#FireWorks fire reporting

[eprfireworks]

How Fire Departments Can Stay ISO Compliant Using EPR Fireworks Fire Records Management System

Fire departments operate under immense pressure to respond quickly, manage resources effectively, and maintain compliance with industry standards. A significant challenge they face is improving their ISO ratings, directly impacting funding, insurance costs, and community trust.

The ISO evaluates fire department operations using the Fire Suppression Rating Schedule (FSRS), which assesses emergency communication, water supply, department capabilities, and community risk reduction. Additionally, state and federal funding agencies often consider ISO scores when determining financial support for fire departments, making it essential for departments to improve training, response times, and infrastructure to secure funding and enhance community safety.

Managing fire department operations without a dedicated Fire Records Management System (RMS) is inefficient, time-consuming, and prone to errors. Manual paperwork creates administrative burdens, makes compliance tracking difficult, and limits access to real-time data—critical factors affecting response times and overall effectiveness. 

EPR FireWorks provides a data-driven Fire Records Management System (RMS) designed to help fire departments streamline operations, enhance response times, and improve training and reporting compliance—key factors in securing a better ISO score. 

By automating incident reporting, hydrant tracking, training documentation, and resource allocation, EPR FireWorks helps departments meet ISO criteria efficiently while focusing on their core mission: saving lives and protecting communities.

What Are ISO Ratings and its Classification that Fire Departments Must Know

ISO ratings are a critical benchmarking tool that evaluates a fire department’s ability to protect its community. The rating, also known as the Public Protection Classification (PPC), ranges from 1 to 10, with 1 being the best and 10 indicating inadequate fire protection. These ratings are determined using the Fire Suppression Rating Schedule (FSRS), which assesses emergency communications, water supply, fire department capabilities, and community risk reduction. 

A strong ISO score also influences fire departments’ funding opportunities, resource allocation, and overall operational effectiveness. The following are some ISO classifications for fire departments.

Class 1 – Superior fire protection services with optimal emergency response, training, equipment, water supply, and risk mitigation.

Class 2-4 – Very good to excellent fire protection, with minor training, equipment, or water supply deficiencies.

Class 5-6 – Average fire protection capabilities with adequate resources but potential weaknesses in response times, training, or hydrant coverage.

Class 7-8 – Below-average protection with limited resources, insufficient water supply, and outdated or inadequate firefighting equipment.

Class 9 – Minimal fire protection, typically in rural areas with no fire hydrants and long response times.

Class 10 – No credible fire protection services available, meaning homes and businesses are at high risk in case of fire.

Fire departments striving for better ISO ratings must focus on improving emergency response, investing in modern equipment, enhancing firefighter training, and leveraging technology like Fire Records Management Systems (RMS) to streamline operations.

Fire Suppression Rating Schedule (FSRS) and Its Role in ISO Scoring

The Fire Suppression Rating Schedule (FSRS) is the primary tool used by the ISO to evaluate a fire department’s capabilities and determine its Public Protection Classification (PPC) score. The FSRS assesses four key areas, aka emergency communications (10% of the score), fire department resources and operations (50%), water supply (40%), and community risk reduction efforts (up to 5.5% credit). 

Each factor determines how effectively a fire department can respond to and suppress fires. A department that excels in these areas—maintaining well-trained personnel, modern equipment, reliable water sources, and proactive fire prevention programs—can achieve a lower ISO score, reducing insurance premiums for residents and businesses. Using technology like a fire RMS, fire departments can streamline data collection, track training compliance, and optimize response times, all of which contribute to a stronger FSRS evaluation and an improved ISO rating.

Breaking Down Fire Department Reporting Challenges & How EPR FireWorks Helps Solve

Accurate and efficient reporting is essential for fire departments to improve emergency response, meet compliance standards, and secure funding. However, many departments face significant challenges in managing their records and data. The following is a breakdown of common reporting obstacles and how EPR FireWorks provides the right solution. 

Data Inconsistencies and Incomplete Records

Manual data entry often leads to errors, missing information, and inconsistencies in incident reports, training logs, and equipment tracking. EPR FireWorks automates data collection and standardizes reporting formats, ensuring accuracy and completeness.

Time-Consuming Manual Data Entry

Traditional paper-based documentation is inefficient and prone to human error. EPR FireWorks eliminates redundant data entry with digital forms, auto-fill features, and cloud-based storage, allowing firefighters to focus on emergency response rather than paperwork.

Interoperability Issues Between Systems

Fire departments often struggle with integrating different software systems for dispatch, reporting, and compliance tracking. FireWorks fire reporting seamlessly integrates with Computer-Aided Dispatch (CAD), NFIRS (soon to be NERIS), and other essential platforms, enabling smooth data sharing across agencies.

Challenges in Meeting ISO and NFIRS (soon to be NERIS) Standards

Meeting ISO and NFIRS (soon to be NERIS) reporting standards is crucial for funding and compliance but can be complex. EPR FireWorks ensures fire departments adhere to these standards with built-in compliance checks, automated report generation, and real-time performance tracking.

Lack of Real-Time Data Accessibility

Delayed access to fire incident reports, hydrant status, and personnel readiness can hinder decision-making. EPR FireWorks provides real-time dashboards and mobile access, ensuring first responders and administrators have up-to-date information whenever needed.

Inaccurate Resource Documentation

Poor tracking of equipment, hydrants, and apparatus maintenance can lead to operational inefficiencies. EPR FireWorks streamlines resource management by providing automated asset tracking, equipment maintenance logs, and expiration alerts for critical supplies.

Budget Constraints and Technology Adoption Barriers

Many fire departments, especially volunteer-based ones, face budget limitations that prevent them from adopting modern record-keeping systems. EPR FireWorks offers a cost-effective, cloud-based solution that reduces IT overhead while improving efficiency and compliance.

Difficulty in Tracking Community Engagement and Fire Prevention Efforts

Fire prevention programs and community outreach initiatives are crucial for public safety but are often underreported. EPR FireWorks includes tools for tracking community engagement efforts, public education initiatives, and fire prevention activities, ensuring departments can demonstrate their impact effectively.

By addressing these challenges, EPR FireWorks helps fire departments enhance operational efficiency, improve compliance, and save lives through better data management.

Proven Strategies to Boost Fire Department’s ISO Score with EPR FireWorks

A fire department’s ISO rating directly impacts its ability to secure funding, reduce insurance premiums for the community, and enhance overall emergency response capabilities. By leveraging EPR FireWorks, fire departments can improve their Public Protection Classification (PPC) score through efficient data management, streamlined reporting, and automated compliance tracking. Here’s how:

Enhancing Response Times Through Better Resource Management

Quick response times are a critical factor in ISO scoring. EPR FireWorks optimizes resource allocation by tracking personnel, apparatus, and hydrant locations. With automated dispatch integration and mobile access, departments can ensure rapid deployment, reducing emergency response times and improving ISO evaluations.

Improving Training Records and Personnel Tracking

ISO evaluates firefighter training hours, certifications, and participation in drills. EPR FireWorks simplifies training documentation by automating attendance tracking, certification renewals, and performance assessments. This ensures departments meet ISO’s training requirements while reducing administrative burdens.

Ensuring Accurate Water Supply Documentation

A fire department’s water supply system accounts for 40% of the ISO score, making accurate documentation essential. EPR FireWorks provides a centralized platform for tracking hydrant inspections, maintenance schedules, and flow testing results. With real-time updates, departments can demonstrate compliance with ISO’s water supply standards.

Strengthening Reporting and Compliance with ISO Guidelines

Consistently maintaining NFIRS (soon to be NERIS) and ISO-compliant reports can be challenging. EPR FireWorks automates incident reporting, ensures accurate data entry, and generates reports that align with ISO guidelines. This helps fire departments maintain detailed records, meet regulatory requirements, and improve their overall PPC classification.

