#that lets the light in in a really beautiful way

[viridescentelf]

Yandere elf x reader - Valentine’s Day

happy valentine‘s day y‘all 👽

Silas Character and Art belongs to @meo-eiru pls go to her and tell she‘s the queen of yandere

since so many peeps asked for more Silas smut, here‘s him „cleaning“ you. Don‘t know how lore accurate this is so pls forgive me if i missed something! i also didn‘t really proof-read so oops 😶‍🌫️

Warnings: 18+, dubcon, noncon, oral sex, general nsfw

—————

His long tongue lapped up your sweet and sour juices. You squirmed, both from the explosive pleasuring scale and his firm grip on your wrists.

You had been telling him about the concept of Valentine‘s Day (some true and untrue things because you could), as he thought it was only humans named Valentine that could celebrate their love on this manufactured holiday. Understanding that it meant showing love to anyone you feel deeply towards - even mothers - Silas hurried to remedy his misunderstanding.

You had never seen the elf change that quickly before. He had adorned some kind of elven festive garb and placed several beautiful flowers in his own and your hair (you watched him from the window scurry around the garden to find them), weaving the stems neatly (and fast) into your strands.

He then asked what humans traditionally did on Valentine‘s Day. You mentioned flowers, chocolates and date nights - trying to skirt around the topic of sex - by using the word „cuddling“. It was something you didn‘t really mind with him, he was extremely cozy to lean into, his soft muscles giving ample cushioning, even if he didn‘t let go of you unless you needed to pee.

Your eyes had followed Silas running into the kitchen and frantically throwing ingredients together to make pralines and chocolates. The house smelled amazing. He hectically returned to the living room where you were reading, chocolate smeared all over his dopy face, to ask if you preferred strawberry or raspberry. You had only gotten to „rasp-„ before he quickly turned to finish his craft.

You had thought this wasn‘t half bad. It was really entertaining watching him cook, bake and decorate with the speed of a doom‘s day dad preparing for the end of the world.

A few hours had passed. Silas had picked you up from the couch and carried you quickly to the dinner table, where he had lit so many candle that you had to blink rapidly through the blinding light. The chocolates were all individually wrapped and adorned with sweet messages. The food he cooked looked amazing, but it was frankly hard to see all of the details through the flickering little fires. Silas placed you on his lap and fed you everything, beyond your stomach‘s ability and despite you saying that you were full.

Feeling woozy from the excess food, you lay catatonic in his arms as every squeeze within the cuddle session made you even more nauseous.

„My darling! I love you I love you I love you I love you!“

He peppered kisses on you as you tried to focus on not throwing up. His kisses helped, whatever was in his weird saliva simultaneously healed you while you knew he was trying to prepare you for what he wanted next.

He hadn‘t cleaned you yet. You had tried to distract him with various other Valentine‘s Day traditions (some of which you made up, like how the greatest act of love is having to do an interpretive dance outside with twigs in your mouth which you watched with absolute glee), but he never missed this part of the day regardless of how hard you tried to get him off schedule. He was relentless that way.

You were still too full to move. He knew this.

Laying you out on the bed, you watched him remove your trousers and underwear. The ravenous glare in his eye always threw you off, every time. It was so menacing and filled with what felt like eons of pent up desire that it shut you up instantly.

His green eyes shimmered as he saw you leaking already, ready for him because of his aphrodisiac sputum and whatever else he added to your meal and chocolates.

He never really told you what he gave you.

What would it matter? You couldn‘t stop him anyway.

Silas‘s head lowered and you instinctively raised your arms to try to push his head away. He grabbed them so fast and held them down onto the soft mattress, that your arms sank deeper into the cushioning.

„There, there…let mama clean you up…“

His grip didn‘t hurt, but it was like cement blocks lying on top of your hands. There was no way you could get them out.

He kissed you. Your body squirmed slowly in response, because it just felt so marvelous. The tongue wreathed out of his smiling lips and traced you, mapping out its course. Your back arched expectingly, but he took his time, breathing his temperate air onto you - warning of the incoming impact.

Silas’ long tongue punched into you and you let out a deep rooted moan you had never heard yourself make before. It snaked through your walls like the invader it was and you felt his hands shake with his own pleasure.

He lapped everything up, your water flooding out of you uncontrollably without a stop in sight.

His mouth wrapped around you and sucked gently, every pop from the release making your spine curl even further. The stinging tingling clenching fiercely and surrounding your entire lower body, every lick, kiss and suction pushing your further.

You climaxed many times, from the penetration and from his feverish licking, every new flick causing your hips to convulse furiously.

He was saying something, but you couldn‘t hear with dark moans escaping your throat. He quickly returned to his task, letting you grow weaker with every orgasm.

You knew hours passed, because the light from the window was dimming. He had feasted on you for so long that the mattress was soaked.

Finally letting up, happy with his cleaning job, he pulled you up into a seated position while his growth pointed like a dagger at your face, his tall stature looming over you.

He huffed, as his giant hand caressed your cheek. Your exhausted eyes stared up at him.

„M-milking time darling…“

[luveline]

hey jade!!! do u think we can get a little something with bombshell and spencer 🙏🙏 missing them

—you and spencer get serious. 1.3k

“So,” you say, holding two hands behind your back, shoulders tight in a vague attempt at flirting, “come here often?” 

“To Austin?” Spencer nods. ���This is the tenth time we’ve been in the last five years.”

“Big city. Thirteenth most populous city in the entire country, right? That’s a lot of crime.”

Spencer smiles approvingly. “Right.” 

“At least this one was easy.” 

You’re standing in the sunshine outside of a bar near the hangar, waiting for the jet to finish loading, the rest of the team inside drinking a round of well-earned drinks. Spencer was in good spirits but didn’t seem to love the ruckus, so you’d made some excuse about feeling light-headed and promised you’d be alright as long as Spencer came outside with you. 

You don’t not feel dizzy. You’ve been under the weather all week. Spencer’s concern has had moments of obviousness. He’s roped it in for now, only evidence of his worry the lack of space between you. 

You’re enjoying the game you’re playing for now. You lovingly ignore him. “What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” 

“Uh, trying to get home, honestly.” 

“Yeah?” 

“See, I know this girl,” he says, his voice a soft pattern of itself, “and she’s– she’s great. She really is. She’s smart, and she’s beautiful, and she’s stubborn as a mule when she wants to be. She won’t let me take care of her out here. I’m hoping when we get back, she’ll let me take her home. So I can look after her.” He has no intention of playing the ignoring game with you. 

“Stubborn as a mule,” you murmur, leaning back against the bar’s brick exterior, lulled into security by his voice, and the sweet breeze that passes over you, the right side of cold as the sun begins to set behind the buildings across the street and beyond. 

“You like that one?” 

“No. Not my favourite comparison.” 

Spencer holds his hand out across the way, palm up but low, his fingers still. “Stubborn,” he says as you slip your hand into his, “but in a good way.” 

“…I don’t need you to take care of me,” you say softly. 

“But I want to.” 

You don’t know why you’ve been struggling with Spencer lately. It certainly isn’t something he’s done wrong, and it’s not the first time he’s wanted to look after you. But things between you are looking serious. Just a few weeks ago you took the ‘next step’, long overdue, and you told him you loved him. You do. 

“If I did something–”

You wince and he stops. You knew he’d bring it up eventually, but it doesn’t make it hurt less. What a mess you’re making. “You didn’t do anything,” you say. 

“Are you sure?” 

“No, Spencer, it’s not you, really, it’s not, it’s me–”

The face he makes is of unbridled horror. You’re worried he’ll snatch his hand back. He squeezes tighter. “What are you saying?” he asks, his frown a pout that turns your heart. 

“I’m not breaking up with you. I’m sorry, that was a fright wasn’t it?” you ask, squeezing him too, pulling at him as you slip against his side. Your faces are close enough to kiss. “Not breaking up. I can’t describe how much I don’t want that.” 

“But?” he asks. 

“But… there’s been some chafing, lately, on my end.” 

“‘Cos of me?” 

“Aw, Spencer,” you murmur, turning your front into his side as you hold your free hand over his heart, “no, baby. No… No, it’s not because of you, or– it’s not your fault. I was alone for a while before you, and I guess being sick just reminded me that things are different.” 

“And you don’t like it?” 

“Spencer, please,” you plead gently, rubbing your thumb against his chest. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I love you–”

“I love you.” 

“–and I’m not asking for anything here, not space, not for you to change, I just want to tell you how I’ve been feeling so you can stop confusing it for something you might’ve done wrong.” 

Some days being with Spencer feels like you’re the same soul in two different bodies. It’s moments like this that remind you of how human he is, the depth of his feelings, and how much he cares about you —how much you can affect his life. He’s frowning like he’s not far from tears and you regret ever bringing it up in the first place, but you have to finish now. 

“It’s scary, for me, sometimes, to be with you,” you say eventually. 

“For me, too.” 

“I worry I’ll get used to you and one day I won’t have you.” 

“I promise you will,” he says. 

“But you don’t know that.” 

“For however long you’ll let me have you, you can have me,” he says simply. 

You tease a line into his chest with your two fingertips. “I love how you look after me. There’s nothing like it. I fall asleep sick and I wake up knowing you’re there to make me a cup of tea, and to help me shower when my head’s hurting, you don’t let me down. You know that?” 

“So why can’t I look after you tonight?” he asks, eyes dark as pine tar. 

“You can. You think I’m not going home with you?” 

“I wasn’t sure.” 

“Please let me come home with you.” 

Spencer lets his forehead drop gently against yours. The breeze runs a loop around your legs and cools your too-warm shoulders, pulling your blouse from clammy skin. For a while, you wait for him to speak, but when he doesn’t you figure you’ve overwhelmed him with your confession, maybe you’ve upset him. 

He rubs the tips of your noses together slightly. 

“Are you still dizzy?” 

“No.” Your voice is a croak. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, being scared of the future? It’s okay.” 

“I think it sounded like it was your fault.” 

“I won’t take it that way if you don’t mean it like that,” he promises. “I just want to look after you, angel. I want to be with you. I’m scared all the time that one day I won’t have you, but then you smile at me or you–” He laughs. “You tug on my hair trying to make me kiss you and I don’t feel that way for a while. I’m sorry if I made you worry.”

“The only thing that worries me is life.” 

“Not much you can do about that,” he says.

“I know. I didn’t mean for it to get to you, too.”

He makes a nice humming sound, says, “I want you to feel better, and come home with me, and I don’t really care if I have to beg. You know I will.” 

“You should know you don’t have to beg for anything. Not from me.” 

Spencer’s hand comes up to your neck. He holds it carefully, pressing the soft of his cheek against your temple, the other hand working its way behind your back. “And you’re worried I might leave you?” he asks, laughing bashfully as he presses two kisses to whatever bit of skin he can fin, the side of your nose and the soft well under your eye. “When you’re saying stuff like that to me? In public?” 

“It’s hardly the worst thing I’ve said to you in public.” 

Spencer pulls away to meet your eyes. He's smiling. Worry and love line his gaze. “Do you wanna go find something to eat before we leave?”

“Yeah,” you nod, trying hard not to smile ear to ear. “Let’s go eat.” 

[boyfhee]

LOVE IN BLOOMㅤ───────ㅤ엔하이픈

✶ 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍ㅤ｡⠀bf ! enha, fluff >< f2l in riki's, fake dating in sunoo's .. that's a lot of tropes :0

alternatively, celebrating valentine's day with the love of their lives. ( 2306 )

╰⁠(⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠╯ㅤ..ㅤ happy valentines my lovies :D happy reading !!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⭑ rbs&feedback ♡

HEESEUNG ｡⠀

heeseung tapped his fingers impatiently on the mattress, hesitant to wake you up, holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers behind him. he contemplates before shaking your shoulders gently, anxious as he watches you stir up.

“it's 7 am,” his heart skips a beat when you finally open your eyes, a little grumpy, but looking pretty as always.

he knows you're not a morning person, he can see remnants of sleep in your eyes. he lets out a soft laugh at the way your hair is sticking up in almost all directions, the annoyed pout of your face making you look cuter than you already are.

“it's valentine's,” he says, words accompanied with a chuckle as he reaches out to fix your hair before holding the bouquet in front of you. “happy valentine's day, angel,”

he watches in contentment as your expression changes to surprise, then morphing to one of pure bliss and admiration.

his eyes hold onto your sight eagerly, trying to gauge your reaction as you look at the pink and white balloons on the floor, tied up with matching ribbons. there are a few gift boxes on the bed and you can definitely smell a delicious breakfast in the air. “did you really get up early for this?”

“this is not even all of it,” and it's true.

heeseung would never tell you how he barely got any sleep last night, too worried and anxious over planning for valentine's. despite his confidence, he could feel his palms sweating. all that practice in his room in front of the mirror couldn't keep him away from the nervousness— it's your first valentine's with him, afterall, and he wants it to be perfect.

gradually he settles next to you in bed, the soft glow of sunlight giving you an angelic touch. you can't take your eyes off the decoration in the room, and he can't take his eyes off you. “i've made plans for the whole day. you're all mine today,”

you can't help but laugh at his words, snuggling closer to him. a sigh escapes your lips as you relax against the sound of his heartbeat, your own finding solace in the gentle kiss he presses on top of your head.

“i'm all yours everyday,” you look up, losing yourself in his lovesick eyes— not that it's any different from yours. propping yourself up on your elbow, you lean in, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss. “happy valentine's day to you too, my love.”

JONGSEONG ｡⠀

“you didn't have to do all this,” the words fall off your lips just a little above the comfortable silence in the kitchen as you take a seat at one of the stools in front of the kitchen island.

“i wanted to,” he replies with a chuckle, eyes admiring your expression. he thinks you look extra beautiful today, especially under those warm yellow lights. “you deserve it,”

it has only been a few months since you met jay and he has already managed to sweep you off your feet. you two aren't official, but the chemistry is brewing, and it's in everything around— the carefully curated flower bouquet that he picked for you, the half eaten cake you put in the fridge just a minute ago, the fragrance of your favourite food that he's cooking, and the way he's holding your hand.

“it's too much,” you mumble, fiddling with his fingers, the thought of pressing a kiss only crossing your mind before you shake it off. “i might assume you're in love with me,”

he wouldn't be opposed to that.

in fact, it sounds nice, dreamy, even. to call you his— he still wants to, except things aren't official and he doesn't want to force you into anything you're not ready for. he would've waited but god, the way you look at him makes it impossible for him to not be in love with you.

“what makes you think i'm not?” he flashes you a slight grin, enjoying the look of pure surprise in your eyes.

“huh?”

and he sighs, not even wasting a second to hold your face from across the counter, capturing your lips in a deep and slow kiss, gently tilting your head to the side for a better access.

“i love you,” he whispers amidst the kiss, his tongue brushing against your lower lip slightly. “and i've been in love with you—” a pause, he pulls back to, looking at you briefly before going back in. “— since the very first time i saw you.”

JAEYUN ｡⠀

“i thought you forgot,” you frown, and his heart almost drops at the disappointment in your tone that he almost dropped the bouquet to the pavement.

“there's no way that could happen,” he pulls you into a warm hug, one hand rubbing your back while the other held onto the bouquet that he hopes you won't reject.

he knew he wouldn't be able to keep the surprise to himself, so there was only one way— pretend to forget about it. he could see the anticipation on your face the entire day, his heart breaking a little more every time he had to act like it's not a special day today.

it was hard to hold back when all he wanted to do was shower you with affection and recite how much he loves you.

“i was about to argue with you over call,” you pull back, arms still around his torso.

“then i'm just on time, aren't i?” and he chuckles at the pout on your face, more so at the way you squint your eyes when he pokes your cheek gently. “sorry, darling, i just wanted this surprise to be perfect,”

“don't pull this again,”

“never again. i'd even beg you for an apology,” jake swears, fingers crossed, sealing his promise with a soft peck on your lips. “on my knees and all,”

you let out a quiet laugh, leaning in for another peck, or rather a kiss, making it last longer. “so dramatic,”

“you love me,” and looking back at the roses in his hands along with the gifts on the backseat of his car— how could you not?

SUNGHOON ｡⠀

despite his cocky demeanor, sunghoon's hands were getting sweaty as you leaned against the kitchen counter with a little gift box in your hand, untying the ribbon ever so carefully.

he knew you'd like the gift, of course you would, but a silver of doubt still haunting his thoughts. although, it goes away just as quickly when your lips curl into a smile at the sight of the necklace.

“do you like it?”

“it's so pretty,” your words come out as a soft whisper, eyes too busy admiring the dainty rose gold necklace adorned with a small heart shaped pendant.

“it reminded me of you so i had to get it,” his lips mirror your smile, heart fluttering at the sight of you looking so happy. “here, let me help you,”

he takes the necklace out of the box, gently pushing your hair to one side. he almost chuckles at the way you shiver as his fingers brush against your nape.

it takes him all his willpower to not press a kiss against your skin, you make him want to lose his control. he class the hook, fixing your hair again before putting his hands on your shoulder to turn you around.

your eyes sparkle as you stare down at the pendant, fiddling with it before chiming at him with an expectant voice. “how do i look?”

“beautiful,” he whispers softly, sunghoon swears he's falling for you all over again. the way you look at him with the sweetest smile and starry eyes, he feels like the luckiest man in the entire world. “just like you always do,”

you're too busy admiring his gift, a quiet thank you falling off your lips before you look up at him, tip toeing to press your lips against his in a soft peck. “i love it,”

the kiss almost leaves him dazed, he can already see you teasing him about it. but how could he not be surprised— it's you, your lips on his, your touch— it drives him crazy.

“that was a shitty thank you,” he scoffs, trying to hide the effect just a peck from you has on him, squinting his eyes at you. “could have been better,”

“well, what do you want me to do about it?”

and he doesn't wait to give an answer, immediately capturing your lips with his. he's kissing you slow & sweet, deep, and it barely takes you a second to melt into his arms, especially when he gently tugs at your waist, your body flushed against his.

he only pulls back to catch his breath, unable to hold a grin back at your swollen lips and flushed face. “that's better,”

SUNOO ｡⠀

“you should be my valentine,” sunoo speaks between sips of his strawberry milk, leaning against the pillar in the empty hallway.

“i thought that was a given?” you say as a matter of fact, bringing the straw of your own drink to your mouth and taking a long sip before turning towards him. “unless you want to call this o—”

“for real,”

and then it's quiet. the hallways feel quieter now except the sound of his words ringing in your ears. if you didn't know any better, you'd think he's joking, but his voice is purposeful and his eyes— they refuse to leave yours.

“what?”

he drops the empty box of flavoured milk in the nearby bin, taking a small step towards you that leaves your heart as a racing mess. “i said, be my valentine for real,”

“i thought you wanted to date yunseo,” and it's true. the entire of the grand scheme of things was for sunoo to get back with his ex— nevermind the centuries old trick— and you were merely a supporting character in the play.

