[dearjiwon]

𝜗𝜚 𝓹opular: "extra credit" (choi soobin) ✧

REQUESTS : OPEN ✧ 달콤한 그 말이

aespa ౨ৎ ive ౨ৎ lesserafim ౨ৎ

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©dearjiwon 2025 — all rights reserved, do not repost on any sites, no translations or modifications of any of my works.

[dearjiwon]

I just saw a post from 2006, how long are you writing?

oh haha I just changed the date on my pinned post to my birthday! I didn’t actually post it in 2006 🥹 but I have been writing on this account since last year, and had a writing account for ggs before this!

though I’ve been writing my whole life and it’s something I’m passionate about, I haven’t had this account in specific for very long!! 😢

[fairyofshampgyu]

Now Live ! Stream: Ended

Genre: completed series! camboy au, college au, smut, crack, fluff

Pairing: camboy! Beomgyu x gn reader (afab when smut)

Synopsis: Every Thursday night at 8pm, you tune into your favourite camboy: Angel313. What you don’t know is he goes to the same uni as you, is even in the same class as you and is Choi Beomgyu, the campus fuckboy but will you keep his secret?

Warnings: jackson wang party, online stalking, blackmail, sub! beomgyu, dom! reader, slut shaming, pussy eating, riding, premature ejaculation, amazon position, pegging, handjob, anal play, spanking, nipple play, reader wears a lingerie dress, degrading, use of pet names, dollification

Word count: 16.3k

Playlist ! ♬⋆.˚

You read the message on beomgyu’s phone that he shoves instantly in your face with great confusion. You furrow your brows, unable to even comprehend what was being shown to you on the way-too-bright screen, eyes squinted and slightly stinging since the rest of beomgyu’s room was shrouded in darkness. A few moments prior, you were blissfully ready to succumb to sleep next to the boy.

Haechan: I know you’re a camboy, beomgyu. I always knew you were a fucking whore. Just wait until I tell everyone 🤣🤣.

You go completely still. For a second, it’s like the world crashes down.

What? How is this even real?

You’re still having trouble processing the words glaring back at you. It doesn’t make any sense to you. Not even remotely. Why would haechan even send something like that? The quiet economics guy who plays cello alone in the practice rooms? The haechan you’d now come to befriend? You reread it over and over again without saying a word, just trying to wrap your head around any of this. It’s nonsensical, it’s absurd!-

“Y/n.” Beomgyu’s voice snaps you back, cutting through the silence. You look up. His face is paling as well, eyes widened in equal disbelief. “Do you even know who he is?!”

You blink, thrown off by how frantic he sounds. “Who-Haechan? Yeah, he’s my-”

“He’s the guy who made all those rumours about me!” Beomgyu interrupts, the words tumbling out of his mouth way too fast. “The one whose girlfriend came onto me and he got angry at me over it!”

You frown, stomach twisting, still trying to catch up in the sudden whirlwind you were thrown into. “Wait, what?”

“Haechan,” Beomgyu repeats exasperatedly. “He’s crazy. He’s been dying to try and find some kind of shit on me for ages. He must be having an absolute field day with this. He’s had a personal vendetta against me ever since that whole thing.”

Shit.

“That’s him?!” Your mouth falls open.

Beomgyu gets up, pacing around half dressed, stress, pure panic, and frustration taking all up on his pretty features, his dark, thick, straight brows creasing. Beomgyu huffs, running a hand through his messy, damp hair, still staring at you incredulously as if any of this were your fault.

“How was I supposed to know it was him?” You protest, raising a brown at him, hands thrown up in defence.

“I could have told you easily. Why did you never say who it was?” Beomgyu exhales sharply.

You cross your arms, baffled. “I have no idea! I didn’t think it mattered!”

Beomgyu suddenly stops his pacing. He narrows his eyes at you, shooting you a slight betrayed look, jaw tight, his tone and his expression accusatory, and his voice low, dead serious. “Did you…tell him?”

The look he gives you is new, and it genuinely makes your throat close up, chest tightening. You hate how coldly he’s staring at you, blaming, untrusting, he’s never looked at you like that before ever. You didn’t even know he was capable of looking at you like that.

You gape at him. “No! You think I’d tell him? Wow…” a hollow, disbelieving laugh escapes you. You scoff, feeling hurt and offended that he’d even think you would.

He scoffs right back at you. “Then how does he know, y/n?”

“I didn’t tell him anything.” You snap, growing irritated and your temper flaring at how beomgyu was just accusing you of spilling secrets that could ruin the both of you.

“You sure about that? Because you were getting realll close with him…you sure you didn’t let it slip?” Beomgyu asks bitterly in a condescending and mocking tone, his eyes still narrowed at you.

You stare at him, completely affronted. “No. I’m not stupid.”

Your wrack your brain, trying to think of how haechan could possibly even find out, replaying every interaction, every conversation, every moment you’ve had with him—and that’s when realisation hits you. He saw that notification. It must be that. It can’t be anything else.

You stare off into the distance, mortified. “He saw a notification.”

Beomgyu frowns, tilting his head. “Notification?”

“The one for the live the other day. I forgot to switch it off and he saw when I was showing something on my phone. I didn’t think he’d be a weirdo to try and search it up. He found the channel. Oh my god.” You drag your hands down your face, groaning. Your anger simmers down quickly, leaving only dread.

Beomgyu just sighs heavily at the information, sitting back down next to you, knitting his brows, elbows on his knees, the tips of both his index fingers touching and he brings his hands underneath his nose. He tries to concentrate, thinking and contemplating what to do about this whole unfortunate situation both of you are currently stuck in.

You try to reason, attempting to assuage the tense atmosphere and make him and yourself calm down and feel a little bit better. “You can’t even see our faces. We don’t show our faces. How is he going to prove it’s us?”

But beomgyu shakes his head. “You don’t understand, y/n. People don’t care about proof. They just need something a little convincing. It’ll spread anyway if it looks even a little like us and it does. If anyone at uni finds out, we’re fucked. People aren’t so kind about sex work. And you’re roped into this now too. I don’t want that to happen to you.” Beomgyu meets your gaze upset, eyes softening but heavy with worry for you. “It could mess up your reputation, your career…what a piece of shit.”

You play with your fingers nervously now, properly thinking about what could happen made you feel a little sick. “What do we do?”

Beomgyu looks down at his lap. “I…I don’t know. Part of me thinks we…delete everything. The channel. Just erase it. That way, no proof. Nothing to connect.”

You blink, utterly devastated by his suggestion. “Delete it?” You repeat, voice small. “Beomgyu… i-it’s your channel…”

The idea feels like cutting off a limb. He can’t delete his channel. He loves his channel. You love this channel. You loved his channel long before you even knew it was him behind the screen - Angel313. He was your favourite camboy, his streams were obviously hot, but also oddly enough comforting and familiar to you. And it could possibly not exist anymore? Over this? It was your channel too now. Deleting it off the internet was like deleting a part of beomgyu, and of you. All your streams, archives, the money, all thrown away. You’d stop streaming with beomgyu…losing something that had become far more than just money or content to you.

Beomgyu exhales shakily, still not meeting your eyes. “Well, he’s going to tell everyone. It’s the only way I can think of. I don’t want people saying mean things about you too. I’ve been there before. The site doesn’t allow any kind of screen recording or downloading so if we delete it quick, maybe he won’t be able to show it to anyone.”

Both of you sit in silence, fully taking in the weight of it all, you could lose a lot. “I just can’t believe haechan would do this,” you mutter, “he seemed nice…and not weird.” You’re genuinely upset, finding out your mysterious cello friend was actually the one who ruined Beomgyu’s reputation.

“Yeah,” beomgyu snorts quietly, “I was good friends with him too once. He didn’t seem like that either. But after he got that girlfriend… he got weird and scarily obsessed with her and really possessive. She dumped him, obviously, but he still acts like I personally ruined his life and blames me for it. Don’t know why he still cares.”

Silence stretches between you. Beomgyu fidgets, then speaks up again after a short while. “Sorry for doubting you…” he says softly, guiltily chewing on his bottom lip. “Are you mad at me? I’m sorry…” He lifts his eyes and looks at you so sincerely and expectantly, waiting like a puppy. He hesitates, then takes ahold of your hand quickly and desperately, not wanting you to still be upset at him at all.

You huff. “It’s fine,” but you give in easily and you squeeze his hand back, watching the way he breathes out a tiny sigh of relief at that, “Though, a little faith in me would be nice. I wouldn’t tell anyone this. You know that, I’m your friend.”

He lets go of your hand, rubbing at the back of his neck and nods. “Right.”

“Do you think we really have to delete the channel?” You ask, really hoping there was another way.

“I don’t know.” Beomgyu sighs, head falling back and he looks up at the ceiling, having totally surrendered. But, then you see his eyes light up, his expression changing. “…I may know some people…they might be able to help us…” he says cryptically, hushed and mysterious. Beomgyu glances left, then right, conspiratorially and conspicuously.

You lower your voice too, assuming you had to. “Oh my god really?! Who?”

“This is just huening kai and taehyun. How are they going to help us?”

Your optimism rapidly dies as you stare at the scene in front of you, Kai and taehyun slurp on ramen noodles, severely hunched over whilst gaming on kai’s computer, their figures illuminated by the glow on his monitor. The room smells potently of broth, energy drinks, and is suffocatingly warm with all the electronics. Noodles hang precariously from kai’s mouth as he smashes the buttons on his keyboard with concerning intensity and speed.

“Shoot him! Shoot him!-No, the other one—are you blind? Shoot! Behind! Behind you—behind you!” Taehyun is beside him, screeching dramatically into his ear in whatever game they were playing.

“I know what I’m doing!” Kai snaps. “You’re distracting me. Shush!”

“No, you’re just atrocious at the game.” Taehyun retorts with a raised brow.

“No, you are. That’s why you’re only watching.”

“I just don’t like playing horror games! Not that I’m actually bad at it...” Taehyun mumbles petulantly at him, wounded.

“Oh yeah, I forgot. You’re such a scaredy cat.”

For a few foolish seconds, you really thought beomgyu was taking you to some dark, secret, shady, underground organisation, that was going to miraculously help the both of you out and leave you forever indebted, some deal with the devil type of thing. Maybe they’d silently eradicate haechan, assassinate him. That would be great. Beomgyu had even worn a cap and sunglasses to go to huening Kai’s place. He’d also cautiously walked over here as if he were under surveillance by the government, which had turned out to be an absolutely unnecessary level of drama.

You let out a helpless sigh. This is not what you had envisioned. “These are the people we’re entrusting our lives and reputations to?”

Beomgyu puffs out his chest in offence like he’s been personally insulted. “They’re the best at getting dirt on people! I always go to them.”

Once kai dies in the game and squabbles a bit at taehyun, swearing and claiming it was his fault, they both swivel theirs chairs around to you and beomgyu like two villains, finally acknowledging your presence. They also give you a look of offence, expressions turning so incredibly arrogant.

“Yes.” Huening kai smirks satisfactorily. “we are. We’re experts”

“Professionals.” Taehyun adds with his arms crossed.

“Specialists.” Kai goads, nodding to himself.

You roll your eyes. “At what exactly?”

“Online stalking.” Taehyun quips.

“And blackmail.” Huening kai says with such devious excitement, thrumming his fingertips together like an antagonist. “You can find out a lot about a person online. Everyone’s got a dark past. We’ll find out about it. Don’t you worry heh.”

You exchange a look with beomgyu. He hums and nods along eagerly with a thumbs up, trying to sell the idea to you, approving and grinning as well, but it just seems like he’s overcompensating to you. “See? See? We’ll just blackmail him back!”

“That’s if you find anything…” You mutter with defeat and just accept that this is the plan now.

Kai spins his chair back round cheerfully. “Ohh, I love a good blackmail. Don’t you just love a good blackmail, tae?”

Taehyun cracks his knuckles and agrees. “Deeply.”

They get to work, taehyun pulling up and somehow finding out all of haechan’s social medias. They go through his tagged photos, his following, his friends, their friends, you see his baby photos, his old football club he supposedly was a part of, shots and recordings of old orchestras he was apart of as a teenager, his embarrassing try-hard linkedin, his strangely named playlists on spotify, an abandoned finance bro podcast channel he’d started with three episodes and no listeners, just to name a few.

Within minutes, haechan’s entire digital existence is scarily laid bare on the monitor in front of you like endless food on a table ready for you to dig into, except you have no idea where any of it came from. It could be roadkill for all you know. You’re sure haechan himself isn’t even aware just how much of him there is out there. You make a mental check to make sure you delete most of your own online presence too. It was quite frightening.

“So,” Kai says suddenly, stretching back in his chair with a yawn, “are we going to the party?”

“What party?” You query.

“Jackson wang’s end of exams party?! Come on we have to go.” Kai insists as if it were so obvious. “His parties are insane. If there’s a party you shouldn’t not miss out on, it’s his!”

“I don’t know…” you start apprehensively, “with everything going on. I don’t think it’s the best idea.”

You and beomgyu have avoided streaming since, neither of you feeling like it with what’s happened. And also because haechan now knows your channel so that would be super weird. As far as you know, he hasn’t exposed you guys yet, hasn’t said anything, and somehow that feels worse. You don’t know when he would, and the uncertainty keeps you more on edge all the time, your uneasiness deepening by the minute. The threat just hangs heavily over you, not knowing when the string would snap.

“You can’t let this haechan guy dictate your lives. You should allow yourself to have some fun. It’ll take your mind off things!” Kai protests with such comical conviction.

“Yeah,” Taehyun agrees. “Fuck him.”

“But what if haechan’s there and decides that’s the night he wants to tell the whole world?” Beomgyu speaks up. He’s been quiet for a while now, standing slightly behind you, arms crossed.

“That’s a good thing actually.” Taehyun’s eyes light up.

“How?” Beomgyu frowns.

“Once we find this blackmail,” taehyun explains calmly, very self assured, “We’ll confront him there. It’ll be public enough to scare him too. We’ll corner him.”

Kai is still scrolling on pages, but then he stops abruptly. “Oh.”

You lean forwards and so does beomgyu. “What?”

“He’s loaded. Like, rich, rich.”

Articles appear. Business features, his family name, a conglomerate. They practically own half of everything in the city. You never knew this. Why did it take so long to find these as well? Surely, it would have been the first thing that popped up when taehyun was searching.

You glance at Beomgyu, who looks just as surprised. “He never mentioned his billionaire-ass parents before,” he mutters.

“I don’t think he wanted anyone to know,” Taehyun observes, “Which is interesting.”

You knit your brows. “Why would he hide that?” Whilst there were articles about his family, it seemed there wasn’t much linking him to them or saying he was their son that much either.

It was getting late by now, and whilst you had found out substantial information you wouldn’t even want to know, and had discovered haechan having very rich ass parents, it didn’t really lead to much. You still didn’t feel like you had enough evidence to blackmail him on anything just yet, nothing you could actually use. It makes you worried. What if you never find anything? What if this is it? What do you do then? Delete the channel forever?

Kai notices your expression and waves a hand dismissively, reassuringly. “Don’t worry. You two go home. We’ll keep digging.”

Taehyun nods with a smile, an attempt to keep you hopeful. “He’s hiding something. We’re close.”

Kai grins. “And we will find it.”

Trying to fall asleep the night before the party is laughably futile. Your brain refuses to switch off, cycling through horrible scenarios. You’d had endless exams for the past few days and they’d at least made the impending dread and worry you felt for this catastrophic event not the first priority, but still festering in the back of your mind nastily as you revised, like the first subtle stages of a disease you could pretend to ignore before it became too late.

Haechan still hadn’t said anything yet and you had this awful feeling that he definitely would at the party. With taehyun and kai also having exams, they’d paused their researching too, buried in their own studies, and whilst they’d started up their digging once again, it’s not like you’d received a message from them yet if they had discovered anything. They’re certain they’ll find something though. If not, the other option was to hold his failed, slightly problematic, finance bro podcast as leverage to see just how embarrassed he was over that. Maybe it could work? Oh, never mind that, you know it won’t. It’s embarrassing, yes, but not exactly ruinous.

You and beomgyu had deactivated your channel for the time being at least. None of you had the heart to fully delete it yet and you’d hoped haechan wasn’t smart enough to have tried to backup evidence by recording on a different device or something like that. But, what if you can never stream with beomgyu anymore? What happens? What if you slowly by slowly hang out less? What if you’re not actually that close like you think. Is it all really just because of the channel?

All this irrational thinking is genuinely hurting your brain and you so desperately wished you could just fall asleep right now. You feel almost hysterical by now. It feels like you’ve been lying here for eons. You squeeze your burning eyes shut from the lack of sleep, and roll onto your side, then your back, then your other side, then your stomach, then your side again. You let out a frustrated groan, squeezing both sides of your pillow around your head—

Knock, knock

The sound of knocking suddenly comes from your door and you immediately whip your head to the noise, jolting, startled, genuinely frightening you since it was so quiet before. It was also four in the morning and you were definitely not expecting anyone at this hour.

Cautiously, you slip out of your bed and open your door just a crack, only to find beomgyu standing on the other side completely unannounced.

He’s in his plaid pyjama bottoms and wearing a white sleep shirt that’s slipping off one of his shoulders, exposing a sliver of his collarbone. Beomgyu’s hair is a mess, wolfcut flattened on one side and sticking up in random directions on the other. He’d looked like he’d just gotten out of bed himself and he sports an equally irritated and miserable expression. You’re guessing he’s in the exact same predicament as you.

“Can’t sleep.” He says with his lips heavily downturned, which also backups your hypothesis.

Your eyes linger down to the fluffy bear slippers he’s still wearing. You chuckle softly. “Yeah, neither can I.”

“Guess we’ll just have to try together.”

He walks right in, pushing past you like he’s done this a thousand times before, kicks off his fluffy slippers and flops down onto your bed, face planting into one of your pillows with a long, dramatic groan, arms and legs splayed out.

You close the door after him. “Ah, yes. Just invite yourself in.”

Beomgyu rolls his head to the side to look at you, cheek smushed in the pillow and just shrugs at you, clearly unbothered by your sarcasm, making himself comfortable.

