#to be surrounded by people thankful for her existing😭😭😭

[kuravix]

NOT ONLY DID SHE CUT HER HAIR SHE CHANGED INTO A DRESS SIMILAR TO THE ONE SHE WORE AS A CHILD WHEN SHE MET SAUL

^^^VISUAL REPRESENTATION OF ME READING THIS CHAPTER I LOVE ROBIN I LOVE HER BEING HAPPY

[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

[margeoww]

Let me be honest here, ‘After All This Time’ should be a series or at least mini series and I’m ready to drop a kidney for it.

PLEASE MAKE IT A SERIES! 😭 Also, love your writing! 🫶🏽

After All This Time

back to my main masterlist.

toto wolff masterlist

Chapter 2

pairing: toto wolff x exwife!reader

summary: Toto reflects on the highs and lows of his 20-year marriage after seeing his ex-wife for the first time in four years. Memories of love, loss, and mistakes resurface, leaving him questioning if reconciliation is still possible.

warnings: themes of emotional conflict, mentions of divorce and strained relationships.

The echoes of their reunion at the gala lingered in Toto’s mind. Sleep had evaded him as the brief conversation played on repeat, unearthing emotions he thought were buried. Seated alone in his office, surrounded by the glow of the city lights, memories flooded back, raw and unrelenting.

The First Meeting

Their story began at a charity event in Vienna. Toto was a young, ambitious entrepreneur, accustomed to being the center of attention. She, on the other hand, was an anomaly in a room of predictable faces. Her laughter, genuine and unguarded, drew him in.

—Do you always observe people as if you’re calculating your next move in chess? —she asked, her smile disarming his ego. Toto was speechless, a rare occurrence.

—Only when someone interesting appears —he replied eventually, and that was the start of everything.

The Early Years

The early days were an adventure. She celebrated his ambition, becoming his anchor amidst the chaos. She was his biggest supporter and his sharpest critic, keeping him grounded while pushing him forward.

They spent evenings walking through Vienna, laughing as though they were the only ones in the world. Their life together was filled with simple yet unforgettable moments—cooking together, debating over who cut vegetables better, or mornings when Toto lingered in bed just to hear her hum while making coffee.

But success came at a price. Formula 1 consumed Toto, demanding every ounce of his time and energy. Promises of quality time were replaced by meetings, races, and endless travel.

—It’s not just that you work too much —she said one night after yet another canceled dinner. —It’s that I don’t know where I stand in your life anymore.

That conversation marked the beginning of the end.

The Anniversary That Changed Everything

The most painful memory was their 20th anniversary. Toto arranged an extravagant dinner, hoping to rekindle what had been lost. But the tension between them was undeniable.

—Do you really think a dinner can fix years of distance? —she asked, her voice heavy with sadness.

That night ended in silence, and Toto realized it wasn’t just about time or work. It was about connection—a connection that had slowly eroded despite the love that still existed.

The Divorce

The separation was agonizing but inevitable. Though neither said it aloud, they both knew the love remained. But sometimes, love alone isn’t enough.

Their last meeting was in the lawyer’s office, signing the divorce papers. —Take care of yourself, Toto —she said before walking out. Those words, filled with affection and finality, haunted him for years.

Back to the Present

Toto exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. Four years had passed since that day, years spent burying himself in work and pretending he was fine.

But now, after seeing her at the gala, the past felt alive again. The way she looked at him—with surprise, nostalgia, and something he couldn’t quite decipher—left him restless.

Could he fix what had been broken? Or was it far too late?

As rain pattered against the window, Toto allowed himself a thought he had avoided for years: hope.

Okey okey, this is my first mini series, and Im so happy for all the support that you guys are giving to me. Thank you thank you. Hope u like it. ❤️‼️

[astropookie]

astro FACTS ‼️

(it was “astro thoughts” but I wanted to change)

it turned into a persona chart observations💋

Loika

Moon in your IC persona chart tells your childhood summary.

pls this is too accurate 😭. my moon is square mercury, this aspects tells me directly I have problems with my memory, that I don’t remember my childhood or I don’t have clarity about it. also that I could often lie to get on my way, too accurate. moon 9H tells me I was really imaginative, divagating about topics and questioning or being curious about how things worked. I was always in my world questioning why this and that and bringing in my head “what if?” scenarios. moon in cancer tells me I was more comfortable and secure in my house, specially with my mom. female roles could have been significant, this evidence also this person felt incredibly connected with their mom, it could turned into an unhealthy habit. I felt what my mom felt, I had the need of taking care of her instead and I did. sadly, people with moon in cancer in IC pc possibly had to be the mom to their mom and now they have a savior complex :( I’m so sorry if that happened to you. it’s reflected in every relationship, you need to heal your inner child in order to break that pattern. in my case, I’m trying and that’s recognizable.

Sag on 3H on Lilith pc be saying the most traumatic shit they have experienced and then laughing like’s not a big deal.

Moon opposition Venus on natal chart fcking needs or searchs for love in a profound manner.

they’re emos that write melancholic poetry and don’t like partying and stuff -not saying they have never been-, they prefer to be selective with their partners and don’t give second chances and if they do it’s because of “vibes” 🕺 they need love but it’s really hard to find someone like them that will sacrifice for others as they’ll do with them.

People with 6 house stellium/virgo placements feel more comfortable with animals than to be with people.

they spended more time with animals than with people on their childhood. they love animals, they’re not complex and irritating as people 🙄 later they could have regrets about their relationship with animals before realizing how important they’re. like megumi from jjk -appeared in my mind-.

Saturn 1H moon persona chart feels restricted to be theirselves.

it’s so frustrating, since childhood these people have had a fear of rejection. they have had even controlled the way they breath to not bother others. they hated themselves for being themselves and they’ve suffered so much bc of the critics. they’ve tried so hard to be someone they’re not, they’ve tried to controlled it and they couldn’t. they’ve suffered in silence about their identity and how insufficient they’ve felt. Saturn in moon pc evidences what difficulties exists in their emotional life and where they need to grow and mature. later, they’ll be proud about themselves and how far they’ve become.

Jupiter on scorpio 12 house on Venus pc run away from themselves.

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

❀ Based on my personal experience and what I’ve analyzed in my surroundings.

❀ English is not my first language.

❀ I’m not a profesional astrologer.

Thank youu. baibaiii🫣🫶🏼💋

Do not copy. Please give me credits.