“i want you,” he insists with desperation, affection dripping off every word that leaves his mouth. “i have wanted you for so long, it's making me lose my mind,”

you barely let him finish, yanking him towards yourself with his collar into a searing kiss. his hands find your waist, making it harder for you to think straight before you finally catch a hold of yourself.

“i'll be your valentine,” you whisper, resting your forehead against his. “for real,”

and sunoo plans to ask you to his girlfriend before the day ends, but he's too busy thinking about kissing you again for now.

JUNGWON ｡⠀

“wake up, doll,” he calls out softly, setting the breakfast tray on the bedside table, rubbing his hands nervously as he sits on the edge of the bed. after all, it's jungwon's first valentine's with you and he needs it to be perfect.

“hm, what is it?” his heart practically clenches at your sleepy mumbles, your adorable attempt to keep your eyes open melting him slowly.

“happy valentine's day,” he tucks your hair behind your ear, gently caressing your soft cheeks with his knuckles. “i tried making your favourites,”

you take your time, looking around the room. you eyes rest on the flower vase— he switched it to your favourite flowers— before finally settling on the breakfast.

it's everything you like— favourite dish, along with the pastries from the bakery down the street that you adore. a smile creeps up your face, one that makes him smile involuntarily as well. “you didn't have to,”

“why do you think i shouldn't do this for you, and even more?” he sighs at your response, fingers trailing down to your jaw, tracing soft and random patterns on your skin.

and you can't help but lean into his touch, shifting closer to him to wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your lips on the corner of his lips. “you're the best boyfriend ever,”

“anything for the best girlfriend in the entire world,” he lets out a hearty laugh before planting a soft kiss on the top of your head before whispering quietly. “i'm so in love with you,”

NI-KI ｡⠀

“i thought you had plans for valentine's,” the words leave your mouth, absentmindedly so, just like your feet as you draw random patterns on the same with the tip of your shoes while sitting on a swing.

and riki passes you a perplexed look, his furrowed brows partially hidden behind the bangs falling over the corner of his eyes. “what made you think so?”

“just. . .” words trail off while you look at a distance to find an answer, only to be met with nothing and resorting to reply with a shrug. “i don't know, it felt like you'd be busy with your girlfriend or something,”

“my girlfriend?”

“do you not have one?” it comes off more as a surprise. nishimura riki, the most popular guy in your school, the guy with that face— everyone would expect him to have a girlfriend.

but looking over at him, his amusement is far replaced with a smug grin. “would you like to change that?”

you ask yourself if you heard that correctly, worried he might hear how loudly your heart started beating at his words.

it was like a dream, your crush was asking you out. you almost thought he was messing with you but before you could process, he was already crouching in front of you, looking up with the sweetest expression.

“i like you,” his words are soft and quiet, like a whisper in the wind, hands holding yours ever so gently. “so, would you like to be my girlfriend?”

and you didn't have it in you to reject him. “i'd love to,”

a few seconds pass by in silence, your hands in his, his eyes on you, and then as if on whim, your lips were on his cheeks, planting a soft kiss.

it catches him off guard, with you almost biting back a giggle at the slightest hint of red on his cheeks.

“you missed that,” he mumbles after a while before bringing his lips up to you in a chaste kiss, his hands ghosting up yours and finding solace on your cheek when he feels you smiling amidst the kiss.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Quickie?

Summary: Reader wants to sneak in a quickie before the BAU takes off again.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x FBI fem!reader

Category: fluff, suggestive (16+)

Warnings/Includes: suggestive content, secret relationship, reader works at FBI but not BAU

Word count: 1.7k

a/n: this is much more positive than the last post :)

main masterlist

You and Spencer have been secretly seeing each other for a few months now. Since you work in a different department, you don’t get to see him as often as you’d like, and you never have the chance to join him on cases. 

The moment you see the news that the BAU is heading out on another case, your heart sinks just a little. You understand that Spencer’s job is demanding—he’s always chasing criminals across the country, putting his mind to work in ways that save lives. But it doesn’t make it any easier when he’s gone for days at a time, leaving you to miss him in silence.

With a quiet sigh, you pull out your phone and type out a message:

Meet me upstairs before you go?

You don’t have to say where. You both know. The fifth-floor office—empty, forgotten, your little sanctuary within the walls of the FBI. It had started as a joke, just a place to escape prying eyes when work got overwhelming, but over time, it had turned into something more. A safe space for the two of you.

The reply comes almost instantly.

Give me five minutes.

You don’t hesitate, pushing away from your desk and making your way to the stairs instead of the elevator. The anticipation sits heavy in your chest, a mixture of excitement and something almost desperate.

By the time you push open the office door, Spencer is already there, leaning against the desk, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder. His eyes soften the moment they meet yours.

“You’re fast,” you say, closing the door behind you.

“I wasn’t going to waste any time,” he murmurs, already reaching for you. His hands find your wrists, pulling you closer as he stays seated on the desk. His touch is warm and grounding, even through the layers of clothing.

Your fingers drift up to the collar of his cardigan, playing with the fabric as you let yourself relax in his presence. “I hate that you have to go.”

“I know.” He sighs, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I hate it too. But I’ll call you as soon as I land.”

You nod, though it doesn’t really make it easier. “I just wish we had more time.”

His hand moves to your waist and tightens ever so slightly. “Me too.” There’s a pause, a hesitation in his expression, before he adds, “I think about you all the time when I’m gone.”

Your heart stutters at his confession, a warmth spreading through your chest. “Yeah?”

Spencer huffs out a soft, shy laugh. “Yeah.”

You can’t help but smile, reaching up to brush a lock of hair away from his face. “Then you better come back to me in one piece.”

You lean in, pressing a sweet kiss to Spencer’s lips—soft, slow, something that feels like a promise. When you pull away, he stays close, murmuring against your mouth, “Always.”

Something about Spencer’s breath ghosting across your lips sends a shiver down your spine. The soft pink hue creeping down his neck is so endearing that it stokes a fire deep in your stomach, pooling heat beneath your skin. You lean in for another kiss, slow and deliberate, savoring the way he melts beneath your touch. One hand threads gently through his hair, fingers curling lightly at the roots, while the other traces delicate patterns against his chest, nails just barely scratching over the fabric between you.

Spencer gets lost for a moment, his mind short-circuiting as he tries to process the reality of you—of your lips on his, of your hands in his hair, of the way you look at him like he’s something to be devoured. It still feels surreal, like a dream he’s half-convinced he’ll wake up from because someone as beautiful as you want him like this doesn’t seem possible.

But then reality crashes back in—the fluorescent hum of the office lights, the distant chatter from the floors below, the ever-present risk of someone walking in. His fingers tighten briefly against your waist before he forces himself to gently push against your shoulders.

“Wait…wait,” he murmurs, his voice breathless and uneven as he tries to collect himself. “We can’t do this here.”

Your lips are already trailing along his neck, warm and teasing, and the way you hum against his skin makes his resolve waver.

“Do what?” you tease, your voice laced with mischief as you press another slow, deliberate kiss just beneath his jaw.

Spencer exhales sharply, his head tipping back slightly before he forces himself to lean away, his cheeks flushed as he fumbles for words. “Um… this.”

Your fingers curl at the nape of his neck, holding him close, your voice dipping into something dangerously sweet.

“What are we doing, baby?” you whisper, letting the words linger between you, daring him to say it.

Spencer’s breath stutters as he struggles to find the right words, his hands hovering uselessly over your hips as if he can't decide whether to pull you closer or push you away. His face is already flushed, the color creeping down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

“I—I’m… Y/N, I’m going to… uh, get—” He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries and fails to look anywhere but at you. Finally, he forces the word out in a near whisper as if saying it any louder might make it worse. “Hard.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across your lips as you tilt your head slightly, fingers still tracing lazy patterns along his chest. His honesty is endearing, his nervousness downright intoxicating, and the way his voice wavers only makes the fire in your stomach burn hotter.

“Oh,” you murmur, feigning innocence as your hand moves just the slightest bit lower. “Is that a problem?”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut for a brief moment, exhaling sharply through his nose like he's gathering every ounce of self-control he has left.

“Yes,” he says, though it sounds more like a plea than a protest. “We’re at work.”

“And?” you press, leaning in just enough to let your lips ghost over his jaw.

He shudders, his grip on your waist tightening. “And… I can’t walk out of here like that.”

“Who says you’ll have to leave here hard?” you murmur, your voice dripping with mischief, your fingers still dancing lightly over his chest.

Spencer’s breath hitches, his body stiff as your words' weight settles over him. His pupils dilate, and for a brief second, you see the internal war flashing across his face—temptation battling with logic, desire against reason.

“Y/N…” His voice is barely above a whisper, shaky and uneven, like he’s already losing control. His fingers dig into your waist as if anchoring himself, but it’s no use—you can feel him unraveling beneath your touch.

Still, he shakes his head, his resolve clinging to the last fragile thread of professionalism he has left. “No, we can’t—not here.”

But his voice lacks conviction, and the way he’s looking at you, lips parted, breath shallow, tells you he wants nothing more than to give in.

You pout, tilting your head as your fingers trace slow, lazy circles against his chest. “Not here?” you echo, feigning disappointment. “That’s a shame… I was really looking forward to helping you with your little problem.”

Spencer exhales sharply through his nose, gripping your hips a little tighter like he's trying to physically keep himself in check. “It’s not—” He swallows, glancing toward the closed door like he’s calculating the risk. “It’s not a little problem.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across your lips as you press closer, feeling the way his breath stutters at the contact. “Oh?” you tease, letting your hand trail just a little lower—not too much, just enough to make him squirm. “Is it a big problem, then?”

Spencer groans, tilting his head back in exasperation. “Y/N…” he warns, though his grip on you doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens.

You press a quick, teasing kiss to the underside of his jaw, feeling the way his pulse hammers beneath your lips. “I just think it’s kind of unfair,” you say innocently. “You’re about to leave for who knows how long, and I won’t even get to see you. The least I could do is make sure you’re… comfortable before you go.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as if trying to gather every ounce of restraint he has left. “You are not making this easy.”

You hum, dragging your nails lightly over the fabric of his shirt. “You told me you didn’t want it to be hard.”

His breath catches, and he glares at you, but there’s no real heat behind it—just frustration laced with something darker, something wanting. “You cannot say things like that.”

“Why not?” You bat your eyelashes at him. “You’re the one who admitted to getting hard at work.”

Spencer groans, dropping his forehead against your shoulder like he’s conceding defeat. “You’re evil.”

You giggle, threading your fingers through his hair and scratching lightly at his scalp. “But you like it.”

He huffs out a breath against your neck, warm and shaky. “Unfortunately.”

You grin, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of his face before pulling back just enough to look at him properly. “Relax, baby,” you whisper, smoothing your hands over his chest. “I wouldn’t actually do anything here.” You lean in, your lips brushing against his in the softest tease of a kiss. “I just like making you squirm.”

Spencer exhales a laugh, shaking his head, but you can see how his eyes have darkened and how his fingers are still gripping your waist. “Yeah,” he mutters, his voice lower than before. “I noticed.”

You smirk, pressing one last playful kiss to his lips before pulling away completely, smoothing out your shirt like nothing had happened. “Well,” you say cheerfully, stepping back toward the door. “Have fun on your case.”

Spencer stares at you like he’s still recovering as if he’s not entirely sure if he should be frustrated or turned on. Probably both.

“You’re evil,” he repeats, though the way he’s looking at you says he wouldn’t have it any other way.

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

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[dawngyu]

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

[777bae]

FLUENT IN YOU WILLIAM EKLUND

Summary :: William starts teaching you Swedish phrases

Warnings :: none

Word count :: 4.7k

It all started as a seemingly casual moment—a quiet afternoon, the two of you lounging together after a morning practice. William had been chatting with his teammates, speaking to them in Swedish, and you found yourself listening more intently than usual. You’d always had a soft spot for languages—how each one had its own rhythm, its own flow—but Swedish? It was different. You’d never really considered it before, but as the conversation continued, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to understand it. The way the words flowed from William’s lips, smooth and melodic, almost felt like music. You’d never really thought about how beautiful Swedish sounded before.

Your curiosity got the best of you. You’d been quiet, listening for a while, but you finally spoke up, breaking the spell that the conversation had cast. “Hey, I’ve got to ask—what exactly are you saying?” you asked, not sure what had prompted you to speak, but the fascination had taken hold. “It sounds so different… What does it mean?”

William glanced over at you, his grin widening slightly. It was that signature smile of his—playful and mischievous, as if he knew exactly what was coming next. He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your interest. “You want to know what we’re saying?” he asked, his voice teasing. “Well, I can tell you, but I have a better idea.”

You furrowed your brow, confused. “What do you mean?” you asked, raising an eyebrow in return.

Without missing a beat, William’s eyes sparkled with that characteristic mischievous glint. “Do you want me to teach you some Swedish?” he asked, the suggestion so sudden and effortless, it caught you off guard. “I promise, it’ll be fun. And I can teach you some useful phrases.”

You chuckled, still unsure of whether he was serious. “I don’t know if I’m ready for a whole new language,” you replied, shaking your head with a soft laugh. “Swedish sounds so complicated. I mean, I can barely handle English half the time.” You let out a small sigh, almost as if you were talking yourself out of it. The thought of trying to tackle a completely new language, especially one as intricate as Swedish, was intimidating.

William’s grin didn’t falter in the slightest. If anything, it widened, like he was savoring the challenge of convincing you. “It’s not complicated, I promise,” he said, his tone full of certainty, making it sound like the easiest thing in the world. “And I’ll make it easy for you. Don’t worry. I’m a good teacher. Think of it like learning a secret language, just for us.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and despite your initial hesitations, there was something about his offer that intrigued you. It wasn’t just about learning Swedish—it was the way he said it, the twinkle in his eyes, the warmth in his voice. He made it sound like a game, something fun and lighthearted, a little adventure just for the two of you.

The idea of learning something new, especially with him by your side, felt appealing. Plus, the thought of sharing this private thing with him, something just between you and him, made it feel like an invitation to something deeper. You smiled, realizing you couldn’t resist the temptation.

“Alright,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “But don’t make fun of me when I mess up.”

William raised his hands in mock defense. “No promises there,” he teased, his grin turning even more mischievous. “But I’ll try to be nice.”

And that’s how you ended up here, sitting on his couch with a notebook in hand and a pen between your fingers, ready for your first lesson.

The afternoon sunlight poured through the window, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. The warmth of the light seemed to fill the space, adding to the quiet comfort of the moment. The living room felt peaceful, almost like a little bubble of calm in the midst of the day’s hustle. You sat on the couch, a notebook open on your lap, nervously clutching a pen, and tried to calm the fluttering in your chest.

Beside you, William seemed effortlessly at ease. His posture was relaxed, his legs stretched out, one arm resting casually along the back of the couch. The look on his face was one of someone who was completely comfortable in this setting, like a natural teacher with no hint of tension or hesitation. You, on the other hand, felt like a beginner in every sense of the word. The thought of speaking a new language, especially one you had never even considered before, made your nerves spike.

Still, you had agreed to this—you were here, ready to learn—and there was no one better than William to guide you through it. He had a way of making things feel effortless, even when you were still fumbling with the basics. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself that this was meant to be fun, that you were here with him and that you didn’t need to be perfect. You were ready to dive in.

“So,” William said, his voice pulling you from your thoughts, his tone light and warm. He reached for his phone, swiping through a few screens as he set it aside, clearly preparing for the lesson. “Let’s start with the basics. Something simple to begin with.”

You nodded, feeling a little more relaxed now that he was diving in, and you could focus on the task ahead instead of your racing thoughts. “Okay, I’m all ears,” you said, managing a small smile, trying to settle your nerves. “Hit me with it.”

He shifted slightly, facing you fully now, his eyes soft with amusement and that familiar playfulness that always made you feel at ease. “Alright, here’s where we start,” he said with a small smirk. “‘I love you.’”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected phrase. The seriousness of it made your heart skip a beat. “Wait… what?” you asked, chuckling nervously, hoping to brush off the sudden rush of heat that rose to your cheeks. “We’re starting with ‘I love you’?”

William’s grin only grew wider, a playful gleam dancing in his eyes. It was the kind of grin that you knew all too well—one that promised both mischief and something deeper. “Why not?” he replied, his voice light but earnest. “It’s essential, don’t you think? And, I’ll teach you how to say it properly so you can tell me in my language.”

Your mouth parted in surprise, a laugh escaping you at how bold he was being. “You’re really starting with that, huh?” you said, trying to mask the blush creeping up your neck and into your cheeks, feeling both embarrassed and flattered by his words.

William didn’t miss a beat. He simply nodded, his expression softening slightly, though that mischievous smile never quite left. “Yep. You’ve got to know how to say it, especially if I’m going to teach you this secret language.” His tone became quieter, almost a little more serious. “You’ll want to know how to tell me.”

His words struck you in a way that you didn’t expect. Something about the way he said it, the warmth in his voice and the sincerity in his gaze, made the simple sentence carry far more weight than you’d anticipated. It wasn’t just a language lesson anymore—it was something personal, something shared. You felt a rush of warmth spread through you, and it wasn’t just from the sunlight streaming in through the window.

William cleared his throat and then spoke the phrase slowly, the words rolling off his tongue with ease. “Jag älskar dig,” he said gently, as if offering you a glimpse into something meaningful and intimate. He repeated it again, his voice soft but firm, emphasizing each syllable, letting the words linger between you. His eyes were fixed on you, watching your every reaction, as if he were both teaching and sharing something important at the same time.

You swallowed, focusing intently on his pronunciation, trying to absorb the foreign sounds and make them your own. “Yahg… ehl-skar deeg?” you said, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar sounds, your voice a little unsure.

William didn’t laugh or make you feel embarrassed, though. Instead, his eyes softened with pride, and he offered a small nod of approval. “Close,” he said, his voice warm and patient. “You’ve got the right idea. Let’s try again, but slower this time.”

You took a deep breath, your heart still fluttering in your chest but feeling more determined now. You wanted to get it right, to do this properly, for him, for yourself. You repeated the words again, more slowly this time, focusing on the rhythm and the softness of the syllables. “Jag älskar dig.”

When you finished, you glanced up at William, your eyes meeting his. The pride in his expression made your heart swell. He was watching you so closely, his gaze soft yet filled with affection. “Perfect,” he exclaimed, his voice sincere, lighting up with warmth. “That’s it. You’re a natural.”

A laugh escaped you, the sound both relieved and a little awestruck. It wasn’t just that you’d gotten the pronunciation right—it was the way William had looked at you. His words weren’t just about the lesson. There was something in his eyes, a deeper meaning behind the praise, and it made the flutter in your chest return with a force that left you speechless. It was as if he was genuinely proud of you, not just for speaking a foreign language, but for being there with him, sharing this experience together. You couldn’t help but feel like you were learning more than just Swedish in that moment.

