you like." You almost face slap yourself for acting like some unsure teenager in love. Stammering over your words.

Bucky thinks it over for a few seconds before he smiles at you," I'd love to, and pizza sounds fantastic."

"Great, c'mon." You happily pull him after you inside the apartment while apologising for all the mess. But Bucky couldn't care less about that, he's just more than happy he gets to spend time with you again.

[gangstalkerbarbie]

You're not a god, technically. A god is one of them big ones, the extraterrestrials, see?

You, like everything else in the world, were born here; your beginning is not before time and outside the world. Not a god. You're a daimon. It's a common misconception.

Still, in the space of that misconception there's honest work.

You're not sure the council upstairs (if it's even a council anymore) pays much attention to most of mortalkind, really, otherwise there wouldn't have to be witches to do work scholars are jealous of, but doesn't someone have to?

Sometimes the ones that do enough of it become angels. Sometimes the ones that do something better than anyone else become... well, just what is Silence, actually? Is that still what he goes by? When he was Death All-Devouring he had a few more teeth, you think.

Anyway: when official channels fatfinger a prayer, you have to know, and it's just sort of the case, ethically speaking, that you're to do something about it. Even if only to keep up the illusion that the world-machine works. That's kind of a duty incumbent on all of you immortals, these days. Just until the big boss ... well, the big boss cannot be said to ever be doing or thinking or going to do or think anything, so you're not sure where that was going.

And that's why you're here at this wedding — because a hundred, two hundred years ago they realised the big kahuna might not be listening, deep down, somewhere, and so now you are the wight of the marriage bed. Some say the angel. They're not sure. You're not sure either; you have perhaps a dot more free will than angels tend to, but you find yourself doing a lot of angelic kinda work.

Is the Immanence here, like She's supposed to be? Doctrinally (you are a daimon, you don't really care about doctrine outside the mechanics of your own existence) She doesn't fuck with mixed marriages, but She also conveniently is present every time two men talk about lofty matters, yes, even if they're talking objectively heinous anti-sense about women and children and beasts. So, you know. It's kind of touch and go here. Is mixed marriage more bad than womanhatred? Very important scholars debate the issue even now. Six thousand years of debate have yielded the answer 'yeah idk probably'. You cannot perceive the Immanence. You wouldn't know.

You do, however, know the future, and in the next thousand years, thankfully, they will perfect the shaping arts and learn to make men into women, and maybe they'll all be women then, what the hell. It's an optimistic thought. The other immortals kind of snicker at you and tell you to go look forward at what they do with chymics, self-made new forms of life, in that future, and what they themselves go mad with pain and grief and loneliness and do, for which reason you kind of don't want to.

You might go and listen in on some of those last debates instead, except, again: wedding.

To your profound disappointment, this wedding expects to make you co-in-laws, sort of, with a small unfriendly god, one of the daimons that really believes in it, waves their essence around. This is... about to get really annoying.

You actually don't even dislike Sowulo. Everything you know about them boils down to the fact that they've been experimenting with themself after their mortal followers degendered them — that's the trouble with the overreliant ones, the essence moulds to the understanding of the souls they shepherd and then you end up in no end of annoying circumstances. This would be why personally you've never investigated what gender you're supposed to be. Less for your people to contradict that way. Maybe you predate gender, how's that for a thought exercise? (You don't; you were born in the middle of the Age of Chitin; they don't have to know you're something smaller and duller wearing an old god's pelt.)

And, well, it's just... they're a little weird? OK. They're a lottle weird. You are pretty sure they are, like, super mega ultra weird. The situation is like this: their people, their little guys, they used to be these peaceful cattle nomads. Then the Aeon of Sails and the Great Industrialisation, and the dire circumstances that led them into the ghettos, and so on — and somewhere in that transition, the travelling spirit of the warmth of the sun that was their constant companion came into conflict with the new State doctrine that the stars are unfeeling miasmas of incandescent plasma. (Is that doctrine? That's how you understand most things. You're not sure of the semantics.)

So now: degendered, deprived of influence, a cold light, not a warm one. Invoked, at best, at afterbirth burials, confirmations, weddings, cremations, premarital haircuttings, housewarmings, slaughters, and for the end of winter when it dies under their hand. They're annoying and dangerous and haggard and raw-voiced as a hungry buzzard because they are starving, because they have lost themself, because they don't remember what they used to be and they don't know what they want to be now.

Sometimes a ship launches from the harbour of this city, and you are there because you have one of your people to look after, and they look out at you from shore, forlorn, jealous, abandoned, so hungry. So hungry. Mourning something they half remember, something they are convinced you have. That's why they incite their sophonts to kill yours, maybe. You wouldn't know. You've never asked. You're busy doing your job, keeping those sophonts safe.

They envy you your vitality. They wish they knew what they were. They think you know what you are, and they want you to get off your inconceivably tall high horse.

You're not on a high horse. You just are, and you try to make sure your sophonts can just be, too. But Sowulo doesn't know that.

Sowulo knows that their people are small and broken and scattered, and that each wedding with any other people weakens them — weakens the people and weakens their god.

Sowulo hates you.

And, like, you don't really play favourites, all mortals are the same to you deep down, but you understand that there is a Teensy Weensy little problem, perhaps, with the favourite son of their most warlike clan's Great Chanter running away from home to elope with a witch-midwife from beyond the Pale. Not because she's yours, but that doesn't make it better. Her own huntedness and fear and old pain doesn't do anything for the situation either. Sowulo doesn't understand yet that suffering is a universal condition of settled life.

Your marriage priest, a jolly little roundish woman in veils against the interference of spirits with her work, pounds her cowhide drum and begins her chant. Sowulo's shakes his solar rattle, completely unaware that his god is seething in the rafters of the fane. Are you going to have to save his life, then, before the sun is up? This is going to be a very long, unnecessarily laborious, and probably also very interesting night.

You are a god whose most devout follower is marrying your rival God’s follower. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem except you both are asked to bless the union, and for that both of you must attend.

[yinwaryuri]

POOR PHUKAN

But fr, this sweet boy is having the mindfuck of his life right now.

To him, Cirrus is too perfect. He knows Phu like the back of his hand, he's sweet and charming, his flaws endear Phu more than anything, and he just played the flute like Phu's dad used to and it meant the world to him. And yet Cirrus is not his. This Cir belongs to another Phukan and is humoring himself (and Phu) while dealing with the issues of his mother and presumably finding a way back home. And he's questioning why the Phukan from another universe deserved to meet Cirrus earlier when everything else about his life and personality remains the same.

On top of that, Cirrus has been using more absolute and sure language about their future together because he is gaining more resolve to fight for that future. The whole parallel universe scheme was originally an easy way for him to cope with the idea of having Phu for a short period of time and then forcing himself to mysteriously leave him behind when his freedom was up. I don't think it would've been possible for Cir to expect how deep they would both get into things.