[deathofacupid]

I love ur clay Jensen work please it’s so fucking good 😭🫶🏼

Could I get a clay Jensen with a depressed reader ? Like she has a traumatic past and it gets triggered because liberty Highschool is never peaceful and clay basically comforts her? If you see this THANKS 😻🫶🏼

it'll get better | clay jensen

a/n: thanks for the req! i was in a huge writing spunk, and this got me out of it. also, i'm sorry this took so long! summary: liberty is a hard place to be in, but it's a little less hard when clay is there. warning: thoughts/mentions of su1c1de, depression, and death. overall, all thirteen reasons why warnings apply here. please don't read this if you aren't comfortable with this fic's contents, and you if, by and means, get triggered, don't hesitate to reach out to me! pairing: depressed!reader x clay jensen (no established relationship, but take it as you will!) word count: 1.1k+ words

you press the palms of your hands into your eyes, hard enough that you see colorful spots. outside, on the back stairs of the school, you finally feel like you're getting a break. like the whole world isn't yelling at you, isn't taunting or shaming.

you're so tired of your mind constantly reeling, and dumb kids, and the horrible, horrible thoughts. so tired of hearing her story over and over and over again. even if it's so selfish for you to think like that, you wish someone, anyone would look past it and take a break from her.

from the very second you stepped into this school, you've been surrounded by pain, and death, and- and it never stops. why does it never stop?

is it just you? are you the only one who can't stand hearing more? seeing more? living more?

first, it was jeff. and then hannah. then bryce. then monty. and you can't help but feel like it'll get worse, and worse, and never better. you hate that everyone's leaving, even if they're people you don't care about.

and you're sick of it. you're tired. and god, it's not the kind that sleep can fixed, because you've tried. you've tried sleeping more. too much, really, but then you drown in nightmares.

and after the nightmares, it's not like you can go back to sleeping. and you don't meaning going back to sleep after an hour, no, not at all.

you mean days. you mean weeks. you mean months.

people die, and die, and die, and they only mourn for days, it feels like, and then the horrid, horrid jokes begin.

you wouldn't even be able to die in peace, knowing that they'd ridicule you.

no, no, no, you don't want to be a spectacle. you just want... to rest, indefinitely. why is it so hard to do that?

no, hannah wasn't a coward.

she was brave.

and you never knew her, but you knew her. you knew her in the way no one else might ever, because you are her. in a sad, sad way.

and you never knew her, but it still hurt. it hurt because you knew she was good. she was joy, at least for everyone else.

and you never knew her, but you knew clay. and you knew clay saw that joy.

and you never knew her, but it broke something in you.

you can faintly hear the sounds of the creak back door opening, despite the loud beating of your heart in your chest. there's some shuffling of sneakers on the grainy concrete, and you hear someone take a seat beside you.

you don't feel like looking up. maybe if you don't acknowledge their existence, they won't actually be there. right? a soft voice goes, "hey."

it's clay. you know it's clay. you can tell by the quiet, yet worried, lilt in his voice.

"hi," you mumble back, face still buried in your knees, which are pulled into your chest.

his uncanny awkwardness suffocates you more than anything else, (un?)surprisingly.

"are- are you okay?" he tries.

"yes." it's a mumbled, half-assed reply.

"are you sure?"

"yes."

it's quiet for a beat. then he throws you for a curve when he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. he's warm and soft, and he smells like... tire grease?

what would he be smelling like tire grease for? was he at tony's? tony's garage, you mean? when would he have had time to be there? had he been skipping class, too? did he only just get back? but he came from inside, didn't he?

with clay, you should be used to having an plethora of questions, and tiny, quarter-built ant pile of answers.

you should be.

doesn't mean you are.

you would ask, but you're trying to avoid anything hannah-related. tony is definitely hannah-related. clay is hannah-related, too, but that's different. you could be by clay's side forever, and you wouldn't get sick of it.

it's really nice, just the two of you, pressed against each other in the cool autumn air. it's nice enough that you almost forget.

but you don't. you can't, not really. not when it's so predominant over anything else. that's what liberty high is. a place where all the bad things overpower the good ones.

when people think of liberty high, they think of death.

they think of unfortunate accidents. they think of suicide. they think of murder. they think of violence and violation.

and god, don't even get started on the tapes.

you hate the tapes. you hate the tapes more than you hate yourself, or more than you hate this terrible place. you hate the tapes more than you hate bryce, or monty, or any of those kids. more than you hate jessica, or alex, or tyler, or tony, or zach, or ryan, or skye, or chloe, or ani, or sheri, or courtney, or winston, or diego, or marcus, or cyrus.

and yes, you hate them, and yes, you know some of them don't deserve that, but no, you can't help it.

and you can't even just leave, because this will follow you around for the rest of your life and you'll never know what you did know - or maybe you did know.

and what truly, really sucks is that no matter where you go, all this follows you around. you've been surrounded by pain and hurt, and it never seems to get any better.

but if you told anyone any of this, they'd send you to a shitty ward, and that'd be it. and all your thoughts just keep going like this, around and around, like a twisted merry-go-round that keeps getting faster and faster. or like a spiral that never ends, but just gets tighter and tighter. and you don't even know if anything—

"will it ever get better?" you ask, a sort of shakiness in your voice.

"i don't know," he admits. "can it really get worse?"

it's rhetorical and you know it, but you answer anyways. "probably."

he then decides to change his answer. "it'll get better. it has to."

you hum, doubtful. he continues, "the way we treat each other. and the people who haven't been doing that right, they'll get outed. i know they will."

"how? what about the trial? remember that?" it's not supposed to be snarky, it's really just a genuine question.

"yeah. but he didn't really win. bryce got murdered. he got what he deserved." it's blunt, and you can't help but wince.

"what about the others? who hurt hannah?"

"they owned up to it, didn't they? they're okay with coming out with the truth, because they know what they did was wrong. bryce didn't. he took his win with stride, as if it was privilege."

"owning up or not, it doesn't change they fact that she'd dead," you murmur.

he's quiet again. "i guess not. but at least it won't happen again."

you think about yourself for a moment. "how do you know?"

"i don't. i just hope. because the better we get, the better things will get. there's always a reason to live. you just... have to look."

and so you do. you lift your head, and clay turns to face you. right into his deep eyes, and you know behind the demeanor he holds, they're full of love and compassion.

you look, and you see.

"okay," you say finally.

because maybe he's right. maybe things will get better. because you aren't alone, maybe not really.

and maybe you're allowed to acknowledge that it won't get better in just a day. or a week. or a month.

but there's a little bit of hope that it will get better.

and you have clay there with you. you trust him. you know there's truth in what he's saying. you know he'd never lie to you.

that being said, it'll get better.

[derangedanomaly]

Guyyss, y'all have no idea how happy I actually am to know that y'all like my AU of Nightmare having a clone. I haven't felt this hyper in forever! I also REALLY enjoy doing anything about my favorite boy Chaos, so I decided to write some interesting Facts about my AU!