You gave him a small, shy smile. “I didn’t think I’d be saying ‘I love you’ so soon,” you teased, though the words felt strangely significant in your mouth, like they carried more weight than you expected.

William’s grin softened, his eyes locking with yours as he gave a small, almost intimate shrug. “I think you needed to learn it. You’ll use it one day, I’m sure of it,” he said, his tone quieter now, as if the moment was more than just about the words. There was something deeper there, a silent acknowledgment that this lesson was a bridge between the two of you—a connection built on shared words, shared meaning.

With the first phrase under your belt, William’s playful side began to surface. The atmosphere in the room shifted, and the lesson lightened. You no longer felt the pressure to be perfect with your pronunciation, and you both started to enjoy the learning process more. Each time you stumbled over a word, William would smile and encourage you, never making you feel self-conscious. Instead, his laughter would fill the room, and the entire lesson felt less like work and more like a fun game.

“Okay, now for something really important,” William said, a mischievous gleam lighting up his eyes as he leaned toward you, clearly about to spring something unexpected on you.

You raised an eyebrow, curious. “What’s that?”

William’s grin widened, if possible. “I’m going to teach you something every person should know.”

You chuckled, leaning back slightly, not sure if he was being serious. “What’s that?”

He gave you an exaggerated serious look before breaking into a grin. “It’s ‘My cat is wearing a crown.’”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Wait, what?” you asked, your voice filled with both confusion and amusement. “Are you serious?”

William’s grin only grew, and you could tell from the playful twinkle in his eyes that he was definitely messing with you. “Yes. This is a vital sentence,” he said, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. “You never know when you might need to tell someone your cat is wearing a crown.”

You stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out if he was truly serious or if this was just part of his playful charm. “You’re kidding, right?” you asked, laughing lightly at the absurdity of it all.

He shook his head with mock indignation, clearly delighted by your reaction. “Nope, not kidding. This is real knowledge. You have to be prepared for anything.” He raised an eyebrow in playful challenge. “Min katt har en krona.”

You stared at him, trying to process what he had just said. The phrase was entirely new to you, the sounds unfamiliar, and you didn’t immediately know how to translate it. William gave you a moment to digest the words, and when he saw your slightly confused expression, he added with a wink, “It means ‘My cat is wearing a crown.’”

You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing, your mind processing the absurdity of the phrase he was teaching you. “Wait… so that’s what we’re learning? Really?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Absolutely. It’s important to know. Imagine a situation where you need to tell someone that your cat is wearing a crown and you don’t know how. What then?”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “I’m not sure when this situation would ever come up, but okay. If you say so…”

“Try it,” he encouraged, clearly having far too much fun with this. “Say it, and you’ll be ready for anything.”

Still laughing, you focused on the phrase, trying to repeat it, though you were struggling to get the pronunciation right. You said, “Min katt har en… krona?”

It wasn’t perfect, but you gave it your best shot. The sounds felt strange on your tongue, and you could feel yourself stumbling over some of the unfamiliar words, but you didn’t mind. William’s face lit up when he heard it, and he burst into laughter, clearly delighted by your attempt.

“Perfect! That was great!” he said, clearly entertained by how seriously you’d tried to say it. “Now, you’re ready for anything.”

You laughed with him, shaking your head at the silliness of it all. “I’m glad I’m prepared to tell someone my cat is wearing a crown,” you said, still amused at how absurd the entire lesson was. “I feel so much more… equipped for life now.”

“Exactly!” William said, still chuckling. “You never know when it’ll come in handy, right?”

You both laughed together, the sound of it filling the room and making you feel more at ease than you had been when the lesson first started. The tension that had come with trying to master the new language had faded, replaced by a lightness, a sense of ease, as the lesson turned into a shared joke between the two of you. The whole thing felt so carefree—no pressure, no expectation, just the joy of being in this moment together, laughing and learning at the same time.

As the laughter settled down, you glanced up at William, your heart lighter than it had been all day. You realized that this wasn’t just about learning Swedish—it was about something deeper. The way he made the lesson feel personal, how he’d managed to turn an absurd sentence into a moment of connection, was more meaningful than you realized.

You smiled, looking at him with appreciation. “Thanks for the lesson. You definitely know how to make it fun,” you said, feeling genuinely happy with how things had gone.

William gave you a warm smile, his eyes softening with affection. “Anytime,” he said, his voice quieter now, filled with warmth. “I’ll always make sure you’re ready, no matter what.”

As the lesson went on, the initial nerves you had felt started to melt away completely. William’s presence beside you was steady and reassuring, his focus entirely on you. There was something incredibly calming about the way he interacted with you—no rush, no judgment, just the quiet encouragement of someone who genuinely wanted you to succeed. Each phrase you learned, each new word you mastered, felt like a small victory, and with every accomplishment, you felt more connected to the language and, surprisingly, to William himself.

The words were still unfamiliar on your tongue, the sounds sometimes difficult to wrap your mouth around, but every time you stumbled, William was there with a smile and a gentle correction. He never made you feel self-conscious about your mistakes. Instead, he made each misstep feel like a part of the learning process, something to laugh about together rather than a failure. His encouragement felt like a soft anchor in the sea of newness, and with every word you said, you felt more at home in his presence.

But then, just as you were beginning to settle into the rhythm of the lesson, something shifted. William’s tone, which had been light and playful, softened. His usual teasing smile faded into something more sincere, more intimate. His eyes, which had always been warm and inviting, became even more focused, and there was a quiet intensity behind his gaze that made you pause. You looked up at him, suddenly aware of how close you both were on the couch, the space between you feeling smaller than before.

“You’re doing great,” he said, his voice quieter now. There was a tenderness in his words that you hadn’t noticed before. His eyes locked with yours, and you felt a flutter in your chest, something deeper than the simple joy of learning. “Now, let me teach you something I really want you to know.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the seriousness in his tone. You couldn’t tell whether he was still talking about the lesson or if there was something more in the words he was about to say. It felt like this was no longer just about Swedish—there was something unspoken, something in the air between you that made everything feel different.

You looked up at him, your voice soft as you asked, “What is it?”

He paused, as if carefully considering his next words. When he spoke again, his voice was even more gentle, almost like he was sharing a secret with you, something that mattered deeply. “It’s Du gör mig lycklig,” he said, the words rolling off his tongue in a way that felt intimate, personal. His eyes softened, and the intensity in them grew, making your pulse quicken. “It means ‘You make me happy.’”

You repeated the phrase after him, your voice faltering slightly as you tried to absorb the new sounds. “Du gör mig lycklig.” The words felt heavy on your tongue, but they were beautiful in their simplicity. And as you said them, something about their meaning sank deeper into your chest—more than just the translation, more than the language itself. The weight of the phrase, the truth in it, settled in the quiet space between you.

William’s smile returned, but it was different this time. It wasn’t playful or teasing—it was something warmer, more tender, as if he was allowing you to see a side of him that was rarely exposed. He nodded at you in approval, his eyes full of affection. “Perfect,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You make me happy too, you know?”

Your breath caught in your throat as you met his gaze, the sincerity in his words hitting you harder than you expected. The phrase—Du gör mig lycklig—suddenly felt like more than just words. It felt like a declaration, a shared moment of truth between you two. It wasn’t just about learning Swedish; it was about the way William was making you feel. It was about the way his words reached you, deeper than you had expected, and how they seemed to confirm something you hadn’t fully realized until now: that he truly cared about you, not just as a student, but as something more.

You looked into his eyes, the words carrying more weight than just the language itself. It wasn’t just about learning Swedish—it was about the way he was making you feel.

The lesson continued, but it was clear that something had shifted in the air between you. The words you were learning, the phrases you were repeating, had begun to feel more significant, more personal. As William guided you through each new phrase, there was an unspoken understanding building between the two of you. It wasn’t just about the language anymore—it was about something deeper, something more intimate. With every word, you found yourself drawn closer to him, and each time he smiled at you, each encouraging glance, made your heart beat just a little faster.

The afternoon light cast a warm glow over the room, the soft golden beams drifting through the windows, wrapping around you both in a quiet embrace. The room felt still, the world outside fading away as you focused entirely on William and the lesson that had taken on a new depth. You felt his presence next to you more than ever—the way he was so attuned to you, how his every word seemed to draw you closer. The distance between you, both physically and emotionally, seemed to shrink with each passing minute.

William’s voice softened, no longer the lighthearted tone of a teacher, but something deeper, more meaningful. He moved just a little closer, his eyes locking with yours, and there was something in his gaze that made your heart skip a beat. You weren’t sure what it was, but you could feel the change, the moment that you both seemed to cross a line into something more.

“I think you’re ready for the final lesson,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, as though the words were meant just for you. The air between you both seemed to thicken, the tension building in a way that had nothing to do with the language itself. “This one is very important.”

Your breath hitched at the softness in his tone, the warmth in his eyes making your chest tighten. You couldn’t help the way your heart began to race a little faster, the quiet anticipation settling in your veins. “What’s that?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly, though you tried to keep it steady.

William’s lips curled into a smile, one that seemed to carry all the warmth and affection he had for you. Slowly, he leaned in just a fraction closer, his voice lowering even more as he spoke the words. “It’s Jag är så glad att du är här med mig,” he said gently, his words lingering in the air, their meaning settling over you like a soft blanket. “It means, ‘I’m so happy you’re here with me.’”

You repeated the phrase after him, the words feeling both foreign and incredibly meaningful. “Jag är så glad att du är här med mig.” The words felt like a promise, like something more than just a translation. As you said them, you felt them resonate deeply within you, a quiet acknowledgment of how much this moment, this connection, meant to you.

William’s eyes softened as he listened to you, the smile on his face turning tender. He nodded slowly, his pride clear in the way he looked at you. “You’re really getting it now,” he said, his voice thick with meaning, as though the words carried more weight than they ever had before.

You could feel William’s gaze on you, and for a moment, everything else in the room seemed to vanish—there was nothing but him, his eyes locked onto yours with a softness that made your heart skip a beat. The world around you blurred, the faint hum of the room fading into nothingness as the space between you seemed to shrink. The warmth of the sunlight still filled the room, but it felt like it had settled around you both, enveloping you in a cocoon of quiet intimacy.

William’s eyes softened as he looked at you, a hint of something deeper in them that made your breath catch. He reached out slowly, as if the very act was deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment. His hand, warm and steady, gently cupped your cheek, the touch light but firm, grounding you in the present. His thumb brushed softly against your skin, and it was as though the whole world had stopped moving. Every other thought, every lingering doubt, disappeared in the wake of his touch. His hand on your cheek felt like an unspoken invitation, a promise without words—inviting you closer, drawing you into a space where the world beyond didn’t matter.

Your heart hammered in your chest, each beat thudding louder as you held his gaze, unable to tear your eyes away. It felt like an electric charge in the air, a current of something that you both couldn’t deny. The closeness between you seemed to grow with every breath, the space between you becoming smaller and smaller, and it was impossible to ignore the heat that flared between you. Every inch of your body seemed to lean into him, drawn in by the quiet force of his presence.

“Jag är så glad att du är här med mig,” William whispered, his voice lower now, soft like velvet, a careful, deliberate sweetness in the way the words left his lips. The phrase, one you had just learned, felt even more powerful in that moment as he repeated it, the quiet intensity in his voice carrying a depth that took you by surprise. You could feel the sincerity behind the words, the warmth of them, as they seemed to hang in the air between you.

Your breath caught in your throat, your pulse quickening. He leaned in closer, and everything inside you felt like it was suspended in time—your heart, your breath, the very air itself. You could feel his breath mingling with yours, soft and warm, each inhale and exhale blending together as the distance between you vanished entirely. It was as though your bodies were pulling toward one another, as if you were being drawn into a magnetic pull, an unspoken understanding that this was where you were meant to be.

And then, the moment stretched out, just a fraction longer before he closed the distance, his lips brushing gently against yours. The kiss was slow, soft—a tender exploration that felt more like a conversation than a gesture. His lips were warm, almost impossibly soft against yours, as though he was savoring the moment as much as you were. The kiss wasn’t rushed, there was no urgency—just the quiet, intimate connection between the two of you, full of meaning and unspoken words.

Each second of the kiss felt like it held everything—the lessons, the laughter, the connection you had been building over time. It was as though this kiss was the culmination of everything that had come before it, all of those little moments of vulnerability, those shared smiles and glances, now woven together into something undeniable. His lips were so gentle against yours, the sweetness of the kiss lingering even after he pulled away just slightly, his forehead resting gently against yours.

For a long, breathless moment, you stayed like that—close, your foreheads touching, your hearts still racing in time with one another. The softness of his breath brushed against your skin, and the space between you both was filled with a quiet intimacy that made everything else feel distant, unimportant. There was only him, only this moment, and it felt like everything in the world had led you to this.

When he finally pulled back just a fraction, his eyes fluttering open and meeting yours, you were both breathing softly, as if the world had slowed down to a gentle pace. You couldn’t find the words at first. Your chest felt tight, your heart still beating faster than normal, and everything in you was full of warmth—of something more than just the kiss, more than the lesson. It was something that lingered in the space between you, something that felt unspoken yet understood completely.

“I’m so glad you’re here with me, too,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, and it felt like the words had been there, waiting to be said. You realized then that it wasn’t just about the Swedish phrase anymore—it was about the truth you had found in each other, the connection that had deepened without either of you needing to say anything more.

William smiled, his eyes warm and full of affection as he met your gaze. He didn’t need to say anything more, but the way his fingers brushed against your cheek, the way he pulled you just a little closer, spoke volumes. “Always,” he said softly, his voice rich with meaning. “You’re always welcome here, älskling (darling). Always.”

[mrspiastri]

7. “I was trying to play it cool, but then you smiled, and now I’m a lost cause.” with Charles Leclerc + friends to lovers pls

charles leclerc x reader

prompt 7. “I was trying to play it cool, but then you smiled, and now I’m a lost cause.”

💌💌💌

Charles was in trouble.

Had been, for a while now.

He had always been good at keeping his cool. At least, that’s what he told himself every time Y/N did something that made his heart race—like the way she absentmindedly ruffled his hair when she thought it needed fixing, or how she switched effortlessly between French and Italian when she got excited. They had been friends for years, their bond built on playful banter, late-night drives, bickering over who had better music taste and the kind of trust that felt unshakable.

It had always been easy. Simple.

Until it wasn’t.

He wasn’t sure when it happened—when the way he saw Y/N shifted from best friend to the only person who could ruin me with a smile. Maybe it was that night in Italy when they got caught in the rain, both laughing as she pulled him into the downpour. Or maybe it was the time she fell asleep on his shoulder during a long flight, trusting him completely, her head tucked against his neck.

Or maybe it was always meant to be like this.

Either way, he was screwed.

Because she was still looking at him like he was just her best friend, and all he wanted to do was tell her that she was everything.

Tonight, they were at his apartment in Monaco, curled up on the couch after dinner, a movie playing in the background that neither of them were watching. Y/N had her legs tucked beneath her, wearing one of his hoodies—one she had stolen months ago and never returned.

“Okay, serious question,” she said, turning to face him. “If I was in a life-or-death situation, do you think you’d save me first or finish your race?”

Charles scoffed, feigning offense. “Chérie, I would abandon my car mid-lap if you so much as stubbed your toe.”

She laughed, the sound bright and sweet, but he wasn’t joking. Not even a little.

Y/N shook her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

She grinned, nudging him playfully. “Maybe a little.”

He didn’t mean to stare. He really didn’t. But she looked so effortlessly beautiful—her hair falling messily around her face, her lips slightly parted as she smiled at him like he was her favorite person in the world.

And maybe that was why he said it.

“I was trying to play it cool,” he admitted, voice soft, “but then you smiled, and now I’m a lost cause.”

The teasing light in her eyes dimmed. She blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise. “Charles-“

“I mean it, Y/N.” He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. His voice was quieter now, steadier.

“I’ve been trying to pretend I don’t feel this way. That we’re just friends. But then you look at me, and everything I’ve been trying to ignore—” He shook his head, a small, almost embarrassed laugh escaping.

“It doesn’t work. It never works.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at him with something unreadable in her gaze. Then, without warning, she shifted closer, her fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. “You’re an idiot,” she murmured.

He froze. “What?”

She rolled her eyes, but her voice was impossibly soft when she spoke again. “For thinking I don’t feel the same way.”

And just like that, his heart completely gave out.

He barely had time to react before she kissed him, her hands sliding into his hair, pulling him closer. Charles let out a shaky breath against her lips, his arms wrapping tightly around her like he had been waiting for this forever. Because he had.

When they finally broke apart, Y/N was smiling, her forehead resting against his. “Took you long enough.”

Charles let out a breathless laugh, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Mon amour, I think I’ve loved you forever.”

[kiyzukiy]

Cat distribution system

Sypnosis: Life is hard as it is, so all we all wish for is some comfort in a furry friend. No one accounted for life playing funny tricks so what would happen if you find Caleb in a trash dumpster?

Tags: reader x Caleb, fluff, Cat!Caleb, crack?, funny (hopefully)

A/N: I got inspired by another fic I found on here with a similar flow. If anybody knows what I'm talking about please tag that person. I don't want to disregard any original ideas! >.<

As always, if I missed any tags please tell me.

Word count: 4.8k

I hope you enjoy <3

Divider by me

You groan as you stretch yourself out. Sitting too long is always such a hassle. Tired bones and you felt like your muscles have calcified. If you wouldn't have moved now someone could have mistaken you for a stone statue the way you were perched at your work desk and scrolled endlessly through files. 

Doesn't matter now though. The clock finally releasing you from your workload. Tomorrow was also a day and the files wouldn't suddenly grow legs and run away. No need to do overtime today. 

You rubbed your face. Trying to shake off your exhaustion and slowly blinking the dryness in your eyes away. One more stretch that let out a satisfying crack in your back and you stood up. Packing your things together and making sure that this time you also took your thermal mug with you. Waving your coworkers goodbye you made your way home. Head already in the clouds with your game. Planning your time out of doing your dailies and just admiring your favourite fictional man. A pity that they don’t build men like that in real life.

The chill evening air hitting your face made you shiver the first step you took outside. Cuddling up in your coat and wrapping your scarf up just a tad higher you began your track home. 

Fuck it's cold, you think to yourself. When would spring arrive and you didn't have to be out in this freezing weather anymore? Don't get me wrong, winter is something beautiful and when the snow hits the landscape it was akin to a fairy tale setting. The sunsets even more stunning with the low light and making everything glisten. Colours spreading over the horizon in deep violet and heartwarming orange. Frozen over roads just a bit slippery which made your way to work a small adventure when you played the game “do I land on my bum today or not?”. But enough was enough. 