Now the charade is barely a charade, but PHU DOESN'T KNOW!!!!! He is trying his best to respect someone who isn't there, but he is also not about missing out on what he wants.

Which leads to this:

He saw Cir leaning in to kiss him, and while so many complicated feelings were clearly still on his face, Phu decided to accept it. He's in love with this man and he has him right there. He is not going to lose another person he cares about so much without showing them that love. And also feeling loved, feeling like he's not alone, feeling happy.

[juniperskye]

Mr. Bear

Based on the following ask: @itzvenus04 Aaron X reader where Aaron is a little jealous of when reader cuddles the teddy more, but he rather have her cuddle the teddy when he’s away on a case then someone else or something like that, especially when reader made sure the teddy smelled like him, but one morning he makes the bed and holds the teddy and looks at it, seeing some marks on it and stains and a few holes and a small tear on its side, clearly loved by reader for many years now and it makes him a little sad seeing the teddy like this and how sad his gf will be one day if she has to throw it away, knowing full well she wants to pass down the little teddy bear to her kids no wait their kids someday, hopefully a baby girl someday but then he decides to fix the teddy and clean him up or ask someone to help him maybe someone like Garcia idk and surprise reader with the teddy looking brand new and reader is so happy Aaron can’t be jealous of it because the smile on reader face is so worth it even if she cuddles a another man *wink* he’s literally a teddy bear – this is a short one babe, it’s a super cute idea and I loved writing it!

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader Fluff Word count: 997

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, one use of y/n – it was unavoidable, age gap (non-specified), reader has a teddy that she cuddles when she sleeps, jealous Hotch (in a teasing way), Garcia being the best, let me know if I missed anything.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

“You cuddle that thing more than you cuddle me.” Aaron whined teasingly.

“Oh, I do not!” You giggled, turning over and nuzzling into Aaron’s strong chest, your hands still clutching your beloved teddy, Mr. Bear.

“I don’t know babe, I’m thinking I might have to be worried. You have maintained a very long and serious relationship with this guy…and now look, he is quite literally coming between us.” Aaron’s tone was completely unserious as he playfully fought to take Mr. Bear from you.

Aaron shifted so he was hovering over you, his hands tickling your sides relentlessly. You writhed beneath him, desperately trying to get away from his grasp.

“Okay I surrender! I surrender!” You giggled, booping Aaron in the nose with Mr. Bear.

Aaron couldn’t help but notice that your teddy had smelled just like his cologne. The thought made him smile, you spraying your bear with his cologne just so it would smell like him, cuddling it while he was away.

--

“Okay! Coffee?” You asked.

“Coffee would be great.” He smiled “You go, I’ll make the bed.”

You made your way to the kitchen and got a pot of coffee going. You then began heating a pan to make some eggs, throwing some slices of bread in the toaster to go along with it.

Aaron when through the motions of making the bed, pulling the pillows off while he tugged the sheet and duvet up to the top of the mattress. He neatly arranged the pillows, noticing Mr. Bear at the foot of the bed. Aaron hadn’t realized how threadbare your teddy had really become; he was very clearly well loved.

Aaron thought about what he could do to fix him up, knowing that you had hoped to eventually pass the bear down to your future child.

--

“What can I do for you sir?”

“Garcia, what do you know about restoring plush toys?”

“Oh sir, I went down a seven-hour rabbit hole of stuffy restoration videos on TikTok, what do you need?”

“Well, I want to surprise y/n, she’s had this teddy since she was a child and he’s looking a little worse for wear.”

“Leave it to me…do I have your permission to work on it today – provided we don’t have a case?”

“Of course. Thank you Penelope.”

“Any time sir.”

--

Aaron had discretely placed Mr. Bear in his bag for work, gathering the remainder of his things. He made his way to the kitchen to have breakfast with you.

He helped you clean up before you both headed out for work.

“Aar, I have conferences tonight, so I will be home later than usual.” You reminded him.

“That’s right! I’ll get dinner started for us when I get home.”

“You’re the best. I love you baby, drive safe! Let me know if you guys get called away okay?” You requested.

“I love you too honey, I will. Drive safe, see you tonight.”

--

Aaron had made his way straight to Garcia’s office as he arrived at the BAU. He pulled out Mr. Bear and handed him over to Penelope, making her swear that she’d be careful with him.

“You got it sir.”

Penelope had brought in everything she could think of to help her repair your teddy. Penelope began by opening Mr. Bear and removing his stuffing so she could wash him carefully using warm water and a gentle detergent. Letting it dry, using the bathroom hand dryer to speed that process along before checking out where she might need to patch a few things. She used a technique called darning to patch the few small holes that had been created through years of love; once this had been done, Penelope brushed Mr. Bear’s fur to get him looking fluffy again.

Penelope had made two small hearts out of some scrap fabric, filling them both with Mr. Bears old stuffing, she placed one inside him as she stuffed him with new polyfill and kept the other one out as a keepsake for you. Once he was all filled up, she sewed him closed, brushed him once more and tied a neat ribbon around his neck.

The process had taken her the entire workday, though she and her boss didn’t seem to mind.

--

Aaron had been amazed with the work Penelope had done, Mr. Bear looked brand new, and he couldn’t wait to see your reaction to him!

“Hi honey, I’m home!” You called out, entering the apartment.

“Hi baby, in the kitchen.”

The apartment smelled amazing, it had been a long day, and you couldn’t wait to eat whatever it was that Aaron had been cooking. Truthfully you wanted to eat and then curl up into bed and watch a movie.

“Mmm it smells amazing!” You sighed, taking in the table set up. Amongst the place settings sat a giftbag. “Did I forget something? I know it’s not our anniversary.”

“No honey, you didn’t forget anything, I just wanted to do something special for you.” Aaron explained. “Go ahead and open it.”

Aaron sat across from you, having already set the food on the table. You looked at him skeptically, pulling the bag into your lap and carefully pulled out the tissue paper. A shocked gasp escaping you as you revealed its contents.

“Aaron, what is – what did you – I don’t…I don’t know what to say.” Tears sprung to your eyes.

“I know how much he means to you, and I thought it would be nice to have him fixed up a bit, you know, so he’ll last a while longer.” Aaron wore a sheepish smile.

“This is amazing. You are so thoughtful.” You leaned over the table, pressing your lips to his.

You couldn’t believe that Aaron had done this, going as far as spraying him with his cologne so he’d still smell like him. Aaron was the best thing that ever happened to you, and every time he did something like this, it reminded you of that.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust

[angelackless]

LOVE LETTERS & HEART-SHAPED COOKIES

Jensen Ackles X controversially young!reader

WITH JENSEN EVERYDAY FELT LIKE VALENTINE'S DAY TO YOU. There were always a flower,jewelry, your favorite chocolate's waiting for you somewhere in the house. Jensen loved spoiling you, and he took every chance to do it, but on Valentine's day he wanted to do something more meaningful, since it was your first time celebrating it together.