Enjoy lmao

Masterlist

CHAOS FACTS

His design differences between Nightmare:

I don't know if anyone's noticed, but I draw Nightmares tentacles purposely more flowy and droopy than Chaos'.

Chaos almost always has his tentacles lowered down, because he doesn't want to accidentally hurt anyone, but the only time he always has them up, is when he's near Nightmare, to look bigger and assert dominance.

Chaos' tentacles sometimes makes him look like he has horns.

While Nightmare feeds off of negative feelings, Chaos feeds off of Nightmares misery. SPECIFICALLY Nightmares. And whenever he does feed off of his misery, a purple smoke surrounds him.

When Diana accidentally copied Nightmares code, she wanted to use the delete button. She was afraid of what two Nightmares could do to the multiverse. But her worries flew out the window when she saw how friendly Chaos is, apart from Nightmare.

You could almost say that Chaos could be a better villain than Nightmare, because Chaos is willing to actually do anything just to earn someone's trust. And he could take advantage of that too, but thanks to Diana's code, he won't do that.

Chaos is practically the only worst punishment that Nightmare could receive, because the only one that can get on Nightmares nerves, is himself.

Chaos doesn't have a passive form, because he's only the copy of Nightmares code. Meaning he probably doesn't even know who Passive is.

The only reason he wants to ruin Nightmares reputation so much, is solely because he gets a kick out of it. It's also strangely written in his code- Diana thought it would be funny and entertaining to see two Nightmares fighting each other.

Nightmare could engage in a pretty violent battle with Chaos if he truly got pissed off- but he doesn't do that, only because Chaos is practically him. Chaos is pretty much on the same level of power as Nightmare. Which probably makes him the only appropriate opponent to Nightmare.

Killer often call NM and Chaos "twins". This earns an amused chuckle from Chaos and an angry Nightmare.

Chaos is partly supposed to represent how fanon Nightmare sometimes acts, apart from the canon one.

Chaos doesn't have a soul, since he technically doesn't exist, his whole body is made off of copies of Nightmares code, this doesn't include his soul.

The only people who know about Diana's existence are Ink, Error and Chaos. Diana doesn't feel the need to show herself to anyone often, so she just doesn't do it.

Ink and Diana are actually pretty good friends, though Diana denies any sort of friendship between the two.

Diana, Ink and Error, are like the three horseman of creation. Error is the destruction, Ink is the creation, and Diana is the rebirth. (Since Diana can copy anyone's code, she can technically bring out the dead. But this of course also has consequences.)

Diana's belt has eyes that follow whoever she's talking to.

Diana is supposed to represent a higher intelligent form. That's why she wears more 'angelic-like' clothes.

Chaos views Diana like his mother.

I'm sorry If these facts don't interest you! I just fell in love with my own Au 😭

[oldiesstationlover11607]

Okay so a fic where reader is at a party where everyone else is drinking and she feel insecure about not drinking but then she realizes Tyler the most popular guy in school is also not drinking and they bond and it’s cute and fluffy 😭😭☺️☺️(probably high school Tyler!)

Drinks- Tyler Joseph x Reader

Warnings: Peer pressure + bullying

Word Count: 1805

A/N: This took a while lmao but I think it's cute :)

The music was so loud I could barely think, and everyone was squeezed into every corner of the living room like this was the last party they’d ever get to attend. I could feel myself inching closer and closer to the wall, trying to make myself invisible. But my best friend’s voice kept popping into my head: “You’ll have fun! You’ll see! Just give it a try!” She’d said it as if she were trying to persuade me to jump out of a plane.

Apparently, high school parties weren’t much different.

I wasn’t anti-party; I just didn’t love being surrounded by people who seemed to morph after a couple of drinks. My friends were usually fine, but people I barely knew, like that guy weaving past me, eyes glassy and singing along to a song that wasn’t even playing? Not so much.

From across the room, my best friend waved at me enthusiastically, her own red cup lifted high. She pointed at me, then at her drink, making a motion like she was tipping it back. I mouthed back, ‘I’m good,’ but she just smiled and rolled her eyes, giving me a thumbs-up. She knew I didn’t drink, but somehow, she was convinced each party would be the one where I’d finally loosen up.

I sighed, scanning the room for a quiet corner. A group of girls from gym class wandered over just as I found a spot near the kitchen.

“Hey, aren’t you Y/N?” One of them smiled brightly, sizing me up. It was Stacey, with her signature red lipstick smeared across her lips and a cup already half-empty.

“Oh, yeah. I’m… I’m Y/N,” I managed, hoping they’d just say hi and keep moving. No such luck.

“Nice to see you out!” Stacey’s friend said with an amused grin. “Didn’t know you ever came to parties. And…” She glanced at my hands pointedly, eyebrows raising. “You’re empty-handed?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep things light. “Not really drinking tonight.”

Stacey’s face fell into a mock pout. “What’s that about? You’re just gonna sit in a corner and judge us?”

“Oh no, no, nothing like that,” I said quickly, feeling my face go warm. “I just don’t really… drink.”

Stacey rolled her eyes and pushed a cup toward me. “Oh, come on. Just one. It’ll help you chill out. This stuff’s practically water anyway.”

I hesitated, looking down at the drink, my palms feeling damp. I could feel my smile slipping as I searched for an answer that would make them leave without making me seem rude. The last thing I needed was for them to think I was too good for a party drink.

“Hey,” a familiar voice cut in, calm and easy. “Maybe she’s good without it, Stacey.”

My eyes snapped up, meeting the face I’d seen around the hallways all year but never this close. Tyler Joseph, with his trademark half-smile, was looking between Stacey and me like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be standing here.

Stacey’s expression shifted in a split second, from annoyed to something soft and wide-eyed. “Oh, Tyler! Didn’t see you there,” she said, voice going up a pitch. “We were just trying to help her get in the spirit, you know?”

Tyler didn’t look away from me, still smiling as if he could see straight through my unease. “I think she’s good. Right?” He looked at me directly, his voice calm, inviting me to take control back. 

I didn’t know what to say, I’d never been this close to him before. My best friend had told me they went to elementary school together and that he was cool but he’d never so much as acknowledged my existence. 

I nodded quickly, feeling grateful. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Stacey hesitated, then plastered on a grin. “Fine, fine. Your loss,” she said with a laugh that was way too forced. With a flick of her hair, she spun around and led her friends back to the chaos of the living room.

Once they were gone, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“Thank you,” I said, glancing up at him, trying to play it cool even though my heart was beating a little faster than I’d like. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged, leaning back against the wall next to me like we’d been friends all along. “I don’t like seeing people get pushed into things. Figured I’d step in before it got worse.”