You wanted the sun back in your days having had your fill with this gloomy grey cloudscape. Waking up when it was still dark out and going home when night greets you again was draining more of your energy than you liked to admit. What made matters worse wasn't even that it didn’t affect only you, but that the melancholic and cold atmosphere was spreading slowly over to the people around you. It was in the way minor inconveniences would grate the nerves of your colleagues or the small tick of the jaw of your boss. The forced smile in service people who normally would make it seem genuine. Point was: everyone was fed up and ready for the seasons to change. When was the last time you saw the sun actually? Was it last October? Two weeks ago? You don't remember anymore. Just- just a long time ago. Pretty sure. Maybe you were a bit dramatic but all you wanted was to feel the warmth again and getting your vitamin D in. 

A rustle next to you snapped you out of your self-pitying lament. Confused you turned your head to the right. Nothing. Just a dark alley. A car passed you by on your left, shortly illuminating a sliver of said alley. A dumpster could be made out but nothing exciting. You shrugged your shoulders and took one step, but another rustle stopped you once more. A sigh left you. Would you really go investigate? You swore this is how the stupid character out of a horror movie always died. This exact way but the curiosity in your mind and veins tried their very best to lure you into that alley to go look. One peak wouldn't hurt right? A man who wanted to drag you into it would have done it by now. There wouldn't be a more perfect chance than right now. The way you stood there like a fine lady in bewilderment. 

This is what you get when you forget the one time your headphones at home. If it would be any other day, you would have continued on. Having passed this particular alley countless times and in daylight it wouldn’t be as scary as it was in this instance. Hopping from one foot to the other, you were uncertain. Would you really? You also could just…leave. Never finding out and always wondering. Spending sleepless nights wondering what could have been in this very alley that made these rustling noises. Or you would forget about it as soon as tomorrow morning came. Maybe it was just the wind that blew over a leaf or bag. On the other hand this could be a cool story you could tell your friends about. Or you could get mugged. 

Alright fuck it. You go. Otherwise you would stand out here in the cold for the next ten minutes pondering about if this decision will have negative consequences on your life. 

Tentatively you took one step into the alley. Instantly your common sense kicked in and pressed adrenaline into your veins. My god, this is the way you would die. Mentally have written your testament and who you would leave behind what you took another step. 

“Hello?”, you asked hesitantly into the night. Frustrated with yourself you grunted. Naturally a serial killer would answer you out of the alley with “yes, behind this dark corner. I made sandwiches, you want one?”. 

You had half a mind just turning back around again, but as if on cue another rustle. This time followed with a bang out of the dumpster. You let out a breath of relief. Oh by the gods, it was just a stray animal…or was it? Nevertheless the strong grip of fear that held your breathing back let a bit loose and you made your way to the dumpster with sure steps. 

Your heart clenched in your chest at the thought that maybe an unlucky racoon got trapped in the dumpster and would meet an unsightly end in one of the waste disposal sites. Without a second thought you opened it and peered inside. Barely enough light from the street lights flooded one side of the dumpster and you saw- nothing. It was pitch black. Quickly you patted your pockets. First coat and then your pant pockets for your phone. One hand fished for it and rather clumsy you unlocked it to get to your flashlight. Now with your weapon of light you peered inside once more and this time you saw- trash. At first. A lot of it, nothing out of the ordinary for a dumpster in a lived in neighborhood. Out of the corner of your eye you saw movement and following it was your hand with your phone. 

“Naaww you poor guy. How did you end up in here?”, you cooed after you spotted a brown cat that had a completely black right arm. Its fluffy fur was completely damped and it looked very dirty. Also something you could expect of a stray cat. Slowly and cautiously you held out your hand to it as to not scare the cat away. 

“Come here. Let me help you”, you said in a low voice. The cat looked at you, then at your hand, rather unimpressed. In true cat manner it seemed like it wanted to say “I don't need your help puny little human”. You giggled. 

“Come on. I don't bite and as soon as you are out of the dumpster I leave you alone. What do you say?”, you tried to reason with the cat as if it could understand you. To your astonishment it acted like it did. Suspicious of your hand the cat sniffed it first. Deeming you not an immediate threat it rose up from its position and stepped closer to your hand and yourself. Slowly you dragged your hand to a spot where you could easily grab the cat and lift it out. 

“Alright buddy. I’m going to grab you now so don't make me regret it by scratching me”, you spoke more to yourself than the cat. You really didn't want to go to the next doctor and get a tetanus vaccine in. The cat still unimpressed with you followed your movement though. Securely you wrapped one hand around its ribcage and the other, after putting your phone away, beneath its hind paws and scooped it up and over the dumpster back on the ground. 

“There ya go”, you smiled down at the cat. “Didn’t even hurt.” 

The cat looked up at you and only then do you notice its blue eyes that really dipped into a deep violet. A splatter of yellowish green accompanied the irises. For such a beautiful cat to be a stray, you almost didn't believe it. 

Also, the cat didn't move. You fully expected it to dash away as soon as its paws were back on the ground but it just stood in front of you. Almost like it was waiting for something. 

“Go on now. Go home”, you crouched down and offered your hand again. “Or don't you have a home? Such a beautiful cat as yourself.” 

The cat once more went to your hand. Starting to purr as it rubbed its head against your hand. Demanding pats. 

“Yes”, you giggled. “Such a handsome cat. And friendly too. You must have a home, right?” 

The cat meowed as if it tried to answer you. Your heart broke a bit. For sure this handsome fellow had a home. As you absentmindedly patted the cat all over you looked around. You felt no collar around the cat’s neck and wondered who it could belong to. Thinking about what to do next, the cat started to rub itself around you. Bumping into you and almost pushing you out of balance. 

“Alright, alright”, you began patting it in earnest again. 

“So, how about I take you home with me for now and then just put up missing posters, hm? Is that a plan?”, you asked the cat. Meowing back at you, you took it as a yes to your plan. Inwardly you celebrated. The cat distribution system finally chose you! Maybe not for long but you now were in the possession of a new cuddly friend. You might not have anything at home but that could be easily fixed. This beautiful fellow also might not stick around for long but for however long you swore you would take the best care of him. Her? It? Right, you never ascertained which gender the cat had. Eh, whatever. As long as you didn't get attached to it and without much pain could give it away again, all was good. Right. Right? 

Future you will hate you for this decision. 

The cat stretched, walking around you once more and then pawing at your knees as if to beg to get picked up again. Opening your coat and scooping it up from the ground, you fulfilled the cat’s wishes. 

“My god. You are really friendly”, you mused to yourself and scratched the cat's head to which in return it purred even louder. 

Together you made your way out of the alley. The dumpster forgotten and your way home just a bit warmer. 

“Don’t run away, okay?”, you said softly to the cat before untangling it from your torso. On your track home it made itself very comfortable on you while you carried it. Its head often flitting from one place to another. You blamed the new height of perspective for the cat's behaviour. Couldn’t blame it, really. Imagine yourself getting hoisted up five times your own height and then carried around places that you never seen before. Now that would be an adventure. For the most part the breathing was calm so you didn’t worry that much. More surprised at the fact how the cat didn’t struggle once to get free. Just enjoying the free ride. 

Cat on the ground in front of the door of your apartment you dove one hand into your bag, trying to find your keys that you carelessly flung inside. With half an eye on the cat all the time. Not that it would decide in the last moment to make a run for it. Granted that it wouldn’t come far or could cats push open an apartment complex door? Probably not or the coincidence would just be big enough that one of your neighbors decided to go out in that exact moment as well. 

You shook your head off these thoughts. Cat was still on the ground and eyeing your door expectantly. Seemingly cat wasn’t even thinking about going anywhere but inside your apartment and here you were already thinking about all the different possible scenarios that would ensue when it ran away. Silly you. 

Key victoriously between your fingers you finally unlocked your home and cat dashed inside like the devil was after it. Puzzled you stood at your door for a bit. 

“Alright? Well…make yourself at home, I guess”, slowly trudging you went after it into your own four walls. Serotonin tingling your brain with the happiness that cat was very excited to explore its new home. 

Exhaustion slowly made itself apparent. Clawing at you and dragging your already tired body. Exhaustion and hunger but motivation wasn’t nowhere near you to make yourself food instantly. Cat on the other hand was curiously looking around. Taking in its new environment. Sniffing, patting around and jumping on shelves to get a better view. 

“Don’t throw it down, I swear to god”, you warned as you spotted cat near a vase with flowers inside. Body despite the sluggish feeling ready to jump to save the vase from its crashing end. Expertly the cat avoided the glass and danced around anything that was not stable. You let out a breath of relief. Automatically your body carried to your couch in the living room on which you rather unceremoniously slumped down on. Ah, finally home. 

_____

How the fuck did he get here? One moment he was in the deepspace tunnel, conducting a new mission and the next he had four paws. Trash surrounded him, it was fucking dark too. He could make out the sound of cars passing by and people walking on the street. Where was he? To his own surprise he wasn’t that cold until he realised that he had fur as well and when he tried to speak only a meow came out. In no way in hell did he turn into a cat, did he? No. What? 

In his moment of utter disorientation, a lid opened and a beautiful face peered down to him. Down? Ah, right. The cat thing. 

Caleb watched you fumble for your phone only to be blinded the very next moment by the harsh light of a phone flashlight. It took several blinks to get his bearing again. You reached out your hand to him. Now this was getting ridiculous. “Poor guy”? “How did he end up here”? Sweetheart, that's what he should be asking. Who the fuck are you anyway and why did you open up this-? Where was he? Is this a trash dumpster? Oh his fucking gods. If he could sigh in annoyance, he would. 

Caleb eyed your hand suspiciously. The smart move would be to take it. Considering everything, he couldn’t get out of this dumpster alone and what could be worse is that, tomorrow the dumpster could be emptied. Nor did he trust humanity enough that another friendly soul would come and pick him up or at least get him out. You were his only shot right now, even if he didn’t want to admit it. So? He sniffed you. Creepy in his own mind but he was a cat now. The least he could do was to make it look convincing. 

You pulled your hand closer to yourself as if to lure him out of his corner. As if he wouldn’t just go to you willingly. How long would he need to put up with this act? Irritation flared up within him. This is so beneath him. 

Scratch you? Yeah, why not actually? Instead he let him get picked up gently. Now was not the time to bite the hand that was feeding him.

The moment was faster over than he could comprehend. Swoop- and he was back on the ground. Caleb looked around. Alright, an alley and- you. In your full glory. Black pants, hair tied up, thick scarf around your neck, an open hanging coat and warm looking boots. Beautiful, pretty and cozy looking. Not a threat. A quick scan and he was certain you carried no gun. Not his worst choice, he thought. 

Let's make a run for it. What do cats normally do to get pity? Humans usually die to pet them. Swallowing his pride he went to you. Did he like to get touched? Sensitive question. If it would be his childhood friend, he wouldn’t mind but a complete stranger? In this form no less? God, that needed willpower and he was already running low because of this situation. Please let this all be a dream and he would wake up in a few moments in Skyhaven. 

“A home?”, yeah in the arms of someone else but that was not here. Just where in heaven sake was he? Get this over with, woman and just take him with you. 

Please, he meowed. Inwardly he sighed. Good lord…

Mercy was shown and you actually picked him up. Giddy and a happy smile on your face you wrapped him up in your coat. It was warm and against his own doing he began to purr at the sensation. Okay so maybe this wasn’t as bad as he imagined. Distracted a bit and sleep pulling at him, he let himself enjoy this small reprieve for a bit. 

Lights flitted by behind his eyelids and he looked around. First fact? This is not Linkon nor Skyhaven. Second, he didn’t recognise anything. If this was in fact a dream, his subconsciousness was running wild today. The only thing grounding him was you. Your warmth, your soothing touch and your somewhat familiar scent that he confused with that of MC. It wasn’t as overwhelming or confusing when he could nuzzle up to you for now. Just shortly, only for a bit. To get his mind back on track, you know? 

The walk you both took, well- you took with him being carried, was not long lived. You said something but he didn’t pay any attention. Something something not running away something something. Where would he go anyway? For christ sake he was a cat right now. First thing he needs to get rid off anyway. Second thing was to get back home. Like home. Once more begging to the skies above that this was a dream. A very vivid one. Caleb couldn't decide if this was a nightmare or not. Was he maybe more exhausted than he wanted to admit? Did he have an accident on his expedition and was now in a coma? Please let it be just that. Maybe also just cognitive training done by Ever. What does he know? 

He heard keys jiggling, a soft clicking of a lock falling back and then a door opening. The ash-brown haired man…uh cat made a run for it. Into the apartment! He stopped in his tracks to get everything in. Analysing your furniture and layout. There was one floor length window that opened up to a small, cozy balcony. A couch in an open space that he guessed was your living room. With a TV mounted to the opposite side of the couch. A lengthy cupboard underneath. On it a few nick-nacks: a charger cable connected to a tablet, a switch console and a bunch of books. The couch itself was decorated with plushies and cushions rounded up with a throw blanket. Some of the walls accented by warm pastel colours to widen the otherwise small space. He peered down one corridor and made out two doors. Guessing one of them was a bathroom and the other your own. 

Caleb inspected your walls. The one on the far end and left of the couch was more bookshelf than wall. Filled up almost to the brim but he spotted also there nick-nacks in between. He jumped on the couch arm and continued on another shelf. Slowly getting closer to your kitchen area. Once more he heard you say something. Bla bla not throwing down something. He had half a mind to fuck with you, but again not the opportunity to bite the hand that feeds him. Curious what you meant in the first place he looked back and felt the vase against his body. God it was so weird to see his fluffy legs and a tail too. Dirt clung to the fur and he wondered what he did before he regained his consciousness in that dumpster. But better not test what it would take to make you throw him out back on the street. For all he could know, you could be the one with answers. If not, he could still leave. 

Rustling and then a dull thumb. Caleb once more looked back. You all but collapsed on your couch and let out a sigh. Tiredness was written all over your face. Your body practically radiated exhaustion. The ash-brown cat didn’t notice before but how could he? Way too immersed in his own problems. Nonetheless were you kind enough to pick him up. Brave enough to go into that spooky alley. Hell, he wouldn’t have. Not without a gun at least. You also were nice enough to carry him here. Not once complaining. If he dares to say, happy to have him with you. Just as warm as he was. Disregarding that he smelled like the trash he lay in.

Suddenly you moved, like you just remembered something important. As if possessed you scrambled up and reached for your tablet. Okay? 

Back to discovering your place he left you to your own devices. 

Noises sprung from your tablet. An interesting melody and a woman singing. Just what were you doing? Playing a game? Well, he was done looking at your kitchen that was, well what could be interesting about a kitchen? It was a kitchen. Jumping from the counter to your table and back on the ground he tapped over to you. One last jump on the couch right next to you. What he saw next made his breath hitch. 

There she was. His childhood friend. On the screen…with another guy? Did you just took pictures of her with another man? Who was he? Some dude with white hair and a pose slung around his childhood friend. They looked happy together. Frozen in time for the picture. What is going on? Did you know her? How could you do this? How- what? How did you take pictures of her? Switching her poses like that? But why did it look so much like a game? Like a 3D rendering of her? What was going on? 

But as soon as he needed to process what he saw, your fingers deftly moved over the screen and collected some rewards in an…event? What? Huh? 

“Is it a new bug? Why can’t I select Caleb?”, you mumbled to yourself. Completely oblivious to the distress ball that he was right now. To your own confusion you couldn’t do anything with Caleb in your game besides recalling the memories you have obtained of him. 

The head of just mentioned man reared. What was happening? Did you know him? What was this game? Who are you? What is happening?! 

Enough, he jumped on your tablet. 

“What the- ey!”, you exclaimed and he just meowed back. That's what he wanted to yell right now. What was going on?! Answer him! 

“You can’t just- get off!”, you giggled. Not taking his jumbling, confusing emotions and obvious distress seriously. 

Okay, different approach. He quickly needed a different approach. Before he could come up with anything you picked him up once more and placed him beside you. Damn him right now for being nothing but an eight pound raging ball of fur. Take him seriously, god damn it! Caleb began to meow again and cursed inside his thoughts. One paw on your tablet, but you giggled again. 

“What is it? You also want to play?”, you smiled at him, picked him up. Again. Woman, do it one more time and he is going to forget his rational part about him and would really bite you. He needed answers and not pats. Oh- okay. You placed him on your lap. The tablet on your knees so he could have a good view of it. 

“Should I explain it to you?”, you continued on and began showing him everything the game had to offer. Beginning with talking with four different men, battling wanderers in bounty hunting or abyssal chaos up to the “main story”, as you called it, until the memories you collected of said four men. Him included as the fifth. What? Without thinking he raised his paw on “falling for you” and selecting himself. Not half a fuck given that he gave himself away, that he was, in fact, not a cat. That's the whole point though, wasn't it? He was a man! Not a damn cat! He was stuck here. God knows where and you! You just playing with her life, with his! With his life like it was a game?! 

These were…all his, well some of them anyway, memories he had with MC. The childhood friend he tried to protect at all costs. Given that his methods weren’t always as pure as he wanted them to be but more often than not necessary. All splayed out for your eyes to see and…rekindle them? Watch them over and over? Relive them?

“Do you like him?”, you asked in a soft voice and he turned to look at you. Totally not caring that he, a cat, was patting on your tablet with human like intelligence. Were you that tired? Half asleep already? 

Like him? He was him! How could he tell you that? So that you would explain further. Maybe he could figure out this way how he got here. Wrecking his brain he tried to come up with anything. Fuck it. Fucking dip this cat shit. Even more so than he already has. How blaringly obvious did he need to be? For your rather slow mind to comprehend what he means. 

Trying to figure out how to show you, tell you or rather scream at you that this 3D rendering of him was he, he put a paw on his image and then on his furry body. As well as he could at least. Which in result was him patting his image then getting up, sitting on his hind legs and putting his paw on his torso area. Caleb begged to the skies above that you understood his message but to his dismay you looked at him puzzled. Oh his fucking gods…

Alright. Different approach. This was taking all of his patience and he barely had none. 

Once more he put one paw on his image that beneath showed a short video out of the perspective of what he only could guess was MC. He didn’t want to think too long about it. Focus. Again he raised his other paw and put it on his chest. This time though he meowed and looked at you imploringly. Please, please let this be enough so you put two and two together. But even he realised that this was rather far-fetched and if this same thing would happen to him, neither would he understand what a cat would try to tell him. 

“What is it? Why-”, and then you looked at the screen that froze over the memory. “Hm?”

Oh my god, did you understand? Please! 

You looked past his small frame and he could see the thoughts behind your eyes. Yes, yes, yes. Yeah, he was Caleb! Come on. Give him answers!

“Nah”, you giggled. Not knowing what you might have said he just nodded with his head. 

“His name is Caleb, should I call you that as well?”, you thought out loud and stroked down from his head to his back. 

