#but then the “true love” comes back and they just go back to them

[cressidagrey]

System Failure - Chapter 11: Brackley

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Dr. Anastasia "Ana" Wolff (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen to Mercedes? The paddock is buzzing. The media’s in meltdown.

Dr. Anastasia “Ana” Wolff, Mercedes’ notoriously brilliant, emotionally unavailable lead systems engineer and Toto Wolff’s eldest daughter, is not handling it well.  Because Max isn’t just a potential signing, he’s the man she’s been sleeping with in secret for nearly a decade.

And if the rumours are true, and Max Verstappen really is joining Mercedes, then Ana’s carefully compartmentalised world is about to explode.

Warnings and Notes: George Russell Bashing. Questionable Engineering Science...also Questionable work ethic. Difficult Family relationships. Toto tries his best. Let me know if I missed something else, and I'll add it!

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Slack Channel: #brackley-nerds

Private Channel. ~30 members. 

nicola.sim: …did anyone else just hear George corner Kimi about Altair?

liv.strategy: 👀👀👀 I heard voices. Spicy voices.

nicola.sim: I was literally behind the partition. He snapped. Told the kid the car “loathed a race winner.”

fatima.pr Oh wow. Coming in hot with the ego bruise.

liv.strategy: “Loathes a race winner” = I am SO printing that on a mug for Ana.

amelie.procurement Tell me the kid didn’t crack.

nicola.sim: He didn’t. Straight face. Dead calm. Said it was tailored to how he drives. That’s all.

leo.mechanic: Smart boy. Didn’t drop her name.

nicola.sim: Still. Poor kid. He looked like he wanted to crawl into the wiring harness and never come out.

liam.eng-lead: If George wants to throw tantrums because Ana built something beautiful, he can take it up with me.

lorelai.pa: Nah. Let’s make it more fun.

fatima.pr 👀 define “fun.”

lorelai.pa: Petty inconveniences. Tiny ones. The kind you can’t prove are malicious.

jess.hr:I’ll just pretend I haven’t heard any of this…

nicola.sim: I like where this is going.

liv.strategy: What’s the plan?

sam.transmission: Step one: every time George gets in the sim, the seat heaters mysteriously run just a degree too warm.

benjy.data: Step two: remove the good pens from his debrief desk. Replace them with the cheap ones that leak.

jules.elec: Step three: route all his radio checks through the channel that crackles.

sima.calibration: Step four: make his coffee machine in the motorhome “malfunction” so it only dispenses lukewarm espresso.

rachel.aero: Step five: every setup sheet he gets will be stapled crooked. Subtly. Just enough to drive him insane.

jess.hr: You people are demons. I love it.

lorelai.pa: Petty vengeance: activated.

leo.mechanic: For Ana. For Kimi. For art.

liam.eng-lead: Long live Project Altair.

fatima.pr: Long live Ana.

nicola.sim: Long live the kid who didn’t crack.

***

Brackley had a way of… balancing things.

When the story of George cornering Kimi hit the quiet back channels, it spread fast. Not to the press. Not to social media.

Just through the factory, the way whispers move through wiring.

And that was when Brackley decided: They would protect their own. 

They didn’t yell. There was no memo. No dramatic confrontation in Toto’s office.

The Brackley crew didn’t threaten. They just… adjusted the environment.

The next time George arrived at the factory, he found his keycard mysteriously deactivated. Security smiled apologetically and told him IT was “looking into it.” It took him twenty minutes and three phone calls to get upstairs.

When he got to his office, the coffee machine on his floor “accidentally” rerouted to engineering for calibration testing.

Kimi’s coffee machine, of course, worked perfectly.

Then George’s simulator schedule was mysteriously shifted three hours later. Nobody could explain who approved the change.

By the time he got in, the air conditioning in the sim room was locked at 19°C. Cold enough to make his hands stiff.

Meanwhile, Kimi’s run room was perfectly temperate.

Then, George’s inbox flooded with calendar invites that didn’t exist. Every time he declined one, two more appeared.

When George tried to print out a setup sheet, the printer ran out of ink. The replacement cartridges were “on order.” Oddly enough, Kimi’s setup sheets printed in full colour with a glossy header.

…Then the catering team “forgot” George’s lunch order. Twice. At the same time, someone delivered a perfectly timed bowl of pasta to Kimi’s desk with a little Post-It note: Fuel for prodigies.

The next day, George’s water bottle went mysteriously missing. 

 Not stolen. Not misplaced. Just… gone. Every bottle he grabbed after that had a slightly leaky cap.

Kimi, meanwhile, had a brand-new insulated bottle waiting for him at his workstation with his name laser-engraved on the side.

It wasn’t overt sabotage. It wasn’t cruel.

It was just enough to make George’s week… uncomfortable.

***

Group Chat: “TEAM 33”

 (Members: Max Verstappen, Jos Verstappen, Raymond Vermeulen)

Raymond: It’s confirmed. They did it. Christian’s out.

Jos: Holy. Shit.

Raymond: Internal memo. No press release yet. But the news will hit the paddock.

Jos: I didn’t think they’d actually do it. Helmut is freaking out.

Max: Good.

Jos: That’s it? “Good”?

Raymond: You just brought down the man who built the modern Red Bull empire and that’s all you have to say?

Max: He stopped listening to the drivers a long time ago. Started playing politics instead of building cars. He made this mess.

Jos: This wasn’t subtle, Max. Everyone knows it’s because of you.

Max: Good.

Raymond: Okay, Batman. Now what?

Max: Now we wait.

Jos: For what? A new team principal? Red Bull crawling back with a peace offering? Or for Mercedes to come back with the real deal?

Max: All of it. Let them move first. I’ve made my point.

Raymond: You made a statement. Do you realize what kind of power play this was?

Max: Four world championships. One broken team. They should’ve remembered what I’m capable of before I had to remind them.

Jos: Jesus Christ.

Raymond: If you walk now, after this…

Max: Then it was never about him. It was about me. And what I want.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Dr. Anastasia “Ana” Wolff

Max: He’s gone.

Ana: …Horner?

Max: Yes. Announcement is coming tomorrow. Internal decision made late last night.

Ana: Did you want this?

Max: I didn’t try to stop it.

Ana: Why are you telling me?

Max: Because I think you should know. And you’re not just anyone.

Ana: Max—

Max: Whatever you do with this knowledge… I trust your judgment. Just know the ground’s shifting.

Ana: Is this your way of saying Mercedes should move faster?

Max: I’m saying the timeline’s changed. And the game’s already started.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: It’s happening. They’re letting Horner go. Announcement tomorrow.

GP: Wow. Did you ask for it?

Max: No. But I didn’t fight it either.

GP: And how do you feel?

Max: Strange. Tired. Like someone just tried to throw me a lifeline when I’d already climbed out of the water.

GP: So. Are we still going to Mercedes?

Max: That’s the question, isn’t it?

GP: Max. I need you to start thinking not like a driver. But like a man who wants to win again.

Max: I am. And I think I know what I want. But I also know what I’ll be giving up.

GP: Then weigh it. Whatever you decide, I’m with you. Red. Silver. Hell, even green if you lost a bet.

***

Mercedes F1 HQ, Brackley, England - 8 July 2025

Toto was halfway through his second espresso when the door to his office opened without a knock.

It was Ana.

She moved like a storm on a mission—controlled, focused, lethal in black trousers and a cotton team polo no one else had received yet. Her tablet was tucked under one arm, and her eyes—sharp, unreadable, his eyes—were trained on him like she was here for blood.

Toto leaned back slightly. “Good morning?”

“I need you to talk to the board.”

Toto blinked. “What about?”

"Horner’s out."

Toto blinked. “Pardon?”

“Christian Horner. Red Bull. He’s gone. They’ll announce it tomorrow.”

Toto set the espresso cup down. Slowly. “…Are you sure?”

Ana’s expression didn’t flicker. “Yes.”

He leaned back in his chair, the implications unfurling faster than he could name them.

Horner out.

Red Bull destabilised and reeling.

And Mercedes? Still waiting on board signatures, technical proposals, revised projections.

Toto stared at her. “How do you know that?”

“I have my sources.”

Of course she did. The way she said it — calm, certain — made the hairs rise on the back of his neck. It wasn’t bravado. It wasn’t a hunch. She wasn’t speculating.

For all her stubborn neutrality, Ana Wolff was terrifyingly well-informed — about paddock politics, technical regulations, and clearly now… executive removals at rival teams.

She knew.

“And you want me to speak to the board… why?” he asked slowly.

Anastasia met his eyes. “Because Red Bull is about to go nuclear. If Max was considering us before, he’ll be considering us more now. And we need to be ready. No dithering. No committee decisions by Christmas. Make the call. Move the money. Get the seat in place.”

Toto exhaled slowly. “Are you certain, Anastasia?”

Ana folded her arms. “Do you think I’d be here if I wasn’t?”

Right. Of course. She didn’t come to his office unless something needed fixing or accelerating or—apparently—toppling.

Toto looked at her, really looked at her.

This wasn’t one of her chaotic engineering spirals. She wasn’t bouncing on the balls of her feet, talking faster than a double-stacked radio call. She was still. Steady. Unshakable.

And that terrified him more than anything else.

“Do they know we know?” he asked, quietly.

Anastasia gave the smallest of shrugs. "I highly doubt it. I’d advise making the board calls now,” she said crisply. “The moment this hits the news cycle, Verstappen’s price goes up.”

Toto stood, already reaching for his phone. “You think this changes his intentions?”

“I think it changes everyone else’s intentions,” Anastasia replied. “If we’re serious about bringing him in, we can’t wait for the market to rearrange itself. We strike now, while everything is still unstable. I think," Ana said calmly, "that Red Bull just showed their cards. And if the Mercedes board wants Max Verstappen, this is their window. Don’t let them wait until it closes."

Her tone didn’t rise. Her voice didn’t waver. She didn’t yell, didn’t pace, didn’t try to sell it with emotion.

She simply delivered the truth like it was a law of physics.

Toto stared at her for a long moment.

Then, without another word, he turned back to his monitor, unlocked his phone, and started making calls.

Not to the board. Not yet.

First—to Markus Schäfer. Then to Ola Källenius.

By the time he’d hung up, Anastasia was still there, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“You knew before the rest of the paddock,” he said quietly.

“I tend to,” she said, and then added, more softly, “It’s your move now, Papa.”

And then she left, silent as a storm cloud.

Toto stared at the door for a long moment.

Then he muttered, to no one in particular, “God help us. She's two steps ahead of us all.”

And he picked up the phone again. Because if Horner was out— Then everything was officially in play.

And Anastasia?

She walked out the door as quietly as she’d come in, the storm already moving on.

***

Mercedes F1 HQ, Brackley, England - 8 July 2025

The door creaked open with its usual stubborn groan. Bono stepped in first, carrying lunch like a man on a mission. Ana was already at the table, tablet closed, sleeves rolled, hair still damp from late-morning rain, staring into her coffee like it had personally offended her. Valtteri followed next, hands full with a salad container and a chocolate milk. Kimi trailed last, clutching a sandwich like it was his only friend.

“Right,” Bono said, dropping his tray. “House rules. No press conference chat. No marketing team gossip. And absolutely no George.”

“I wasn’t going to talk about George,” Ana said flatly, without looking up. “I was going to talk about the impending collapse of Red Bull Racing.”

Kimi choked on his water. “Wait, what?”

Valtteri raised a brow. “Is this like your engine predictions? Because I’m still not over you being right about Ferrari’s floor in April.”

Ana sipped her coffee. “No. This is different.”

Bono froze halfway to opening his crisps. “Define different.”

Ana shrugged one shoulder. “Let’s just say... the leadership structure over there is about to get a lot lighter.”

There was a pause.

“You’re joking,” Valtteri said slowly.

Ana didn’t look up. “I’m never joking.”

Kimi’s eyes widened. “Is it true then? Is Max really going to Mercedes?”

Valtteri smirked. “You ask that every week.”

“Yeah, but this time it feels like something’s happening,” Kimi insisted. “He didn’t say no when the press asked. That basically means yes.”

Ana tilted her head, neutral as ever. “Conversations are ongoing.”

Bono gave her a sideways look. “You say that like you’re sitting in on them.”

“I’m not,” Ana replied smoothly, “but I know someone who is.”

Valtteri narrowed his eyes. “Let me guess. You asked your father.”

“I ask my father lots of things,” Ana said, which was not a denial.

Bono finally opened the crisps. “I still don’t think it’ll happen. Max and Mercedes? Doesn’t feel real.”

Ana’s mouth quirked—just barely. “You might want to start preparing for it.”

Kimi was still catching up. “If Max does come to Mercedes, are they going to cut me?”

Ana turned to him for the first time that lunch. “I doubt it.”

“Why not?” he asked, nervous. “He’s Max Verstappen.”

“You’re you,” she replied simply. “You have potential. And you don’t whine.”

“I whine,” Bono said mildly.

“Professionally,” Ana clarified. “It’s different.”

Valtteri popped the lid off his salad. “So, just to recap: you’re telling us something huge is about to happen in the paddock, and you’re casually eating lentil soup like the world isn’t about to melt down?”

Ana took another sip of coffee. “Yes.”

Silence fell.

Then Kimi whispered, “...Can I say it?”

“No,” Bono and Valtteri said at once.

“I’m gonna say it,” Kimi said anyway. “This is so cool.”

Ana slid her cookie across the table to him without looking up.

“You’re in deep now,” she murmured.

And no one said it out loud—but they all felt it:

Something was coming.

They just didn’t know how loud the explosion would be. Not yet.

***

Mercedes F1 HQ, Brackley, England - 8 July 2025

Toto wasn’t nudging. He was walking into that virtual board meeting with a target. 

Max Verstappen.

“Let me be very clear,” he said, voice calm, clipped, Austrian-steel sharp. “We are entering a new era. The 2026 regulations will change everything—chassis, aero, power unit. What we do now will determine the next five years. Maybe more.”

“We have a window,” he began, hands folded, tone calm but precise. “A small one, but it’s there. For 2026. New regs. New power unit. And potentially—new driver lineup.”

Ola Källenius nodded slowly. “And you believe Verstappen is the linchpin?”

Toto met his gaze without flinching. “He is the benchmark. He’s not just one of the best driver in the world—he’s one of the smartest, most mechanically intuitive, and most adaptable. He will make our 2026 project credible before the car even hits the track.”

“Red Bull won’t let him go easily,” one of the board members interjected, steepling his fingers. “We’ve heard nothing formal from their side. This Horner situation could be noise.”

Toto’s lips twitched. Not quite a smile.

“It’s not noise,” he said.

The room went still.

“Are you saying there’s movement on Red Bull’s side?” another asked. “That Horner’s actually—”

“Out?” Toto’s voice was dry. “Yes.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“May I ask how you came by that information?” the Legal Director asked cautiously.

Toto leaned back, crossing his arms.

“I have my sources,” he said.

There were a few exchanged looks, but no one pressed.

“And Verstappen?” Ola asked, bringing the room back into focus. “You think he’s open to talks?”

“He’s not just open. He’s listening. For the first time in nearly a decade, he’s not shutting the door. He’s disillusioned. Red Bull is in disarray. The internal structure is fractured. And Verstappen has made it clear, privately, that he wants a project that aligns with his values: performance, clarity, and trust.”

Ola Källenius steepled his fingers. “And we’re that project?”

Toto met his gaze directly. “We could be. The 2026 engine is ahead of schedule. Our simulations are promising. But we need a driver who can develop at the highest level while delivering results under pressure. There is no one else on the grid with Max’s mechanical feedback, consistency, and mental resilience.”

Someone scoffed. “But what about Russell? Antonelli? Where does Max fit?”

“Wherever he wants,” Toto said flatly. “We’ll make it work. The priority is winning.”

A heavy pause.

The CFO spoke up. “What does he cost?”

Toto didn’t flinch. “More than anyone else. But less than staying in 4th place.”

That got a small laugh from one end of the table.

Ola leaned back, contemplative. “Do we think we can get him?”

Toto allowed himself a small breath. “Yes. If we move quickly. If we make it clear that he’s wanted, not just as a driver—but as the centerpiece of our next era.”

“And what about… complications?” the Head of Strategy asked, delicately. “Internal politics, image alignment, his—reputation for being difficult?”

Toto’s voice was even. “Max is difficult because he demands excellence. So do we.”

There was another beat of silence.

Then Ola Källenius smiled.

“Well,” he said, “it’s been a while since we stole a World Champion.”

The tension broke.

“Draw up the numbers,” the CFO said.

“I want the branding team prepared,” said someone else. “If we land him, it’ll shift the entire F1 landscape.”

Ola turned to Toto. “Full green light. Go after him. But keep it quiet.”

Toto nodded, pulse steady despite the weight of it. “Understood.”

As the meeting adjourned and the room emptied, he stood for a moment at the far window.

No more hypotheticals.

The chase had begun.

***

Mercedes F1 HQ, Brackley, England - 8 July 2025

Toto didn’t pour the scotch.

He thought about it. Opened the cabinet.

Let his hand rest on the bottle for a second. Then closed it again.

Instead, he reached for his phone.

Susie answered on the third ring. “Toto,” she said warmly, in that calm, clear voice that always cut through the static of his thoughts. “Everything alright?”

He sat down on his chair, one hand rubbing absently at his jaw. “Anastasia knew. Before I did.”

“Knew what?”

“Christian Horner,” he said. “He’s out. Red Bull hasn’t made it public yet, but the decision’s been made. Anastasia knew. And she came into my office to tell me. Before I’d gotten so much as a whisper of it. She told me to make the board move faster.”

There was a pause. He could picture Susie in the kitchen of their Monaco apartment, probably barefoot, probably cradling her teacup in both hands like always.

“She didn’t say how she knew?” Susie asked carefully.

Toto let out a quiet breath. “She said she had ‘sources.’”

“That girl,” Susie said fondly, “has the information networks of MI6 when she wants to.”

“Yes, but—how?” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I know she’s brilliant. I know she’s plugged into everything. But this... I’m the one in the boardroom, and my daughter is coming to me with classified news like she’s running strategy for a rival team.”

There was a smile in Susie’s voice. “Toto. I love you. But you forget sometimes—you raised a Wolff.”

He huffed. “She didn’t get this from me.”

“No. She got the steel from your mother and the precision from her own mind. But the spine, Toto? The way she carries herself into rooms full of people who underestimate her? The way she plays the long game? That’s all you.”

He let the words sink in. They didn’t quite settle.

“I just…” he shook his head, even though she couldn’t see. “I wonder what else she knows that I don’t.”

“Well,” Susie said, dryly, “if I had to guess? She probably knows exactly what she wants. And how to get it. And how many moves it'll take.”

Toto groaned. “She’s going to run us all one day.”

“She already does,” Susie said cheerfully. “You’re just too proud to admit it.”

“She told me the board needs to move on Max. Like she’s already certain where this is going.”

“Well,” Susie said lightly, “maybe she is.”

***

Christian Horner Dismissed by Red Bull Racing Amid Growing Internal Tensions

By Olivia Mercer | Motorsport Correspondent Silverstone, July 9, 2025

In a move that has stunned the Formula 1 paddock, Red Bull Racing has announced the immediate dismissal of Team Principal Christian Horner, ending a 20-year tenure marked by both unprecedented success and increasing controversy.

The announcement came early this morning, just ahead of the British Grand Prix weekend, and follows weeks of escalating internal pressure, widespread speculation regarding driver dissatisfaction, and reported friction between senior leadership and key figures within the team.

“Red Bull Racing confirms that Christian Horner will step down as Team Principal and CEO effective immediately,” read the official statement. “We thank him for his decades of service and numerous contributions to our success in the sport.”

The statement offered no further insight into Horner’s departure, but insiders suggest that the decision was influenced heavily by ongoing tensions with lead driver Max Verstappen, who has reportedly grown disillusioned with the team’s technical direction and leadership in the wake of Red Bull’s sudden decline in competitiveness during the 2025 season.

Max Verstappen's Influence Looms Large

While neither Verstappen nor his management team have made public comments, multiple paddock sources believe the 2025 driver market chaos — including rumors of Verstappen’s secret negotiations with Mercedes for 2026 — played a key role in the team’s leadership shakeup.

“This wasn’t just about performance,” one senior paddock source said under condition of anonymity. “It was about trust. Red Bull knew they were at risk of losing Max. Firing Horner may have been an act of desperation to retain him — or at least buy time.”

Others have suggested that the call may have come too late.

“Let’s not pretend Horner was untouchable,” noted former F1 driver and current Sky pundit Naomi Schiff. “When a four-time world champion starts seriously considering a move to another team, alarm bells ring. Verstappen has leverage — and this is what it looks like when he uses it.”

A Complicated Legacy

Horner’s tenure as Red Bull Team Principal saw the squad rise from midfield irrelevance to the pinnacle of modern Formula 1, securing six Constructors’ Championships and eight Drivers’ Championships. Known for his sharp political instincts and fierce loyalty to Red Bull’s internal culture, Horner was often a polarizing figure — admired for his competitive drive and criticized for his occasionally combative tone.

Recent seasons have seen that legacy complicated by public friction with technical staff, increased scrutiny of Red Bull’s management decisions, and persistent rumors of internal dysfunction following Adrian Newey’s departure in late 2024.

***

Twitter Thread: Christian Horner is fired: 

@/F1: BREAKING: Christian Horner is to exit Red Bull Racing with immediate effect #F1 🚨

@/HabitualLineStepper: “Toto Wolff right now after hearing the news of Christian Horner getting sacked” (memegly accompanied by stifled laughter) 

@/alonsoanon: The fact that Horner is GONE and we all know damn well it wasn’t a coincidence.

MAX VERSTAPPEN ISN’T JUST COOKING.

HE’S GORDON RAMSAY.

@/landoscrs: “me liking every tweet about christian horner getting sacked”

@/fourthvision: No 2 ways around it. Either Max is already leaving or he's on board with a rebuild

@/LightsOutLawyer: MAX VERSTAPPEN DID NOT JUST SUGGEST A MEETING AND WALK OUT WITH A BODY.

@/gridtea: max said “what are you willing to give me” and red bull said “your own guillotine, your majesty”

@/cursedwheelnut: the verstappen–wolff enemies to lovers arc is peaking. i repeat: we are IN THE PEAK.

@/sophiespitstop: Max watching Red Bull fire Christian Horner as a gesture of goodwill like: 👀 🧍‍♂️ 🧳 @/OversteerQueen: Max to Mercedes was a joke last year. Max to Mercedes was a rumor last month. Max to Mercedes is a threat with teeth today. You don’t sack the team principal unless you’re trying to keep your golden goose. 🧍‍♀️

@/chaoticneutralgp: Imagine being George Russell right now. Man said “it’s only normal to talk to the best drivers” and Red Bull responded by detonating their org chart to keep Max 😭

@/helmetcamhell: me: no way max is going to mercedes also me: they just fired horner to try and keep him??? also also me: googling how many championship trophies can fit in a silver arrow #f1 #RedBullRacing #MercMax

@/pitwallpoetry: someone said “max is the paddock’s thanos” and now i can’t unsee it. first it was george talking. then it was sky italia rumours. now christian is gone. who’s next. #maxverstappen #f1chaos

@/mercedesmurmurs: guys be honest. what if max actually goes to merc and brings his engineer, his sim rig, and his cats

@/wheninmonaco: max to mercedes is no longer a rumor. it’s an inevitability.

next week’s headlines:

“verstappen seen wearing silver. it’s over.”

@/f1tea_updates:

🚨 Rumour has it Ola Källenius (Mercedes-Benz CEO) just approved a major investment package for Mercedes F1. No details yet on what it’s for… but sources say it’s “driver-related.” 👀

@/mercedesmeg: please it’s so obvious. they’re buying max. they’re ACTUALLY BUYING MAX. they saw red bull fall apart and pressed the eject button so hard the boardroom shook

@/sainzftsunoda: I love how merc is literally going “we want max.” “you can’t have max.” “we did not ask.”

@/formuladrama: The last time Mercedes signed off on a big driver investment, they got Lewis Hamilton. If history repeats itself, good night to everyone except George Russell 😭

@/kimifan1998:

kimi antonelli watching all of this like 🧍🏻‍♂️

@/racingnath: so you’re telling me Mercedes is about to drop an ungodly amount of money right when Max Verstappen’s future is in limbo… interesting. very interesting.

@/pitwallpoet:

Mercedes Board: We must plan strategically for the long-term.

Also Mercedes Board: sure Toto, here’s 100 million, go get your emotionally unavailable Dutch wonderboy

@/verstappenlore: if Toto pulls this off and signs Max I will personally knit that man a thank-you cardigan

@/gridgossip: not Mercedes dropping a blank check and whispering “Max Verstappen” into the wind like it’s a summoning ritual

@/unreliablepitstop:

If Mercedes pulls this off…

2026 is going to be a bloodbath

***

Slack Channel: #brackley-nerds

Private Channel. ~30 members. 

lorelai.pa: GUYS. CHRISTIAN HORNER IS OUT. Fired. Terminated. Off the grid. Literally. 💀💀💀

liam.engine: WAIT WHAT I go to the kitchen for TWO MINUTES and Horner gets Thanos-snapped???

ellie.electronics: It’s real. BBC, Autosport all confirming. It’s actually happening. The Red Bull era is… fracturing.

lucy.comms: First Adrian Newey leaves. Now Horner. What's next? Max? Insert nervous sweating emoji

jess.hr: Speaking of… Did anyone else clock that Mercedes just got board approval for a “strategic motorsport investment package” this morning?? 😶‍🌫️

liam.eng-lead: YOU THINK IT’S ABOUT MAX??? THIS IS A SAFE SPACE YOU CAN SAY IT

sam.transmission: oh it’s not just about Max it’s also about vengeance Toto playing the long game™

Nicola.sim: What are the odds this is a coordinated move? Red Bull unravels from the inside Mercedes swoops in Max in silver The prophecy fulfilled?

leo.mechanic: this slack channel has become a fanfiction generator and I’m absolutely here for it

fatima.pr: I just want to say on the record: If Max Verstappen walks through our garage doors in 2026, I WILL cry and then work 120-hour weeks with joy in my heart.

liv.strategy: Can we name the new engine project “Operation Thunderdome” just in case

james.brakes: BREAKING: morale in Brackley reaches suspiciously high levels. Local engineers report feelings of “hope” and “glee.” Authorities baffled.

***

Group Chat: “WHO IS MAX VERSTAPPEN DATING”

 (Members: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz, Daniel Ricciardo)

Lando: BREAKING. CHRISTIAN HORNER. FIRED. 🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨

Oscar: You’re joking.

Carlos: Please tell me this is not a meme.

Lando: [link to article] It’s from Sky Sports. It’s real. He’s OUT. He’s GONE. THE MILTON KEYNES MONARCHY HAS FALLEN

Oscar: What the ACTUAL—

Carlos: Wait wait wait What does this mean for Max?? Did he ask for this??

Lando: Bro. Did he Thanos-snap Horner?

Daniel: ………………………… I'm not saying anything. 😶

Oscar: OH MY GOD YOU KNEW

Carlos: DANIEL DANIEL TELL US RIGHT NOW

Lando: He DID ask for it, didn’t he This was the “what are they willing to give him” moment They offered him the HEAD of the team 😭

Oscar: Game of Thrones: Verstappen Edition "Dracarys"

Carlos: This is insane. I mean I kinda get it?? But also— CHRISTIAN?

Lando: If Max actually joins Mercedes now I am going to combust. Publicly. Live. On TV.

Daniel: I’m not saying he’s going. But I’m not saying he’s not.

Oscar: That’s the most annoying thing you’ve ever said and I’ve known you for 6 years.

Carlos: I have war flashbacks just thinking about Red Bull restructuring.

Lando: Max really went “fix the team or I’m gone” And they were like “sure, head on a plate?”

Oscar: If Max is the main character this season I’m going to be so mad.

Daniel: Oh, honey. He’s not the main character. He’s the showrunner.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

GP: Hey. Just a heads up—Red Bull’s been sniffing around again.

Marketing asked if I “had a sense” of your plans for 2026. Horner’s seat isn’t even cold and they’re already twitchy.

Max: 

 I figured. They tried to corner me after the sim run.

GP: And?

Max: 

 I said I was focused on this season. Which is true. Technically.

GP: You know that answer only works if no one’s watching closely. And everyone’s watching closely now.

Max: 

 Let them watch. I’m not confirming anything until it’s done. Not even to them.

GP: So there is something to confirm.

Max: 

 You’ve known that longer than anyone.

GP: Fair. Just remember: if you jump ship, they’ll rewrite the whole narrative. Make you the villain if they can.

Max: Then I’ll win from the other side. Simple.

GP: God help us all. Just give me some warning, alright? Before the fire starts.

Max: 

 You’ll have it. You’re the only one I owe that to.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Dr. Anastasia “Ana” Wolff

Ana: Your little Red Bull civil war means my father will now spend his entire vacation on the phone. I was planning on reading Tolstoy in the shade in Sardinia. Now I’ll be stuck listening to board-level diplomacy over Aperol.

Max: So dramatic. You can still read. Just pretend the shouting is ambient ocean noise. Very immersive.

Ana: You underestimate how loud he is when trying to not yell. His whisper could launch rockets.

Max: Fine. I feel like I deserve some kind of visual compensation.

Ana: What are you on about now.

Max: Do I get to see you in a bikini? For morale. Obviously. National interest.

Ana: This is why you’re not allowed anywhere near Sardinia.

Max: I know you packed the blue one.

Ana: I hate that you know that. And that you’re right.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Toto Wolff

Max: Heard you're vacationing in Sardinia. What a coincidence. I’m also just so happening to be in Sardinia. With a yacht. Would be a shame if… I don't know… we scheduled a casual conversation about a Mercedes contract? 😇

Toto: Is this your version of subtle?

Max: I’m on vacation. This is subtle. We can call it a “strategic coincidence.” You bring your calendar. I’ll bring champagne.

Toto: You’re impossible.

Max: I prefer “motivated.” Let me know when you’re free. Anchor’s down till next Tuesday. 🛥️

Toto: ... Saturday afternoon. Come to Dinner. I’m not stupid.

Max: Didn’t think so. Looking forward to it,

 🛥️😉

[sweetdarlingfic2]

Yeah right

Cw: smut

You’ve been sleeping with Ghost on and off for a few months now.

No labels. No talks. Just sex, video games, and quiet 2 a.m. hangouts in the dark, nights that start with trash talk over split-screen shooters and end with your legs around his waist, breath caught between your teeth.

It’s casual.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. Say it enough times, maybe it starts to feel true. But the way he touches you, slow, soft, like he’s savoring every inch, makes it hard to believe this is just sex.

He lets you wear his hoodie home, then pretends not to care when you post a mirror selfie in it but he still double taps it within two seconds. His jaw clenches when you take too long to reply. And his eyes always drop to your mouth when you talk, linger like they’re thinking.

You want to ask what this is. Why he acts like this. What you are.

Is it just comfort? Is it just habit? Or something close to love? Maybe too close?

You tried to ask once.

But the words barely left your mouth before he kissed them away, hands sliding up your thighs, breath hot at your throat. The question died in your mouth. Drowned in the way he fucked you like you were his. Like he didn’t need to say it because you already knew.

So you let it go.

You kept pretending it was enough.

Even though it wasn’t.

Was a Thursday night. He was at your place. The city’s asleep outside, but your apartment was lit dim and warm, a mess of tangled sheets, empty beer bottles, and that ghost of something unspoken, thick in the air.

He was quiet after. On his side, one arm slung around your waist like it’s second nature. Your skin still hums from his touch, but you’re cold inside empty in a way he hasn’t even noticed.

You stare at the ceiling.

And then “Do you ever think about me when I’m not here?”

It comes out softer than you meant it to. Too soft. Like you’re afraid of scaring him off.

Silence.

He doesn’t answer he just exhales slowly and pulls you closer, his mouth brushing your shoulder. Warm. Familiar. Wordless.

that was the only answer you got.

You don’t sleep.

You just laid there, his breath at your neck and that emptiness blooming wider in your chest. You’re not comforted by the closeness. It pisses you off, how he can touch you like that, hold you like he means it, and still give you nothing.

You turn away from him before sunrise. His arm slips off your waist. He doesn’t pull you back.

Good.

Let him feel it.

Let him wonder why you’re quiet in the morning. Why you don’t kiss him goodbye. Why you nod and shut the door behind him like it doesn’t take everything in you to do it.

Because if this means nothing to him… then why should it mean anything to you?

A month passes.

You don’t sleep with him. Not once.

Not because you don’t want to. You do. Desperately. Every time his shoulder brushes yours on the couch. Every time he leans back laughing, head thrown, or looks at you like he misses you even though you’re right there.

But you resist.

You keep your distance. Draw careful, invisible lines between your thigh and his. You still hang out because neither of you knows how to stop but you don’t stay. Not anymore. You dodge his touches. Dodge his eyes. Ignore the ache in your chest and pray he doesn’t see through it.

Of course he notices.

He’s restless now, picking at beer labels like they’ve got answers printed on them. Watching you when he thinks you won’t catch it. And when you do, he looks away fast, jaw tight like your silence is choking him.

Maybe it is.

He doesn’t know what he did. That’s the worst part. You asked him a question and he let it float off into the dark. Now all he has are guesses and guilt and that gnawing pit in his stomach that only you used to calm.

He needs you.

And he’s trying. He shows up more. Lingers longer. Drops hints with his hands, his eyes, the way he says your name like a question he’s too afraid to ask.

But you don’t break.

Not this time.

Because until he can look you in the eye and give you something real, you won’t let yourself be touched like you’re his when he’s not willing to say it out loud.

Not again.

He’s the one lying awake, wondering what the silence means.

It all comes to a head in the fifth week.

He shows up quiet. Tense. Like something’s unraveling inside him and he doesn’t know how to stop it.

He doesn’t play cool. Doesn’t make half hearted jokes. Just watches you. And this time, when you catch him, he doesn’t look away.

You feel it building in the silence between you it was thick with all the things unsaid.

You’re on opposite ends of the couch. Some movie’s playing, neither of you are watching. He just looks at you like you’re speaking a language he can’t translate.

Then, finally

“What did I do?” Voice low. Rough. Not defensive. Not cold. Just lost.