He even asked for help from his mother, your mother,your friends, even Gen to make sure that what he does is good and you'll love it.

He got everything ready by the time you arrived home, he cooked your favorite food, poured out that red wine he knows you like, lighted some scented candles and had your presents in a bow printed wrapping paper, and one in his jeans, and no, this time it wasn't the one that he makes you feel good with every day.

When you entered the house you were met with the dimly lit house, you took your shoes and coat down, putting it into it's place.

"Jensen?" you walked deeper inside the house "are you home?" instead of an answer you felt two strong arms wrapped around you and for a second you were ready to hit him with your purse in case someone broke in, but then he finally spoke up

"happy Valentine's day, princess" he kissed your cheek

"you scared the shit out of me!' you said and turned around, giving a snack to his chest "don't do that again!"

"Just wanted to suprise you,baby" his hand found their way back to your waist and pulled you closer to him "you had a hard day?I made you your favorite, and after we ate, we can put on some music, dance, you can open your presents" he rubbed your sides "hm?sounds good?"

And you did just that, you two ate the food he made, which was delicious by the way, and then moved to the living room. You went upstairs to get the present you made for him.

''so who starts?'' you asked as you sat down on the couch next to him

"you" he answered smiling

"alright,so it's nothing expensive,but I hope you'll still like it" you said and handed him the wrapped gift. He took it from you and carefully opened the gift, which was a photo album that you've made, you left lyrcs,photos, sweet messages for him in it, you wanted to give him something meaningful and figured he would like this, since it's not fully finished you two can fill it up with all the memories you make in the future. "You like it?'' your words held some excitement, and worry in them as you watched him flip through the pages,sometimes stopping to read what you've written down in there

"Like it?I love it,this is like the best gift i've ever gotten" he looked up to meet your gaze "I love it, princess" he pulled you into a tight hug, kissing your forehead "can't wait to put more pictures in it, we should just have one whole page for you in lingerie" he added with a cheeky smile which made you rolled your eyes

"okay,safe something for your birthday too" you said shaking your head

"oh, that's what i'll get for my birthday?"

"it's a suprise" you answered giggling

"Well,speaking of suprises, open yours now" he handed it to you "hope you like them" he added and watched you open it. You opened it excitedly.

He had gotten you the necklace from Pandora that you've mentioned you wanted, a bottle of your favorite perfume, he knows you need one because you've been complaining that you almost finished the bottle you've been using, there were some heart-shaped cookies he made for you.

"You made this?" you asked staring at the cookies

"Yeah, although Gen helped me with the decorating,but I made everything else"

"I love all of this so much" you wrapped your arms around him tightly "thank you so so much''

"there's one more thing" he pulled away from you and cleared his throat "so...i've been thinking about us, how I now sure that you're the woman that I want to marry, have kids with, move to some small town and live on a farm" he searched for something in his pocket and then he stood up and kneeled down before you ''(y/n), will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?" he asked, holding the shiny, gold ring in his fingers.

For moments you sat there shocked, you didn't know if you wanted to scream or cry from happiness, after seconds of staring at him you managed to nod your head and speak "yes,yes,yes,and yes"

"you got me worried for a second, sweetheart" he slipped the ring on your finger and kissed your hand.

"so that means I can call you my husband now?" You asked smiling

"yes,you can call me your husband, wife" he chuckled and pulled you into a kiss.

You were sure this was your best Valentine's day so far in your whole life.

[specialgumsock]

//Random romantic things you guys do/he does! with the stardew valley bachelors// :-)

(Apologies again for bad writing, not proof read… T-T also FYI my asks are open)

Characters: all of the bachelors from stardew valley

Tw: mentions of Shane being hungover and drunk. Mentions of being freaky idk

Alex would buy you flowers a lot.

He misses you? Flowers. You’re mad at him? Flowers. He would go and get you flowers for no occasion, just to bring you flowers. Probably something his grandfather told him to do when he was younger, since his grandma likes flowers as well.

The first time you got flowers from him you remember like it was yesterday-

"What are these for?" You say, grabbing the bouquet from the out of breath, and almost disheveled looking man on your door step. He only smiled up at you and answered. "No reason, I just love you…"

Yeah, you were giddy the entire day while tending to your crops.

You and Sam are in a constant competitive flirting competition.

You two try to out-flirt each other with over the top, and bad pick up lines… Even in serious situations.

It was another rowdy Friday night at the saloon, on the couch you sat on Sam’s lap while Abigail and Sebastian played darts.

"You know-" Sam begins, putting his joja cola down for a moment before continuing. "If you were a vegetable, you’d be a cute-cumber." You nearly choke on your drink and wince at the awful line.

"Oh, wow. That’s terrible. But not as terrible as how much you’re gonna blush when I say-" You lean in close, your voice going into a whisper. "Are you French? Because Eiffel for you…"

Sam groaned, then a smirk grew onto his lips. "Weak."

"You want strong? Alright, watch this." You say, noticing poor Emily walk over to grab some of the empty glasses left behind by previous patrons. "Excuse me! Can I get a to go cup? Because my boyfriend is too intoxicating to leave behind." You say, the VERY awful line making even you cringe.

Emily just sighed, looking done with life, and walked away. Sebastian and Abigail already having tuned you two out.

Sam shook his head. "Truce.. only because I don’t want to be banned from the saloon for a month again."

Sebastian let’s you win when it comes to games- any game.

You’re a sore loser who sometimes storms off in frustration, and he couldn’t care less. To him, it’s about seeing you happy, not about the victory. Growing up with a little sister, he’s pretty used to letting someone else win, especially if it means keeping the peace or just seeing that excited grin on your face.

He’ll always pretend to be super serious when you win, giving a defeated- "You’ve beat me, my mighty opponent!" and might even offer an overly dramatic bow, but deep down, it’s a running joke between the two of you. He’s fine with it. It’s not about pride, and honestly, he likes seeing your excitement when you win, even if it’s clear that he’s playing the long game and letting you win.

If you throw a little fit after losing-huffing, pouting, and trying to find an excuse, he’ll just laugh and say something like "Don’t worry, I’m sure the next one will be your win…" all while giving you a teasing smile. He just loves the playful energy and the way you light up when you finally get a win under your belt. And after all, he’s just happy to be there with you.

Shane has this thing he does called "hear me out" meals.

He spends a lot of his time drunk or hungover, so he’s definitely made a lot of… interesting meals.