You join him, mattress dipping as you lay back down too. He instantly grabs out for you, pulling you in his arms and scooting closer to you, then closer until you’re tucked against his chest. He nudges and nuzzles his nose into your neck and you catch the soft, relieved sigh he lets out, his breathing finally slowing and evening out.

It’s ridiculous how it puts you at ease instantly, both your limbs warm beneath the covers, and his body feeling like a comforting cocoon around you. You relax and seep into him, his slow, hot breathing against your skin grounding and familiar. Neither of you say anything, but you don’t feel the need to. Everything with beomgyu is comfortable. You never feel uncomfortable. You can already tell how he’s feeling, and you know he can tell how you’re feeling too, just letting the quiet, shared exhaustion fill the room instead.

Despite the anxiety still lurking somewhere in the corners of your mind, you felt yourself slowly slipping, the impending party, the threat of haechan, all the tiredness of exams, blurring into background noise along with the quiet hum of your dehumidifier and the muffled city noises outside. It’s all replaced by the simple presence of having beomgyu here. You’d forgotten you weren’t all alone with the alienating your exams had done. You at least had each other and that alleviated you a little bit. You weren’t aware how much you needed him next to you. You swallowed hard, heart twisting in that familiar flutter of intense emotions you didn’t have the words for. You turn around to wrap your arms around him too, submerging into his shirt. You can faintly smell the laundry detergent from his clothes, the hint of his body wash too and his natural, soothing, pleasant smell you’ve come to recognise. You tighten your grasp on him slightly, and he does the same, minutes stretching, letting everything ebb away with his heat and closeness.

And eventually, when your thoughts slowed enough to let go entirely, you feel your eyelids somehow grow impossibly heavy, when they hadn’t drooped the slightest bit before when you were alone, it’s the same with beomgyu. Sleep finally, miraculously, comes like a tide, plunging both you and beomgyu in and leaving everything else on the shore.

You’d accepted that shit was going to go down tomorrow. But you guess you’ll bear it together.

Once you walked into the party alongside beomgyu, you’re met with a dense throng of all kinds of people and varying degrees of intoxication. Music blares through hi-fi speakers as some dance and flail their arms, some miserable people sit on the sofas in judgement which makes you wonder why they even bothered showing up in the first place if they were just going to sour the mood. Others have a go at the foosball table, shaking the rods aggressively and making them clang loudly. Another group of people play different drinking games such as beer pong. You also notice some guys desperately attempting to get any girl to dance with them, looking like a pack of hungry wolves preying on random women. Ew.

Elsewhere, people are already immodestly making out, which they’ll probably regret later, and others just look far too drunk already for a party that had started not too long ago, staggering and slumping against walls or each other.

You’d done pres with beomgyu before so you were comfortably tipsy enough to not be so nervous of what might await you later on. You’re fashionably a little late, but people are still streaming in, all hyped up and screaming gestures to their friends so it’s fine.

It had taken you and beomgyu far too long to get ready, mostly because both of you had decided at some point that if the night was going to implode, you may as well look hot doing it.

You’d pulled out your best outfits, shared playlist you’d titled ‘Cunty’ on as you did your makeup, singing and rapping and shouting lyrics at each other. You still weren’t entirely sure why it had taken beomgyu so long considering he wasn’t doing any makeup, but he’d been agonising over styling his hair for a very long time.

You asked if he wanted a little makeup too and he’d nodded along, so you’d dusted a little glitter to his cheekbones and eyelids to match yours. You’d also applied the tiniest touch of pink tint on his plump lips and cheeks. He’d specifically asked for you not add the plumping lip gloss on him though, drawing the line at that.

“It burns.” Beomgyu complained.

“It tingles a little.”

“It burns.” Beomgyu repeated, traumatised from the last time. “It’ll melt my lips off.”

He even had let you curl his eyelashes, letting you add a thin layer of mascara since his lashes were already so unfairly, naturally long and doll-like without it. With it though, it’s ridiculous how his eyelashes look and just how much more length they span at their full potential. You’re almost envious.

Both your egos had inflated once you guys were done getting ready, checking yourselves out in the mirror, fully feeling yourselves and feeling totally invincible. You’d done a round of soju still listening to your playlist and taking an abundance of photos of each other on your pink digicam. (Beomgyu wouldn’t stop making you take pictures of him in every single damn conceivable pose since he thought he looked so hot.)

When it was his turn to take photos of you, he’d gone strangely quiet, staring a little too long, mouth parting dumbly in awe and eyes flicking over you like he was trying to commit the image to memory, your low cut top doing absolutely nothing to help his focus.

You look—” He’d gestured vaguely, as if words had failed him. “-Yeah…” Beomgyu breathes out, cheeks a vivid pink, but it definitely wasn’t from the tint you’d used on him because you never put that much on him, his ears also becoming pink.

You’d rolled your eyes, heat silently creeping up your neck too. “Whatever that means.”

Photos were taken together too, grinning stupidly at the camera and leaning closely into each other with peace signs and cheek pokes and heart signs.

Now, standing inside the house, you’re unsure what to do first. Voices overlap into an indistinguishable blur of noisy laughter and chatter. It’s packed, more packed than typical, which is saying something. Jackson wang is a very popular guy. His house is also, unsurprisingly, big and very, very nice with lovely furniture you personally wouldn’t want a bunch of unknown students drunk around, and that wealthy open plan style.

Then, you spot it from afar and your eyes instantly light up: Food. Actual food. Real, tangible, edible food.

You’ve been to far too many parties that didn’t even have any kind of food, or the only hospitable sustenance was a pathetic, measly excuse for it, with just a sad bowl of crisps placed on a kitchen counter.

You and Beomgyu gravitate there immediately, wordlessly, like mosquitoes smelling sweat on bare skin, immediately abandoning any pretence of socialising. There’s an impressive assortment of trays filled with delicious looking platters, dips, snacks and finger foods and desserts neatly arranged on a long table. Without shame, both of you start snacking.

“This,” you say around a mouthful of something fried and yummy, “is how you know a party is good- and also a good host.”Beomgyu nods solemnly, making a noise of agreement, his mouth too full to say anything back. There’s crumbs clinging all around his lips.

“You’ve got a little something…” You gesture to your own face and mouth so he’d know whereabouts it is.

“Oh.” beomgyu attempts to brush the food particles off his lips, swiping clumsily, then also tries licking them off, but he’s just not doing it in the right place, “is it gone?” He asks innocently, tilting his head cutely.

“No-” You sigh. “It’s there, there-there, no.”

“You do it!” Beomgyu says exasperately after failing.

“Ew, no. What the fuck.”

“Just do it for me.”

“Ugh.” You cave, bringing your thumb to brush off the crumbs on the top of his soft lips, faces close and you can feel him watching you. It’s not actually that disgusting, but you still commit to the bit, pretending it is, dramatically shuddering your body.

Beomgyu rolls his eyes at your actions. “Thanks.”

“You can’t eat.”

There’s even a cocktail station, which seems a bit too luxurious for university students, but you’re definitely not complaining. You happily make your way to it and make yourself some kind of, hopefully drinkable, concoction. Beomgyu opts for a beer, because of course he does. You take a sip of your drink, pleasantly surprised it doesn’t taste like shit.

Scanning the room absently as you drink, you thankfully don’t see haechan anywhere at all yet, that’s good. Huening Kai and taehyun had said they’d join you later since they were still on their digital witch hunt. Apparently, they’d found something potentially damning and just needed to find extra evidence, which was hopeful.

“You wanna dance?” Beomgyu asks, grinning. You barely have time to respond before he’s grabbing your hand and tugging you forward, and soon both of you are dancing in the middle of the crowd, stupidly, uncoordinated, laughing and giggling too loudly with little care for anything else, bumping into others around. Beomgyu commits fully, pulling silly and ridiculous expressions with bizarre moves, eyebrows wiggling and mouth moving exaggeratedly as you both shout out the lyrics of the songs to each other, and you’re laughing so hard your stomach starts to ache and so do your cheeks from smiling the whole time.

You spin him around once, twice. It looks a little funny since he’s lanky, not stopping until he staggers dramatically, and then he gets you back, twirling you until the lights blur at the edges of your vision.

That familiar feeling settles in, of nothing else really mattering when you’re with beomgyu. He looks so happy, staring at you with his starry, bright eyes, brighter than any of the laser lights flashing - and way prettier - like you’re the only person here. Watching him jumping up and down, his hair flapping around as well resembling puppy ears, and his pretty teeth flashing as he smiles so wide. It makes your heart clench, tight and slightly aching, but it’s also a pleasant feeling, the fondness overwhelming and devastating. You hope you always get to see him happy like that.

Eventually, It gets way too stuffy inside that it’s genuinely unbearable and so suffocating, too hot with so many sweaty bodies and the floor is starting to get disgustingly sticky from drunk people spilling their beverages carelessly all on the ground. You lean closer to beomgyu and he notices, leaning down at the same time.

“I need air!” You shout into his ear. He nods immediately, relief flickering across his face like he’d been thinking the exact same thing. You slip out together, wading past all the bodies, holding hands tightly, fingers laced as you lead the way so neither of you lose each other in the crowd, pushing past everyone and out into the garden, the cool, crisp night air finally hitting your lungs. You inhale and exhale deeply, looking up at the stars in the sky.

The garden is enormous and just as nice as the rest of his house. There’s fewer people lingering out here, sparsely scattered and it’s contrastingly quiet. There’s fairylights prettily strung across all the tree branches glowing and golden, and you can just about make out a pond in one corner, a little arched bridge crossing over it with lanterns. Beyond that, far at the back and slightly shrouded with darkness, is a treehouse with a zip line attached too.

“Woah. Let’s go there.” Beomgyu’s eyes light up, looking entirely delighted.

The two of you break into a jog across the grass.

Beomgyu excitedly goes up the treehouse first. He plops onto the seat and barely waits before launching himself and zipping across, laughing and screaming as he goes down. He tightly holds onto the rope and his hair whips into his face as he throws his head back, grinning so youthfully. He lands a little clumsily but throws his hand in the air with triumph, clearly enjoying it very much. You shake your head at him, laughing too.

“That was so fun! Your turn!”

You climb up the slightly unsteady ladder. Warily, you sit and leap off. Then you’re screaming and laughing at the same time too, the garden blurry and spinning below as the wind strongly rushes against your face. It’s over far too quickly. You land…sort of. The seat stops awkwardly, still a little too high, feet not quite reaching the ground. You fumble uselessly, unsure how to get yourself off. “Um…Help?”

Beomgyu bursts out laughing, doubling over for a moment. “Just jump off.”

You refuse, looking down at the ground with a shake of your head. “No, I might die.”

Beomgyu sighs at you again, but he steps forward, placing his hands carefully on your waist, steady and warm as he lifts you down properly with surprising ease. You’re still smiling when your feet hit the grass.

Until you see something emerging, someone slowly making it’s way to you both. At first, you think it’s just another drunk partygoer drifting aimlessly through the garden, but then the silhouette becomes clearer.

Haechan.

He looks drunk, not the fun, carefree kind, but genuinely volatile and scary looking. When his gaze locks onto you, his mouth curls into something unpleasantly satisfied.

Your stomach drops. Beomgyu grows tense beside you.

“Well, well, well,” Haechan says, sauntering closer, clicking his tongue. “Look who it is.”

It’s disorienting seeing him this way. You’ve never really seen him like this. You’ve only ever known him as a quite reserved, but polite dude, someone a bit forgettable. Not aggressive or whatever this is you’re witnessing. You supposed you didnt know him too well, but still. This version of him is unsettling and almost unrecognisable to look at.

“He managed to fool you too, huh? Once he’s bored of fucking you, he’ll drop you too. I did warn you. ” Haechan continues, eyes flicking between the two of you, shaking his head at you. “Don’t worry. Everyone else will fully know too soon enough. Sooner than soon, even.” He laughs, short and sharp, and pulls out his phone. The screen lights up with a recording of your account. So he was smart enough to have recorded it on another device even with you deactivating. “Now would be a perfect time don’t you think?”

“Oh, get over it!” Beomgyu snaps, stepping forward before you can stop him, his voice seething with rage and looking like he was ready to fight haechan right then and there. “Seriously, when are you gonna get over it? Mi-kyong clearly didn’t even like you if she tried to get with me. How is any of that my fault?”

Haechan’s weird, creepy smile dissolves instantly, turning ugly. His jaw clenches as he takes another aggressive swig from his can, beer sloshing and dripping down his chin as he wipes at it with the back of his hand, eyes wild whilst crushing his can. “No. No,” he says, shaking his head, looking pretty insane and so livid. “You tried to steal my girl. You ruined everything. Fuck you.”

Beomgyu gapes at him, exasperated. You also stand in disbelief at his sheer delusion, not getting his thought process at all or why this would still be going on, and why you’re even suffering in this situation over nothing. It’s actually just pissing you off now.

“Fuck you, haechan,” you say flatly, stepping forward yourself, planting your feet in the grass. “Just fuck off, you’re embarrassing.”

He turns to you slowly, sneering, eyes raking over you with open contempt. “And you. I wasn’t surprised by how much of a disgusting, freak whore he is. But, I’m disappoint about you, y/n. I guess you’re just a slut too.” He practically spits at you.

That’s beomgyu’s tipping point.

He lunges for him in an instant and punches him, driving his fist smack right hard in the face. Haechan staggers back in shock, holding his face for a short, fleeting pause, before lunging violently for him as well with a growl, equally mad.

They hit at each other, fists flying, fighting but with not much skill or strategy, just fuelled by pure resentment they have towards each other. They’re now on the ground in a tangle of limbs and it’s so incredibly chaotic, shoving, punching, hitting, sounds of grunts and collisions, getting sloppier and angrier. You’re not sure what to even do or which of them is winning either, they both look fairly distributed with wounds. Beomgyu’s lip splits. Haechan’s nose is bleeding.

Haechan is now on top of beomgyu, straddling him, somehow managing to take the upperhand, blowing hits at beomgyu repeatedly, punch after punch. You stand frozen for half a second, watching beomgyu take a particularly painful hit that knocks the air completely clean from him and he wheezes out, eyes unfocused.

Now, you love playing fighting games, and usually it’s pretty satisfying when the character is just about to get KO’d. If you were watching a round on your screen right now, beomgyu would probably be on the lasts of his health bar. Normally, that moment is thrilling, you’d lean forward with your controller, waiting for the final blow. But, this isn’t fun to watch at all and you’re just worried for beomgyu. This has all gone pretty south.

Your eyes dart around, frantically looking for some kind of weapon until they land on a thick fallen log. You grab it and without thinking, you raise it, ready to beat the shit out of haechan with it. “Touch him again and I swear -!”

“—STOP!”

The shout cuts through the pure chaos. Taehyun and Kai come sprinting, kai skids to a halt, hands shooting up instinctively, while taehyun bends over with his hands on his knees, panting.

“WE GOT THE DIRT.” They both say frantically, hysterically, completely out of breath, but their eyes gleaming with a manic sort of triumph.

Haechan and beomgyu both stop mid-motion in confusion.

Kai dramatically places a hand over his chest, panting. “Ah… wait… one sec—” he gasps, chest heaving and struggling like a victorian child. Then finally he starts, regaining his composure with a smug smirk and directing his words at haechan. “You kept it very quiet that you’re Lee Donghyuck. Son and heir of the Lee family. As in that Lee family. LC Industries. Wonder why.”

Haechan’s face drains of colour.

Taehyun crouches beside haechan, holding up his own phone and shaking it in his face mockingly with a grin. “We’ve got all the documents to prove it. Unfortunately for you, we’re able to find such things. It’d be socially disastrous if everyone were to find out you’d failed your exams and disgraced your family, that they had to generously ‘gift’ the economics department to let you into a top university huh?”

“Funny how that works.” Kai continues, scheming, eyes glinting. “Your family has strong public ties to education. A son who failed and then paid his way into a top university? Isn’t that illegal?” He tilts his head. “And you’re expected to be the heir of LC industries once you graduate. That would do terrible damage to the company, family name, ruin your reputation. The same thing could easily happen to you if you make the wrong choice, so I’d think about that more carefully.”

Silence stretches. Haechan doesn’t say a word. He just sits there, looking down, jaw locked so tight. But you know then he won’t say anything. He can’t.

You drop the log and instantly kneel beside beomgyu, checking if he was alright, hands pressing gently to his cheek. “Are you okay??!” You note the blood and the dirt on his face and the fact that he looks like he’s going to pass out.

“Y-yeah…” Beomgyu weakly nods.

Kai and taehyun also concerningly rush over, all of you trying to get him up and stand.

At that moment a girl walks over, noticing the commotion, she takes one look at haechan on the floor and scrunches up her nose is disgust.

Haechan looks up at her, eyes going wide, in recognition. He scrambles desperately, “Mi-kyong!”

She scoffs in disdain. “Ugh. God, this is why I broke up with you. You’re so pathetic.”

“Wait! I-”

She turns and walks away without another glance, leaving him sprawled, a dramatic, sobbing, drunk mess on the grass.

You snort at the scene. Weirded out, exhausted, and more than done with this entire night, the four of you turn and also walk away together.

Thankfully, beomgyu is not dying.

He’s actually not that badly injured. Nothing broken, just a few cuts and bruises and scratches here and there on his body, but they’re not too bad. As for his face, it’s mostly intact, the most detrimental things being really only a scrape along his cheekbone and his lip that’s busted and swollen. Watching him get beaten up in the moment had made it look a lot worse than the damage haechan actually did to him. He still manages to look devastatingly gorgeous even with all the small cuts and dirt on his face and the messy bangs in his eyes, which seems wildly unfair.

He sits on a stool in your kitchen, silently watching your back as you pulled out your drawers looking for something to clean and tend to his wounds with. Finding a cloth and your hello kitty plasters, you run the cloth under some water and wring it out. You dab at it gently on beomgyu’s face, cleaning his wounds and getting rid of the dirt and dried blood. You tilt his chin, thumb resting just under his jaw, angling his face towards the light so you can see better.

He winces slightly once you get closer to dabbing at the cut on his cheek, lips twitching into a pout. “Ow.”

“Shit, sorry.” You immediately apologise and swipe the cloth along his bottom lip more carefully this time as he exhales slowly through his nose.

“It’s okay.”

You peel open the pink hello kitty plaster and place it on his cheek, smoothing it down. Smiling, you step back, forcing lightness into your voice. “Cute. There, all tidied up.”