By implementing EPR FireWorks, fire departments can efficiently manage data, improve response capabilities, and enhance compliance—key factors in securing a stronger ISO score and providing better fire protection for their communities.

How Fire Departments Can Stay ISO Compliant Using EPR Fireworks

ISO compliance is essential for fire departments to maintain operational excellence, improve Public Protection Classification (PPC) scores, and reduce community insurance costs. EPR FireWorks simplifies this process by automating NFIRS (soon to be NERIS)-compliant incident reporting, tracking training hours and certifications, and ensuring up-to-date water supply records. With real-time dashboards, departments can efficiently manage hydrant inspections, personnel readiness, and apparatus maintenance, directly impacting ISO scoring.

Beyond compliance, EPR FireWorks enhances resource management and community risk reduction efforts. Fire departments can demonstrate reliability and preparedness in ISO audits by streamlining fire prevention documentation, equipment tracking, and emergency response coordination. This comprehensive approach secures a better ISO rating and strengthens fire department operations, ensuring safer and more resilient communities. We’re here to help, so if you’d like to schedule a demo of our fire RMS, contact us.

[shaiyasstuff]

red | zayne | prologue to through the fire

synopsis : Fate chose another, but his heart never stopped choosing you. content : soulmate!au, zayne x reader x sylus, zayne x non-mc!reader, unrequited love, angst (light or not, you decide)

read : through the fire

Shaiya

Zayne stared at the name etched into his skin, barely brushing his fingers over the letters as if touching it would somehow make it less real.

Silence crashed around him like a wave. The world dimmed.

No, he thought, chest tightening. It should’ve been her name.

Yours.

He wanted to claw at it, to tear it off and rewrite the universe.

But all he did was stare—still, quiet, unreadable. His face gave nothing away, though his heart was screaming.

You didn’t cry when he told you.

He had expected the silence. Maybe even anger.

But not the way you reached for him, pulling him into a soft embrace as if you were the one offering comfort.

As if you were the one letting go.

You smiled.

And that broke him in ways he couldn’t explain.

He held you too tightly for a moment too long, afraid that if he let go, everything between you would unravel.

Then he forced a smile—calm, polite, practiced. Like he was happy. Like this wasn’t the end of something sacred.

But he wasn’t.

He didn’t love Shaiya—not then. There was no spark, no fireworks when he first saw her in the park.

There was just you.

You, with your quiet steadiness, your silent understanding. You, who noticed every flicker of emotion on his face, even when no one else did. You, who knew how to wait through his silences.

But something kept pulling him back to Shaiya. A whisper in his gut. A gravitational force he couldn’t explain.

So he went.

And when she laughed, something in him stirred. When she smiled, he felt breathless. Her presence, soft and bright, wrapped around him like a tether he hadn’t asked for—but couldn’t ignore.

It wasn’t like with you.

With you, it was slow, quiet, real.

With her, it was sudden—like being caught in a current he couldn’t swim against.

And yet, even as he sat beside Shaiya, laughing at something she said, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from drifting.

Back to you.

Back to the way you smiled without expectation. Back to the warmth of your hug.

Back to everything he was afraid he’d just lost.

—•

“Zayne? You there?”

He jolted upright at the sound of Shaiya’s voice through the phone, pulled sharply from the spiral of thoughts he hadn’t realized he’d fallen into.

He cleared his throat, forcing steadiness into his voice. “Yeah. Sorry—I was signing some reports.”

A lie, smooth and effortless.

Shaiya laughed lightly, the sound soft through the speaker.

“It’s okay.”

Then, after a beat, her tone shifted, quieter. Concerned. “I’m a little worried about Y/N. She’s been… distant lately.”

That made him still. Completely.

“What do you mean?” he asked, voice low. His fingers curled against the edge of the desk.

Shaiya hesitated. “She spaces out sometimes. When I talk to her, she smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I caught her clutching her wrist the other day—I think she might be hurt, but she brushed it off.”

Zayne didn’t hear the rest. Her voice faded under the weight of his thoughts.

How hadn’t he noticed?

You, the one person he thought he always saw clearly. The one whose silences he understood. He’d been so caught in the chaos of his own confusion that he hadn’t seen you unraveling in the quiet.

He swallowed, guilt settling in like a stone. “I’ll talk to her,” he murmured.

“Okay,” Shaiya replied, her voice soft again. “I’m heading to bed now—early shift tomorrow. Don’t forget to eat after yours.”

The line disconnected, and silence bloomed in the space it left behind.

He sat for a moment, staring at nothing. Then he stood.

Before he could talk himself out of it, his feet carried him across the corridor.

He stopped in front of your door. Raised his hand. Hesitated.

Did you have a mark yet?

The thought hit him like a wave.

And somewhere—deep and cruel and honest—a voice inside him whispered that he hoped you didn’t. That maybe, if fate had overlooked you too, you’d still stay.

That you’d still look at him the way you always had.

That he wouldn’t lose you completely.

But even he knew that was selfish.

So he knocked, softly.

No reply.

The door creaked open.

He stepped inside, meaning to call your name, to ask if you were alright—but the words never made it past his lips.

You were asleep, curled up at your desk, your breathing steady. Peaceful.

And then he saw it.

A flash of red ink on your wrist.

His name.

His breath caught.

Everything in him stilled.

This—this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

His name was on your skin. In red. And he hadn’t even known.

He stumbled back like the air had turned to fire, his legs moving before he could think.

The door slammed behind him as he pressed his back against it, chest rising and falling in erratic waves.

That’s why.

That’s why you’d been pulling away. Why you smiled like it hurt. Why you never said a word.

Because it did hurt.

And all this time, he’d been too blind to see it.

Tears stung his eyes, blurring the fluorescent lights of his office as he clenched his fists at his sides.

You had been burning alone. Crying alone.

And now that he knew—

There was still nothing he could do.

—•

He saw you.

It was late—close to midnight—when he stepped out of his car, bone-tired from another shift.

The streets were quiet, bathed in the soft yellow haze of flickering streetlamps.

And there you were.

Leaving your apartment, coat hastily thrown on, arms folded tightly around yourself like you were holding yourself together.

Zayne froze, half in the shadow of the trees lining the sidewalk.

He meant to call out. Your name was already on the tip of his tongue.

But then he saw your face.

Not just the weariness, but something sharper—something broken.

Sadness. Anger. Resignation.

And suddenly, he couldn’t speak.

Because he knew—

He knew it was because of him.

So he stayed silent.

Just watched.

He followed your steps with his eyes as you crossed the street, your pace slow, unsteady.

The city was quiet around you, but inside, you were a storm. He could see it. He felt it in the way your shoulders sank.

You disappeared into the dim glow of a small pub tucked between closed storefronts.

He didn’t go in.

He stood across the street, leaning against the hood of his car like a coward, watching through the window as you made your way to the bar.

Sluggish. Heavy.

He saw your hand signal the bartender. Saw the first drink vanish. Then the second. Then the third.

His chest tightened with every empty glass.

Because it was his fault.

He was the reason you were unraveling one drink at a time. The reason your mark burned red with his name while he bore someone else’s in black.

Then—

He saw him.

A stranger. Tall. Pale hair that glinted under the bar’s low lighting.

Zayne’s breath caught as he watched the man slide onto the stool beside you, say something with a smile, and slide across a piece of paper.

He saw your smile falter. Saw the pain flicker across your features like lightning.

Saw the way your body flinched, just barely, like a wound had been pressed too hard.

And Zayne saw it all.

Every agonizing detail.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t cross the street. Didn’t pull open the door.

He couldn’t.