I managed a small smile, even as I fidgeted with my bag strap. “Well, I appreciate it.”

He laughed, and the sound was warm, easy. “I know the type of girls they are. I’m honestly surprised they tried to drag you into it, though. Usually, they give up faster.”

“Maybe they just felt bad I wasn’t… participating,” I said, rolling my eyes at the word.

He looked down at me, one eyebrow raised in interest. “So, what, you don’t drink at all?”

I shook my head. “Not really my thing. I know that sounds boring.”

“Not really.” He smiled again, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’m not drinking tonight either.”

That caught me off guard. “You’re not?”

He shook his head, and for a second, I thought he was joking. Tyler Joseph, the guy everyone knew, always in the center of every social gathering and somehow friends with everyone from the jocks to the theater kids. If anyone here looked like they’d belong at a party, it was him.

“Nope. Not really a fan of it either.” He leaned back against the wall next to me, crossing his arms in a way that made him look effortlessly cool. “Figured I’d just show up, hang out, and see where the night goes.”

I looked at him, feeling an unexpected warmth spread through my chest. “That’s… actually kind of nice. I didn’t think anyone else felt like that.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, you’d be surprised. There’s more of us than you’d think.”

I smiled, feeling a little more relaxed as we stood there together, a bubble of calm in the middle of the loud, chaotic party. I hadn’t noticed how easy it was to talk to him. He was quiet for a moment, then nodded toward the kitchen. “Wanna go grab some soda or something? That way, if anyone else bothers you, you can at least say you’re ‘drinking’ something.”

I laughed, feeling a little lighter. “That’s actually a great idea.”

He led the way through the crowd, and as we reached the kitchen, I noticed a few people glancing our way. Not that I was surprised; Tyler seemed to have that effect on people, no matter where he went.

He opened the fridge and pulled out a can of Sprite, handing it to me before grabbing one for himself. “Cheers,” he said with a grin, tapping his can against mine.

“Cheers,” I echoed, smiling as we both took a sip. I wasn’t sure if it was the soda or the unexpectedness of this whole situation, but I felt more at ease than I had all night.

“So, what do you usually do on Friday nights?” he asked, leaning back against the counter and giving me his full attention.

I shrugged, suddenly aware of how mundane my answer sounded. “Honestly? I’m usually at home, probably reading or watching some tv.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay, that sounds a lot more interesting than you’re giving it credit for. What kind of stuff do you watch?”

“Oh, you know… true crime, some cartoons, sit-coms. That kind of thing. I’m a real geek for true crime though.”

“Good to know,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “I’ll keep you in mind next time I need a random fact for trivia night.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “What about you? You’re at these parties all the time, right?”

He shrugged. “More or less. People think I like them, but I just keep showing up because it’s what people expect, you know?”

I tilted my head, intrigued. “So you’re saying you’re not secretly the party king?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Not even close. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like seeing people. But I’d rather talk to people than… whatever this is.” He gestured to the crowded living room, where someone was now loudly belting out a song I couldn’t even recognize.

“I get that.” I took another sip of my Sprite. “Sometimes, I feel like everyone’s trying so hard to have the perfect party experience that they kind of… forget to be themselves.”

He looked at me, something soft in his gaze. “Exactly. So, why’d you come, then?”

I shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed. “Peer pressure, I guess. My friend wanted me to come out. She thinks I need to get out of my shell.”

Tyler tilted his head, studying me. “Do you think that?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Sometimes, maybe. But… I think I’m okay with who I am, you know? I just don’t fit into this whole scene.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” He gave me an encouraging smile. “Maybe the ‘scene’ should fit around you for a change.”

We stood in comfortable silence for a moment, sipping our drinks. Every now and then, someone would walk by and give Tyler a curious look, clearly surprised to see him talking to someone they probably assumed didn’t run in his circle. But he didn’t seem to care. In fact, he seemed to barely notice, as if the noise and chaos of the party had faded into the background.

“So, Y/N,” he said after a minute, his tone playful, “if you could be anywhere else right now, where would you be?”

I thought for a moment, tapping my fingers against the can. “Anywhere?”

“Anywhere,” he said, grinning. “The world is your oyster.”

“Alright.” I smiled, looking up at him. “There’s this little bookstore downtown. It’s tiny, but it’s open late, and they have these amazing armchairs. I’d probably be there right now, curled up with a book and some herbal tea.”

His smile widened. “Sounds like the perfect place. You know, I might have to check it out sometime.”

“You should,” I said, feeling a strange mix of excitement and comfort. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

For the rest of the night, we stayed in the kitchen, talking about everything and nothing—favorite movies, random facts, dreams for the future. I barely noticed when my best friend texted me, asking where I’d gone, and I definitely didn’t notice when the party started to wind down. All I knew was that, for the first time at a party, I felt completely comfortable. And as Tyler laughed at one of my terrible jokes, I couldn’t help but think maybe I’d come to the right place after all.

//

REQUESTS OPEN

[thealternateuniverse]

I don't know if you're still taking requests, but could you pls make a part 2 of your last got7 scenario (high school menace chronicles), with a reader who is part of the group as the eighth troublemaker in this chaos. I imagined that reader could have a personality similar to the boys, and them creating more confusion to protect the reader. Also I love that them hate jyp🤣🤣

Thank you 💚

I didn't think of having an 8th member 😭but for sure this will be more chaotic. Will definitely post it tomorrow.

------

Got7 Menaces + Their Chaos Gremlin 8th Member

🪩 Jaebom (Grumpy but Whipped)

Aggressive as hell. Will throw hands at anyone—except Mark and Y/N (they have immunity).

Eternally tested by the unholy trinity: Bambam, Yugyeom, and Y/N.

The last to escape when skipping class because he's clumsy and injures himself every time.

Got sentenced to dishwashing duty in the cafeteria after losing rock, paper, scissors. This is his villain origin story.

Had an out-of-body experience when Yugyeom rammed his bumper car. Thought it was over, but Y/N came speeding in from the right. RIP. Soul leaving his body

Convinced Jackson to break a science cylinder as a prank, then blamed Yugyeom. A menace, but a smart one.

Singlehandedly trashed their hotel room on vacation. B-boyed for three straight hours after getting drunk.

Wore a dress and danced to Red Velvet's Dumb Dumb for Y/N’s 18th birthday. His self-respect did not survive the night.

Sprained his ankle playing blindfolded soccer at the beach. A walking disaster.

Does Y/N’s bidding against his will—whether it’s stealing makeup or dressing up like a clown, he's trapped.

Once kicked a dude because Y/N said he was creepy. No questions asked.

---

🍜 Mark (Ramyeon Diva)

Permed his hair once. Got bullied for looking like ramyeon. Started fights. No regrets.