“Thanks.” Beomgyu says, giving you a small smile back. He’s been very solemn, subdued this entire time and clearly deep in thought. You’re not entirely sure why, because shouldn’t he be happy for a situation that supposedly ended well? He just stares at you with this intensity in his eyes you don’t know the reason for.

You turn around to put everything back in the drawers and you can practically feel him boring holes in your back, it makes you hyperaware of every movement you make. You feel slightly self conscious and you don’t exactly know why.

“If I…delete the channel,” beomgyu finally speaks up, “and make a new one,” he adds quickly, “You’d still stream with me, right?” You turn around to face him, he looks at you imploringly, eyes raw and searching. “Are you going to continue streaming after all of this?”

You’re taken aback. There’s something braced about the way he’s sitting, like he’s already preparing for an answer. “Beomgyu,” you say slowly, genuinely confused. “Of course I would. Why would I stop?”

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “Maybe after nearly being exposed you realised you don’t really want to anymore and it’s all too much and it was just a short term source of income. I mean, I was the one who actually asked you to start streaming with me and you were wary about it. And—” He cuts himself off with a breath. You can see him trying to decide how much to say. “Because, I don’t want to do this if it’s not with you. I mean, I really don’t want to. Like, I wouldn’t want to find someone else. Or go solo again. I’d hate it.”

“Neither do I,” you say, without thinking.

“No, you don’t get it, y/n.” He pauses as if thinking whether he should say what he says next.

You do, actually. You think you might get it terrifyingly well.

Beomgyu rubs at his neck. “I…“I like you. A stupid, ridiculous fucking amount.”

Your breath catches.

“And I’m sorry if you don’t feel the same way—”beomgyu rushes on, rambling, “it’s fine, I’ll like, genuinely cope. I think, as long as you’re still in my life and nothing changes. I hope this doesn’t change anything. I don’t want things to be weird.” His bottom lip starts to wobble and quiver, trembling, looking up at you so vulnerably. The look on his face makes something ache inside you, like he’s mourning something he thinks he’s killed already.

For a second, you can’t speak, not because you don’t know what to say, but because there is suddenly too much to say and too much you’re feeling. It’s dizzying, your chest feels full and overflowing, but a massive weight is lifted off your shoulders, leaving you lightheaded. It’s followed immediately by this overwhelming, profound swell of affection that feels almost unbearable.

You’ve known that your feelings for him were already deep and tangled and perilous, inevitable and quietly consuming in the background. You think about how naturally he fits into your days, how your schedules are warped around each other, how every silly and fun moment seems to orbit around him most of the time, how easy it is to not wear a mask when he’s there, and the way he always, always gets you. It’s already shaped both of your lives before either of you had the courage to name it. Hearing him say it out loud doesn’t create the feeling, or make you suddenly realise, it just confirms it, that this beautiful, ridiculous boy matters to you in a completely irreversible way. And that you matter to him in the same. You can’t even remember what it was like to go about your days without beomgyu. He’s filled every absence and silence, painted every crevice and unnoticed gap in your life with colours you couldn’t see before, couldn’t even comprehend.

“No, beomgyu,” you say softly, eyes stinging, “I really, really like you,” you huff a breath that sounds close to a laugh, “a stupid, ridiculous fucking amount too.”

“Oh.” Beomgyu blinks, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Then his shoulders sag, all the tension draining out of him at once. “Wait, romantically right?”

You exasperatedly nod. “Yes!”

“Oh, thank god. Just checking.” He stands so suddenly the stool scrapes against the floor, and then he’s hugging you tight, swallowing you with his arms, desperate, clinging. His arms wrap around you fully, his face smushed into your shoulder.

“I’m sort of a right fool for you.” beomgyu mumbles, muffled into your shirt.

You giggle at him, hugging him back tightly. “You were already that before.”

He lifts his head just enough to glare at you in a mock pout, trying to pretend to be offended but failing miserably since there's a huge, stupidly happy smile on his face, grinning so bright and wide. “Shut up.”

His eyes flicker down to your lips with a lazy smile and a tender gaze, finding it hard to even look back up and meet your eyes, that oddly shaped, charming dimple of his that comes out occasionally, slipping into view. You already know what he’s practically begging you for.

You pull him down a little bit more and he meets you halfway. You press your lips with his, full of everything you’ve been holding back and he effuses into it, moving your lips with his gently, passionately. You’ve kissed beomgyu many times before now, but it feels new and so familiar all at the same time.

When you pull back, your foreheads rest together, giggling. Beomgyu exhales with a shaky laugh, before leaning in and pressing another quick kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another quick peck in the centre, and another.

When you finally dive in for another makeout session, you kiss him harder this time, deeper, hungrier, ardently. Not fucking him for a while, not kissing him like this, it easily catches up to the both of you and you suddenly need him with everything in you. You’re practically eating each other’s faces off now and he easily lets you push your tongue into his, swirling your tongue and saliva with his, heading moving and tilting in opposite directions, smacking your lips together.

You suck on the bottom of his soft, pillowy lips and lick them, you lick softly near where his lip is split. He shudders, the tiniest whimper. But it seems he actually likes it. You gently, lightly pull it in between your teeth where it hurts and is swollen. He moans out and hisses, liking the pain and the sting of it. You can taste the bitterness of it, coppery, but it’s pleasant. It’s clear beomgyu’s mind has totally blanketed over. You kiss him more, and gently suck on the tip of tongue before releasing it. His lips are even more impossibly swollen, red and ruined even without it being busted.

With a dazed, heated look, beomgyu bares his neck sexily for you, tilting his head to the side. silently pleading for your mouth on his neck too. You attach your lips to the column of his pretty, unadorned neck, attacking and kissing the sides and ready to embellish it. You suction your mouth on the sensitive areas, sucking, hearing him let out startled, soft mewls and whines. You don’t let your lips off until the small, little blood vessels under the skin burst and blossom into raw, violent splotches of maroon littered across his neck. You lick a long stripe, starting from the cute mole in between his collarbones and up over the sharp ridge of his adam’s apple - you press your tongue down harder on that part, and under his chin. He swallows, chin lifting up as you do with his lip caught in between his teeth, trembling, eyes glazed up, hands gripping the edges of the table tightly.

You kiss once more, his hands on your waist tightly, before you know it he’s backing you into the kitchen counter and lifting you up onto it, spreading your legs to fit him in between. He holds onto your thighs tightly, whining into your mouth needily as he begins to rut his stuttering hips in the space underneath one of your knees, pressing his clothed dick against it, humping you pathetically.

“A..a-ah. Please,” he breathes, “You-Please. Wanna make you feel good.”

“Seems like you’re doing the opposite.” You raise a brow.

Beomgyu shakes his head, still rutting and rocking against you, he kisses you some more, a soft, needy sound slipping past his lips and into yours, before he’s dropping to his knees on the cold kitchen floor. He’s tugging your underwear off desperately, clumsily. He kisses your ankle, the insides of your thighs and higher. With your thighs, he drags you more forward, closer to the edge of the counter so it’s easier for him, his face directly in line with your cunt, breath puffing hot. He pathetically whines at the sight, salivating already, and without even asking, he presses his face into you.

Beomgyu kneels, head buried deep in your cunt so all you can see is his long, shaggy mop of hair. The first sweep of tongue is slow and deliberate, he languidly licks up your pussy, then attaches his full lips to the mush of your clit, sucking intently. You bite your lip, tilting your head up to the ceiling in bliss, grabbing ahold of his hair fingers threading through the locks and tugging just enough to make a high pitched little noise escape his throat in response.

You can’t forget that he quite literally has a split lip, but he doesn’t seem to give a fuck about it, even if it’s irritating him, he just continues to let out vibrating muffled, whiny sounds into you. He lowers his mouth to prod his tongue into your hole instead, pushing and twisting and turning deeply whilst his pretty, wide nose bumps against your clit, he moves his head left and right, purposefully nuzzling and brushing his nose harder for you. He knows what he’s doing, he always does, just wanting to keep you satisfied.

You bring his head closer, massaging his scalp slightly, fingers stroking through the soft strands on the nape of his neck. “Yeah…that’s exactly it, gyuu mm.” He lifts his head up slightly, gazing up at you with, his pupils dilated crazily wide by now. You coo, “Look at you…so focused. Aww, you really like doing this don’t you, gyu?” He hums against you, you can feel him nodding, nose brushing up and down at that. “hhah-you have no idea how good you make me feel, beomie~” You throw praises at him, your eyes clouding up at the feeling of beomgyu’s mouth on you.

You can practically see his brown irises sparkle momentarily at that, shining and giving you heart eyes. The praises just make him crazier, famished, he dives back in with renewed fervour, lapping at your cunt like a dehydrated animal seeing a pool of water, so intent on pleasing you more and eating you out with such a frenzy, you’re squirming around him, trying to shut your legs, but he doesn’t relent, not even a little. The slurping sounds are genuinely nasty and almost embarrassingly loud over the kitchen. He shoves his head impossibly deeper and you tip your head fully back, one of his hands slowly reaching up your body to your breasts, groping and kneading and squeezing them. He’s stupidly moaning even louder than you and you’re the one reaching your tipping point.

He lifts up again barely, just to obsessively watch the reactions on your face to what he’s doing to you and how you’re nearly on the edge, looking at like a puppy seeking approval. chasing your every reaction like he’s starving for it. Desperately, beomgyu pushes his ring and middle finger inside you without warning, pistoning them into you, the sounds your pussy makes from this is so slushy and wet and gushing, you gasp, knitting your brows with your mouth open. Beomgyu studies your face, keeping his eyes on you the whole time, whining, wanting you to cum already, still fucking his fingers into you at a brutal place and reattaching his swollen lips to your bundle of nerves, and it all comes crashing down on you with a cry. You cum on his face and beomgyu excitedly laps it all up greedily and delighted, his tongue and fingers working through your aftershocks, wanting to catch everything your pussy gives out, and he lets out pleased sounds.

“Ah…so good, gyu…” you cradle the side of his cheek, he smiles and grins gleefully, kissing your palm and looking at you so adoringly.

He stands back up happily, his face drenched in your slick and his spit and drool. He’s instantly all over you again, kissing you with his messy, soaked lips, tasting yourself on his mouth. He kisses you and kisses you, again and again. You don’t even realise you’ve made it to your sofa. You push him instead, the backs of his knees hitting the sofa and falling onto it gladly. You follow immediately, hovering over him. Beomgyu brushes his thumb over your cheek, giggling breathlessly. You laugh softly too. He’s so cute.

You rid the rest of your clothes off and beomgyu watches you in awe, hands resting on your waist now. “You’re so pretty.”

“So are you.”

He helps you discard of his own clothes. You lean back down, cupping his cheeks dotingly for no reason, just looking at his pretty face. Then you wrap your fingers around his cock, briefly pumping it a few times, watching the way he totally forgets about everything, hips jerking, melting into a puddle as he lets out small, breathy noises.

You stop your movements on his dick and with a wicked grin, you sit yourself on him. You slowly slide your wet folds against him, watching the way he instantly falls apart.

“Ughh…y-y/n,” the sound lands somewhere between a sigh and plea.

You grind against his poor, leaky, flushed cock harder, earning startled little sounds that his voice fractures into. Beomgyu squeezes his eyes shut, it’s scarily already too much for him already.

“S-stopp, inside, inside.” Beomgyu grabs your wrist, needy, begging.

“Ssh. Be patient, baby.” You lightly scold him, continuing to roll your hips faster, continuously, enjoying the feeling of the wetness from you and the precum dribbling out out his tip, gliding easily and mixing and smearing together, bumping at your clit and stimulating your folds.

Beomgyu shakes his head, half panting and half whimpering, eyes watering, hands twitching uselessly at your sides, his lips parted like he was meant to speak, probably to beseech you again, but only a shaken noise comes out. Suddenly, out of nowhere, beomgyu’s dick spills out cum, squirting out white onto his tummy in uncontrolled spurts. He looks down, horrified, like he can’t even believe it himself.

Then he sniffles, crying out, devastated and disappointed. “Didn’t want to cum that fast, wanted to cum inside you.” The corners of his lips pull entirely downwards.

You click your tongue. “Can’t control yourself, gyu. Hm?” You mock him, though you don’t actually care, your tone soft. It was hot to see him make a mess all on himself that quick.

“No- just missed you.” Beomgyu frowns. The mascara you’d put on him earlier, now running down his cheek all clumped and messy. He’s referring to how you guys haven’t streamed in so long with haechan and then also not really seeing each other as much as you usually would because of exams too.

You reach up and swipe your thumbs gently under eye, wiping away the tiny exaggerated tears. “Aww, you missed me?”

Beomgyu’s lips are dramatically downturned but he replies with soft sincerity. “Yeah.”

Your heart swoops. It did feel very strange to go days without properly being with him. “Missed you too.” You kiss his nose and he softly smiles knowing you felt the same. “Will you even be able to handle my pussy after so long, gyu?” You tilt your head, slipping back to teasing him because it feels easier than admitting just how full your chest feels again.

Beomgyu nods so fast it’s comical. “I can. Please.”

“You already came though.” You tut, faux contemplating, glancing pointedly at the mess on his tummy.

“I can cum again!” beomgyu quickly insists, frantic and pleading, falling for it and getting worked up, panicked, “need you.”

With that, you take a hold of his dick, feeling him slightly twitch. You lift yourself up and guide his dick to your entrance, slowly taking him in you, first his swollen tip, and then lowering yourself completely, ever so carefully, down on his entire length, until your hips meet his, enveloping his cock with your pussy. You sigh out at the feeling of finally having his dick in you again and stretching you out. It’s so perfect.

“Ohhhmygod.” You almost forget to watch beomgyu’s reaction for a second. Beomgyu has practically gone cross-eyed, mouth fully open. He’s panting loud and heavy, like you’ve knocked the wind out of him and you haven’t even moved a single bit yet. He’s resembling when you first fucked him and took his virginity, sure it’s the longest you’ve gone without fucking, but it hasn’t been that long.

“You need a minute?”

“Sshit-yeah…” beomgyu knits his brows, and groans out long and deep.

You don’t know how long you wait, it could have been like, ten seconds, but it felt like forever to you. Eventually, you grow impatient and you just grab onto his shoulders, lifting yourself up again and back down, starting a slow rhythm. You sheath and unsheath your pussy languidly on his dick, hitting deep, softly moaning. The friction is searing and hot and you can feel your walls dragging along the little ridges of some of the thick veins from his dick.

Beomgyu on the other hand, is absolutely lost in the sensation of your pussy wrapped around him. You swivel your hips clockwise, then anti-clockwise repeatedly, watching the way his jaw goes slack at this.

“So good-feels sso good,” beomgyu slurs, mouth hanging open and eyes drooping with pleasure already. He genuinely looks like he physically cannot cope with any of it.

You still want more though. Your grip on his shoulders tighten, using it to give you more strength to bounce on his gooey dick, quickening your pace but not significantly. Beomgyu’s brain is mush. He’s a goner.

You can’t even see his face anymore, the top of his face somehow buried underneath the numerous cushions on your sofa, he’s sinking into it, all you can see is his full lips in the shape of an ‘o’ and his front teeth, being able to spot the slight chip on one of them. It’s like he’s not aware it’s possible to even close his mouth at all. You laugh at the absurd sight of him and lean forwards to throw the cushions off him, brushing his wet hair out of his face so you can fully see the expression of unmistakable ecstasy that he’s in the throes of, his long clumped eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

He doesn’t notice any of this. He looks like he’s fully checked out of everything. And seriously, your pace wasn’t even that fast. You lightly slap at his cheek, trying to wake him up from his trance-like state, his head lolls, eyes rolled to the back of his head, scatter-brained. He doesn’t respond. You grab at his chin, facing you. “gyu, gyu. Are you there?”

“….huhh….?”

You burst out laughing, totally amused. “holy shit, beomgyu.” You start riding him at brutal pace, wondering just how much more fucked out he can get. “Imagine your viewers seeing you right now, you look like you’re getting fucked for the first time all over again.”

Beomgyu chokes out a moan, but you’re surprised to hear him speak up, voice so strained, in between gasps, “d-don’t need an audience-h-hahhh…only need youu-nggh”

You lean down, hovering close to his face, spurring him on. “Yeah? You love my pussy don’t you? Loved when I took your virginity didn’t you, baby?”

“Mmm,” Beomgyu whines out, eyes fluttering shut, nodding feverishly, saying any shit unabashedly. “Love your pussy…so glad it wass youuh…Wouldn’t— wouldn’t want anyone else…only you. M’ all yours.”

You’re truly enraptured by his expressions of you just riding him. Suddenly, you get an idea. You pull off his dick. Beomgyu whines and frowns at the lost contact, totally perplexed and wounded.

His hands grasp out for you, trying to bring you back but you ignore him, standing up off the sofa and grabbing at his dainty, pretty, long legs instead. You spread them, holding them apart by his ankles. Beomgyu furrows his brows at you and makes a small, cute, confused sound, but he trusts you with everything in him so he just completely surrenders to whatever you’re doing calmly. He’d give you anything you want, would let you do anything to him, would let you consume him completely. You hold his dick in place at a better angle for your pussy, trying to line yourself up. Once again, you’re grabbing his dick like you’re using a dildo in the privacy of your bedroom and shifting your position whichever way you want.

“What are you doing—ohh.”

You thrust into him, both hands curled around his ankles again, the way his cock presses differently inside you, angled in a way that reaches so much deeper and drags along the nerves in your spongy walls deliciously. It clearly affects beomgyu too, his face contorting into an absolute state of rapture on his features and he elicits a mangled mewl.

The position is entirely vulnerable for beomgyu, and for a split second, you can see his cheeks flush even more than they are, his mannerisms turning shy, but he almost immediately stops giving a fuck, in fact it spurs him on. He tries to keep his eyes open and focused to watch you as you fuck him, like both your sexes have swapped and he’s the one with a cunt, finding it so hot even though his eyelids keep drooping and his eye’s keep rolling back.

You push your hips forward continuously slamming them with his. Everything about fucking beomgyu this way clearly drives him crazy, fogging up and dumbing his already fucked out brain. His tongue lolls out exaggeratedly like a panting dog and moaning high pitched like a slut without restraint.