Because what would he say?

What right did he have?

He stood there, paralyzed in the dark, watching you turn away from the man politely, watching you order another drink with trembling fingers.

And he hated himself more with every breath.

—•

Two days later, he stepped into your office.

The door clicked softly behind him, and for a moment, he simply stood there—watching you work, your shoulders tense, eyes tired in that way only he seemed to notice.

He cleared his throat gently. “Long day?”

His voice was calm, casual, as he placed a cup of coffee on your desk like it was just another routine between colleagues.

You looked up and offered him a smile—soft, warm, as if nothing had changed. As if nothing had shattered between you.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, fingers curling around the warmth of the cup.

It hurt.

Because he saw it now—what he’d missed before.

The subtle flinch when your skin brushed the sleeve of your sweater.

The split-second delay in your smile. The way you didn’t quite meet his eyes.

He swallowed. The words slipped out before he could stop them.

“I saw you out. Two nights ago.”

The air shifted.

You stilled for a fraction of a second, but didn’t look away.

He wished he hadn’t said it, but he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t just worried. He was jealous.

His jaw tightened as he brought his coffee to his lips. “Were you drinking again?”

His voice cracked—just barely—but enough to betray him.

You blinked. Then turned your gaze to the window, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Just needed some air. That’s all.”

And then, as if your body hadn’t yet caught up with your lie, your fingers drifted down, brushing against your wrist—so faintly it would’ve gone unnoticed.

But he saw it.

He always saw you.

He opened his mouth, something sharp and aching rising in his throat.

But he bit it back.

The truth. The apology. The longing.

None of it would fix what fate had done.

So he stepped back.

“Don’t overwork yourself,” he said, turning on his heel before the tremble in his voice could betray him again.

And he walked away.

Because what else could he say?

When it was his name on your wrist.

And someone else’s on his.

—•

A week later, he stood motionless in his office, staring blankly at the floor.

Shaiya’s voice still echoed in his ears.

“She found her soulmate.”

His heart didn’t sink—it clenched. Like something inside him had braced for a blow and still wasn’t ready for the impact.

He didn’t believe it.

Not for a second.

Because he knew you.

Knew the kind of lies people told when they were trying to protect themselves from pain.

Before reason could stop him, his body had already moved. He found himself standing in front of your office again, just like he had so many times before—only now there was something different clinging to the air.

A desperation he couldn’t admit.

He wanted to shake you. To ask why.

Why you were doing this to yourself. To him.

Why you were pretending this didn’t hurt when everything in your eyes told him otherwise.

But he said none of that.

Instead, he knocked gently and stepped in.

You looked up at him, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe.

Because you smiled. Small. Warm.

As if nothing had changed.

As if it didn’t ache.

And that only made it worse.

“I heard from Shaiya,” he said, voice low, too even. “You found him?”

You nodded, the gesture soft, almost apologetic. “Yeah.”

His mouth parted slightly, like there was something he needed to say—but the words caught halfway.

“That’s… good,” he said finally. But the pause before the word good was a wound all on its own.

It hung in the air. Heavy.

And it wasn’t joy that colored his tone. Not even relief.

There was something else.

You blinked, startled by the hollowness of it. “Is everything okay?”

Zayne looked at you, long and quiet, his gaze searching your face like it held an answer to something he couldn’t name.

Then, slowly, the mask returned.

A neutral expression. The kind he wore in operating rooms. In grief.

“Yes,” he replied, forcing the edges of his mouth to lift. “I’m just… glad for you.”

But even you could hear it.

The tremor beneath the stillness. The way glad didn’t quite land.

Silence stretched.

Zayne looked away for a moment, then back—eyes flickering with something raw, something not yet buried deep enough.

And still—he said nothing.

Because what could he say, when it was his name on your skin—

And someone else’s story you were trying to live?

When Zayne stepped out of your office, his chest tight and throat dry, he nearly walked past him—

The man from the bar.

Tall, silver-haired, with that same calm presence that had unsettled him days ago.

This time, he stood waiting. Expecting him.

“I’m Sylus,” the man said coolly, offering nothing more than his name—because he knew it was enough.

Zayne stopped mid-stride.

His eyes widened for a brief second before narrowing into something colder. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white.

He remembered that night.

The flash of your pain. The way Sylus had leaned in, close but careful, like he knew exactly how much space to take.

Zayne’s jaw tightened.

“Take care of her,” he said, voice sharp but restrained. Controlled. Like a blade held at the throat but never pressed in.

Then he turned without waiting for a reply, shoulders stiff, the weight of what he couldn’t say trailing behind him like a shadow.

But if he had stayed just a second longer—

He would’ve seen it.

The slow, knowing smirk tugging at Sylus’s lips.

Not arrogant, not mocking—just assured.

A look that said he would.

And maybe even more than that—

That he already was.

—•

The hospital hallway was quiet at this hour—just the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the echo of distant footsteps.

Zayne stood alone in the on-call room, the door shut behind him, the walls far too close.

He leaned against the locker, head tipped back, eyes closed.

But the silence wasn’t peace.

It was suffocating.

She found someone.

She said she found her soulmate.

The words circled in his mind like vultures, tearing into the edges of his restraint.

He clenched his fists, breathing slow—too slow, like he was trying to stay afloat in his own chest.

Sylus.

The name had weight now. It wasn’t just a stranger from the bar anymore—it was someone you had chosen. Someone who made you smile, even through the ache.

Someone who could stand beside you without carrying the guilt Zayne did.

His hand lifted without thinking, pressing to his chest like he could calm the sharp, twisting ache there.

He didn’t understand it.

Why did the mark choose Shaiya?

Why not her?

Why not you?

Because if the universe had any sense of justice, it would’ve branded your name into his skin.

Not someone else’s.

Not someone he had to learn to care about.

Not someone who wasn’t you.

Zayne sank onto the bench, elbows on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair.

His shoulders hunched in on himself, like the weight of everything was finally catching up.

All the moments he’d brushed aside.

The quiet hurt in your eyes.

The way you smiled like you were trying to protect him.

He remembered the night he saw you drinking, the way you flinched when Sylus got too close, the pain you thought no one saw.

And he had done nothing.

He had stood there, watching.

Helpless.

His name was on your wrist. In red.

And it didn’t matter.

Because fate had already played its cruel joke—and he had laughed along with it, pretending he could live with it. Pretending he was fine.

But he wasn’t.

He had spent so long mastering silence, mastering stillness—he didn’t know how to fight for something that wasn’t supposed to be his.

His breath trembled, a rare crack in the mask he wore even when no one was watching.

He wanted to scream.

To demand answers from whatever force had decided this was how the story would end.

But all he could do was sit there.

In a quiet room.

With your name echoing like a phantom in his chest.

And nothing he could do to make you stay.

masterlist

[pinkmoontaco]

can you do one about idol jeonghan x idol reader that gets into a dating scandal but ends up actually dating? pretty pleaseee i love u work btw

Caught in the Spotlight || Yoon Jeonghan

Pairing: Idol Jeonghan x Idol reader Summary: When a dating scandal erupts, Y/N’s career is put at risk, forcing her to face public backlash and betrayal. Amid the chaos, Jeonghan stands by her side, determined to protect her no matter the cost. As they navigate fame, heartbreak, and tough choices, they discover that love — even in the harshest spotlight — can shine the brightest. Genre: Drama, Romance, Fluff

Authors note: Hey everyone, 😊!! I'm back with a story that was requested by one of you! First off, I just want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the love and support you’ve shown. Your sweet comments, reblogs, and kind words truly inspire me to keep writing, so please keep them coming and please don't forget to follow for more stories like this!! Love you guys ❤️ And also feel free to make any request for any other members or other group M.list

The night air was crisp, the streets dimly lit by flickering streetlights as Jeonghan stepped out of the upscale restaurant. His fingers tugged his mask higher over his face, hoping to slip away unnoticed. The dinner had been a quiet one — a casual gathering with a few industry friends — nothing to raise eyebrows.