“I don’t know what I did,” he says again, eyes locked to yours. “But you’re not staying the night. You’re not looking at me. You won’t even let me touch you. I miss you… and you’re right here.”

You blink, eyes burning a little.

“I asked you,” you whisper. “I asked if you thought about me when I wasn’t there, and you didn’t say a word. Just held me like that was supposed to be enough.”

His brow furrows. That moment lands.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he mutters. “Didn’t wanna say the wrong thing.”

“So you said nothing?” You sit up straighter. “You can’t fuck me like I you love me and then act like I don’t matter.”

He leans closer. Not touching. Just close enough to feel.

“you do matter,” he says, it’s not soft. It’s firm. “You mean so much to me. You always have. I just… fuck I don’t know how to say it without ruining everything.”

You stare at him.

“I love you,” he says, finally. “And I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

This time, when his hand reaches for yours, he waits.

you let him touch you.

You don’t speak. Just lean forward and rest your forehead against his. His breath hitches. His eyes flutter shut.

“Show me,” you whisper “show me you love me,”

He kisses you like a confession. No rush. No greed. Just soft, reverent pressure. Like he’s trying to say I’m sorry with every slow drag of his mouth.

His hands find your thighs, sliding over your skin like he’s remembering how to hold you. “You sure?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Just… be honest this time.”

His jaw flexes. “I promise.”

He lifts you like it hurts to let go, carries you to the bedroom, lays you down with more care than you’ve ever seen in him.

This isn’t just sex. It’s something else.

He undresses you in silence, and when he pushes inside you, slow and aching, your whole body breathes for the first time in weeks.

“I wanted you for so long,” you whisper, fingers threading through his hair. “Even when I pretended I didn’t.”

His eyes close. A breath shudders out of him.

“Me too” he says. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

He fucks you like he’s reclaiming something. Like your body is a home he got locked out of. Every stroke says what his voice can’t, I need you. I miss you. I’m yours. I’m trying.

And when he comes, breath broken in the crook of your neck, he doesn’t pull away.

He stays.

You lie there tangled up. Skin sticky. Sheets a mess. And when he says your name, it’s not a question. It’s an answer.

“Love you.”

You turn to him, heart raw but full.

You both slept that night.

Hands sewn together. The quiet, certain feeling that maybe, just maybe, this is what it means to be loved.

[lieslab]

Locked out of heaven

Pairing: Og8 X gn reader

Summary: Eating new food in a new country is never easy when you have a sensitive stomach

Genre: 9th member AU

Word Count: 2.6K

Trigger warning: Descriptions of vomiting and feeling sick.

A/N: I love this request. Requestee, I hope I made all your hopes and dreams come true. I added some comedy into this because it felt like it was needed. Long live menace Minho <3

The moment your stomach growled and the scent of food hit you, you were already sure you wanted something familiar and comforting. Preferably, something filling and easy on the stomach. The unfamiliar scent of sharp spices waved your way. 

Your nose twitched and the anxiety grew. Another new country, a different restaurant, an entire new world for you to explore, but you craved comfort. Comfort, familiarity and more importantly, something that wouldn’t cause you to get sick. Unfortunately, your stomach has always been sensitive. While others dived in eagerly to blasts of new flavors, you tried to steer clear and carried caution with you. 

“Wow,” Felix mumbled beneath his breath. “This place smells amazing. It’s so different from the scent of Korean Barbeque.” His bright eyes scanned the area, taking in the festivities and culture explosion lining the walls. 

Beside him, Changbin’s face scrunched up. “Don’t remind me of that. I’m hungry and meat sounds so good right now. Performing always works up my appetite.” 

“Just standing there works up your appetite,” Minho grumbled.

Changbin shot him a glare and raised his hand, considering smacking him along the back of the head. The single deadly glare sent his direction caused his hand to drop. He settled for a huff and moved away, slipping between Jeongin and Chan.

“Do you think they have different appetizers because we’re in Mexico? What does authenticity look like to different countries?” Felix pushed himself up on his tiptoes, peeking over the back counter. 

Multiple chefs worked the back of the busy restaurant. Your table’s reservation had been booked in advance. The staff wanted to give them a heads up before sending in nine different people with a variety of appetites this late at night. That wasn’t counting the handful of staff members that followed you. The place didn’t close until midnight, but it was still later than you would have liked it to be. 

An elbow hit your ribs. You looked up to find a smiling Felix. “What are you going to get? Any ideas?” 

You shrugged, not yet sure. “I don’t know. I kinda hope they have chips and guacamole. Then again, I don’t know. I’ve never been to a Mexican restaurant in Mexico, this is a first for me. It’s probably a little different than what I’m used to.” 

You followed everyone, sticking beside Felix. Walking below the bright overhead lights. You all shuffled over tiled floors. Hugged by deep blues, mustard yellows, and burnt oranges, the place felt more than welcoming. Terracotta walls and photographs full of people you weren’t familiar with. 

You caught a glimpse of the back. A man worked quickly, rolling a ball of dough between his warm brown hands. Circling and circling, repeating the familiar motion, until it felt right enough to place into the tortilla press. He moved with ease, like he’d been doing the motion for over a decade. 

Soft trumpeting instrumentals helped set the mood. An iron fixture held lighting over a large table. You sat beside Felix and Han. A woman with raven hair quickly appeared and you looked up. Blunt bangs and a low ponytail, she smiled when she met your eyes. You returned it, knowing your cheeks pinkened from being caught off guard, but you tried not to let it bother you.

She laid down laminated menus and began to speak. The moment she did, you paused. Anxiety shot through you. So used to speaking your own language, so caught up in food, you forgot the first and foremost part of ordering anything in a restaurant: Speaking their language. 

You panicked, but Chan spoke up with ease. He spoke a handful of words, a phrase you didn’t understand. The woman nodded and smiled reassuringly. She turned and walked away, letting you sit with your menus. 

“Guys, I don’t think we know how to speak Spanish. I should have watched Dora before we came here,” Han spoke up. He looked over at Chan. “Please tell me you know how to speak Spanish. I can’t read this menu.” 

“Oh, calm down. Take a deep breath and relax. I know a little bit and one of our staff members across the way is fluent. She can help us if we need it. You’re making this way more difficult than it needs to be.” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to be offensive. I really want to try their homemade tortillas, can you guys smell them?” 

Minho squinted at the menu and hummed. “Bang Chan, hyung?” 

“Yeah?” 

Minho spun the menu around and pointed to words you didn’t understand. “I want this.” 

“Do you even know what that is?” Seungmin asked. 

“No, but I’m so hungry, I’ll eat anything. The place smells good, how bad could it be? Don’t you like Mexican food?” 

“I’m nervous to pick the wrong thing and not like it. I don’t want to be viewed as rude for ordering something and not eating it.” Jeongin tugged out his phone and opened a translating app. 

“If you order something and don’t like it, you should eat it anyway. It’s called ‘building character.’ You should try it sometime, Innie. Dish roulette, who wants to try it?” 

Changbin pushed his menu towards Jeongin. “Innie, can you find something with meat in it? If I don’t have meat in my food, I’ll die.”

“I have a request for all of you. Nobody better get anything with beans in it. If I have to smell sulphuric farts on the way back to the hotel, I’ll die.” Hyunjin’s arms crossed over his chest. “No beans.”

“There is nothing more Mexican than beans. Someone doesn’t know the culture very well. Over here, beans are like our version of rice.” Minho shot Hyunjin a glare. “Just for that, I hope what I picked has beans. I hope it’s silent, but deadly. I hope you choke on it..” 

Hyunjin’s head tipped back and his eyes rolled to the ceiling. They stayed there for a few seconds. You chuckled and looked back at your menu. Felix leaned over to bother you. “So any ideas?” 

“Nothing that will upset my stomach and make me sick.” 

“Beans!” Minho commented across the way. “You need beans. They’re good and there are so many. Black beans, pinto beans–” 

“I’m sure we’ll find something for you.” Felix leaned over and gently poked your left cheek. “We know how sensitive your stomach can be.” 

“Refried beans.” 

“Exactly,” Han added. “Nobody wants you to get sick and this place has amazing reviews. I looked at the menu before showing up.” 

“Kidney beans.” 

Chan’s eyebrow raised, “I thought you said you couldn’t read the menu.” 

“I can’t, but I still looked it up. I wanted to be prepared,” Han shrugged. “I get nervous about things like this.” 

“Garbonzo beans,” Minho continued. “Navy beans, lima beans, oh! Soy beans!” 

“Can someone shut him up?” Seungmin grumbled. “Enough about beans, we get it.” 

“And that right there,” Minho’s finger pointed and waved towards him. “That’s the worst bean of all. That right there folks, that’s a grumpy bean.” 

“Up yours.” 

Minho’s hand curled into a fist. He narrowed his eyes, but when a staff member approached, he looked up. “Oh, hi. Are you helping us order? Great. Hyunjinnie wants the dish that contains the most beans.” 

Hyunjin’s eyes widened and his head shook. “No! No! No, I do not! That’s not what I want at all!”

“Don’t mind them,” Chan spoke up. “If you could kinda help us with the menu and drinks, that’d be great.” He nervously laughed and grabbed the back of his neck. “I’m definitely going to practice more Spanish, so we don’t run into things like this again.”

~ ~ ~ 

Hours later, your eyes groggily opened and you felt it. The sudden watery taste in your mouth and the barrel roll of your stomach. You lurched upright, kicking off the blankets and rushed into the bathroom. Blindly, you reached for the light, pawing for something you couldn’t see. 

When it clicked, it blinded you, but you continued moving. The hotel bathroom wasn’t the ideal place to throw up, but this wasn’t home. South Korea was so far away from Mexico. You dropped to your knees and barely made it in time. 

You tried so hard to stop it, but your stomach had other plans. It lurched and so did your evening dinner. Violently spewing it up, sending stomach acid ricocheting upright, similar to that of a volcanic geyser. You grabbed the sides of the toilet, not once caring about everyone that sat here before you. All you cared about was the pulverizing feeling of nausea. You sucked in a deep breath, trying not to cry, but the tears blurred. You didn’t know why throwing up always led to them, but it did. 

Outside in the main room, the warm glow of a lamp slipped on. Felix’s blonde hair sat in every direction and he blinked. Your bed now sat empty and without you in it. Blankets thrown in every direction, but no sign of your sleeping body. 

Jeongin shifted and groaned. “Who turned on the light? Turn it off. It’s too early for this. I’m not getting up. Go away.” 

“Go back to sleep,” Felix mumbled in his deep voice. He yawned and pushed himself to his feet. The sound of your vomiting could be heard through the bathroom door. “That’s not good.” 

“Food poisoning?” Jeongin guessed. 

“I don’t know if it’s that or if the food didn’t settle with their stomach. You know how they get when they try new foods. It doesn’t always settle well.” 

“Unfortunately, I do know.” 

Felix pushed himself up and slipped across the carpet with bare feet. He gently knocked on the bathroom door and called your name. “It’s Felix. Are you okay? Can I come in?” 

You couldn’t respond properly. You let out a faint groan, but it was cut off by you throwing up again. Pressure built in your head, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut. Why did it always have to feel this bad? 

“I’m coming in, so speak now or forever hold your peace.” He waited, but you didn’t respond. When a few seconds of silence passed, he turned the brass knob and moved inside. “It didn’t settle with you well, did it?” 

“No,” you weakly uttered. “I thought cheese quesadillas would be safe. I even asked for the nice lady to leave out the Chorizo. I filled up on cheese quesadillas, tortilla chips, and fresh guacamole.” 

“You poor thing. Don’t worry, Innie and I’ve got you.” 

“Yeah, I’ve got you,” Jeongin’s sleepy voice fluttered from outside of the bathroom. “I’ve got you from right here in my bed. I’m mentally sending you good vibes, but physically I–” He cut off with a loud yawn. “I’m gonna go back to sleep.”

“Innie, can you try to see if Chan’s up?” 

He groaned, shifting and throwing the white comforter over his head. “Why do I have to do that? For what reason?” 

“He’s probably up working on something and last I knew, he had the anti-nausea pills. He took one on the plane after having an upset stomach. Don’t you remember?” 

“I remember what it feels like to be asleep at this time.” 

“I’m sorry,” you croaked out. 

“Oh, stop it. It’s not your fault you have a sensitive tummy.” His hand trailed down your spine. “We’re working on making you feel better. Just let us take care of you.” 

“It’s nearly four in the morning.” 

“So? You’d take care of us if the roles were reversed.” He spun around to the open door. “Jeongin, get your ass up and move.” 

He groaned, but finally pushed himself to his feet. “I’m going, I’m going. If I go all the way there for no reason, I’m going to be so upset.” He huffed and slipped on his shoes. He jerked up the hood on his blue hoodie and slipped outside. “Give me a few minutes, I’ll be back.” 

“You just take it easy and breathe,” Felix reminded you. “Think about things that aren’t vomit. Rainbows, unicorns, puppies and–” 

You suddenly heaved forward, throwing up another mouthful of half-digested food. His nose scrunched and he moved to push your hair back again. “Or not. Maybe just don’t focus on any of that. Maybe if you get it out of your system, you’ll feel a lot better. Just breathe, we’ve got you.” 

~ ~ ~ 

They let you sleep in after you took an anti-nausea pill. Felix carefully tucked you back in and Jeongin lightly ruffled your hair. You slept until mid-morning without a sound. When your eyes fluttered open, it was from the constant poking of Seungmin’s finger to your cheek. 

“Rise and shine, sicky. How’s that stomach of yours? Do you need a transplant or are you ready to try and eat something else?” 

You weakly glared at him and he chuckled. “Oh, come on. You know I’m just teasing you. Seriously though, we’re all waiting on you.” He gestured across the way and moved from blocking your vision. 

Split between Jeongin and Felix’s bed, the rest of the guys waved. Han shot you a grin. “Good morning. Sorry you felt bad, but we hope you’re better now.” 

“Yeah, Jeongin came to find the anti-nausea pills from me this morning,” Chan added. 

“I’m just here because they dragged me out of bed.” Hyunjin sighed and threw himself across Jeongin’s lap. “My ideal morning includes me going back to bed. I could use the extra beauty sleep.” 

“And I could use ten more of those Chorizo tacos from last night. I should have given you one of those. Those could heal the world,” Changbin patted his stomach. “Mexico really knows how to make killer meals.”

“Seriously,” Felix sat on the edge of your bed. “Do you feel a little better? I was really worried last night. I woke up to you throwing up.” 

“I still kinda feel gross, but I feel a lot better than last night.” 

Across the way, Minho called your name. You looked over to be met with the largest grin and eyes full of mischief. “You might wanna plug your nose now.” 

You didn’t ask questions, you just did. 

Hyunjin’s eyebrows furrowed, “why do they need to– OH MY GOD.” 

Seungmin’s face scrunched up and he tugged his shirt over his face. Chan gagged and jerked away from the bed that Minho was on. Changbin screeched and pinched his nose. “You asshole!” 

Han’s face went green. “That’s lethal. Is your stomach okay? Do you need one of those pills?”

Felix’s hand fanned his face. “I wish you would have given some more warnings before you gassed the place.” 

“I’M DYING! I’M SUFFOCATING! HE’S GONNA TAKE US ALL OUT!” Hyunjin shoved Jeongin off of him. Jeongin hit the floor with a groan and shoved his nose against the back of his arm. “I CAN FEEL THE SKY DISSOLVING BEFORE MY VERY EYES. THE END IS NEAR.” Hyunjin fiddled, desperately trying to unlock the door. 

Chan walked over to the window, unlatched it and let in the breeze. You couldn’t help, but weakly chuckle. Whatever scent they were smelling, you were completely immune from it with your nose plugged. 

“That’s a nuclear weapon,” Seungmin’s voice came out nasally. He moved closer to Chan, so he could experience fresh air. 

“That’s rancid,” Jeongin mumbled into his arms. “I don’t wanna be part of this group anymore.” 

“Hyung,” Han grabbed Minho’s shoulder with concerned eyes. “I’m deeply concerned about your body right now. There’s no way that was normal.” 

Minho just grinned, happy to cause chaos. “You know what they say, there’s nothing more Mexican than beans.”

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg @m-325 @justcallmewhatyoulike @bokkiesluv @phinnyphinnegan @zayn-210 @beal-o @geni-627 @princesskrystix

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Ko-fi

[my-castles-crumbling]

lazy - @rosekillermicrofic - cw: shitty Barty Crouch Senior - word count: 272

Barty sat by the Black Lake, mind going haywire. Fuck. He’d studied so much, worked so hard. But that last question…Transfiguration just didn’t come naturally to him like all the other subjects did. If he got anything less than an Outstanding on his OWL…Salazar, he could already hear his father’s yelling. ‘How lazy are you? What is it you get up to at school? Are the rumors true, Bartemius? Because if that Rosier boy is a distraction, you know I can–’

“Bee.”

He looked over to see Evan walking toward him, a concerned look on his face. Barty made sure his own expression was a hardened mask. “Rosie,” he said lightly, looking back over the lake.

“You’re panicking again.”

It was a statement, not a question, and Barty both loved and hated Evan for knowing him so well. “M’not,” he protested, but there was no venom to it.

Evan sat down next to him, pressing his body close–shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee. “You know you killed all of your exams, Bee. Your father’s a fucking prick, and you’re a thousand times smarter than him.”

He sighed, not really knowing what to say. “Yeah,” he mumbled.

But as he sat, he felt Evan slowly, almost nervously, reach over and wind one of his hands in Barty’s. 

Neither of them acknowledged it.

“Don’t worry about him. We’ve got two more years of–of school, and parents, and all that. Then…each other. Right?” Evan whispered, his voice so unsure, Barty knew Evan needed the reassurance as much as he did.

Barty squeezed his hand. “Yeah, Rosie. Each other.”

They sat there until the sun set.

[myxo-gabriel]

it really hurt me, even when I saw it in the game itself...

hehe.

. . .

that's probably the reason why I'm still working on my project... but hey, that's fine! even when I finish this project, and I have nothing to do... but hey, it's going to be okay! I'm just the creator!.. even if I'm just an empty creature with a few character traits... heh... heh... I'll just go, and... make more molten parasites!.. I still have to come up with new varieties! heh. heh... the hell...

if I forget my unreal friends, I will quickly become depressed. again...

but hey, that's fine!..

. . .

yeah, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have started this depressing shit. even if I planned to say it all when I would have completely finished my project... but... uhh... I've always thought and always will think that I feels like Kris, but that's how Toby Fox shows Ralsei in 3+4... ugh... "that's... that's fine! look, Kris, I'm smiling!"... I'm smiling... heh... even if I'm not really smiling... I'm smiling with my soul!.. "that's fine!" I'm saying... did everyone who promised they wouldn't leave me alone stop texting me the next day?.. that's fine!.. has the person I love been cheating on me all the time?.. t-that's fine!.. no one wants to communicate with me irl, but they do it just for a joke?.. that's fine!.. does my family not notice that I'm not quite okay?.. that's fine!.. Did my parents always forbid me to express my true emotions when I was a child?.. that's... fine!.. in this game, that they call "life", I'm just a toy that you can play with and throw away!.. this project is just a ghostly chance to show that I'm more than a toy, but this opportunity is just an illusion... and that's fine!.. even if I'm real, it's not as a person... not as an individual... and that's fine!.. no one will accept me for who I am, and that's fine! you don't have to!.. no one have to... but... I will!.. even if no one will accept me, I will try to accept everyone!.. I'm just an empathic toy!.. even if they just use me to ask for support or emotions, or if they drunk, then they'll just throw me out later!.. they'll just forget me forever!.. and... that's fine!.. I will not argue with fate!.. even if I continued to communicate with them, they would be reluctant to communicate with me so as not to offend me, but I feel it!.. you can offend me, and it's not punishable!.. I'll just say that that's fine!.. and I will never come back to you, because I feel that you never wanted to know me!.. but you can take me again, use me again, and throw me away again!.. and that's fine!.. I will not demand to be treated differently!.. because I know that my screams will only make things worse!.. yes!.. and that's fine!..

therefore, whoever you are, please don't lie to me that you won't leave me or that you like me, I... I feel like you're lying... but that's fine!.. but if you not... then just forget about me and make some real friends. I'm not for friendship, I'm for use!.. I'm like a plush toy that you hug when you're sad, but never again!..

. . .

I'm sorry.

please don't throw reports at me about the need for psychological help, I won't be able to use this help. in no way. my parents will never understand that I need help. and that's fine!..

as long as I have fictional friends, I'll be fine!..

by the way, Deltarune 3+4 is really neat.

I let myself say a lot of unnecessary things. I'm sorry.

and once again, I'm sorry. I promise I probably won't bring this up again. I'm here to work. and that's fine. even if I'm bad at it.

and... I'll be okay. kinda.

[despairots]

HiiI! Mayy I request anaxa, phainon n mydei whit a gn reader that has very bad self esteem but they don't show it? One day Reader overheard some people talking bad about them. How reader Dont deserve someone as good or as amazing or as smart as their boyfriend. Reader start to believe those things were true, how their boyfriend was too good for them.. So reader kinda ran away from their boyfriend ((ahem... More like ghosted but YK)) because they genuinely think their too good for them. It went on for weeks until they conered reader on why their ignoring and avoidant them.. Than reader kinda snaps,breaking down and telling them the truth.

So anyway, have a nice day! （๑ ᷇ 𖥦 ᷆๑)♡

━━━━━━ LOVE YOU ANYWAY.

𓏵 phainon x gn!reader , mydei x gn!reader , anaxa x gn!reader ♱ fluff , angst

⟡ ݁₊ . ˎˊ˗ running back to you. these banners rn r so boring😞 waiting for phainon, anaxa and cerydra is like waiting for my husband to come back to war

♱ phainon! (childhood friends to lovers)

phainon was everyone’s hero, everyone’s dream man. someone so unobtainable yet obtainable, but he shouldn’t have been yours in the first place. you weren’t trying to be a bother, really. you didn’t wanna burden phainon with anymore responsibilities because of your lack of confidence, so you handled it yourself.

by locking yourself away from him.

you didn’t mean to overhear, but you couldn’t help it. people are naturally captivated when they hear their name brought up, so no one could blame you for eavesdropping. you should’ve backed away, you should’ve known caring would get you nowhere but hearing your name slip out already had your heart down to your stomach.

“they’re not good enough for him. he’s a hero, and they’re what…? a nobody.”

maybe what they were saying was true, you weren’t really anybody. sure, you were one of his friends back when you two were younger, but you weren’t anything special. phainon could reassure multiple times that you meant the world to him, but deep down, maybe he was lying. you were nothing compared to him, he could find someone in his actually league.

maybe they were right.

you left him alone ever since. you stopped coming by, only replied to his messages with two words or stickers, and stopped planning dates. phainon noticed, of course he noticed. at first, he thought to just give you space, maybe you were going through something. but then a week passed by, and then 4 weeks, and phainon’s standing on your front porch with flowers.

did he do something wrong? was he not giving you enough attention? no, you knew how important his duties as a chrysos heir was, you even told him to put it above anything else. you couldn’t possibly be mad at that, right?

his hand went up to knock being stopped when he heard you call out his name, “…phainon?” the latter snapped his head to you, lighting up instantly at the sight of you. unbeknownst to him, you were dying in the inside. you didn’t wanna see him, not after everything you did to avoid him.

“are you okay, love? you’re not mad at me, right? did i do something wrong?” he bombarded you with questions, inching closer to you as you tried to keep cool, unlocking your front door and unconsciously letting him in. you didn’t look him in the eyes, taking the flowers gently out of his hands and placing it somewhere else, leaving phainon to kick his feet infront of the door.

why weren’t you talking to him? did he actually do something wrong to upset you? phainon noticed you taking the flowers out and placing it a glass vase, walking up to you and wrapping his arms around your waist. the sudden contact made you tense up, the flower in your hand being lowered when you felt his kiss, “are you mad at me?”

you shook your head, “no… never at you.” phainon blinked at your answer, squeezing you closer to him, “then why have you been ignoring me?” the sound of genuine hurt in his voice made your composure falter, “just… haven’t been feeling well.” you shrugged nonchalantly, the response making phainon frown.

“for 5 weeks?”

“i’m being serious.” he turned you around to face him, hands on your face as he forced you to look at him, “if something’s wrong, just come out and say it.” you narrowed your eyes at him before sighing, looking down from his eyes, “am i… even worth your time?” the vulnerability in your question had him pausing in his tracks.

“of course you are! why even say that?” you still weren’t looking at him, “i don’t know, there’s so many other people who are better than me. why not choose them?” phainon exhaled deeply, pulling you into a hug and feeling you hesitantly hug him back, tears starting to stain his clothes.

“[n], i’ve known you for my entire life. you know what food i hate, what food i like, and what i’d do for you. there’s no one else i wanna spend the rest of my life with, and if we ever were to separate, i’d find you because you’re the only one i have eyes on, and you’re not leaving me anytime soon.”

♱ mydei! (sunshine x grumpy)

mydei already has enough to deal with, like the expectations of the his kingdom and as well as being a chrysos heir. he doesn’t have time to deal with your insecurities (at least you think so), and you don’t bother him by asking for constant reassurance, that’d be really annoying to deal with and you didn’t want mydei to grow tired of you because of it. because you loved him so much, you kept it to yourself.

it didn’t help when you heard verax leo tell you everything everyone thought about you.

you were just walking past him before he decided to ruin your day, calling out to you and asking if you wanted to hear the latest rumours. stupidly, you agreed, ignoring mydei’s warning of just walking away from him whenever he says something stupid. you shouldn’t have wasted your time on him anyway, and you should’ve taken mydei’s advice more seriously.

“people whisper that prince mydei deserves someone more… eye-catching, and not ugly.”

your heart dropped to your stomach, feeling the words weave into your bones and nestle into your brain, damaging your already fragile self-esteem. you covered up your wounded hurt with a scoff, telling verax leo that he shouldn’t waste his time on you ever again before leaving. out from anyones views, you blinked the tears aways, wiping away any that managed to escape.

you avoided him the next day, and after that, and the day after that, until it became 2 weeks.

mydei asked at first, seeing you read his message and replying with a thumbs up. he thought maybe you were mad at him, and just needed to be alone, until those two weeks passed and he found you talking to hyacine. he saw the way her eyes widened with concern, grabbing your hand to comfort you before her eyes flickered to him, stiffening and waving goodbye to you.

you were confused, surprised at her sudden departure and turning around, bumping into his hard chest with a yelp. mydei made sure to grab your forearm tightly but gently, making you unable to leave as you refused to look at him, a troubled look on your face.

“are you mad at me?” you shook your head.

mydei blinked, “then why avoid me?” you shrugged a few minutes later. the half-assed responses making him sigh deeply, he understood that either of you may be bad at communicating, but he desperately wants to know what’s wrong so he can fix whatever he did or what anyone did.

“[n].”

you tried blinking away your watery eyes, staring at the ground to hide the truth of it all. if you even spoke, your voice will crack, and mydei would want an answer. you didn’t want him to know, you didn’t want him to see you like this but you guessed things can’t always be inescapable.

“do think i’m ugly?” mydei raised an eyebrow at your quiet tone, the question throwing him off completely, “…no. where is this coming from?” scratching your cheek, you lifted your head barely, mydei catching the teary eyes as his narrowed, “what happened?” you mumbled something under your breath, toying with your fingers.

“huh?”

“…verax leo.” mydei’s eye twitched, of course it was him. mydei just sighed and forced you to look at him, tears staining your cheeks as he kissed them away, “i’ll deal with him, but you shouldn’t worry about what he says or anyone. i chose you, and i’ll always choose you.”

♱ anaxa! (teachers assistant)

as one of anaxa’s most prized possession, and teacher assistant, his students often stare, not in a mean way but in a ‘how?’ way. it doesn’t help when you constantly feel their gaze piercing you everywhere you go, it made you think: were they judging you? you didn’t let it get to your head, but the judgementally stares were still there. you couldn’t tell anaxa that his students were being judgy, because they weren’t. it was just all in your head.

until it wasn’t.

you were just walking around his library, picking out some books that you wanted to take a look out before stopping when you heard two girls talking about something in the row in front of you. you were never the type of person to eavesdrop on conversations, but this one had your name in it, and you weren’t just gonna walk away.

“why are they even with him? the professor deserves someone much better, and smarter. what does he even see?”

…maybe you should’ve walked.

your hand froze in midair, hearing them laugh and walk away, leaving you alone to be drowned in your thoughts. you knew you weren’t as smart as anaxa, but did they not know the only reason you caught his eye in the first place was because you were able to answer his complicated question?

you scoffed at first before the words came back, eating away at your remaining confidence. did you actually deserve him? maybe he did deserve better than someone who doesn’t care about what people think. you were too sensitive, too emotional. he deserved better than you, he needs someone who can match his level.

you disappeared for 2 days before it became a week, anaxa sending you messages about it and seeing you left him on read.

he knew something was up. you don’t normally disappear without any explanation nor do you disappear at all. so he did what he normally does… barge into your house. okay, not really, he had keys.

you screamed at the sight of him when you turned the lights on. he was drinking his normal ‘fizzy wasabi vinegar,’ staring at you with a deadpanned look, “you scream like you saw a ghost.” you scoffed with an eye roll, “nice seeing you too, prof.” anaxa stopped in his tracks, drink lowering itself from his mouth.

you never call him that.

“what’s wrong?” you just gave him a side eye and left him alone in your kitchen, anaxa getting up mere seconds later and followed you into your bedroom, cornering you onto your bed. you just buried your face into your pillows, telling him to get out of your room.

anaxa wasn’t amused, sitting down beside you and analyzing you, “[n]—“ “go away.” your voice was muffled against your pillow, anaxa narrowing his eyes at your interruption, “don’t interrupt me. what’s going on with you?” you just groaned annoyingly into your pillow, tears staining the sheets and pushing anaxa’s hand away when he pinched your side.

“nothing!”

“that’s not an answer.”

“i don’t know! it’s just—“ you sighed, sitting up and rubbing your neck, “i don’t think i deserve to be your assistant is all.” that was stupid. anaxa frowned, completely confused by your dumb answer, “i doubt you actually think that way.” you glared at him, finding his personality annoying as fuck right now.

“there’s so many other smarter people than me.”

“i don’t care about them.”

“and i think you deserve someone who’s actually smart.”

“…are you even listening to me?—“

“and i don’t deserve you at all—“ anaxa silenced you with a kiss, pulling away with a deadpanned expression, “first of all, i said don’t interrupt me, and second of all, where’d those bizarre words come from?” you shrugged, looking off to the side, “…these two girls in the library.” anaxa raised an eyebrow, “and you believe those two idiots?” you opened your mouth to say something before nodding slowly.

anaxa sighed, already planning to take care of those two, “[n], you’re the one i want by side to sit there while i grade papers, not some simpleton who complains about you.”

[b1lezy]

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐫

pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Fandom: UConn WBB/WNBA

Content warning: mostly none. except once again, it is overloaded with fluff.

a/n: written MINUTES after the phone case incident. cross posted on ao3.

dividers by @cafekitsune, masterlist here

This dorm was stacked with memories. Metaphorically and physically.

The room—Azzi’s—was covered in photo strips and polaroids and Paige knew there was a stash of letters and gifts in the bottom drawer of her bedside table.

It was only right she took this call here.

The moment they’d announced who they were, Paige had asked them to pause for a moment, <i>sprinting</i> to Azzi’s room and jumping on her bed, mouthing “WNBA” to Azzi’s very confused expression.

She put the phone on speaker, the words blasting out. Part of it was so she had proof she wasn’t crazy, proof she heard everything right.

<i>”We would like to invite you to the WNBA draft of 2025.”</i>

And for a moment, the whole world stopped.

Because her dreams, ones she’s had since she could hold a ball, were coming true.

Through her panicked excitement, she managed to sound somewhat put together as she thanked the people? hanging up and just staring at Azzi, who had her jaw dropped while smiling.

Then suddenly her whole world was consumed by the brunette, who was hugging her, squeezing her. Whispering, “I’m so proud of you,” over and over until Paige would believe it.

And when she pulled away, Paige did what she secretly promised herself she would do.

“Sit with me at the table?”

Azzi was sure she heard Paige wrongly.

“I’m sorry, you want me to <i>what?</i?” Azzi looked at Paige with incredibly high levels of disbelief, because it was impossible. It had to be. Only signifcant others and gamilies sat at the tables with the draftees. They couldn’t, the world couldn’t know yet.

“You heard me. Will you sit with me during the draft?” Azzi blinked, cogs turning until she processed it and then—

“Of course I will.” Because it clicked. They weren’t teammates anymore. The world was allowed to know without CD coming for their asses.

And Paige let Azzi hold her, root her to the earth before she wss forced from her arms.

“Azzi Fudd, you did <i>not</i>.”

Azzi tried to hold back her laugh at how disbelieving Paige’s tone was, but couldn’t help the small giggle that slipped out.

“It’s right in front of you. And I did.” Azzi replied with that cheeky smile, sounding very, <i>very</i> pleased with herself.

Now, Azzi had gotten this necklace a while ago. Maybe a few weeks before March Madness. And she’d stowed it away for when she could wear it publicly, because there was no better way for her to debut the necklace than don it for the whole world to see.

The necklace in question was a small, thin silver chain, with two charms dangling and glinting in the box: a heart outline and a 5.

Paige reached out, fingers running over it. The hotel room was cold, but everythig felt a little warmer when they were side by side.

“When…what…how?” Paige looked up, eyes so full of love and the smile already creeping back onto her face, along with the blush forming on her cheeks. <i>Forever too humble</i>.

“Got it before March Madness. I know we’ve planned to go public after you got drafted, but I’ll probably wear it during the after party later.” Paige practically <i>jumped</i> up to hug Azzi, who laughed but squeezed the blonde back.

“You’re the most incredible person on earth, and I can finally show everyone that I’m your girlfriend.” Azzi said as she pulled back, smiling at the blonde, pride and affection swirling around in her eyes.

“You’re perfect, Az. Seriously. The best friend, girlfriend, teammate I could’ve asked for.”

“And with the number 1 draft pick, the Dallas Wings select…Paige Bueckers!”

No one was surprised besides the blonde. No one heard Paige’s gasp, besides Azzi.

And as they hugged, Azzi whispered 2 things: I love you, and I told you.