By now, the delirium has taken over the both of you, entirely consumed by the sensation of each other.

You pant, spewing random dirty talk with your eyes dazed. “D’you love getting fucked by me like this? Yeah? Want me to use you like a dildo all the time? Want that to be-ah-your only purpose? Just my toy? I’ll bounce on your dick all the time, gyu.”

“Yeah, yeah,yeahyeahyeah. Can use me, ghhhgn wanna stay in your pussy forever….never wanna leave,” Beomgyu drools, nodding dumbly, mouth parted in disbelieved pleasure, reeling in it.

You lean down to his heaving tummy, placing a kiss on his belly button and where his piercing lies, you come closer to his body, moving up and he wraps his arms around you, holding onto your for dear life as an incessant stream of moans rip through his throat.

You desperately fuck him faster, driving into him, snapping your hips forward again and again, getting closer to the edge and pulling him into a messy kiss as you do so, still clinging onto each other, eating up his garbled cries.

“Ah-gonna cum. You want it? Want me to cum around your cock, beomie?”

“S-sso much—” beomgyu gasps, sobbing. “Oh my god—”

Both of you dissolve into incoherent, breathless sounds of ‘mm— mm— mmmm mmmmm’ exchanging back and forth between kisses continuously and moaning out each others name, becoming more and more high off each other, in consonance with each other. Nothing else mattering at this moment except for the intoxicating feel of your lips against his, body pressed flush against his. The world could disappear entirely, and it’s possible neither of you would notice, so lost and gone in the feeling.

“Only you,” beomgyu breaks, words cracking as they leave him, “Only you-only you can make me feel this way, only youonlyyouuonlyyou.”

You reach your high first, clenching around him and letting go. Beomgyu lets out three different notes, oscillating like piano trills. Until a glissando of all sorts of notes slide up and reaching a crescendo. “C-cc-ccumming—” Beomgyu chokes, breath coming out in sharp pulls, “cummingcummingy/n, y/nnnn—”

You cum hard enough that your vision whites out at the edges. Paralysed by the intense orgasm, you’re not sure if you’ve ever felt that in your life and you can tell he’s like that too. Cum oozes out from his dick nonstop, spilling helplessly, replacing the dried cum on his tummy previously. You can practically see his soul leaving him, gone to the ether, his body just jelly as he sags into the sofa and cushions with a sound closer to a sob than a moan.

He still manages to hug you tighter, shaking body pressing more into yours so his cum smears on you too, clutching you. You hold his cheeks in your hands, peppering dazed butterfly kisses on his wrecked out face and on his hello kitty plaster, already slightly peeling from the corner with all the sweat.

“Ughh…I missed you.” Beomgyu knocks his head with yours.

You laugh, still trying to catch your breath. “You already said that.” You carefully brush the sweaty strands of his hair out of his sweaty face, looking into his big, soft, brown eyes, twinkling, glittery as they stare back up at yours with so much emotion and adoration in them.

“I don’t care. Missed you, missed you, missed you~” Beomgyu grins, blissed out.

“Just my pussy?”

“Obviously, so much more than that, idiot.” Beomgyu rolls his eyes, jabbing your head.

“It’s way too fucking hot for this shit.”

It’s the hottest day of the month, sweltering. The grass is brittle and warm beneath your stomach as you lie in it, half propped on your elbows with a book in your hand. Beomgyu is sprawled on his back, still eating the remnants of the pastries you both had bought from the bakery nearby, humming in response, though he seems pretty content. There’s quite a lot of other uni students too, sitting with their friends across picnic blankets, people walking their dogs, others passing through on the path with their bicycles, bells ringing, children laughing in the distance.

It’s the last week left of lectures before you’re fully finished with the uni year. Beomgyu had forced you to come out on your free day. He’d stood in your kitchen earlier with absolute conviction, declaring that you’d promised to go out on a date. When you’d agreed to that, you weren’t aware of the weather. Even with your proposal to stay inside with the AC and continue watching the drama you both had started instead, beomgyu had refused, shaking his head and staying adamant about it. No amount of dramatic pointing at the weather app of the temperature had deterred him, unfortunately.

Now, you’re laying in the park near your campus, trying not to fucking melt.

After eating the rest of his pastry and licking around his lips, beomgyu scoots closer to you, grass rustling beneath him, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his chest on your back, practically on top of you.

“Ew-no-get off. I’ll get so sweaty!” You shove beomgyu off you, immediately protesting.

He sticks his tongue out at you with a dramatic, wounded look but allows himself to be pushed away. “Rude.”

“You’re so sweaty right now and so am I.” You point out. “I don’t want to get even more sweaty. It’s too hot.”

Beomgyu flops onto his back again with a theatrical groan, a noise of betrayal. “Woww. This is how you’re treating your sweet boyfriend who just wants to cuddle.”

Not much changes when you start dating. You still bicker. You still spend an alarming amount of time together, you still stream and go to your lectures together. It’s subtle. Just that you’re both more honest and open with your feelings and affection for one another, beomgyu especially. You can’t get rid of him. You’re not complaining most of the time.

After finishing one of the chapters of your book, you close it, setting it aside and resting your chin on your hand. You watch beomgyu with interest instead. He’s lying down with his eyes closed, forearm flung over his face, attempting to nap, chest rising and falling, one knee bent and the other leg kicked out. You contemplate to yourself for a moment before speaking. “…Are you scared?”

Beomgyu slowly flitters his eyes open, brows drawing together faintly with a curious expression. “For what?”

“That next year’s our final year.”

His expressions changes. Beomgyu goes quiet, pensive, thoughtful. “…yeah. A little. I don’t want to be an actual adult yet,” beomgyu answers honestly, squinting his eyes up at the sky, “it just feels like every year gets faster.”

You hum in agreement, fiddling with a blade of grass between your fingers.

It’s true, this academic year has gone by even faster than usual, though it’s been one that so much changed. You can’t believe the events that happened. At the start of the year, you hated the idea of working with beomgyu, co-organising that christmas performance, still convinced of the rumours about him. You’d never have thought he was the face behind your favourite camboy, that you’d end up fucking your favourite camboy in person. You definitely hadn’t expected for beomgyu to be someone you care for so much.

You and beomgyu have indeed now started afresh on a new channel named - AngelandDevil313 - beomgyu was the one to suggest it, defending it with his life. It’s cringey, yes. But you’re doing very well, even better than before, in the top five popular channels on the site, starting new had all your loyal viewers from before and reached a lot of new ones.

“I’ve had fun this year, though,” You say after a moment, staring up at the vivid, sunny sky too, squinting. “Because of you. And I’m excited for next year with you too.”

“You did that for me too.” His smile creeps in slowly, like he’s trying not to make a big deal of it and failing anyway because his smile is somehow rivalling the sun right now, impossibly beaming. “We’ll be working together again next year, though,” he says, clearly very delighted at that, pointing at you playfully, “aren’t you excited?~”

From the success of being paired up to organise the music department’s Christmas performance, your lecturer had decided the two of you were a great set and had promptly promoted both of you to be the presidents of the orchestra fully next year once the other seniors had graduated. You’re his partner yet again.

“Mmm. It’ll be fun. Also stressful.” You’re proud to be chosen though, it’s such a high prestige.

“We make pretty good partners, you know.” Beomgyu rolls to his side, elbow propped on the grass as he stares at you with a shit eating grinning. “Maybe we should start another business in the future together.”

You stare at him too, amused, eyebrow raised. “And what would that be?”

Beomgyu animatedly taps at his chin, looking up. “Hmm…maybe a cafe, hehe.”

You snort. “A cafe? We set the fire alarm off making cookies. Who’s going to be baking?”

Beomgyu thinks for a moment, furrowing his brows, but then shrugs his shoulder in defeat, totally agreeing. “Alright. Fine. Tyun and Kai can bake. We’ll handle the business side.”

You nod your head, softly chuckling.

“Or,” beomgyu smirks insufferably, “I could just stand outside. I’m sure many people will come in if they just see me and my handsome face. I’ll draw the customers in.” Beomgyu flicks his hair, flamboyantly.

You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Riight.”

“Okay but think about it,” beomgyu insists, eyes bright and a lighter brown, golden from the way the sun catches onto them, looking even prettier, his dimple peeping out too, deeply pressed in his cheek. “A live music cafe. We could perform together and have other musicians play on days too. I think it’d be pretty spectacular.”

You smile fondly, his entire idea of a cafe is so cute and endearing. You’re half-convinced already just from how passionate he is about it.

“Our channel is doing so well now. We’ll even be able to pay off our tuition together.” Beomgyu rolls closer to you, shoulders touching despite the heat, arms touching in that unconscious, gravitational way you’ve both developed.

“You think we’ll last that long?” You tease.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.” There’s something dangerously soft in his voice.

“That’s ambitious. We haven’t been dating for that long.”

“I don’t care,” he says, simply. “It’s different with you. I know you feel it too.” he adds, suddenly shy, sheepish in the way he gets when he realises he’s being way too earnest, “at least…I hope so. I wanna live with you eventually. Stream with you for a long time.”

You swallow, eyes slowly widening.

“You’re like, my person,” beomgyu finishes, quieter. “I think we’ll last.”

Your throat tightens. The certainty in it makes you feel all those intense emotions you always feel whenever it’s beomgyu, butterflies in your stomach. You look away so he doesn’t quite see how it lands on your face. “Yeah, so are you.” you admit, quietly too.

“Wait, are you about to cry?!”

You cough, dabbing at your eyes quickly. “No. It’s hay fever, obviously.”

His stupid grin is immediate again, very satisfied, obnoxiously so, thankfully he doesn’t say anything else about it.

He nudges your foot with his. “Anyway. Speaking of, it’s a streaming night. Let’s make music in another way heh.” Beomgyu wiggles his brows, his face getting closer to yours.

You groan and shove his face away while he cackles, sunlight catching in his hair, laughter loud and unguarded. “At least we’re getting out of here.”

Beomgyu gets off the ground, dusts of his jeans, and reaches his hand out for you with a soft, lingering smile, you take it. His fingers curl around yours immediately, warm and familiar, pulling you up with an ease that makes your stomach swoop.

“Come on.”

You coat your fingers with more lube, pushing your slicked fingers once more into beomgyu’s glossy, puckered hole, trying to ease him, working him open. Slowly, you pump them in and out as beomgyu knits his brows together, softly moaning from time to time, face buried in the silk pillow, ass up.

“Mm…more.”

“You sure?”

Beomgyu rocks his hips back to meet the pace of your fingers, reaching deeper, as a form of confirmation. You slap his little ass lightly in response and he whines quietly in frustration.

“Pleaseee?”

You know he’s been waiting absolute centuries for this, so you relent, not wanting to torture him longer because you know you’ve stretched him out well enough already.

You lather more lube onto your strap on as he watches, eyes glittery with anticipation. You’d searched online extensively for a dildo pretty enough you could use on beomgyu for a stream. It’s a faint jelly pink, see through and slightly bigger than what beomgyu’s used to, and there’s hot pink little heart shapes trapped inside the translucent toy for decoration, making it look prettier. You’d even worn a frilly, light pink and white lingerie dress, which beomgyu had already lost his mind over. The juxtaposition of you wearing something more feminine whilst wearing a dick, you fucking him like that all pretty, clearly driving him even more crazy, liking the clash.

“Wanna ride you.” Beomgyu speaks, eyes cutely half lidded.

“Yeah, angel?” You lift a brow. “Should we ask the viewers how they want me to fuck you?”

You flick through the comments, but surprisingly, they all actually agree with what beomgyu wants for once, wanting to see what he’d look like riding your strap.

So, you lie back against the silk pillows yourself, watching beomgyu as he slowly straddles your hips. He doesn’t put it in yet, surprisingly, gazing down at you with a soft but heated stare, you prolong the eye contact until beomgyu eventually reaches down to cup your cheeks. He presses his lips with yours, his lips fluffy and smooth and cushiony and satin just like the pink silk pillows you lay in, wishing you could do the same with his lips. You makeout, slow and messy as he whimpers into your mouth, getting more turned on from both of you kissing.

He pulls away ultimately, and grabs the dildo, you also help to hold it in place. He puts his hands on your upper stomach as he lifts up, placing the dildo at his oiled, puffy hole, and carefully he takes it in inside of him, stretching him, lowering down and down, little by little, until the entire length has disappeared in him and he’s fully sat back down on you.

Beomgyu stills, head thrown back as a quiet, startled gasp slips loose from his mouth.

After a moment, you swivel your own hips, watching the way his expressions changes as the toy angles in different ways inside him with a tiny groan. He swivels his hips too, both of you circling around in tandem.

When he’s ready, beomgyu rolls his hips with a hiss and starts his pace of leisurely rolling his hips and riding your strap seducingly.

He’s confident with the way he moves back and forth, despite the fact he’s gradually falling apart. He rolls his pelvis elegantly, sexily purposefully with delicate, airy noises from his lips, trying to rile you and the viewers up. Doing it in a way like a pornstar and not an amateur, though he is a camboy, it’s in a way that it wasn’t just homemade porn, it’s glamorous.

It’s definitely working, when you scroll through the comments briefly - you didn’t want to miss out on the show for too long - they’re unusually more quiet, even with the view count increasing by the second, spamming less with commands. You’re guessing they’re just totally enamoured by the sight too. And it’s all for you. You’re the one who gets to see it in person.

And you know you’ve thought it, said it out loud hundreds of times, countless times, but beomgyu is so fucking gorgeous. You still forget to breathe for a second, watching him on top of you, enraptured. He’s of course, wearing his stripy pink and white thigh highs, legs draped and bent either side of you. You grab for them without a second thought, squeezing his thighs, digging your nails into the fabric hard. He whines faintly at that. Of course as well, his sparkly belly button piercing dangles and swings with the motion. It has a diamond heart and a bow. He has a collection of them.

And, there’s something new too. The still recently healed tattoo near his right hip and lower abdomen. You sport a matching one. It’s a treble clef, etched onto his flesh with an angel wing peaking out, unfurling from the curve, still lightly pink around the edges. Maybe it was way too soon to get matching tattoos with beomgyu but it seemed right. And maybe you both were the slightest bit tipsy when you had agreed with absolute conviction to get one together, and had booked the appointment impulsively. But you’d followed through with it. Both of you wanted a treble clef tattoo anyway since you study music and music is such a vital part of your life. You’d always wanted one long before. So did beomgyu. So why not get one together?

Neither of you regret it, both of you adore it. You love looking at it on beomgyu, it makes his body even more unfairly pretty. You know he loves seeing it on yours too. You bring your hand up to trace the ink with your fingertip on his skin for a second, following the curve of the wing, then he lifts your dress up too a bit, finding yours and doing the same. You liked that his body was permanently marked with you, and yours with him. Even the viewers loved it, it becoming a sort of trademark thing, iconic for you both on your new channel.

Beomgyu’s hair too, is slightly different. Soft, subtle, pink strands threaded through the dark of his wolfcut. Only recently, had he dyed some strands of his wolfcut a pink. Unfortunately, you, taehyun, and Kai had to be the ones to do it for him. All three of you had stood around him in the crowded bathroom, perplexed, trying to get it to the exact shade he wanted. Neither of you had experience, nor should any of you have been trusted and it was quite a disaster, all three of you had differing opinions on how to do it, arguing. It was chaotic and vaguely traumatic for you. You thought all of beomgyu’s hair was going to be fried off. But, somehow you all managed to get it right, the exact shade he wanted in the end. Kai had started an underground cheap hair dye business in the uni with the confidence after that. From what you know, he’s making bank.

His hair falls into his face but you still see his long lashes kissing his blushing cheeks, his eyes closed, looking like a doll in every single possible way right now. He’s truly unreal.

@angeldevil313luvr: Angel looks like such a slut 💗

@femdom_hearts: I’m going crazy. Look at the way he’s riding it. Wow 😍

@iheartsubboys199: he should just become a full time prostitute.

You laugh gently. “They’re saying you look like such a slut right now, baby, riding all by yourself like that.” Your hands slide up to take ahold of his small waist, holding it tightly, starting to move him against the dildo harder, changing the tempo and time signature. A loud, whorishly long moan rolling off his tongue at the new pace, lips parted. He’s just the prettiest little thing.

“Someone said you should become a full time prostitute, angel. You’d be such a pro.”

Beomgyu manages to shake his head. “uahh—No. only—f’you.”

You smile at his answer, absolutely pleased. “Ohh, you’re so good.” You reach up to pinch his scarlet cheek, cooing, “Such a sweet baby. Isn’t that right, darling?”

Beomgyu nods, dizzy. He’s losing control now, the confidence he once had dwindling, previous demeanor vanishing, forgotten when he gets consumed by the pleasure he’s feeling.

“Say it to the camera.” You take the phone, filming him up close. “Say you’re only a whore for my cock, angel. Only a pretty cumslut for me~”

You thrust into him slightly, toy pushing deeper in him. Beomgyu groans, noises leaving him endlessly, wrecked, voice cracking as he tries to speak up. He looks into the camera then at you with a faraway look. “Hahhh, m’ only a…a whore for your-ghh-cock. M’ just a pretty cumslut ffor you.”

When he looks like he might just collapse, you bend your knees, propping your legs up for him, his back resting against them, keeping him up. He delicately reaches out for both of your hands, threading your fingers and holding them as he begins to bounce on the silicone, up and down, lifting and sinking. You interlace them, his hair jumping with every bounce too, front layers damp, sticking to his forehead and his face glowing with sweat, making him look almost holy and sacrilegious at the same time.

“So dumb for my dick,” you murmur, making your voice more sultry and teasing the way he likes, that makes him shiver, “can’t even keep yourself upright. Should I fuck you with my cock all the time hmm?”

“N-no, Love your pussy mm-more.” There’s a thin line of drool, slipping down the corner of his mouth eyes, glistening as it trails further to his chin, eyes rolling back uselessly.

You giggle, gaze dropping lower, watching the way his cock flaps uselessly, slapping your stomach, painfully red, pearled precum trickling out lightly from the tip of his engorged head. You pull your hands away from his, and he whimpers at the sudden lack of support. You swipe the beads of sticky fluid from his tip with your thumb and it twitches fruitlessly at that. You start pumping his wet dick ruthlessly, stroking “you sure? You look like you’re loving this, going crazy for this. Maybe I won’t let you fuck my pussy ever again.”