But luck clearly wasn’t on his side tonight.

"Jeonghan-ssi?"

He turned at the familiar voice. Standing just a few feet away was you, still adjusting the strap of your bag. Dressed down in a hoodie and jeans, you looked far from the glamorous idol the public was used to seeing.

“Oh… hey,” Jeonghan said, surprised.

You offered a polite smile — the kind idols mastered after years in the spotlight — and gave a small nod. “Didn’t know you were here too.”

“Yeah… just dinner with a few friends,” he explained, pointing over his shoulder.

There was an awkward pause. You weren’t exactly strangers — award shows, backstage run-ins, and overlapping schedules had put you in the same circles before — but you were hardly close.

“Well… have a good night,” you said, turning to leave.

But just then —

Flash! Flash! Flash!

The blinding burst of camera flashes lit up the street like fireworks. Shouts filled the air as a group of paparazzi rounded the corner, cameras firing wildly.

“Jeonghan-ssi! Is this your girlfriend?”

“Are you two dating?”

“Y/N! Did you spend the night together?”

“What the—” Jeonghan barely had time to react before you instinctively grabbed his arm.

“Let’s go!” you hissed, pulling him down the street. The two of you weaved through the crowd, the sound of hurried footsteps and shouting reporters echoing behind you.

“Here!” Jeonghan yanked you into a side alley, pressing his back against the wall as you both caught your breath. Your fingers were still gripping his sleeve tightly.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

“I think so,” you panted, dropping his arm like it burned. “But that… that looked really bad.”

Jeonghan ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah… really bad.”

The next morning

[BREAKING] SEVENTEEN’s Jeonghan and Y/N caught in late-night date — ‘Secret Romance Revealed?’ ‘Caught Leaving Together?’ Dating Rumors Explode Online Fans Demand Clarification After Jeonghan and Y/N's Late-Night Sighting

You scrolled through your phone in disbelief. The blurry photos plastered across the screen showed Jeonghan standing too close, your hand gripping his arm as if you were clinging to him for dear life. #Jeonghan_YN_Dating was already trending.

“Unbelievable…” you muttered. Your phone buzzed. Unknown Number.

“Hello?”

“You saw the articles, right?” Jeonghan’s voice came through the line, sounding both frustrated and tired.

“Yeah…” You rubbed your temples. “This is insane.”

“PR wants us to ‘clear things up,’” Jeonghan said. “They’re asking us to… I don’t know, act friendly? Like we’re just close industry friends.”

You sighed. “Great. So now we’re fake besties.”

“Apparently.” Jeonghan’s voice held a bitter chuckle. “We’re meeting tomorrow for a staged café run. Try not to look too miserable, yeah?”

“Only if you promise not to look smug.”

“Me? Smug?” He laughed, and for a moment, the tension lifted.

But as you hung up, reality set back in. This was going to be a disaster.

The café was buzzing with quiet conversations and clinking cups, yet all you could hear was the rapid thudding of your own heartbeat. Jeonghan sat across from you, casually stirring his iced americano as if this wasn’t the most awkward situation imaginable. The small corner table — handpicked by your managers for “privacy” — felt like a stage under the weight of curious stares.

“Smile,” Jeonghan muttered through his teeth, still pretending to focus on his drink.

“I am smiling,” you shot back, lips barely lifting.

“Try harder.”

Rolling your eyes, you plastered on the fakest grin you could manage.

“That’s terrifying,” Jeonghan chuckled, unable to hold back.

You groaned, adjusting your sunglasses for the third time. “Why did they think this would fix anything?”

“Apparently,” Jeonghan said, voice dipped in sarcasm, “if we sit here long enough looking ‘friendly,’ people will believe we’re just pals.” He took a casual sip of his drink, pausing before adding, “You know… instead of lovers escaping a secret date in the dead of night.”

“Please don’t say that out loud,” you muttered, heat rushing to your face.

Unfortunately, Jeonghan’s comment wasn’t far from the truth. The rumors had spiraled overnight — fans digging through old footage, claiming your eyes met too often on music show stages or that Jeonghan’s smile was “different” when you were nearby. Theories ran wild.

“I can’t believe they think I’m dating you,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Jeonghan nearly choked on his drink. “Excuse me?” He placed a dramatic hand over his chest. “Wow. I’m hurt.”

“You’ll survive,” you muttered.

“Unbelievable,” he huffed, shaking his head with a smile that was entirely too smug. “You could’ve at least pretended to be flattered.”

“Flattered?” You snorted. “I’m too busy drowning in hate comments to feel flattered.”

That wiped the grin off his face. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Same.”

For a brief moment, the tension shifted — less awkward, more… real. Jeonghan’s fingers tapped restlessly against his cup, his gaze flickering to the café window where two girls lingered, phones in hand.

“Don’t look now,” he murmured. “But we’ve got an audience.” You instinctively glanced anyway — a terrible decision. The girls' eyes widened as they registered your face, one of them hurriedly whispering to the other.

“Great,” you muttered. “They’re definitely posting that.”

“Guess we better sell this, huh?” Jeonghan grinned — a mischievous one this time — and before you could ask what he meant, he reached across the table and plucked a crumb from the corner of your mouth.

Your heart stopped. “W-What are you doing?” you stammered, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Helping,” Jeonghan said casually, popping the crumb into his mouth like it was no big deal.

“Unbelievable…” you muttered under your breath, but you knew the girls by the window were practically vibrating in excitement.

“We’re making headlines again, aren’t we?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jeonghan said, voice full of smug satisfaction.

Later That Night

Your phone buzzed non-stop — articles, tweets, and fan edits were already flooding the internet.

“Jeonghan and Y/N spotted on a cozy café date — new couple in the industry?” “Jeonghan’s sweet gesture has fans melting — ‘Did you see him wipe her mouth?!’” “#Jeonghan_YN_CoupleGoals” trending No. 1 worldwide

You groaned, dropping your phone onto your bed. “This is never going to end…”

A text from Jeonghan popped up seconds later: Jeonghan: We should start charging for this. We’re practically giving K-drama scenes for free. 😎

Despite yourself, you laughed.

Jeonghan: Hey… hope you’re okay. Don’t let the comments get to you.

For the first time since the scandal broke, you felt something ease inside you.

You: Thanks. You too.

It had only been three days since the scandal broke, but it felt like weeks. Your name hadn’t left the headlines since the café outing, and no matter how many statements your agency released, the rumors only seemed to grow. The media twisted every tiny detail — analyzing your outfits, digging up old footage, even speculating that SEVENTEEN’s latest album hinted at Jeonghan’s “secret romance.”

Today was no different.

“Ready?” your manager asked, peeking into the waiting room.

You sighed, adjusting your oversized blazer — something your stylist had picked to make you look “more serious and professional” for the upcoming press event. “As I’ll ever be,” you muttered.

“You’ll be fine,” your manager encouraged, though the tension in her voice betrayed her worry.

But the second you stepped outside, you realized fine wasn’t on today’s agenda.

The reporters swarmed like bees, microphones shoved dangerously close to your face. Flashes blinded you, and voices overlapped into a deafening roar.

“Y/N! Over here!”

“Is it true you’ve been dating Jeonghan for months?”

“Did you meet his family?”

“Is this a PR stunt?”

“Excuse me—” you tried, your voice shaking.

Your breath hitched. The air suddenly felt too thick, your head spinning from the overwhelming noise.

“Y/N, look this way!”

“Are you moving in with him?”