Because each time Paige brouht up the draft and got nervous, Azzi always told her the same thing: you’re gonna go number 1. And Paige, forever humble, never believed it, shaking her head and letting the comment roll off.

And now, Azzi watched, the proudest smile on her face, as Paige held up one end of the Wings jersey, smiling at the camera.

The date was peaceful. Azzi would even go as far as to say it was a huge success

They were only approached once for a picture. If anyone else wanted one, their eyes were working well enough to tell they shouldn’t interrupt.

With an incredibly mischevious grin, Azzi said, “I have a proposal.”

And Paige groaned, because that was almost never a good thing for her.

It was a Tiktok.

A trend. Could be passed off as friends, sure. The caption, less so, but enough to spur on the deniers who were, frankly, hilarious to watch.

Then her chance came.

A comment from some random user, <i>”Azzi is winning on and off the court.”

Didn’t tell Paige a thing. The blonde had never been more chronically offline anyways, it didn’t matter. She double-tapped the comment, letting the chaos begin.

The doorbell of Paige’s hotel room rang, and she didn’t think twice before opening it, knowing exactly who it was.

Azzi stood there, phone in hand, filming the blonde’s reaction for whatever reason. She was giggling—clearly up to something. And as Paige was about to speak, she noticed it.

The phonecase.

It was new—white with pink lettering that stated, very clearly, Paige Buecker’s girlfriend.

And the way that Paige paused and groaned was enough to make Azzi burst out into hysterical giggles.

“Every time I see you, you have some new surprise.” Paige grumbled, but she smiled because it all meant too much to her.

“Hello to you too, P.” Azzi said, breathing heavy after the extensive laughter.

And it was so easy.

Because even though they were thousands of miles apart, every time they talked, it was the same. It was worth it.

Azzi had gone to a hairstylist the next day, taking a selfie with the phonecase very, <i>very</i> clearly in view. While facetiming the blonde, she showed the picture to Paige, who snorted and said, “Post it. I dare you.”

And well, who was she to back down from a challenge like that?

After hanging up, she darted straight to Instagram, loaded the image, tagged the stylist like nothing was abnormal. Less than a minute after she posted it, her phone buzzed.

<b>Incoming Facetime call: Eternal annoyance</b>

Azzi laughed, pressing the green button and giggling once more when Paige stared at her, slamming phone on the table.

“I don’t lose challenges, P.”

And Azzi really did have a point.

Because, they realised, as hard as long distance was, it didn’t feel that far if you were always talking. Didn’t feel that far if they made an effort to be together, made an effort to treasure the limited time they did have together.

That was all they needed.

[nikito0x]

Amnesiac Hua Cheng (crack?) AU

That one fic where HC loses his memories and the only way to get them back is through a true love's kiss, except something is different this time...

Xie Lian storms through the doors of the Gambler's Den with no care for the frantic heavenly officials behind him, trying to stop him from continuing any further.

Xie Lian does not care how dangerous they think his husband is to him in his current state. Xie Lian has dealt with the amnesia thing too many times, from too many different sources. He knows what he's doing, damn it!

"Dianxia, please! You don't know what he's like with the rest of us. Please reconsider!" One official pleads clinging to Xie Lian's robes.

A tick mark appears on Xie Lian's forehead but he takes a deep breath and slowly exhales it. He turns around, smiles, gives the official his reassurances and a slightly patronizing pat on the head, and turns around to get his husband.

He is too tired for this and he wants his San Lang cuddles after the whole being-separated-for-two-weeks thing, because of their individual responsibilities. And now he comes back to an amnesiac husband. Again. Wonderful. Let's get this over with.

Xie Lian makes his way to the front of the crowd. Security guards try stopping him but he doesn't allow them to.

Soon enough, he has a ghostly population giving him a wide berth and a few unconscious guards at his feet. He will have to apologize to everyone later...

A silky, menacing voice sounds from behind the curtains, "Well, well. What do we have here? Some heavenly trash invading my territory, attacking ghosts without provocation. But what do you expect from some-" Hua Cheng's voice cuts off as he opens the curtains and finally takes a look at the person who caused the disturbance.

The Heavenly official looks up at him, smirks and tilts his head in amusement at - what Hua Cheng assumes to be - the look on his face.

"A challenge for Hua Chengzhu, then." Comes the soft voice from the God in front of him. And Hua Cheng might actually acknowledge one of the Heavenly trash as a true God.

"I have a favor to ask, not a bet to win. Sword against sword. No spiritual power." Xie Lian doesn't want Ghost City to be completely destroyed after all. "The winner can ask one favor from the fallen. What do you say, my Lord?"

Hua Cheng thinks he has never met a god so brave, or is it just arrogance? He doesn't particularly care. He knows what he is going to ask for when he wins. "Clear the floor." He grins as he commands the ghosts surrounding them.

The floor is cleared, tables and chairs are pushed to the side, ghosts watch in rapture and glee, the other gods despair and plead for Xie Lian to reconsider. Xie Lian does not.

Their battle is comparable to a dance. Xie Lian is having way too much fun with this, but he knows Hua Cheng wouldn't begrudge him this. He is having fun too after all.

This God, Hua Cheng needed his name yesterday. Who exactly is he? His white billowing sleeves and delicate features remind him of his butterflies. The God seems just as deadly as them too, it seems. Beautiful, unassuming, lethal. Hua Cheng wants him more than he's ever wanted anything else in this world.

The battle doesn't last too long. And as the dust clears, the spectators witness an unimaginable sight. Hua Chengzhu, on the floor, with a sword to his neck, grinning ear to ear.

The god straddling him speaks at last, having caught his breath, smiling just as brightly. "

"Now, for the favor I wished to ask of you," Xie Lian pulls his most precious possession from under his robes.

The God Hua Cheng has acknowledged pulls a chain hanging on his neck. On that chain is a ring and as he sees it, Hua Cheng realizes-

"See, my dear husband lost his memories to a curse from a ghost who has already been dealt with. But, for some reason, he still doesn't remember me." He leans in close, the god's and ghost's breaths intermingling. "Later, we found out, he may only get them back through a true love's kiss." A hand snakes up Hua Cheng's chest, passes over his neck and cups his jaw. "So, what do you say?"

Hua Cheng thinks that if he wasn't already dead, he would have died right then and there. All he can let out is a ragged, wanting, "Please."

Xie Lian knows that look of absolute devotion. After the last time his San Lang had lost his memories, he had told him that the moment he saw him, he was already prepared to give him anything he asked for, so this time Xie Lian hadn't hesitated.

As the two kiss the ghosts don't quite get what is happening, but one shouts, "Congrats on Chengzhu's marriage!" And the rest follow. The gods look like fish as they gape at the display and inwardly swear to support Xie Lian more in future heavenly meetings.

As the two seperate, Xie Lian puts aside his sword and reaches for E-Ming. "You never truly forgot me, did you E-Ming? Who is the best scimitar? Yes, you are," he hugs the blade close to him as its eye rolls happily.

And so, Hua Cheng regains his memories and swears to abolish every magical item and ghost with a memory erasing ability.

As everyone cheers, Hua Cheng looks at his unfairly attractive husband and decides he wants him to himself right now. So he takes a deep breath and-

"Scram!"

--

Alternatievly: Hua Cheng wins and asks for Xie Lian's hand in marriage. His voice is teasing but his eyes show how serious he is. Xie Lian tells him, "On one condition. Kiss me?" And he does. The end.

[beeegone3]

More Than Make-Believe OP 81

Part One: The PR Pitch

Oscar Piastri x Reader (Y/N) Fake Dating, Slow Burn, Fluff, Angst Lite, Social Media Shenanigans Word Count ~1,200

You’d sat through your fair share of meetings before most of them variations on the same tired themes: branding, engagement metrics, influencer collaboration strategies. Usually, you could get through them on autopilot, nodding along while mentally checking your to-do list. But this meeting?

This one felt...different.

Not in the “we’re launching an exciting new campaign” kind of way. No, this felt like the start of something ridiculous. Maybe even catastrophic.

“Just to be clear,” you said slowly, trying to keep your voice even, “you want me to pretend to date Oscar Piastri.”

There was a beat of silence. Hannah, McLaren’s Head of PR, nodded with the kind of bright-eyed enthusiasm usually reserved for interns and overly ambitious brand reps. “Not pretend,” she corrected, lifting a manicured finger. “Perform. Think of it like…method acting. For the brand.”

“Right,” you muttered, not even trying to hide your skepticism. “Because that sounds so much more professional.”

Across from you, Oscar Piastri sat with the calm detachment of someone who had either fully accepted his fate or hadn’t grasped the absurdity of the situation. You weren’t sure which. One arm rested casually along the back of his chair, the other tapping rhythmically against a bottle of water. He looked like he was seconds away from yawning.

He caught your eye and gave a tiny shrug, as if to say, Don’t look at me. I didn’t come up with this.

“We don’t actually have to do anything over the top,” he said finally, voice calm, like he was talking about tyre strategy instead of a fake relationship. “Hold hands. A couple of Instagram photos. Some smiles for the cameras in the paddock.”

Hannah nodded eagerly. “Boost relatability. Humanize the brand. Fans love a sweet couple narrative. It makes Oscar seem more approachable he’s incredible, but let’s be honest, he’s not exactly Mr. Personality on social.”

Oscar didn’t flinch at that, but his jaw tightened slightly.

“And you,” she continued, now gesturing toward you like she was unveiling a prize, “are conveniently already a part of the McLaren media team. You’ve got the audience, the familiarity, and the trust. Honestly, it’s perfect.”

“Perfect,” you echoed flatly.

The whole thing was starting to feel less like a campaign and more like a rom-com plot written by a marketing intern. One with very little understanding of boundaries.

You glanced back at Oscar. “And you’re just…cool with this?”

He tilted his head slightly, giving a small, thoughtful nod. “It’s not the worst idea. Better than being linked to every random girl I make eye contact with in the paddock.”

You couldn’t argue with that. The F1 gossip cycle had been relentless lately headline after headline speculating about his private life. Oscar Spotted With Mystery Brunette. Who’s the Girl in Oscar’s Monaco Apartment? Is Piastri Too Private For His Own Good?

None of them were true. Or at least, not scandalously so. But the headlines didn’t care.

A folder slid across the table toward you. Hannah had even branded the damn thing with a cute little mock logo Project Soft Launch. You opened it reluctantly. Inside were the basics: a content calendar, a loose story timeline, and of course a fake relationship contract.

“Two months,” Hannah said, tapping the papers. “You go public, do a few joint appearances, post strategically, lean into the chemistry. And when it’s time to end it, we do a clean, mutual breakup. Busy schedules, no hard feelings, very adult. Fans will eat it up.”

Oscar reached forward and pulled one of the pages closer, scanning it like it was a race debrief. “We get approval on everything, right? No weird ‘caught kissing at Coachella’ paparazzi stunts?”

Hannah waved a hand. “Of course. We want this to look natural, not staged. You're both professionals. We trust you.”

That was rich, considering you were about to sign a contract to publicly fake a romantic relationship.

You stared at the paper for a long moment.

Oscar Piastri. One of the most promising talents in Formula 1. Precise, level-headed, quiet. Not someone you’d ever imagined being in a fake anything with. You worked in media interviews, camera work, occasionally chasing drivers around hospitality areas trying to get a decent TikTok clip. You weren’t supposed to be the story.

But now?

Now you were about to become the main character in McLaren’s next big PR campaign.

[dreamygirl19]

Can you do a Seongje fic. Obviously, he would be toxic and manipulative with his partner. Can you do one where she ends up losing herself. She's gone from this bright, bubbly girl to a dull, expressionless person due to him being manipulative and also guilt from all the innocent guys Seongje has beaten up when they tried talking to her. And Seongje, who loves her and can't see himself without her, can maybe start to see how damaged she's become because of him since she no longer answers. She just sits there. He'll try to argue with her to try get a reaction but she all she says is okay and that's it.

Something like that. I've been reading your Seongje stories and I absolutely love them

Here you go !! I absolutely looove your request I love angsty fic idk why :D I hope you'll like it and that it'll fulfill what you expected!!

How To Steal a Soul

✮ Summary : Request above ↑

✮ Contains : Angst, manipulation, toxicity

✮ Pairing : toxic!Geum Seong-je x sunshine!reader

✮ Word Count : 2163 words

He first saw her in a flash of sunlight that cut through the dark alley. It wasn’t the sunlight itself, but her laugh—a sound so bright and full of life that it echoed even over the cacophony of the bustling street. She was with her friends, a group of girls with wide smiles and matching bubbly energy, but she shone the brightest.

Her hair, a shade of warm chestnut brown, bounced with every movement, catching the light like a halo. Her eyes, an intense and sparkling brown, held a mischievous glint as she playfully pushed one of her friends. She was a storm of vibrant energy, a whirlwind of joy that Seongje, standing in the shadows, found himself utterly captivated by.

He had never seen a girl like her. The girls he knew were quiet, cautious, and intimidated by his presence. They would look at him with a mixture of fear and awe, whispering his name as he walked past.

But she—she didn't even seem to notice him. She was too busy living, too wrapped up in her own little world of happiness. And that, more than anything, drew him in. He wanted to be the one to make her laugh like that, to be the source of that blinding light. He wanted to possess that feeling, to bottle it up and have it all for himself.

He started small, a casual bump in the hallway, a shared class. He’d watch her from across the room, memorizing the way her brow would furrow in concentration, the way she’d chew on her lip when she was deep in thought.

He’d make sure they were always in the same place at the same time, orchestrating their meetings with the precision of a general. He’d ask her for a pencil, a piece of paper, anything to get her to talk to him.

And when she finally did, her voice was just as bright as her laugh. It was like music, a melody that he couldn’t get out of his head. He learned her name was Y/N, and the sound of it on his lips was a new kind of sweetness he hadn’t known existed.

The beginning was a fairytale, a dream come true for her. He was attentive, sweet, and possessive in a way that she initially found endearing. He would walk her home every day, his hand firmly holding hers, a silent claim on her. He would wait for her outside her classes, a small, possessive smile on his face as he saw her emerge. He'd bring her small gifts, her favorite snacks, or a single flower he'd picked on the way.

He made her feel safe, cherished, and loved. But the possessiveness, which once felt like a comforting blanket, began to tighten around her, a suffocating grip that she didn't even notice until it was too late.

The first time it happened was at a cafe. A guy, a friend from her art class named Junho, came up to their table to say hello. He was talking about a project they were working on, a large mural for the school. Y/N was laughing, her face lit up as she animatedly described the concept. Junho was smiling, his eyes sparkling with a similar artistic passion.

When he left, she turned back to Seongje, her smile still in place, but it faltered when she saw his face. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark and stormy. "What was that?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"He's just a friend," she said, her voice small.

"Just a friend?" he scoffed, his eyes narrowing. "He was looking at you like you were his."

She didn't argue. She didn't know how. She just sat there, her bright smile gone, a cold dread settling in her stomach. He paid for their food in silence, his hand gripping her wrist so tightly as they left that it left a faint white mark. It was the first sign that the possessiveness wasn't just a part of his love, but a core part of his control.

After that, it became a pattern. A guy would say hello, a boy would try to flirt with her, and Seongje would be there, a dark shadow looming over them. She started to feel a prickle of anxiety every time a male friend approached her. The first time he got into a real fight, she was terrified. He had seen a guy from her class talking to her after school, a shy boy named Minwoo asking for help with a math problem.

Seongje didn't see a classmate asking for help; he saw a threat, a challenge to his ownership. He pulled her away, his grip on her arm so tight it felt like a brand. He cornered Minwoo, his voice a low growl, "Stay away from her. She's mine." Minwoo, startled and frightened, backed away. But Seongje wasn't done.

He followed him, and she heard the sickening sounds of a fight, the thud of a fist hitting flesh, the pained gasp of a boy. She ran, her heart pounding in her chest, tears streaming down her face. She felt sick, a nauseating mix of fear and guilt.

When she confronted him, his response was so calmly manipulative that she didn't know how to fight back. "I did it for you," he said, his voice soft, his eyes filled with a manufactured sincerity. "I can't stand it when other guys look at you. It makes me crazy. Don't you see? I love you." He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, and she felt the comforting warmth of his embrace, the familiar scent of his cologne. "I just want to protect you," he whispered, his lips against her hair.

And she, a girl who had always craved love and security, believed him. She believed that his violence was a manifestation of his love, that his possessiveness was a sign of his devotion. She convinced herself that the guilt she felt was her own fault, that if she had just been more careful, if she had just made it clearer that she was taken, then none of this would have happened.

She started to make excuses for him, for herself. He loves me so much he can't help it. The lie was a fragile shield, but it was all she had.

So she started to change. She stopped talking to her male friends. She'd pretend to be busy when they tried to approach her. She stopped laughing so loudly, her once bright and bubbly personality dimming under the constant pressure.

Her clothes, once a vibrant collection of colors and patterns, became a muted palette of grays and blacks. She started wearing oversized hoodies, hiding her form, making herself smaller, less noticeable.

She stopped meeting her friends after school, spending all her time with Seongje, a willing prisoner in his self-made cage. She became a reflection of him, a pale imitation of the girl she once was.

Her friends tried to talk to her, to reach her, to pull her back from the edge. "You're not yourself anymore, Y/N," one of them had said, her voice filled with concern. "He's changing you." But she would just shake her head, a blank expression on her face. "I'm happy," she’d say, a lie she told so often she almost believed it herself.

The final straw came a few weeks later. They were at a party, and she was sitting alone, watching the other people dance and laugh. She felt a phantom ache in her chest, a longing for a joy she no longer knew how to feel.

A guy, a kind-faced stranger, came up to her. "You look lonely," he said, his voice gentle. "Do you want to dance?" She shook her head, a small, polite smile on her face. "No, thank you." But Seongje saw it. He saw the interaction, the kind stranger, the brief flicker of a polite smile on her face. He didn't even bother with words this time. He just walked up to the guy, a dark storm in his eyes, and hit him.

A single, brutal punch that sent the guy sprawling to the floor, his nose gushing blood. The music stopped. A stunned silence fell over the room. Everyone was looking at them, at the blood, at the fear in her eyes, at the savage look on Seongje's face.

She didn't say a word. She just got up, her legs feeling like lead, and walked out of the party. He followed her, his voice a torrent of excuses and reassurances. "He deserved it," he said, his voice laced with venom. "He shouldn't have been talking to you." She didn't respond. She just kept walking, the sounds of the party fading behind her, a new, heavy silence settling in.

When they got back to his apartment, she didn't scream, she didn't cry, she didn't fight. She just sat on his couch, her hands in her lap, her eyes fixed on nothing.

Days turned into weeks, and the silence became a constant companion. She barely spoke, her voice a forgotten instrument. She would sit on the couch for hours, her expression blank, her eyes hollow. She had become a ghost in her own life, a shadow of the girl she once was.

The bright, bubbly girl who laughed like sunlight was gone, replaced by a dull, expressionless person who just existed. The world outside his apartment walls felt like a distant memory, a place she could no longer access. The vibrant colors of her old life had been washed out, leaving only a gray, muted existence.

He would try to talk to her, to get a reaction. "Hey," he'd say, his voice a little too loud in the quiet apartment. "Did you eat?" She wouldn't look at him. "Okay," she’d say, her voice flat, devoid of any emotion. That was her new favorite word. "Okay." It was a word of acceptance, of surrender. A word that held no life, no passion, no hope. It was the sound of a spirit breaking.

One evening, he came home to find her sitting in the same spot, a half-empty glass of water on the coffee table. The sun was setting, casting long, mournful shadows across the room.

He sat down next to her, his heart a heavy, cold lump in his chest. "I saw one of your friends today," he said, his voice soft, almost pleading. "She asked about you. I told her you were fine." She didn't react. She just sat there, her hands in her lap, her eyes fixed on the darkening window.

"Are you even listening to me?" he asked, his voice rising, a flicker of his old anger returning.

"Okay," she said, her voice a monotone.

He felt a surge of frustration, a desperate need to break through the wall she had built around herself. He grabbed her shoulders, his grip tight. "Look at me!" he yelled, his voice echoing in the silent room. She finally turned her head, her eyes meeting his. But there was nothing there. No anger, no fear, no sadness. Just a vast, empty space.

He felt a chill run down his spine, a cold dread that was far more terrifying than any of the rage he had ever felt. He released her shoulders, his hands trembling. He had wanted her to be his, to be his and only his, but in his pursuit, he had not only taken her away from everyone else, he had taken her away from herself. He had broken her. He had stolen her light, her laughter, her joy. He had wanted her to be a doll, a possession he could keep and control, but he hadn't realized that dolls don't have souls.

He stood up and walked to the kitchen, his hands shaking as he poured himself a glass of water. He looked back at her, a silent, unmoving statue on the couch. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice a broken whisper. "Why won't you just talk to me?" She didn't answer. She didn't move. She just sat there, a silent testament to the wreckage he had created.

He had won. He had gotten rid of every single person who could have taken her from him. But in the end, he had lost her completely. He had her, all of her, but it was just a shell. The beautiful, vibrant girl he had fallen in love with was gone, replaced by a ghost who just said "okay." And the worst part? He knew, with a terrifying certainty, that he was the one who had killed her.

He had loved her so much that he had destroyed her. And now, he was alone with the pieces. The apartment, once filled with the imagined echoes of her laughter, was now a tomb, and he was the sole mourner at a funeral he had orchestrated himself.

꩜ Masterlist

꩜ One shots requests opened

[nothoughtsjustficrecs]

Review Written for The K-Fic Collection.

I truly loved every moment of this! It was so fun and light and cute but still had the serious drama flavour to really keep things interesting! Eternal summer romance with Soonyoung sounds like the ideal life after this tbh

Thank you for writing this lovely story and sharing it with us!

When I was reading, I decided to write down my thoughts as I go, as I knew I'd forget otherwise. Below this is literally just the thoughts I wrote down because I do not have the brain power to convert them into actual fully coherent comments [I'll put them below a read more cut for the sake of spoilers and such].

-

“ “I don’t have to follow the rules, just enforce them – so once the kids are asleep, I can do whatever I want!” ” oh, the innocence

“ What could be better than running around, doing fun activities, and helping kids have the best time ever? ” not running around sounds better to me tbh, but to each their own

“ campfires and s’mores ” okay, that part sounds fun. Well, the campfire, idk what smores taste like but I assume very good

“ “Okay, how about this – if you have a summer fling with a hot, mysterious camp counsellor that you never see again, I’ll consider your summer better than ours.” ” so fair

“ “When I was a kid, I used to write diary entries every day at camp wishing for a passionate summer romance with another camper,” ” okay, that made me snort for some reason

“ You dramatically fall back into your seat in mock despair. ” legit loving her character

“ “True romance only comes when you’re not expecting it.” ” Oooh foreshadowing

“ “To be honest, I think you’ll be too busy looking for frogs to look for a prince. You wouldn’t realise someone was into you if they hit you round the head with it.” Emma snorts.

“Yeah, yeah – that was one time!”

“The frogs or the crush?” ” actually wheezing

“ It takes your brain a moment to compute that you recognise his face.

Oh, God. ” the laugh I let out though omg

“ He smiles, running a hand through his hair and you can’t help but look at the flex of his biceps as he does. ” understandable

“ “You'll probably be working with me, Ace, or Hoshi mostly.” ” HOSHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

“ “You haven’t met Old Bill yet,” ” I don’t know why, but “old bill” immediately made me giggle.

“ He says a little shyly. ” PRECIOUS SHY BABIE!!!

“ There’s a wildness to him that’s completely different from the almost shy guy you met earlier. ” he’s a man of many sides 😌

“ He was hoping that some extroverted kid may pick him up and carry him into a social group ” that’s always the hope

“ He can admit in hindsight that, by the end of that summer, he’d had a huge crush on you. ” aww, precious babie 🥺

“ but for some reason it’s your daring co-leader that is taking up all the space in your mind. ” I really get it

“ “I don’t know if you realise it, but you’ve already got most of us hooked. That hot chocolate is just the cherry on top.” ” SCREAMING

“ “I don’t just like it,” he teases, his voice dropping slightly. “I think you just made my day.” ” oh, I think I’m going to combust before this story is over

“ You’re already hopeless at telling friendliness from flirting, and you certainly aren’t used to these little compliments, and it’s all too much for you to handle. ” so fucking relatable omg

“ and you have to stop yourself from staring at his face for too long when you’re together. ” 😂 but so real

“ “Peps.” ” peps! That’s so fucking cute 🥺

“ “But if it means I get to see you smile like that … then I’ll take it.” ” I shall soon cease to exist and just letting you know, it’s your fault. I am too weak for this man

“ He’s been quieter the past few days, but you can’t help but notice the way he sneaks glances at you when he thinks you aren’t looking. ” 🥺

“ “Thanks – you killed it in the dance battle. I think you’re lucky you already have a nickname or they’d start calling you ‘the sprinkler’.” ” omg, the sprinkler 😂

“ “Have you ever had a crush on anyone here?” ” be like “yeah, you” 😘

“ You watch, frozen, as he turns away, leaving you standing there with a knot in your chest. ” :((

“ “Well, if you want to vent or throw pinecones at him or something, let me know. I’ll back you up.” ” throw pinecones at him 😂

“ “You’re going to find that boy, force him to talk to you, and then jump his bones” ” sounds like a plan to me!

“ “Soonyoung should go.” Gecko pipes in, and you see her giving you a look in your peripheral vision. ” ah, we do love a supportively schemeing friend

“ “Because I was scared,” he admits quietly, his eyes meeting yours. “I didn’t want that version of me to affect how you see me now. I’ve changed, and I didn’t want to mess up whatever this is by dredging up the past.” ” poor baby :((

“ The moment is gone, and Soonyoung is already slipping away again. ” PULL HIM BACK!

“ but the door to the breaker room creaks open, and Mingyu’s voice echoes down the hallway. ” who cares?! PULL! HIM! BACK!!!

“ “You’ve gotta stop running. Go talk to her. Be honest. Otherwise, you’re going to lose her before you even get the chance.” ” YOU TELL ‘IM, GYU!

“ Soonyoung reaches out to push your hair out of your eyes, his hands lingering on the sides of your face. He completely interrupts your rant, causing you to freeze. Your eyes are wider than he thought was physically possible, lips still parted in a half-finished sentence.

The moment is here now, and he’s going to be brave. “I like you, (Y/n), much more than as friends.” ” AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

Echoes of Summer

Pairings: Kwon Soonyoung x fem!reader, suggestions of Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genres: fluff, angst, camp counsellors AU, sunshine x sunshine

Warnings: drinking, profanities, mentions of sex

Word Count: 18.7k

Summary: Get ready for the most unforgettable summer yet at Camp Logan, where lifelong memories are made, friendships are strengthened, and old crushes make new appearances.

In the backseat of your best friend’s pink Honda Jazz, with Britney and Fergie blasting on the radio and wind rushing through your hair from the rolled-down windows – it has never felt more like summer break.

As you speed down the highway, Emma turns around from the passenger seat to offer you a sip of her Spire remix, which you eagerly accept.

“Are we getting close?” She yells over the music.

You nod as you gulp down the fizzy drink, unable to respond with your mouth full. Unfolding the map beside you, you check the upcoming junction.

“Yeah! I think it’s only three more junctions?” You reply, grinning with excitement.

“Seeing how pumped you are right now almost makes me jealous,” Jane laughs from the driver’s seat, catching your eye in the rearview mirror. “Except, then I remember you’re going to summer camp as an adult, without getting to do any of the cool stuff.”

“That’s not true!” You gasp, feigning offence. “I don’t have to follow the rules, just enforce them – so once the kids are asleep, I can do whatever I want!”

“Oh, you’re adorable.” Emma chuckles. “Those kids are gonna wear you our so much, you’ll be asleep before they are.”

You pout at her, huffing in disagreement.

Sure, being a camp leader might not be everyone’s idea of a great summer, but they at least have to admit that it would be fun. What could be better than running around, doing fun activities, and helping kids have the best time ever?

Well, Jane and Emma would probably argue that their trip to Majorca would be more fun – but you’re convinced that they’re underestimating just how awesome campfires and s’mores can be.

“Okay, how about this – if you have a summer fling with a hot, mysterious camp counsellor that you never see again, I’ll consider your summer better than ours.”

You snort at the suggestion, a bit of the fizz going up your nose, making you sneeze.

“When I was a kid, I used to write diary entries every day at camp wishing for a passionate summer romance with another camper,” You admit after a moment. “It was always about the same kid – Kim Mingyu – we went every year, and I think I ended up talking to him all of twice?”

“Wow, new (Y/n) lore! That explains why you’re such a hopeless loser when it comes to crushes.” Emma teases.

“I can’t even deny it!” You dramatically fall back into your seat in mock despair. “It’s hard being a hopeless romantic in a world where everyone else is so … practical.”

Jane chuckles, shifting her seat as she glances at you in the mirror. “You say that now, but just wait. True romance only comes when you’re not expecting it.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help but smile at the thought. “You two are just setting me up for disappointment. What if all the other counsellors are, like, sixty?”

“Then you’ll get some great life advice,” Emma quips, twisting around to give you a playful grin.

“Besides, age is just a number!” Jane adds, waggling her eyebrows suggestively and making you all burst into laughter.

“To be honest, I think you’ll be too busy looking for frogs to look for a prince. You wouldn’t realise someone was into you if they hit you round the head with it.” Emma snorts.

“Yeah, yeah – that was one time!”

“The frogs or the crush?”

“Alright! We can’t all be Casanova’s now can we? Besides, you’re probably right – I do plan on going frog catching and it might take a while.”

You lean backwards, posing with crossed arms and a nodding head. Your pretence at coolness is unfortunately cut off quickly, as Jane slams the car down the junction exit that she’d almost missed, toppling you back into your seat.

A chorus of giggles explodes in the car.

“Do you think you’re going to be able to survive on your own for a month?” Jane chortles.

“The real question is – do you think you’re going to be able to survive a month without me?” You respond, playfully patting her shoulder.

“It’s going to be tough.” Emma agrees with mock seriousness, although you can feel the tender truth to her words. “Luckily, we’ll have sexy Spanish men and bottles of champagne to drown our sorrows in.”

The road in front of you becomes narrower, winding through dense woods, and the familiar scent of pine fills the air.

“That’s it!” You exclaim, sitting up straighter, your heart beating a little faster.

As the camp entrance comes into view, marked by a large wooden sign that reads ‘Camp Logan’, you can’t help but feel a thrill of anticipation. It’s been just under a decade since you were last here, and everything feels exactly the same as you remember.

The car pulls up to the inlet at the start of the woodchip trail leading into the camp. Leaning all the way forward, you embrace your two friends in a long hug, thanking them for dropping you off and cracking up at the almost sombre mood caused by your departure.

Stepping out, you reach for your trunk from the rails on top of the car, pulling it down with ease.

You wave your friends off as they speed away, leaving fading declarations of love as they go. The reality of being on your own sinks in as the dust from their departure settles on the gravel road. You take a deep breath, adjusting your bag on your shoulder, trying to steady the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

The entrance to camp looms ahead, a rustic wooden archway adorned with carvings of pine trees and woodland creatures. The path is just as you remember, lined with tall, towering pines that stretch up into the bright blue sky.

You can hear faint laughter and the distant sound of campers running about, already immersed in their summer adventure. The excitement you felt during the drive here is still there, but it’s now tempered with a hint of anxiety. What if you don’t fit in with the other counsellors? What if the kids are too much to handle?

The doubts creep in, but you shake your head, pushing them away. This is what you’ve been waiting for—a summer of new experiences, challenges, and maybe even that elusive summer romance your friends teased you about.

As you approach the main lodge, you catch sight of a group of counsellors gathered on the porch, laughing and chatting as they prepare for the week ahead. They seem at ease, already forming bonds that you hope to become a part of. You watch them for a moment, taking in the scene, before a voice behind you interrupts your thoughts.

“Hey there, you must be the new arrival!”

You turn to see a tall, athletic guy with sun-kissed skin and a friendly smile walking toward you. He’s wearing a camp T-shirt and cargo shorts, his camp name, “Frosty,” stitched onto his shirt in bold green letters.

It takes your brain a moment to compute that you recognise his face.

Oh, God.

You look up to the sky for a second, sending a silent SOS as the sun shines down on you, leaving you nowhere to escape. You can feel shock flooding through your body, and you’re struggling to even reply.

“Kim Mingyu?”

The man’s eyebrows shoot upwards, and it’s clear you’ve taken him aback too. You stare at other for a moment, before realisation dawns across his features and he lets out a loud laugh, reaching forward to grab your shoulder.

“Oh my god, (Y/n) (Y/l/n)! I should have known you’d be back here! You’re even wearing the same outfit that you used to wear!”

You peer down at your old camp tee, little denim shorts, and hiking boots, your hair twirled with twine and ribbon into two plaits, feeling a little embarrassed that he’d immediately clocked your effort to recreate your camper days.

“Well if it helped you recognise me, then I’m glad I wore it!” You stammer, releasing a nervous laugh. “Would have been awkward if you hadn’t remembered me but I remembered you.”

Mingyu laughs in response, nodding his head, and you’re grateful that the calm, friendly demeanour he had as a kid is still alive and well.

“I’m meant to give you a tour and get you set up, but I suppose you won’t really need it.” He smiles, running a hand through his hair and you can’t help but look at the flex of his biceps as he does.

“Oh – um, I suppose a refresher wouldn’t hurt!”

He nods, and points over to the right side of the clearing. “Okay, well, your cabin is just that one over there, with the three on it. Let me know when you’re all set up and I’ll introduce you to the other counsellors and we can catch up!”

You thank him, and practically sprint away into the cabin.

The wooden cabin of the counsellors is not far different than the camper’s cabins, although notably nicer smelling and less beds. There are three bunks inside, with chests and small side cabinets to keep possessions on. The floor is covered in a green rug, and you can see that two of the other bunks already have unpacked belongings next to them.

You let out a shaky breath, steading your racing mind as you sit down on the empty bed. You can practically hear Emma and Jane laughing at you, and decide that you’d text them the moment you know they’ve landed from their flight.

Kim Mingyu? Seriously? It is like the universe decided to play a cruel joke on you. It’s not like you still have a crush on him, even if he has grown up well, but even the flash from the past has rattled you entirely.

“Alrighty, so over here we have the other lead counsellors – Ace and Fairy. These guys are the ones to find if you need anything; they’ll be far more helpful than me.”