Dyed his hair red when he finally recovered from the perm trauma. School rules? What are those?

Packed an Ahgabong light stick for Law of the Jungle camping. Priorities.

Bottled up rage? No. Just lost his patience in a bottle flip game and annihilated the bottle instead.

Gets into fights when people mess with Y/N. Only he is allowed to bully her.

Skipped class to go paragliding with Y/N. Because why not?

Disguised as a white lady to scare Bambam. Successfully made him sprint like an Olympic athlete.

Lost his soul in a horror booth after Y/N whispered demonic threats in the dark. Trust issues unlocked.

Becomes the loudest person in the room when left alone with Yugyeom. Unexpectedly chaotic.

Happily does girly stuff for Y/N. Makeup? Nail polish? He's all in.

Once put fake cockroaches in a girl's locker because Y/N said she was a bitch to her. No hesitation.

---

📢 Jackson (The human loudspeaker)

JYP dancing with Hwasa? Flabbergasted. Dumbfounded. Shooketh. His soul left his body. His face has subtitles all over

Happily does girly things for Y/N. Wigs? Dresses? He’s hyping her up like her personal cheerleader.

Runs for his life when a bug appears. No one lets him live it down.

Joined the archery club with Y/N just to look cool. Missed the target. Hit the wall. Still proud and flexed.

Once told JYP his singing was barely audible. Lived to tell the tale.

Casually threw rice at Yugyeom, Bambam, and Y/N for existing near him because he was hungry.

Blasts Papillon at parties. Every. Single. Time.

Almost committed a crime when Youngjae made him pay for an entire Shabu-shabu feast.

Regularly gets summoned to the disciplinary office for being too loud. Will never shut up.

Dressed as a girl and danced to Dumb Dumb at Y/N’s 18th birthday. Also performed Gangnam Style in a wig along with Kangnam- thought they were doing drag. Iconic.

---

😑Jinyoung (The "I Am Surrounded By Idiots" Energy)

His accent exposes him when he's mad. Everyone knows to run when it comes out.

If Jackson is shocked by JYP’s antics. Jinyoung is disgusted. Actively beefs with JYP.

The official mediator. Prevents suspensions and potential crimes. Exhausted 24/7.

Ready to throw hands if anyone messes with Y/N.

Frequent flyer at the guidance office. Protested against no hamburgers and JYP’s mandatory narcissism assemblies.

Regularly roasts the boys live on Instagram with Y/N. No one is safe.

Went to class hungover. Sat there questioning his life choices.

Left behind at the airport and didn’t care. Completely unbothered.

Nearly committed homicide when they turned a boat into a bumper car.

Also suffered through Dumb Dumb at Y/N’s birthday. The wig had him fighting for his life.

---

🔪 Youngjae (The Accidental Menace)

Got caught smoking. "It’s for method acting," he said—then coughed his lungs out.

Nearly died when Jinyoung caught him holding a knife to Y/N’s throat (they were practicing for his role in acting).

Dragged Y/N to the gym against her will for "fitness bonding."

Ate like a construction worker during the Shabu-shabu incident—then left Jackson with the bill.

Side-eyes JYP at every opportunity. The disrespect is silent but loud.

Yeeted Bambam into a pool like a discarded sack.

Cannot be left alone with Y/N. They seek chaos together.

Chases people with a hammer toy for fun.

Endured Dumb Dumb in a dress. Did not survive the embarrassment.

Thought Bonjour was Spanish in class 😭. No thoughts, head empty.

---

💻Bambam (The Gossip King & Chaos Incarnate)

Packed his entire house for a trip (In his Balenciaga bag). Blankets? Speakers? Everything except common sense.

Runs a gossip page with blackmail-worthy pictures ready to ruin lives.

Skipped school with Y/N. Had one beer. Woke up in a closet.

Failed English even though it’s his favorite subject. Make it make sense.

Almost ended Jackson by making him beatbox 7th Heaven nonstop during their vacant time in school.

Forgot they were on live radio in school and cussed out Jaebeom. Also exposed everyone’s love lives.

Is Twitter’s favorite menace. Roasts everyone daily. Most followed student on Twitter

JYP never punishes him. Somehow gets away with everything.

Absolutely slayed in a dress at Y/N’s birthday. No regrets.

---

👏Yugyeom (Certified Brat & Professional Instigator)

Gets blamed for everything. Didn't break the science cylinder? Still his fault.

Cannot be put in a room with Bambam and Y/N. Chaos is inevitable.

Whines when ignored. Pouts when roasted.

Card-slashes Bambam's ass in the hallway. Almost got detention for it.

Talks through JYP assemblies with Bambam and Y/N. They live in their own world. Couldn't care less about him.

Catches bras at concerts like trophies.

Completely crashes out when pranked. Brain lags for five minutes.

Loud. Always yelling EAAAASYY with Bambam when both their brains click whenever they can

Dumb Dumb dance in dress? Did it. Was mortified.

---

👸The 8th Member (The True Menace Queen)

Brattier than Bambam & Yugyeom combined.

Never gets caught. The boys take the fall. Every. Time.

Insults Jaebeom’s back pain. Calls him "old man." Still alive.

Stole Mark’s cat. He almost had a crash out thinking it was missing.

Lied to Jackson in Mafia Game that she is not the mafia. Got cussed out when revealed herself.

Ate the last chicken wings with Bambam. Let Jaebeom & Jackson fight over it.

Calls Jinyoung "idiot" just for fun.

JYP's favorite student. Smirks when mentioned in assemblies. The boys combust in rage.

[cicadako]

hello!

I stumbled upon your art with the mermaid baby comics, and been reading your ocs stories for a few days now

and I'm loving your horror so much 😭❤️ the style and character designs and the stories themselves is just so ✨ I honestly didn't know such a thing could exist. and your use of color! 😭😭😭

I just finished "Letter for Mimi" and that one shot of lanterns going into the water just 🫠

could you pretty please share more about this story and the character? it's gonna haunt me for a while (in the best sense possible)

<3

Aww thank you! I had a lot of fun drawing short horror comics for the past few years. I got to experiment and learned a lot about comic making. Also it was a nice opportunity to showcase my ocs haha

About Letter for Mimi: It was inspired by a Taiwanese folk practice. The tradition is that the spirit tablet of a deceased women will be placed among her husband's ancestors. Which means those souls of whom were unmarried will have no place to rest, since her birth family won't take her in either because an unmarried daughter is a disgrace(yikes). In order to fix this, the dead woman's family will put her hair(or a sheet with her birthday written on it) and some money in a red envelope and place it somewhere visible or have lots of traffic. If an unsuspecting man picks it up then boom the family rush to surround this guy and he will have to marry this dead gal.