“Hey! Back off!” Suddenly, a hand gripped your wrist — firm but steady — and you felt yourself being pulled away from the chaos.

Jeonghan.

He barely looked back as he guided you through the crowd, one arm instinctively moving behind you as a barrier. He didn’t let go until you were safely tucked inside a black van, the door slamming shut behind you.

“Are you okay?” Jeonghan asked, his voice softer now.

You exhaled shakily, pressing your palms to your temples. “I… yeah. Just... overwhelmed.”

Jeonghan frowned, his usual playful smile nowhere to be seen. “They’re insane out there.”

“Tell me about it,” you muttered. “They think I’m halfway down the aisle with you.”

That earned a dry chuckle from Jeonghan. “Well, I am a catch.”

You let out a weak laugh despite yourself, grateful for the tension lifting.

But then Jeonghan’s voice turned serious again. “You know… you don’t have to deal with this alone.”

You looked up, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know you’re getting a lot of hate because of me. And I hate that. So if you… if you need space, or if you want me to back off —”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, surprising both of you.

Jeonghan blinked. “What?”

Your fingers fidgeted in your lap. “I just… I’m tired of feeling like I have to deal with this alone. It’s stupid, but… you make it a little easier.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Jeonghan’s gaze softened, and his usual teasing smirk faded into something gentler.

“Well…” He shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours. “I guess that makes two of us.”

The warmth of his presence lingered long after you’d parted ways.

Later That Night — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“Hyung… what is this?”

Jeonghan nearly choked on his water as Seungkwan slammed his phone on the table. The screen displayed a photo of Jeonghan guiding you into the van — his hand lingering on your waist a little too comfortably.

“‘Jeonghan’s Protective Boyfriend Era?’” Joshua read aloud, grinning. “Ohh, this is gold.”

“Did you see the comments?” Seungkwan added dramatically. “They’re calling you ‘Jeonghan-oppa’ now.”

“You guys are so annoying,” Jeonghan groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Mingyu leaned over with a wolfish grin. “We’re just getting started.”

The charity event was supposed to be simple — smile, wave, and look composed. But of course, nothing was ever simple when you were standing beside Yoon Jeonghan.

The second you stepped onto the carpet together, the whispers began.

You kept your expression calm, but the tension coiled tight in your chest. Jeonghan, walking just a step ahead, seemed unfazed — effortlessly charming as he greeted photographers.

“Look, it’s them…”

“They’re totally dating.”

“Did you see that café video? He wiped her mouth!”

“Smile,” Jeonghan muttered through his teeth, barely moving his lips.

“I am smiling,” you shot back, your grin strained.

“Then why do you look like you want to set something on fire?”

“Because I do.”

Jeonghan huffed a soft laugh, barely audible over the noise of cameras clicking. To the crowd, it probably looked like the two of you were flirting — as if the fake smiles and forced laughter meant something more.

“Relax,” Jeonghan murmured. “I’ve got you.”

The words — simple as they were — eased something inside you.

Inside the ballroom, the chaos had dulled to murmured conversations and clinking glasses. Your manager had instructed you and Jeonghan to stay close for appearances, which meant you were stuck together for the evening.

“Here,” Jeonghan said, pressing a glass of water into your hand.

“Thanks,” you muttered, barely managing a smile before taking a sip.

He didn’t move away, hovering beside you instead. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lied.

But you weren’t. The stares hadn’t stopped, and the whispers felt deafening. Each smile you forced felt like a crack in your armor.

“Come with me,” Jeonghan said quietly.

“What?”

“Just… trust me.”

The air was cool, crisp against your skin as Jeonghan held the door open for you. The hum of the event below faded, replaced by the stillness of the city lights stretching far into the horizon.

“Breathe,” Jeonghan said softly.

You did. The cold air stung your lungs, but at least out here, you could think.

“I know this is a lot,” Jeonghan murmured, leaning against the railing beside you. “I didn’t think it’d get this bad either.”

“I hate it,” you admitted, your voice quieter than you expected. “The rumors, the comments… I feel like I can’t even breathe without people twisting it into something else.”

Jeonghan was quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he said, voice softer now. “I get that.”

You turned to him, surprised. “You?”

He huffed a dry laugh. “Trust me, being SEVENTEEN’s ‘angel’ gets exhausting.” He smiled bitterly. “If I’m too nice, people think I’m fake. If I’m too quiet, they say I’m cold. And now…” He gestured vaguely between you two. “Now I’m the guy who’s apparently been sneaking around with a secret girlfriend for months.”

You laughed weakly. “I’d be a terrible secret girlfriend.”

Jeonghan grinned, his usual mischief flickering back. “Yeah… you’d totally blow our cover.”

The joke was light, but the air between you shifted — quieter, heavier.

“I don’t know how you do it,” you admitted. “You never seem to let it get to you.”

“I do,” Jeonghan said quietly. “I just… don’t let people see it.”

There it was — a rare crack in his usual playful mask. And before you could think better of it, your hand reached out, resting lightly over his.

“You don’t have to do that all the time,” you said softly. “You don’t always have to be the one holding everything together.”

Jeonghan’s fingers curled slightly under yours — warm and steady — and you realized with a jolt that you didn’t want to pull away.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

And for a moment, the noise, the rumors, the chaos — none of it mattered. It was just you, Jeonghan, and the quiet comfort of knowing you weren’t alone in this mess.

The comments wouldn’t stop.

Every time you unlocked your phone, they flooded your screen like a raging storm.

"She’s not even pretty. Why would Jeonghan date her?" "She’s using him for attention." "She’s ruining his image."

Your fingers hovered over the screen, scrolling mindlessly through the endless wave of insults. Each comment felt sharper than the last — words that twisted in your chest like knives.

At first, you tried to ignore it. You told yourself it would pass. That people would move on.

But they didn’t.

Instead, your name stayed trending — not for your music, not for your hard work, but because people were convinced you weren’t good enough to stand beside Yoon Jeonghan.

And today… today was worse.

An edited photo of you — your face distorted, mocked, and plastered with cruel captions — had gone viral. The quote beneath it read:

"Proof Jeonghan could do so much better."

Your vision blurred as you locked your phone and set it face-down on your desk. The lump in your throat burned, and no matter how hard you swallowed, it wouldn’t go away.

A shaky breath escaped your lips, and before you knew it — you were crying. Silent, angry tears that spilled faster than you could stop them.

Later That Evening — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

Jeonghan had barely stepped into the living room when he heard the conversation.

“...Did you see what they’re saying about her?” Joshua’s voice was quiet, but laced with concern.

“Yeah,” Mingyu muttered. “It’s brutal.”

“I don’t get it,” Seungkwan huffed. “She’s talented. She’s gorgeous. And she’s one of the nicest idols I’ve met. Why are they—?”

“Because people love tearing others down,” Joshua said grimly.

Jeonghan’s stomach twisted. He didn’t need to hear more. He already knew — the hateful comments, the constant targeting — he’d seen it all.

And you were enduring it alone.

Your Apartment

The knock at your door startled you.

You dragged yourself off the couch, wiping your face as best you could before opening it.

“Jeonghan?”

His eyes flickered over you — the red-rimmed eyes, the dull expression, the exhaustion etched into your face. His teasing smile was gone, replaced by something softer… something that looked dangerously close to concern.

“Can I come in?” he asked quietly.

You stepped aside, too drained to argue.

Jeonghan didn’t say anything right away. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, watching you like he wasn’t sure where to start.

“You didn’t answer my texts,” he finally said.

“I know,” you muttered.

Jeonghan exhaled heavily. “Have you seen what people are saying?”

“I’ve seen plenty,” you said bitterly. “Kind of hard to miss when your face is everywhere.”