“Hi, I’m (Y/n)!” You greet them, waving.

“Gonna have to get you a camp nickname before the kids hear your actual name and refuse to call you anything else!” The taller person, Ace, jokes. Their short sandy blonde hair is pushed back by a black band, and they sport the same camp t-shirt as Mingyu, with a pair of long khaki cargo pants.

To their side, Fairy stands, giving you a friendly wave back. She, unlike the others, is wearing her camp t-shirt as a bandeau under dungarees shorts that are only strapped on one side.

“That’s a fair point – have you got something in mind or do you want us to give you one?” Mingyu nods thoughtfully.

“Oh, that’s so exciting!” You beam as you look over at Ace and Fairy, still unable to meet Mingyu’s gaze. “I used to love the idea of having a special nickname when I was a kid!”

“I think ‘sunshine’ would do the trick,” Fairy snorts. You feel a blush tickling your neck at the suggestion, and you wonder if your positivity is rubbing off the wrong way.

“We’ll put that one on the maybe list,” Mingyu laughs, holding out a hand to gesture to where you’re walking next.

“Over by the lake are all the kids' cabins. We've got somewhere around 100 campers at the moment, but a few more will join us in the later weeks. Obviously, all the water activities will be done from the dock over there - do you remember what sort of stuff you signed up to run?"

"All of the outdoorsy ones, I think."

"Okay, cool. You'll probably be working with me, Ace, or Hoshi mostly. The counsellor toilets are just round that corner there; they're hidden out of sight so that the kids don't get confused, but you'll need the code to get in anyways. Over there is the mess hall, as you probably remember. Last year they moved a bunch of the arts and crafts stuff into the left wing of the building, so that might be a little different, but the dance, music, and other indoor activities are still in the west building. The admin office, infirmary, and camp store are all in that building over there - you should pop by something today just to say hello to Laura and Maureen - they're super nice but they like to know who's in camp at all times! And finally, all of the sports fields, woodland areas, and the outdoor theatre are over to the east of the lake. You got all that?"

"I think so! It seems mostly the same?" You smile nervously.

Mingyu seems far less concerned about it all. “Great! So, how have you been? It must be almost a decade since I last saw you!”

You feel slightly overwhelmed by trying to catalogue your life over the last few years into a few sentences.

“I’m good!”

That’s a good start.

“I’ll be starting my third year of university in September, and I’m studying geography, but I think I might do teacher training afterwards. I’m not really sure – but, I guess this summer will be a great tester! Um, I took up knitting in June? Oh – and I’m so excited to be back! Can’t wait to be back out on the lake! How about you?”

Good enough.

 “Oh nice – I could definitely see you as a teacher, you always were one of the nicest campers in our cohort.” Mingyu smiles genuinely, and you feel yourself blushing again. “I’ve been a counsellor here for a few years now; I’ve been doing it since I started university. Don’t judge me, but I am studying business – hoping that the camp counsellor label cancels out the bad reputation though!”

You laugh, nodding. “It’s a bit of a stretch, but I think you’ll get away with it.”

“Glad I have your approval,” he chuckles, shooting you a toothy grin. “Here, lets go to the hall and you can meet some of the other counsellors.”

“Where did ‘Frosty’ come from, by the way?” You ask, curious, as you both walk towards the entrance to the mess hall.

Mingyu hums, glancing at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Ah, the infamous nickname story. It’s actually not as cool as you might think,” he begins, pushing open the heavy doors to the hall. The scent of wood, faintly mixed with lingering hints of breakfast, wafts out to greet you.

“It was my first year here as a counsellor. I was super eager to make a good impression, but on the first morning of camp, I didn’t realise just how cold the lake water could be at dawn. So, during the early canoe session, I jumped in to show the kids that it was ‘no big deal’.” He pauses, shaking his head at the memory.

“And?” You prompt, intrigued by the story.

“And I came out so cold that I was shivering, my lips were practically blue, and my skin had turned icy. One of the kids started calling me ‘Frosty’ and the name just stuck. I guess it was better than being called ‘shivers’ or something worse.” He adds with a laugh, his cheeks reddening slightly.

You giggle, imagining the scene. “That’s actually a great origin story. It’s kind of endearing.”

“It’s grown on me.” Mingyu admits.

You both step into the mess hall. The room is spacious, filled with long wooden tables and benches, with large windows on one side letting in the afternoon light. A group of counsellors are gathered near the front, some arranging supplies with others chat animatedly.

As Mingyu leads you over, the chatter quiets down slightly, and all eyes turn to you.

“Alright, everyone, this is (Y/n), our newest counsellor. Be nice and don’t scare them off on their first day,” He teases, and the group chuckles.

One by one, they introduce themselves, each with their own unique nickname story. From what you can remember, there’s Hatter, whose nickname is cryptically based on the Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland, Sparks, who’s the go-to guy for anything involving campfires or fireworks, and Gecko, who is in charge of the art station in camp.

“Welcome to the team, (Y/n)!” Sparks says, tipping his baseball cap at you.

“Thanks, everyone! I’m really excited to be here.” You reply, basking in the warm reception.

Mingyu gives you a nod, clearly pleased. “I’ll leave you to get acquainted. Feel free to explore more, just be back for dinner at 6!”

As Mingyu heads off to tend to other duties, the counsellors start to chat to you, sharing stories and giving you tips for surviving your first week. You quickly learn that despite their laid-back appearances, they all share a deep love for the camp and seem as dedicated as you to making it an unforgettable experience for the campers.

“I pitched scuba diving at this year’s council, but it got vetoed.” Hatter grumbles.

Gecko scoffs, crossing her arms. “The only thing interesting in that lake is the random shit that kids throw in – that’s if you can see anything at all.”

“Were you the one that vetoed it?!”

“I suggested creating a camp newspaper,” Sparks interjects, cutting through the bickering. “And since it wasn’t a safety hazard, they decided to include it this year.”

“That’s really cool! And the kids can send them back to their parents to let them know what they've been up to!" You gush, imagining how much fun it would have been to have that option when you were a camper.

"You always get your projects picked!" Hatter sighs, throwing his hands up in frustration.

"First of all, that's not true." Sparks says, rolling his eyes. "And second, mine wasn't the only idea to get picked. Hoshi got his star gazing sessions, remember?"

It dawns on you that you still haven’t met all of the counsellors. The thought must be clear on your face, as Gecko turns to you and asks: “Have you met Hoshi yet?”

You shake your head. “No, I’ve only met you guys, Min – sorry, Frosty, Fairy, and Ace. Are there any other counsellors I haven’t met?” You have to force yourself to use Mingyu’s camp name so that you don’t let his real name slip in front of the kids.

“You haven’t met Old Bill yet, but he’ll be holed up in the music room.” Sparks replies, visibly ticking off names in his head. “And aside from him and Hoshi, the rest are arriving tomorrow.”

"Oh! Speaking of which - Frosty mentioned I should check in with Laura and Maureen, so I might go do that now?" You exclaim, remembering Mingyu’s advice. The group nods and waves as you head off. Feeling good about the other counsellors, your earlier apprehensions fade, leaving you with a growing sense of joy at being back in camp.

That afternoon, you wander over to the main building, making sure to pop into both the infirmary and the head office. At dinner, you sit amongst the kids, starting to get to know their names and faces and hoping to make a good impression in return. You return to your cabin afterwards, fondly thinking about your start to camp. You're sharing your dorm with Gecko and Fairy, and the three of you spent the evening chatting and getting to know each other over a bottle of gin that Fairy had sneaked into camp - which had felt rather scandalous to you.

When you get a chance, you shoot a text off from your flip phone to Emma and Jane, reminding them not to call because you didn’t want to discuss the situation in front of your new cabinmates.

You have to stifle a laugh as you receive their elated replies, and almost block Emma for the R-rated suggestions she leaves in your inbox.

Snuggling down that night, you wonder if you might finally get the second chance you’d dreamed of as a kid.

The next morning, you’re practically bouncing with excitement as you make your way towards the camp’s rope course. The first day of camp is always the best. You’ve been looking forward to getting into the activities ever since you got the job, and climbing was always your favourite as a kid. There’s something about heights, the thrill of adventure, that speaks to the childlike wonder still alive in you.

The sun is already warming the air, but there’s a cool breeze filtering through the pine trees that keeps the camp feeling fresh. You cannot wait to start creating memories with the campers.

As you approach the ropes course, you spot a figure standing near the gear shack, fiddling with a bundle of harnesses. He’s tall, lean, and has a shock of platinum hair that contrasts against the dark forest. As he turns around, you are left a little starstruck by the handsome face that greets you, and you have to remind yourself that you don’t have to crush on every cute person you encounter.

Banishing the thoughts from your mind, you wave energetically. “Hey! You must be Hoshi! I’m (Y/n)! Fairy said that we were co-leaders today!”

He turns to face you, blinking at your sudden burst of enthusiasm and offers a small smile, looking a little surprised. “Oh! Yeah, nice to meet you.” He says a little shyly. “You here to help with the ropes course?”

“Absolutely!” You chirp, extending your hand. “I’m so excited to work with you this summer. I love this kind of thing - clinging, jumping, swinging through the air like a superhero. It's so fun that I get to do it for my first session!"

Hoshi shakes your hand, trying to stifle a laugh at your enthusiasm. "Yeah, it'll be ... interesting. But not everyone's into it, though. Some of the kids can be a little scared at first."

"Don't worry!" You declare, "I'm sure we'll be able to hype them up. They'll be climbing like monkeys by the end of the session!"

You expect a polite laugh or another small smile, but instead, something shifts in Hoshi’s expression. His eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief as he straightens up, looking at you with an almost playful glint.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “We’ll see about that.”

Before you can ask what he means, a group of campers starts to arrive, chattering excitedly as they line up near the base of the ropes course.

“Alright, everyone!” you call out, clapping your hands to get their attention. “Who’s ready to have some fun and conquer this ropes course?”

A few kids cheer, while others look a little nervous, shifting their weight from foot to foot as they eye the towering structure ahead of them.

“No worries if you’re feeling a little scared,” you say reassuringly. “It’s totally normal! We’ll go at your pace, and I promise, by the end of it, you’ll feel like Spider-Man swinging through the city.”

The kids giggle, some of them visibly relaxing. You’re about to continue when Hoshi steps forward, a wide grin etching onto his face. "And just to prove it to you all, we're going to start with a little induction ritual for our new camp leader!"

You glance over at him, surprised by the sudden spotlight on you. There’s a challenge in his eyes now, one that wasn’t there before. He adjusts his harness, tightening the straps with quick, practiced movements, and without another word, he leaps up onto the first platform of the ropes course with the agility of someone who’s done it a hundred times.

He glances down, grinning for real now, and holds a hand down to you. "Come on, I'll race you to the top!"

Without waiting for a response, he takes off again, scrambling up a rope ladder with impressive speed. The kids cheer, and suddenly your competitive spirit kicks in.

“Oh, it’s on!” you yell, rushing over to grab a harness and clip yourself in. You barely take a second to check the straps before you’re darting after him, laughing the whole way as the kids below start cheering for you both.

You manage to keep pace with him, climbing and leaping with the same energy that’s always been your signature. Every time you think you’re about to catch up, Hoshi takes another daring leap, swinging across gaps or balancing on the narrowest part of the beams just to show off. There’s a wildness to him that’s completely different from the almost shy guy you met earlier.

By the time you both reach the final platform, breathless but grinning from ear to ear, the kids are cheering so loudly you can barely hear yourself think. Hoshi swings up onto the last platform just a second before you, throwing his hands up in victory as you flop down beside him, laughing.

“Okay, okay, you win,” you gasp, wiping sweat from your forehead.

Hoshi chuckles, leaning back against the railing and catching his breath. "You're pretty fast yourself," he says, nudging your shoulder with his elbow. "I didn't think you'd keep up."

You sit up, grinning widely. "You're just lucky I didn't eat a second breakfast today. Otherwise, I totally would've smoked you."

He laughs again, before peering down at the kids below. "I think we might have to get them strapped up before they start trying to climb the trees themselves."

You nod, finally understanding his plan. The spectacle of the race had taken all of the pressure off of the kids, and had let them see just how safe the course was. It was a trick that you'd have to remember.

Soonyoung watches as you move to the back of the line of kids, crouching down to speak to a young boy at the end. The kid looks nervous, clutching the harness like it’s the only thing keeping him from running back to the safety of the cabin.

He doesn’t know what you say to the boy, but it’s obviously helping as he looks up at you with awe, his hands loosening their grip. You’re offering your hand out to him, and Soonyoung realises that you’re going to go up into the course with him.

He’s manning the guide ropes, and offers you a nod as you look over for confirmation that he’ll be able to manage without you. Now alone at the bottom of the course, his thoughts begin to overwhelm.

The moment you’d run over waving at him this morning, Soonyoung had been flooded with memories. When Mingyu had mentioned last night that the new counsellor was someone they’d both known from camp, he’d never have guessed it would be you.

But you are entirely recognisable. You are just as bubbly and energetic as you were as a kid, running around camp, always surrounded by friends. Soonyoung reminisces over his old camp days, getting stuck on the memory of your first meeting.

It is a week in summer camp, and Soonyoung is having a bad time. His parents insisted on him going; they had assured him that he’d have fun, that he loved the outdoors and he’d make friends quickly enough.

Unfortunately, they are mistaken.

He’s not surprised. He knows he’s shy and meeting new people is never his idea of fun. He was hoping that some extroverted kid may pick him up and carry him into a social group, but that hasn’t happened yet and he’s starting to worry that he’ll have to find a different way.

Soonyoung’s cabin mates are nice enough, but they’ve already formed their own tight-knit group. At night, they talk about things he doesn’t really know about – sports teams, video games, and shared inside jokes.

The worse part is, the camp counsellors are always so cheerful, always asking him how he’s doing, if he’s having fun. He puts on a smile, nods and says it’s all great – what else is he supposed to say?

Soonyoung’s sitting on the edge of the lake on afternoon, his knees pulled up to his chest, staring at the rippling water as a canoe glides by with some laughing campers in it. He picks up a small stone and skips it across the surface, watching it hop once, twice, then disappear into the lake.

“Hey, that was a pretty good skip!”

Soonyoung jumps at the voice, his heart racing as he turns to see a girl standing beside him. You’re wearing a camp t-shirt, your hair tied back in two messy braids, and you’re smiling at him like you’ve known him for years.

“Uh, thanks.” He mumbles, unsure of what else to say. You pick up another rock from beside him, fiddling with it in between your fingers.

“My brother said skipping stones is all about finding the right rock. Here, look at this one!” You present the rock to him – flat, smooth, and lightweight with rounded edges. Flicking the stone with a snap of your wrist, he watches as it skips over the lake three times before dropping down below. You let out a laugh of achievement, and Soonyoung commits the sound to his memory.

“I’m (Y/n), by the way.” You say, plopping down beside him without waiting for an invitation. “I’ve seen you around but haven’t had the chance to say hi yet.”

Soonyoung feels the heat rise to his face. “Oh, um, I’m Kwon Soonyoung.”

You grin, your eyes sparkling with playful energy. “Nice to meet you Soonyoung. A few of the other campers and I are planning on stealing some marshmallows from the kitchen tonight and roasting them over the firepit – do you wanna come?”

He glances over at you, surprised at your offer. You clearly notice his hesitation and offer him a friendly smile, and he cannot help by accept. “Oh, yeah, that would be fun!”

“Okay, great!” You jump up excitedly, and he feels his own spirits lifting in tandem. “Meet us at the kitchen at 7pm.”

He had gone that night, and you’d introduced him to the rest of your friends. Soonyoung fondly remembers that evening, getting to know those campers and watching you laugh and dance around in your own little world.

He hadn’t spoken to you much after that, but he remembers everything. He can admit in hindsight that, by the end of that summer, he’d had a huge crush on you. He was sure you didn’t return those feelings – in fact, he’d heard you gushing to one of the other campers about Mingyu.

Yet, seeing you now, Soonyoung cannot help but feel like he’s been given a second chance. There is a new freedom in knowing that you didn’t remember the past. He could be confident, more daring – everything he wasn’t back then. There is no reason for you to ever associate this version of him with the kid you used to know, and he isn’t about to remind you.

At dinner that night, you find yourself peering back over at the blonde, your mind occupied with questions about him.

You feel like your camper self, looking over at a cute boy that you’re kind of scared to talk to, except this time Kim Mingyu is not the object of your attention. You can actually feel your younger self gawking at you for not taking the chance to flirt with her crush, but for some reason it’s your daring co-leader that is taking up all the space in your mind.

Wow – you think you really are absurd, blushing over a guy you’d met earlier that day. Your friends may have mocked you for your hopeless love life, but they wouldn’t be able to contain themselves if they saw you now.

The rain is coming down outside in a steady drizzle, a soft, rhythmic patter against the cabin roof that creates a cozy, if dreary atmosphere. Some of the campers, having been stuck indoors all afternoon, are grumbling about their ruined evening plans, while others huddle together in the hall, trying to stay entertained.

You glance out of the window, watching the drops streak down the glass as the grey sky darkens into evening. The air inside the cabin feels a little stuffy, and you can tell that everyone needs a pick-me-up, even the other counsellors. That’s when an idea hits you – your trip down memory lane jogging a sweet treat that always lifted your spirits when you were younger.

“Hey, guys!” You call out, clapping your hands together with a grin. A few heads turn your way, curiosity flickering across their faces. “Who’s up for some peppermint hot chocolate?”

“Peppermint hot chocolate?” One of the young girls asks, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“Oh yeah,” you beam, heading toward the small kitchenette. “It’s my special recipe. Guaranteed to make rainy days a hundred times better.”

In the corner of your gaze, you see Mingyu standing up with a large grin, nodding at the kids. “Just what we all need!”

A buzz of excited murmurs spread through the group. Meeting Mingyu’s eyes to express your gratitude for his support, you let everyone know that the hot chocolate should be ready in only a few minutes.

As you gather the ingredients, pulling out the cocoa powder, milk, sugar, and peppermint extract, the chatter in the cabin grows livelier. You’ve been making this recipe for years, ever since you learned it from your grandmother, and it has become your go-to for nights like this.

Just as you get into the rhythm of stirring, you feel someone step beside you. Turning, you see Hoshi leaning casually against the counter, watching you with a small smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he says, glancing around the room. “The kids were about to start climbing the walls.”

“It’s my secret weapon for rainy days.” You reply, glancing at him form over your shoulder. “Peppermint hot chocolate – grandma’s tradition.”

Hoshi chuckles, watching you with a soft gaze. “Secret weapon, huh? I had no idea that you were a hot chocolate expert on top of everything else.”

“Oh, you have no idea the depths of my talent. This hot chocolate is just the tip of the iceberg.”

He raises an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smirk. “Is that so? Guess I’ll have to stick around and see what other surprises you’ve got up your sleeve.”

“Oh, trust me, you’re not ready for the full 'Peppermint' experience,” You tease, trying to sound casual, but feeling the heat rising in your face, and you know the cause isn’t the hot chocolate. Was he being... nice? Or is that—no, don’t overthink it, you tell yourself.

Hoshi steps a little closer, peering into the pot as the chocolate mixture begins to bubble. “Looks like you’ve got this down to a science.” He remarks, voice low and teasing.

You shoot him a playful look. “What can I say? I aim to impress. Besides, I figured the campers deserve a little something special after being cooped up all afternoon.”

He smiles now, and for a moment, the teasing falls away. “It’s hard to believe that it’s your first day doing this – you’re good at it. Taking care of the kids. Keeping everyone’s spirits up.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” you say, waving a hand dismissively, though the warmth of his words settles in your chest. “I just want them to have fun, you know? The same as all of you guys.”

“I don’t know if you realise it, but you’ve already got most of us hooked. That hot chocolate is just the cherry on top.”

Your breath hitches slightly at his words, and you look up at him, your eyes meeting his. For a moment, the rainy world outside the cabin fades away, leaving just the two of your standing in the warm glow of the kitchen, the pot bubbling gently between you.

You blink rapidly, feeling your cheeks turn even redder. Is he flirting? No way. You are probably just misreading it, like you always do. Right? Surely, he is just being friendly. That’s all.

Before you can spiral any further, you snap back around to the hot chocolate. You quickly ladle a scoop into one of the mugs, spilling a little onto the counter in your haste.

“You’ll be hooked on this when you’ve tasted it!” You chirp, overcorrecting for your nervousness with a panicked cheerfulness.

Giving you a small, lingering smile, Hoshi softly takes the cup from your hands and takes a sip, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Okay, I’ll admit it,” he says, lowering the mug with a grin. “This is really good. You might be onto something with the peppermint.”

You smile sheepishly, feeling a swell of pride but still a little awkward under his gaze. “Thanks. I’m glad you like it.”

“I don’t just like it,” he teases, his voice dropping slightly. “I think you just made my day.”

Your heart feels completely overwhelmed. Is he doing this on purpose? You’re already hopeless at telling friendliness from flirting, and you certainly aren’t used to these little compliments, and it’s all too much for you to handle.

You hand out the rest of the mugs to the campers, avoiding eye contact with Hoshi who stays by your side to help. The kids take them eagerly, sipping their hot chocolate with delighted smiles. The cabin is filled with warmth, not just from the drinks, but from the cozy, cheerful atmosphere that has blossomed despite the rain.

“Hey, this is great hot chocolate!” Mingyu sings as he walks over to your station, half-full cup in hand.

You grin at him, happy for a distraction from the uncertainty standing next to you. “Thanks! The kids seem pretty happy.”

“Totally. You saved the day.” Mingyu praises with an exaggerated sigh of relief. “And, I heard some of the kids calling you ‘peppermint hot chocolate’, so I think – if we shorten it – you may be able to embroider your shirt. ‘Peppermint’ is a pretty cute nickname, all things considered.”

To your side, you think you see Hoshi grimacing for a second, but the expression is quickly wiped from his features.

“It’s a good suggestion.” He says, his tone flatter than it had been earlier.

“I’ll take it! Although if the kids are already calling me it, I suppose I don’t have much choice!” You say cheerfully, feeling your cheeks flushing at the thought. But, you are endeared towards the nickname, and having the campers respect you enough to give you a personalised nickname is pretty special.

By the time you’ve finished talking to Mingyu, Hoshi seems to have disappeared from your side. Even though you feel increasingly nervous around him, a part of you is a little sad that you no longer get to talk with him. But, you have chores to get on with, and 100 mugs aren’t going to clean themselves.

The next two weeks fly past. The camp is alive with the sounds of laughter, shouts and the crackling of campfire, and the days blend together as the campers rotate through their favourite activities.

You’ve spent a lot of time trying to get to know everyone, with a particular focus on your group of campers and the other camp counsellors.

Hoshi and you have still been co-leaders for most of the time, although you’d had a few sessions with Mingyu, Sparks, and one with Gecko. The more time that you spend with Hoshi, the more you are falling deeper into your crush, even if you hate to admit it.

At the start, you’d wondered if the crush was just the product of a new environment, new people, and a lingering suggestion from your friends of a summer romance that latched onto the first cute person you saw. But, if that were true, Mingyu would have been the object of your affections. At this point, you are forced to admit that your crush on Hoshi is more than a matter of convenience. He’s funny, adventurous, and great with the kids, and you have to stop yourself from staring at his face for too long when you’re together.

It’s made it a little harder for you to co-lead with him, but you think you’ve done a pretty good job of hiding your feelings. The last thing you’d want to do is make things awkward for him and the kids, and you’ve had one too many unrequired crushes to make such a rookie mistake as to publicise it.

That evening, after a long day of camp activities, the kids finally settled into their own cabins, the counsellors are left with some well-earned downtime.

You, Gecko, and Fairy pile into your shared cabin, which has quickly become a sanctuary at the end of each hectic day. The cabin is cozy, its wooden walls creaking faintly with the evening breeze that slips through the screen windows.

You flop onto your bed, letting out an exaggerated groan of exhaustion, your limbs spread out like a starfish. “I don’t know about you two, but those kids wore me out today,” you say, dramatically throwing an arm over your eyes. “If I have to get into another canoe, I think I might actually become one with the lake.”

Gecko, who is sitting cross-legged on her bed, leafing through an old camp magazine, snorts. “Yeah, right. You’re like the Energizer Bunny, Peps. I’ve never seen you actually sit still.”

“True!” Fairy pipes in, hoping up onto her bunk and dangling her legs over the edge. “I swear, you were running circles around those kids during the canoe races. I was convinced you were going to tip the boat from sheer excitement.”

You peak out from under your arm, grinning. “Hey, I’m just trying to keep the energy up! These kids need someone to cheer them up!”

"You and Hoshi sure are making it hard for us other counsellors to keep up. My kids came in today asking to have a paint fight because of your antics yesterday." Gecko rolls her eyes, but smiles. "Are we sure you're not secretly still a camper?"

At the mention of Hoshi, you feel a blush creep up your cheeks, though you try and laugh it off. “Please, if you’re going to blame anyone, blame Mingyu – he threw the first brush!”

Fairy smirks, noticing the slight pink tint to your face. She twirls a lock of hair around her finger, her eyes narrowing playfully. “You know, it always catches me off guard when you refer to him as Mingyu.” She begins, her voice dripping with curiosity. “He’s the only counsellor you do that with.”

“I hadn’t realised.” You hum, thinking over her words. “I guess because I’ve known him for so long, it feels weird to not call him Mingyu.”

Gecko and Fairy share a look.

“Sure, but you guys have been spending a lot of time together lately.” Gecko says, raising an eyebrow as she leans back on her hands.

You feel your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Had you?

You’d co-led with Mingyu a couple times over the last few weeks, and spent a bit of time catching up on old memories, but you didn’t think you’d spent any more time with him than any of the other counsellors.

“You think so? I wouldn’t say so.”

“Oh, please,” Fairy scoffs, hopping down from her bunk and plopping onto the bed next to you. “Tell me honestly that there isn’t some history there.”

You blink, flustered. “Oh, well, I guess…” You begin, feeling compelled to tell the truth under their curious gazes. “Okay, well you can’t tell anyone, but I used to have a crush on him when we were campers. Not anymore though!”

You see the pair of them smirk at each other.

“- we’re just friends now. And I wouldn’t want any more. To be honest, I’d be more likely to date Hoshi than Mingyu.” You admit, the blush on your cheeks darkening at your confession.

“Of course! We wouldn’t think any different!” Fairy says in a tone that makes you wonder if she’d actually heard what you just said.

“And it’s totally fine, everyone thinks Mingyu’s hot.” Gecko adds, and you realise that they hadn’t at all heard what you just said.

You sigh, leaning back onto your arms. “I guess.”

Fairy hums out a satisfied tune, moving back onto her bunk. You suppose that it’s still a bit early to emphasise your crush on Hoshi right now, and let the moment pass, hoping that they wouldn’t take it any further in their mistaken understanding of your love life.

Soonyoung is not jealous – he’s determined.

He’s spent the last few weeks trying to keep his cool around you, but it’s hard not to get caught up in everything you are. There’s something magnetic about the way you move through camp, always laughing, always making the kids feel safe and happy. He’s changed so much since you were younger, but you haven’t changed at all.

The issue is – your feelings are an enigma to him. In his eyes, it seems like you’re flirting back with him, laughing at his jokes, placing your hand on his arm, and he’s spotted you looking at him a few times now.

But he’d overheard some campers around the campfire giggling about you and Mingyu and begun to wonder if he’s mistaken your kindness for something greater.

He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable if he’s wrong, especially when you haven’t explicitly given him any signal, but he also doesn’t want to ignore the spark he feels between you.

That night, as the campfire crackles under the stars, the campers roast marshmallows and sing songs under the stars. You’re sat cross-legged on one of the logs, leading a small group of kids in a lively rendition of an old campfire favourite. Your voice is light and playful, if a little off-pitch, and Soonyoung can feel your laughter infecting him as the kids fumble through the lyrics.

He sits back in his seat with a content smile, watching from across the fire. The firelight dances on your face, your hair illuminated in soft, flickering hues.

“Hey, Hoshi!” You call out from across the fire, your eyes gleaming with excitement. “We’re going to have a marshmallow roasting contest. You in?”

He chuckles, standing up and making his way over. “You’re on,” he says, grabbing a stick. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you – I make the perfect golden marshmallow.”

You stick your tongue cutely out at him in mock defiance. “We’ll see about that.”

The campers gather round, joining in and bursting into laughter as Soonyoung’s marshmallow drops into the fire. He can’t find it inside himself to care though, as he watches the delight etch onto your face as you realise his mistake.

As the kids head off to their cabins for the night, you grab his arm, pulling him off to one side.

“Sorry, I know you probably just wanna crash out, but I wanted to ask you something.” You say quietly, with a small, apologetic smile.

Soonyoung’s heart begins to patter, curious and slightly nervous at what you’ll want to know.

“How’d you know that I was a camper here before?”

Ah, shit.

He thinks back to your second day as co-leaders, when he’d let it slip that he knew you went to Camp Logan as a child. The rain had started pouring, cutting off any questions you could have had, and he’d hoped you’d forgotten about it.

“Well, it was only your second day, but you were bounding all over the place like you knew where everything is – and I know Mingyu doesn’t give that in-depth of a tour.” He replies, his tone casual.

“Ahh, I suppose it does make sense. Also-” You poke at your old camp t-shirt that you are still donning. “I guess I fit the stereotype a little.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, you’re not the only person who returned here as an adult.” He laughs, hoping to make you feel better.

Your eyebrows shoot back with curiosity. “Oh, really? Did you come here too?”

Soonyoung realises his mistake. “Oh, uh, I did go to a summer camp as a kid,” he splutters, caught off guard. “But a different one. Not this one.”

You look a little confused for a second, but nod your head in understanding.

Soonyoung lets out a quiet breath, thankful that you didn’t push the subject further. He’s always been good at staying calm, at least outwardly, but right now, standing here with you so close, his heart is doing somersaults. Not to mention, the way that the firelight glows on your face is making it hard for him to focus on anything else.

“So,” you say with a smile. “You promised to tell me the story of your nickname – I haven’t forgotten!”

He lets out a relieved chuckle, glad that the conversation topic has changed.

“Oh, well, technically Hoshi means ‘star’ – I got it because I used to stare at the stars every night when I was a camper,” Soonyoung explains, his voice taking on a nostalgic tone. He glances up at the sky, taking in the faint but twinkling stars. “I guess the other counsellors thought it was funny that I was obsessed with them. I got approved to do some star-gazing sessions this year, though, which is pretty cool.”

You smile, your curiosity piqued. “Wow, I didn’t realise that you were into that, that’s really amazing.”

He grins, eyes flicking back to meet yours. “Yeah, and I kinda like the name now – ‘Hoshi’ sounds cool, right?”

You giggle. “It does suit you. Though I’ll have to keep an eye on you during nighttime hikes, just in case you wander off to stare at the sky.”

Soonyoung laughs, shaking his head. There’s a comfortable pause, the crackling of the fire filling the space between you. The warmth from the flames mirror the warmth in his chest as he stands next to you, but there is something more pulling at him. He can’t help but feel the weight of everything unsaid between you two—the lingering looks, the playful touches, the way your smile always seems a little brighter when it’s directed at him. He needs to know if he’s imagining it.

“Actually,” Soonyoung says, his voice lowering slightly, a playful edge creeping in, “I think there’s something else that suits me.”

You tilt your head. “Oh? What’s that?”

He hesitates for a beat, his eyes locking with yours, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Being around you.” He says, his voice soft but teasing. “I’ve gotta admit, the stars just seem to gleam brighter when you’re around.”

A blush immediately creeps up your neck, and you look away from him for a second, taken off guard.

“You’re shameless.” You stammer, unable to meet his gaze again.

“It’s true – I’ve noticed that the stars just look better when we’re together. Or maybe it’s just because I’m distracted.”

He has to admit that he’s enjoying how flustered you look as you blink at him. “Oh, come on,” you finally reply, “you’re just trying to get out of telling me more embarrassing stories from your camper days.”

Soonyoung chuckles, stepping just a little closer. “Maybe,” he shrugs. “Or maybe I’m telling the truth.”

The space between you suddenly feels much smaller, and he can feel his own heartbeat racing.

You look back over at time, a small smile ghosting across your lips as the firelight reflects from your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he says again, his voice light. “But if it means I get to see you smile like that … then I’ll take it.”

Your smile grows brighter, and Soonyoung wonders if you know that he is telling the truth.

“Well, you have a knack for making me smile.” You respond softly, and it’s his turn to feel bashful. All he can do is nod his head, unable to keep his own lips from quirking up back to you.

At the mid-point of the summer, you can tell that the camp is at a bit of a low. The homesickness has kicked in after weeks away from family, and the other counsellors are struggling to maintain the energy after the exhaustion of endless work.

Thankfully, as you well remember, this has been a recurring problem every year, and one that the camp has provisioned for.

Unlike the general mood, you are rather excited. Mingyu has been organising a camp disco for all of the campers over the last few days, and you can’t wait to see the shine come back to the kids’ faces. But, more than that, the counsellors are having their own little after party once the kids are asleep.

You’ve spent a lot of time with the other counsellors now, and although there haven’t been many chances, you have been able to do some group activities together. But, to have a night to properly relax, kick back, and have a drink whilst the camp manager Laura watches over the kids is going to be a much-needed break. You can almost feel the anticipation buzzing in the air as you and the other counsellors exchange knowing glances throughout the day. Mingyu has been working hard to keep the details of the disco under wraps, and although the kids don’t know it yet, tonight is going to be exactly what they need to shake off the homesickness and recharge for the rest of the summer.

You glance across the campgrounds, catching sight of Hoshi helping some of the kids with a craft project. He’s been quieter the past few days, but you can’t help but notice the way he sneaks glances at you when he thinks you aren’t looking. Since that night by the campfire, when he’d said those words that left you a blushing mess, things have been... different. There’s this undercurrent between you two, subtle but undeniably there.

You feel a little flutter in your chest as you think about it, shaking your head to focus back on the task at hand. Tonight is going to be a good night for everyone, and you’re not about to let your presumptive heart distract you from the fun.

The camp disco is in full swing by the time the sun sets. The kids are bouncing around the hall, glow sticks in hand, dancing to their favourite songs, their earlier gloom forgotten. Mingyu, as expected, has done an amazing job—streamers hang from the ceiling, fairy lights twinkle in the corners, and the DJ (Old Bill) is playing all the right tunes. You smile, watching the kids come alive again, their excitement contagious.