Beomgyu’s back arches instantly, mewling high pitched, attempting to shake his head at your words but all his thoughts just disappear from the overwhelming pleasure and all the stimulation, drowning in it.

“Please, can I cum? Please?”

“No.” You click your tongue. “Don’t cum if you love my cunt more.”

Beomgyu makes a devastated sound, pouting, stressed, tears pooling along his waterline, “babyyy! But-T-that’s so unfair!”

You burst out laughing, warm and amused. You don’t actually care obviously. You just like messing with him, seeing the way he gets all helpless and panicked. “Lol. Just joking.” You grin. “But you’re not allowed to cum just yet. Hold on.”

“I-i can’t—it feels ssoo ggood.” Beomgyu whines.

“Yes you can. Don’t disappoint your viewers, angel.” You check the comment for a second and they agree, not wanting him to cum just yet, wanting to see him cum a load later instead from holding it in. You pump his dick faster, speeding up cruel, mercilessly twisting. Your other hand grips his hip, moving him yourself, slamming him back down each time. You thrust upwards with his drops down, harder, deeper, more and more, an accelerando, intent on pulling every possible pretty sound he can make out of his throat, watching the way the little hearts suspended in the translucent toy disappear in as he takes it in and out of his cute hole, making gooey noises in the process. He’s practically jumping on your strap now too and he pulls one of your tits out of your dress, cupping them and squeezing tightly like it’s keeping him steady.

“H-holy s-shit…oh oh f-fuck oh”

Beomgyu yelps, surprised. You see it instantly on his face when it hits something deep and you know it’s reached deep, brushing against his prostate, mouth dropping open, eyes flying open. His moans practically change key, tearing out of him, becoming even more high pitched and falsetto than before. You weren’t even aware his range could go that high.

You can feel his thighs tremoring uncontrollably, like vibrato on a violin, where they cage your hips. “I can’t, I can’t—i-i c-can’ttt-t—” beomgyu sounds like there’s water stuck in his lungs.

You tighten your hand around his dick, moving faster. “Okay, you can cum, pretty.” You lift your torso up slightly to attach your lips to his nipple, swirling your tongue and teeth grazing the sensitive pink bud, sucking. One slow, wicked suck makes him jerk. He clenches his hole around the silicone and finally lets go with a strangled, long yelp, reaching up into the ether. The coda of the symphony comes to an end with a perfect cadence. Beomgyu’s dick gushes, cum overflowing like a fountain, thick ropes splattering all on your newly bought lingerie, absolutely sullied. He doesn’t care though, he slumps forwards on you, between all the mess, hugging you, face buried in your neck, breathing wrecked, boneless from the physical exertion, brain dead, numb and shaking. You play with the ends of his shaggy hair on his neck, curling the light pink silky strands with your fingers. It suits him so well.

BONUS LIVE

Beomgyu has one last lecture early in the morning. You, blissfully, do not. However, you can currently hear the alarm he set, going off blaring, disturbing your sleep, for about 2 minutes now and he still hasn’t woken up. It’s so loud, how can he not hear it?

You nudge him, “gyu,” He doesn’t budge. You nudge him harder, “GYU. GET UP.” Finally, he stirs.

Beomgyu whines, “owww. Ugh,” but turns over to thankfully switch his annoying alarm off.

He gets up from the bed, carefully disentangling himself from you, and gets ready, heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth. You merely groan and roll over, burying your face deeper into the pillow. You don’t see him get dressed but you hear all of it, rustling of fabrics, clinking of keys, lanyards, or something, attentively tiptoeing around your room to not disturb you too much.

Unfortunately, you still have to get up to lock the door after him. You yawn, face puffy, eyes barely functioning, hair sticking up. He walks out. Standing in the door frame with his crossbody bag slung over his shoulder. It has many keyrings dangling from it. That’s what was the noise you heard earlier.

“Bye, y/nnn. See you.” Beomgyu says softly, dragging the vowels of your name just to annoy you a little. He pulls you in for a little, warm hug, then pecks your lip. Then pecks them again with a grin just because.

You barely register any of this. “Mmm,” you mumble, yawning, “See you. I love you.” Then, you shut the door.

Beomgyu stands still, blinking at the closed door, eyes widening, stunned. He opens and closes his mouth, still trying to process what just happened, bag slipping off.

He replays it.

Mmm. See you. I love you.

He slowly raises his hand to touch his heart, feeling how it’s pounding against his chest. He mutters a surprised, barely audible oh into the empty corridor.

You said it so casually. Like you hadn’t just thrown a bomb at his entire emotional infrastructure before his 9am lecture. What the fuck. But, he’s a running a bit late to his class and thinks it’s best to ask you about it later.

Beomgyu walks away giddy but still in shock, legs feeling like jelly and dizzy, he gets halfway down the corridor and turns around just to stare at your door again. Oh my god.

You, meanwhile, make it back to your bed, pulling the blanket up. You close your eyes, sighing out happily-Wait. Your brain finally loads. You open one eye suspiciously, the other, very slowly. You think about what you said.

HOLY—

You sit up. Both your hands slap your mouth. You want to die. It just slipped out of your mouth so naturally like you’ve said it so many times before, you didn’t even realise. It’s definitely not how expected to say it for the first time. It’s not the most romantic way. You’re pretty embarrassed. You don’t text him because what would you say? You hope he just didn’t register it, it was mumbled and he was tired too. You’ll just believe that for now.

In the afternoon, you hear an inevitable knock at your door and you know it can only be beomgyu. You open it, embarrassed, nervous.

“Hey,” you say, scratching the back of your head. “Haha.” You try to appear nonchalant.

Beomgyu wraps an arm around your waist, like he’s been waiting all day to do that, a smile immediately appearing on his face. He pulls you closer to him. “Hi.” Beomgyu says softly, eyes studying your face, fond and still a bit stunned from the events earlier. Then, his lips curl into an evil, knowing smirk, not fooled for a second by your attempt at nonchalance. “Soooo about what you said in the morning~” beomgyu says teasingly, giving you the most cheekiest grin ever, his thumb brushing idle half circles through your shirt.

You splutter, flustered. He’s so annoying. “It was nothing. It just came out.” You blurt, averting your gaze.

Beomgyu quietly scoffs at your words with a hint of offence, narrowing his eyes playfully. “Really? I don’t think you can accidentally just say something like that.”

You raise your chin up, indignant, though your cheeks are heating. “It can. I say it to my friends casually all the time.”

Beomgyu let’s go of you, tilting his head, clearly unconvinced. He stares at you for a moment, silent and thoughtful in a way that seems more serious than the teasing before. He shakes his head with a quiet laugh and he starts to speak up, sincere.

“You know. You’re kind of like…a grace note in my life.”

“Grace notes are brief, though,” you blink, pedantically, crossing your arms. “Like acciaccaturas, appoggiaturas.”

Beomgyu groans. “Oh my god- let me explain first. I was trying to be poetic.”

You snort. “Okay, keep going then, beethoven.”

“Well…Grace notes are ornaments, they embellish a song, they add decoration to it. You know, without it, the phrase is fine. The song was fine before, but with it, the phrase lingers.” You watch him as he talks, he’s slightly abashed by how earnest he’s being. His eyes keep darting back to you to see if you’re still listening, if it’s landing the way he hopes it is. “Like,” beomgyu adds, quieter, sheepish, “they slip in and suddenly the whole thing sounds…better, fuller, prettier.” Beomgyu’s ears are red. “Do you…get it?”

You nod silently.

“What I’m trying to say is that I love you too.” Beomgyu smiles so openly.

There’s a lump in your throat, trying to blink away the tears. “Fuck…I love you too.” You laugh weakly.

There’s a huge stupid grin that takes up immediately on beomgyu’s face, massive and uncontained, stepping closer to crush yoy into tight hug, spinning you both slightly in place before setting you back down. Beomgyu cups your face, looking at you with pure adoration in his eyes. His lips land softly on yours, kissing you and kissing you senseless. After what feels like forever but also not long enough at all, beomgyu finally pulls away slightly.

“Honestly as cringey as it sounds, you have sort of been some kind of angel, a saving grace to me. Your streams before I knew you” you admit, suddenly feeling like you needed to confess something meaningful too, “were comforting to me. And as ive got to know you, become good friends with you, streamed with you…you’re just such a beautiful person beomgyu. Inside and out.”

He beams shyly, eyes crinkling into crescents, then leans in to kiss you again like he physically cannot resist it.

“You’re welcome,” he adds smugly when he pulls back.

“For what?”

“For giving you the best boyfriend and business partner ever.”

You roll your eyes but you’re still smiling affectionately at him. “Well, I was the one who suggested working with you on your channel so I think you should say thank you to me.”

“Okay then.” Beomgyu presses his plushy lips with yours for the countless time. “Thank you y/n” his deep eyes are literally sparkling like they do often around you, looking into yours like you just showed him the entire galaxy, giggling, he rests his forehead against yours, brushing his nose with yours.

You adore this gorgeous, angelic boy so much.

STREAM: ENDED.

♫ Now playing Angels Around Me...- Kali Uchis

A/n: omg ☹️😭😭🤧🤧 i can’t believe it’s come to end wtaf. But also wow i can’t believe I ever actually managed to finish this series. At the start I lowkey went into it blind and had no actual plans but it truly did write itself :(<3 omg I really will miss writing for this series. They’re literally my babies and this is literally my favourite beomgyu to write. I’ll miss them sm. this series felt like such a constant in my life like it’s actually watched me grow, and you can see it as the chapters go by too 😭 This was literally one of the first things I actually started writing on here and I got so much love with this series, genuinely so much love it’s crazy and I don’t think I’ll really get that again. Thank you to all the people that patiently waited every chapter and supported this series and sent me their thoughts. I still see people liking and commenting from 2022 ily all sm 😭💕💕☹️☹️🌷🌷 wait omg why did I actually start crying 😭😭 IM EMOTIONAL OKAY :( This series mean sm to me

I hope you like the ending 😭 this was a bitch for me to write and I had no idea how to end it so I’m sorry if you hate it but I tried my best 😭

I still plan to write little tiny bonus chapters for them in the future tbh I’m not ready to let go. 🤧 Anyway, truly thank you so so much for everyone that read this entire series. 💗💗

Taglist: @pogigyu @denleave1088 @mashimarshmello @cha0thicpisces @soobsfairy444 @lcvetyvn @1ummcalhoody6 @imrllytootiredforthis @aliceoracleollormusic @yongboksgf @daniarafid @nyanggk @aggiebackstage @qluvr @artypjmlbss @dickdeprived @lilactangerine @kissmeow @katsukeis @shutupheathersorryheatherr @mastergibbs93 @tae-ology @lynanist @guavagyu @soobhns @mikeeel @multistansimp4life @goquokka @scarfac3 @roses-for-my-love @maxismp1 @peachenle @vampcharxter @th3-3d3n-g4rd3n @yuhjoeyuh @ren-junwrld @eggeutarteuu @vivioluh @stars4kal @staurdvst @itbtoblikethatsometimes @nct-dreamteam @ixayjun @beomgewwwwww (Ask to be added to the taglist !!)

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys 😭 if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

[dearjiwon]

can I cry wtf 😢 I love this series sm I’m so sad to see it end, but you did incredible with the way you chose to end it 🥹 I may not have been here from the very beginning but I’ve been reading since the 4th part and always looked forward to it!!

this series was incredible 😆 thank you for writing it, and thank ur brain for the direction of the story u chose to take it, the ending was so cute!!

[dearjiwon]

moots ?

i know u sent this in december… i do apologize i never saw this omg 😢😢 but yes ofc i’d love to be moots 🥹

[dearjiwon]

i’m so so excited to read whatever you have to put out i’m going to explode

wait im scratching my head in embarrassment now cus i haven’t posted anything in ages omg…

i hope ur still excited I HAVE AOME THINGS TO POST AFTER HOWRVRR LONG ITS BEEN 🥹 and pls dont explode… 😳

[dearjiwon]

bitch where r u

when u sent this i was literally on an island 🥹 my internet was genuinely gone so i hardly used my phone…

i hope to release a drabble tonight or tomorrow tho…

[dearjiwon]

i miss your writing

i just wanted to make it dramatic sorry

hi omg!! i miss writing alot aswell!!

tbh i’ve been quite busy with travelling, and school starting again recently so i haven’t had alot of time to write 🥹

i know i come on here alot like “guys i promise i’ll write again” then end up disappearing for another month… maybe thats my fault but honestly idk what to write about rn 😢

i do have a few drafts to finish but i genuinely am procrastinating the hell out of them 😭 it may be a bit more time till i decide to finish a fic… but i plan to post a few drabbles !! and hopefully this time i wont get distracted and forget ab tumblr…

anyway yes hehe i miss writing here too and lets hope life will not be too busy this month

[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: REPUBLISHED. fighting both my delulu and my demons while writing this. 😭 so glad to be part of this beautiful event.

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 his birthday candles are 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 in life—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, you come 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 but 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 and 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.

[dearjiwon]

this is beautiful wow I have ni words

[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: REPUBLISHED. fighting both my delulu and my demons while writing this. 😭 so glad to be part of this beautiful event.

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 his birthday candles are 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 in life—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, you come 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 but 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 and 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.

[dearjiwon]

WE BEG FOR THE COMEBACKKKKKKK

SOON I PROMISE 😆😆 we got extra credit part 2 and some others that I’m almost done with so by the middle of January I’ma be active 👀

[dearjiwon]

pretty like this — c.sb

warnings. handjob, slight pain kink, petnames (bunny), soobmissive

fucking soobin has always been your favorite thing. not just because of how good he feels buried deep inside you, not even because of how big he is, but because of how fucking pretty he sounds when he moans your name. he’s so easy to ruin. all it takes is a few kisses against his soft neck, lips dragging slow across his skin before you start sucking. leaving bruises just to remind him who he belongs to. and even then, he’s already whimpering for you, hips twitching as his cock aches, leaking through his boxers already.

but it’s when you finally slide your hand down that he really starts to fall apart. slipping under the waistband of his boxers and finding him already hard, thick, leaking just from a few kisses and the weight of your body on top of him. you circle your thumb over the tip, teasing it slow, gathering up the pre-cum spilling out of him and smearing it around just to watch his thighs twitch. and fuck, the way he moans your name like he’s breathless, tipping his head back against the pillows, mouth falling open so pretty, it makes you want to break him.

you stroke him properly then, fist tightening just enough as you start jerking him off the way you know he likes it. hand twisting with every pull, wrist flicking just right at the head. he’s already shaking a little. so you bury your free hand in his hair, tug hard enough to make his breath hitch, and he whines. desperate little whines that sound too perfect coming from someone so big.

“f-fuck, please… ‘s so good,” he pants, hips lifting off the bed like he’s chasing your touch desperately. you just squeeze him tighter.

“please what?” you ask, already speeding up. he’s throbbing in your grip, tip flushed and slick, eyes fluttering shut as his face scrunches up in pleasure. and when you twist your wrist just a little harder, dragging your palm over the head with every stroke while pulling on his hair again, he lets out a loud, choked moan. it’s so needy. soobin’s such a mess for you, so easy to wreck, loving every second of it. the mix of pain and pleasure has him gasping, legs trembling, practically begging to cum.

“please,” he breathes again, more desperate this time. voice all whiny and high like he doesn’t even care how pathetic he sounds. his hips keep twitching up into your hand, chasing friction, chasing you, chasing anything that’ll let him cum.

you lean in close, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “you gonna cum already, bunny? just from my hand?”

he nods so fast it’s embarrassing, biting his lip like that’ll stop the moans but they’re still spilling out, all breathy and wrecked. and you don’t even give him a warning, you just squeeze tighter and jerk him faster, twisting your wrist at the top, dragging your palm over the head with every stroke. your other hand stays tangled in his hair, yanking it hard enough to make him cry out.

“mmph—fuckfuckfuck—” he gasps, thighs shaking, cock twitching hard in your grip as he finally cums. thick and messy all over your hand and stomach, moaning your name through it all as the thick ropes spill everywhere. his abs flexing under you, chest heaving, lips parted in total bliss.

you slow your hand but don’t stop, milking him through it, his creamy cum spilling all over your hand, watching the way his face scrunches up and his body jerks at the overstimulation.

he whines, half sobbing now. so sensitive, so pretty, so ruined. “god,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss his flushed cheek, “you’re so fucking pretty like this.”

and he just nods, his cute lips parted and still trembling slightly, while he’s still hard in your hand.

“let me feel you now baby, please.”

[dearjiwon]

girl comeback when

SOONN 😆 trust I have a few fics I’m getting done now that it’s new year, cus before I was lowkey busy 👀

though I hope I can be alot more active in 2026, because there’s SO much I have to post

[dearjiwon]

i love your fics <3

awee thank you so muchh 💗💗 I appreciate it alot !!

[dearjiwon]

hiiii!!

after reading some of your fics i am BLOWN AWAYY!! the talent is actually fucking insane. i kiss u and ur brain. (consensually ofc)

im glad we are moots now, and i cant wait to see what you do next!! thanks for letting me be part of the ride and i hope we become good friends. :>

aww hii!! this is so sweet what 🥹 THANK YOU SO SO MUCH for the love on my fics hehe!! I think it’s so sweet that people actually sit there and read MY fics like what 😳 it’s crazy to me that people actually like my writing !!

I’m glad we are moots aswell! you seem like such a nice person and I’m happy to get to know you more :D unfortunately I do post like once every month 💔 the burnout with writing hits me too easily ☹️ but either way !! tysm for ur kind words I appreciate it so so much !!

[dearjiwon]

EXTRA CREDIT ──── choi soobin.