Thus there are many visual clues in the comic indicating an upcoming wedding. And the fish people circling Mimi congratulating her.

Also because it was for mermay I had to throw in some elements about drowned ghost being stuck in the location they died until they pull a living person into the water to take their place.

So in the end Mimi got a mandatory dead fish wife and probably went to live under the sea with her.

[risingscorchingsuns]

What was hikaru's transition experience in the corps? How did they take his coming out (if that happened)? How easy was it for him to get care (you said shinobu did his top surgery)?

This is a great question! Unfortunately Hikaru being trans is one of the most historically inaccurate parts of his story, if not medically, then definitely socially. I use a lot more modern methods and language because I wanted Hikaru to be trans similarly to how I am. It’s my canon-accurate Achilles Heel 😭

Don’t get me wrong, trans people definitely existed back in the Taisho period!! We’ve always been here, but back then we were recorded a little differently, generally regarded as “women in men’s clothing”, et cetera. I will never deny their existence, and Hikaru being modern with his gender expression isn’t meant as erasure or denial to them, but as an expression of myself via a fictional character. Their existence is real, and valid, and they are no less trans than Hikaru- at the end of the day, he’s my silly little self insert, and I wanted to write his experiences based off of mine. If the focus of Hikaru’s story was his gender journey, I would put more emphasis on the time period and the difficulties surrounding being trans in the Taisho period, but the themes surrounding Blazing Heart’s Rhapsody are acceptance and solace found within family, and love in spite of war. This isn’t a story about trans people- Hikaru just happens to be trans ☺️

Hikaru realized he was a boy very very young, (probably around 6 or 7) and his father, Hiroki, encouraged him to live in whatever fashion made him feel most comfortable. Because Hikaru grew up in the woods with only his father and little brothers, he was never really socialized as a woman or a man- he was just Hikaru, the oldest Eritora child. He likely hit puberty while living on his own in the Sumitomo Forest, but didn’t experience dysphoria until he was found by the Kochos when he was 16. When he was brought into the Corps, Hikaru experienced gender norms full-force for the first time. It wasn’t really that they didn’t support Hikaru being trans, it was more that he didn’t fit. He was Different, and that made him Othered. For the first time, Hikaru was struggling with where he belonged, and that was when he started to really learn the societal importance placed on gender roles. Additionally, Hikaru is neurodivergent, so these norms never made much sense to him logically in the first place. So while he never really had to come out, he did have to fit in, which was difficult for him to navigate. He talked to Shinobu, who in all her medical expertise, gave him the best advice she could. She was the one who helped him hormonally transition, (if she can inject herself with 700x the lethal dose of wisteria without fucking poisoning herself, she can probably make Hikaru’s testosterone. She’s iconic like that I think.) and ultimately it was Shinobu who helped Hikaru figure out where he stood in terms of gender identity. Hikaru is a self-made man in every sense of the phrase, but he couldn’t have done it without the help of those around him.

As for top surgery, I don’t really have a canon-friendly justification for that. Shinobu’s not a plastic surgeon, she’s probably done minor surgeries before, but never anything to the level of gender-affirming surgery. I feel like she’d DIY that shit tbh. She could pull it off. I’d let her do my top surgery. Shinobu says trans rights 🗣️

Thank you for this ask!!! I rarely get to do longform Hikaru analysis :D

[my-name-is-apollo]

Your blog is a wonderful oasis, a happy and comfy place for someone who loves Apollo (and Artemis equally, but many people who loves her, hates her brother and i can't look at those posts 😭) and is surrounded by negative comments or people talking shit about him, thank you so much for exists in this world 🥺🫶

The pleasure is mine anon, I'm glad that other Apollo lovers like my blog <3

[gl1tt3r-gutz-and-r0b0tz-sl]

IDK IF THERE'S ERRORS, I ALREADY SUBMITTED IT 😭😭

The comic will go onto so much more depth on the characters and theor designs, but I couldn't really with this assignment.

Start

It’s unknown how humans were made, how they were formed, how they came to be. Was it a god? Was it a Big Bang? But, humans historically have grown to love to play creator. They love to make, to materialize. Whether it be their stories, their religions, their characters, their lives, themselves; they love to make.

One of the things humanity had created was technology. In its roughest form, technology was made of stone, mud, straw, made for tools, toys, and weapons. With hundreds of thousands of millenia, technology has evolved, it grew to be metal, sometimes covered in a shell of plastic or silicone.

Human-like forms of technology had been made and envisioned at least three million years ago.

Other than creating, humans loved to destroy, especially creating things in order to destroy.

People in the twenty-first century thought their world would be ending already due to the growth of artificial intelligence. Little did those poor souls know that… oh, their species would survive, slowly, painfully, being picked apart one by one at a time. If the wars they had caused against themselves didn't kill them, their own creations would millions of earthly cycles later.

A creature of hate was not born from love like the flesh she was made to wear. That creature was named Yui. 唯; Alone, only, sole. How fitting. She did not get the respect of receiving a last name. She was a freak of nature, a ‘beautiful accident’ as her creators referred to her as.

She held the same features of one possessing Asian descent, though her innards were not the same as the many others surrounding her.

Humans, surprisingly, have kept their features. Though, many of them have more symmetrical features and “perfect” genetics, thanks to science and the mass-genocide of those who the wackjobs up top believed weren’t pretty enough to breed the next hundreds of generations.

So, Yui’s classmates weren’t very odd looking like one might have expected those millions of years ago. But God, did those years not do anything for all of their personalities.

Existing as a being of near divinity was difficult to traverse, especially in a school setting.

The school she was in was not similar to the academic establishments of the past, even though the prison feeling was still the same, if not amplified. No, this place was more of a boot camp than anything. It trained them to kill, to hunt, to be merciless.

Yui never really understood it.

The humans were fighting her kind, or what her insides were.

They were called Yeager Units, war machines that brought havoc and suffrage wherever they stepped foot.

Originally used in the human-on-human wars a few centuries ago, the Yeager Units had grown to be sentient using their base motherboard AI to branch off of. They could make their own decisions, they could feel what they believed was emotion, but they could never touch, never see through human eyes, never taste or smell, they were doomed to their metal shells for the rest of their existence. Some ran away, trying to find a way to be free, to venture away from the shackles of their previous masters.

Others decided to put use to their original programming; fighting back against the hands that crafted and killed them.

After centuries of yet more bloodshed, one of the Units was captured and detained, one with the highest kill count with their own bare hands, that alone being at least seventeen million people, mostly soldiers, some single men and women, but never children or their families, or expecting mothers. The Unit’s reasons for sparing those groups was odd, but perhaps it acted out of its base programming, that being to protect the weakest of the groups of humans and slaughter the most capable.