You find yourself swaying to the music, encouraging the shy campers to join in on the dance floor, and before long, the room is full of laughter and energy. It’s working. The mood has completely shifted, and for the first time in days, it feels like the homesickness has melted away.

At one point, you’re pulled into a dance-off with a group of younger campers, their enthusiasm too infectious to refuse. You’re spinning and laughing, barely noticing when Hoshi sidles up next to you.

“You’re showing them up,” he says with a grin.

You stop mid-spin, a little breathless, grinning back at him. “Well, someone has to keep up with them,” you reply, playfully nudging him.

He laughs, and the sound is too quickly carried away by the thrum of the music. Before you get any chance to chat more, one of the campers tugs at your hand, pulling you back into the dance circle.

The night flies by, the disco ending with tired but happy kids heading back to their cabins. You wave them off, thanking Mingyu for organizing everything as you begin to gather with the other counsellors towards the staff cabin.

An hour later, the camp feels almost eerily quiet. The campers are fast asleep, and the counsellors have migrated to the staff cabin, music playing softly in the background, the lights dimmed. You can feel the collective sigh of relief as you and the others sink into chairs, finally able to relax.

Mingyu cracks open a few bottles of wine and passes them around, and the conversation quickly shifts from camp duties to light-hearted banter. Everyone’s unwinding, the exhaustion of the past few weeks melting away with each sip.

Hoshi takes a seat next to you, handing you a glass with a casual smile. "You look like you’re still buzzing from the dance party.”

 “It was fun. You’re a good dancer, you know?” You say sincerely, remembering watching him out with the kids. When he wasn’t twirling the campers around or doing stupid moves to make them laugh, he had truly been a sight to behold – moving perfectly to the rhythm with a groove you hadn’t expected.

“Thanks – you killed it in the dance battle. I think you’re lucky you already have a nickname or they’d start calling you ‘the sprinkler’.”

Your nose crinkles with disgust, and you can hear Hoshi laughing at your expression. “Absolutely not. I hope that never-”

“Hey, Pepper!” You hear from behind you, and you turn to see Fairy waving for you to come over.

You turn back around to Hoshi, giving him an apologetic smile as you move towards your cabinmate.

“What’s up?”

Fairy grins mischievously, patting the spot next to her on the couch. The other counsellors are gathered around, some holding their wine glasses, others lounging in comfortable silence. You sit down beside her, and she wastes no time leaning in conspiratorially.

“We’re starting a game,” she whispers, her eyes sparking with mischief. “You can thank me later.”

You raise an eyebrow, confused at her meaning. “Huh? What kind of game?”

Before Fairy can answer, Mingyu appears, plopping down on the other side of you with a bottle of wine in hand. “We’re playing ‘Truth or Drink’” he announces with a grin. “Or, as I like to call it, exposing everyone’s secrets while we’re too tired to care.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Wow, I think we played this when we were campers.”

Fairy nods, smirking. “He’s just trying to get out of answering questions.”

“Oh, no. I’m an open book,” Mingyu teases, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head. “But you—” he gestures toward you—“I bet you have some juicy secrets.”

Fairy claps her hands together, drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright, let’s get started! We’ll go in a circle. Truth or drink. If you don’t wanna answer, you take a drink.”

The game kicks off with the usual light-hearted questions. The counsellors take turns asking things like, ‘What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s happened to you at camp?’ and ‘what’s the weirdest thing you’ve seen a camper do?’ Laughter echoes through the cabin as the group shares funny stories. Your gaze catches on Hoshi, sitting across from you, as he animatedly retells a story about the time that he ran a 100m sprint whilst drunk.

A little way into the game, Fairy turns toward you, a look that puts you on edge in her eye. “Okay, Pepper, this one’s for you.”

“Go on…”

She leans forward, her voice lowering to make the moment feel more dramatic. “Have you ever had a crush on anyone here?”

The group immediately bursts into giggles, all eyes turning toward you. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks from the attention. You cannot believe that she’s just asked you that.

You let out a soft groan, covering your face with your hands for a moment. “You guys are ridiculous.”

“Come on,” Mingyu says, nudging you with his elbow. “You can’t back out now!”

Looking back at Mingyu, you realise you have a choice. Admit to your childhood crush on him, admit to your current crush on Hoshi, or drink and let everyone realise that you do in fact like someone. The answer seems obvious to you – you didn’t like Mingyu anymore so admitting to that crush would be embarrassing but you could get over it.

You peek out from behind your fingers, letting out a flustered laugh. “Alright, alright!” You take a deep breath, deciding to just go with it. “When I was younger… I used to have the biggest crush on Mingyu.”

The room goes silent for a beat before erupting into laughter. Mingyu’s eyes widen, clearly not expecting that answer, while the others start whooping and teasing him.

As the laughter from your confession settles, you glance around the circle, catching a glimpse of Hoshi sitting quietly across the room. His playful grin is still there, but something in his eyes has changed. It's subtle, but the usual lighthearted sparkle has dimmed just a little, and his posture seems more tense than relaxed. You blink, wondering if you’re imagining it, but you can’t shake the feeling that something’s off.

Meanwhile, the other counsellors are still buzzing with excitement over your confession. Mingyu, clearly enjoying the attention, leans back with an exaggerated smirk.

“So, Peps,” he teases, his grin wide, “I guess I was your first camp crush, huh? Man, that’s a big responsibility.”

You roll your eyes, laughing. “Don’t flatter yourself too much. I was, like, twelve. It doesn’t even count.”

Fairy chimes in, giving you a sly look. “I dunno, you two always seem pretty close. Are you sure you’re over him?”

You’re about to respond, to brush off the teasing, but before you can say anything, Hoshi speaks up from across the room, his voice a little sharper than usual. “Come on, Fairy – she said it was ages ago. We don’t need to interrogate her.”

You blink, surprised by his tone. The group falls silent for a beat, and you can feel a shift in the room, the playful banter suddenly feeling a little heavier.

Mingyu, ever oblivious, laughs and holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No more teasing. Pepper, your secret’s safe with me.”

But as the conversation moves on, you can’t help but glance over at Soonyoung again. His jaw is tight, and while he’s pretending to be engaged in the new topic, you sense his mood is off from his usual demeanour.

After a few more rounds of the game, the atmosphere goes back to normal – aided by a very funny impression of Hatter by Sparks.

“Alright, my turn to ask.” Sparks grins, looking around the circle like a predator looking for prey. Sparks’ gaze lands on Hoshi, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Alright, Hoshi—no dodging this one. Truth or drink?"

Hoshi raises an eyebrow, smirking but clearly unfazed. "Truth. Hit me with your best shot."

Sparks grins wider. "Alright, Soonyoung, tell us… what’s something from your camper days that none of us know?"

The moment the name "Soonyoung" leaves Sparks’ lips, you feel a jolt. Soonyoung? Why does that sound so familiar? The name echoes in your head, and suddenly, it hits you like a wave crashing onto the shore.

Soonyoung.

You stare at Hoshi – no, Soonyoung – wide-eyed, your heart skipping a beat as the realisation sets in. He was at camp before. Not just any camp, but this camp. And you knew him – that shy boy from all those summers ago.

Your breath catches in your throat as the pieces click into place. You’d spent all these weeks with him, not realizing he was that Soonyoung. He’s changed so much—more confident, more playful—but there’s no mistaking it now.

Soonyoung’s gaze flickers, meeting yours for just a moment too long before he looks away, his expression shifting. His smile vanishes, replaced with something more guarded—something that makes your heart twist. You’re on the verge of saying something, of asking him, why didn’t you tell me?, when he clears his throat, breaking the eye contact as quickly as it happened.

“Uh yeah,” he says, his voice more subdued. He forces a laugh, but is sounds hollow. “There’s nothing too exciting – one time, I accidently called the counsellor ‘mom’ in front of the whole group. That was pretty hard to live down.”

The other counsellors chuckle, buying into his casual response, but you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

Minutes pass, and every time you try to say something, to bring it up, he’s conveniently out of reach—answering a question from Fairy, joking with Mingyu, or pouring another drink for Sparks.

The atmosphere in the room returns to normal, everyone laughing and enjoying the game, but you’re stuck. Your thoughts are racing, replaying memories from your time at camp, piecing together everything you now know about him. You want to ask him why he never said anything, why he’s been keeping this hidden when you could’ve shared stories, laughed about the past. But more than that, you can’t shake the hurt—the feeling that maybe he didn’t want you to remember him at all.

Finally, as the game winds down and people start to leave the cabin, you seize the chance to approach him. You wait until the others are distracted, your heart pounding as you take a step toward him, your mind already formulating the questions you need answered.

"Soonyoung," you begin quietly, your voice just loud enough to catch his attention.

He looks at you, but the guarded expression is back, like a shield between you. He doesn’t give you time to say anything more.

"Hey, I think I’m gonna head to bed," he says abruptly, cutting you off before you can even start. He glances around the room, avoiding your eyes again. "It’s been a long day, you know?”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. You watch, frozen, as he turns away, leaving you standing there with a knot in your chest. He slips out of the cabin before you can say another word, disappearing into the night without looking back.

The drunken chatter in the cabin isn’t making Soonyoung feel any better. Mingyu and Sparks had stumbled back together, laughing and swaying and not giving him any time to work out what just happened.

His head is a blur of emotions – scared that you now know the truth, sad at the look you were giving him, embarrassed of the past, and a little jealous of Mingyu.

Soonyoung leans against the wall, arms crossed tightly as Mingyu and Sparks collapse onto the bed in a fit of drunken laughter. He tries to smile, to act like everything is fine, but his thoughts keep spiralling. His heart hasn’t stopped racing since Sparks let his name slip, and now, every time he thinks of the look on your face, that wide-eyed realization, it twists the knot in his chest a little tighter.

You know. You finally know who he really is, and he has no idea what to do with that.

“So, (Y/n) really had a crush on me, huh?” Mingyu says, grinning as he pulls off his shoes and tosses them into the corner. “I mean, I knew I was charming, but I didn’t realise I was that charming.”

Sparks laughs, kicking his legs up onto his bunk. “Dude, she admitted it in front of everyone. You’re lucky we didn’t start calling you ‘Pepper’s new boyfriend’ right there.”

Soonyoung’s jaw tightens, and he stares down at his hands. He doesn’t want to listen to this. He really doesn’t want to hear Mingyu, who’s been hovering around you for weeks, talking about your confession, as if it’s still a big deal, as if it’s more than just an innocent childhood crush.

But Mingyu keeps going, his voice full of amusement. “Man, I should’ve paid more attention back then. I didn’t even realize she was crushing on me when we were kids. Can you imagine if I’d noticed?”

Sparks snorts, shaking his head. “You probably would’ve been too clueless to do anything about it.”

Mingyu shrugs, laughing. “Maybe. But hey, it’s not too late, right?”

Soonyoung feels his chest tighten. The words hit him like a punch, even though Mingyu is clearly joking. The easy way he talks about you, as if he could just turn on the charm and pick up where your old feelings left off, makes Soonyoung’s blood boil.

“Maybe you should try,” Sparks says, grinning. “Pepper is cool. You guys would make a cute couple.”

He wants to say something—anything—to stop this conversation from going any further, but he can’t. His throat feels tight, and his thoughts are all over the place, tangled in confusion and frustration.

Mingyu laughs again, the sound light and careless. “Nah, I’m just messing around. We’re good friends. But still, it’s kinda funny, right? Me and (Y/n). Who would’ve thought?”

“Can we drop it?” His voice is sharper than he intends, cutting through the laughter. Both Mingyu and Sparks go quiet, turning to look at him in surprise.

Mingyu raises an eyebrow, clearly confused. “What’s up with you, man? We’re just joking around.”

Soonyoung swallows hard, trying to keep his voice steady. “I know. But can we just… not?”

Sparks glances between the two of them, sensing the tension but not quite understanding it. “Dude, relax. It’s not that serious.”

But it is serious, at least to him. He can feel the weight of everything pressing down on him—your confession, the truth about his past, the way you looked at him earlier when you figured out who he really was.

Mingyu narrows his eyes slightly, finally starting to catch on that something’s bothering Soonyoung. “Okay… what’s going on with you?”

Soonyoung exhales, leaning back against the wall, his heart still pounding. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not with Mingyu. Not when he’s still trying to sort through his own feelings, his jealousy, his fear that maybe he’s already too late.

“Nothing,” Soonyoung mutters, his voice tight. “Just tired. I’m heading to bed.”

Without waiting for a response, he pushes himself up from his bunk and heads for the door, needing to get out of there.

As the door closes behind him, he hears Mingyu say something to Sparks, his voice lower now so that Soonyoung cannot hear what he’s saying.

“You think he’s jealous?” Sparks asks, half-joking but with a hint of seriousness.

Mingyu chuckles softly, but there’s an edge to his tone. “Maybe.”

Soonyoung grits his teeth as he steps into the cool night air, the quiet of the campgrounds a stark contrast to the noise in his head. He doesn’t want to be jealous, but he can’t help it. It’s eating at him, the way Mingyu talks about you so casually, like he has the right to claim a piece of your past, like it wouldn’t be that hard for him to step into your present.

And all Soonyoung can think is that he’s been hiding behind Hoshi for so long, afraid to show you who he really is, that he might’ve lost his chance before he ever truly had it.

The problem with being known as the bubbly, energetic counsellor is that it’s immediately obvious to everyone when you are not feeling bubbly or energetic.

You’ve tried to keep your energy up and you’re still having a lot of fun with your group, but its hard when half of your mind is filled with unanswered questions. And it doesn’t help that the only person that can answer them is avoiding you entirely.

Having had a bit of time to think about it, you are still entirely confused about the situation. You don’t understand why Soonyoung hid your shared past from you, you don’t understand why he’s ignoring you now, and you don’t understand why not talking to him is making you feel so bad (okay, maybe you do understand that one).

You’re not used to feeling like this—so off balance. Normally, you’re the one with the infectious energy, always the first to lift everyone’s spirits. But now? Now it’s hard to keep up the act. The kids don’t notice, thankfully. They’re still having fun, still looking to you for guidance, but the other counsellors have started to pick up on it.

“Hey, Pepper,” Gecko says one evening, sidling up next to you while you sit on a bench outside our shared cabin. “You okay? You’ve been kinda… off lately.”

You force a smile, even though your heart isn’t in it. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired, I guess.”

Gecko raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Sure. And I’m a unicorn.”

You huff out a laugh despite yourself, grateful for the attempt to lighten the mood. “I don’t know. It’s just been a weird few days.”

Gecko nods, leaning back against the bench. “Anything to do with Hoshi?” she asks, her tone casual but probing.

You blink, startled by the directness of the question. “What? No, why would—”

“Oh, come on,” Gecko interrupts, giving you a knowing look. “It’s obvious something’s going on between you two. He’s been acting weird, and you’ve been all mopey. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

You bite your lip, unsure of how to respond. Part of you wants to spill everything—to tell Gecko about Soonyoung, about the past, about the way he’s been avoiding you—but another part of you feels too raw, too exposed to talk about it yet. So instead, you just shrug.

“I don’t know. We just… haven’t really talked lately.”

Gecko snorts. “Yeah, no kidding. He’s been avoiding you like you’ve got the plague or something.”

The words sting, even though you already know they’re true. You don’t say anything, just stare down at the ground, your mind racing with everything you haven’t been able to figure out.

Gecko seems to sense that you’re not ready to talk, because she nudges your shoulder gently and stands up. “Well, if you want to vent or throw pinecones at him or something, let me know. I’ll back you up.”

You manage a small smile as she walks away, but the moment she’s gone, the weight of everything comes crashing back down.

By the end of the week, your patience has worn thin. Soonyoung is frustratingly good at avoiding you. Every time you try to approach him, he slips away, always just out of reach. It’s almost like a game, except there’s nothing fun about it.

You watch him across the campfire one evening, the flames casting flickering shadows on his face. He’s laughing with the other counsellors, his expression as lighthearted as ever, and you don’t know how he’s so unbothered. It makes you want to scream.

You don’t know what to do, but you do know what you normally would do when you feel like this – who you’d normally talk to.

That night, you find a snug space in the mess hall after everyone else had gone to bed. Typing the familiar number into your phone, you hear the brief ringing before the twin voices of your best friends ring out through the tinny speakers.

“(Y/n)!” Emma’s voice is the first to break through. “What’s up? You never call this late. Everything okay?”

Jane’s voice follows immediately after. “Yeah, it’s gotta be past midnight over there. What’s going on?”

You let out a sigh, leaning back against the wall of the hall and twirl a strand of your hair between your fingers. You don’t even know where to begin, but you know you need to talk to them. If anyone can help you sort through this mess, it’s Emma and Jane.

“Hey, guys,” you say, your voice quieter than usual. “I’m… I’m just feeling a little off, I guess. Camp’s great, but there’s this... thing.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line before Emma pipes up. “Ooh, sounds like someone’s got boy drama.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, even though a smile pulls at your lips. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, but it totally is,” Jane interjects. “I can hear it in your voice. You sound all conflicted and mopey like the time that Joshua Hong rejected you in freshman year. Spill, (Y/n). What’s going on? Is it about Mingyu?”

You bite your lip, unsure of how to explain everything without sounding completely ridiculous. You hadn’t let slip about your feelings towards Soonyoung on any of your previous calls, even if you had mentioned him before. “No, it’s about someone else - my co-leader, Soonyoung.”

You can hear your friends cooing through the phone.

“It turns out we were campers here together when we were kids, and he just didn’t tell me. Now that I’ve figured it out, he’s avoiding me, and I don’t know why.”

“So… wait,” Emma says slowly, as if piecing it all together. “You knew him when you were kids, but he didn’t tell you who he really was until now?”

“Exactly,” you sigh. “I didn’t remember because he’s so different now – I mean he looks different, and he used to by really shy - but now that I know, he’s been dodging me. Every time I try to talk to him, he slips away. It’s like he doesn’t want me to know the truth.”

Jane’s voice is thoughtful when she finally speaks. “Okay, so let’s break this down. Why do you think he didn’t tell you?”

You shrug, even though they can’t see you. “I don’t know. Maybe he thought it didn’t matter, or he didn’t want to dredge up old memories.”

“Or maybe,” Emma chimes in, “he thought it would change how you saw him.”

You blink, taken aback. “Why would it change anything?”

“Because he’s not the same person anymore,” Emma says matter-of-factly. “He’s confident and outgoing now, right? Maybe he’s worried you’ll only see him as the shy kid you remember instead of who he is now.”

That thought hadn’t even crossed your mind, and you let it settle for a moment. Soonyoung was so sure of himself now, but was there a part of him that was still afraid of being that quiet, overlooked kid?

“Okay, but that doesn’t explain why he’s avoiding me now,” you say. “I just want to talk to him and clear the air, but he won’t give me the chance.”

Jane speaks up this time, her voice firm. “Well, then you’ve got to stop waiting for him to come around. You’ve got to force him to talk to you.”

“Force him?” you ask, feeling a bit unsure. “That doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

“Not literally drag him by the collar or anything,” Jane says, laughing softly. “But you need to be direct. If he’s not coming to you, then you go to him. Corner him somewhere he can’t run away. He obviously has something he’s not saying, and the only way you’re going to get answers is if you stop giving him the option to avoid you.”

Emma agrees immediately. “Yeah, if he’s not going to be brave enough to face it, you’ve gotta take the lead. You’re (Y/n), for crying out loud. You’ve never been one to back down from a tough conversation.”

You chew on your lip, their advice sinking in. They’re right. You’ve been waiting, hoping that Soonyoung would come to you, that he would explain himself. But that’s not going to happen. If you want answers, if you want to figure out why he’s been avoiding you and what’s really going on, you’ll have to be the one to confront him.

But the thought of it makes your heart race. “What if he’s just avoiding me because… I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t want to be friends anymore?”

Jane’s laugh is sharp and confident. “If he didn’t want to be around you, he wouldn’t be this weird about it. He’d just be distant and chill. This sounds more like he’s scared or confused. You’ve got to talk to him.”

Emma’s voice softens, more serious now. “Look, the worst thing you can do is leave things unsaid. You’ll drive yourself crazy overthinking it. So just corner him somewhere, ask him straight-up what’s going on, and don’t let him avoid the conversation.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a mix of anxiety and determination settle over you.

“Okay,” you say, nodding to yourself. “You’re right. I’m going to talk to him.”

“Damn right you are,” Jane says, her voice filled with pride. “And, oh my god, can we just quickly mention that I was totally right about your summer romance.”

You choke out a laugh, your head falling back. “Don’t forget that he currently won’t speak to me, let alone actually like me back.”

Emma scoffs, booing down the phone. “Nuh, uh. I don’t want to hear that negative speak. You’re going to find that boy, force him to talk to you, and then jump his bones – I can feel it in the air.”

“Okay, I’m going to hang up now.” You crack up, unable to contain the joy from chatting with your best friends again. Despite Emma’s proclivity for vulgarity, you can’t help but feel a sense of home radiating from the phone.

In spite of your threat, you do actually want to hear about how your friends are doing, what they’re up to now that they’re home from their holiday. You spend the next hour or so chatting, laughing, and feeling a whole lot more like yourself again.

The first rumble of thunder that afternoon had been distant, barely a low grumble on the horizon as the campers gathered in the west building for their activities. By the time that dinner started, the sky has darkened dramatically, thick clouds rolling in like a blanket over the campgrounds. A sudden gust of wind sends the trees swaying, and the smell of rain is heavy in the air.

You have been leading a group of campers in a silly skit, testing their acting abilities with some bastardised version of Shakespeare. Their laughter bubbles through the room as the first flash of lightning streaks across the sky. The crack of thunder that follows seems to shake the whole camp and, just like that, the power flickers out.

The mess hall is plunged into darkness, the only light coming from a faint glow of the evening storm outside. A collective gasp goes up through the room, and the campers freeze, their eyes wide as they look around in fear.

“Alright, guys, no big deal!” You hear Mingyu’s voice call out from across the other side of the hall. “The power’s just taking a little break.”

A second bolt of lightning lit up the hall, and the windows rattled with the booming thunder that followed. This time, a few of the younger kids whimper, and one of the older ones calls out, “What if the storm gets worse? What if we’re stuck here?”

You feel a flicker of doubt, but before you can speak, a familiar voice cuts through the nervous chatter.

“Hey, come on, guys. This isn’t a storm – it’s an adventure.”

Soonyoung strides to the front of the room, his expression completely unbothered, his signature grin firmly in place. Even in the dim light, there is a calmness radiating from him that instantly shifts the mood. He rubs his hands together, as if gearing up for some grand plan. “You’ve all seen movies, right? Power goes out, storm rolls in… that’s when the real fun starts.”

A few campers exchange glances, clearly intrigued, and you feel a wave of relief as the attention shifted from fear to curiosity.

“And what we’re going to do,” Sparks jumps in, joining Soonyoung at the front. “Is make this the most epic camp night ever. No electricity? No problem. That just means we get to tell the best stories.”

As the kids begin to chat between themselves, a spark of excitement now overtaking the room, you gather with the other counsellors to work out a plan.

“Fairy and I will go and get some torches and candles, make a nice cozy atmosphere while we’re waiting for the power to come back.” Mingyu suggests.

“Great, and I can lead a story time, get the kids distracted.” Sparks adds, and Hatter nods in agreement.

Mingyu’s brows furrow for a moment, looking around the room. “We should probably get Old Bill to go check the breakers, see if we can turn the power on.”

“Oh, no need, I can go check them!” You say with a cheerful grin, wanting to be as helpful as you can.

“Are you sure?” Mingyu checks with a frown. “Maybe someone else should go with you.”

“Soonyoung should go.” Gecko pipes in, and you see her giving you a look in your peripheral vision.

Soonyoung hesitates for a moment, before nodding.

“Okay, cool, and Gecko and Ace can work on some snacks and drinks for everyone?”

As everyone agrees to the plan, you feel a sense of opportunity. Soonyoung is going to talk to you tonight, whether he likes it or not.

The loud bangs and rustling of the storm prevents you from any conversation on the way to the breaker room, leaving you filled with tension as you slam the metal door shut behind you. Soonyoung is in front of you, flicking on the battery-powered lights in the room as you lock the door.

He glances around at you for a second, before turning back to the breakers. “So, I guess we just switch them off and on and see what happens?”

The dim light in the breaker room flickers overhead as Soonyoung turns his attention to the row of switches. You watch him quietly, your heart racing—not from fear of the storm, but from the sheer weight of everything you’ve been wanting to say to him.

For a few moments, neither of you speaks. The distant rumble of thunder fills the silence between you, and the occasional burst of lightning lights up the small, cramped room. Soonyoung seems entirely focused on the breakers, flipping one switch after another, as if the problem at hand is just the electrical outage and not the unspoken tension hanging thick in the air.

“Soonyoung.” Your voice comes out a little sharper than you intended, but it gets his attention. He freezes for a second before turning to face you, his expression guarded.

“Yeah?” He asks, his tone too casual.

You cross your arms, feeling the frustration you’ve been bottling up for days bubbling to the surface. “We need to talk.”

He glances back to the breakers, clearing trying to avoid your gaze. “About what? The power should be back on in a few minutes.”

You step closer, not letting him dodge the conversation this time. “Not about the power. About you avoiding me. About why you didn’t tell me who you were.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “This really isn’t the best time-”

“No,” You cut him off, your voice firm. “It is the best time. You’ve been avoiding me for days, and I’m tired of pretending like nothing’s wrong. I want to know why you didn’t tell me. And why you’re acting like … like you don’t even want to know me anymore.”

Soonyoung finally turns to face you fully, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes – guilt, maybe, or regret. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, the silence stretching out as the storm rages outside.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it mattered,” he says at last, his voice low. “Back then … I was different. I wasn’t like I am now, and I didn’t want you to think of me as that shy kid from all those summers ago.”

You stare at him, processing his words. “So you just pretended we didn’t know each other?”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, shaking his head. “No, it’s not that. I didn’t think you’d remember me. I barely talked to anyone back then, and I figured it didn’t matter.”

You feel a pang in your chest at his words, at the thought of him feeling like he had to hide part of himself from you. “But I did remember you, eventually. And when I did, you started avoiding me. Why, Soonyoung?”

He flinches at the sound of his name. His jaw tightens, and for a second, you think he’s going to deflect again, but then he takes a deep breath. “Because I was scared,” he admits quietly, his eyes meeting yours. “I didn’t want that version of me to affect how you see me now. I’ve changed, and I didn’t want to mess up whatever this is by dredging up the past.”

“So you thought that hiding it was better?” You ask softly.

“I thought it was easier.” He corrects. “But clearly, I was wrong.”

The frustration that had been simmering in your chest starts to ebb, replaced by something else—something softer, more understanding.

“You know,” you begin, your voice gentler now. “I love how fun and adventurous you are, how you’re so great with the campers and that I can never predict what you’re going to do next. But I liked that kid too. Sure, he was quiet at first, but I thought he was really funny and sweet when I got to know him.”

You move forward, feeling a surge of confidence in the dim light of the breaker room. You feel your hand reaching out to grab his, and his fingers are smooth and warm under your grasp. He looks a little taken aback at first, but then his grip tightens around your hand and you feel your heart beat rising. “I don’t just want to know one side of you, Soonyoung. I want to know all your sides, but you didn’t even give me the chance to figure that out because you kept pushing me away.”

He looks down at the floor, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I didn’t mean to push you away,” he mutters. “I just … I didn’t know what else to do.”

He looks impossibly pretty under the dim light, his hair hanging in front of his eyes, wet from the rain. His lips are slightly ajar, and you can tell his breathing is slightly ragged from how close you are standing.

“What are you so scared of?” Your voice is the quietest it’s ever been, the question coming out as little more than a whisper. You can feel his fingers flex away from yours for a second, before renewing their grip on your hand.

“I’m scared that I’m the only one feeling this,” He responds, his voice just as quiet. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you’re certain he must be able to hear it. “I thought – I don’t know, maybe you did too, but then I saw you talking to Mingyu and I wondered if it was better to just keep my distance.”

“Mingyu?” You blink, startled by the confession. “What about him?”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and you can see the vulnerability there. “Come on, (Y/n). Everyone else can see it, even the kids. You even admitted it at the party, and I knew I had no hope then.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the weight of his words settling over you like the storm outside. You open your mouth to respond, tell him he’s wrong, but the power suddenly flickers back on, the lights buzzing to life around you.

The sudden brightness makes you blink, and in that split second, Soonyoung turns back to the breaker box, flipping the last few switches into place as if nothing had happened.

“Well, the power’s back,” he says, his tone abruptly casual again. “We should probably get back to the others.”

Your heart sinks. The moment is gone, and Soonyoung is already slipping away again. You want to stop him, to make him face everything he just said, but the door to the breaker room creaks open, and Mingyu’s voice echoes down the hallway.

“You guys good in there? Power’s back on, thank god!”

Soonyoung doesn’t even glance at you before he heads toward the door. “Yeah, we’re good. Just flipping switches.”

You stand there for a moment, watching him walk away, your mind swirling. And as the storm rumbles outside, you realise that this conversation is far from over.

Soonyoung leans against the stack of crates in the activity shed, trying to look busy, but all he can focus on is the knot in his stomach. The conversation in the breaker room with you, the almost-confession, the avoidance – it all keeps replaying in his head, and none of it makes sense to him anymore.

He knows he should talk to you, that much is clear. But what’s the point? You’ve got Mingyu, haven’t you? The way you laugh with him, how comfortable you are around him. If he had to admit it, that’s why he’s been holding back all this time—because deep down, Soonyoung’s afraid he’s already too late.

The door to the shed swings open, and sure enough, Mingyu steps in, looking for something on the selves. Soonyoung tense, inwardly groaning. This is the last person he wants to see right now.

Mingyu, oblivious to the turmoil brewing inside Soonyoung, grabs a soccer ball from one of the shelves and tosses it in the air. “Oh, hey! You good, man?”

Soonyoung shrugs. “Yeah, fine.”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Really? Because you’ve been avoiding me for the last few days, and (Y/n) for like two weeks. What’s going on?”

Soonyoung’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not with Mingyu. But the frustration is bubbling up, and before he can stop himself, the words slip out. “What’s the point, huh? You and her… it’s pretty obvious.”

Mingyu catches the soccer ball mid-toss, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

“You and (Y/n),” Soonyoung mutters, running a hand through his hair, avoiding Mingyu’s gaze. “It’s clear you two like each other. I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

For a second, there’s silence. Then, Mingyu lets out a laugh—an actual, full-blown laugh, so loud and sudden that Soonyoung jerks his head up in surprise.

“What?” Soonyoung snaps, his frustration rising. “What’s so funny?”

Mingyu shakes his head, still chuckling as he sets the soccer ball aside. “Dude, are you serious? You think me and (Y/n) are into each other?”

Soonyoung blinks, completely caught off guard by Mingyu’s reaction. “Well… yeah. I mean, you’re always together. She used to have a crush on you, and it’s pretty obvious you guys get along.”

Mingyu sighs, running a hand over his face, as if trying to figure out how to explain this to a five-year-old. “Okay, first of all, that was years ago. She had a crush on me when we were kids. And second, (Y/n) and I are just friends, man. There’s nothing going on between us.”

Soonyoung stares at him, still trying to wrap his head around what Mingyu’s saying. “But… I’ve seen the way you two are. She’s always smiling around you.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because we’re friends, and she’s a friendly person. But that doesn’t mean she has feelings for me. Trust me, dude, if she liked me like that, I’d know. And I don’t know, because it’s not happening. If anything, she’s been trying to figure out what’s up with you.”

Soonyoung’s chest tightens at those words. All this time, he’s been avoiding you because he thought he didn’t stand a chance, when in reality, he was the one making things complicated.

“Look,” Mingyu says, his tone softer now. “(Y/n) likes you. I don’t know how else to say it. That fact that you don’t know it already is crazy to me, but apparently you don’t. And as your friend, I have to tell you that if you keep acting like this you’re going to ruin your chances.”

Soonyoung lets that sink in for a moment, his thoughts spinning. He feels like an idiot. All this time, he’d assumed the worst, convinced himself that you and Mingyu were something more, when in reality, he’d just been too scared to face his own feelings.

Mingyu pats him on the shoulder. “You’ve gotta stop running. Go talk to her. Be honest. Otherwise, you’re going to lose her before you even get the chance.”

Soonyoung lets out a deep breath, feeling the weight of his mistake settle over him. He knows now that there’s only one thing left to do. He has to find you, talk to you and explain everything.

Soonyoung’s practically sprinting through the camp trying to find you. There’s an air of desperation from Mingyu’s warning, and he feels like if he doesn’t solve this now then you’ll never forgive him. He can feel eyes slowly turning towards him as he skates through the campfire area towards the mess hall.

He’s got one mission. He needs to tell you the truth, even if you reject him and tell him to never speak to you again. It’s not Soonyoung’s style to not take the risk, and he needs to stop reverting back into someone he’s not anymore.

The large expanse of mess hall is full of people, whose gaze all turns on him as he slams open the large wooden doors, but you aren’t there. He takes a second to scan the room once more, feeling slightly crazed, before running through to the kitchenette.

He’s already checked the main and west buildings, and if you’re not here then that means you can only be out in the forest or in your cabin. He’s debating whether going into your cabin would be over the line as he steps back out towards the mess hall doors.

“Hosh, you alright-”

“Sorry, no time!” He cuts off Sparks’ questioning, making a mental note to explain later. He practically stumbles as he barrels back outside. His heart is racing, his pulse pounding in his ears, and all he can think about is finding you. He has no idea what he’ll say, but he knows he can’t let you keep thinking he doesn’t care, that he’s been avoiding you out of anything other than fear and his own stupidity.

The air outside is thick with humidity after the storm, the ground still wet beneath his feet. He jogs toward your cabin, his thoughts swirling. If you’re not in there, if you’re somewhere in the forest, he’ll search every inch of camp until he finds you.

And then he sees you.

His throat feels like it closes as you appear in the distance, and his feet falter.

But even as he hesitates, you’re moving closer, practically marching towards him. He can now see that you’ve got this determined look on your face that is making your cheeks puff up in such an endearing way.