── .✦ (🥥) who would've thought that a late night tutoring sesson with the schools biggest nerd, soobin, turned into a night even more exciting. turns out, he has an even bigger surprise than his brain.

pairing: big dick virgin!soobin x fem!reader

word count: 4.8k

"content warning 18+ [ MDNI! ], switch!soobin, fem reader, big dick virgin!soobin, nerdy dirty talk, he researched ab sex, nerd!soobin, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, riding, creampie, aftercare”

you invited him over because you were failing math.

there wasn’t anything romantic or flirtatious about it at first — just a silent cry for help written in red marker across your test papers, the kind of desperate slope only someone like choi soobin could pull you from.

he was quiet in class, but always had the right answers. you’d never seen him speak above a whisper, never seen him look anyone in the eye for more than a second, and yet he always left the lecture room with perfectly annotated notes and the air of someone who carried his self-worth in decimal points and weighted averages.

so you messaged him one night — a simple, “can u tutor me?” — and he agreed with alarming speed.

showed up three days later at your apartment like a boy heading into battle, papers in one hand and a mechanical pencil tucked behind his ear, even though you weren’t going to a classroom.

he barely spoke as he stepped inside, his oversized hoodie swallowing his frame and his backpack clutched so tightly in his hand you worried the strap might snap.

“hi,” he said, voice soft, and then added, “i brought… some topic breakdowns. just what i thought would be most helpful.”

you took the stack of papers from him, letting your fingers brush his as you did — just enough to make him freeze.

“thanks, soobin. you’re a lifesaver.”

“it’s no problem,” he replied, though his voice cracked a little halfway through, and he cleared his throat like it embarrassed him.

he stood awkwardly in the middle of your room until you gestured toward the bed. “we can work there. my desk’s a mess right now.”

he nodded too quickly, walking over with that stiff, careful posture that always made him look like he didn’t know what to do with his limbs.

he perched on the very edge of the mattress, knees pressed together, bag in his lap like a shield.

you were already sprawled out beside him, legs crossed, chin in your hand, flipping lazily through the printouts he brought. he’d highlighted things in different colors — pink for formulas, green for common mistakes, blue for examples — and even used sticky tabs to mark each section.

you smiled a little. “damn. you really prepped for this, huh?”

“i didn’t want to waste your time,” he said, not meeting your eyes. “i mean, you’re busy. i figured i should… y’know. make it count.”

your gaze lingered on his profile for a second — the soft curve of his cheek, the glasses sliding slightly down his nose, the way his lashes caught the light like they didn’t belong on a boy. “you’re cute when you’re nervous,” you said.

his ears flushed pink immediately, and he opened his mouth to say something but couldn’t find the words.

instead, he ducked his head and pulled out a worksheet from his bag, mumbling something about “starting with derivatives.”

for a while, you worked. or at least, you tried to. he was focused, explaining things in his soft, careful voice, gesturing with a pen as he talked.

but the more you listened, the less you heard — your brain slowly replacing the numbers and variables with the warm hum of his voice, the gentle slope of his mouth, the way his fingers tapped the edge of the paper like he needed the rhythm to keep from spiraling.

you weren’t sure when it shifted.

maybe it was when he leaned in to correct your equation, his shoulder brushing yours, and didn’t pull away. maybe it was when your knees touched under the blankets, and neither of you moved. maybe it was the way the air felt heavier now — less like study session, more like waiting for something to happen.

soobin must’ve felt it too. his words started stumbling. he explained one formula three times and still got lost halfway through, cheeks flushed, pupils dilated.

his hand hovered a little too long when he passed you the pen. when your thighs pressed together again, he sucked in a breath and didn’t let it out for four seconds.

you turned slightly to face him, setting your notes aside. the room was quiet now.

just the soft tick of the wall clock and the low buzz of tension coiling between you like a wire being pulled tighter and tighter.

he was looking at your mouth.

you didn’t speak. neither did he. the moment didn’t need narration — it just hung there, charged, inevitable.

and then it snapped.

your lips met his like gravity had pulled them there — sudden, unspoken, too natural to be a mistake. his breath hitched immediately, eyes fluttering shut like a reflex.

he tasted like vanilla and nerves, soft and shaky against your mouth, and when your hand came up to cup his cheek, he made a sound, barely audible, like the beginning of a whimper, and leaned into it like he’d been waiting all night.

you deepened the kiss slowly, letting it unfold, letting him adjust. he responded with this aching softness, fumbling but eager, his fingers curling into the bedsheets like he didn’t trust himself to touch you yet.

he wasn’t practiced, his lips moved like he was still learning. but he kissed you like he meant it. like he felt it.

you pulled back just slightly, breath tangled with his, your foreheads nearly touching.

his eyes stayed shut and he swallowed hard. “is this okay?” he whispered.

you nodded, brushing your thumb over his flushed cheek. “mmhm.”

he opened his eyes then, wide and vulnerable, and you could feel how hard he was trying to stay calm. how the tension in his shoulders hadn’t fully left. like he was waiting for the next step but terrified to ask for it.

but you didn’t rush. you just leaned in again, slower this time, and kissed him like there was nothing else you wanted to do tonight.

and this time, he kissed you back like he believed it.

but the kiss had unraveled something in both him and you.

he was still leaning into you like he hadn’t realized it was over, lips parted, breath catching at the edges, glasses slightly fogged from how close you’d been. you could see the color bleeding up his neck in slow-motion, creeping past his collar like his whole body was flushing from the inside out. he looked dazed. pink. utterly stunned.

you wondered, for a moment, if he’d ever been touched like this before.

but then he blinked, slow and heavy, and something in him cracked open.

he kissed you again, unsure, but full of need. like he’d been holding it back for too long. his hand twitched, then moved up — resting on your waist like he was afraid he’d break something, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt.

you climbed into his lap without thinking. not rushed. not performative. just a natural shift, a quiet surrender to gravity and tension and everything that had been simmering between you all evening.

he made a noise, sharp and startled when your weight settled on him, and his hands flew to your hips like instinct.

you could feel him underneath you already, half-hard and growing fast, and the realization sent a low throb through your stomach.

“fuck,” he whispered before he could stop himself.

you stilled. “hm?”

he looked horrified. “n-no, i mean— i wasn’t— that wasn’t—”

you tilted your head, amusement curling at your lips. “you okay, soobin?”

his throat bobbed. he didn’t answer. just stared at you like you were something holy and terrifying.

then, voice barely a whisper: “i’ve never done this before.”

you blinked. “like… never?”

he shook his head. “n-no. not even close.”

you felt your expression soften, and you leaned in to kiss him again, gentler this time. “you want to stop?”

he hesitated — not with fear, but with something more fragile. like he was trying to trust himself to speak.

“…no. i want to—” he paused, breath shaky. “i want to. just— it’s my first time, not my first time… knowing.”

you blinked again and chuckled slightly. “what?”

he turned bright red. “i… studied.”

you stared.

he flailed. “not in a weird way! i just— i didn’t want to be bad at it. s-so i read stuff. books. forums. diagrams— i even watched videos sometimes but only for like— like educational purposes—”

you blinked again. slowly. “…so you watched porn. like, for science.”

“i wanted to take notes,” he said, sounding genuinely defensive.

you laughed. couldn’t help it. he looked so earnest about it — like he’d genuinely sat down with a browser tab open and a pen in his hand, analyzing thrust angles.

“you’re unreal,” you said softly.

“i just didn’t want to disappoint anyone,” he mumbled, eyes downcast.

you reached down and took his hand, guiding it under your shirt. he froze, mouth open slightly, and his fingertips trembled against the skin of your waist.

“you won’t,” you promised. “you’re already not.”

his breath hitched. he looked up at you like you’d just rewritten the rules of the universe.

you started to grind your hips, slowly, experimentally — not enough to overwhelm, just enough for friction.

just enough for your shorts to tug against his sweats and for the growing heat between you to become unmistakable.

and god, he was big.

you could feel it — not in a vague, flattering way, but in a real, holy-shit-how-are-you-expected-to-fit-inside-me way.

every roll of your hips brought him further into focus, your body reacting before your brain could even catch up. he was so hard already, twitching beneath you, and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

“s–shit,” he gasped, eyebrows scrunched. “this— this isn’t in the articles—”

you snorted. “what, grinding?”

“n-no— i mean— yes, but not— not like this—”

you kissed him again, harder this time, swallowing the way his voice caught in his throat. your hands pushed his hoodie up slowly, palms skimming over warm skin, and he shivered when you reached his chest.

he looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself. like every second of contact was tripping a wire in his system.

you whispered against his lips, “you’re gonna let me ride you, right?”

his eyes rolled back so fast it was almost funny. “god— y-yeah. anything. anything you want.”

you reached between you, slipping your hand under his waistband — and what you found made your breath stutter.

he was thick. heavy. the kind of size that made your thighs clench just imagining it. no wonder he’d studied. no wonder he was scared.

you looked at him, slightly stunned. “jesus christ, soobin.”

he blinked, confused. “w-what? is it— is it weird? i read that some people have curve—”

you cut him off with a kiss, messy and open-mouthed, and his hands clutched at your waist like he was trying not to fall off the earth.

“it’s big,” you muttered. “like… really fucking big.”

he made a sound you couldn’t describe — somewhere between a choke and a moan.

you stripped slow, teasing, sliding your shirt off and watching his eyes widen as more skin revealed itself.

he stared like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to look. like he wanted to memorize it but felt guilty for trying.

you helped him out of his clothes next, pulling his hoodie over his head and tugging his sweats down far enough for him to spring free.

he gasped when the air hit him. flushed deep pink from tip to base. twitching slightly in time with his heartbeat.

and yeah. huge.

he tried to say something, but it came out garbled. you didn’t let him speak — just kissed him again, sweeter this time, pressing your body against his until he was whining into your mouth.

“lie back,” you whispered, and he did.

you climbed on top of him slowly, positioning yourself, and when the tip nudged against you, both of you gasped.

you took your time, letting him feel every inch of you — the stretch, the slide, the warmth — and his jaw dropped like it was all short-circuiting him.

“ohmygod,” he moaned, hands flying to your thighs. “ohmygod, it’s so warm— it’s— fuck—”

you bottomed out and paused, letting him breathe. he was gripping you like he was afraid he’d float away, eyes glassy, hips twitching up just barely.

“you okay?” you whispered, brushing his sweaty hair from his face.

he nodded, but he looked wrecked already.

“i-it’s so much,” he choked out. “i d-didn’t think it’d feel this good— i thought— i thought i’d last longer—”

you started moving, and he whimpered.

“oh— oh fuck—” he cried, head falling back against the pillow. “you’re s-so— it’s too good— oh god— i’m gonna— i’m—”

you weren’t even bouncing yet. just rolling your hips, slow and deep, letting his cock drag against every inch of your walls. his eyes fluttered, his chest heaved, and he let out a sound that didn’t even sound human.

“such a good boy,” you whispered, to which he moaned in response. the prettiest noises leaving his mouth as you praised him.

he couldn’t stop shaking underneath you. soobin was all heat and trembling muscle, wide eyes flickering open only to shut again in dazed desperation.

his chest heaved with every shallow breath, slick with sweat, lips parted in a silent plea as your hips rolled down again — slow, deliberate, like you were memorizing the way he stretched you open.

his hands had settled at your waist, not gripping, not guiding — just holding, fingers splayed across your skin like he didn’t want to forget the shape of you. like he wasn’t sure this was real.

every time your cunt dragged down his cock, his stomach fluttered, tightening like a wire being wound tighter and tighter with no end in sight.

he was deep. impossibly so. every inch of him filled you, pressed inside with this perfect fullness that made your vision blur. the curve of his cock nudged something devastating with each movement, and yet the stretch never dulled — not even as your walls grew slicker, your legs trembling from the slow pace.

you rode him with patience. not because you needed to go slow — but because he looked so wrecked.

his eyes glassy, his thighs twitching, mouth caught in a half-moan that never made it out. his expression was nothing short of reverent. overwhelmed. ruined.

you leaned over him, skin sliding against his as your hands braced at either side of his chest. the shift made your angle deeper, pulled a broken sound from his throat that made your core throb.

he tried to lift his hips, just a little, just to chase the feeling, but he couldn’t get the rhythm right, too stunned, too overstimulated, too caught up in the sheer reality of you.

the head of his cock dragged against your walls again, and your mouth fell open with a gasp — because he filled every inch, every curve, as if he was shaped for you alone. he was pulsing inside you already, and you hadn’t even given him permission to move yet.

his hands twitched, your body ached for more, and so you let him.

you shifted, just barely — lifting your hips until only the thick head remained inside you, holding there for a breathless second, watching his jaw slacken as if he’d lost something vital — and then you dropped down again, full weight, taking him all the way in one smooth thrust.

his back arched.

the sound that broke from him was nothing short of guttural — low and soft and strangled at the edges, like he didn’t know what to do with the sensation.

“mmh, i-it… it feels so good… don’t stop… please”

his fingers finally tightened on your hips, not hard, just grounding — and you felt him thrust up.

it was shaky. clumsy. but the strength behind it was unmistakable. he met your next roll with a sharp buck of his hips, and it landed deep, sudden, deliciously raw. your breath caught. his face contorted, eyes fluttering closed, lips trembling.

he did it again. and again.

beneath you, soobin moved like he didn’t even know he could. the soft whimpering boy who’d watched porn for research was gone — replaced by something unfiltered, frantic.

he thrust up into you with so much need, so much pure instinct, that you nearly collapsed against his chest.

he was so warm. so deep. every time you sank back down on his cock, it filled you to the hilt. every motion sending waves of heat through your spine, your stomach, your lungs.

you clenched around him without meaning to — too full, too sensitive — and he gasped like he’d been punched, arms tightening around your waist. he sounded like he was breaking. like it was too much.

you rolled your hips down hard, once, and he cried out.

not loud. not dramatic. just this fragile, broken sob of pleasure that slipped out past gritted teeth as he tried to keep fucking you through it. tried to keep his pace even as his body started failing him.

he was close. you could feel it. his whole body trembling beneath you, stomach fluttering, cock twitching deep inside like he was aching to let go.

“w-wait… im gonna cum… p-please… don’t stop…”you ground down harder, deeper, faster — and he fell apart.

his hips jolted once, then twice, then lost all rhythm. his cock pulsed violently inside you, and then you felt it — thick, hot, the warmth of him spilling into you as his body seized and shuddered.

he buried his face in your neck, arms clinging to you like a lifeline, thighs shaking uncontrollably beneath yours as he came.

every pulse of his cock pushed his cum deeper, filled you more, the mess gathering between your thighs like he couldn’t help it.

his breath hitched, his mouth opened against your skin, and then the tiniest sob escaped — cracked and soft and overwhelmed.

he was crying again.

you held him through it, rocking your hips just slightly to ease him through the aftershocks. he twitched inside you, whimpering, helpless beneath the weight of it all. his hands gripped you like you’d disappear.

his cock throbbed inside you, overstimulated and soaked in your slick, and he just kept whimpering.

you pulled back to look at him.

his eyes were glassy, unfocused. his cheeks damp. he looked like he’d been cracked open from the inside out.

you leaned in and kissed his forehead, then his cheek, then finally his lips — soft and slow, grounding him.

his voice was barely there. “i— i didn’t mean to—”

you shushed him. “you did perfect.”

his lashes fluttered. his arms loosened. his body finally relaxed beneath you, sinking into the mattress, flushed and tear-streaked and filled to the brim.

he looked at you again, and you held his cheek. “you wanna go again?” you said, brushing your thumb across his face, catching a tear that fell earlier.

he nodded slowly, and he was still inside you when he started to move again.

his cock hadn’t even softened fully—still thick, still flushed a deep pink at the base, still twitching inside you from the overstimulation, but now he was shifting, testing, thinking through the daze. and that was the moment you knew, he wasn’t done.

his breath still caught every time your walls clenched, but he was moving—hips subtly lifting, grinding into you in soft, sticky rolls. the cum from his first release had made everything slick, slippery, messy—your thighs wet, your inner walls coated.

he was still nestled so deep you could feel him twitch against your cervix, and when he pulled back a few inches, a broken gasp slipped from your lips.

he froze, like he didn’t expect that sound. you felt his hands tighten at your waist.

“…i wanna try something,” he whispered.

before you could ask, he pulled out with a soft squelch, and you both moaned at the loss. but he didn’t waste time—didn’t even stop to overthink it—he just reached for you and flipped you, slow but firm, until your cheek was pressed against the pillow and your back arched, hips raised just enough.

you turned to glance over your shoulder, heart thudding.

soobin was flushed all the way down to his chest, hair stuck to his forehead, lips pink and parted—but his eyes had sharpened. still soft. still shy. but there was something new there now.

something focused.

his hand settled on your lower back, then drifted down to your ass, squeezing once like he was testing a theory. when he spoke again, his voice was low. almost dazed. “theoretically… this angle should stimulate the anterior wall more consistently.”

you blinked.

“…are you quoting a textbook right now?”

he pushed back in without warning—one slow, gliding thrust, his cock stretching you open again with a wet slide—and you choked on your own breath.

the stretch burned now, fucked-out and sore, but god, he felt so full. the second his hips pressed flush to yours, you felt your arms go weak.

“yeah,” he whispered. “i read about this. from the back, hips raised… it’s supposed to— oh fuck—”

he started moving before he could finish the sentence.

his thrusts were deeper this time. not rough, not fast—intentional. heavy. every motion angled slightly upward, every roll of his hips hitting that same devastating spot, over and over again.

you realized—somewhere between gasping into the sheets and gripping the pillowcase like it might save you—that he meant to do that.

“feels… right?” he panted, voice breathless. “am i… hitting it right?”

you couldn’t speak. could barely even moan. your body was melting around him, dripping slick and cum with every push, your mind already fraying at the edges from how deep he was.

his cock dragged against your walls with obscene precision—too precise, like he was adjusting his angle mid-thrust to line up with your reactions.

every time your thighs trembled, he leaned in further. every time you gasped, he whispered a frantic, “there—like that?” and did it again.

“fuck,” you managed, voice hoarse. “you— god, you feel so fucking good—”

he moaned behind you, and then his fingers curled around your hips to pull you back onto him harder.

the pace stuttered for a moment, but when he found it again, it was relentless. sloppier now, louder. the wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, each thrust jostling you further up the bed.

“read once,” he gasped, “that the g-spot’s like… five centimeters in… angled toward the belly button—f-fuck, wait—”

he adjusted again, slightly upward, and this time you cried out, legs buckling beneath you.

“there,” he whispered. “t-there it is. fuck.”

your entire body clenched. he felt it, gasped again, and leaned over you. now his chest was against your back, his breath warm and fast against your ear, hips still pistoning into you as he pressed you down with the weight of his body.