Regardless, that Unit was under strict restrictions and supervision, tested on, recorded, documented, the whole nine yards. The researchers got to play with their newest toy, and the Unit got to study them in return with meticulous precision.

A girl, unnamed and rejected from her home due to her oddity in complexion and appearance, was placed with this Unit.

The Girl was albino, her skin as white as the snow the children only learn about in books and her hair whiter than a water lily, that, like snow, did not exist any longer.

The Girl was not very little. In fact, she wasn’t much of a child at that. While young, the unnamed albino was nineteen years old.

Her and the Unit became ‘fast friends’ if that would be the best way to describe their dynamic. The pair had a sense of comradery with one another, their shared loneliness now becoming a part of their bonding to one another.

Something had happened.

One of the researchers was speaking to their team members.

They looked at the pair.

A switch was pulled.

The lights went out.

A command was made.

And a blood curdling scream rang out.

That’s all Yui can remember when she wakes every night.

This night, she sat up in her bed and climbed out, mindful to not wake her roommate as she slowly slid the window open.

After climbing and scaling up the walls of the base, she sat herself on the edge of the rooftop, adjusting her body to get comfortable.

Silence had fallen over the night like a soft, cool blanket, with the exception of some of the artificial noises of crickets and other forest animals played to soothe some of the lighter sleepers.

Yui tilted her head up to the sky, the moon’s light cascading down onto her body, the deathly pale skin on her face glittering from it.

Her eyes fell down to her hand that she had positioned palm-up to the sky. She flexed her fingers gently, the servos and joints under the skin making soft whirrs with every movement.

Yui’s white hair fell in front of her eyes as she tilted her head down more, a frown gracing her lips.

What was she?

Who was she?

She’d never fully know right now.

But that was the least of her concern when her sensors picked up a strong, very present signal. Yui’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she rose to her feet, scanning the area for signature of a foe before finding her target. Without a second thought, she threw herself off of the edge of the roof, tucking and rolling to stick out her fall, and began to progress towards the source of the disturbance.

End

This was for school, so it's relatively short, I hope o have the time to revamp it later. And it's only for the creation part of Yui, not the full story.

[local-limebug]

1, 5, 8, 12 for the dbd ask game :)

omg hi thank you so much for the asks !!!

1. Who is your favourite character?

i cannot choose between the core four i'm sorry 😭 they're all such interesting and well written characters, i feel like it's impossible to choose between them. they're all super fun to watch and analyze, especially in regards to my own personal experiences and how i relate to each of them on some level. but if i absolutely had to choose, it would most likely be edwin. i just love him so much as a character, and how well he's written. he's so kind and so bitchy at the same time. i absolutely love edwin. i've also never seen a queer character's arc of coming to terms with their sexuality written like edwin's, and i just absolutely adore him as a character.

5. Which character do you relate to the most?

edwin again. i relate to all of them on some level, from charles' anger to crystal's "mean girl who got nicer" arc to niko being a shut in (all things i've been through) but that experience of feeling immensely lonely despite being loved and having friends, of being through trauma that's made you guarded and quiet and kind of bitchy, of being surrounded by supportive people but still being affected by growing up in a homophobic society, all just hits really close to home. edwin's "you can't just do things based on how you feel at the moment" and his reliance on logic is also something i really relate to, as someone whose emotions lie to them quite a lot. i just really relate to edwin on so, so many levels.

8. A headcanon you have (that you havent seen talked about yet)!

i am a firm believer of the "niko has siblings" agenda. she gives me youngest sibling vibes, like the baby of the family, yk? in my head, she definitely has one older brother, and maybe an older sister too. i've been picturing her brother as ~20 years old, and her sister maybe 17 or 18? but yes, i very very firmly believe niko has older siblings, or at least an older brother. i recognize this holds no bearing on the story but it's important to me.

12. If you existed in the universe would you hang around as a ghost? (What would you do?)

i mean, if i had a choice, then yes. i wouldn't want to be a ghost forever, but definitely for some time. not sure how long before i decide to move on but probably at least a few years. so long as i had a friend with me, i think i'd really enjoy it. i would miss sleeping and eating, i think, but i definitely would not miss having to maintain my body or whatever. and i would do a lot of stuff but especially mirror travel around the world. idc if it takes me years to master, i would love to just walk around seeing new sights and people. i would go to so many concerts of my favourite bands and musicians, and since i would have an eternity, i'd probably pick up some new skills while i'm at it. learn a new language, maybe some magic. i also recently moved countries, so i'd definitely go and visit home. haunt the city i grew up in, yk?

again, thank you so so much for the asks, i loved doing this !! feel free to send me any more if you'd like <33

[tongue-like-a-razor]

I would like to know your opinion on something. So, I've always loved Tom Cruise, ever since I was a kid. I never cared much about Hollywood, but I always loved Tom, his films marked my childhood and adolescence and his personal story inspired me. But, now as an adult, knowing all the other things he does in his personal life, Scientology, abandoning his child and all the drama he caused because because of it only leaves me with a bitter taste in my mouth. And it's not something that should be avoided or ignored, it's too important for that. I feel like the moment you try to “forget” about it just makes you as trashy as he is. That naive admiration I had when looking at him before just doesn't exist anymore and it's kind of depressing. But even so, I like interacting with content about him, in a way, I still feel a little of that nostalgia and feelings that I had when watching his films again. Being his fan, how do you feel?

Ooh I really love this question! I am a fan and have been since I was a kid! The original Top Gun was like a yearly family movie night at our house so there is definitely some nostalgia surrounding it, as well as many of his other films.

I can’t say I love Tom for the person he is because I don’t know him. But I do admire what he’s done for the movie industry. When I say I love him, I mean it in a very surface level way (his films, his arms 🥵, his charisma).

However, I’d be lying if I said that his personal life/choices didn’t bother me. And I agree that it’s so disappointing because it absolutely affects how I feel about him and almost puts a threshold on how much I can like him.

That being said, as much as I don’t understand his actions, the fact that I don’t personally know him makes it harder to pass judgement and makes me wonder if I even should. I admit I don’t read a lot of tabloids/gossip so I may not know everything you know, but I sometimes wonder if he’s not a victim. I personally have known several people brainwashed by various cults to the point where extracting them became extremely dangerous and nearly impossible. Cults are also known to blackmail people to keep them from leaving and he strikes me as someone with a lot to lose. For all we know, he decided to abandon his daughter for her own safety. Again, I don’t know many details so, if you know for a fact that I’m wrong, let me know!