“Hey…” His voice softened. “You can’t let them get to you.”

“Easy for you to say,” you snapped, your voice cracking. “They’re not calling you ugly. They’re not saying you’re only famous because of some fake scandal.”

Jeonghan’s gaze sharpened. “That’s not fair.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Isn’t it?”

“I know what people are saying,” Jeonghan said firmly. “But they’re wrong. All of them.”

“Doesn’t really feel that way.” Your voice wavered. “It feels like no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

Jeonghan’s expression softened. Without warning, he reached out, his hand curling gently around your wrist.

“You’re more than enough,” he said quietly.

You blinked up at him, startled. “You don’t have to say that just because—”

“I’m not.” His grip tightened — not enough to hurt, but enough to ground you. “I mean it.”

And when your eyes flickered to his, you saw it — the warmth, the sincerity… the way Jeonghan was looking at you like you were someone worth protecting.

Your breath hitched. “I don’t know how to keep pretending this doesn’t hurt,” you whispered.

Jeonghan’s fingers slid from your wrist to your hand, threading between your fingers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Then don’t,” he murmured. “You don’t have to be okay right now. Just… let me stay?”

Your walls — the ones you’d spent weeks building — finally crumbled. The tears came faster than you could stop them, and before you knew it, Jeonghan’s arms were around you.

“I’m right here,” he whispered against your hair. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time in weeks, you believed it.

The hateful comments didn’t stop. If anything, they’d gotten worse.

Every new headline dragged you back into the spotlight — "Jeonghan’s Rumored Girlfriend Under Fire Again!" — and your face was splashed across every gossip site. The cruel words felt endless, no matter how much you tried to ignore them.

But there was one unexpected shift.

Jeonghan.

Since that night in your apartment, he hadn’t left your side. Texts every morning asking if you’d eaten. Calls before performances. Quiet glances from across crowded rooms — a silent check-in only you seemed to notice.

You should’ve been grateful. But instead, it was starting to scare you.

Because Jeonghan wasn’t acting anymore.

At the Music Show Recording

“You’ll be okay?” Jeonghan asked quietly.

You nodded, adjusting your mic pack with shaky fingers. “Yeah… I’ll be fine.”

“Hey,” his voice softened. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

You swallowed hard, your gaze flicking toward the backstage monitors. The audience outside was louder than usual, and you already knew why. The crowd was buzzing with signs, banners — some supportive, others cruel.

Jeonghan followed your gaze and sighed. “Unbelievable…”

“I’m used to it,” you muttered.

“Well, I’m not.” His tone sharpened, and before you could stop him, Jeonghan was already moving toward the stage entrance.

“Wait — Jeonghan, what are you doing?” you called after him.

“Fixing this.”

On Stage

It started with a simple interview — routine questions about SEVENTEEN’s comeback. Jeonghan smiled, cracked a few jokes, and kept the mood light.

But when the MC shifted gears, you knew things were about to get messy.

“So, Jeonghan,” the host began, smirking, “I have to ask… how’s your special someone doing?”

Laughter rippled through the audience — some genuine, some mocking. Cameras panned to the crowd, flashing glimpses of posters with your face crossed out.

Your chest tightened.

“Yeah,” the MC chuckled, “I heard her group’s getting a lot of… attention lately.”

The comment stung, disguised as a joke but loaded with malice.

Jeonghan’s smile vanished.

“Actually,” he said, voice firm, “I think her group’s doing amazing. They’ve worked hard, and they deserve the attention they’re getting — positive attention.”

The room went silent.

Jeonghan’s gaze hardened as he continued, “And I think people forget that no matter how famous someone is… they’re still human. They still feel things. So maybe instead of hiding behind keyboards and tearing someone down, people should focus on supporting the artists they claim to love.”

His words lingered in the air — sharp, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.

The host shifted uncomfortably. “Well… that’s very… thoughtful of you, Jeonghan.”

“Yeah,” Jeonghan said dryly, “I’m thoughtful.”

And just like that, he grabbed his mic stand and strolled off the stage.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said the second Jeonghan appeared backstage.

“Yes, I did,” he shot back, his voice unusually tense.

“Jeonghan…”

“I’m serious.” His gaze softened, and he took a step closer. “They’ve been dragging your name for weeks. I couldn’t just stand there.”

“I can handle it,” you whispered, your voice barely steady.

“You shouldn’t have to.”

You stared at him, unsure how to respond — unsure how to deal with the way his words made your heart ache in a way that had nothing to do with the hate.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked softly.

Jeonghan’s eyes locked on yours — steady and unwavering.

“Because I care,” he said simply.

Your breath caught. “This is starting to feel… too real.”

“It is real,” Jeonghan murmured, his fingers brushing your hand. His thumb ghosted over your knuckles — soft, lingering, far too gentle to mean nothing.

Before you could stop yourself, your fingers curled against his.

“Jeonghan…”

“I’m not pretending anymore,” he whispered.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure where the lines between fake and real even existed anymore.

Later That Night — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“I knew it!” Seungkwan’s voice rang through the living room. “He’s gone! Completely whipped!”

“I called it first,” Mingyu shot back.

“You did not!”

Joshua grinned from the couch. “I’m just saying… I’m free on Friday if you guys need help picking out wedding tuxedos.”

Jeonghan groaned, slumping face-first into a pillow.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

“Unbelievably cute,” Seungkwan corrected.

From under the pillow, Jeonghan’s muffled voice rang out:

“I’m never leaving this dorm again…”

The headlines spread like wildfire.

"Yoon Jeonghan Defends Rumored Girlfriend — 'She’s More Than Enough!’” "Jeonghan Stuns Fans with Emotional Statement — Is Their Relationship Real After All?" "SEVENTEEN’s Jeonghan Steps In — Fans Divided Over His Bold Move."

Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Fans. Reporters. Even people you hadn’t spoken to in years — everyone had something to say about Jeonghan’s outburst.

The pressure twisted in your chest, and no matter how many times you told yourself to breathe, your heart wouldn’t slow down.

“Are you two really dating?”

“Is he only defending you because the scandal’s true?”

“Why is Jeonghan acting so… protective?”

At the Practice Room

“You’re not answering your phone,” Jeonghan said quietly, standing in the doorway.

“I needed some air,” you muttered, hugging your knees to your chest. The practice room was dark except for the faint glow of the city lights outside. It was quiet — the only place that felt safe these days.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

You swallowed hard. “I just… I didn’t know what to say.”

Jeonghan sighed, stepping further inside. He crossed the room slowly, like he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to get. “I know things are… messy right now.”

“That’s an understatement.” You let out a humorless laugh. “Half the internet thinks I’m some manipulative, fame-hungry girl who tricked you into falling for her.”

“Yeah?” Jeonghan’s voice sharpened. “Well, the other half thinks I’m some careless jerk playing with your feelings.”

You blinked. “That’s not true.”

“Neither’s what they’re saying about you,” he shot back.

Silence settled between you — thick, uncomfortable, and impossible to ignore.

“You shouldn’t have said all that,” you muttered. “Now everyone’s even more convinced this is real.”

Jeonghan scoffed. “You think I care what they believe?”

“You should!” you snapped. “Your group — your career — you put all of it on the line because of me.”

“Because I care about you!” Jeonghan’s voice rose — louder than you’d ever heard it.

The words seemed to echo in the room, both of you frozen in their aftermath.

“You…” Your voice faltered. “You what?”

Jeonghan let out a shaky breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “I care about you,” he repeated, softer this time. “I know this whole thing started as damage control, but…” His voice broke slightly. “It’s not just that anymore.”

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest. “Jeonghan…”

“I know,” he cut in quickly. “I know this is bad timing, and I know you’re tired, and I know you probably think I’m just —”

“I don’t,” you whispered.