“you’re so—tight,” he breathed. “s-so warm— i can’t— i c-can’t stop—”

you weren’t stopping him.

your brain had shut off halfway through his nerdy monologue, somewhere between “g-spot location” and “angle of friction”. all you knew now was the way his cock dragged against your walls, the obscene squelch of your mixed arousal leaking down your thighs, the sound of his voice trembling as he kept going, even as his rhythm began to falter.

you could feel him close again. his thrusts started to stutter—less controlled, more desperate.

every breath came out choked. his grip on your hips turned vice-like, and his weight pressed you harder into the mattress.

“g-gonna cum again,” he whimpered, voice cracking. “inside, please, i can’t— i want— fuck, please—”

you let him. you even tightened around him on purpose. and that broke him.

his hips slammed forward one final time—deep and hard, burying himself to the hilt—and then he snapped, groaning into your shoulder as he came again, harder this time.

hot and messy, cock twitching wildly as his cum spilled out in thick spurts, dripping back down your thighs with every shudder.

he didn’t move for a long moment. just panted against your neck, body trembling, arms around you like a blanket.

still buried deep, still twitching from the aftershocks, still too full of sensation to pull out.

you were shaking too. used. sore. stuffed.

he kissed the back of your shoulder, then your spine. slow, reverent.

“…did i do good?” he asked softly, voice hoarse and breathless.

you turned your head enough to look at him.

he was flushed. swollen. smiling—barely.

you cupped his cheek, pulled him down into a kiss, and let him melt into you again.

you didn’t move for a while.

your body felt… gelatinous. boneless. like you’d been poured out, reshaped, and forgotten on warm sheets.

your thighs were trembling, too slick to close properly, your breath still shallow as you stared blankly at the headboard, brain empty except for the faint memory of being absolutely ruined.

and behind you—still pressed close, still inside—you could feel him twitching softly. Soobin’s arm was curled around your waist, his forehead damp against your shoulder, and his chest rose and fell in uneven waves as he tried to catch his breath.

“…i think i broke you,” he whispered.

his voice was so soft, so tentative, that you let out a shaky laugh despite yourself.

“maybe just… a little,” you mumbled, voice hoarse.

he didn’t respond right away. just let out a breath that was almost a whimper, and very slowly, he pulled out.

the sound was obscene—wet and slow and too much. his cum spilled out in thick, creamy rivulets, already smeared down your inner thighs, soaking the backs of your legs and your sheets.

he groaned under his breath the second he saw it, like even looking was too much for his nervous system to handle.

“oh my god,” he said, eyes wide. “i—fuck, i didn’t mean to—there’s just—so much—”

you flopped onto your back with a wince and watched him sit up on shaky legs, completely naked, flushed red from head to toe, hair a mess. his dick was still red and slightly twitching, glistening at the tip from whatever hadn’t managed to stay inside you.

he scrambled for his hoodie, dragging it on clumsily and then half-tripping as he grabbed his backpack off the floor.

“d-don’t move,” he babbled. “i’ve got—uh—one sec—”

you blinked. “soobin… what are you doing.”

he held up a pack of wet wipes.

“…why do you have those?” you asked.

he looked mortified. “i-it’s for glasses! and, um. keyboard dust.”

but he was already kneeling between your legs, gingerly nudging them apart with the back of his hand.

his face flushed impossibly deeper at the sight—your swollen folds, the sheer amount of cum, the fact that he put it there.

you watched his throat bob as he took a breath and started cleaning you.

gently, carefully.

he touched you like you might break, using slow, soothing strokes, barely applying pressure.

when the wipe brushed over your entrance and another trail of cum spilled out, he made a tiny noise in his throat and mumbled, “oh my god—i’m so sorry—”

you couldn’t stop smiling, too wrecked to be shy, too full of affection to care. “you’re apologizing for fucking me now?”

“i-i just—i should’ve warned you. or slowed down. or—” he paused, looking deeply concerned, “—maybe done a few more warmup exercises—”

you reached out and grabbed his wrist, stopping the endless spiral of his thoughts. “soobin.”

he froze. eyes wide.

“you were perfect.”

he blinked, like you’d just told him he aced an exam he forgot to study for.

“…r-really?”

“really.” you tugged him closer. “come here.”

he climbed onto the bed clumsily and wrapped his arms around you.

you let your head rest on his shoulder, body melting into the warmth of him as his fingertips gently traced circles over your spine.

he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. then your cheek. then, with shaky hesitation, to your lips.

“…you feel okay?” he murmured against your mouth.

“sore,” you admitted. “but in a good way.”

his ears went pink. “i didn’t think it’d… i mean, you were so tight, and i thought—i mean, i calculated it before, but actually being inside—”

you laughed again, too tired to tease him. “soobin.”

he looked at you, dazed and flushed and in love with you, probably.

you kissed him again.

and this time, he smiled against your lips. soft. warm. nerdy.

“…can i write about this in my notes?” he asked suddenly, like he couldn’t help it.

and you burst out laughing.

[dearjiwon]

guys 😭😭 I can't believe this post reached 4k notes I'm actually so in shock hello?? this is so insane to me !! I can't believe my little blog, that I only intended to write once in a while, and fully expected to flop came so far?? like deadbutt thank u SO MUCH for the support on this fic it actually means the world to me ☹️☹️🥹

[dearjiwon]

just friends? — c.bg

warnings. bsf!beomgyu, cheating, masturbation (gyu), bf!yeonjun, beomgyu cums on reader

beomgyu has always been a little touchy, it was nothing new. he was like this long before you ever dated anyone. always sitting a little too close, pressing his thigh to yours when he didn’t need to, brushing hair behind your ear just to watch your expression shift. but it was different now. heavier. thicker. like tension coating the air, thick enough to make you swallow.

you shouldn’t be here. not after last night when yeonjun kissed your temple and told you he loved you for the first time. not after you texted beomgyu back at midnight saying, “can i come over tomorrow? i miss you.” not after he replied in under a minute with “door’s always open for you.”

you shouldn’t be here. but you are. sitting on beomgyu’s bed, knees drawn to your chest while his fingers trail absently along your ankle, stroking soft against your skin like he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it. you notice though.

and you notice how his eyes drop to your thighs when you shift, how his jaw tightens every time your phone lights up with a message from ‘junie 💗’, how he hasn’t said a word about your boyfriend all afternoon but the tension in his shoulders hasn’t gone away since you mentioned his name.

“you look really pretty today,” beomgyu says, quiet, like a confession. his fingers are a little firmer now, dragging up your shin slowly, stopping right beneath your knee.

you smile without meaning to. “thanks.”

his gaze lingers. “he doesn’t deserve you.”

you blink, pausing for a second. your heart stutters before you could stop it. “gyu…”

“he doesn’t,” he says again, more firmly this time, and he’s already leaning closer, voice low and rough. “you don’t even look at him the way you look at me.”

“what’re you talking about—” you start, but are cut off by him leaning towards you before you can get any words out.

he was kissing you, it was messy, hard, sudden. like he can’t hold back anymore. and the worst part is you kiss him back. lips parting with a soft gasp as your hands fly up to his shoulders, gripping tight. he tastes so warm. so familiar. you’ve kissed him once before—accidentally. it was during a truth or dare game, you were half-drunk years ago. it didn’t feel like this.

nothing has ever felt like this.

his hand grips your jaw now, holding your face still as he deepens the kiss, moaning softly against your mouth. it’s obscene, the way he kisses you—like he’s been waiting his whole life to do this again. like he’s finally taking what’s always been his.

you pull away with a gasp, breath shaky.

“beomgyu, i—fuck, i have a boyfriend.”

he just looks at you. lips swollen, eyes already blown wide, voice barely above a whisper. “i know.”

you don’t move when his hands find your waist, pushing you back gently until you’re on your knees in front of him on the floor. his legs spread slowly on the edge of the bed as he leans back, still watching you with that dazed look—like he’s dreaming.

“just watch me,” he whispers. “you’re not doing anything wrong, right?”

and you hate how fast you nod. like you believe it. like letting your best friend jerk off in front of you while you’re with someone else isn’t technically cheating.

his hand slides into his sweats, slow and deliberate. you can’t look away from him, and he’s already hard. not only that, but he’s so pretty and big. your mouth falls open at the sight.

“fuck—” he breathes when he wraps his fingers around his cock, pumping slow, his eyes fluttering shut like just having you this close is enough to push him over the edge. “you don’t know how many times i’ve thought about this.”

your thighs press together as heat pools in your lower stomach. “gyu…”

“don’t stop me,” he pants, jerking his hand faster now, precum already glistening on the tip. “just wanna cum for you. please, let me, fuck—”

his hips twitch. you watch his abs tighten, watch his chest rise and fall erratically as he moans your name under his breath. he sounded so pretty.

you should walk away. you should leave. but instead, you tilt your head slightly and whisper, “you’re such a mess, gyu.” and something in him breaks.

his breath stutters, his hand speeds up without him even thinking—fist wrapping tight around the base before sliding all the way up, twisting slightly when he reaches the head. his thumb smears through the pre-cum gathering there, spreading it desperately, almost shaking with how badly he wants more. how badly he wants you. he looks ruined already.

hair falling into his eyes, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted as soft whimpers spill out of him like he can’t hold them back anymore. his thighs flex every time his hand moves, muscles tense under smooth skin, and you swear you can hear how wet he is—slick sounds filling the room every time he drags his palm over the tip.

“fuck—” he chokes, voice cracking when his thumb presses right under the head, right where he’s the most sensitive. “it’s… so much better with you watching.”

your heart is pounding and you don’t know why—maybe because it’s wrong, maybe because you shouldn’t want this, maybe because yeonjun’s name still sits warm in your contacts and there’s dried perfume from your date earlier clinging to your shirt. but none of that matters right now—not with beomgyu falling apart in front of you.

you shift a little closer, sitting straight on your knees, eyes dragging slow over every twitch of his body. he notices instantly. his jaw drops.

“don’t—mmph, don’t look at me like that…” he whispers, and his voice is wrecked. high and breathy like he’s already on the edge.

“like what?” you tilt your head, a small smile plastered on your face. your voice is soft, too soft. gentle in a way that makes him tremble.

he swallows, hand still working his cock, squeezing around the base before pulling up again, faster, wrist flicking just right at the top.

“like… like you want me.” he whimpers, knowing that’s far from the truth. he just wanted to believe it for a second.

you don’t answer, but your silence is loud. it tells him everything. you aren’t really his, after this you’ll probably go back to yeonjun. he should be grateful that he even gets this, he really should. yet he can’t help the jealousy that blooms in his chest at the thought of you and yeonjun together.

his other hand reaches forward slowly, grabbing the back of your head—just enough pressure to guide you, not enough to force. his fingers tangle in your hair, grip tightening every time his hips jerk forward.

his brows knit together like the pleasure hurts, like it’s too much. his moans get higher, needier. he sounds pathetic infront of you, but he doesn’t even care.

“i’m so close,” he breathes, voice shaking. “fuck—please don’t look away. stay right there—please—”

and you don’t move, you sit there wide-eyed and breathless as he falls apart for you, chasing his orgasm with his entire body—hips lifting, stomach tightening, thighs trembling like there’s nothing left holding him together except you.

he gasps, head tipping back, his voice breaking into a whimper when he squeezes the base and pumps hard, fast, sloppy, exactly how he needs it. “i’m gonna—fuck—i’m gonna cum—”

and then he does, it hits him fast. hard enough that his whole body stutters. thick white ropes spill out onto your chest and collarbones, warm and hot and messy.

even as his orgasm fades, his hand keeps moving, slower now but still milking himself through every last drop. each stroke making him whine under his breath, overstimulated but refusing to stop touching himself while you’re still looking at him.

when he finally stills, he’s panting. hair sticking to his forehead, eyes half-lidded and glassy, hand loosening around his cock but not letting go.

he looks down at you covered in him, and his face flushes. you look so pretty like this, you always look so pretty. why can’t you be his? the reality starts to set in that he just jerked off infront of his bestfriend. but he doesn’t care, doesn’t even feel embarrassed, he wanted this for so long.

“fuck,” he whispers, voice hoarse, thumb brushing your bottom lip with a kind of reverence that shouldn’t exist between friends. “you look… perfect.”

you blink, your chest tight, brain catching up slowly.

“this… doesn’t mean anything, right?” you murmur, voice thin.

“yeah. right.” he whispers. “still my pretty girl.”

you don’t respond, because you’re not his girl. you’re yeonjun’s.

and yet here you are, your core aching and wet, shirt stained, mouth dry, and heartbeat sprinting in your chest. beomgyu leans down slowly, cups your jaw with his still-shaky fingers, and kisses your temple softly like nothing about this was wrong.

but you know it’s not true. this was wrong, yet you can’t pull yourself away from him.

and now you’ve got two men in love with you. and one of them is standing over you, still half-hard and smiling like he just won.

[dearjiwon]

EXTRA CREDIT ──── choi soobin.

── .✦ (🥥) who would've thought that a late night tutoring sesson with the schools biggest nerd, soobin, turned into a night even more exciting. turns out, he has an even bigger surprise than his brain.

pairing: big dick virgin!soobin x fem!reader

word count: 4.8k

"content warning 18+ [ MDNI! ], switch!soobin, fem reader, big dick virgin!soobin, nerdy dirty talk, he researched ab sex, nerd!soobin, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, riding, creampie, aftercare”

you invited him over because you were failing math.

there wasn’t anything romantic or flirtatious about it at first — just a silent cry for help written in red marker across your test papers, the kind of desperate slope only someone like choi soobin could pull you from.

he was quiet in class, but always had the right answers. you’d never seen him speak above a whisper, never seen him look anyone in the eye for more than a second, and yet he always left the lecture room with perfectly annotated notes and the air of someone who carried his self-worth in decimal points and weighted averages.

so you messaged him one night — a simple, “can u tutor me?” — and he agreed with alarming speed.

showed up three days later at your apartment like a boy heading into battle, papers in one hand and a mechanical pencil tucked behind his ear, even though you weren’t going to a classroom.

he barely spoke as he stepped inside, his oversized hoodie swallowing his frame and his backpack clutched so tightly in his hand you worried the strap might snap.

“hi,” he said, voice soft, and then added, “i brought… some topic breakdowns. just what i thought would be most helpful.”

you took the stack of papers from him, letting your fingers brush his as you did — just enough to make him freeze.

“thanks, soobin. you’re a lifesaver.”

“it’s no problem,” he replied, though his voice cracked a little halfway through, and he cleared his throat like it embarrassed him.

he stood awkwardly in the middle of your room until you gestured toward the bed. “we can work there. my desk’s a mess right now.”

he nodded too quickly, walking over with that stiff, careful posture that always made him look like he didn’t know what to do with his limbs.

he perched on the very edge of the mattress, knees pressed together, bag in his lap like a shield.

you were already sprawled out beside him, legs crossed, chin in your hand, flipping lazily through the printouts he brought. he’d highlighted things in different colors — pink for formulas, green for common mistakes, blue for examples — and even used sticky tabs to mark each section.

you smiled a little. “damn. you really prepped for this, huh?”

“i didn’t want to waste your time,” he said, not meeting your eyes. “i mean, you’re busy. i figured i should… y’know. make it count.”

your gaze lingered on his profile for a second — the soft curve of his cheek, the glasses sliding slightly down his nose, the way his lashes caught the light like they didn’t belong on a boy. “you’re cute when you’re nervous,” you said.

his ears flushed pink immediately, and he opened his mouth to say something but couldn’t find the words.

instead, he ducked his head and pulled out a worksheet from his bag, mumbling something about “starting with derivatives.”

for a while, you worked. or at least, you tried to. he was focused, explaining things in his soft, careful voice, gesturing with a pen as he talked.

but the more you listened, the less you heard — your brain slowly replacing the numbers and variables with the warm hum of his voice, the gentle slope of his mouth, the way his fingers tapped the edge of the paper like he needed the rhythm to keep from spiraling.

you weren’t sure when it shifted.

maybe it was when he leaned in to correct your equation, his shoulder brushing yours, and didn’t pull away. maybe it was when your knees touched under the blankets, and neither of you moved. maybe it was the way the air felt heavier now — less like study session, more like waiting for something to happen.

soobin must’ve felt it too. his words started stumbling. he explained one formula three times and still got lost halfway through, cheeks flushed, pupils dilated.

his hand hovered a little too long when he passed you the pen. when your thighs pressed together again, he sucked in a breath and didn’t let it out for four seconds.

you turned slightly to face him, setting your notes aside. the room was quiet now.

just the soft tick of the wall clock and the low buzz of tension coiling between you like a wire being pulled tighter and tighter.

he was looking at your mouth.

you didn’t speak. neither did he. the moment didn’t need narration — it just hung there, charged, inevitable.

and then it snapped.

your lips met his like gravity had pulled them there — sudden, unspoken, too natural to be a mistake. his breath hitched immediately, eyes fluttering shut like a reflex.

he tasted like vanilla and nerves, soft and shaky against your mouth, and when your hand came up to cup his cheek, he made a sound, barely audible, like the beginning of a whimper, and leaned into it like he’d been waiting all night.

you deepened the kiss slowly, letting it unfold, letting him adjust. he responded with this aching softness, fumbling but eager, his fingers curling into the bedsheets like he didn’t trust himself to touch you yet.

he wasn’t practiced, his lips moved like he was still learning. but he kissed you like he meant it. like he felt it.

you pulled back just slightly, breath tangled with his, your foreheads nearly touching.

his eyes stayed shut and he swallowed hard. “is this okay?” he whispered.

you nodded, brushing your thumb over his flushed cheek. “mmhm.”

he opened his eyes then, wide and vulnerable, and you could feel how hard he was trying to stay calm. how the tension in his shoulders hadn’t fully left. like he was waiting for the next step but terrified to ask for it.

but you didn’t rush. you just leaned in again, slower this time, and kissed him like there was nothing else you wanted to do tonight.

and this time, he kissed you back like he believed it.

but the kiss had unraveled something in both him and you.

he was still leaning into you like he hadn’t realized it was over, lips parted, breath catching at the edges, glasses slightly fogged from how close you’d been. you could see the color bleeding up his neck in slow-motion, creeping past his collar like his whole body was flushing from the inside out. he looked dazed. pink. utterly stunned.

you wondered, for a moment, if he’d ever been touched like this before.

but then he blinked, slow and heavy, and something in him cracked open.

he kissed you again, unsure, but full of need. like he’d been holding it back for too long. his hand twitched, then moved up — resting on your waist like he was afraid he’d break something, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt.

you climbed into his lap without thinking. not rushed. not performative. just a natural shift, a quiet surrender to gravity and tension and everything that had been simmering between you all evening.

he made a noise, sharp and startled when your weight settled on him, and his hands flew to your hips like instinct.

you could feel him underneath you already, half-hard and growing fast, and the realization sent a low throb through your stomach.