“Kwon Soonyoung!” You yell, your voice even firmer than when you’re scolding one of the campers.

He gulps his fear down, willing his feet to start moving again. “(Y/n)…” He calls back, sounding far less confident than he intended.

And then you’re in front of him, an accusing finger pointed at his chest and reddened cheeks betraying your frustration. You seem so angry at him, but it’s the complete opposite of your normal character and he thinks that it makes you look so cute. “This needs to stop, right now. You need to tell me the truth, because I can’t stop thinking about you and it’s completely ruining my mood. I don’t know what delusional story you’ve thought up about Mingyu and I, but it’s not true, and you’re using it to dodge your own feelings. I won’t take one more day of this-”

Soonyoung reaches out to push your hair out of your eyes, his hands lingering on the sides of your face. He completely interrupts your rant, causing you to freeze. Your eyes are wider than he thought was physically possible, lips still parted in a half-finished sentence.

The moment is here now, and he’s going to be brave. “I like you, (Y/n), much more than as friends.”

A small gasp leaves you.

“I’ve thought that you were the best person I’d ever met since we were kids,” Soonyoung continues, his voice shaking slightly but his determination unwavering. “Back then, I didn’t have the guts to tell you, and when we reconnected here, I told myself I’d do it different. I told myself I’d be confident, but … I messed it up.”

He takes a deep breath, gathering the courage to continue. “I’ve been scared stupid that if I told you how I felt, I’d ruin everything between us. And then I was jealous about something that wasn’t even true.”

You blink, your hand reaching up to cover his own. “Soonyoung…”

“I like you,” he repeats, stepping closer, his voice softer now. “Not just as a friend. I like the way you laugh even when things get tough, the way you look after the kids, the way you make everything feel lighter. You make everything better just be being around. And I know I’m not always the best at showing how I feel, but I’m done hiding it.”

The words hang between you, heavy but freeing at the same time. There’s a slight, uncontrollable tremor in his hands as he waits for your response.

“I…” You swallow, trying to find the right words. “I didn’t know … I didn’t know you felt this way. I thought you were avoiding me because…”

“Because I was an idiot,” Soonyoung finishes, offering a nervous lopsided smile. “And I didn’t know how to handle my feelings.”

You don’t respond for a second, and it settles inside him that you’ve still not told him your own feelings. The same anxiety that he’d felt before lurches up into his throat, and he has to will himself to be patient and let you have time to process everything.

He watches your lips part and close again, clearly struggling to find the right words. He feels almost certain that it’s because you don’t know how to let him down nicely, and begins to pull his hands away from your face.

But then, you surge forward and before he realises what’s happening your lips are on his, warm and a little chapped, but so soft, so gentle, that his mind goes completely blank. For a split second, Soonyoung freezes, his heart slamming in his chest as the realisation hits him: you’re kissing him. You’re kissing him.

The rush of warmth floods through him, his anxiety melting away as he melts into the kiss. His hands move back to cradle your face gently, puling you closer and deepening the kiss just slightly, as if afraid you might slip away.

When you finally pull back, your faces are still close, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. Soonyoung’s heart is racing, his mind spinning, but there’s a calm that washes over him – a peace he hadn’t felt in days. The weight of his confession, the fear of rejection, all of it had been for nothing. You kissed him.

He searches your eyes, still not entirely convinced this is real. “Does this mean…?” He trails off, almost too afraid to ask.

You smile softly, your hand still resting on his cheek. “I like you too, Soonyoung. I’ve been pining after you since he first met – I honestly don’t know how you didn’t see it.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, a smile spreading across his face—one so wide, so genuine, that it almost hurts his cheeks. Relief floods through him, a wave of happiness so strong that he can’t help but laugh softly.

“I can’t believe this,” he admits breathlessly. “I really thought I’d screwed every up.”

You laugh too, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you shake your head. “You did, but not beyond repair.”

Soonyoung chuckles, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m sorry for being such an idiot.”

“You’re forgiven,” you reply, your voice light, teasing. “But next time, don’t wait so long to tell me how you feel, okay?”

He grins, his heart swelling in his chest. “I promise. No more waiting.”

For a moment, the two of you stand there, the tension and uncertainty finally gone. And then, he reawakens to the rest of the world. Soonyoung’s eyes widen in horror as the reality of where you both are crashes down on him. The echo of cheers and catcalls rings through the air, carried by the counsellors and campers alike, all watching the two of you from across the clearing. His face burns with embarrassment as he quickly spins around, spotting Gecko and Sparks practically doubled over with laughter, while Fairy’s clapping enthusiastically, a wide grin on her face.

You, meanwhile, are giggling uncontrollably, your hands covering your flushed cheeks as you try to hide.

Soonyoung wants to disappear into the ground, but he can’t help the laugh that escapes his lips. The situation is too ridiculous to feel anything but mildly horrified and amused at the same time. He scratches the back of his head, turning to face the crowd again as he raises a hand awkwardly.

“Well, uh... surprise?” he calls out, his voice cracking slightly.

The crowd erupts into more laughter and teasing applause, a chorus of “Finally!” and “About time!” floating through the air. Mingyu, standing in the front with a smirk, shouts, “Took you long enough, Hoshi!”

Soonyoung glares playfully at him. “Yeah, yeah, alright, I get it!”

You’re still beside him, peeking through your fingers, but then you glance up at him with that familiar sparkle in your eyes, and all of a sudden, the embarrassment doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

Soonyoung lowers his voice, leaning in closer to you. “Well, at least now we don’t have to hide it,” he jokes, trying to play off his own mortification.

You giggle, your blush fading slightly as you finally uncover your face. “I guess not,” you say, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “Still, couldn’t you have waited until we were somewhere a little more… private?”

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “To be fair, you were the one who stormed up to me.”

Before either of you can say anything more, Sparks bounds over, eyes wide with mock excitement. “Oh my gosh! The drama! The romance! How scandalous!” he exclaims, fanning himself dramatically.

Gecko saunters up behind him, shaking her head with a grin. “You two are worse than the campers. Could you not have waited until after lights out?”

Soonyoung groans, burying his face in his hands for a moment. “Okay, okay, we get it, we’re the camp’s entertainment for the night.”

But when he glances over at you, he can’t help but smile. You’re still laughing softly, your eyes meeting his with an affection that makes the whole embarrassing spectacle worth it.

Soonyoung looks down at you, his expression softening. “You okay?” he asks quietly, just for you to hear.

You nod, your smile widening. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He grins back at you, his heart feeling lighter than it has in days. “Me too.”

You bound out towards the camp entrance, your hair messily crimped by some of your campers, t-shirt stained, and a wild grin smothering your face.

Screams of excitement meet you as you round the wooden ‘Camp Logan’ sign and spot that familiar pink Honda hastily parked on the side of the road. The sight of your two best friends is more than you can handle, and you rush to pull them into a big group hug.

“Oh my god, I missed you guys so much!” You cry out, grabbing Emma and Jane in a tight embrace, your heart bursting with joy. Their laughter fills the air, just as loud and chaotic as you remember, and it feels like no time has passed at all since you last saw them.

Emma pulls back first, grinning from ear to ear. “We missed you too. Look at you! You’re a total camp disaster in the best way possible.” She flicks a playful finger at your hair.

Jane raises and eyebrow and smirks. “Uh-huh, and what’s with the expression? You’ve got that ‘something happened’ face on.” She pokes your arm teasingly, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Spill.”

You laugh, trying to act nonchalant, but the truth is bubbling up inside you, ready to burst. “Well... okay, a lot has happened,” you admit, biting your lip as you try to contain your excitement.

Emma immediately gasps, leaning in closer. “Oh my God, you’re glowing. This isn’t just camp fun, is it? Tell me Jane’s prediction came true?”

“Well, technically no.” You start, pausing to watch the excitement fall from their faces into confusion. You lips quirk into a smirk. “You said that I’d have a fling with a mysterious counsellor that I’d never see again, and I know, for sure, that I will be seeing him again.”

Emma’s jaw drops, and she grabs your shoulders, shaking you playfully. “WHAT? You’ll what?! Tell us everything right now.”

You can’t help but grin as you launch into the story, telling them about the confession, the camp’s accidently audience, and the time you’d spent together since. They listen intently, reacting with gasps and giggles, hanging on every word.

When you finish, Emma practically squeals, throwing her arms around you again. “This is so cute, I can’t handle it! And the whole camp saw?! You’re living in a rom-com!”

You beam, happiness radiating from your chest. “I have both of you to thank for it – your advice definitely worked.”

Jane laughs, unlocking the trunk. “Here, pass me your trunk and then we can catch up on all the details. We brough snacks and drinks for a mini picnic – you can tell us more about your camp romance while we stuff our faces, and we’ll give you all the updates of what’s been happening in the real world while you’ve been stuck in camp. There’s so much gossip.”

Jane’s hand reaches out to grab your trunk, before noticing that you’re not holding one. Her face scrunches up in confusion for second, before she follows your gaze which has turned back down the woodchip trail.

“Sorry, I was just helping a kid find his parents.” Soonyoung smiles widely, one hand swinging into a wave, the other holding your case. You can hear a small gasp of shock leave your two friends, and cannot help but bubble with pride.

You run forward, grabbing the case from his hands and setting it down next to the car. Slipping your hand into his with a reassuring smile, you lead him over to your friends. “Guys, this is Soonyoung. This is Emma, and this is Jane.” You introduce everyone, your heart full as all of your favourite people meet.

“Nice to meet you both, I’ve heard a lot about you!” Soonyoung grins.

Emma looks at you, quirks an eyebrow, and then spins back round to your boyfriend with a smirk. “I’d hope so. We are the most important people in her life. Although, apparently, we’ll have to make room for one more.”

You laugh, seeing the blush creeping up Soonyoung’s neck. “I hope that’s not too much trouble for you.” He replies with a soft smile.

Jane moves forward, handing the picnic bag over to him and linking his other arm with hers. “If you tell us all the embarrassing things (Y/n) has done this summer, then we’ll consider you accepted.” She chuckles, leading the group back towards the camp.

You fall behind for a second, happy to see your friends and Soonyoung already chatting like they’ve known each other for years. Your heart swells at the sight, and you smile up at the camp archway with gratitude.

“Come on!” Emma’s arm links with yours as she pulls you out of your thoughts towards where the others had gone. You laugh, stumbling to keep pace with her.

“What do you think?” You whisper in a low tone.

Emma hesitates for a second. You feel slightly nervous waiting for her response, but then a smirk breaks out across her lips. “He’s so hot, (Y/n). You will tell me if you got some, right? You can wait until later if you’re scared other people will hear, but I won’t believe you if you tell me that you didn’t.”

You burst out in laughter, shaking your head at your friend’s familiar antics. “You’re unbelievable.”

Summer camp may have been coming to an end, but you can truthfully say that you’re now even more excited for what comes next.

[icallhimjoey]

hi, I love your writing. I know you’re currently writing a series but I just thought I would ask if you could write a quick one shot about Joe comforting his partner when they feel unworthy/undeserving of love? im really going through it right now :,(

BABE i gotchu <3 hope you're ok and that this will help a little! Wordcount: 2.4K

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Held

You’ve never been hugged.

Well, of course you’ve been hugged, but every time you’ve hugged someone, it has felt like you were hugging them. You were the one providing the comfort for the other person, even if that didn’t make sense for the situation.

You can recognise that there’s a weird beauty to it, but it been starting to feel a little heavy.

It’s bothering you now.

It’s subtle, hard to name. Just this quiet ache that stays behind your ribs long after the arms fall away. You’re always the one holding, anchoring, giving. It feels like no one ever quite wrapped around you.

You’re the one that hugs.

You’re the one that comforts. That carries the burden.

It’s a quiet truth, not something Joe’s ever said out loud, not in so many words, but you feel it in the way he softens when he walks through the door. The way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath all day. The way he brushes his fingers along your shoulder when he passes behind the couch, as if just to confirm you’re still here. You are the exhale. The letting go. The place he lands.

And it’s not nothing, to be someone’s soft place.

You know what it’s like, to have no such thing.

So you offer it up to him. Your warmth, your presence, your willingness to sit in silence if that’s what he needs… You don’t always have words for the way his jaw clenches when he’s frustrated or how his shoulders ride up when he’s overworked, but you know how to draw a bath and sit on the floor beside it while he soaks, cracking jokes that make him laugh without quite meaning to. You know how to stay up late with him on the bad nights, how to touch the inside of his wrist with your thumb and say nothing until the storm passes.

And he lets you. He lets you be that for him.

So it’s jarring, honestly, when the ground shifts.

When you turn into the person that doesn’t want do the hugging, but wants to be the one that gets hugged.

Held.

You’re no good at it though. Haven’t had the practice.

Joe, however, is fucking fantastic at being hugged.

Joe knows how to let himself lean.

A true talent.

Joe is the one who lets you take off his coat and hold his bad days gently between your palms. He’s the one who drops his head to your shoulder at the end of a long shift and breathes you in like you’re peace and sleep and everything he didn’t know he needed until you gave it to him without being asked.

You never mind it.

Never question it.

You like being that person. Like knowing he can come home to you and let the weight go.

But tonight, it’s you who’s unraveling.

It’s a Tuesday. You haven’t cried in months, not properly. You don’t really cry in front of people.

Not even him.

Maybe especially not him.

But something small and stupid snags at you midday, something barely-there that shouldn’t matter, and then something else follows, and then another thing, and another, and by the time he walks in, keys jingling and shoulders tired and expression already softening because you’re here, the pressure behind your eyes is like a balloon about to pop.

It’s fine, though.

Joe looks like he needs a hug.

You’ll deal with whatever is making you ache behind your ribs later, in secret. For now you can pretend it doesn’t exist. You ignore the voice in your head, that sharp familiar one, that whispers that you’re only lovable when you’re useful. That says if you stopped being someone else’s gravity, you’d just silently float away without anyone noticing.

Joe gets his hug.

“Oh my God, I’ve wanted this all day.”

Your arms are strong behind his back, and he lets the whole day slide off of his shoulders. He groans into your neck a little when you tighten your grip on him even more – you’re a really good hugger.

Had lots of practice, you see.

“Can we just stand here for the rest of the evening?”

It’s a joke you would’ve laughed at had you been in a different mood. Would have maybe even seen it as a compliment, but today you press your lips into a line and duck into the kitchen with some half-baked excuse about dinner.

That feeling, that gnawing, stupid, shapeless feeling is expanding behind your ribs.

It’s only been a minute when Joe finds you sitting on the kitchen floor with your back against the cabinets, staring at your knees like they might offer answers. He doesn’t speak right away, just crouches beside you, something slow and deliberate in the way he folds himself down to your level.

“Hey,” he says softly, like the gentlest knock at the door.

You shake your head without looking at him.

“Don’t,” your voice cracks right on the edge. “Please. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

His tone isn’t accusing. Just quiet. Open.

You suck in a breath that doesn’t help.

“Just tired.”

He hesitates, then reaches out, tentative and unassuming, and offers you his hand.

It’s nothing, really. Just a simple gesture. But your chest tightens like it might crack open, and you can’t take it. You can’t. So you tuck your hands between your knees and look away, and after a beat, he lets his fall.

You hate that.

Hate how his hand looks empty now. You did that. He was just being kind, and look how fucking quickly you folded in on yourself.

You’re being too dramatic.

God, get over yourself already.

You try to.

Your thoughts are racing and none of it is kind towards yourself, but you think that if you make your way through all of it you’ll somehow come out on the other side and will be able to just get up and get started on dinner, like you said you were going to do.

Joe moves to fully sit down next to you now. Back against the cabinets, just like you.

He doesn’t push.

Doesn’t say anything.

He just… sits with you.

You’re unsure how long you’ve been staring at your knees, jaw tight and brow furrowed, when you decide Joe deserves a least a little more of an explanation. It comes out in a rush, “I just… I feel like I’m barely holding it together.”

You leave a pause for a reaction, but you don’t get one.

Joe’s quiet.

Listening.

“And I hate that you have to see it,” you add.

He mirrors your frown and asks, “Why?”

And that’s too much.

“I’m sorry, I’m being dramatic, I’ll–”

Joe stops you, “I asked why.”  

“Because I’m supposed to be–… I don’t know.” The strong one. “And you just, you must have had a long day at work, how was… are you tired? You must be tired. Hungry?” You try your best to switch gears. You’re supposed to be his person. You don’t know how to be the one who needs.

You can feel how the skin on the inside of your cheek has broken from biting on it too much.

“We’ll have dinner.” You say, moving to stand up. It’s silly that Joe found you sitting on the kitchen floor and joined you there, you suddenly realise, and you chuckle humourlessly. “Come on.”

Before you can get even close to getting up onto your feet, Joe grabs hold of your sleeve and keeps you there, sat on the tiles right next to him.

“What?” you ask, and you can hear how thin your voice sounds.

Joe’s eyes are soft when he looks at you.

“I lean on you all the time, don’t I?” he says gently, completely ignoring your questions about how his day was, or about dinner. “That’s never made me weak. Why would it make you?”

You don’t answer.

You didn’t even say any of that.

He shifts a little closer. “If you need to lean on me for a second, I’ve got a shoulder right here, ready and waiting.”

You try to brush it off, to laugh like it’s no big deal, but your voice catches in your throat unexpectedly.

Joe sees right through it. “Hey… talk to me. What’s going on?”

You shake your head. “It’s not one thing. It’s just… I keep trying to be okay. And I am, you know, I’m fine. But, like… I don’t know, I guess there’s a part of me that will always feels like… if I stop being… if I don’t… I don’t know…”

“You can say it.”

You’ve never been hugged.

“If I’m not the strong one,” God, that sounds so fucking cliché, doesn’t it? “I’ll disappear.”

You can see how that touches something within Joe that you didn’t mean to touch, and you’ve not even said the worst thing yet.

“You will disappear.”

Joe’s face drops.

Gut punch.

A moment of quiet.

You said the quiet part out loud and now, it’ll probably actually happen, won’t it?

Joe will realise that you’re right and he’ll get up and walk out of your life.

That’s it.

You’ve just gone and completely ruined your own life for yourself.

Well done.

Joe breathes out slowly, then asks, “Where did you learn that?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. Everywhere.”

His hand, the one you didn’t take before, finds yours again. More gentle this time, if that’s even possible, but it doesn’t wait for you to grab hold of it. Instead, it does all the holding for the both of you.

“Silly. You don’t have to earn being cared for…”

Oh.

“That’s not how this works. I don’t love you because you’re really good at holding it together– at holding me together. Baby, I love you because you’re you. All the messy, tired, brilliant parts.”

You look down at your joined hands.

You want to believe him.

God, you really fucking want to.

But it’s hard to unlearn a lifetime of bracing for impact.

“You don’t know what you’re saying. If I really let myself break, I’ll become someone even I can’t stand.”

Joe doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t correct you. Just thumbs slow circles against your knuckles.

“Well… you’ve held me through my worst days,” he says matter-of-factly. “And I’ve never once resented you for it. Or myself, for that matter. You think I wouldn’t want the chance to do the same for you?”

You blink. Hard. Tears threaten at the corners of your eyes, but this time you don’t swallow them.

“I’m… I’m just tired,” you admit, voice trembling.

“I know.”

You look at him, finally, really look, and there’s no hesitation in his gaze. No frustration. No waiting for you to pull it together. Just quiet, steady presence.

“Just need carbs and… hibernation.” It’s not a joke, but you both laugh anyway.

“Come on,” Joe uses your hand that he’s still holding to pull you up as he stands. When you’re up, his other hand finds your face, fingers warm against your cheek.

For a moment, you think he’s going to pull you into a hug that you don’t want to give him. It’ll be a hug that he’ll want to give you because he’ll feel like you need it, and the hug you’ll give him will just feel like you’re doing him a favour by reciprocating.

You’ll be hugging him.

Not the other way around.

“Come sit with me.”

And you want to tell him that, actually, you need to get started on dinner. Like you said you were going to do. Joe must have had a long day, his call time was so early this morning.

You’re tired, but surely, so is he.

However, to your own surprise, you let yourself be guided to the sofa by Joe’s hand that pulls you right along.

You let Joe move some cushions before he makes you sit.

Let him disappear for a moment and return with phone in hand.

Let him sit beside you with his left knee tucked under your right knee, close but not crowding, his body language as open as the night sky whilst he orders food to be delivered in thirty minutes.

When that’s done, Joe looks at you and waits for you to look at him when he tells you, “I’m not going to force you to say anything. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Just be here. With me.”

You let the silence stretch between you, your eyes burning. There’s a part of you that wants to argue. That wants to reject this kindness before it can disappoint you later. But you’re tired. And he’s here.

You’ve never been hugged.

Not really.

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you are.”

He’s right.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Then we won’t.” he simply says, and drapes an arm along the back of the sofa, not quite touching you, but just there. A quiet offer. Just like his hand earlier.

You’ve never been hugged.

You lean in.

Hesitantly at first, and then with a bit more weight.

Joe’s hand finds your shoulder, then your hair.

He presses a soft kiss to your temple, and you close your eyes.

The tightness in your chest doesn’t vanish, but it eases just slightly.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” he murmurs. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

You breathe in, long and slow, with his scent, his steadiness, his heartbeat against your arm.

You think of all the times you’ve been the one to catch him, and now, here he is, catching you.

Joe kisses you again, warm lips to your cheek, and uses his other arm to cross over your front. Wraps you up.

You’re no good at this.

Haven’t had the practice.

Yet.

“Here, lean back a little. No, into me.” Joe shuffles you into place. Makes sure the two of you fit together comfortably. “There you go.”

Held.

Just like that.

You’re being hugged.

You’re letting yourself be hugged.

“If it helps, I think you’re fucking tough as nails letting me do this.” Joe whispers right by the shell of your ear, and to your own surprise, a soft giggle bubbles up your throat.

“Not going anywhere, you hear me?”

You’re being hugged.

This hug’s for you and for you only.

Fucking wild.

“Staying right here.”

---

The Taglisted

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add yourself

[bettyvick]

'liar!'

Unburned!Anakin Skywalker x Farmer!Reader

Summary: 'Liar!' Those were the last words the love of your life told you. Now you live in exile on a farm with your children when he comes back and begs for forgiveness.

Warnings: Angsty, dark side!anakin, breeding kink, mention of getting caught, sexual explicit content, mention of being overwhelmed during sex, mention of fullness, crying of pleasure, penetration (f receiving), oral (f receiving), use of sex for manipulation, praising, nicknames such as 'love', 'baby' and 'mommy' to reader, mention to giving birth, 3000 words.

A/N: Something a bit sad :/

—Liar! You're with him! You've brought him here to kill me— Anakin shouted with the most scary expression you had ever seen. His eyes shone red with rage. He raised his hand in the distance and the walls of your throat closed, cutting off your air. You brought your hands to your neck and coughed, trying to get some air.

—Let her go, Anakin! Let her go!— Obi-Wan spoke from the ship. Anakin stopped the effect of the Force on your throat and you fell to the ground unconscious.

When you woke up, you were about to give birth. The contractions were terrible, and you were scared to death. What if Anakin was right? What if it was true that you were going to die during childbirth? You tried to not think about it a lot, everything was going to be good. Obi-Wan held your hand during the two more scary hours of your life. After many contractions, screams and tears, your two babies were born safely (because yes, they were twins!).

—Hello my beautiful babies, Luke, Leia— you spoke softly to them while Leia gripped your finger in her tiny palms. They were red and wrinkled, but you loved them more than anything.

When the last remaining Jedi learned that you had given birth to Anakin Skywalker's children after Order 66, they decided to hide you on an abandoned planet. It was similar to Naboo, your home, but nothing was the same. There were ships constantly monitoring the planet, making sure no one got too close. No one could know you were still alive.

The habitants of every planet were told that you and your child had died in childbirth, and even a monument was dedicated to you and a fake funeral was prepared. You didn't approve of any of this, but you understood that it was necessary for survival.

That was seven years ago.

The children were now grown, they liked to play on the green fields of the farm while you did the laundry or baked cakes. Leia, with her leadership spirit, would lead the flock of sheeps through the mountains to save you work. But she loved it. It was so scary the way she was just like her father, stubborn and brave. However, Luke was busy helping you with your chores while talking about the fruits he had found in the valley. He was calmer in character and somewhat more reserved. He has Anakin's eyes.

Obi-Wan spent weeks on the farm and other weeks away. He comforted you over the loss of your husband, because Anakin was dead to you. He also gave you some conversation, which was important for your mental health since spending so much time alone with just your seven-year-old children was driving you crazy. You didn't hate the farm —on the contrary! You loved everything about it, but you missed your old life. The nostalgia was especially overwhelming at night before bed, when you thought about everything that could have been but wasn't. If only he hadn't let Palpatine manipulate him... If only he hadn't trusted his dreams... But the damage was done and there was no going back.

This morning you were extremely sensible, Obi-Wan left yesterday and he wasn't coming back for three weeks. Luke had a nightmare and woke you up at 4 AM, then you couldn't sleep well anymore. And to make matters worse, some creature had destroyed the barn and killed several chickens, thus traumatizing the children. After eating, the twins fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from repairing the barn and catching the escaped hens. You carried them to bed and tucked them in, then kissed each of them on the forehead.

Tired, you lied on your coach and tried to rest. You closed your eyes softly and your breathing became slow. You fell into a light sleep until the mechanical sound of a ship hovering over the small wooden house woke you up. At first, you ignored it, thinking it was some soldiers checking the perimeter, but then a loud knocking sounded in the living room. Knuckles rapping on the door. Soldiers weren't allowed that close to the farmhouse.

Could it be Obi-Wan? Had they delayed their mission?

The sound repeated, and now you got up, your body felt heavy and the lack of sleep more present than ever. You took the small knob between your fingers and rolled it. Then you met his eyes, those eyes that had haunted you for so long. The most beautiful shade of blue you'd ever seen. With his scar running vertically across his eyebrow, his light hair longer than you remembered, and a black tunic similar to the one he used to wear but with some red details.

Anakin, no. Darth Vader was in front of you, invading your safe place, the safe place of your children.

—Love…— he spoke with that soft expression that you missed. You looked horrorized.

—What are you doing here?— and you sounded horrorized.

—I've been looking for you, love…

—No, no, go away— you ordered, your heart pounding.

—Is this how you greet your husband?— he asked, his tone deeper.

—You're not my husband, you're a monster. My husband died on Mustafar, I don't know who you are— you replied, your voice sounding desperate. You should have wanted him to leave, but you didn't. Instead, you wanted him to stay, to raise your children together, to be a family. Your head said that it wasn't possible, but your heart thought you could still fix him.

You stepped back as Anakin calmly passed through the doorway. He scanned the living room of your home with an expression you couldn't quite understand.

He took a photo frame in his hands and smiled at the image. He wanted to keep it in his memory forever.

You slowly approached behind him, more relaxed now. It was a picture of Luke, Leia, and you. You were holding Luke in your right arm while Leia took your other hand. You were all smiling. In the background, you could see the flock of white sheeps that the little girl loved so much. You were all dressed in white, and you were wearing the same thin dress you were wearing now. Anakin thought it was his new favorite thing in the world.

—They were two— he interrupted the silence and turned to look at you; you were closer than you had been in a long time. You nodded. —They're up there, right?— he meant the stairs that led to the upper floor. He didn't give you time to answer when he started moving slowly toward it, but you ran ahead of him and stood in the middle, slowing him down. You grabbed a pair of embroidery scissors that were on the thick wooden railing and pointed them at him.

—Stop! Don't come any closer!— you cried, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. He used the Force to pull the scissors into his hand and threw them to the floor without flinching. Anakin approached you, trying to get past you, but you didn't move. Your chests were pressed together. —Please, don't come up— you begged him through a sob.

His eyes met yours, and he held your gaze for a few seconds. He was about to give in. He looked at you with inner turmoil. You made him doubt his morals, everything he had built during those seven long years apart.

Has it really all been worth it? Losing you for his Empire had been worth it?

It broke his heart to see how scared you were of him. His hand was about to gently touch your cheek when he was interrupted.

—She told you not to come any closer— Obi-Wan's voice echoed through the living room. Anakin turned to him, his expression changing to rage in a matter of seconds.

—Obi-Wan— Anakin said, reaching for his belt where his lightsaber rested.

—No!— you said, raising your voice. You were surprised the children hadn't gotten up yet; they must have been tired. Obi-Wan already had the lightsaber in his hand, glowing in bright blue. —Stop! Stop now! The children are upstairs!— Obi-Wan looked at you over Anakin's shoulder.

—Stay back, he's dangerous— the older man said. Anakin balled his hand into a fist.

—The only danger here is you, Master. Stay away from the house, my wife, and my children— the blue-eyed spat angrily.

Obi-Wan gave you another look, asking what he should do. You lowered your head in a gesture for him to leave. He turned off his lightsaber and, hesitantly, walked toward the door.

—I'll be outside if you need me— Anakin's figure relaxed once he was gone.

He took your hand and you headed upstairs, but not before he left his lightsaber on the dining room table. You arrived with delicate steps to Luke and Leia's room. You opened the door slowly, and there they were, both asleep and tucked into different beds, each in a corner of the room.

The room was entirely made of different types of wood and filled with sheets of paper with drawings glued to the walls by the two siblings. One that particularly caught Anakin's attention was one with four stick figures representing the entire family, including him. His heart sank when he read ‘Dad’ above the largest stick figure. You noticed his gaze linger on that sheet and smiled.

—Luke made that one. He insisted on including you in the family drawing— you whispered. He nodded, shocked.

—What's the girl's name?— he asked sadly. It felt terrible not even knowing his children's names.

—Leia, she's just like you, stubborn and unstoppable.

Anakin smiled sadly and bowed his head, thinking of everything he had missed. Their first steps, their first words, teaching them how to fix ships, planting their first flowers in the garden, their first birthday… It all overwhelmed him, and his eyes began to water. He wiped the tear falling down his cheek with his robotic hand.

—Can I come closer?— he asked, his voice cracking.

You hesitated for a few seconds but finally gave in.

Anakin approached Luke's bed first and sat on the edge. He studied him for several minutes, gently stroking his hair. The boy exhaled deeply and turned to his father, still asleep. Then Anakin did the same, but with Leia. She was sprawled across the bed with her stuffed bunny around her neck. He gently kissed her forehead, and she made incomprehensible sounds.

He turned and looked you up and down after a long time. You looked more tired, but still beautiful. Your hair was in a braid that fell over your shoulder, some strands straying. You were leaning against the frame with a smile and your arms crossed.

—You are beautiful— he said shamelessly, as he used to do before; he knew that was what you needed to hear. And you blushed. He'd almost made you forget all the horrific crimes he'd committed, how he'd subjected the entire galaxy to a dictatorial regime. Almost.

Nothing was the same again. And it couldn't be the same again, no matter how much you still loved him.

You returned to the living room ready to chat for a while. Anakin sat in an armchair opposite you while you opted for the sofa.

—How did you get in?— you asked softly and he felt he could melt right there.

—It wasn't very difficult, your guards are incompetent and lazy.

—How did you find me?

—Tracking ships, planets, space movements, etc. During seven years.

—What do you want?

Anakin laughed softly and your heart raced.

—You.

You blinked nervously and played with your braid between your fingers.

—And you think after everything you've done, you can come here, ask for forgiveness, and be forgiven?

He stood up and looked at you from top.

—I came here intending to do whatever it takes to get you back— he admitted grabbing your chin with delicacy.

—End the rule of terror you have imposed— you spoke looking him directly in the eyes. He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear.

—I’ll do whatever you want— he whispered a few inches from your face.

His lips found yours, and a thousand sparks shot through you from head to toe. He knelt in front of you while you remained seated, and he deepened the kiss by gently taking your neck. His tongue slid into your mouth and you moaned quietly. He left a couple of short kisses more on your lips and then he dragged his mouth down your neck, reaching the beginning of your dress and leaving a couple purple marks over your skin. He massaged your bristly and sore nipples under his hands, tearing off a heavenly sound for him.

—I'm going to take you to heaven, love— he spoke with a broken voice.

He grabbed the fabric of your dress and pulled it down, revealing your beautiful tits. His pupils gave themselves away. His mouth immediately settled on them, biting and sucking.

—Anakin— you moaned of pleasure.

—I know, baby, I know.

Your clit was swollen and sore, it needed attention urgently. When he left your nipples red and sensible, his head went down your torso, dragging the fabric in its wake, until reaching your ruined panties. A dark spot was concentrated in the center.

—Fuck, baby, you're wet as hell— he said making lazy circles over your dressed clit. A sound between a gasp and a moan left your lips when you felt the friction of his finger over your sensible zone.

Then his tongue joined in, making you cry out. It had been too long since you had time to enjoy your sexuality. Anakin started licking your weeping pussy and the pressure was so good that you came a few minutes later. The orgasm passed through you like a wave, making you scream acutely with your mouth opened.

But he was hungry and seven years had passed.

You shrink your legs up onto the couch and Anakin wrapped his arms around them as he was eating your pussy out.

—One more, baby— Anakin said rubbing your overstimulated clit with his fingers. His tongue was as fast as his fingers. You started shaking and babbling nonsense. He had to cover your mouth, sliding his fingers on your throat.

—You have to be quiet, you don't want to wake up the kids.

The thought of being caught made you unable to handle it any longer and you came again in his mouth with a scream that your husband's fingers in your mouth silenced. Your dress was wrapped around your waist and your panties wet and sticky.

—That's it, mommy, you did it very well— he praised you. Your mind was blank and blurred, you were drooling and couldn't form a single sentence. Then Anakin got on his feet and he took off his clothes. He passed his finger

—Now you're gonna take me like a good girl.

And that's what you did.

He lined up his thick cock on your vaginal lips and pushed inside slowly. His face twisted with pleasure.

—You don't know how long I've been waiting for this— he spoke with a shaking breath. You were completely overwhelmed, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sobbed and moaned. —I’ve spent seven years searching for you, and you're finally here.

He sank all of his dick inside of you and then started moving slowly from out to inside. A whimper left his mouth.

You've missed that so much.

—I’m gonna live here, and you'll be my little farm wife— Anakin said, putting your legs up on his shoulders taking you to an angle that made his member go deeper. You rolled your eyes, turning them white, the sensation of fullness was too much for you. He covered your mouth again before you screamed.