No! Yes, his name was Caleb but no! God fucking damn it. Just how was he supposed to tell you that Caleb was well- him. He was Caleb. The same man, now a cat in this universe, that you saw on that screen. Distraught, he wrecked his brain. Unfortunate for him there was no book or briefing or training he could have done to prepare him for playing charades as a cat. “How weird would it be if I named you after a otome game video character?”, you sighed. “God, I must be very lonely to even be considering that.” Maybe, but not the point here, woman. You could question your terrible life choices another time but right now, he needed you to figure out his image riddle!

~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*

Henlo, to everybody that made it all the way down here! I plan on making this a multi part story, so stay tunned! If anybody has some cat involved stuff and want to see it here, don't be too shy to tell me about it <3

Thank you for reading, beautiful soul

[seungfl0wer]

*𝐵𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝑀𝑒*

Pairing: OT8!Vampires x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Polly, Multiple Rounds/Orgasms/Creampies, Biting, Mentions of Blood, Face fucking, Oral(Both), Double P, Light Degrading, Praise, uhm I think that’s it? Sorry for any mistakes or missing warnings

A/N: oh boy is this long. This is basically a one shot. So I hope you enjoy the little Valentine’s Day treat!

-❤️

Today was Valentine’s Day, the day of love. The day where everything was about cute mushy things. Bleh. You didn’t care too much for the so called holiday however your boyfriends did. They always loved spoiling you and today they could do even more.

They have lived long enough to know some of the best ideas. However for you, they always liked going over the top. Living in a world run but monsters it wasn’t super often that they’d find a human. Nor was it even heard of that they’d ever fall in love again. Living as long as they have they’ve seen love come and go and all swore off of dating all together. That is until little ol you came to them. Car braking down by their house as it rained. You didn’t even get out to ask for help just sat there until they ended up seeing your car.

Chan brought you in offering you a place to stay while they got your car fixed. One thing lead to another and you’ve been with them for a few years now. At first it was more of a roommate situation until you found your way into their hearts one by one. The little things you did for them, or the things you’d say. You really just had them all wrapped around your finger. They never even drank from you, opting to go to blood banks for their supplies. A few slip ups here and there but they were more concerned about your well being than getting a meal.

When you woke up this morning, greeted by the smell of breakfast you were met by a sleepy Jisung curled around you. Minho had knocked on your door bringing you breakfast in bed. “Good morning beautiful, I hope you slept well.” He said smiling at you fondly. He placed the food on a small table in-front of you, not before scooting you over so he could cuddle up to you. “Thank you! It looks so good” you replied.

“Shit I’ll be right back I forgot something” he groaned getting back up to grab whatever he had forgotten. In that time jisung had started to wake rubbing his eyes groggily. “Happy Valentine’s Day gorgeous” he said kissing your cheek. “You know the best way to start your day off right?” He said smiling.

“How?” You said back.

“Let me show you” he said as he moved his body down. He kissed your kissed your neck moving down to your collarbone. He kept going down until he was at your waist.

He kissed ever so sweetly against your hips his hands rubbing up and down your thighs. Before you could wrap your head around anything he was pushing your legs apart. Pulling down your panties as he kissed up your leg. He peppered you with more kisses, to your thighs, to your mound and finally to your clit. The sensation made you choke on the small bite of food you had in your mouth. “Ji-“ you whined out softly. He only smirked before licking slowly up your folds. His hands hooking your legs in place so he could get every angel. His wet tongue glided up and down your cunt, lapping at every spot. He nibbled at your clit before he finally pushed his tongue into your now soaked hole.

“Jisung you can’t even let her eat?” Minho said from the door with an annoyed chuckle.

“She can still eat” he snapped back.

Minho rolled his eyes making his way back to you. “His a little horn dog ain’t he?” Minho laughed. “But you are too aren’t you” he said leaning closer to your neck. He kissed it softly his pillowy lips warm against your skin. He cupped your face in one of his hands pulling you into a heated make out session while jisung continued the assault on your sensitive cunt.

Minhos tongue darted into your mouth lapping at your own tongue, swallowing any moans that dared to escape. His hand wondered down your body resting right about your clit. He gave your bottom lip a little nibble before his skilled fingers worked their magic on you. He knew how to get you off so quickly. He knew you like he knew how to breathe, It just came natural to him. He toyed with your clit as jisung messily ate you out. Your body arched off the bed only to be held back down in place with Jisungs strong arms.

“C-close” you said against Minhos lips feeling a powerful high ready to burst from you. Your legs clenched around Jisungs head as they shook.

“Cum for me love, let me taste you” jisung moaned against your cunt.

Minho had other plans though, he pushed down his pants maneuvering himself under you. “No beautiful, I want you to cum on my cock” he groaned.

Jisung didn’t even seem to care as Minho pushed himself into you. Sliding in with ease as to how wet you were. Jisung didn’t stop though, oh no. He started to suck harshly at your clit biting ever so softly. The feeling of being filled so quickly and Jisung ravaging your cunt made your body convulse. Cumming hard around Minhos cock. Jisung lapped at your folds as best as he could. Licking at every drop he could get. “God- need- need you” he moaned out his eyes glossed over as he looked down at you.

“You can take us both right love? Want us both to fuck you?” Minho said below you.

“Y-yes” you stuttered out still recovering from your high.

Jisung quickly rid himself of his pants, almost falling over in the process. He aligned himself to your entrance pushing in with Minhos cock. All three of you let out the most sinful moan at the feeling. They matched each other pace fucking into you in perfect rhythm like they have so many times before. You had a plan of yourself today. You wanted them all to mark you. To leave bite marks anywhere they wanted but you needed them all. Wanted them all.

“Ji- min-minho, I want- I want you both to bite me” you breathed out.

“What? Y/n you can’t say that sort of thing” Jisung whined.

“Please? All I want is for everyone to know I belong to you all. Please. Bite me. Taste every part of me-“ you almost cried.

Jisung was about to say something else before he watched as Minho bit down on your shoulder. The smell of your blood sending him into overdrive. They both were fucking into you deep, their cocks hitting your cervix with every thrust. “Minho!” You screamed as you felt the euphoric feeling of the bite. Minho lapped at the small amount of blood that trickled out before feeling his release drawing near. “Fuck- this is why we don’t feed from you- you just- ah- taste so good” he groaned against your skin.

Jisung leaned down kissing your lips messily before pulling away once more. “Are you positive?” He asked.

You quickly nodded “I’m- I’m so positive” you replied.

Jisung took your hand in his moving your arm to his lips before kissing gently. He let his fangs scrape against your skin before biting down gently. The taste of your blood was to much for him though because as soon as that sweet taste hit his lips. He was cumming, filling you full of his warm cum.

“Jisung- ah- shit- you ass I- fuck I’m cumming!” Minho moaned thrusting deeper into you before filling you just as jisung did. You let out a silent moan body shaking once more as you came again. Your arms flung around jisung pulling him to you as you all tried catching your breath. In the small silence moment your stomach started to rumble making the guys laugh.

“Good job Jisung, y/n’s hungry and it’s all your fault.” Minho teased.

“Sorry love, let’s get you cleaned up so you can finish breakfast yeah?” He said running to get a towel.

—

When you made your way to the kitchen you found Felix making you some of his delicious cookies. “There’s my beautiful angel, how’d you sleep?” He asked flashing you that bright smile.

“I slept well” you replied breathing in deeply “those smell so good” you said making your way behind him.

“They’re still hot so give them a few minutes to cool down ok?” He said.

“But what am I gonna do till then, sit here and drool?” You giggled.

“I mean I could think of something” Felix replied with a little smirk.

“And what’s that?”

With in seconds Felix had you pressed against the counter your loose shirt pushed up. He kissed your neck softly as he spoke “let me make you feel good hmm?” He said as he nibbled your ear. You nodded, pressing your ass back against his already hard cock. “Then I can have cookies” you giggled.

“Yes, then you can have cookies” he laughed.

Felix’s hand roamed up your body playing with your perky nipples as his other hand pushed down his pants. “I love you so much Angel, you have no idea” he said peppering your neck with soft kisses. He pulled back a bit as he saw the bite mark Minho had given you. “Who bit you Angel?” He asked.

“Minho and Jisung, I asked them too. Will you uhm- bite me to you?” You asked.

“We don’t-“ he started to say before you spoke again.

“I know, but I just want everyone to see who I belong to.. so please? Just a little bite?” You said turning your head to look at him.

“Fine.. anything you want angel” he said.

He slid his cock up and down your folds pressing his body against yours. “Anything you ever want I’ll give you” he breathed out before pushing himself into you. Your hands gripped the counter as he slowly moved. He was always so gentle, wanting to take his time with you. He moved a bit faster his free hand now wrapped around your waist pulling you as close as he could get you. He moved looking at your unmarked shoulder “are you sure?” He asked.

“Very- please Lix- bite me” you moaned out.

He hesitated but did as you asked sinking his teeth into your shoulder. The small amount of blood the came out made his eyes roll. His grip around your waist tightened as his speed picked up. He was fucking into you faster and faster. “Lix! Fuck-“ you cried.

“Angel- feel good- feels so good- and you- taste so fucking heavenly I can’t- fuck- fuck-“ he snapped his hips into you hard almost knocking the cookies off the counter. He came quickly, pumping all of him inside you as he let out a low groan against your skin.

The last powerful thrust accompanied by the feeling of his warm cum filling your walls pushed you over the edge. Cumming around his cock that was buried so deep inside you. “That- was hot” Felix said with a light chuckle. “It didn’t hurt did it?” He asked.

“No- felt- felt good” you stuttered. He slowly pulled out grabbing a cloth To clean you up with. He kissed you lovingly as he looked at the mark he had made. “I love you” he said smiling.

“And I love you” he smiled back at him. “Now it’s cookie time” you said making you both laugh.

——

“That’s a dumb idea!” You heard from one of the room.

“She’s gonna love it just you watch” you heard another voice say.

You opened the door slowly peaking your head in. You saw Changbin and Seungmin huddled around something your curiosity getting the better of you. “What are you guys doing?” You asked making them both jump.

“Bunny!” Binnie said smiling. “Hey come here seungmin has a really dumb thing for you” he said laughing.

“It’s not dumb, you’re dumb” he said pouting. “It’s not ready yet but, it will be soon!” He said moving so you could see.

It was a long box that was weirdly shaped with some sort of white foam in it? “What is it?” You asked.

“He made you a dick mold” Changbin blurted out.

“What?” You said confused.

“I made a mold of my dick, and I’m letting the silicone dry now. You can use it when we are away.” He said with a smirk.

“So you made me a dildo of your cock?” You said with a laugh.

“See it’s dumb” Changbin said crossing his arms.

“No no I didn’t say it was dumb it’s just funny.” You replied. “You’re not away now though, so.. I can just use the real thing right?” You said with a smirk.

“Yes! Yes you can! Right now?” He said with wide eyes pulling you towards the bed.

“Wow slow down there puppy” you said teasingly.

But he didn’t wanna hear it. He pushed your body down against the bed. Quickly straddling you before leaning down to kiss you. “Hey that’s not fair I’m here too!” Changbin said making his way over to you two.

“Hey you said my idea was dumb! See where it got me” Seungmin teased. Changbin rolled his eyes before hooking his arms around seungmins waist hosting him off of you. He quickly took his place leaning down to kiss you just like Seungmin did.

“Ass! She’s mine!” Seungmin growled trying to push Changbin from you, but to no avail.

“Gentleman please, don’t fight over little ol me. You can share” you said with a smile.

Seungmin grumbled as he moved behind you, pulling your body to him. Your back resting on his chest. He kissed your neck, Changbin quickly going to take your panties off. “No panties?” He said with a smirk.

“Felix took them off earlier” you said with a chuckle.

“Yeah? One of these marks are from him? And the other two?” Seungmin asked his finger tracing over the bite marks on your shoulder.

“Yes, that’s what I want today. I want you all to mark me.” You said.

“Yeah? Bunny wants to show the world who she belongs to hmm? Seungmins not a nice biter though” he teased.

“He’s right for once. Are you sure?” He asked.

“Yeees.” You said.

Changbin let his hand run up your legs, his fingers finding your clit. Your body jumped at the feeling. Your clit already sensitive from the morning. Seungmin chuckled against your skin as he kissed your neck. “Lift your hips for me” he asked. And you did just that lifting your hips up as he aligned himself to your entrance. “Gonna let us ruin this perfect pussy?” He said as he moved his tip up and down your folds

“Y-yes- fuck yes please” you whined.

“Such a needy little bunny” Changbin said with a smirk.

Seungmin grabbed ahold your hips pulling you down onto his cock. “Fuck I’ll never get tired of the feeling of being inside you- so- so fucking warm” he groaned.

“My pretty bunny, open that mouth for me yeah? Let me use it” Changbin said now standing beside you cock in hand. You nodded opening your mouth as he asked. He slowly glided the head into your mouth head falling back at the feeling. You took him in and out as seungmin fucked into you fast.

Seungmin grabbed ahold of your head “come on love, you can suck him off better than that.” He growled pushing your head further down Changbins length. “Shit- ah- fuck bunny-“ changbin moaned out his hands coming up to stop seungmins movements. However you agree with Seungmin you could do better. You could be making him see stars. And you will. You bobbed your head faster taking all of his length into your mouth. His hands rested on your head, gripping onto your hair as if to ground himself.

Seungmin picked a spot to mark you, slightly above Minhos. Closer to your neck. He dug his teeth into you a bit harder than the rest making your eyes roll back. You were so close to coming just at that feeling. Seungmin lapped at the blood that pooled around the marks eyes blowing out at his grip on your hips tightened. His hand came down to toy with your clit giving it a harsh slap as he fucked into you like he hated you.

You were moaning loudly around Changbins cock the vibrations sending him into overdrive. He started to fuck into your mouth faster chasing after his own high. “Fucking hell you taste so fucking good” Seungmin hissed. His eyes caught a glimpse of Changbin who was barely holding back his release. He smirked at the thought that crossed his mind before grabbing your head once more. He pushed your head quickly, taking all of changbin back your throat.

Bins legs shook at the feeling cumming back your throat. He let out a low groan holding onto your hand tightly as his hot cum dripped down your throat. He glared down at the younger man before pulling away from your mouth. He kissed your lips softly, kissing down your body to your chest. He smirked biting down at the top of your breast. Your body shook once more from the pleasure not realizing how close your high was till now. You came hard around seungmins cock making him moan loudly.

“Fuck- fuck- love- ah-“ he moaned out before cumming deep inside you with a whine.

“You did that on purpose ass!” Seungmin whined loudly.

“Yeah well now we’re even.” He said. Before coming up to you to cup your face once more. “Are you ok bunny?” He asked grabbing you a glass of water he had. You nodded sipping on the drink. “Never- better” you chuckle.

——

“Hey beautiful we are gonna go out for dinner later. I think innie has something he wants you to wear.” Chan said from the door of your room.

“Oooh I’ll go see him!” You said with a smile.

You made your way to his room Chan following behind you to see your reaction.

“Perfect y/n you’re here! I got this for you! I wanted to match for our dinner tonight.” He said with a smile.

“That’s so sweet” you said making your way to him to hug him. “Want me to try it on?” You said grabbing the cute outfit he had picked. He nodded eagerly.

They both watched as you undressed but something quickly caught Chans eyes. “Princess, who’s been biting you?” He said concerned.

“Oh! I asked them too! I really- uhm- well I really want you all to mark me! So I can show them off y’know?” You said becoming a bit shy at the way he was looking at you.

“I see.. and you still need a few huh?” He said a grin growing across his face.

You could only nod the feeling of his eyes making your heart do flips. “I guess it’s me and innies turn huh?” He said moving closer to you.

“I- I- uhm-“ you stuttered out.

“Princess use your words, tell me. Tell me how badly you want us to put those pretty marks on you.” He said his warm breath fanning against your neck.

“So- badly” you gulped.

“Let’s give Princess what she wants innie?” He said looking over at the boy who already had a tent growing in his pants at thought.

Jeongin hovered above you now, his free cock slowly sliding up and down your cunt as he kissed your chest. Chan stood beside you cock tapping on your tongue. “Open wide princess” he said with a smirk. He pushed his cock back your throat hitting the back almost instantly from his size. Jeongin continued to rut against your cunt moaning against your skin. His eyes met where changbin had marked making his head go fuzzy. He slipped into you accidentally making him moan loudly.

“Fuck- fuck- warm- so warm” he moaned against your skin. His hips moved back and forth sloppily. No rhythm just fucking into you desperately. Chans hand cupped your face as he slid his cock in and out of your mouth. “Gonna make innie cum already” he chuckled.

You glared up at him before twirling your tongue around his sensitive head. His hips bucked on their own a low groan slipping past his lips. “Fuck- Princess-“

Jeongins head was reeling he was close already but he wasn’t gonna cum just yet. No. He still needed to leave a mark on you. As he kissed your breast, tongue twirling around your sensitive nipples. He bit down, sinking his teeth around your breast making your body twitch in pleasure. The taste of your sweet blood met his tongue and he was gone. Fucking into you quicker his big hands gripping onto your waist leaving marks. “That’s it- fuck- take it- take all of me- gonna fill you- s’full” he cried.

His high hit him hard cumming inside you as his body shook. Your hands came up grabbing ahold of Chans balls, massaging them the way he loved. His eyes rolled back as you took control. Bobbing your head fast as you sucked the soul out of him. His hands reached out to grab ahold of your shoulders. Only giving you more purpose to keep going. Then you remembered something biting slightly down around his shaft. Enough he could feel it but not enough for it to hurt. With no warning to you or even him he was cumming quickly. Shooting his hot cum down your throat as his body shook just like jeongins.

Jeongin who was still slightly moving, moved hand down to play with your abused clit. He moved his pretty fingers fast. Chan pulling out of your mouth to finally let the moans fall. He gripped your neck pushing your head slightly to the side to dig his teeth finally into their spot. The mixture of the bite and jeongin had your body arching. Broken moans falling from your lips as you finally came.

Chan quickly went to get something to clean you up with coming back only to find you curled up with Jeongin in bed half asleep. He couldn’t help but smile “you got an hour before we have to leave” he said wiping you off. “Oh and by the way, that was evil. You know I like that to much” he said laughing.

——

The dinner went great, you all sat down at a nice restaurant talking about memories and fun times you had spent with one another. When you finally got home later Hyunjin had a surprise for you. He led you to the bathroom where he had the tub full, flower peddles decorated the outside. Candles lit all around and slow soft music playing.

“I thought we could- just relax together.” He said smiling shyly at you.

“Hyune this is so sweet” you said pulling him into a kiss.

You two quickly got into the warm bath, Hyunjin pulling your body close to his. “I love you” he said kissing your neck.

“I love you too” he said sighing with content.

You both layed their in each other embrace relaxing as you listening to him breath. It was so calming. The sound of breathing was removed by the sounds of soft moans leaving his lips. He moved his hips up slowly his cock resting perfecting between your thighs and warm cunt.

“My love, can- I?” He asked breathily behind you.