These meals come from him when he’s in one of those moods from being hungover or tipsy and he gets a burst of "inspiration"

Like the time he made you try "pasta surprise" which consisted of spaghetti noodles and random ingredients he found in the pantry… A bad day for peanut butter and gravy.

But there are more bearable ones like "Breakfast Pizza" Eggs, sausage, bacon and whatever leftovers he has in the fridge.

"Breakfast of the future…" Shane said under his breath, placing the "pizza" down at the table in front of you. You rub your tired eyes, and look at the meal. "Wow… this was certainly a choice."

Elliot leaves you notes, like little love letters.

You find them everywhere, your pockets, on the fridge and even on your pillow. He can’t help it, he just wants to let you know how much you cross his mind.

One day you remember you needed to grab something from Pierre’s shop, pulling on your coat for the chilly fall weather. A little note falls you and you pick up, confusion written all across your face.

"To my Dearest, Lover- Thinking of you, as always. I hope your day is as lovely as the sea breeze, Yours truly, Elliot<3"

You feel your face heat up, and your heart starts beating faster. "Man I’m so lucky" you think as you can’t help but smile. It’s crazy how little things like this get you flustered, but, MAN, do you love him.

Harvey loves to play doctor, and not in a freaky way. (He would if you REALLY wanted though.. wink wink.)

Whenever you get the smallest scratch or feel even slightly under the weather, he goes full doctor mode. He insists on checking your pulse, listening to your heartbeat and even wrapping your finger in an unnecessary amount of bandages.

"Just… to be safe" He says, just as he put a second bandaid onto your finger that you cut while chopping your garden fresh vegetables. You can’t help but to giggle and tease him, thinking about his face stone cold serious, brows furrowed like he was preforming life saving surgery, when in reality he was just doing something as simple as putting a bandage on your finger. "Okay, Doctor Harvey~" Your words playful as he blushed and stammered a bit.

"J- *Ahem* Just making sure you’re okay… now get some rest, Doctors orders." You laugh, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Of course."

[dawngyu]

ADELINE 😭😭😭 CRYING MY EYES OUT.

Your insights (yes, insights, because "comment" doesn't do them justice) always hit me right in the heart. Truly, you are a blessing in my life, and I cherish every interaction with you here. 💖

spoilers under the cut

And YES, Da-hee is that girl! My absolute favourite OC. I love her so much.

Beomgyu, from what I’ve seen, is like an analog clock in a digital world— intricate, and deeply intentional. There’s something so uniquely beautiful about him, something that sets him apart in the best way. And this is exactly how I imagine him when he loves. He notices the little things, cherishes them, and would go to any lengths for the person he holds dear.

His future wife is genuinely the luckiest—sometimes, I don’t know whether to be jealous or just overwhelmingly happy that someone out there will get to experience a love like his. And honestly, writing for him will always be special to me. Not just because he’s my ult bias, but because he holds a place in my heart that no one else ever could. 😭

NOOO. I’m absolutely in awe that you shared your thoughts on the smut. The fact that you stepped out of your comfort zone just for this fic is insane to me… truly, I can’t express how much that means. And yes, I find it so incredibly endearing (and so canon) that even in the middle of that, Gyu still manages to be the most romantic ever. Like, of course, he would. Of course. :((((

Also, I love that you caught the references to my other two fics!! That made me so happy. And you know what’s crazy? Before I even wrote the rest of the scenes for Rain Lilies, that part was already done. Because Beomgyu and reader—no matter the universe, no matter the timeline—are soulmates. It’s always them. It’s you.

Once again, thank you for being the absolute best girl ever. I love you so much. (And yes, I’m still crying.)

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

[respectthepetty]

Seventeen episodes of Perfect 10 Liners and I've finally arrived at couple I'm most excited for because I think they share the same color! It's time to see if I'm actually getting Lapis Lads (two Blue Boys).

But first, this episode has to remind me that other couples exist, starting with Green Guy Gun and Black Brooder Yotha.

Their story just finished in the previous episode, but the show must let us know they are disgustingly in love in case we couldn't tell from the heart on Yotha, the dog and tiger plushies, or the fact that their apartment is bright as hell with Gun's green as the accent.

But that doesn't stop Gun from wearing his man's black.

They're so in love, they invented a new way to share cologne.

Gross.

Don't worry, Red Rascal Sam. I'm judging them too.

And don't worry, Red Rascal Arc, I'm judging your man as well!

First, I cannot overlook that Yellow Yal Arm is in orange simply because I like that his shirt says "God is in control." I will not be distracted by that all powerful being upstairs!

And neither will Arc because he basically asked Arm if he wanted to get married, and Arm was like, "um . . . you can marry someone else if you like them more." SIR! WTF?!

At least Arm's Blue Boy best friend Sand understands what is happening when his Orange Oddity boyfriend asks what his plans for the future are.

Because even if Sand isn't sure what his future holds, Pond made it clear that he wants to be part of it as a communicative Orange Oddity would. Take notes, Arm! If you wanna wear the color, you gotta communicate!

Like if you are a Blue Boy, you gotta be honest. It's in their (color) coding.

Which is why I will love Faifa the most. He is so honest that his face has subtitles.

And because he is so honest, people don't realize he is hiding some big emotions underneath all his happiness.

So it's time he met his match in another Blue Boy because only another Blue Boy can help him see the error of his ways by being a mirror reflection of his errors.

And it seems the universe agrees since Faifa ran into Wine's life and changed his fate (and his name).

But this is really a group effort. Arm made sure Yotha had the gifts for their newest member since we all know Yotha is too distracted in love to remember that other people exist.

And because Yotha is a Black Brooder and Wine is a dark Blue Boy, they could easily stand in silence, so Faifa and his special peacemaker skills were needed to be the middle ground between the two.

Because, once again, Faifa is the epitome of a Blue Boy.

But Wine is also a Blue Boy who is going to make Faifa see that always stepping in to help others only hurts himself.

Because Faifa wants to give everything to everyone else, even if it means he dies (allergic to milk, sir), but Wine wants nothing.

Faifa wants to give everyone all his love, yet Wine wants to be left alone.

Because in a world of colorful characters, it's the Blue Boys who ground people and ask the questions that need to be asked, like how possible Blue Boy Jay with his blue phone immediately questioned why Wine was hanging out with Faifa when his mentor was Yotha.

It's Blue Boy-to-Blue Boy communication, and only they can see through the bullshit of another Blue Boy, which is why they are great friends.

And it's why these two are going to be great friends.

But that's also why they will have the biggest problem because this is a love story.

So in the battle of Blue Boys, once they realize nothing between them is friendly, will they be honest about their emotions or sacrifice their love for some form of noble idiocy?

They're already in the danger zone and don't even realize it.

I love it here!