Truthfully, I like to pretend that he’s stuck just for my own peace of mind, even though I know it’s naive 😅 However, I also am a believer in separating artists from their work. I love Earnest Hemingway as an author, even though he was a notorious misogynist. Some of his works make me extremely angry, but I fucking love the way he writes 😭 HP is another example. I’ve always loved Harry Potter, but not JK for obvious reasons. I think Axl Rose is one of the most talented musicians ever despite him being a complete asshole according to many, many people. Basically, I allow myself to love the artists’ works without actually loving the artists.

And I do love Tom’s work. Which makes me a fan, not necessarily of him as a person, but of him as an artist. I may be a little obsessed with how he looks because have you seen him?? But I absolutely agree with you that I am often conflicted in terms of how much I can like someone who is potentially a shitty human being.

Phew that was a lot! Hopefully I didn’t ramble too much. Thanks for making me think this hard on a Monday 😆

[wolfpawzjakey]

Postumum [Posthumous] - the cognomen that really existed in ancient Rome for children born after the death of their father.

It was given automatically without the consent of the mother or relative.

Therefore, when Aisha Emilia was born and her birth is registered, after her personal name and middle name they put Postuma, - a posthumous daughter, brands and the first grief in her tiny life woven right into her name.

When Percy gets his and Jason's daughter's birth certificates in his hands, he screams so hard that his vocal cords tear - the pipes in the hospital explode.

By the way, I really like your answers, regardless of whether they are short or long and how you label them - Anon.

Ughhhhhhh ouch ooo yeowch

Percy getting the certificate, already exhausted and practically beaten into the ground that he just crumbles. He’s not a quiet, silent crier this time, he lets out all of his pain in multiple screams, his throat growing raw to the point he can taste the iron. He’s surrounded by people and yet they do nothing for him, he’s alone in one of the worst ways possible, and he and his will have to live with that memory forever. Postuma is forever ingrained in her name, forever a reminder of what he’s lost, what he was so close to have and what he’ll never have again.

Percy screams with rage, sadness and guilt. If he had never been in this situation, he could’ve saved Jason, he could been the one to die, or they could’ve gone together and Percy would’ve been able to do something. But he couldn’t, he can’t, so he cries, he cries past the point of losing his voice, cries into he’s hacking and gagging on spit and air, cries until he has no more energy to spare. He cries until he can no longer keep his eyes open. He’ll cry for a good long time, but he’ll make sure for Jason at least that he’ll never make their daughter think he’s crying because of her.

-

ANON THANK YOU FOR YOUR COMPLIMENTS 😭😭 THANK YOU FOR FUELING MY CREATIVITYYYYYY

[pbaz7]

Ok let’s see if it’ll let me send this as an anon bc after a while last night it wouldn’t let me🤩

Paige has been chronically offline since the accident.

- #notanad

Azzi wasn’t much better when it came to social media.

- “forgot huh? Silly girl” (I’m still here)

Azzi posting TikTok trends with the team, Paige reluctantly included but always standing closest to Azzi. Then, she’d randomly post duets of them. Ones where Paige didn’t even try to hide her smile when Azzi pulled her into frame,

- cuties

Paige and Azzi getting caught whispering on the bench regardless of who was sitting in between them.

- I’m gonna miss their bench moments

But to fans who had been paying attention, it was enough to start putting the pieces together.

- pazzi central exists even in fan fics🙂‍↕️

Ice’s phone was propped up on live.

- it’s always ice’s lives that expose them

“Look who it is!”

- ITS AZZI FUDD

She stepped into the frame and forced a tight smile. “Hello,” she said simply.

- she did the 😐✋

Her voice was softer, more familiar, like she had completely forgotten they were on live.

- her Azzi voice is what I wish for

"You look cute when you’re all shy like that."

- Paige’s voice rn is so her Azzi face too

All she saw was "Who’s behind the camera?"

- LMAOAOAOA

then the distant click of a door shutting.

- side eye

KK glanced at the chat. “Prolly with the boyfriends.”

- “where’s azzi and Nika? Hm idk prolly with they boyfriends” Paige: 😀

It wasn’t like Paige and Azzi were hiding anything—it was more that they weren’t about to make any official announcements,

- them asf

some adamantly claimed the two of them weren’t even gay, others argued they were just best friends,

- those ppl pmo.

Paige and Azzi never commented on it. And that, in itself, said enough.

- AND I WISH PEOPLE WOULD WAKE UP AND REALIZE THIS LIKE THEY HAVENT SAID ANYTHING WHICH IS A TELL TALE SIGN

Basically said she can’t guard me.”

- this reminded me of that melo video

"You’re the one who gets all soft when we’re alone. Acting like you don’t melt the second I touch you."

- YALL are on camera AND YALL knowww overtimewbb are some instigators

"Chicken tenders and fries."

- YESSIRRRR CHICKEN FINGERS AND FRIES RAAAAAAHHHHH

As soon as she got confirmation Paige pulled Azzi into a kiss by her jaw. Azzi’s hand instinctively found its way to Paige's cheek, her fingers tracing her face as she kissed back, both of them losing themselves in the moment for a while.

- crew is indeed standing right there…

Paige was usually the protective one; But when they were at games or events, surrounded by fans, the roles seemed to reverse. Azzi subtly became the protective one.

- HOW CUTE OMG

"No, let's talk about it bc Azzi is always making sure Paige is comfortable in crowded spaces and I think I’m gonna cry."

- I cry abt them daily tbh

“Since the accident I get really claustrophobic sometimes. Not all the time, but when too many people are around me, and I can’t move the way I want or go where I want, it just…gets to me I guess.”

- my baby

"I just love you," she whispered. "And I’m so thankful that God brought you into my life."

- God is so good.

“You always say I make crowds and things like that easier,” she rambled. “So, I wanted to give you that—so you know I’m always there, even when I can’t be physically next to you.”

- OH MY GOSHHHHHH

This time, though, Paige felt much better about everything.

- my girls 🥲🥲

This was so good wdym you didn’t like it???? Like i cried a few times. I’ve been crying all day tbh but im boutta get my period so im extra emotional but it’s fine.

- annoying anon🥸

"forgot huh? Silly girl" (I'm still here)

will forever be crazy. it kills me that she very routinely insists on doing two comments instead of one

AND I WISH PEOPLE WOULD WAKE UP AND REALIZE THIS LIKE THEY HAVENT SAID ANYTHING WHICH IS A TELL TALE SIGN

because personally if people said i was dating someone who was JUST a friend i would clear the air 😭 that’s just me though

this reminded me of that melo video

ik exactly what you’re talking about lol

YALL are on camera AND YALL knowww overtimewbb are some instigators

overtimewbb actually needs to be studied

stop crying friend 😭