“Please” you responded.

He moved his arms around you holding you tighter as he positioned himself better. Cock head resting at your entrance. “I still need one last mark for it to be complete” you said smiling.

“Don’t worry I have the perfect spot my love” he said before pushing in slowly.

The feeling of him finally sitting so snugly in you had your head floaty. The warm water accompanied by his warm presence was a lot already. He had just gotten inside you and you felt like you could cum already. He rocked his hips into you slowly at first only when he heard you moaning did he speed up. His hand caressed your body as he fucked go into you. His lips leaving sloppy kisses to your skin.

His hand wondered lower playing ever so softly with your clit. “My perfect angel” he said softly. “I’m gonna leave the perfect mark on you” he said and with that he was biting your neck. A bit further back from view but enough to see. The taste of your blood sent shockwaves through his body. Moaning at how tight you got from the bite. “My love, you look even more beautiful with all these marks” he groaned. “I can tell you like it” he whispered his hand moving faster over your clit.

“Feels good- you feel good” you moaned out.

“Yeah? Gonna cum with me?” He said turning your head to look at him.

“Close” you moaned.

He nodded as to say he was to before pulling you into a kiss. His thrust were becoming sloppier but somehow better.

He was hitting so deep inside you, just ready to pull your orgasm from you.

He moaned against your lips “I’m gonna-“ he choked out before cumming deep inside you. His arms gripped tightly around you trying to somehow pull you closer. He felt your body shake as you came with him keeping to your words from earlier. He kissed you lovingly once more holding you close to him. “I love you so much” he said sweetly.

——

The night ended with everyone cuddled up in the huge makeshift bed they crafted. Watching tv as everyone relaxed for the night. “You know princes. Maybe it’s time we do the other thing you’ve always wanted?” Chan spoke.

“Really! You mean it!” You said excitedly.

“We all talked about it. And I think it’s time. If you still want to that is.” Chan said.

“Of course I still want to! That means I’ll be with you forever and ever!” You said feeling like you were about to cry.

They all smiled happily at your words. “Alright princess, tomorrow. We’ll do it. We have a whole plan” he said.

What a perfect way to end the day, knowing that tomorrow. Tomorrow they’d turn you like them and you’d live your life with them forever.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

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[nightingale-prompts]

The thing in the graveyard was called "The Lover" (Harlot it too mean)

Despite what the stories say he rarely appeared. Tourists and armature ghost hunters have tried to capitalize on the popularity of the trend. A sort of fandom formed for those who guessed about the appearance and origin of the supposed ghost.

Truly to only people who saw him were lonely. The lover would appear to them as a young and beautiful young man. He didn't attack and only sometimes did he try to convince you to leave with him. Other times he'd just sit with you and listen. He'd lean on your shoulder. He'd cry for you. Anything that could ease your pain.

You couldn't film the encounters and no one could describe him in detail.

Tim wanted to investigate this. He researched every story he could find of the ghost. Some stories said he was the spirit of a man abandoned by his partner and others said he was a demon that seduces mortals to drag them to hell. Tim gathered that The Lover only comes when you are alone, arrive after midnight and come on a moonless night.

Tim chose the right date and time as he entered the iron gates.

It was a desolate walk, like walking into nowhere. Until he felt a pair of arms wrap around him. They were cool to the touch. A weight pressed against his back.

"You finally came for me." A warm voice echoed in the silence.

The sounds of wings fluttered and beat in the distance.

Tim stilled. It's him.

Tim pulled away and turned to see the fabled "Lover". And he was everything described and more. He seemed to glow in the lantern light that Tim had prepared.

"What do you mean?" Tim asked.

He steeled his nerves whatever happened next he shouldn't let the ghost use him to escape. Every time so far the victim has run away.

"You are one of her knights. You must be here to free me." He said with a soft smile as he hugged Tim tightly. "I'm so glad it over. Thank you. Thank you so much."

"I don't know what you're talking about who's knight?" Tim asked unhooking his arms and feeling how solid they were and not ghostly at all.

Tim wreaked his brain to figure out if this ghost was mixing up something from hundreds of years ago. Maybe during the rule of the queen in colonial times? No, that didn't make sense either.

"It doesn't matter. You're here now. And we can leave." His smiled only faltered for a moment but it soon returned as he excitedly grabbed Tim's hand.

"Where do you plan on going?" Tim asked trying to ignore the way the boy looked at him like he was his savior.

"Home...I want to go home." He said sadly. "I don't belong here."

"You're a ghost. Shouldn't you stay here and rest?"

"I'm not dead!" He yelled pushing close to Tim "I'm alive! I swear! Can't you feel me?! I'm real!"

Suddenly Tim felt a pain of lips on his. They were cold but...soft. I'm pushed the boy away quickly.

"Stop that! What are you doing?" Tim yelled.

The ghost boy clenched his jaw as he was shoved away. His eyes were wide as he was caught off guard.

"That...usually worked. Guys usually listen when they think they will get something out of this." His voice was cold and bitter.

"So you really think I'll let you leave if you kiss me?!" Tim said incredulously.

The ghost's expression twisted in confusion.

"I don't have anything else to give. I just...want to leave. I'll do anything. No one will listen to me." Tears filled his eyes as he spoke.

The graveyard was deathly quiet again.

"Are you going to leave me here too?" A sob broke out as he spoke. "I can't last much longer. And she let you come here. So she must have forgiven me. She'll let me go if you let me out."

Tim saw the pain in the ghost's eyes and he did something stupid. He reached out and hugged him. A real hug. The kind his emotionally constipated family rarely gave. It was probably the only affection the ghost boy was given that wasn't forced or initiated by him.

Tim was still unsure if he should go through with this. He wanted answers but now only one question was on his mind.

"What's your name?"

"Danny....my name is Danny."

Kiss of Death- DCxDP prompt

A valentine horror.

Didn't matter why you were there or why you didn't run.

There was a graveyard older than Gotham itself. The names on the grave are weathered and unreadable from hundreds of years of exposure. The only reason one should come here was if you had managed to track your heritage to this gravesight after searching museum archives for burial records since the city wouldn't keep ones so old in the government building.

Unless...

You came because of the legend.

It's a new one. So it's more of an urban legend.

The story goes that the graveyard is haunted and a that anyone who comes here late at night will die. It's a simple legend, a very cliche and uncreative one at that.

But here you are. What was your goal? Ghost hunting? Graverobbing? Or perhaps your curiosity had consumed you and you had to know.

The air was thick. Like you are slowly choking on the darkness around you. Have you ever been in a room so quiet it was deafening? Like you are sure you must have lost your hearing because not even the wind would greet your ears. It was just empty space that wordlessly told you that you are alone. But that was just a room. A room that you leave and find solace in a trip of a light switch. This however was no room. It was the wide expanse of the outside world. In a place where streetlamps were not even a flicker in the minds of the residents that rest deep below your feet.

You chose a bad time to come. Perhaps you would be spared the wondering in the dark if you had the forgiving light of the moon on you. But such things were an afterthought, wasn't it? No tonight the moon was shadowed and the light of the stars would be your only salvation...but this was still Gotham. Could their light even reach you with the distant city lights over the horizon? Could the clouds mercifully move out of the way to give you some hope that you were not abandoned?

Now you were ill-prepared but you must have had some sense to at least charge your phone before you came. It's flashlight might be enough to get you back. But you're come this far. Brave or foolish you continue forward.

Until someone approached. You couldn't see them, only hear the muted footfalls of something coming near. Your ears so starved for sensation drank it like water in a dessert.

And in the light of your torch, a face appeared. A pair of baby blue eyes simmered in the light. A relieved smile on a pair of soft pale pink lips. A young man with tousled black locks appearing holding a small arm full of lilies and tulips.

"Finally, someone else. I thought I'd be here till morning." He said in relief as he came closer.

"What are you doing here?" You ask surprised that you weren't the only person here.

"I was cleaning the graves here and I must have lost track of time. Can you lead me out of here?" He asked softly and you'd hit yourself if you said no.

He clung to your arm as you walked him down the path.

The air began to get colder.

Where there was once silence you hearabout d the sound of crows beating their wings and making their wretched calls.

He clung harder to you.

That horrible curiosity got the better of you and so you began to speak.

"Why were you out here cleaning graves anyways." You asked.

"I was...helping. I come here alot." He said simply.

Nevermind the fact he was not dressed in clothes fit for cleaning. His white button-up shirt and dress pants were not something you get dirty. In fact, he didn't have a fleck of dirt on him.

"Where are your supplies?" You ask.

"I left them behind. I'll come back for them." He said curtly.

His grip on your arm tightened and it got colder.

"Just stay close please. I don't want to lose you in this darkness." He cooed.

You begin to feel lightheaded. The cold damp air made it hard to breathe.

You hear the crows...no ravens call out again.

"Never leave!" They repeated

"Trapped!" They called.

You hear a growl come from those pink lips, only they weren't pink anymore.

You look down at your companion and see a pair of bloody lips and a smile curled into a cruel but somehow sweet smile. A pair of glowing acidic green eyes that narrowed into pinpricks like a bird locking onto its prey. His once soft ebony lock now as stark white as snow caps.

You try to pull away but their grasp crushed your arm, hands like icy claws dug in.

" Where are you going?" He asked calm his eyes baring into yours.

Suddenly he did look very scary. No, he looked...so sad...so helpless and lost. His eyes where so warm and inviting.

"Don't leave me here. Help me. I promise I'll make it worth your while." His smile was so warm and inviting.

"Leave!" The ravens screeched.

"Run!" They called.

Even the screaming of the birds where drowned out as he pressed his lips to yours. It was too late. The sickly sweet scent of death and flowers filled your senses.

Why though, was his lips so cold? Why did they fill his mouth with the coppery taste of blood? Why did you feel so empty in the space you had hoped he'd fill in your heart?

But then a sharp pain struck your head and the warm trickle of blood flowed from your wound as a bird flew over your head.

You pulled away from the cloying embraces you perked in pain. And then you saw it. His face half half-rotted and skeletal. The once handsome man was a monster.

You sprinted away from him trying to frantically call someone for help on your phone. But foolish one had you forgotten. Your phone is also your flashlight and as you tried to use it you could only run blindly in the dark hoping you were still on the path. The sound of wind slicked the air behind you as you felt his icy breath on the back of your neck. You could only guess what was behind you as you heard no footsteps behind you only the feeling of being chased.

You dared not stop not even a moment and prayed that you didn't stumble. But mercy had found you as you saw the gate come into view and the solitary streetlight just beyond the boarder.

"You said you'd get me out! You can't leave me here!" A bloodcurdling screech rang out.

But you had already won as you made it out just barely with the graze of clawed fingertips at the back of your neck.

You closed the gate behind you and as you gazed into the dark abyss beyond the metal barrier you half expected it to be there. For it to snarl at you in anger watching you leave or slamming itself at the gate. But there was nothing. Not even the wind.

[hufflepuffsthunderdome]

Lazy Mornings

Eddie Munson x gn!reader Summary: Just a lazy morning spent with Eddie

Eddie was never really one to spend his days doing nothing. It made him feel antsy, feeling his body thrum with unused energy when he would sit around in his trailer all day, waiting around for something to come find him. He found it hard to sit still, hard to wind down and just be, when his overactive brain was running wild with ideas of things to do and places to be.

But with you came a sense of calm that he was missing. A simple touch from your hand to his shoulder and he feels himself melt against it. You brought peace to his chaos that he badly needed.

The soft hum of his battered cassette player, Pantera playing at half volume, filled the background with a gentle noise to break the otherwise silent trailer. Sunlight streamed through the thin curtains as the sun popped up over the horizon, painting golden streaks across the messy bed, across his bare arms, and most importantly—across you.

You were sprawled against him, head resting on his chest, your fingers moving lazily, tracing patterns against the warm skin of his stomach where you'd lifted his shirt up gently. The delicate, soft feeling of your hand on his body ignited sparks behind his skin, the feeling warm and fuzzy as he gazed down at you.

God, you were beautiful.

Your lashes fluttered slightly as you blinked slowly and lazily as you stared off into space, eyes catching the light in a way that made his chest ache. Your soft lips, were parted just enough to let out those quiet, sleepy sighs that he could feel against his skin, warm air brushing against him. Your hair, hanging messily across your back and face as you leant against him, tickling his skin, soft against his hand as he moved to run his fingers through there.

“You’re staring,” you murmured, voice thick with drowsiness.

Eddie grinned, his fingers moving to trail up and down your back, lazy and slow, “yeah? And what if I am?”

You huffed a little, shifting to peek up at him through lidded eyes as you raise your eyebrows at him, “then I’d say you’re a weirdo.”

He smirked, fingers moving to your chin, tilting it up slightly so he could get a better look at you, “and I’d say you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen if we wanna be stating the obvious.”

Your face warmed instantly, and Eddie didn’t even try to hide his little chuckle. He loved catching you off guard, loved the way your nose scrunched when you got flustered. He’d spend forever making you look at him like that if he could.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumbled, hiding your face against his chest again.

“And yet,” he teased, running his fingers down your back to wrap around your waist gently, “you stick around. You love it, don't even lie."

You hummed in response, pressing a soft kiss just above his heart, and Eddie melted against you, convinced he’d never move again. Screw the band practice later he’d promised to show up for. Screw the campaign notes that were half-finished on his desk. This—this was where he wanted to be.

You. His bed. Nothing else.

After a long pause, you sighed happily, “we should just stay here all day.”

Eddie chuckled, pulling you closer, his arms tightening around you, “I can only promise that if you relinquish control of the blanket.”

You only laughed softly, your hands trailing lazily up his chest. “Not gonna happen. I’ll keep you warm.”

He smiled, feeling his heart swell in a way that made him feel completely exposed, completely at ease. He didn’t have to be anything special when he was with you.

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze, eyes soft and so full of warmth that Eddie felt his throat tighten. You were looking at him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

"You're perfect," he whispered before he could stop himself. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over the soft skin. "Do you know that?"

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you just smiled, and Eddie could feel his chest fill with something he couldn’t quite put a name to.

You leaned up, pressing a kiss to his jaw, then his lips—soft, sweet, just the way he liked it.

[mejaemin]

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖₊˚♡˚

valentine boy

˚ʚ jeong jaehyun ɞ˚

final day of my valentine’s day countdown!

wc ♡ 1.9k

summary ♡ it may be jaehyun’s birthday, but he still likes to celebrate you, and does so in the form of four love letters.

warnings ♡ suggestive, fluff, SO MUCH LOVE IT’S DISGUSTING, jae is SUCH a sap and SUCH a romantic in this, my heart hurts

lia's note ♡ happy birthday to my love, my light. i miss jaehyun so much, and he’s really so special to me. i couldn’t help but pour my heart into this, and i wouldn’t have it any other way

playlist 🎧 completely - jaehyun, best part - daniel caesar ft. h.e.r. , give you the world - steve lacy, sunny days - wave to earth

congrats to those who guessed jaehyun for day nine! @cigsaftersuh and @jae10velies are two very smart cookies 🌹🫶🏽

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖₊˚♡˚

when you roll over in bed, first thing in the morning, you reach your hand out for your boyfriend, only to be met with nothing. popping one eye open, the bed is empty, the bed made on his side. sighing, you sit up, waking yourself up to go find him, when you finally notice the envelope laying on his pillow.

letter one ♡˚₊‧⁺˖

‘good morning my sweet thing ♡ happy valentine’s day.. if i’m not back by the time you wake up and open this, i went to visit my parents for a little. we’ve got a long day ahead of us, but mom wanted to see me for a little since, her words, “your birthday comes first, yuno! come visit your mom before you spend the day with your girlfriend.” i would’ve brought you, but you looked so pretty and peaceful while sleeping, and it would’ve ruined my plan, so i left you home. on that note, i know you told me not to do anything for you today, but i can’t help it :( spoiling you is my favorite, and it’s how i want to spend mine our day, okay? now, once you’re ready to get up, there’s something waiting for you in the bathroom…’

the ending of the letter is quite ominous, but it leaves a smile on your face nonetheless. you tell him every year to let you do all the gift giving, fully ready to discard valentine’s day and put his day first, especially when the former was made as a way for companies to gain money. still, he insists on celebrating you at the same time.

getting up out of bed, you make your way to the bathroom to get ready. as soon as you walk in, there’s another envelope taped to the sink mirror. pulling it out of the way, you set it aside to get yourself ready. the whole time you’re washing your face, brushing your teeth, you have to stop yourself from smiling at the idea of what’s to come later on in the day. jaehyun’s always been a loverboy, to an almost poetic extent, and upon looking at the letter sitting next to you, you’re sure there’s more to come, and you can’t wait to read all the loving words he’ll say to you. once done, you take the letter and sit back down on the bed to read it.

letter two ♡˚₊‧⁺˖

‘now that you’re opening this letter, i’ll assume you’ve woken up then? good, because i’ll be back in the afternoon to start our day. i wish i could be there to get ready with you, watch you open your first gift, but since i can’t, why don’t you check the closet? i’ve picked something out for you that i know will look perfect on you. i can’t wait to see it on you, and confirm my prediction. i can envision it now, you’d look so beautiful in that dress, it’ll compliment you perfectly.. okay, i have to stop now, or i’ll have a problem. anyway, enjoy your outfit my love ♡‘

with a smile you go over to your shared closed excitedly, pulling the door open and flicking the light on to reveal a beautiful dress in your favorite color right at the front of your clothing rack. pulling it off the hanger you immediately get dressed in it, stepping back to look at it on in the mirror. it’s fits perfectly, complimenting your body shape in all the best ways. when you look back in the closet for shoes to pair with it, there’s another envelope on the floor that you must’ve missed.

letter three ♡˚₊‧⁺˖

‘you’re getting dressed now, aren’t you? i hope you like the outfit. if not, don’t worry, we can get something else when we go out, okay? don’t stress. now, i’ll be wrapping up with mom pretty soon, so why don’t you finish your routine, okay? do yourself up however you like, in whatever way makes you feel prettiest. i’ll love it regardless. when you’re done, there’s something out in the kitchen, okay? i love you so much, baby. enjoy.’

with a soft giggle, you sit down at your vanity and start putting yourself together. even in the letter, jaehyun always reminds you of how much he loves you, in every form that you can take. he always uses the gentlest and most loving language he can, holding your heart with the most care. his love is so strong that when you fix your hair and do your makeup, you don’t feel a need to try too hard, doing the bare minimum, and thanks to him, you feel good about yourself just like that.

with the final touches of your appearance done, you grab your phone off the charger and check it for the first time today before you do anything. without fail, jaehyun’s texted you a string of good morning messages and words of love. you of course send some in return, thanking him for the letters and lightly teasing him for being a sap. you share a laugh before you shut the device off, making your way to the kitchen where your jaw drops.

there’s an entire display on the kitchen counter, rose petals scattered over the granite with a full bouquet in the middle, a bundle of prada gift bags sitting next to it. there’s a teddy bear as well, and one final letter with a card propped open next to it, reading ‘will you be my valentine?’ with the most perfect penmanship. you snap a photo, sending it to him with your reply, an obvious yes, before opening the last letter.

letter four ♡˚₊‧⁺˖

‘again, happy valentine’s day my love! i hope you enjoy all the gifts i put out for you. i know what you’re thinking, by the way. you’re mad that i’m spending money on you when it’s my birthday, aren’t you? if i were to tell you i’m sorry, i’d be lying, and that’s just not something i can ever see myself doing to you. more than anything, today is a day of love, and i’d rather celebrate us than make it all about me. my birthday wish is to keep you by my side and love you forever, every inch of you, and it just so happens that the day of love is at the same time. now, may i tell you why i love you so deeply?

we’ve known each other forever, and i’ve seen you grow into a beautiful, beautiful woman, with a wonderful personality that can warm an entire room. your laugh is more beautiful than any song i’ll hear in my life, and your smile is so bright, blinding in a way that makes me never want to look away. i’d let my eyes burn to nothing if it means i can continue to see it. i love the way you carry yourself as well, so thoughtful and considerate to everyone around you. you have so much love and kindness in your heart, and i’m so lucky to be a recipient of it. i’ve learnt so much from you as well, and i’m so grateful for the person you’ve helped shape me into. you’re truly everything i’ve ever wanted and more. i’ll cherish every piece of you that you give me with my whole being, and i promise to never let it go. my love for you is unconditional, and i’ll trace every ridge, scar, or imperfection in your body with nothing but adoration because it’s all perfect in my eyes.

i’ll save the rest of my sentiments for when i can say it out loud, okay? save you some reading. for now, remember that i love you with everything i have. happy valentine’s day, my love, my sweet, my peach.