—I’m gonna fill you up with my cum, and we'll give Luke and Leia another sibling, fuck-

—Mmmhmmm— you moaned. Your knees were pressing your chest, numbing against your naked tits.

—You go dumb over my dick, don't you?— he asked, stimulating again your sensible clit. You nodded.

—Ani…— you gasped. Your hair was a mess and falling over your face as Anakin lunged faster.

He penetrated you more erratically until he finally fulfilled his promise and came inside of you with a long and loud moan left on his lips while his face contracted. He withdrew from your insides, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness and he saw his sperm sliding from your cunt.

—That’s it, baby— Anakin said, kissing one of your knees, then he threw himself onto the couch and pulled you onto his lap, wrapping you in a warm hug. Your labored breaths were in sync, and you felt his chest rise and fall against your arm.

—Have you forgiven me?— he asked innocently.

You weren't sure about the answer.

[4linos]

what could’ve been 3

lee minho x f!reader, bang chan x f!reader

synopsis: eight ex-couples who once called off their weddings reunite on a reality show built for closure or rekindling. you thought you came to find new love, not to face minho, the man you left without explanation. now, stuck under one roof, old wounds reopen as new feelings grow. did you make a mistake... or are you about to make another?

warnings: reality show au, angst, emotional distress, infertility, themes of heartbreak, abandonment, and unresolved trauma, some swearing. hurt/comfort.

wc: 11,961

part 1 / part 2

You didn’t sleep. Couldn’t. Not after the host announced so casually that Minho was gone like it was just another change in schedule, another twist for the audience.
No warning. No goodbye.

Now it’s later, maybe early evening, maybe later. You don’t even know anymore. The sun’s gone down, and you’ve been curled up in the corner of your once shared room, knees tucked to your chest, sweater still smelling faintly like him. You hadn’t moved since going upstairs to confirm it for yourself. The bed was made. His stuff was gone. He was really gone.

The ache is back.

The door opens, and Gyuri steps in quietly, her expression soft but serious. You barely register her until she sits next to you on the edge of the bed. Her voice is cautious, like she doesn’t want to tip you over completely.

“I think I know why Minho left.”

That snaps you out of it.

You turn to her, blinking, waiting.

She hesitates. “Yujin overheard something earlier… She wasn’t going to say anything, but after seeing you like this… she told me Chan said something to Minho like really said something. Right before Minho left. She said she wasn’t close enough to hear it all, but then I went to go find Chan…”

You sit up straighter.

“And?”

Her mouth flattens. “He was downstairs. Laughing. With Felix, Jeongin, and Changbin. Literally telling them that his ‘competition’s finally gone.’”

Your stomach drops.

“He said that?”

She nods once. “Exactly that.”

That’s all you need.

You stand, almost on autopilot, storming down the hallway. You hear your name called behind you, Gyuri telling you to breathe, but you don’t. You push the door open to the lounge and spot him immediately, reclined with a smug half-smile, eyes lighting up when he sees you walk in, but not because he knows what’s coming. Because he still thinks he won.

You wait until he finishes laughing at some half-finished joke before you speak.

“Can we talk?”

The room quiets. He shifts uncomfortably, the mood changing fast. He stands slowly, feigning confusion.

“Now?” “Yes. Now.”

He steps toward you, his tone already guarded. “What, you want to talk now because you realized I’m the one who’s still here?”

“No.” Your voice is cold. “Because I found out what you did.”

That’s when the mask cracks.

He rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath. “Of course Gyuri couldn’t keep her mouth shut.”

You blink. “So it’s true?”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “I didn’t do anything. I just told him what everyone else was thinking. That you clearly weren’t over him and I was tired of pretending it didn’t bother me.”

“So you pushed him to leave?”

“I didn’t push him. I just... said what needed to be said. If he couldn’t handle that—”

You cut him off. “You didn’t want to deal with the fact that my heart was never fully yours. So instead of being honest, you played dirty.”

His face hardens. “I was honest. You were the one who kept stringing me along. Every time I looked at you, your eyes were somewhere else—with someone else. I like you. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t feel like a fucking rebound.”

It boils over then.

“Of course you felt like a rebound, Chan!” you snap, your voice cracking as emotion finally spills through. “Because maybe you were. Maybe I wasn’t ready, and I thought I could be, and I’m sorry if I hurt you for it, but you don’t get to punish someone else because of that. You don’t get to play victim and sabotage someone else's healing—our healing—because you felt insecure!”

The room’s gone still. Some of the others stand awkwardly nearby, Gyuri, Jisung, Yujin. Sana’s halfway up the stairs, clearly overhearing everything.

Felix tries to intervene, placing a hand on Chan’s shoulder. “Maybe just take a breath, mate.”

But Chan pulls away. “So I’m the villain now? For loving someone who couldn’t love me back?”

You shake your head. “You’re not the villain for loving me, Chan. You’re the villain for making someone I love feel like he had to leave just to breathe.”

His jaw clenches, and he spits out the last dagger.

“You left him first. Don’t forget that.”

It hurts. It lands. But not the way he wants.

Because you did leave Minho. But you came back. You told the truth. You tried.

Chan’s words aren’t new wounds. They’re just salt in the ones you’re already healing from.

Your hands are shaking, and your eyes sting, but before you can say anything else, Gyuri gently pulls you by the arm. “That’s enough.”

You let her guide you out, out of the lounge, out of the noise, out of Chan’s bitterness. You don’t even cry right away. You just sit. And breathe.

You needed to be alone. Just for a moment. Just to breathe.

You looked at Gyuri as gently as you could and said, "Can I just… have a minute?"

She looked like she wanted to say no, to hold your hand and keep you from collapsing, but she nodded, just once. You mouthed a “thank you” before slipping away, your steps quiet but heavy as you made your way to your bedroom.

You didn’t even bother closing the door all the way. The tears came fast.

They poured out the second your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you curled over them, muffling your sobs into the comforter.

You weren’t even sure what hurt more.

Minho leaving without a goodbye.

Or the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be gone.

You talked. You told each other everything. You even laughed. You shared that sweater, that walk, that space where, for once it didn’t feel like the past was chasing either of you. And now?

Nothing but an empty bed where his duffel used to be.

You tried to hold yourself together, but your chest ached from holding so much inside. You weren’t just crying about today, you were crying about two years of pain that never truly had the chance to breathe. Not until now. And now it was all crashing down again.

You didn’t even hear the knock.

Just the voice too calm, too rehearsed.

"Sorry to bother you, but… we were told about your walk this morning with Minho. The cameras didn’t catch it. Would you mind doing a quick confessional?"

You didn’t lift your head right away.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to say no. To tell them to go to hell and leave you the fuck alone.

But you knew how this worked. Knew they’d keep knocking. Knew they’d keep waiting. And most of all, you knew they wouldn’t let it go.

So you wiped your face with the sleeve of Minho’s sweater, the one you still hadn’t taken off and stood on legs that barely held you.

The walk to the confessional room felt like dragging your body through cement. The lights were already on when you entered. That stupid black couch was waiting. The cameras were already rolling. No one said anything at first.

Then someone behind the monitor cleared their throat and gently asked:

“Can you talk to us about the walk this morning with Minho?”

You blinked. Just stared for a moment.

Then nodded slowly, voice raspy.

“We didn’t argue… if that’s what you’re asking. It wasn’t like that. We just talked. We needed to talk. About everything. About… what happened back then, why I left him, how he felt. How I felt.”

You looked down at your hands, clenched so tight your knuckles were white.

“We finally said the things we never got to say two years ago. It wasn’t perfect. But… I thought we understood each other now. I thought—” you paused, swallowing hard, “—I thought he might stay.”

There was a long pause.

Then came the second question.

“But he left shortly after. Was it something said on that walk?”

You shook your head instantly. “No. Not by me.”

But you didn’t offer anything more. Because it wasn’t your job to tell them what Chan did. You weren’t going to make it easier for them to spin the narrative. You weren’t going to hand them your pain in a neat package for them to air as drama.

They waited. Then moved on.

“Do you have anything you’d like to say to Minho? Now that he’s not here?”

You stared straight into the camera. Your throat tightened.

“I thought we were okay. I thought we were finally finding our way back to being… something. Even just friends. And I’m sorry you had to go through what you did. I wish I had said more. I wish I had stayed with you longer this morning. I wish I hadn’t… let someone get between us.”

You bit your bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

“I don’t know if you’ll see this. Or if you even want to. But I’m sorry. And I hope you find peace. Even if it’s without me.”

Another beat passed.

Then they hit you with the one you were expecting, but still didn’t feel ready for:

“Do you think you’ll give Chan a chance?”

You paused.

Your first instinct was silence. But they waited. Always waiting. Always pressing.

“Do you see yourself walking away from the show with him? As your future partner?”

It sounded like bait. It was bait.

You looked at them for a long moment. Then down again. And then, finally, you spoke.

“I don’t know what my future looks like right now. But I know one thing: I don’t want to end up with someone who can’t respect my pain, even if they love me.”

Your voice cracked a little.

“I don’t want to be someone’s choice out of convenience. And I don’t want to love someone who chooses to hurt others when they feel insecure.”

You exhaled, long and slow.

“So no. I don’t think I’ll walk out of here with Chan.”

The room was silent.

No one said a word.

And for the first time in days, you felt a strange kind of peace in that silence.

A hollow, fragile peace.

But peace nonetheless.

The wheels touched down with a hollow jolt, but the ache in Minho’s chest had been steady for hours. Maybe days. Months, if he were honest. The seatbelt sign chimed off above his head, and he moved on autopilot, grabbing his bag, nodding at the stewardess who smiled too brightly, stepping out into the familiar humidity of Seoul’s summer heat like it was supposed to wrap him in some kind of relief. It didn’t.

He was home. That was what he kept telling himself. Home. But it didn’t feel like home. Not really.

The drive back to his apartment was quiet. The taxi driver tried to make small talk. He didn’t want to talk about. He just thought about the promise the producers made to him when they’d recruited him:

"It’ll help you move on. Maybe you’ll even fall in love again."

What a joke.

They didn’t tell him that you would be there. They didn’t tell him that he’d see your face across the firepit on the first night, so sharply real it felt like he’d hallucinated it. He remembered the way his hands had clenched in his lap. The cameras had caught it, he was sure someone out there made a compilation of how his jaw ticked every time your name was mentioned. But that didn’t matter anymore.

The car pulled up to the curb outside his apartment building, and before he could even get the door open, his mother was there. Of course she was. She’d tracked his flight; he’d expected that. What he didn’t expect was the sound of her voice catching in her throat when she saw him.

“Minho,” she gasped, pulling him into her arms like she’d been holding her breath for weeks. Maybe she had. “You’ve lost weight.”

He smiled faintly, letting her fuss. “No, I haven’t.”

“You have. Your cheeks—look at your cheeks.”

He let her cup his face, gently brushing her thumb across his jaw. Her hands were warm, comforting in a way only a mother’s could be. But he saw it in her eyes, the worry. The quiet disappointment. And something else buried beneath her affection.

"Come in," she said quickly. "Come see the kids. They're dying without you."

The kids. Soonie, Doongie, and Dori, his lifeline.

He stepped inside and the familiar sound of tiny paws scuttling against hardwood met his ears before he even had his shoes off. They meowed wildly, winding around his legs, tails high, rubbing their scent back onto him like he’d been gone for years. His mother watched with a proud grin as if she had raised them herself.

"They missed you every day," she said, smoothing her skirt as she followed him inside. "I had to sing them that stupid little song of yours just to get them to eat."

He chuckled. The first genuine laugh in weeks. “You sang it?”

“Don’t mock your mother. I’d do anything for these furballs.”

Minho dropped his bag by the door and sank to the floor, letting the cats crawl all over him. Their warmth, their unfiltered love, it was the only thing that anchored him. He stayed there for a long moment, breathing them in, feeling their soft fur brush against his skin like forgiveness.

Then, his mother’s voice cut through the quiet.

“So…” she started, casual but cautious. “The show. How was it?”

Minho stiffened.

He didn't look at her, just scratched behind Doongie’s ear and said, “It was fine.”

“Just fine?”

He shrugged.

"You were gone for so long, Minho. I expected something more. Did you meet anyone?"

“I saw y/n.”

Silence.

Her voice sharpened. “You saw her? Y/n?”

Minho’s fingers paused mid-stroke, eyes fixed on the floor.

His mother’s face darkened instantly.

“How stupid,” she said, cold now.

“She didn’t know either,” Minho muttered.

“She should’ve walked out.”

“She had just as much right to be there as I did.”

His mother crossed her arms tightly, leaning against the wall. “You’re too kind, Minho. You always have been. That girl—she shattered you. And I was so wrong about her.”

Minho flinched. “Mom…”

“No. No, you don’t get to defend her. Not here, not after everything I watched you go through. Do you know what you looked like after she left? Like someone had cut the strings inside you. I couldn’t even talk to you without worrying you'd cry, and you never cry. You—”

“I’m not talking about this,” he said firmly.

His mother fell quiet, staring at him.

Then, softer now, she tried again: “You know… my friend’s daughter is still single. I told you about her. Smart. Successful. Pretty. She runs her own clinic now. She’s still very interested. She even asked about you recently.”

Minho didn’t reply.

“You two would be perfect,” she pressed. “Someone who knows what she wants. She’s not—”

“I’m tired,” he said, voice dull.

His mother pursed her lips, disappointed but not surprised. “Fine. I’ll leave you to rest. But Minho, I mean it when I say—you deserve someone who sees your worth. Who doesn’t make you question everything. Someone who stays.”

And with that, she picked up her purse, leaned down to kiss his hair, and let herself out.

The door clicked shut behind her.

The silence in the apartment settled like fog. He stood still for a moment, the cats still circling him, then made his way to the bedroom.

The sheets were just as he left them, tightly tucked, no wrinkles, no warmth.

He lay back, fully clothed, and pulled out his phone.

He stared at the black screen for a long time, debating. He’d told himself he deleted it all. He had, on social media, on the shared drive, even off his old backup. But not here. Not where it counted. His private vault, buried beneath folder after folder.

He tapped it open, and the first thing that appeared was a video: you laughing, your hair blowing messily in the wind, your hand reaching for his with a gleam in your eyes that said this, this moment was real.

He watched it three times.

Then the pictures your birthdays together, your hands laced in a museum somewhere in Berlin, your tearful smile when he surprised you with the rescue cat you later named Dori. You, curled up in his arms after a long day. You, quiet in the morning, reading with his sweatshirt draped over your frame.

He hadn’t deleted anything that mattered.

The ache was sharper now.

He rolled onto his side, phone clutched against his chest like a shield.

And the thoughts came.

Was Chan with you now?

Now that he was out of the picture, did you finally give in to something more with him? He saw the way Chan looked at you. Thought no one else noticed. But Minho did. Always did. Back when it used to make him bristle. Back when he trusted you enough not to doubt.

But now?

He hated that it wasn’t jealousy that ate him alive, it was the uncertainty. The fear that if you had moved on, you might never know why he left in the first place.

Because it wasn’t about you. Not really.

It was him. His own doubts. His own belief that maybe you deserved someone more whole. Someone who could promise you more than he thought he could give.

He would’ve held you tight that night.

He would’ve said something. Anything.

Because he didn’t care.

He didn’t care that you couldn’t have children. There were other ways. There were options. Adoption. Surrogacy. Or even no kids at all, he didn’t care, not if it meant being with you. Waking up next to you. Watching the lines in your face deepen with time and love and age.

But instead, he let the silence grow.

He let his own fears fester.

He let the weight of what-ifs sink him into something numb.

You don’t even remember how you got back to your room.

The confessional had taken something from you. Like it cracked something open that you had been desperately trying to hold together all day. The lights, the questions, the way they asked you if you “saw yourself walking away with Chan” as if your world hadn’t just collapsed hours earlier like you were still playing a game when none of it felt like a game anymore.

You didn’t even cry on the walk back. You felt numb, your feet moving on their own as producers thanked you for being “so honest.” You didn’t say a word. You just walked away.

Now, hours later, the room was dark. Everyone else had retreated to their own corners of the villa. You had curled up in bed still in your clothes, not bothering to change facing the wall, replaying everything over and over in your head.

Minho had really left.

And you had really let him.

The sweater he gave you after the morning walk still hung off the chair by your bedside. You hadn’t touched it since you took it off.

You felt like you had nothing left in you, no more strength, no more words, no more hope. Just a lingering ache in your chest where love used to live, where confusion had settled.

Then.. a knock.

Soft. Barely audible.

You almost thought you imagined it.

Then again, a voice.

“Hey… are you sleeping?”

You didn’t answer right away. You didn’t have the energy to.

Your head turned slightly on the pillow just enough to glance at the door. A sliver of hallway light seeped in as the door slowly creaked open.

Chan. Hair messy. Hoodie zipped halfway up. Barefoot. He looked… hesitant.

“Can I come in?” he asked, softer this time.

You didn’t say yes. But you didn’t say no either.

That was enough for him.

He stepped in, gently closing the door behind him. The silence between you was awkward, fragile and delicate like walking on cracked glass. He approached slowly, sat down near your feet. You were still curled up, eyes staring blankly past him.

He didn’t try to joke. Didn’t try to smile.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

You blinked.

His voice cracked a little. “For what I said. What I did.”

Still, you didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Not yet.

Chan sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. “I got jealous. I know. And I know I shouldn’t have said anything to Minho. I just—” he paused, then looked down at his hands, “I really like you.”

You swallowed, shifting your eyes away from him again.

“I didn’t want to mess things up. But I guess I did. And I don’t regret liking you, I don’t. But I shouldn’t have tried to make him feel small just to make myself feel important.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then added, “I think… I knew your heart was never really here with me. Not fully. Not when he was around. But I didn’t want to admit it.”

You closed your eyes. That… that hurt. Because it was true.

He gently reached out and rubbed your arm.

You didn’t flinch.

But you didn’t lean into it either.

His thumb moved in slow circles.

“I’m not asking you to love me,” he murmured. “Or choose me. I just needed to say I’m sorry. And I wish I hadn’t pushed him out like that. That wasn’t fair to you… or to him.”

Your throat tightened.

“I think I was so focused on winning you,” Chan whispered, “I forgot you’re not a prize.”

That hit deeper than you expected. You stayed quiet.

Chan finally stood, brushing his hands against his pants awkwardly. “I’ll go now. Just… rest, okay?”

He hesitated before turning to leave. But this time, he didn’t wait for a response.

When the door closed, you were left in silence again. But something felt different. Not better. Not lighter. Just... quieter.

You turned your face back into the pillow, breathing deeply. The air smelled like Minho’s hoodie. Like eucalyptus and warm spice. You pulled it off the chair slowly and hugged it to your chest.

And in that moment, you didn’t cry.

You didn’t scream.

You just held onto what was left of him 
and let the silence say everything you couldn’t.

-

The hallway light flickered softly above you, casting pale shadows on the walls as you padded down the stairs barefoot, careful not to make a sound. The villa was still, almost too still, like it was holding its breath. You could hear the whisper of crickets outside through the barely cracked kitchen window and the occasional creak of old wood adjusting to the cool night air.

You didn’t bother turning on the overhead light when you entered the kitchen. The glow from the fridge and the moonlight spilling through the blinds were enough. That, and the fact that you didn’t want to be seen. Not right now. You didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to explain or be looked at with knowing eyes. You just wanted water. A few moments of silence. Some kind of peace.

But of course, the universe had other plans.

She was already there.

Gyuri.

Perched on one of the barstools by the counter, her long hair pulled up in a messy bun, a half-finished mug of tea cradled between her palms. She wasn’t supposed to be here. You blinked at her, caught off guard.

She offered a soft smile, not the bright kind that felt performative, but the quiet kind you give someone when you know they’re barely holding it together.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked gently.

You shook your head. She didn’t ask anything else. She didn’t need to.

You opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, and leaned back against the counter. The silence stretched comfortably between you, not awkward, just… mutual understanding.

“I saw Chan go into your room earlier,” she said after a moment, her voice low but not nosy.

You nodded. “He apologized.”

She rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her tea. “Of course he did.”

You didn’t respond. You weren’t sure there was anything to say to that.

“What are you going to do?” she asked quietly.

You exhaled, slow and long, the kind of breath you take before confessing something you’re not ready to say aloud. “I don’t know.”

But that wasn’t true. You did know. You just weren’t sure you were ready to admit it. Not even to yourself.

“I want to leave,” you said finally, eyes fixed on the bottle in your hands, the condensation sliding down your fingers.

Gyuri didn’t look surprised. She didn’t even blink.

“Why?”

But she knew. You both did.

“Because he left,” you said quietly.

She nodded, like she’d expected that answer. “You want to go after him.”

You didn’t answer.

She tilted her head. “You should.”

You glanced at her.

She smiled again, softer now. “You should do whatever it is you need to do. Because no one here will say it out loud, but I see it. I see how much you still love him. Even when you pretend you don’t.”

That made you smile, small and sad. “Thank you.”

“I mean it,” she said, setting her mug down. “This place, it’s not a prison. You don’t owe anyone here your unhappiness.”

You stared at the floor for a moment. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I don’t know if he wants to see me. If he’s… angry.”

“You won’t know unless you go.”

There it was. The truth. The choice.

But before you could say anything else, before the momentum could carry you somewhere real and irreversible, a door creaked open down the hallway and footsteps echoed softly across the floor.

Chan.

He stepped into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. His shirt clung slightly to his chest, and his hair was a tousled mess from sleep. He blinked at both of you, surprised but quickly recovering.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, reaching for a glass. “Just getting water.”

Gyuri stood, clearing her throat. She gave you a small, pointed look, think about it before brushing past Chan with a nod. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” he mumbled, then turned back to you once she was gone. “You guys didn’t have to make it so obvious you were talking about me.”

You didn’t rise to the bait. He said it teasingly, a faint smile playing on his lips, but you knew it was a jab. The tone was just a shade too sharp.

You looked away, sipping your water.

He watched you for a moment, then leaned back against the counter beside you, his shoulder close to yours but not touching.

“Is it true?” he asked, voice lower now. “Are you actually thinking of leaving?”

You didn’t answer right away. You figured he’d heard most of what you said anyway. The walls weren’t that thick. You sighed. “I don’t know.”

“But it’s because of him,” he said. Not a question. A fact.

Still, you hesitated. “…Yeah.”

He nodded slowly, like he’d already known but needed to hear it from you anyway. The glass in his hand remained untouched.

He leaned a little closer, voice softer. “I know I already said it, but… I’m sorry.”

You turned your head slightly.

“I didn’t mean for things to get this messy. I just—I thought maybe, if we talked, if we spent more time together, alone, it could… I don’t know. Heal something.”

“It did,” you said, quietly. “For a while.”

“But now it feels like we took ten steps back,” he finished for you. “I know.”

The room felt heavier with every word.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I want us to try again. For real. If you’d let me.”

You looked at him then. His eyes were honest, pleading, but tired. The kind of tired that comes from trying too hard to fix something that might never go back to what it was.

You swallowed. “Chan…”

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he interrupted gently. “I just needed you to know. If there’s even a part of you that thinks we could be something again… I’m here. I’ll keep being here.”

You didn’t answer.

Because what could you say?

That every time you closed your eyes, you still saw Minho?

That you remembered the way he used to reach for you in his sleep, the way he’d run his hand down your back like he was memorizing you in the dark?

You turned back to your water, fingers trembling slightly against the cool glass.

Chan was quiet beside you, waiting for something, anything.

But you didn’t know what to give him.

Chan was quiet, but not the kind of quiet that meant he’d said all he needed to say. It was the silence of someone who still had something to prove, something to take, something to change. His presence lingered beside you, radiating that quiet desperation you’d grown familiar with since Minho left, since everything fell into that unspoken silence between you and the rest of the house.

You didn’t realize how close he was until he leaned in slow, hesitant, but deliberate.

His hand reached up, his fingers brushing gently under your jaw, lifting your face toward his. It was a familiar gesture, the kind that once would’ve made your breath catch in your throat. But now… it felt foreign. Wrong.

You froze.

He was looking at you like he meant it, like he thought maybe this was the moment that would shift everything. His thumb grazed your cheekbone slow, careful. Tender, even. You remembered that kind of tenderness. You remembered liking it once.

But that was before.

Now, all you could think about was how his touch wasn’t the one you missed. It wasn’t Minho’s hand, warm and steady, tracing soft circles on your face just to make you smile on heavy days. It wasn’t Minho’s breath, mingling with yours like a shared secret, like a promise.

Chan leaned in closer.

He was going to kiss you.

You could feel it, his intent. It sat between you like static.

And maybe, in a different world, you would’ve let him.

But not in this one.

You turned your head quickly, stepping back just enough that his hand dropped from your face. You laughed, not a real one, but the kind that tried to play it off, to ease the sudden awkward tension.

“I’m… I’m tired. I should go to bed,” you said too lightly, avoiding his eyes.

His jaw flexed. Just barely. If you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t have seen it. But you did.

He tongued the inside of his cheek, looking off to the side, hiding the flash of annoyance in his expression.

But it was there. And you knew what it meant.

He was angry.

Not at you, not really. At Minho.

Because even now, even in this moment where you were standing right in front of him, he still couldn’t have you. Not fully. Not the way he wanted. And it was Minho’s fault.

Minho, who hadn’t touched you in months.

Minho, who hadn’t said a word when he left.

Minho, who still lived somewhere in the soft ache of your heart where no one else could reach.

“Right,” Chan said after a beat, pasting on a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course. Get some rest.”

You nodded. “You too.”

He watched you go, that false smile still stretched across his lips like it might convince you to turn back. You didn’t.

You slipped out of the kitchen, climbing the stairs with a tired heaviness in your chest. Your fingers skimmed the railing, and you told yourself you just needed to breathe, to think, to sleep.

“Jesus—!”

You jumped, heart slamming into your ribs, as Gyuri materialized from the shadows in the hallway like a ghost.

“Sorry,” she whispered, not sorry at all. “I was trying to listen.”

You clutched your chest, eyes wide. “You scared the hell out of me!”

“I had to make sure you weren’t about to make a huge mistake.”

Your pulse was still racing. “You mean like kissing Chan?”

She gave you a look.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “We didn’t kiss.”

“Good,” she said without missing a beat. “Because that would’ve been tragic.”

You scoffed and leaned against the wall, trying to calm down. “I couldn’t. Not anymore.”

Gyuri’s expression softened, just slightly. “Because of Minho?”

You didn’t answer right away. You didn’t need to.

She already knew.

You weren’t sure when it happened, when Chan stopped feeling like a second chance and started feeling like a barrier. Like every time you tried to move toward something new, your heart rebelled. Not because you hadn’t healed, but because part of you never stopped waiting. For what, you weren’t sure.

For Minho to come back? For closure? For proof that the kind of love you had wasn’t one-sided?

You let out a shaky breath.

“I thought if I stayed here long enough, something would shift,” you admitted. “That I’d stop thinking about him every time I passed his old room. That I’d stop wondering if I made the right choice.”

Gyuri gave you a knowing look. “But you didn’t make a choice. Not really. You just… stayed still.”

You looked at her.

She wasn’t judging you. She wasn’t pushing. She was just being honest.

“I know you care about Chan,” she said gently. “And maybe in some other life, you two could’ve worked. But not this one. Not when your heart’s still with someone else.”

You closed your eyes, pressing your fingers to your lips where Chan’s kiss never landed.

“I don’t know if Minho even wants to see me,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I’d be fixing anything or just making it worse.”

“You won’t know unless you try,” Gyuri echoed her earlier words. “You can’t keep sitting in limbo hoping something happens. At some point, you have to be the one who moves.”

You looked down the hallway toward your room, waiting for a door to open that never would.

And then you looked the other way.

Toward the unknown.

Toward the choice.

“You think it’s too late?” you asked quietly.

“I think,” Gyuri said, touching your arm, “that when it’s real, it’s never really too late.”

The silence between you and Gyuri felt different now full, not heavy. There was no judgment in her gaze, no pressure. Just understanding. The kind that only comes from someone who’s been watching you quietly unravel, thread by thread, but loves you enough not to pull.

You stood there in the dim hallway light, eyes still a little glossy, breath still unsteady. The emotional whiplash of the last ten minutes hadn’t quite settled in yet. Chan’s almost-kiss. Gyuri’s unshakable honesty. And now this moment, this choice standing wide open in front of you.

Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around her.

Tight.

Not the kind of hug you give someone before bed. Not casual. Not routine.

It was the kind of hug that said thank you, that said you know me, that said I’m scared but I’m going anyway.

Gyuri didn’t even hesitate. Her arms closed around you instantly, grounding you in the middle of your internal storm.

She didn’t pull away. Just held you for a second longer and then whispered against your shoulder, “You’re leaving, right?”

Your breath caught.

You hadn’t even said it yet.

But she knew.

Of course she did.

You nodded slowly, the smallest motion. “Yeah.”

She pulled back just far enough to look at you, her eyes soft but shining. And then she pulled you in again, tighter this time. Protective. Fierce.

“I knew it the second you said you couldn’t kiss him,” she whispered.

You let out a shaky laugh, one that blurred with the tears suddenly threatening to spill.

She kissed your temple gently and murmured, “I’m proud of you. You’re doing what’s right for you. That’s not easy.”

Your eyes stung harder at that. You blinked up at the ceiling, trying to will the tears back in.

“And,” she added, her tone suddenly playful to balance the moment, “the second this show wraps, I’m running to wherever you are so you can tell me everything. I want full breakdowns. How you found him, what he said, if he cried, how you cried, how hard you guys made out after—”

You let out an actual laugh, warm and bubbling, and shook your head. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m your worst,” she said proudly.

“Yeah,” you breathed, smiling through the glassy edge of your vision. “You are.”

Gyuri reached up and brushed a thumb under your eye, catching the tears before they fell. “Now go get Minho already.”

You nodded again, firmer this time.

This wasn’t a maybe anymore.

This wasn’t an impulsive wish or a romanticized thought.

You were going.

You were going to find Minho. To tell him the truth, not just that you loved him, but that you were sorry. For everything. For the way things fell apart. For what he thought you felt. For what he didn’t know. For what Chan might’ve twisted to drive him away. For every second you let your pride or your fear hold you back.

You gave Gyuri one last squeeze and pulled back, heart thudding in your chest like a drum. “Don’t tell anyone I left yet.”

She raised her right hand. “Swear on my skincare routine.”

“That’s serious.”

“I know,” she grinned. “Now go pack before I cry.”

You rolled your eyes at her, playful now, the way you used to be before everything got so complicated. “Try to sleep.”

“If I’m not too worried about how you’re doing,” she teased.

“You’re impossible.”

She smirked. “And you’re in love. Now move.”

You turned and practically sprinted down the hall, your heart racing faster than your feet could carry you. The second you stepped into your room, you shut the door behind you quietly and leaned against it for a beat, taking one last breath.

Then you got to work.

Your hands moved fast, like muscle memory, like something inside you had been preparing for this all along. You yanked open drawers, swept your toiletries into your bag.

You didn’t bother folding anything neatly. You didn’t have time. Your hands trembled as you zipped your suitcase shut, not from nerves, but from adrenaline. From the sheer weight of finally.

Because you had waited. Too long.

You had hoped Minho would reach out. That he’d realize something on his own. But you hadn’t realized how much damage had been done, how much had gone unsaid until it was too late and his absence became louder than his presence ever was.

And now?

You didn’t care about the producers. You didn’t care about the contracts, the optics, the show’s arc, the audience’s reaction. You were done being a storyline. You were done being edited. You wanted your real life back.

You wanted him.

You’d warned the producers earlier that you were unhappy. You told them you were thinking about leaving. You might’ve said it calmly, like it was a small thing. But you hadn’t waited for their approval. You knew what the answer would be, Stay. We’ll fix it. There’s still a story here.

But they didn’t get it.

There was no story left without Minho.

There never really was.

As you fastened your suitcase, your mind was already with him.

You pictured the moment he left, the quiet way he walked out like he didn’t want anyone to notice. Like he didn’t want you to stop him.

You hadn’t.

Not because you didn’t care.

But because you didn’t know he was walking away for good.

And now… maybe you still didn’t know.

Maybe when you showed up, he’d close the door in your face. Maybe he’d tell you it was too late. That he’d moved on. That he didn’t care anymore.

But maybe, Maybe

He’d see you and know.

He’d know that you weren’t the one who gave up.

That you never stopped loving him.

That whatever Chan told him, whatever twisted version of your story he fed Minho to justify his own hope, none of it was true. You weren’t over Minho. You never would be.

And tonight, when Chan tried to kiss you, that truth finally came into sharp, undeniable focus.

You zipped the last compartment, wiped your face quickly, and grabbed your phone. You left a message for the production team, brief and blunt:

I’m done. I’m leaving. I’ve said what I needed to say.

Then you slid it into your pocket, grabbed your bag, and stood at the door.

For the first time in a long time, your heart didn’t feel like it was breaking.

It felt like it was waking up.

-

The taxi ride to the airport from the villa was silent, save for the low hum of tires against pavement and the occasional voice on the radio. You kept your head turned toward the window, but you weren’t really seeing anything. Just streaks of light. Your own reflection. The outline of your suitcase beside you.

It all felt like a blur. Like you were moving underwater.

When you reached the airport, it didn’t feel real. You moved on autopilot, check-in, security, gate. The noise of people swarming around you barely registered. You were there, but not really there. All you could think about was him, what he’d say, how he’d look, if he’d even let you get the words out.

On the flight, you sat stiff and still, hands curled tightly in your lap. A flight attendant asked if you wanted anything and you shook your head. You couldn’t eat. Couldn’t drink. You just stared straight ahead, willing the plane to move faster.

Every time you closed your eyes, memories of him played like film reels: his laugh muffled into your neck, the way he used to nudge your shoulder with his when he wanted your attention, the quiet sound of his breathing while he slept.

You hadn’t realized how tightly you’d been holding it all in until the flight landed in Seoul, and that gnawing pit in your stomach opened wider.

Because that’s when it hit you.

You had no idea how to find him.

Your phone felt heavy in your pocket. You didn’t know if he’d blocked you. You didn’t know where he lived now. You didn’t even know if he wanted to be found. But you weren’t ready to give up.

You took a cab to your own apartment first. Dropped your suitcase by the door. Splashed water on your face. Tried to breathe.

And then you went to the only place you could think of. The apartment you used to share.