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 143 (The Wedding Reception)

After the newlyweds and their guests posed for photos, they had just enough remaining light to mingle before the caterers - Suri and her grandmother, Clara Bjergsen - put out the food. With permission, Ash raced into the spiral maze to take a selfie with Sophie the Snail, searching for treasures in the ferns beneath the carved stone slug.

What he found looked confusing - like a mint green box with a circle of numbers wearing earmuffs, and Ash raced back to ask his family what it was. "I think it could be a telephone," Heather guessed. "They used to be plugged into walls."

Felix smiled. "I haven't seen one of those for at least sixty years! It's a rotary dial phone. You dial the number by spinning the wheel. But people used to think this took too much time, so they invented phones with buttons and speed dials, and these fell out of use."

Ash was enthralled by what Felix knew of history. "Will it still work?"

"I don't think so. Most landlines have been discontinued because everyone uses mobile phones these days."

Ash glanced eagerly at Heather and Conrad. "Can I still keep it? It looks so cool!"

Heather smiled. "Of course you can. That's how Sophie the Snail works. Leave something for someone else to find, and whatever you find yourself is yours to keep!"

Curious Conrad looked at the old fashioned phone. "I wonder who left it there."

"Do you think it was the time traveler Emit Relevart is looking for?"

Heather shrugged. "I looked him up online after we saw the report on Simlandia National, but I didn't find out anything they weren't already reporting on the news. He loves science and technology, believes in time travel, and has blue hair."

Felix and Lilith perked up as Lavender called her mother's attention. "You saw the news report, too? I've been trying to convince Felix to take a detour to Willow Creek on our way back to Britechester to see if we can find him."

The former ghost smiled at his beloved. "After everything with Ash in Sulani, you still want to jump through time? I've told you the past wasn't nearly as wonderful as the present."

"Right, but you said it wasn't as wonderful because I wasn't there. My podcast would blow up if I could talk about what it's like to time travel! But more than the podcast, I want to see things you've seen, with you, and I bet a time traveler could help us!"

Though less enthusiastic, Felix took seriously his responsibility to make Lilith happy. Love like this was exactly what he'd stuck around for, waiting for his chance to live again. "It would be a dream to walk miles of old streets with you, Lil. We'll go to Willow Creek, find this 'Emit,' and we'll see what he knows about the future."

To make it to Willow Creek and home to Britechester before too late, Felix and Lilith left soon after food was served. Kris also returned early to San Myshuno with Betta when the four-year-old grew tired and cranky, but there were still plenty of loved ones left to enjoy the buffet-style spread, including fruit-decorated cupcakes instead of a cake, just like Lavender had requested.

They were grateful to Suri and her grandmother for providing such wonderful food. Conrad even gave Suri a huge amount of money autonomously (all of it wtf?! At least we have a money tree), calling it an investment into her takeover of the Salty Paw, and her hope to turn it from a dive bar to a slightly more upscale licensed cafe.

"I can't believe you and Heather would do that for me," said Suri with a smile and warm embrace for the groom. "My catering rates are a lot lower than this!"

"You're a great chef and we believe in your ideas. Hazel loves you, and Heather and I believe in your plans for the Salty Paw. Just try not to lose that smell about the place. We'll miss it if you really clean it up."

Suri laughed. "You're in luck. I don't think that smell would disappear even if I tore down every single wall and built from the ground up."

Heather spent extra time catching up with her sister Holly, who she hadn't spent meaningful time with since the winter holidays. "Life is busy in the city with Kris and two busy girls, but that's nothing compared to what you've been through lately."

"I really think Ash has been okay since it happened, but we're going to take him to a counselor, regardless. He has a lot of questions about everything, but he really seems like himself."

"But how are you doing? Your son was kidnapped!"

"Honestly? As long as I remind myself he's okay, I don't beat myself up with guilt. But sometimes I watch him sleep just to make sure he's still there. Conrad wants to put a sofa in his bedroom so I get enough rest for the baby."

"And his ex is definitely going to prison?"

Heather nodded. "She's not getting a jury trial and Rafa gave up details on several unsolved cases, plus the whereabouts of some weapons stockpiles around the city, so Felix is fairly confident he'll get his sentence down to a year, at most, because he was a minor for most of the stuff he's wanted for."

"He killed all those men; aren't you worried he's dangerous?"

Heather shook her head. "I used to be, but I met him. And after everything he's done, I'd trust him with my own life. We would have wanted him here for the wedding if he wasn't in custody."

As the night wore on, guests ate and chatted while Lavender occupied her doting grandparents' attention, and Heather finally found a moment to chat with Mortimer about her recent trip to Selvadorada. She'd been meaning to ask him about the medallion she and Spencer had seen at the museum, inscribed with a message from Malcolm A. Landgraab to Lady Victorine Goth, but she'd been so busy since her return.

"Lady Ravendancer was my great-great-grandmother," admitted Mortimer, his brow creased in thought. "Family rumours of her infidelity to my great-great-grandfather, Lord Samuel Goth, have carried for over a century, but the medallion would be the first piece of evidence to support it."

The writer smiled to himself as he considered the historical discoveries he might find - a dramatic story of betrayal and spellcaster magic, if they were lucky. "If my great-great-grandmother had an affair with a Landgraab, it could explain how the families became such fierce rivals in business. The Landgraabs wanted to settle the west, but the Goths wouldn't let them do it alone."

"Do you think it has anything to do with the old pirate's curse you told me about?"

Mortimer shot her a look of sympathy. "It might. I should make a trip out to visit the family archives in Willow Creek; it might give more insight on this medallion in the jungle."

She thanked him as the moon came out above the trees. Lavender curled into a ball to nap on the benches near her sleepy Aunt Hazel and Uncle River - it had been a long day and was now well past her bedtime - and the guests slowly began to wish the newlyweds well and head home. Ash made his way to the treehouse to play, changing into warmer attire as a sign the wedding festivities were drawing to a close.

Heather and Conrad had no time for a honeymoon and returned to their busy lives in Brindleton Bay, but they would cherish the memories made today for the rest of their lives. ->

<- Previous Part (Wedding Album) | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: And that's it! Conther is married!! I realize this reception was a lot of just letting sims do autonomous things and didn't have any photogenic traditions like first dances and cake-cutting, but letting sims be sims gives surprising plot sometimes! It led to Conrad and Heather giving money to Suri "to invest in her upscale cafe," which I didn't plan for but it's indicative of how supportive this legacy family is, and they've accepted Suri despite the scandalous start to her relationship with Hazel, so I liked it! (After getting over the initial shock of having zero simoleons out of nowhere! This autonomous interaction is always such a jump scare, like 'where is all my money?!' 😂)

I also got to send Ash for a selfie with Sophie, to mirror the one his mother took at the statue in childhood because someone (I think @pixeldistractions? I'm sorry if I'm misremembering!) suggested making it tradition, while also tying it in to the Blast From the Past event. No he didn't really find the phone under there as part of the quests but since it's a common hiding place for some exciting things, I had to pretend he did. He really found some snowdrops, which is cool because winter just ended for the next 16 years! Nonetheless, he'll hold on to them, because my sims hoard things in their inventories like mad, just in case I can use them later.