“fuck,” he whispered before he could stop himself.

you stilled. “hm?”

he looked horrified. “n-no, i mean— i wasn’t— that wasn’t—”

you tilted your head, amusement curling at your lips. “you okay, soobin?”

his throat bobbed. he didn’t answer. just stared at you like you were something holy and terrifying.

then, voice barely a whisper: “i’ve never done this before.”

you blinked. “like… never?”

he shook his head. “n-no. not even close.”

you felt your expression soften, and you leaned in to kiss him again, gentler this time. “you want to stop?”

he hesitated — not with fear, but with something more fragile. like he was trying to trust himself to speak.

“…no. i want to—” he paused, breath shaky. “i want to. just— it’s my first time, not my first time… knowing.”

you blinked again and chuckled slightly. “what?”

he turned bright red. “i… studied.”

you stared.

he flailed. “not in a weird way! i just— i didn’t want to be bad at it. s-so i read stuff. books. forums. diagrams— i even watched videos sometimes but only for like— like educational purposes—”

you blinked again. slowly. “…so you watched porn. like, for science.”

“i wanted to take notes,” he said, sounding genuinely defensive.

you laughed. couldn’t help it. he looked so earnest about it — like he’d genuinely sat down with a browser tab open and a pen in his hand, analyzing thrust angles.

“you’re unreal,” you said softly.

“i just didn’t want to disappoint anyone,” he mumbled, eyes downcast.

you reached down and took his hand, guiding it under your shirt. he froze, mouth open slightly, and his fingertips trembled against the skin of your waist.

“you won’t,” you promised. “you’re already not.”

his breath hitched. he looked up at you like you’d just rewritten the rules of the universe.

you started to grind your hips, slowly, experimentally — not enough to overwhelm, just enough for friction.

just enough for your shorts to tug against his sweats and for the growing heat between you to become unmistakable.

and god, he was big.

you could feel it — not in a vague, flattering way, but in a real, holy-shit-how-are-you-expected-to-fit-inside-me way.

every roll of your hips brought him further into focus, your body reacting before your brain could even catch up. he was so hard already, twitching beneath you, and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

“s–shit,” he gasped, eyebrows scrunched. “this— this isn’t in the articles—”

you snorted. “what, grinding?”

“n-no— i mean— yes, but not— not like this—”

you kissed him again, harder this time, swallowing the way his voice caught in his throat. your hands pushed his hoodie up slowly, palms skimming over warm skin, and he shivered when you reached his chest.

he looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself. like every second of contact was tripping a wire in his system.

you whispered against his lips, “you’re gonna let me ride you, right?”

his eyes rolled back so fast it was almost funny. “god— y-yeah. anything. anything you want.”

you reached between you, slipping your hand under his waistband — and what you found made your breath stutter.

he was thick. heavy. the kind of size that made your thighs clench just imagining it. no wonder he’d studied. no wonder he was scared.

you looked at him, slightly stunned. “jesus christ, soobin.”

he blinked, confused. “w-what? is it— is it weird? i read that some people have curve—”

you cut him off with a kiss, messy and open-mouthed, and his hands clutched at your waist like he was trying not to fall off the earth.

“it’s big,” you muttered. “like… really fucking big.”

he made a sound you couldn’t describe — somewhere between a choke and a moan.

you stripped slow, teasing, sliding your shirt off and watching his eyes widen as more skin revealed itself.

he stared like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to look. like he wanted to memorize it but felt guilty for trying.

you helped him out of his clothes next, pulling his hoodie over his head and tugging his sweats down far enough for him to spring free.

he gasped when the air hit him. flushed deep pink from tip to base. twitching slightly in time with his heartbeat.

and yeah. huge.

he tried to say something, but it came out garbled. you didn’t let him speak — just kissed him again, sweeter this time, pressing your body against his until he was whining into your mouth.

“lie back,” you whispered, and he did.

you climbed on top of him slowly, positioning yourself, and when the tip nudged against you, both of you gasped.

you took your time, letting him feel every inch of you — the stretch, the slide, the warmth — and his jaw dropped like it was all short-circuiting him.

“ohmygod,” he moaned, hands flying to your thighs. “ohmygod, it’s so warm— it’s— fuck—”

you bottomed out and paused, letting him breathe. he was gripping you like he was afraid he’d float away, eyes glassy, hips twitching up just barely.

“you okay?” you whispered, brushing his sweaty hair from his face.

he nodded, but he looked wrecked already.

“i-it’s so much,” he choked out. “i d-didn’t think it’d feel this good— i thought— i thought i’d last longer—”

you started moving, and he whimpered.

“oh— oh fuck—” he cried, head falling back against the pillow. “you’re s-so— it’s too good— oh god— i’m gonna— i’m—”

you weren’t even bouncing yet. just rolling your hips, slow and deep, letting his cock drag against every inch of your walls. his eyes fluttered, his chest heaved, and he let out a sound that didn’t even sound human.

“such a good boy,” you whispered, to which he moaned in response. the prettiest noises leaving his mouth as you praised him.

he couldn’t stop shaking underneath you. soobin was all heat and trembling muscle, wide eyes flickering open only to shut again in dazed desperation.

his chest heaved with every shallow breath, slick with sweat, lips parted in a silent plea as your hips rolled down again — slow, deliberate, like you were memorizing the way he stretched you open.

his hands had settled at your waist, not gripping, not guiding — just holding, fingers splayed across your skin like he didn’t want to forget the shape of you. like he wasn’t sure this was real.

every time your cunt dragged down his cock, his stomach fluttered, tightening like a wire being wound tighter and tighter with no end in sight.

he was deep. impossibly so. every inch of him filled you, pressed inside with this perfect fullness that made your vision blur. the curve of his cock nudged something devastating with each movement, and yet the stretch never dulled — not even as your walls grew slicker, your legs trembling from the slow pace.

you rode him with patience. not because you needed to go slow — but because he looked so wrecked.

his eyes glassy, his thighs twitching, mouth caught in a half-moan that never made it out. his expression was nothing short of reverent. overwhelmed. ruined.

you leaned over him, skin sliding against his as your hands braced at either side of his chest. the shift made your angle deeper, pulled a broken sound from his throat that made your core throb.

he tried to lift his hips, just a little, just to chase the feeling, but he couldn’t get the rhythm right, too stunned, too overstimulated, too caught up in the sheer reality of you.

the head of his cock dragged against your walls again, and your mouth fell open with a gasp — because he filled every inch, every curve, as if he was shaped for you alone. he was pulsing inside you already, and you hadn’t even given him permission to move yet.

his hands twitched, your body ached for more, and so you let him.

you shifted, just barely — lifting your hips until only the thick head remained inside you, holding there for a breathless second, watching his jaw slacken as if he’d lost something vital — and then you dropped down again, full weight, taking him all the way in one smooth thrust.

his back arched.

the sound that broke from him was nothing short of guttural — low and soft and strangled at the edges, like he didn’t know what to do with the sensation.

“mmh, i-it… it feels so good… don’t stop… please”

his fingers finally tightened on your hips, not hard, just grounding — and you felt him thrust up.

it was shaky. clumsy. but the strength behind it was unmistakable. he met your next roll with a sharp buck of his hips, and it landed deep, sudden, deliciously raw. your breath caught. his face contorted, eyes fluttering closed, lips trembling.

he did it again. and again.

beneath you, soobin moved like he didn’t even know he could. the soft whimpering boy who’d watched porn for research was gone — replaced by something unfiltered, frantic.

he thrust up into you with so much need, so much pure instinct, that you nearly collapsed against his chest.

he was so warm. so deep. every time you sank back down on his cock, it filled you to the hilt. every motion sending waves of heat through your spine, your stomach, your lungs.

you clenched around him without meaning to — too full, too sensitive — and he gasped like he’d been punched, arms tightening around your waist. he sounded like he was breaking. like it was too much.

you rolled your hips down hard, once, and he cried out.

not loud. not dramatic. just this fragile, broken sob of pleasure that slipped out past gritted teeth as he tried to keep fucking you through it. tried to keep his pace even as his body started failing him.

he was close. you could feel it. his whole body trembling beneath you, stomach fluttering, cock twitching deep inside like he was aching to let go.

“w-wait… im gonna cum… p-please… don’t stop…”you ground down harder, deeper, faster — and he fell apart.

his hips jolted once, then twice, then lost all rhythm. his cock pulsed violently inside you, and then you felt it — thick, hot, the warmth of him spilling into you as his body seized and shuddered.

he buried his face in your neck, arms clinging to you like a lifeline, thighs shaking uncontrollably beneath yours as he came.

every pulse of his cock pushed his cum deeper, filled you more, the mess gathering between your thighs like he couldn’t help it.

his breath hitched, his mouth opened against your skin, and then the tiniest sob escaped — cracked and soft and overwhelmed.

he was crying again.

you held him through it, rocking your hips just slightly to ease him through the aftershocks. he twitched inside you, whimpering, helpless beneath the weight of it all. his hands gripped you like you’d disappear.

his cock throbbed inside you, overstimulated and soaked in your slick, and he just kept whimpering.

you pulled back to look at him.

his eyes were glassy, unfocused. his cheeks damp. he looked like he’d been cracked open from the inside out.

you leaned in and kissed his forehead, then his cheek, then finally his lips — soft and slow, grounding him.

his voice was barely there. “i— i didn’t mean to—”

you shushed him. “you did perfect.”

his lashes fluttered. his arms loosened. his body finally relaxed beneath you, sinking into the mattress, flushed and tear-streaked and filled to the brim.

he looked at you again, and you held his cheek. “you wanna go again?” you said, brushing your thumb across his face, catching a tear that fell earlier.

he nodded slowly, and he was still inside you when he started to move again.

his cock hadn’t even softened fully—still thick, still flushed a deep pink at the base, still twitching inside you from the overstimulation, but now he was shifting, testing, thinking through the daze. and that was the moment you knew, he wasn’t done.

his breath still caught every time your walls clenched, but he was moving—hips subtly lifting, grinding into you in soft, sticky rolls. the cum from his first release had made everything slick, slippery, messy—your thighs wet, your inner walls coated.

he was still nestled so deep you could feel him twitch against your cervix, and when he pulled back a few inches, a broken gasp slipped from your lips.

he froze, like he didn’t expect that sound. you felt his hands tighten at your waist.

“…i wanna try something,” he whispered.

before you could ask, he pulled out with a soft squelch, and you both moaned at the loss. but he didn’t waste time—didn’t even stop to overthink it—he just reached for you and flipped you, slow but firm, until your cheek was pressed against the pillow and your back arched, hips raised just enough.

you turned to glance over your shoulder, heart thudding.

soobin was flushed all the way down to his chest, hair stuck to his forehead, lips pink and parted—but his eyes had sharpened. still soft. still shy. but there was something new there now.

something focused.

his hand settled on your lower back, then drifted down to your ass, squeezing once like he was testing a theory. when he spoke again, his voice was low. almost dazed. “theoretically… this angle should stimulate the anterior wall more consistently.”

you blinked.

“…are you quoting a textbook right now?”

he pushed back in without warning—one slow, gliding thrust, his cock stretching you open again with a wet slide—and you choked on your own breath.

the stretch burned now, fucked-out and sore, but god, he felt so full. the second his hips pressed flush to yours, you felt your arms go weak.

“yeah,” he whispered. “i read about this. from the back, hips raised… it’s supposed to— oh fuck—”

he started moving before he could finish the sentence.

his thrusts were deeper this time. not rough, not fast—intentional. heavy. every motion angled slightly upward, every roll of his hips hitting that same devastating spot, over and over again.

you realized—somewhere between gasping into the sheets and gripping the pillowcase like it might save you—that he meant to do that.

“feels… right?” he panted, voice breathless. “am i… hitting it right?”

you couldn’t speak. could barely even moan. your body was melting around him, dripping slick and cum with every push, your mind already fraying at the edges from how deep he was.

his cock dragged against your walls with obscene precision—too precise, like he was adjusting his angle mid-thrust to line up with your reactions.

every time your thighs trembled, he leaned in further. every time you gasped, he whispered a frantic, “there—like that?” and did it again.

“fuck,” you managed, voice hoarse. “you— god, you feel so fucking good—”

he moaned behind you, and then his fingers curled around your hips to pull you back onto him harder.

the pace stuttered for a moment, but when he found it again, it was relentless. sloppier now, louder. the wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, each thrust jostling you further up the bed.

“read once,” he gasped, “that the g-spot’s like… five centimeters in… angled toward the belly button—f-fuck, wait—”

he adjusted again, slightly upward, and this time you cried out, legs buckling beneath you.

“there,” he whispered. “t-there it is. fuck.”

your entire body clenched. he felt it, gasped again, and leaned over you. now his chest was against your back, his breath warm and fast against your ear, hips still pistoning into you as he pressed you down with the weight of his body.

“you’re so—tight,” he breathed. “s-so warm— i can’t— i c-can’t stop—”

you weren’t stopping him.

your brain had shut off halfway through his nerdy monologue, somewhere between “g-spot location” and “angle of friction”. all you knew now was the way his cock dragged against your walls, the obscene squelch of your mixed arousal leaking down your thighs, the sound of his voice trembling as he kept going, even as his rhythm began to falter.

you could feel him close again. his thrusts started to stutter—less controlled, more desperate.

every breath came out choked. his grip on your hips turned vice-like, and his weight pressed you harder into the mattress.

“g-gonna cum again,” he whimpered, voice cracking. “inside, please, i can’t— i want— fuck, please—”

you let him. you even tightened around him on purpose. and that broke him.

his hips slammed forward one final time—deep and hard, burying himself to the hilt—and then he snapped, groaning into your shoulder as he came again, harder this time.

hot and messy, cock twitching wildly as his cum spilled out in thick spurts, dripping back down your thighs with every shudder.

he didn’t move for a long moment. just panted against your neck, body trembling, arms around you like a blanket.

still buried deep, still twitching from the aftershocks, still too full of sensation to pull out.

you were shaking too. used. sore. stuffed.

he kissed the back of your shoulder, then your spine. slow, reverent.

“…did i do good?” he asked softly, voice hoarse and breathless.

you turned your head enough to look at him.

he was flushed. swollen. smiling—barely.

you cupped his cheek, pulled him down into a kiss, and let him melt into you again.

you didn’t move for a while.

your body felt… gelatinous. boneless. like you’d been poured out, reshaped, and forgotten on warm sheets.

your thighs were trembling, too slick to close properly, your breath still shallow as you stared blankly at the headboard, brain empty except for the faint memory of being absolutely ruined.

and behind you—still pressed close, still inside—you could feel him twitching softly. Soobin’s arm was curled around your waist, his forehead damp against your shoulder, and his chest rose and fell in uneven waves as he tried to catch his breath.

“…i think i broke you,” he whispered.

his voice was so soft, so tentative, that you let out a shaky laugh despite yourself.

“maybe just… a little,” you mumbled, voice hoarse.

he didn’t respond right away. just let out a breath that was almost a whimper, and very slowly, he pulled out.

the sound was obscene—wet and slow and too much. his cum spilled out in thick, creamy rivulets, already smeared down your inner thighs, soaking the backs of your legs and your sheets.

he groaned under his breath the second he saw it, like even looking was too much for his nervous system to handle.

“oh my god,” he said, eyes wide. “i—fuck, i didn’t mean to—there’s just—so much—”

you flopped onto your back with a wince and watched him sit up on shaky legs, completely naked, flushed red from head to toe, hair a mess. his dick was still red and slightly twitching, glistening at the tip from whatever hadn’t managed to stay inside you.

he scrambled for his hoodie, dragging it on clumsily and then half-tripping as he grabbed his backpack off the floor.

“d-don’t move,” he babbled. “i’ve got—uh—one sec—”

you blinked. “soobin… what are you doing.”

he held up a pack of wet wipes.

“…why do you have those?” you asked.

he looked mortified. “i-it’s for glasses! and, um. keyboard dust.”

but he was already kneeling between your legs, gingerly nudging them apart with the back of his hand.

his face flushed impossibly deeper at the sight—your swollen folds, the sheer amount of cum, the fact that he put it there.

you watched his throat bob as he took a breath and started cleaning you.

gently, carefully.

he touched you like you might break, using slow, soothing strokes, barely applying pressure.

when the wipe brushed over your entrance and another trail of cum spilled out, he made a tiny noise in his throat and mumbled, “oh my god—i’m so sorry—”

you couldn’t stop smiling, too wrecked to be shy, too full of affection to care. “you’re apologizing for fucking me now?”

“i-i just—i should’ve warned you. or slowed down. or—” he paused, looking deeply concerned, “—maybe done a few more warmup exercises—”

you reached out and grabbed his wrist, stopping the endless spiral of his thoughts. “soobin.”

he froze. eyes wide.

“you were perfect.”

he blinked, like you’d just told him he aced an exam he forgot to study for.

“…r-really?”

“really.” you tugged him closer. “come here.”

he climbed onto the bed clumsily and wrapped his arms around you.

you let your head rest on his shoulder, body melting into the warmth of him as his fingertips gently traced circles over your spine.

he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. then your cheek. then, with shaky hesitation, to your lips.

“…you feel okay?” he murmured against your mouth.

“sore,” you admitted. “but in a good way.”

his ears went pink. “i didn’t think it’d… i mean, you were so tight, and i thought—i mean, i calculated it before, but actually being inside—”

you laughed again, too tired to tease him. “soobin.”

he looked at you, dazed and flushed and in love with you, probably.

you kissed him again.

and this time, he smiled against your lips. soft. warm. nerdy.

“…can i write about this in my notes?” he asked suddenly, like he couldn’t help it.

and you burst out laughing.