Jeonghan blinked. “You don’t?”

“I don’t think you’re just… anything.” Your fingers toyed anxiously with the hem of your sleeve. “I just don’t understand why. Why now?”

Jeonghan sighed, stepping closer. “Because I’ve been watching you try to hold yourself together for weeks now — pretending it doesn’t hurt when I know it does.” His voice softened, like he was afraid of pushing you too far. “And every time I see you smile like you’re fine when I know you’re not… it makes me crazy.”

He took another step — so close now you could feel his warmth. “I don’t care what people say,” he murmured. “I just… I couldn’t stand watching you go through this alone.”

Your breath hitched. “I wasn’t alone.”

“You felt alone,” Jeonghan corrected. “And I’m not letting that happen again.”

His hand lifted, fingers brushing your cheek so gently it felt like a whisper.

“You’re not alone anymore,” he said softly.

The warmth of his touch lingered long after he pulled away.

Later That Night — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“I told you!” Seungkwan declared, dramatically flopping onto the couch.

“Unbelievable,” Mingyu grinned. “Hyung’s down bad.”

“Can you two stop?” Joshua chuckled from the kitchen. “Jeonghan’s already regretting everything.”

“I heard that,” Jeonghan groaned from his room.

“We know,” Seungkwan yelled back.

“Good luck keeping this one quiet,” Mingyu added smugly. “At this rate, you’ll be holding hands on stage by next week.”

Jeonghan pulled his pillow over his face and groaned louder.

The night should’ve been simple — just another music show broadcast with groups performing and greeting fans.

But of course, things were never simple anymore.

Since Jeonghan’s public defense, the tension had only grown worse. Some fans called his speech romantic, praising him for standing up for you. Others… weren’t so kind.

Tonight, those cruel voices felt louder than ever.

Backstage at the Music Show

You stood quietly in the hallway, scrolling through your phone. The comments were brutal.

"Still riding Jeonghan’s fame, huh?" "She’s lucky her face isn’t part of their concept, ‘cause wow…” "Why can’t she just disappear already?"

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat and locked your phone.

“Don’t read that stuff.”

You turned to see Jeonghan standing a few feet away, his expression softer than usual.

“I wasn’t,” you lied.

“You were,” Jeonghan said firmly, stepping closer. “And you don’t deserve any of it.”

Before you could answer, a staff member called for SEVENTEEN to head to the stage.

Jeonghan hesitated, gaze lingering on you. “I’ll be back, okay?”

You forced a smile. “I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t look convinced.

On Stage — The Ending Segment

The music show’s closing ceremony was chaotic — idols packed together, waving to fans while confetti rained down. Cameras scanned the groups, lingering on certain faces longer than others.

That’s when you heard it.

“Hey.”

A voice, low but cutting, came from somewhere behind you.

“You should’ve quit while you had the chance,” the voice sneered. “Maybe then Jeonghan’s career wouldn’t be going down with yours.”

You froze. The words hit like a slap, sharp and humiliating.

Slowly, you turned. A junior idol — someone desperate for attention — stood smirking, clearly pleased with himself.

“Excuse me?” you said quietly, your fingers curling into fists.

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged. “You’re dragging him down. Maybe if you weren’t so —”

“What did you just say?”

The voice wasn’t yours this time.

Jeonghan appeared like a shadow, stepping between you and the other idol. His usual teasing smile was gone — replaced with something colder, sharper.

“Jeonghan, hey,” the guy stammered, suddenly looking less confident. “I was just joking —”

“That wasn’t a joke.” Jeonghan’s voice was low, dangerously calm. “If you have a problem with me, fine. But don’t you ever talk about her like that again.”

The crowd was starting to notice — cameras turning, staff whispering.

“Relax, man,” the guy mumbled. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I don’t care what you meant,” Jeonghan snapped. “If you say one more word about her, you’re gonna regret it.”

And then — before you could even process what was happening — Jeonghan grabbed your hand.

Firm. Protective. Unapologetic.

The noise around you blurred as he pulled you offstage, ignoring the murmurs and stares. His fingers didn’t loosen their hold until you were backstage — away from the cameras and the judging eyes.

Backstage — Moments Later

“Jeonghan…” you started, still stunned. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” he shot back. “You think I was just gonna stand there and let him humiliate you?”

“It’s not your fight,” you said quietly.

“Yes, it is.” His voice softened, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t care what people say about me. But you?” His hand slid down your arm, fingers curling over your wrist again — softer this time. “I’m not letting anyone treat you like that.”

Your breath hitched. “You’re going to get dragged into more rumors if you keep—”

“Let them talk.” Jeonghan’s voice dropped lower, quieter. “None of that matters to me.”

His fingers brushed against yours — barely a touch, but enough to make your heart race.

“Why?” you whispered.

Jeonghan exhaled shakily, like he’d been holding it in for too long.

“Because I’m tired of pretending,” he murmured. “I don’t care what anyone thinks. I care about you.”

The weight of his words hit you all at once. Your eyes searched his, finding nothing but quiet honesty.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you whispered.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Jeonghan’s thumb traced the back of your hand, a soft gesture that lingered longer than it should have. “Just… don’t push me away this time.”

And for once, you didn’t.

Later That Night — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“I cannot believe this,” Seungkwan gasped, pacing the room. “He really just — in front of everyone?!”

“He grabbed her hand, hyung!” Mingyu grinned like he’d just won the lottery. “No more rumors — this is officially real.”

Jeonghan groaned from his spot on the couch, tugging his hoodie over his face. “I’m never showing my face in public again.”

Joshua chuckled, patting Jeonghan’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. If the fans didn’t think you were in love before… they definitely do now.”

From under the hoodie, Jeonghan’s muffled voice muttered:

“…totally worth it.”

The headlines didn’t waste time.

"Jeonghan’s Public Outburst — What’s Really Going On?" "Jeonghan Caught Holding Hands with Rumored Girlfriend — Dating Confirmed?" "Fans Divided Over Jeonghan’s Growing Attachment."

Your social media had become impossible to manage. Some fans flooded your posts with hearts and encouragement — others weren’t as kind. The comments were brutal.

"What did she even do to deserve this?" "She’s clearly manipulating him." "Jeonghan’s ruining his career over some nobody."

You were exhausted — mind clouded with anxiety, heart caught between frustration and confusion.

At the Practice Room

You pressed your forehead against the mirror, eyes closed tightly. The tension in your chest wouldn’t go away — like a constant knot that refused to loosen.

“Deep breaths,” you whispered to yourself. “You’re fine. You’re—”

“You’re not fine.”

Your eyes snapped open.

Jeonghan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, gaze locked firmly on you.

“You’ve been ignoring my texts,” he said quietly.

“I’ve been busy,” you muttered.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Jeonghan corrected.

You let out a heavy sigh, turning back to your reflection. “It’s easier that way.”

“Easier?” His voice rose slightly. “You think ignoring this — ignoring me — is gonna make things better?”

“I think dragging you into this any more than I already have is a bad idea,” you shot back. “The fans hate me. Your company’s probably furious with you. And for what? Because you can’t stop defending me?”

“Because I care about you!”

The room went silent.

“I care about you,” Jeonghan repeated, his voice softer now. “And I don’t regret standing up for you — not for a second.”

You shook your head, swallowing hard. “Jeonghan… you can’t keep putting yourself in the middle of this.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” he said firmly. “I chose this.”

His eyes softened, and for the first time in days, you let yourself really look at him. The way exhaustion weighed on his features… the way he still stood there, unwavering, like no amount of public backlash could change his mind.

“Why?” you asked quietly.