[iamlostsomewhereinthegarden]

A Valentine's Day with them

A Valentine's Day with some of my favorite characters

A Valentine's Day with Ryou is filled with running and hiding away from his fangirls who want a date with him after school, giggling all the while as you’re holding hands because it feels like a romance story where you guys are running away from everyone else in the world to pursue your secret love. Later it’s spent at a cute nerdy cafe where couples get a discount on their meals and a special monster world figurines of a couple meant to stay together forever. It ends with you gifting Ryou cream puffs you made for him for the special day and heading over to his apartment and playing a short specialized monster world campaign Ryou made for you as a Valentine's gift.

A Valentine's Day with Souya is filled with going to all the local ramen shops and benefiting from the Valentine’s discounts. But if you think that’s all it’s not! Souya stepping out of his comfort zone made you chocolates while you made him a cute stuffy for his bed that you’ll see later on in the future when you guys move in together (“You still have that old thing? Of course I do, it’s something you made for me and gave to me for Valentine’s day!”). It ends with sneaking into Souya’s room -because your parents don’t approve of delinquents so you guys can’t go to your house- but you can’t let Nahoya know you guys are there or else you’ll never hear the end of it! And still waking up with y’all faces covered in marker and teasing from Nahoya because that’s just how he is but you’re happy you got to spend the night with your adorable angry boyfriend.

A Valentine’s Day with Shikamaru is filled with you two not being able to meet up until late into the evening and that’s because you guys have plans for the day but it’ll take most of the day to do. So Shikamaru spends the day at Ino’s house doing his best to make some chocolates for you, and while they aren’t the best they’re made with love and make you cry because the lazy bum put in work for Valentine’s day. You on the other hand was preparing the best stay at home lazy date one could ever ask for, and surprisingly it takes a lot of work but you got it done and welcomed him home to the cutests but laziest and most loving Valentine’s day ever.

A Valentine's Day with Neji is weird at first because he really wants to do a lot for you so the normally stoic man is doing the most to show that he loves you! All while looking like a tomato and like he’s about to pass out lmao. Though after stopping him from being weird and letting him know that all he has to do with you is just chill and spend time with you on this special day calms down and you guys have the best and still most romantic Valentine’s day ever for the two of you.

A Valentine’s Day with Kalim is a crazy private party with just you two but filled with gifts sent to one another and cutesy Valentines themed meals to the heart's content. As a poor student that can’t buy much you end up being creative and gifting a bunch of adorable homemade crafts that Kalim does is best to preserve forever. Kalim's gifts to you were a bunch of expensive gifts but after being with you for a while still has a lot of meaning because as much as he can’t help spending money like crazy he does understand what to give to make you happy. The day is spent having fun and being stupid kids while enjoying the day that Kalim ordered.

A Valentine’s Day with Idia is spent in his room playing a bunch of romance and otome games together for fun, and not even the good ones the dumb silly ones like the one with the horses and the one with the pigeons and some of those games that can be played fast and in one sitting like “A Date with Death”, “The Kid at The Back”. You guys order some food and find some kitties to pet and hold onto and enjoy the day. For two anime obsessed gamers in love it’s a great way to spend a day like today.

A Valentine’s Day with Leviathan is different than what you would think, you might think you’d spend the whole day inside but why would you guys be if there are so many anime Valentine’s events today?!?! The day is spent going from event to event ranting and being crazy fans over the animes, games, mangas and manhwas and getting limited/special items along with signatures especially since you guys are a couple. What more could two anime geeks want?

A Valentine’s Day with Tamaki is spent inside ordering a bunch of Valentine's food and having an at home date then watching some romcom movies. And let me tell you, while Tamaki may struggle in public or in many situations he’s steeled himself for this moment in order to show you how much he loves you and cares for you. It’s a day that the Pro-Hero makes sure to take off just for you and if at the end of the night he ends up being dominant with his quirk making the night very fun (especially with his tentacles and maybe even a horse coc-) that’s for you guys to know! Unless you want to spill the beans to Neijire, Mirio, Fatgum and Kirishima, though Tamaki would prefer you not to for the sake of his health.

A Valentine’s Day with Feitan is a surprise because each year he somehow does something different, the first year you guys celebrated it was the severed head of someone who kept harassing you, which though it freaked you out you understood that he was trying and at least you never had to deal with them again! Another couple years later after learning and realizing that body parts wasn’t the best item to give to your spouse and the only reason you loved them was because it was Feitan who did/gave it to you his present was a bunch of the prettiest and most expensive jewelry he could get his hands on that you could only wear once the hype about finding them died down but were amazing! This year while you got him a new amazing and pristine sword that he could use which he really loved and appreciated he somehow got you dinner reservations at an expensive and top notch restaurant and even went with you wearing a suit and actually having manners. To say that this Valentine’s day was amazing would be putting it lightly and you were definitely happy that you were with the man that you’re with despite his quirks.

Hope you enjoyed that was all written within an hour because I had a Spanish composition to write, plus a busy af university day and had to scrap my original idea that I spent whole last night working on instead of studying for said Spanish composition. I really wanted to do more but time is running out for the day and I still have more homework to do lol!

Tags: @kisakis-boyfriend

[whenmemorydies]

The restaurant could be good.

Why did Syd call herself an accomplice in 3x05 Children?

I was re-reading @yannaryartside's fantastic meta about this (and you should too) and it got me thinking. In their meta, OP asks:

Is Syd (or her leaving) supposed to be a wake-up call to Carmy? That he fucked up something that brought him genuine joy and connection because Syd knew the real him, while Claire liked Logan and Carmy's brokenness? The way Claire would enable him in his bad tendencies? How is he gonna realize all that?

Honestly, I don't know what these writers have planned for how Carmy comes to the realisation that season 3 Carmy is not it lol. But I have one suspicion about how it might go, and it has less to do with Carmy and more to do with Syd.

We have to go back to season 1 where it all started. Where Sydney met Carmy and articulated within the first three episodes of the show, her hopes for her future and the future of The Beef.

Recall 1x02 Hands and the convo between her and Richie in Richie's car:

Sydney: You know the restaurant could be good. Like I know you know that. Like it doesn't have to be a place where the food is shitty, and where everybody acts shitty and feels shitty. Like it could be a good legit spot.