You didn’t even know if he still lived there. Maybe it was rented out. Maybe it had been emptied, cleaned of every memory the two of you had built together. But you needed to try.

Because if you didn’t, the what if would haunt you forever.

It was almost dusk when you arrived.

You stepped out of the cab, your heart pounding against your ribcage like it wanted to burst free. The air was warm, humid with the fading heat of the day. The old familiarity of the neighborhood felt surreal. It hadn’t changed. Same narrow sidewalks. Same cafe on the corner. Same flower boxes in the windows.

But you had changed.

You walked slowly to the front steps, stopping just outside the door. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked up at it. You could still remember the way Minho used to hold the door open for you, how the two of you would race up the stairs when it rained, laughing like fools.

It all hit you in a rush.

And just as you raised your hand to knock, the door swung open.

You froze.

His mother stood there.

She was dressed neatly, just as she always had been hair pulled back, a simple bag in one hand, keys in the other. Her face, for a split second, lit up in polite surprise when she saw someone on the doorstep.

And then her eyes focused.

On you.

The smile dropped from her face instantly.

Her expression hardened like ice forming over still water.

You opened your mouth, trying to find the right words. “Hello—”

But she cut you off with a sharp scoff.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she said coldly.

You stepped back slightly, your nerves unraveling. “I—I just… I needed to see Minho.”

Her eyes narrowed. “After everything? You have some nerve showing up like this.”

“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, I—”

“You’ve already caused enough,” she snapped, her voice rising. “He was doing better until you showed up again on that ridiculous show. You couldn’t even leave him in peace.”

You looked down, throat burning.

You hadn’t expected warmth. But the hostility still stung like a slap. You were just about to stammer out an apology when a familiar voice called from inside.

“Mom?” Minho.

And then his footsteps. Quick. Urgent.

He appeared in the doorway beside her, towel around his neck like he’d just come from the shower, damp hair slightly tousled.

His eyes landed on you and he stopped.

Frozen.

Like he wasn’t sure if you were real.

Like you were a hallucination brought on by old feelings he thought he buried.

“What…” he breathed, his voice low. “What are you doing here?”

You opened your mouth, but his mother beat you to it.

“She needs to go,” she snapped, turning to him. “You don’t owe her anything. Don’t let her do this to you again.”

Minho’s eyes never left yours. His jaw clenched.

“It’s fine, Mom,” he said, gently but firmly.

“Minho—”

“I said it’s fine.”

She looked at him, eyes tight with concern, but didn’t argue. She gave you one last scathing look, clutched her purse tighter, and stepped past you, heels clicking loudly against the ground as she left.

You turned back to Minho, your heart thudding violently.

“I didn’t mean to make things worse,” you said quietly.

He blinked, still trying to process the sight of you. “I… I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to.”

His lips parted, like he was about to respond, but then his brows knit together, and something deeper passed over his face, something pained.

You stepped forward, barely an inch, and then before you could overthink it, reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck.

It wasn’t forceful.

It wasn’t a plea.

It was just you, holding on like your life depended on it.

He stiffened, caught off guard. You felt his body go rigid for half a second.

But then hisarms came around you slowly. One at your waist. The other across your back.

And he pulled you in.

Not too tight at first. Almost cautiously. But then, as your head tucked against his shoulder and your fingers curled into his shirt, he exhaled and his grip tightened.

Like he couldn’t help it.

Like he’d missed this too.

You felt his heartbeat under your cheek, fast and real and steady.

“I missed you,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I didn’t know what Chan told you, or what you believed, but I never stopped—”

“You should’ve stayed at the show,” he said quietly.

You tensed slightly. Pulled back just far enough to look at him.

He didn’t sound angry. Just… conflicted.

“I couldn’t,” you said. “Not after you left.”

His eyes searched yours. “So you followed me?”

You nodded. “I needed you to know the truth.”

A beat passed. Neither of you moved.

Then he swallowed hard. “And what’s the truth?”

You looked at him, really looked at him, the soft curve of his lips, the weariness in his eyes, the gentle slope of his brow. And you said the only thing that mattered.

“That I still love you.”

His breath caught. His hands flexed slightly against your back.

“That I’m sorry I didn’t say it when it mattered most. That I should’ve fought harder. That I should’ve held onto you the night everything fell apart.”

Minho didn’t say anything.

But he didn’t have to.

He pulled you into him again.

And this time, he didn’t let go.

Minho didn’t say a word as he pulled back from the hug. He just looked at you, really looked at you like he was still trying to decide if this moment was a dream. His hands hovered near your waist even after you stepped back, reluctant to let you go completely. The air between you was still charged, still delicate.

You had so much to say.

And for once, you weren’t afraid to say it.

“Can we talk?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Minho nodded, stepping aside, holding the door open as you walked in.

The apartment was almost exactly the same. Slightly neater, more minimal. But the bones were still there. The memories. The quiet. The absence.

He motioned for you to sit on the couch, and you did, folding your hands tightly in your lap as he took a seat on the armchair across from you, elbows on his knees, looking down like he wasn’t sure where to begin. You broke the silence first.

“I didn’t come here to fix everything in one night,” you said softly. “I came because I realized I couldn’t move on without trying.”

He looked up at that.

You swallowed hard. “I thought I was protecting you by shutting you out. I thought if I gave you space, you’d be able to forget how messy I was. How complicated everything got.”

“Is that really what you thought?” he asked gently.

You nodded. “It was after the doctor’s appointment. I came home and I was just… numb. I couldn’t process it. I didn’t know how to tell you, how to let myself feel anything in front of you without falling apart.”

“You should’ve let yourself fall apart,” he said. “I would've been there to catch you.”

Your eyes filled before you even felt the tears coming. That sentence the way he said it, like it was the simplest thing in the world, cut you open. Because that was the part you’d gotten so wrong.

“I thought it would change how you saw me,” you admitted, voice shaking. “That I wouldn’t be enough anymore. That I’d never give you the future you deserved.”

Minho looked at you with something like heartbreak, and slowly stood up. He walked over, quietly, and sat next to you on the couch.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

But you felt his warmth beside you, steady, present.

“Do you think I stayed with you because I thought you’d give me children?” he asked, voice trembling now. “Do you honestly think that was the most important thing to me?”

You wiped your face quickly, shaking your head. “No. I don’t know. I just… I panicked.”

He exhaled slowly, like something inside him was finally loosening.

“I would’ve stayed,” he said, voice low and raw. “I would’ve held you through every hard moment, every fear, every breakdown. I didn’t need a perfect future. I just needed you.”

The tears came harder now.

“I’m sorry,” you said, choking on the words. “I was wrong. I handled everything so badly. If I could go back… if I could relive that day, I would’ve come straight home and told you everything. I would’ve crawled into bed beside you and cried until I couldn’t breathe, and let you see it all.”

He turned to you then, hand reaching up to gently wipe a tear from your cheek.

“I would’ve held you,” he said again, quieter this time. “And I wouldn’t have let go.”

The words broke something in both of you. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Just sat there, tears falling freely, side by side. The silence wasn’t empty, it was full of all the time you’d lost, and everything that still remained.

“I needed to hear that,” you whispered, finally meeting his eyes. “I thought I ruined everything.”

He shook his head slowly. “No. We were both scared. We just didn’t know how to say it out loud.”

You nodded, blinking against the tears still slipping down your face. “Why did you really leave the villa?”

His jaw tensed a little.

You waited, watching his expression shift like he was working through how honest he wanted to be.

“Was it something Chan said?” you asked softly. “What did he tell you?”

Minho looked away at that.

And that was your answer.

“Hasn’t he told you?” he asked, bitterness seeping into his voice for the first time. “You two were so close by the end. Thought maybe he’d have the decency to admit it.”

You stayed silent.

“I shouldn’t have listened,” he continued. “But I let it get in my head.”

“What did he say?” you asked, voice trembling.

Minho sighed. “He made it sound like you were over me. Like I was the obstacle in the way of whatever he thought you two could be. That if I really cared about you, I’d let you go so you could be happy with him.”

You swallowed hard. “That’s not true.”

“I know that now,” he said. “But I didn’t back then.”

You looked down at your hands. “I wish you’d talked to me first.”

“I didn’t think I had the right anymore,” he said. “I was already halfway convinced you didn’t want me there.”

Your heart cracked all over again.

“I was so deep in my head,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I felt like I was dragging you down. You were smiling more around him. You seemed lighter. I thought maybe I was the one making it harder for you.”

You looked at him, fully now. “You weren’t. You weren’t at all.”

He gave a soft, sad smile. “You say that now.”

“I mean it,” you insisted. “When you left, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to be there without you. I felt like I didn’t belong anymore, like I was stuck in a version of my life that didn’t fit. The only thing I wanted was you.”

Minho went quiet.

You could tell he was trying not to cry again. His hand was still resting near yours, not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

“I needed you,” you said. “And I’m sorry I never said that before. I should’ve. I thought I was being strong, but I was just being scared. And stupid.”

He shook his head. “Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself for what we didn’t know how to handle.”

You both sat in silence again. Not awkward. Just… resting in the truth.

Eventually, Minho spoke, voice hoarse.

“I don’t know what this means. For us. Or how we move forward.”

You nodded. “I don’t either. But I don’t want to leave without trying.”

He looked at you, really looked, eyes filled with something fragile and honest.

He reached out, took your hand.

Laced his fingers through yours like he’d done a thousand times before.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said quietly.

And you nodded, holding on tight.

“We always do.”

His voice lingered in the stillness.

His fingers were still woven with yours warm, steady, real. You hadn’t let go. Neither had he.

You let out a shaky breath, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. Everything felt raw, your chest, your eyes, your mind, but it wasn’t heavy the way it used to be. It was just… real. Finally. Honest.

Minho sat back against the couch, running a hand through his hair as he glanced at the clock.

It was late.

But neither of you moved to get up.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you here again,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t think I’d ever come back,” you admitted.

He looked at you, that familiar softness behind his tired eyes. “What changed?”

You paused, searching for the words. “Everything started to feel wrong after you left. The villa felt colder. The people, the conversations, it all blurred together. Even Chan.”

He didn’t flinch at the name this time. He just waited.

You continued, “It wasn’t what I thought I wanted. Or needed. When you walked away, I didn’t feel free. I felt like someone had unplugged me from myself.”

You smiled sadly. “I missed you. So much it physically hurt.”

Minho leaned his head back on the couch, eyes closing for a moment. “I thought about you constantly. Wondered if you were doing okay. Wondered if you were happy without me.”

“I wasn’t.”

His eyes opened again.

You hesitated, your voice lower now. “Did you think about reaching out?”

He nodded slowly. “A hundred times. I’d open my phone, type your name into the search bar, hover over your contact. But I was a coward.”

“You’re not a coward.”

“I was,” he said softly. “I let fear decide for me. Fear that maybe you didn’t love me anymore. That maybe I’d only be reopening something that was better left closed.”

“It was never closed,” you said. “Not for me.”

The silence between you shifted softer now, full of the understanding you’d both been starving for.

“Can I ask you something?” you said.

He nodded.

“What were you thinking when you left the villa? Really.”

He inhaled deeply, like he’d been bracing for that question since you walked through the door.

“I packed my things while you were downstairs,” he said, looking down. “I was pacing. I kept looking over at the door. Hoping maybe you’d walk in. That maybe I’d have a reason to stop myself.”

You bit your lip, heart clenching. “I would’ve if I knew.”

“I know,” he said. “But I didn’t give you the chance.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. All I could hear in my head was Chan’s voice, telling me I was ruining your shot at something real. That if I really loved you, I’d step back and let you be happy with someone who could give you everything I couldn’t.”

You flinched slightly. “He said that?”

Minho nodded. “More or less. It wasn’t direct. He’s not stupid. But he knew exactly what he was doing.”

You were quiet for a long moment. “I didn’t know.”

“I figured,” he said. “I thought you two would try to make it work. I didn’t blame you. Not really. But I think… I think it broke something in me anyway.”

You closed your eyes, pressing your hand to your chest.

“I wasn’t trying to replace you,” you whispered. “I was trying to forget you.”

Minho looked at you. “Did it work?”

You smiled through the ache. “Not even a little.”

He let out a soft exhale that almost resembled a laugh.

“I hated him,” he admitted. “I still do. I shouldn’t, I know that. It’s not fair. He’s not the reason everything fell apart.”

You looked over at him. “No. But he didn’t help.”

Minho nodded, finally letting the truth settle between you both.

You leaned back, exhausted from everything, emotionally, physically. But you weren’t ready to move. Not yet. The silence that stretched out now was gentler. Full of something warm. Unspoken forgiveness, maybe. Or something like hope.

Minho turned toward you, voice quieter now. “Do you want to stay the night?”

You looked at him.

Not in a flirtatious way. Not a hidden motive. Just… a question. A need to hold onto something a little longer.

“Not if it makes anything harder for you,” you said honestly.

He shook his head. “It doesn’t.”

You gave a soft nod. “Then yeah. I do.”

He stood first, offering his hand. You took it, letting him pull you gently to your feet. He led you down the hallway familiar, but different. His steps were quiet. Your hand stayed loosely in his until he pushed open the door to the bedroom.

It still smelled like him.

Still looked like the space where you used to sleep, side by side, limbs tangled, dreams shared in whispers.

He grabbed a hoodie from the closet and tossed it to you. “You might be cold.”

You held it to your chest like it meant something more than fabric. And maybe it did.

He changed quietly in the corner while you slipped into the hoodie, folding your clothes neatly on the chair by the window. It was only when he turned and looked at you, really looked that you realized just how vulnerable this moment was.

You both crawled under the covers slowly, careful not to move too quickly, not to break whatever fragile peace had formed.

You laid on your back. He did too. Your shoulders touched under the sheets.

It was quiet.

“I never stopped loving you,” he said into the dark.

You turned your head toward him.

“I never stopped,” he repeated, voice trembling. “Even when I left. Even when I tried to move on. It was always you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I love you too,” you whispered. “I never stopped either.”

His hand reached under the blanket, searching for yours.

And when he found it, you laced your fingers together without hesitation.

You fell asleep like that quiet, calm, wrapped in the kind of safety only he ever gave you. The past still existed. The pain, the mistakes, the loss. But now, for the first time, so did something else.

A beginning.

You weren’t entirely sure when Minho had become this clingy.

Maybe it started the second you came back. Or maybe it started long before that, somewhere buried in the months of longing you both refused to name. But now, a year later, it was just part of your rhythm. His hand always found yours when you crossed the street. His head found your shoulder if you were curled up on the couch. If you turned in bed and he wasn’t touching you in some way, he shifted instantly, arms wrapping around your waist as though confirming you were still there.

Today was no different.

You woke up with his leg tangled around yours, his arm snug around your stomach, his breath steady against the back of your neck. The sun was rising softly through the curtains, casting a golden wash across your bedroom. Soonie was curled at your feet, Doongie had taken over the window ledge, and Dori was purring faintly from the corner of the bed.

Minho groaned into your hair. “Don’t get up yet. Five more minutes.”

You smiled, turning slightly to see him, lips brushing his cheek. “We have a lot to do today.”

He blinked slowly, still half-asleep. “The premiere?”

You nodded. “And guests. Two very loud, opinionated guests.”

He smirked. “Ah, Gyuri and Jisung.”

You nodded, stretching. “We’ve got to clean a little. I want to bake something too. You’re doing the cooking, remember?”

Minho rolled onto his back dramatically. “You’re bossy.”

“You love it.”

“I really do,” he said, pulling you back in for a kiss before you could escape the bed.

By late morning, you were barefoot in the kitchen, apron dusted with flour, humming as you measured sugar. Minho was next to you, sautéing something in a pan while talking to Soonie, who had taken up permanent residency on a chair beside the stove.

The apartment you shared now wasn’t too different from the one you’d once called home together. You had moved back in after just a month of dating again at Minho’s insistence, of course. “The cats miss you,” he said. “I miss you. And the bed’s way too cold without you.”

You hadn’t fought it.

What surprised you most was how naturally everything fell back into place. The rhythm, the laughter, the quiet moments. It was like coming home. Minho’s mother, however, had taken longer.

Ten months, to be exact. Ten months of silence. Awkward avoidance. Careful distance during birthdays and holidays. She was polite, but not warm. And while she never yelled outright, her comments carried edge. Snide remarks about trust. Thinly veiled suggestions about people who run away from problems. It had worn on both of you.

Until Minho finally snapped gently, but firmly. He told you both to sit. That he was tired of playing translator between two people who mattered to him more than anything. That you needed to talk.

That conversation had been brutal.

You sat across from her on the couch, knees pulled into yourself, Minho standing nearby like he was ready to referee if needed. She started loud. Accusations, hurt, the old wounds she hadn’t dared voice until now.

“Do you know what it was like? Watching my son unravel after you left?” she said, eyes sharp with grief. “Do you know what you did to him?”

“I do,” you said, quiet, blinking back tears.

“Then why?” she demanded. “Why leave him like that? Why not say anything?”

And that was the moment you cracked.

Because all of it came pouring out.

The guilt you carried thinking you were taking away a future he might have dreamed of, one with a family. The way you shut down because you couldn’t imagine watching disappointment spread across his face.

She didn’t yell after that. She didn’t say much at all.

But she sat beside you. And when your shoulders trembled and you couldn’t speak anymore, she reached for you, pulling you gently against her shoulder like she used to in the early days. “You should’ve told me,” she whispered. “I would’ve understood.”

Minho had smiled then, arms crossed, leaning against the wall.

“I told her the same thing,” he said.

-

You were pulling a tray of cupcakes from the oven when the doorbell rang.

“Got it,” Minho called, wiping his hands on a towel.

You barely had time to put the tray down before a squeal echoed through the apartment.

“YOU’RE BAKING? Oh my god, you haven’t changed!” Gyuri’s voice burst through the hallway like a storm, seconds before she appeared in the kitchen doorway.

You didn’t get a chance to answer before she had you in a full-body hug, arms tight, hair in your face.

You laughed. “You saw me literally three days ago.”

“I don’t care. You look different every time. Glowing or something. Must be the boyfriend.”

Minho appeared behind her, dramatically shaking his head. “She’s absolutely unbearable when she’s like this.”

Then came Jisung, slightly out of breath, carrying plastic bags from the convenience store. “She made me run from the car.”

“Hi, Sungie,” you grinned, pulling him into a hug.

He held on tight. “Missed you.”

You stood in the kitchen a moment later, four of you buzzing with that weird energy of long friendships and recent reunions. The kind of comfort that doesn’t fade even if time passes.

Gyuri took one look at the setup and clapped. “Okay. Premiere night. How’re we feeling?”

You shook your head. “Like throwing up.”

“Same,” Jisung mumbled.

Minho only smirked. “I feel fine.”

You shot him a look.

Gyuri grabbed a cupcake off the tray. “Let’s set up. We’re watching it all. No skipping.”

An hour later, the four of you were camped on the couch, a plate of food in each lap, cupcakes dangerously stacked on the coffee table, and the TV paused on the title screen of What Could’ve Been, the show that somehow changed everything.

“I hate that name,” Gyuri muttered dramatically. “Too on the nose.”

“Seriously,” you agreed. “It sounds like a breakup song.”

Jisung took a bite of his cupcake. “It is kind of a breakup show. Mostly.”

“Well, not for us,” Gyuri said, beaming at Jisung. He gave her a smug little look before stealing some frosting off her plate.

You shook your head and leaned against Minho’s side. “I’m nervous to watch this.”

Gyuri raised her brows. “Why?”

“Because it’s like opening an old diary you didn’t mean for the world to read.”

Minho pulled your legs over his lap. “We already lived it. Now we just get to laugh at it.”

Gyuri snapped her fingers. “Speaking of laughing, can we please talk about the aftermath?”

“Yes,” you said, sitting up. “Tell me everything again. Slowly.”

She grinned, taking a sip of wine before launching in. “Okay. So. After you left, everything changed. Chan was moody as hell. He moped around like someone stole his girl. Literally. Wouldn’t talk to anyone—not even Sana. And no, they didn’t leave together. That fizzled out faster than boiled ramen.”

Jisung nodded. “I think he realized too late that he messed everything up.”

You stared at the screen. “He did.”

Gyuri continued. “Anyway—Mina got with Changbin. Didn’t see that one coming, honestly. Sori and Jeongin ended up together, which… okay, good for them.”

“And Seungmin?” you asked.

Gyuri let out a dramatic sigh. “Ugh. He and Sori were this close to getting back together. Like, there were tears. Confessions. A whole speech. And then—on the last night—he kissed Rin.”

Your jaw dropped. “WHAT?”

“Oh yeah. Chaos,” Jisung confirmed.

“And Sophia?” you asked.

Gyuri rolled her eyes. “Tried to flirt with Chan. Got shot down immediately.”

You snorted. “Serves her right.”

Minho smirked. “I like this version of the reunion.”

Gyuri shrugged. “Oh, Yujin hooked up with Changbin before he got with Mina. And the rest left completely single.”

Jisung groaned. “That villa was a soap opera.”

You turned to Gyuri, grinning. “And you? What happened after I left?”

She softened a little. “You know most of it. But… after you left, I didn’t feel right either. I kept thinking about you. I called you the second filming ended. Ran into your arms like a movie. You remember.”

“I’ll never forget,” you smiled.

She looked at Jisung. “And he and I… we finally talked. Properly. We were the last two in the house. Literally closed the place down.”

“I cried,” Jisung admitted.

“You sobbed,” Gyuri corrected. “So did I. We said everything we should’ve said a year ago.”

“And now?” you asked softly.

Gyuri squeezed his hand. “We’re figuring it out. Slowly. I told him if we’re doing this again, I get to meet his kid. He said yes.”

You smiled at her. “I’m proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you,” she said, poking your side. “You got the boy. The cats. And the cupcakes.”

“And I got you,” you added.

She leaned her head on your shoulder. “That’s the real win.”

When the episode finally began to play, the room went quiet. The screen filled with scenes from a different life, laughter, tears, awkward dates, and vulnerable confessions.

You saw yourself on screen tense, quiet, slowly unraveling.

Minho squeezed your hand.

But you weren’t sad. Not really. You felt… peace. The person on the screen was you, yes, but also someone you barely recognized. That person was lost. And now, here you were.

Minho leaned in, whispering against your ear. “What could’ve been?”

You smiled, eyes never leaving the screen.

“This,” you whispered. “This is what could’ve been.”

//

masterlist.

❌proofread

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa @emilyywhyy @ready2readnwrite @nyxaluna @tricky-ritz @tsunderelino @wickedbutlovely @delulumel @shinygubbins @hhwangsmoon @geni-627 @enhacolor @jisuperboard @hyujim @alondra6011 lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..] not too sure if you wanted to just be added to the perm taglist or just this fic (-: Pls let me know! @partyinthebackroom @sunnysidesins @kaybeerrosa @eridanuswave @vixensss @havennz @lunaspov

[dearstvckyx]

my kryptonite - lex luthor (nicholas hoult version - superman 2025)

ᯓ pairing lex luthor x naive!finance!reader

ᯓ summary the night before your wedding to lex luthor, a quiet, emotional conversation masks deeper manipulation—but you don’t see it. on the big day, you’re interrupted by superman, who reveals the dark truth about lex. when you refuse to believe him, he makes the choice to “rescue” you, taking you to the justice gang watchtower. There, isolated and devastated, you begin to unravel—until lex finds out. And he is not letting you go. (Thank you to @awesomemikaus for the idea of a part two, and helping layout out/create the story <3)

ᯓ genre dark romance, psychological drama, angst, emotional thriller

ᯓ warning emotional manipulation • psychological abuse • non-consensual tracking/injection (past) • obsession/possessive behavior • implied abduction (x2) • gaslighting • yelling/shouting (verbal intensity) • distress and emotional trauma • dubious consent (emotional) • toxic relationship themes • reader is once again portrayed as naive/in denial

• read part one •

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The night before the wedding was quieter than it should’ve been. There were no champagne flutes, no laughter echoing through the hall, just the rustle of her silk robe as she moved through their suite. Lex was on the couch, staring out the window with a glass of bourbon clutched too tightly.

“You’re not nervous?” she asked gently, crossing to sit beside him. Her robe was embroidered in gold thread — Luthor curled across the back like it had always belonged there.

He looked at her for a long time. “Terrified.”

She laughed softly. “Of me?”

“Of losing you.” He turned to her fully now, hands cupping her face. “Because everything good in my life disappears eventually. And you’re the only thing that’s ever made this version of me—” his voice faltered, “—human.”

She frowned. “I’m not going anywhere, Lex.”

“You say that now.” His grip lingered too long. “But people love to take things from me. Rip them out of my hands. Promise me if someone tries to—”

“Lex…”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

He kissed her like it was the last time. And maybe, in some way, it was.

⸻

The suite was still and sun-soaked, her hair loosely pinned, robe sliding off one shoulder. She admired the stitching again—Luthor. She never thought she’d feel so lucky to wear someone’s name.

Then came the footsteps.

She turned, expecting Heather, Lex assistant or a stylist.

But it was him.

Superman stood in the doorway, face shadowed with tension.

“Y/N,” he said. “We need to talk.”

She blinked. “Superman—? What are you doing here? You weren’t invited—”

“I know. But I had to come.” He stepped forward slowly. “I couldn’t let you marry him without knowing the truth.”

She pulled her robe tighter around her. “You’ve never liked Lex. This is—”

“He’s been controlling you. Manipulating you. There’s footage. Files. Records of every time he’s monitored your blood pressure, your sleep cycles, even your conversations. He installed surveillance in your old apartment before you even met.”

“No.” Her voice cracked. “He wouldn’t—”

“He has. We’ve seen it all. You think he’s protecting you, but he’s isolating you.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “That’s not true—he loves me—”

Superman’s jaw clenched. “You’re not listening.”

“Because you’re wrong!” she shouted. “You don’t know him like I do! He’s not perfect, but—”

He stepped forward, frustration flickering. “You’re not safe—”

“I am! I love him!”

There was a silence.

And then, with heartbreaking resolve, Superman whispered, “I’m sorry.”

A blur of wind. Her scream. And then — silence.

She went limp in his arms as he soared into the sky, her robe flapping like broken wings behind them.

⸻

Lex felt it.

Before anyone said a word, before Heather or Otis knocked once and vanished into silence, Lex was running down the hall. He reached her suite breathless.

Empty.

Her veil lay in the corner.

The cameras.

He pulled the feed, fast-forwarded—

And there it was.

Superman. Holding her like she was cargo. Lex watched her fingers twitch, her head fall forward, unconscious.

He didn’t breathe for a full minute.

Then—

Glass shattered under his fist. The screen cracked. His voice echoed through the halls, screaming:

“No. No, no, no, no, no—”

⸻

She woke to sterile light and metal ceilings.

The Watchtower.

The room was neat, impersonal, with 2 big windows moonlight seeping through the stars.

“Good. You’re awake,” said a voice.

It was… a girl? Wearing… A hawk costume? She holding a tray.

“I brought you something. Soup, bread, chamomile tea.” She smiled gently. “You haven’t eaten.”

But y/n didn’t move. She stared through the glass at the swirling void of space.

Hours passed. Maybe days.

She didn’t eat.

She didn’t sleep.

She sat curled in the corner of the bed, robe still clinging to her like a memory.

⸻

Superman stood in the living room surrounded by the Justice Gang.

“She’s fading,” Mr. Terrific said quietly. “No REM sleep. No food. Barely any water. She’s… hollowing.”

Green Lantern shook his head at Superman. “Maybe you went too far.”

Superman didn’t speak.

But later that night, he opened the door and stepped in.

She didn’t look at him.

He sat at the edge of the bed.

“I know you hate me right now,” he started, voice low. “But I’m trying to save you. Lex is not the man you think he is.”

“You keep saying that,” she murmured, eyes still on the stars. “Like I’m too stupid to know the difference.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then stop talking like I’m a victim.”

“You are.”

She finally looked at him. “I love him. And you took me. You didn’t give me a choice.”

“I had to—”

“NO YOU DIDN’T!” she screamed. “You don’t get to decide who I love! You don’t get to—”

His voice snapped, louder than thunder, louder than Lex had ever raised his voice at her:

“HE’S NOT LOVE—HE’S A MONSTER!”

The force of it shattered the silence. The bed trembled. So did she.

She backed into the corner, eyes wide, lip quivering, terrified.

Superman froze.

“I—I didn’t mean…” He stepped back, hands shaking. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She didn’t respond. And he left.

⸻

“She’s not getting better,” Hawk Girl commented, staring at a book.

“She’s getting worse,” Green Lantern muttered. “And he’s losing it.” Pointing at Superman who’s pacing the kitchen.

Mr. Terrific turned to the screen. “We may have to sedate her soon.”

Then—

The TV flickered on.

And Lex appeared.

But it wasn’t Lex.

Not the calm, charming man in tailored suits.

His hair was disheveled. Eyes sunken. Lips chapped.

He looked insane.

“I know you’re watching,” he hissed, voice low and vicious. “And I want you to know this, Superman—”

Superman looked towards the living room, he stepped forward towards the tv.

“You took something that belongs to me.”

“I told you. I warned you. I said to leave her alone, leave US ALONE. But you couldn’t, could you?”

His voice cracked and grew louder at the end. Then—

“Now you’ll see what I look like without her.”

Static crackled. Lex grinned.

“Let’s see what happens when you steal from a villain.” He says, putting air quotations around: villian.

The lights of the watchtower went out.

Total darkness.

A sound — glass, shattering. Wind howling. A gasp from y/n.

Superman burst into the room, Hawk Girl right behind him—

The bed was empty.

The window—shattered.

On the floor: a torn white ribbon, embroidered with Luthor.

And a note.

“You brought this on yourselves. —L”

[accio-victuuri]

July 2025 CPNs round-up ❤️💛💚

• there has been some new-ish behind the scenes being released. from the filming of the wechat expression packs and other very short clips. nothing too scandalous. we’re just thankful getting these and some with a different perspective. it’s been years and we still get new content. we can probably try and look into the source/s, but i personally held off on that cause what’s important are the videos. lol.

• similarities in song cover

• not really a CPN, but on the same day 7/4 both of their sides sent out an update of the antis they are suing. some people love to talk about them suing each other’s fans as proof that they “hate” each other, but the truth is, well — the logical explanation is that their fans hate each other. this is not exclusive to xz and wyb. xz fans hate cheng yi. wyb fans hate lay. there are many other combinations and happens in c-ent all the time. as a cpf, this is exhausting tbh. i just laugh at solos who use this to “wash” their pairing. i fully support them suing each other’s fans! I think this applies to c-ent in general. what the fandoms do and whatever rivalry is going on does not reflect the celebrity’s relationship.

• yibo in paris for chanel candies

• more micro telescope clowning

• new bts of them sitting together

• sharing this hilarious edit 😂😂😂😂

• this month, cpfs are enjoying the tag #王八好好吃饭大赛# or turtle eating contest. it’s basically cpfs sharing cpn/candies/rumor. it’s a common expression among us that when there is a good cpn shared, comments will say something like : “i have eaten well.” so that’s where it came from. a short compilation/translation posted on here. 🍬

• something that is going around for July is well, a “new cp” being born out of a new bl drama. lol. it’s the same song and dance when WoH came out years back and people were comparing bjyx to them. It’s fine. i have no problem with that. it’s expected cause they are the standard. plus cpfs get really competitive with the super topic ranking. 😂😂😂

but if you have been going to weibo hot search or maybe seeing news somewhere else — you know that these newbies are getting hammered by rumors. due to the fame, their personal lives and all kinds of things are coming out. what xz and wyb went through in 2019 was in no way peaceful but nothing of it was “personal”. no dark back story or dirty little secret that was supposedly revealed.

cpfs are saying that there will always be a new shiny thing every year. a new pairing. a new “cp”. but bjyx, xz and wyb are here for the long term. because well, they are not a cp. it’s so easy tell how extra performative the others are. they are also able to stay on for so long and remain relevant because they are good people and have the talent. 😌😌😌

speaking of which, there was also a time this month that the BJYX Supertopic was in shambles due to in fighting. for a moment, the ST fell from the #1 spot and it caused everyone to bring up some of their problems with how the supertopic was managed, pointing at a particular group in the circle. this actually led to a warning to the ST itself for a potential suspension if the issue is not fixed. i didn’t talk about this on my blog specifically because it’s primarily fandom drama.

i love the supertopic. it’s a place where cpfs gather and it’s where i started and a place i enjoyed for years. i will always support it. like all other groups, it’s not perfect. i don’t condone drama. personal quarrels

• chanel jewelry clowning - dreams come true and sunsets

• this AI rendered marriage that became popular in the cp circle:

• another new bts. their pull towards each other is so strong!

• XZ finally changed his weibo name to just Xiao Zhan. this is signal of him finally being free from the clutches of WJJW which is something that we have been waiting for. We are more or less waiting for the same news of freedom on WYB’s side with Yuehua but that’s till October next year. It’s also different in a way that WYB has a good relationship ( as far as we see on public ) with Yuehua and Du Hua. Whatever it is, my only hope is that they get to do the projects they are passionate about and be compensated for it.

Another point being highlighted is he left the representative works: Legend of Zanghai, Where Dreams Begin and The Untamed. i am in complete agreement. these 3 are his representative works when it comes to Dramas. if you watched all his dramas, you will understand. Of course, haters will use this to say that he is still “using untamed” and he can’t move on like WYB. 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ i don’t know how many times i have to say this : but WYB’s “representative works” change on his profile was him focusing on the films instead of dramas. because he primarily moved to being a movie actor. these are both career choices and not emotional ones. 💅🏻💅🏻💅🏻💅🏻 anyone who thinks that WYB removed that cause he wants to “forget ever being cast in CQL” is delusional. his solos have this longstanding headcanon that he was “miserable” during CQL shoot and it’s promotion so it’s all confirmation bias on their end. i see some cpfs being “happy” cause XZ removed OOL, and there has always been an unnecessary competition with that pairing but like i said, it’s a career choice. a performance choice of what works he thinks “represent” him as a drama actor and OOL is not it. i said what i said.

• similar style in clothes

• xz had his photos featured in the leica exhibit and his icon for himself is that of a moon 🌙 . this is an example of when a cpn element is strong, it will show itself time and time again.

• new clip of them at a tencent event and looking ar each other 👀

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