-your forever only, jaehyun ♡’

his words are so beautiful, and you have to get a paper towel to hold to the corners of your eyes to stop the tears from messing up your makeup. he’s always so shy about things like this, getting flushed in the cheeks and ears at even the most simple words of affirmation. you know he’s a romantic at heart, but it still blows your mind every time you see him take a pen to help convey how he feels. he always lets his true feelings out when he has pen and paper, and it makes you cry without fail every single time. he really knows how to touch your heart, his words so sweet and loving.

you’re busy unboxing everything, a pair of sunglasses and a new bag in your hands, still letting his love letter sink in. you’re so stuck in your own world that you don’t even notice that jaehyun returned until his arms wrap around your stomach, his chest pressing into your back. his lips press against your temple, then your nape, and your eyes flutter shut as your body leans into his.

“happy valentine’s day.” he speaks softly, spinning you around in your barstool so you’re facing him.

your arms reach around his neck, pulling him closer so you can leave a sweet kiss on his lips. “thank you, baby.” you give him another one, “and happy birthday to you.”

he thanks you, pulling you flush to his body. you stay there, encased in his strong arms for what could be forever, you don’t know nor do you care, because it’s warm, safe, and comfortable. his head rests on top of yours, one hand gliding up and down the side of your body, the other on the back of your head. he’ll kiss your crown a few times, soaking in your scent, before pulling away.

your hands are intertwined, resting in your lap. “now that we’ve celebrated us, can it be your turn now?” you smile up at him, and his face is full of love.

his cheeks turn rosy, and he nods. you’re immediately up and out of your seat, shuffling your way into your bedroom where you pull out a birthday themed gift bag and box, followed by a valentine’s day basket. he opens them, overjoyed to see a photo album with a collective of polaroids from the past year, along with a new vinyl for his collection. the basket has a bunch of candies and small trinkets, along with a stuffed animal of the animal you’ve always said represents you. his smile reaches his ears as he looks through all his gifts, and a billion kisses are left all over your face as a thank you.

even more happiness fills his eyes when you take his cake out of the fridge, lighting the silly cartoon candles and singing to him. when you finish, he’s very thoughtful as he blows the candles out. you share it together, small enough to have in one sitting before putting all your new items away to finally head out for the day. he continues to treat you the entire time you guys are out, buying nearly everything you touch and complimenting you for even the littlest things. he has so much love to give to you, and it’s not even because of the holiday, or his birthday. he conveyed it to you many times throughout his letters, that he’s constantly thankful for you and your presence in his life, regardless of the date or who’s being celebrated more. the love continues to show even when you go back home, wrapping up the day, when there’s yet another display on the bed that wasn’t there before, which he lays you down on and continues to give you all the love he has.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖₊˚♡˚

perm taglist: @chenlezip @coquettejunnie

[insidekatmind]

Valentine’s Day -Levi Colwill

Valentine’s Day had finally arrived, along with the romantic weekend Levi had planned for the two of you. He hadn’t told you much—just that it would be special and that you needed to trust him. So, with your heart pounding in excitement, you let him drive you to your secret destination.

After a couple of hours on the road, filled with lighthearted conversation and laughter, your eyes widened in surprise when you saw the cabin where you’d be spending the weekend. It was nestled among snow-covered trees, with large windows that let in a warm, golden glow. It looked like something out of a fairytale.

Levi glanced at you with a satisfied smile. “Well? Do you like it,baby?”

“Do I like it? love, it’s beautiful,” you exclaimed, throwing yourself into his arms. He chuckled, holding you close before stealing a sweet, slow kiss, as if he wanted to engrave this moment in his memory.

As you stepped inside, the scent of wood and vanilla candles filled the air. A fireplace crackled in the corner, the couch was draped in soft blankets, and a bottle of red wine was already waiting on the table, ready to be opened.

“You really thought of everything, huh?” you said, turning to him with an affectionate smile.

“Only the best for you,” he replied, gently caressing your cheek. “Now, how about we start this weekend the right way?”

And so, between toasts and laughter, the evening slipped away with a warmth that filled your heart. You cooked together, danced in the kitchen to soft music playing in the background, and lost yourselves in endless kisses by the fire.

When night fell, you curled up together under a cozy blanket, the dim lights casting a soft glow around you as the wind howled gently outside the window. Levi pulled you closer, his breath warm against your neck.

“I don’t want this weekend to end,” he murmured, his voice full of sincerity that made your heart clench.

You intertwined your fingers with his, pressing a soft kiss to his hand. “Then let’s make every moment count.”

And in that precise instant, as he gazed at you with pure love in his eyes, you knew there was no other place in the world you’d rather be.

You smile softly and kiss him. He smiles softly, his heart swelling with affection as he returns the kiss. His hand gently finds its way to your cheek, his thumb tracing light circles over your skin. "I love you," he murmured, his voice soft and sincere. "More than words can express."

You cling to him. “I love you so much too,” you whisper softly. Levi pulled you closer, his hand gently exploring your back, tracing the curve of your spine.

"You look amazing tonight," he whispered, his gaze fixed on you with raw admiration. "Like a vision, straight from my wildest dreams." You shiver from his touch, feeling the intensity of his gaze on you. His words sent a pleasant heat through your body, a mix of emotions welling up within you.

"You don’t have to flatter me," you say, a soft smile playing on your lips. "I’m already yours." He chuckled softly at your response, the sound a mixture of affection and desire. "I know you are, and that’s precisely why I want to shower you in compliments."

Levi pulled you even closer, his body pressed against yours in a way that made your heart quicken. His hand slid up to your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your bottom lip, the touch sending electricity through your veins.

"You’re beautiful," he murmured, his gaze fixed on your face with an intensity that made your breath catch. "And you’re mine."

You feel your cheeks flush, his words sending a thrill down your spine. You can’t help but smile, feeling his possessive touch and the intensity of his gaze.

"I’m all yours," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Completely and utterly yours."

[osamucide]

⊹ THE FIRST TASTE

LET IT BEGIN, HEAVEN CANNOT WAIT FOREVER . . . ft. Osamu Dazai

wc: ~3.6k

cw: NSFW CONTENT—MDNI (I BLOCK AGELESS+BLANK BLOGS), ada+masc!reader, reader has a tongue piercing, pet names (pretty boy and cutie for u), romantic and sexual tension, established flirtationship->new relationship?, a lil alcohol, making out, oral fixation/finger sucking, oral sex (Dazai receiving), cum eating (Dazai lol), patheticzai makes a spectacle of your shyness even though he can't just ask for what he wants good thing u have telepathy with him /j

reid: trade w my sweet friend @rossithepixie / @selfindulgentpixies who masterminded some beautiful osareid art for me <3 (if u havent seen it yet dw i will be reblogging it a million more times but also check out rossi's work neow cause he's super talented). thank you for trusting me with this rossi—it was such a blast to do a little lovesick dazai desperately chasing ur cute lil self into a corner (i listened to fiona apple's song with the same title a lot while i wrote this—is it obvious? lol). i hope u enjoy so much <3

It’s a cute little habit of yours. Unconscious, he knows, but that makes it no less cute. No less dangerous. 

Everyone notices you do it—Atsushi pointed out the jewelry poking from your mouth with awe when he first caught you fidgeting with it (“People can have piercings there? That’s so cool”)—but Osamu highly doubts anyone finds it nearly as charming, as endearing as he himself does. After all, he’s the one consistently wheeling over next to you on his chair to fold his arms under his chin on your desk and admire you unashamedly while you tie a loose end around a sentence in whatever report you’re writing before even thinking about turning your attention to him. 

So diligent. 

That’s another cute thing about you. You've been a star worker, really, since you started. In the months since you got hired, your reports have been nothing but thorough and on time; even your first steps into fieldwork as a detective have been spotless, practiced, as if you already know this work like the back of your hand. You’re personable yet serious, easygoing and dedicated all at the same time, continually proving your worth as a voice of reason and contribution around the meeting table as well as a supportive, kind, all-around more than pleasant coworker on and off of crime scenes. Not to mention, your ability’s nothing to scoff at.

You’re a true asset to the Armed Detective Agency. 

Which is why Kunikida’s glaring Osamu down again, threatening him silently with an HR department that unfortunately doesn’t exist—because, yes, you are for all intents and purposes perfect for this workplace and the blond man will simply not have you driven off by his partner’s insufferable tendencies. 

Even Kunikida’s wrath, however, is scarcely known to deter Osamu Dazai, and that is why, when he notices you doing it again—toying with the metal bar through your tongue in an absentminded display of your oh-so-coveted concentration on and application to your task, he scoots himself right over, rowing on his heels, brushing admonishing stares like he might dust off his shoulder and settling next to you, chin in his palm, feet knocking into yours beneath your desk. 

As expected, you don’t turn to him immediately. All the better. Gives him a few seconds more to admire you, your parted lips, the glint of the metal and your pretty teeth against the natural light streaming into the office on this lovely day, made all the lovelier by the vision of your adorable expression.

But when you do, it’s melt-worthy. 

“Hi, Osamu,” you mumble, turning your eyes to him and tucking your tongue back in to offer him that sweet but aware, workplace-appropriate smile that makes him grin even further. You’d have to be naive not to know he wants to strip you of that professionalism, but you make sure to give him time of day in only the most graceful way when you’re both at the office; for as charming as he is, and for as much as you must shyly admit you find him endearing just the same, you don’t turn a blind eye to his cunning nature. 

And like so many things, it’s a bit of a game that he enjoys—seeing what he can do to crack that competence of yours. 

But today he’s restless, so he punches low from the jump. 

“Hi, pretty boy,” he purrs, gaze searing into you. Signature. 

And just like he hopes, your brow raises and you look away, pursing your lips to mask your reaction to his antics. He usually toys with you a little longer before he brandishes the pet name he knows all too well gets your cheeks glowing pink in an instant—and that’s exactly what they do. Your coyness can’t hide that. 

“Eager today, are we?” you fill the silence with the lighthearted accusation, busying yourself on your keyboard so as to fight off the squirming you’re sensing will be futile to escape this afternoon.

“Yup.” When he pops the p, he nudges your ankle with his own. 

But in your busying, the tip of your tongue flicks out again, and Osamu’s seemingly-aimless display of fluster-inducing attention surges toward its goal, which he’s been contemplating for a few days now, actually: getting you out of this stuffy office (or the all-too public nearby bar you’ve started frequenting with him after hours, strictly as friends it seems—if friends tangle their fingers together after a few cocktails and then don’t make mention of it the next day, anyway) and into his dorm, which he actually tidied up because he calculated with most near-certainty there couldn’t possibly exist a world in which you’d turn down such an invitation. So he hopes, anyway. For as player as he acts, the way you make him feel sows seeds of doubt in him and his usual methods of seduction. You know full well how sincerely captivated he is by you… right? You must. You have to. 

“You know,” he continues, “I was wondering…” 

Mincing his words is never part of his plans. Unless, of course, it’ll draw a desired outcome closer than being direct will. But now, Osamu finds himself almost hesitating, with no prior inclination to do so; he’s wondering, not thinking, like he seems to do so much when you’re near him, and he doesn't know if you fully realize it, but you might have more control over… whatever this is between you than he does.

You tilt your head, still turned to your screen, as if it begins to occur to you. 

“...Drinks at my place?” he spits out—pointedly dropping the “double suicide?” intonation so it’s clear he’s serious—before he can give any more indication that he’s slipping.

When you look to him again, Osamu’s filled the space of his doubt with that low-lidded grin once more.

“Tonight?” 

“Tonight? Oh—” You clear your throat in a way that sounds oddly affirmative, as if you’re trying to keep it from bubbling out too soon. You’re so assured in everything else you do around here, so Osamu, ever the contrarian, regains his balance on the premise of your shyness. When you go to confirm, you’ve all but lost your teasing lilt. The flush on your face doesn’t miss him. “Yeah, that’d be nice, Osamu.” 

Nice. If he didn’t have an image to upkeep, he’d leap up and fistpump the air like a cartoon character. Perhaps, if he were more in tune with his hand-to-god emotions, he’d crumble to the floor in a ball wondering what the hell he’s getting himself into.

He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t clean his dorm, much less invite romantic prospects over to it. You’re new territory in the way he feels freshly determined not to mess up, so he keeps himself composed behind that smile. “When are you out of here?” 

“I can be out of here whenever you’re out of here,” you mumble, your lips pressed into a smirk you won’t let unfurl fully. He wishes you would. He’ll get you to. If he had it his way, he’d whisk you out of here now, clock be damned, and pop open that red dessert wine he picked up specifically for the event in which you would land on his uncomfortable little couch with your tongue lingering in, hopefully, closer proximity to his own. He’s seen you tipsy; you don’t suppress that air of sheepish enthrallment so much when you are, and he’s impatient for it. He needs more of you.

But it’s three in the afternoon, and Kunikida’s abruptly dragging Osamu by the collar of his shirt like a puppy on a leash to roll him back over to his own damn desk, muttering something about how if he had any decency he’d leave you the hell alone and if he wasn’t going to contribute anything of worth to the Agency’s productivity yield, the least he could do was not disturb those who are. 

This makes you chuckle fully as you shake your head. Osamu eats it up—and he doesn’t hide it, eyeing you with something most akin to yearning in his gaze. You have such an effortless knack for putting hearts in his eyes in a way he’s not used to. 

The rest of his shift dawdles by; as a way to pass the time, Osamu volunteers himself to run out and pick up the Thai takeout for those who will be clocking out later than he hopes he will. Kunikida so graciously (read: reluctantly and irritatedly) let him order on his card, so he claimed it as repayment; really, he needed to get out of his desk chair. 

He feels insane watching you play with that piercing of yours, his stack of unfinished reports (or, pre-construction paper planes) serving as no distraction. 

He delivers your spring rolls to you with a wink. He eats his pad thai and fools around on his desktop. He watches the sun streak down the window.

He actually considers getting some work done. It’s nearly torture.

He gets up to leave the second the clock strikes eight. If he was bad at focusing on work before, you’ve ruined him. 

The implication’s all too clear when you’re stepping into the evening air behind him. You don’t mind—it’s evident in your reserved but knowing smile, the one he so terribly wants to unravel. 

His place is threadbare, but cozy. You curl yourself up on one of the two couch cushions while Osamu sets two empty glasses and a bottle on the low table before you—he’s eager, too, for the wine; he’s aching to dispel both your timidity and his anxiety that it feeds. Maybe it’s just that he can’t seem to handle himself positively spiraling over you while you remain enchantingly reticent, quiet in the desire he knows flows between you both. Usually, he’s the one with all the self-control. Tonight he’s counting on you missing the tremble in his fingers as he pours. 

“Kunikida’s such a hardass, isn’t he?” he muses while he tucks a glass into your hand and draws himself up onto the couch, facing you, leaving a respectful but still considerably involved distance between you. Your knee almost touches his. “Berating me for something as little as asking such a cutie to come over for drinks. It’d be more criminal not to, I think.” 

You chuckle at his dramatics, taking a sip. It’s sweet, red. You remind him, “We are coworkers, Osamu.” 

He cocks his head, drinking deeper than you do, with a thoughtful look on his gorgeous face. He hums and reminds you, “We’re not just coworkers.” 

Your chuckle becomes a giggle—one less dubious than the short, amused headshakes you save for the office—and with your next question, he knows he’s pulling you in. You’ve been dancing around each other long enough; he’s warm, trying not to overflow when you speak—you finally sound ready to acknowledge what’s been turning him into a mess for you when you hum and press skittishly. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. 

“What else are we then, hm?” 

Your bashfulness reads so seamlessly as effortless wooing—he wonders if you’re so purely humble, or actually a mastermind of coquetry. The way you keep yourself veiled, thinly enough to keep him pining for more of you but staunchly too so that he constantly doubts whether the cat or the mouse has the upper hand, turns him to mush—absolute pathetic mush—and he answers a question with a question. You’ve got him going against all sorts of personal philosophy. 

“What else do you wanna be?” 

The answer gets lost between shifting hands, closing space, conversation and jokes that relax further and further as you both stabilize into one another over the following hour or so. A couple more glasses of wine are poured, drank, tasted—at some point in the blackening night you end up astride his lap in the dim lamplight with your glass in triumphant hand, tucking his hair behind his ear while he cups your face, simpers out another remark that makes you blush and wave him away; Osamu looks at you with something you can only construe through your buzz as pure want. Coming down from laughter that screws your eyes shut—he’s never short on humor, which is one of the things you think you love—love? about him, you say it aloud, tell him you do in fact love that about him and if he was all pure want a moment before, now he’s pure shock. 

But he plays it off in his way; you watch the intricate way he takes no more than a half-second to collect himself, just tipsy enough to get snagged on the words love that about you that the half-second seems a feature-length film to you—one you would watch over, over, over again. 

Osamu slides four fingers on one side of your jaw, thumb on the other—holding your chin gently but firmly in place so he can bore like fire into you.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks, half sincere, half flirtatious. Your gaze scatters momentarily beneath his; you take a second, copy his recovery.  