Cut to season 3, after Syd and Carmy have overhauled the restaurant and everyone is...well...acting shitty, feeling shitty and the food is looking like a damn mess:

Also recall the alley chat in 1x03 Brigade:

Sydney: You know, I think this place could be so different from all the other places we've been at. But in order for that to be true, we need to run things different.

Then cut to season 3 where we have EC Carmy decidedly not running things different at The Bear. Instead, he repeats toxic communication and management styles from his past:

Recall 1x05 Sheridan and Sydney's vulnerability with Carmy about why she started her catering business, Sheridan Road, after leaving the restaurant scene:

Sydney: Like it was the first time I didn't have a complete and utter psychopath behind me screaming, and pushing and yelling, and I thought I wanted that, you know?

Cut to season 3 and, well, you know the drill: behold our fav Executive Jeff acting like an utter psychopath and partaking in some screaming, pushing and yelling.

So what happened in season 3? Why have things gone in almost the exact opposite direction of what Sydney hoped for in season 1?

To my mind, the answer to that question lies in season 2 and what both Syd and Carmy were doing during that season. Yes, Syd spent most of season 2 setting up the restaurant alone while Carmy played hooky with Claire. But what was more striking to me was the contrast in effort that both of them put into actually doing things different at the restaurant (as per their pledge to each other during the alley chat of 1x03 Brigade).

Breaking cycles

I agree with @yannaryartside: Carmy playing hooky with Claire in season 2 was him numbing himself (i.e. Claire is the drug that he was addicted to for this purpose). I also reckon he was using Claire as another way to keep Mikey in his life - a reverse-engineered haunt - particularly while the most obvious physical manifestation of Mikey in the present day (The Beef itself) was being transformed into something else entirely. That kind of change - that kind of loss - couldn't have been easy for Carmy, particularly as The Bear was something he had wanted to open with this brother in the first place. I get why Carmy would "self-medicate" with Claire to try and numb some of the pain he may have felt, I really do.

But while Carmy was spending so much of his time either avoiding or dulling his pain, it meant he had little time or energy for working through these things. We know that he has been making attempts at this particularly in relation to his familial trauma and grief (as evidenced by his attendance at Al-Anon meetings). But throughout seasons 1-3 we see almost no work on Carmy's part to address the abuse and trauma that he's experienced in professional kitchens. We do not see him trying to prepare himself for the task of leading an entire restaurant. The first and only time we see Carmy start this process is in the last episode of season 3, when he bravely confronts Chef David Fields at the funeral dinner for Ever.

Now admittedly, Sydney does not have the history of familial abuse that Carmy does. But as discussed above, she does share a history of professional abuse in the restaurant industry with him. Its why the two of them make that promise to each other to do things different in 1x03 Brigrade.

To this end, Sydney spends almost all of season 2 working to enhance her leadership skills to make herself better for the staff she'll be leading as CDC of The Bear. Recall her book, Leading with the Heart by Mike Krzyzewski (Chicago-born, Polish-American and hugely successful former basketball coach of the Duke University Blue Devils and the American national basketball team), gifted to her by her father, Emmanuel:

In the beginning of 2x07 Forks, we follow Sydney as she surveys The Bear during renovations and while she works on a menu idea. This opening sequence features the following narration from an interview with Krzyzewski (which reiterates the show's ongoing message that none of us are alone, particularly when we take the time to listen to one another):

The other thing is that you're not gonna get there alone. You know, be on a team. You know, surround yourself with good people and learn how to listen.

You're not gonna learn with you just talking.

And when you do talk, converse. Don't make excuses. Figure out the solution. And you don't have to figure it out yourself.

I always wanted to be part of a team and obviously I wanted to lead that team. You know, [...] what an interesting life it is to be a leader.

The advice Coach K gives in the above monologue is also mirrored in Marcus' eulogy for his mother where he spoke about the importance of listening. It's also gold advice for how to be consistent in relationship to others. I've spoken here about the themes of chaos and consistency on this show and how one of Carmy's battles is understanding that,

[C]onsistency in terms of a product (e.g. a clean kitchen every night or immaculately plated dishes each service) and consistency in terms of relationships are two different things. You can strive for consistent products but destroy all your relationships in the pursuit of them. Conversely, if you strive for consistency in your relationships, you may not always make consistent products (and quite frankly, that's OK - is a perfectly plated agnolotti dish worth Carmy's relationship with Tina? Is driving Syd to a panic attack worth Carmy's pursuit of a star? I think not on both counts).

Sydney took the time throughout season 2 to learn how to be consistent and effective as a leader. She knew - and knows - that simply being an excellent chef is not going to cut it when it comes to running a restaurant and leading a team. This took time and effort on her part but she was committed to making The Bear different to all the other places she'd been at, so she did it. I should also note that Syd did this internal work while menu-planning and trying to push herself culinarily. She was doing so much lifting. Jealousy of Claire aside, I am surprised Syd didn't rip Carmy a new one when he talked about rejigging the menu while at his girl-who's-a-friend's house lmao.

Cut to season 3 though, and Syd is running The Bear with Carmy who has spent the entire season not having put in the work to change the chemistry in their restaurant. Of course Syd tries to counter this as best she can. She runs interference with the team and gently tries to steer the ship. But as she says in 3x09 Apologies, things have been off at The Bear.

So when Syd tells us in 3x05 Children that she's an accomplice, I can't help but feel that in her heart, Sydney believes she's an accomplice in the betrayal of their vision - Sydney and Carmy's shared vision for The Bear - from season 1. The vision she worked so hard during season 2 to bring to fruition.

By season 3, they've betrayed it and each other: family style is no where to be found and The Bear looks and feels like all the other places Syd and Carmy have been at. While exhausting for Carmy ("I'm so fucking sick of this"), this would have been devastating for Syd, given all she's done to try and avoid this outcome. You can understand why she'd consider an offer like Shapiro's (though we know she's not going to take it).

Given the events of 3x10, where Carmy confronts Chef David and has that heart-to-heart with Chef Terry, its clear his perspective on Michelin mode is starting to shift. I think the threat of losing Sydney will scare the shit out of him too. But what I think will prompt Carmy to actually change his behaviour in season 4 is the realisation that he too is an accomplice and has betrayed not just himself but Sydney and their team as well. Season 4 will necessarily need to be told, at least in part, from Syd's perspective so that the impact of this on Syd is made clear to the audience (Storer and Calo, are you listening? Its me, a desperate fan). And once Carmy recognises his role in continuing the traumatic professional legacy championed by Chef Fields, he can get into working through and breaking that cycle. I'll be seated and ready for it.

[crazylittlejester]

Jes I just had an interesting thought about Lu wars

It makes sense for him to be still scared/ worried about cia even if she’s gone

But do you think he would worry about her…. For other links. Cause like wasn’t the war caused because cia wanted the hero and wars happened to be the hero at the time or something similar.

Would wars worry that cia would or had tried to go after the chain, especially in his era.

Just food for thought

Have a great day

i think cia is something he worries about like constantly and has to FORCE himself not to think about because he’ll start spiraling. like she exists outside of time (?) she’s been watching him his whole life? was she watching his future too? he has no idea and it scares him to death so he needs to not think about it because shes GONE and he watched her die basically (at least thats how i interpreted that scene in hw) and therefore she cant do anything to him or anyone else ever again (but does this mean she still exists OUTSIDE of time? who knows)

i bet he does also worry for the others, but obsessed with the hero as she was, Warriors really DID seem to be like… her favorite and her top priority, so i think a part of him is slightly comforted that she’d probably still come after him anyways if given the choice of any of them. cia is definitely something he tries very very hard to ignore and forget

[mooncello]

hi, friends. I shared a few days ago that I haven't been able to write since I posted chapter 8 at the beginning of January. It's been rough ngl. Every time I thought about writing, I wondered what was the point? (I know the point but depressive episodes don't really give a fuck.)

have you heard about federal programs and departments dropping the 'T' from LGBTQ? it's awful and dangerous. (one awful thing in a sea of horrifying things.) it's also stupid and desperate. because they can't erase us, no matter how hard they try.

but also: visibility matters. it saves lives.

over the past few days, as snow fell upon my city, I grabbed my phone and started tapping out a handful of sentences. there is so much out of my control, but I can write queer stories. I'm dreaming up some trans characters, and I'm working on some original fic again. dev and niall deserve their ending in mtaf.

so. here are a few sentences from chapter 9 of more than a footnote. this is in the messy draft stage, but I'm still sharing them because I think I like these lines. placing under the cut because SPOILERS. don't read if you haven't read through chapter 8 yet.

Dev POV

"Piss off," I snarl to [redacted], "you pathetic, wanking troglobite." "Troglobites are quite a feat of evolution, you know," Niall murmurs to me, not granting [redacted] a single glance; he's more preoccupied with scratching his fingers through my hair at the back of my neck. "So that isn't the burn you think it is." I pin Niall with my most aggrieved look. "Omigod, could you please stop being the cutest fucking nerd for five seconds? I'm trying to insult someone here." Niall grins, mouths okay, and kisses me. The clatter of breakfast and [redacted] and the entire goddamn dining hall fade away, my world contracting to the way Niall's lips move against mine. Because it's adoring and so very sure. This is a kiss with history behind it. And a future ahead. It makes my heart seize with happiness and my toes curl inside my shoes.

I love them being little shits together. Chapter 9 is gonna be so good, y'all. Dev and Niall in love with each other is the best. It's all there in my head; I've just gotta write it.

alright, take care of one another this week. love ya.

tags! thank you for the tags today @monbons @thewholelemon and @j-trow-95.

🖤 @drowninginships @valeffelees @run-for-chamo-miles @blackberrysummerblog @orange-peony

@youarenevertooold @shrekgogurt, @hushed-chorus @whatevertheweather, @cutestkilla

@you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @artsyunderstudy, @emeryhall, @imagineacoolusername

@iamamythologicalcreature, @bookish-bogwitch @thewholelemon, @best--dress, @rimeswithpurple

@ileadacharmedlife @skeedelvee, @monbons, @alexalexinii

@theimpossibledemon, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @larkral, @messofthejess, @talentpiper11

@fiend-for-culture + anyone else who would like to join

[theharmonious13]

Guys hear me out (this is a YouTube animatic/animation community deepcut I think??? At least for me it is)

🎵 Two Birds on a Wire 🎵

Kamimura and Hasegawa

"One tries to fly away" - Kamimura

"And the other watches him close from that wire" - Hasegawa

It summarises their relationship PERFECTLY

I can already imagine scenes now in my head. Kamimura branching out to Tamba, Mai etc. while Hasegawa watches him quietly in the background clinging to his one and only friend. And then literally every single

And the song is symbolic of so many things, ranging from Kamimura's more outgoing nature to his character development in finding a reason to live/future plans outside the killing game. Meanwhile Hasegawa is very introverted and closed off, he's reluctant to leave his room before and after Kamimura's death, deep down he wants to follow in Kamimura's confident footsteps but can't get himself to. Especially when they split up for the first time during the killing game :3

~~~

Other duos this would work for in my head (in chronological order of how passionate I feel about the ideas):

Tsuno and Wada: Literally their whole screentime together. As Wada struggles in countless ways throughout the chapters while Tsuno "tries to fly away" by being super duper helpful to the group OR by opening the woodshop door. Perfect duality by having Wada reluctantly not open the door, and Tsuno hyping him up in her final moments :3

Okazaki and Watari: Their differences and friendship exemplified, the sadness and bittersweetness of them having fun together as Okazaki does fucked up things to Wada and the others in the background. Watari having her final moments with Okazaki saying how she hates her, and breaking down at their unmistakable differences in morals. I love how both characters were bold in personality, but Okazaki was on a different level of existence to everyone else, and how she was delusional/thought that playing the role of a villain would solve all of her problems. I would be evil and draw Watari looking through glass at Okazaki's final moments of her being filled up with gold :3

Sasaki and Yanagi: Case 1 Angst mainly highlighting their estranged relationship in Chapter 1 and how they technically work together in the trial before Yanagi has to spit out the horrifying truth. Imagine Yanagi's face as Sasaki gets executed, and wanting to know why she used him afterwards. So much delicious angst, I love it hehe

Hama and Chiba: a HUGE commentary of Chiba's life during the killing game, how she's reluctant to live a normal life because she feels she's unable to. And Hama living his life with kindness/confidence while trying to get Chiba to do the same. Before something unfortunate and heartbreaking happens to Chiba regarding a certain tiger :3

Mai and Yanagi: Mainly an End Chapter 3/Beginning Chapter 4 recap following their interactions and fight regarding unlocking the door. Mai literally tries to break down the door out in the open while Yanagi tries to pick the lock in secret. If that doesn't scream the duality of these two/the song I don't know what does. Also them making plans together, being glad to have each other's company

Isono and Wada: Mainly a fun little recap of their relationship transformation, from streamer/viewer/parasocial to friends. It's a great way to highlight chapter 1 Wada too, he's very closed off and reluctant to get help from what I remember, you can even pan forwards to Tsuno's death/Chapter 4 Wada to see how angsty is he/far he's come. OR close it off with Wada talking to Isono quietly/in solidarity in her room. Or omg, breaking the PC when Wada finds out about the reward :333333

*Always assume for the above that the first person listed is "one tries to fly away" and person two is "and the other"

For example: Kamimura (Person 1) and Hasegawa (Person 2)

~~~

I feel so passionately about it being for Hasemura but this song resonates with so many of the cast duos it's unreal