You hesitate before you say, “I think I have some idea,” fully sincere, fully flirtatious. When you pinch your bottom lip between your teeth—not an unconscious habit but an intentional move in this game—he thinks this is what middle school boys must feel like the first time they get close to their crush. It sickens him so sweetly, like he’s swallowed a lump of sugar. He wants more. 

Your breath coils around his between your noses, between your mouths. The wine in your glass sloshes and settles.  

“Can I tell you what drives me crazy?” he breathes. 

You nod like you’ve been waiting lifetimes to know. 

He answers not with words but a touch to your lip—a stroke back and forth that leaves you parting for him. He leaves feather-light fingerprints on the sharp of your front teeth, pushing, slowly, forward until the hot muscle in your mouth cradles his thumb and he’s touching that devil-sent piercing of yours, the ball all at once cool and warm as it twirls to evade him.

“This,” he whispers, chasing the metal back and forth. “This drives me crazy.” 

You don’t respond with anything but suction, a soft bob of your head like you understand, and a hmm.

Osamu thinks he might implode beneath you. 

His attention has hardly ever felt so streamlined as when you search his face, circle his thumb, wet it for him to retract and drag down your chin while you draw your brow together like you miss it—his eyes are all yours, wide and waiting and holding the answers to all the questions drifting around, surrounding both of you. 

The kiss is searing as he pulls you into him—or, hardly has to, rather, as your eyes flutter shut and you lean to meet him, five of your fingers matching his grip but on his shoulder while you suffocate that mingled breath so it becomes mingled spit, mingled tongues. He worms himself past your lips, into you—he almost moans when the tip of his own tongue brushes across the jewelry sitting on the pad of your tongue like a pearl in an oyster. He’s finally cracking you open. It makes him smile wickedly into you. 

Your arms locking around his neck leave him rolling into you hotly, asking for you with anything but words which escape him again now—so uncharacteristic, but he’s lucky you’re both too entangled to notice, for words aren’t necessary right now; he’s ushering your wine glass out of your hand, setting his, too, onto the table so you can wind your fingers in his hair and tug, prompting the sweetest gasps that you echo back into him while he guides your hips across him. The fervor either of you holds is indistinguishable from the other; you grind, he grips you, the harder he grips you the harder you grind and vice versa until he’s biting down the column of your neck toward absolution. 

He mutters your name through an umph; you pick his lips back up the second he goes for air, and he goes for your tongue. When you pull back to observe him, mirroring you in kiss-puffiness and staccato breath, he’s wild between your eyes and your lips. 

“That’s all for you,” he tells you when he grabs your wrist and guides you to palm his cock before you hit him with another question for the ages—one that will not receive a verbal answer but a noise from his throat he swears he’s never heard himself make before.

“Wanna feel it?” 

God, has he ever wanted anything more in his life? The erection he’s built up just from kissing you, moving you against him, is all the evidence either of you need. 

Regardless, Osamu’s nodding fervently, chocolate locks swaying. 

So, you take your turn kissing down him until you’re pooled at his feet, between his knees, with devoted fingers undoing the button on his pants; the task at hand, so sweetly and circularly, has your tongue poking out in concentration as you work his waistband down. Osamu twitches at the sight—he doesn’t mean to mutter you’re so fucking adorable but he does, he does. It’s your turn to grin wickedly as you take his cock out, your turn to tease with your thumb on his drooling tip, your turn to explore with your mouth. 

You’ve had the reins all this time, really—from the first day you sat at your desk, making that attentive face. He must be the luckiest sucker in the world to have ended up here, with your shining eyes watching him fall apart as your honeyed lips guide him toward sweet devastation. 

The first stripe you lick up his underside sends Osamu’s head flying back, jaw falling slack on the end of a breathy “fuck!”

And he feels every stride of your tongue piercing when you wrap your lips around his tip and swirl. 

The sounds you draw from Osamu’s open mouth are like song; diligent in this task as you are every other one, it’s hardly a minute before he’s tangling his fingers in your hair, crooning your name between broken praises that come naturally as you hold him, lick him, look up at him with eyes that he thinks could turn him to stone—if only you had been evil, that is, but realistically, you can’t be anything other than an angel. 

“Pretty boy, you—” 

At that name, you groan. Take him further. 

And through how good it feels, he laughs. 

“Oh, you like that? Huh?” He could pull you off him if he wanted a response, but you’re too heavenly to interrupt—anyway, he already knows how you feel about pretty boy. 

You hum around him—another sensation that sends him reeling with oh, god on his lips. 

“That’s it… Feels s’good on me. Unh—yeah, like that…” 

Indirectivity and grandeur has always been something Osamu considers himself a professional in—everything you do throws him for a loop and the way you bob up and down does him no favors. He whines in the way he does when he’s already going to finish all too quickly, but the fact that it’s you bringing him to his end—his cute coworker he’s been pining after since your first day on the job, the one that’s inspired such foreign feelings of wonder in his long-gone-cold heart—has him unreservedly bucking his hips into your mouth as you rake your nails down his thighs, ardent in this undertaking, bobbing frantically like all you’ve ever wanted was to have him noisy and messy underneath you like this. 

“‘m gonna—oh, fuck!” 

But he doesn’t have to tell you; you feel him, spasming on your tongue against the otherworldly friction your jewelry provides—his true downfall, that thing, and the image of you formed around it—you pursue his climax like a predator pursuing prey, pulling away to give him that false sense of security as you rise to your feet, pounce back over him and kiss him so intensely while you handle him, jerk him to orgasm between your bodies; Osamu’s hoarse, aching as he humps the hole you make with your fist and chants yes, yes, yes, please! into your mouth, tasting metal, never wanting it to leave.

He settles into soft panting as you draw your fingers up; he’s beginning to speak— “You’re so—” but you’re cutting him off so he can suck your fingers, taste himself and the way you’ve shattered him so beautifully. And he does, he laps like a man possessed, obsessed with the flavor of himself if only it’s leaving your skin, before you let him continue. “You’re incredible. You and that piercing.” 

You huff out a laugh, but it’s true. He’s convinced you’re a dream in every sense of the word—how did he get so lucky, no—how did the earth get so lucky to have you dropped upon it, right here in Yokohama, doing such scandalous things with that godly mouth of yours? 

“I try,” you quip with a half-shrug, smiling softly, kissing him just so. 

“Do you, now?” Osamu Dazai, who so often loses those good things before he can really grasp them, takes note of another new sensation—unwavering resolve, in the amorous sense—and concludes that if he can help it, this dream will not slip away so quickly. He can’t possibly send you back up to heaven.

He grabs your hips, pulls you onto him. 

Everything you are—all hard working, handsome face, sweet disposition, and tongue ring—he’s wanted it for so long; it would be nonsensical, a tragedy, to let the same evening air you stumbled in on steal you away again.

This is a dilemma he doesn’t have a solution to; not immediately. 

But he speaks anyway, smirking and toying with the button on your pants, overwhelming your frame to put your back to the cushions—turn you into a mess for him.

“Your turn, pretty boy.” 

[fear-is-truth]

❥﹒ warnings : violent & sexual fantasies﹒mdni

❥﹒synopsis : valentine’s day with patrick bateman

PATRICK BATEMAN watches you step out of the cab. you’re wearing a loro piana coat, cashmere the colour of champagne, cinched at the waist with a belt that’s practically ornamental. the hem barely kisses your knees, revealing a dress underneath—alexander mcqueen, blush pink silk, bias-cut, the fabric whisper-thin and clinging to your body. a gold cartier chain sits at your collarbone, the diamonds in your earslobes capturing dying rays of the sun. the way you carry yourself: shoulders back, chin up, making a show of the fact that you know every man on the street wants to fuck you. patrick wonders if they know what you look like on your knees. he wonders if they’ve ever seen you cry, pretty pink lips wobbling as you beg him to let you cum.

the heels you’re wearing are from manolos, pigalle 120, ballet pink patent leather,thin straps winding around your ankles—click against the pavement as you approach. patrick feels his cock twitch in his valentino trousers at the sight of you, wrapped up in pink silk like a present meant only for him. your lips are glossy. nails, oval-tipped, with just a whisper of pink. your earrings catch the light—diamond studs from cartier, understated and tiny, but patrick knows their worth.

he paid for them, after all.

“happy valentine’s day,” you murmur as you reach him, tipping your chin up expectantly. his fingers graze your jaw, tilting your face into the streetlight, drinking in the way it carves out your cheekbones and the slope of your throat.

he kisses you on the cheek. chastely.

“you’re beautiful,” patrick says, distracted. but he means it. you are.

right now, he is entertaining the idea of pressing you against the hood of the cab and fucking you in full view of the pedestrians on the street, while your lipstick smears across the windshield. he is thinking about slipping his tie from his collar and binding your hands to the bedpost later tonight, leaving the imprint of silk against your wrists. then forcing your thighs apart and watching the silk of your dress pool around your waist, a pretty ruin of pink. dragging his tongue up your calf, over the slope of your knee, pausing at the damp heat of lace between your thighs—la perla, pale pink, brazilian cut. he wants to ruin them.

patrick exhales through his nose, adjusts his zegna tie.

“let’s go,” he says.

❥﹒

barcadia is twice as expensive as dorsia, which is really saying something. patrick isn’t surprised that his first choice is fully booked—it’s always fully booked, not to mention today’s valentine’s day—but the disappointment is still there. he’s looking around the restaurant when his gaze snags on a profile in the distance. is that—? patrick cranes his neck. the slicked-back blonde hair, downturn of the mouth…

“is that donald trump?” he whispers, leaning slightly toward you. you follow his line of sight. then, after a second: “no… i don’t think so.”

a disappointed sigh from patrick. figures.

there is a single blemish on the waiter’s chin, burst capillaries, stress acne. patrick’s fingers flex against the linen napkin in his lap. he could gut the teenager. guide the steak knife through his soft belly, let his intestines spill across the floor like a heap of glistening ribbons.

instead, he nods. takes the menu.

he orders for both of you—seared foie gras with black truffle, côte de boeuf, asparagus charred to the precise degree of bitterness—watching your lips curl into a small, pleased smile. his fingers tap against the white tablecloth as he watches the waiter disappear.

he is thinking about wrapping his hands around the throat of the old woman sitting two tables away, about how frail her skin would feel beneath his fingers—thin as parchment, barely clinging to brittle bone. her cloudy cataract eyes contracting, the useless, reedy gasp of her dying breath as he tightens his grip, as her papery lips quiver around a feeble protest. it would take seconds. the veins in her temple would bulge, the old hag’s face would purple, and then—nothing. emptiness.

then there’s you.

your dress has an obscene slit up the side, revealing the soft curve of your thigh, the smooth expanse of skin that makes his cock throb beneath the table. irresponsibly short and enticing. he could reach over, let his fingers disappear beneath the silk, spread you open and stroke you to the point of ruin right here.

he takes in the curve of your collarbone, the faint sheen of your skin in the candlelight.

“you’re staring,” you say. patrick tilts his head. sips his wine.

“so?”

you smirk, dragging your toe up his calf beneath the table.

“what are you thinking about?”

i’m thinking about how i would like to drag you into the bathroom and fuck you senseless against the sink. would very much like to smear your lipstick, yank this fucking dress off, bend you over the marble countertop and watch you sob into the mirror while i split you open with my cock.

patrick presses his tongue to his teeth. then he smiles, sets down his wine glass.

“did you know that ted bundy was a registered republican?

—

 fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[chuellas]

Thursday | T is for Temperature Play

⤷ Ft. Fyodor Dostoevsky

V. A. L. E. N. T. I. N. E.

Warnings | Fem!Reader, N.SFW, 18+ only, use of the name “Dear”, temp play, candle wax, fingering, orgasm denial, sacrilege, religious themes, reader grew up catholic, WC: 1.6k

A/N | Man, this woulda been so good to post on Thursday. A missed opportunity. Also I got just a weeeee bit carried away with this one sjdjkaksjajd 🙈

You let out a sharp whine when his fingers are removed from you for the fifth time now and you feel like you could burst at the seams at any moment now, but that still isn’t enough for you to admit your faults.

Fyodor was kind enough to let you roam the castle that the Decay of Angels were vacating before completely moving on to Japan for the final phases of his so-called pilgrimage. He never called it that of course, it’s what you refer to this whole plot as because you know it drives him up the wall. Most of this plan bored you to tears, but you’ve found pushing Fyodor Dostoevsky’s buttons to be peak entertainment in the mundane work you’ve been tasked with. While Nikolai was scouting and Sigma was running a whole casino in the sky, you were stuck at Fyodor’s side doing all the arranging and organizing and phone calls. You often feel like a damn secretary.

Tonight has been no different than the rest, other than you stumbling upon the Demon himself kneeling before an altar with his hands clasped, praying. You always thought that moniker was inaccurate. Fyodor wasn’t a demon, he was more akin to the first angel to fall from grace — The Devil himself. Undeniably beautiful, but with something dark lurking just beneath the surface.

You observed him for a few moments, truly caught off guard by just how beautiful the usually aloof man looked with the candlelight dancing across his relaxed features. It made him look much younger than you assume he really is. You thought again how the devil to his core was nothing more than a fallen angel. 

The peaceful atmosphere almost made you think twice about interrupting. Almost.

You didn’t outwardly interrupt at first. You entered quietly and respectfully kneeled next to the man. He didn’t even flinch at the sudden company and you almost pouted at the fact that you had such little effect on him — at least that’s what you thought. But then you notice the way his eyelashes subtly flutter when you “accidentally” brush against him. 

You smile to yourself slyly, you really hadn’t planned on bothering him tonight. Really. You were content with just exploring, but this was too good of an opportunity to pass up. 

Your eyes, which had previously been closed to pray along with the Russian, peeked open to eye him. It took you by surprise when you found Fyodor staring back at you, abandoning whatever prayers he had previously been reciting in his head. Your lips parted to speak but he beat you to the punch.

“I can practically hear those wheels in your head turning. I’ve been able to forgive your little…games up until now, but you’ve interrupted my time with God. I don’t think I can continue to be so forgiving, Dear.” His words had set your skin ablaze with excitement.

But now? Now you’re starting to regret interrupting him. However, you still refuse to admit to it and that’s how you find yourself with yet another denied orgasm. 

You watch with teary eyes as the man reaches over to grab one of the lit candles at the altar that’s doubling as this room's only source of light. Your pulse quickens as your foggy brain slowly puts together what Fyodor plans on doing with the candle. Another wave of excitement washes over you when the burning candles tips ever so slightly and a drop of hot wax lands on your bare stomach.

You shudder at the sensation and Fyodor watches your reaction closely, head tilted as he lets another few drops follow the first one. “Such a filthy thing you are. I must say, I wasn’t expecting a reaction like that. Are you still not ready to admit your sins?”

You’re not sure if you were meant to answer but all hope of that happening is lost when the pious man pushes his middle and ring finger into your leaking entrance. This would be number five? No. Number six. You wonder how long he’s willing to keep this up. You were sure that you could outlast him, but now? You’re doubting your own resilience. 

Fyodor’s patience has to be waning — vaguely noticing his fingers drag in and out of you at a faster pace than they had previously. 

You don’t have much time to dwell on the thought because now that he knows you’re not shy to the feeling, he pours more wax on your skin, this time on your thigh. Your head falls back and you arch off the cold ground. A strangled moan pushes its way past your lips.

The tingling on your skin from the hot wax is delicious, it’s a certain sensation that has your head going fuzzy again. “Fedya, please…”

Your plea goes ignored, he knows that you’re well aware of what he wants and that’s not it. His fingers are skilled and he works your insides like that gorgeous cello he likes to pick up and play from time to time. Plucking at your delicate walls, rubbing that sweet spot that makes you preen in his hold. 

Your mouth falls open but no noise follows, everything catching in your throat as you reach near release for the sixth time. 

And just like every other time, you’re curtly denied that sweet release. This time when your lips part a sob falls out and your whole body jerks. Your eyes are wild when you lift your head to look at the Demon himself. His eyes are dropped lazily and he wears a grin that makes your skin prickle in annoyance.

He’s enjoying this. He’s completely content with watching you squirm and cry. Suddenly you're hit with a realization that he’s expecting you to continue to fight him on admitting your fault. Banking on that stubbornness of yours to prevail and stretch this out further than it really needs to go. You think it already has and you consider finally giving in. 

Your thoughts are interrupted as you let out a hiss when more wax is poured onto your breast. You look up at Fyodor with sharp eyes as he clicks his tongue at you. “Your mind was wondering again. I wonder…Where did you go, hmm?”

His tone is light and almost teasing, something you’ve never experienced from the usually serious and intense man. That was all you needed to know that he is, in fact, having fun with you. Now you have to decide if you want to ruin this little game he’s playing, or let him have his fun. 

“My Dear, I asked you a question. It’s not polite to ignore someone.” He pours more wax on your other breast and trails it down your stomach. 

Your breath hitches again and before you can answer him, his fingers are prodding at your entrance once again. You let out a gasp when he adds a third finger. Your vision blurs and you swear you see stars. The stretch of a third finger being added is so delicious it makes every sense fuzzy. You let out a whine as your fingers dig into the antique rug laid underneath you.

“I was…Was considering giving a confession…” You let out a string of curses when his fingers speed up once again, a reaction you weren’t expecting.

You finally get it, there was no winning for you in terms of your pride. Either you stick to being stubborn and not admitting to doing anything wrong but continue to be denied any form of release or you find release at the expense of admitting to interrupting him on purpose. Either way, you were making a fool of yourself at his hands. At least if you give in you can find release.

“Were you now? How pleasant, I wasn’t particularly looking forward to this continued torture. It seemed too hard on you.” The bastard grins at you and you have half a mind to rescind your defeat, but then his thumb is brushing over your clit and you gasp at just how sensitive you are. “You grew up in a catholic orphanage, no?”

You can only muster a nod and it seems to be enough for him. “Good, then you’re familiar with the Act of Contrition prayer? Recite that correctly and I’ll give you the release I’ve been denying you for so long.”

He has to be joking. But just as you think that, his fingers slow and he gives you a pointed look as he dribbles wax across your collarbone. He’s not joking, he’s dead serious. 

Through your mind fog, you manage to stumble through the prayer, gasping every time he interrupts you with more hot wax. His own form of twisted irony for you having interrupted his worshipping hour, you’re sure. Once you utter the word “amen” Fyodor stays true to his word. His fingers quicken in pace and his thumb rubs circles into your clit.

It’s almost embarrassing how in a matter of seconds you're crying out his name and finally cumming hard after the numerous times you were denied. Your nails scratch at the rug and your body forms a high arch. Something doesn’t feel right as Fyodor continues to help you ride out your orgasm. Your hands are reaching out to claw at his arm but it’s too late, you flood his hand and the rug with your juices, squirting and making a complete mess.

Fyodor finally slows down when you go limp and clicks his tongue again. “What a mess…”

You weakly hum at his disapproval and try to sit up but he stops you. 

“No. I’m not done with you.”