“Because…” Jeonghan took a careful step closer. “Because when all this started, I thought I was just protecting you. But somewhere along the way… I stopped pretending.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“I don’t care what they say,” Jeonghan murmured. “I don’t care what the media writes or what strangers on the internet think they know about me. All I know is…”

He paused, gaze locking with yours.

“All I know is that I’m falling for you,” he whispered. “And nothing else matters.”

The air between you felt heavy — thick with unsaid words and emotions too overwhelming to ignore.

“Jeonghan…”

“I mean it,” he said softly. “But if you tell me to back off, I will.” His fingers curled at his sides, like he was forcing himself not to reach for you. “If you don’t want this — if you don’t want me — just say the word.”

You opened your mouth to speak… but the words wouldn’t come. Because the truth — the one you’d been burying under fear and self-doubt — was that you wanted him, too.

“I don’t want you to back off,” you whispered.

Jeonghan’s breath caught. “You don’t?”

You shook your head, voice trembling. “I just… I didn’t think you really meant it.”

“I do,” he murmured, stepping closer. “I really, really do.”

And this time, when his fingers brushed yours, you didn’t pull away.

Later That Evening — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“You what?!” Seungkwan practically shrieked, nearly knocking over his drink.

“You heard me,” Jeonghan muttered from his spot on the couch, face half-buried in a pillow.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Mingyu held up his hands like he needed to process it all. “So you confessed — and she didn’t reject you?”

“Nope,” Joshua grinned. “She didn’t.”

“Which means…” Seungkwan’s eyes widened. “You two are, like… together now?”

“I don’t know!” Jeonghan groaned. “I think so?”

“Oh my God,” Seungkwan gasped dramatically. “Our Jeonghan… in an actual relationship?!”

“I give it three days before you start acting disgustingly cute,” Mingyu teased.

“Don’t be jealous,” Jeonghan smirked from behind his pillow.

“Oh, I’m not jealous,” Mingyu shot back. “I’m just glad I don’t have to hear you whine about your crush anymore.”

Seungkwan flopped beside Jeonghan with a smug grin. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep you two humble.”

“Please don’t.”

“No promises.”

The call from your company came faster than you expected.

“You need to stop seeing Jeonghan.”

Your manager’s voice was firm — no room for argument.

“This scandal isn’t dying down,” they continued. “And now that Jeonghan’s gotten involved? Fans are turning on both of you. If you don’t cut ties soon, this could hurt your group’s comeback — not to mention your career.”

You swallowed hard, fingers curling tightly around your phone. “So you’re telling me to pretend he doesn’t exist?”

“I’m telling you to protect yourself.”

Meanwhile — At SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“You want me to what?” Jeonghan’s voice was sharp — a rare crack in his usual calm.

“Take a step back,” the manager warned. “Pledis doesn’t want this blowing up any more than it already has.”

“So I’m just supposed to ignore her?” Jeonghan’s voice rose. “Like none of this ever happened?”

“You’re risking the group’s reputation,” the manager said firmly. “If you care about her as much as you claim… you’ll leave her alone before this gets worse.”

Days Later — Practice Room

You stared blankly at the mirror, eyes glassy. The weight of your manager’s warning had been gnawing at you for days.

“...if you care about him, you’ll stay away.”

The words haunted you.

And so, you kept your distance. No texts. No calls. No lingering glances when you knew Jeonghan was nearby.

It hurt — more than you wanted to admit.

“Y/N…”

You flinched at the sound of his voice. Turning slowly, you found Jeonghan standing at the doorway — eyes dark, face tense.

“You’re ignoring me,” he said quietly.

“I’m just… busy,” you mumbled.

“That’s not true,” he said firmly. “You’re avoiding me.”

“Jeonghan, I—”

“Don’t.” His voice cracked slightly. “Don’t push me away.”

“It’s not that simple,” you whispered.

“It is that simple,” Jeonghan insisted. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I know what they’re telling you — I know what they’re saying about me, too.” His hand reached for yours, fingers barely brushing your wrist. “But none of that matters. Not if we—”

“It does matter,” you cut in, voice trembling. “If we keep this up, you’re going to get hurt. Your group — your career — I can’t be the reason you lose all of that.”

“You’re not,” Jeonghan said fiercely. “This isn’t just some passing scandal. This is us. And I’m not letting anyone tell me I can’t have that.”

Your breath caught as he stepped closer — so close you could feel his warmth.

“Tell me you don’t feel the same,” he murmured. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll walk away.”

You swallowed hard, willing yourself to say it — to end this before it spiraled even more out of control.

But the words wouldn’t come.

“I can’t,” you whispered instead.

Jeonghan’s shoulders dropped with relief. Without warning, his hand slid up to cup your face — thumb brushing your cheek so gently it made your heart ache.

“I don’t care what they say,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Later That Night — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“So…” Seungkwan perched on the arm of the couch, grinning like he knew something.

Jeonghan sighed. “What?”

“You did meet up with her, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh please.” Mingyu flopped beside him. “You’ve been grinning like an idiot since you walked in.”

“Yeah,” Hoshi chimed in. “And you’re still wearing her bracelet.”

Jeonghan’s eyes widened. He glanced down at his wrist — the small braided bracelet Y/N had given him months ago.

“…oops.”

Seungkwan gasped dramatically. “Oh my God. You’re not even trying to be subtle anymore.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Joshua grinned from the kitchen. “Jeonghan’s finally gone soft.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “I’m not soft.”

“Sure,” Mingyu smirked. “Tell that to the smile you’re trying to hide.”

Jeonghan’s face burned, but he couldn’t bring himself to wipe the grin off his face.

The article dropped like a bomb.

"Jeonghan’s Secret Romance — How Long Have They Really Been Together?" "Insider Reveals Y/N’s History of Using Connections for Fame." "Did Y/N’s Group’s Success Depend on Jeonghan’s Influence?"

The accusations weren’t just cruel — they were personal. The article painted you as manipulative — someone who clung to Jeonghan to boost your career.

Fans flooded social media. Some defended you, but the louder voices were full of anger.

"She’s been leeching off SEVENTEEN’s popularity this whole time." "I knew she wasn’t genuine. Poor Jeonghan." "I hope Pledis makes him end this soon — she’s ruining him."

It was suffocating.

At Your Dorm

“Just stay offline,” your manager urged, pacing the room. “We’ll issue a statement — deny everything.”

“It won’t matter,” you muttered. “They’ve already decided I’m the villain.”

Your voice broke at the end, and your manager softened. “This will pass,” they promised. “People forget these things quickly.”

But you weren’t convinced.

Meanwhile — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

Jeonghan’s phone buzzed nonstop. His inbox was overflowing — texts from worried staff, Pledis representatives warning him to “avoid further controversy,” and comments that cut deeper than he expected.

"I never thought Jeonghan would fall for someone so desperate." "He deserves better." "I can’t believe he’s risking everything for her."

“You okay?” Joshua’s voice was soft.

Jeonghan let out a bitter laugh. “No.”

“You should talk to her,” Joshua said.

“I don’t know if I should,” Jeonghan mumbled. “What if I make things worse?”

“You think ignoring her will make things better?” Joshua shook his head. “She’s hurting, Jeonghan. And you’re the only one who can fix that.”

Later That Night — Outside Your Dorm

The knock at your door startled you.

“Y/N…” Jeonghan’s voice was quiet, barely audible through the door.

You wiped your eyes and opened it. He stood there — hair tousled, eyes heavy with concern.

“Can I come in?”

You hesitated but stepped aside.

“I saw the article,” he said softly. “I know what they’re saying, and I…” He paused, like he was trying to find the right words. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you murmured. “It’s not your fault.”

“It is, though.” Jeonghan’s voice hardened. “They’re attacking you because of me. And if I had just —”

“Stop,” you cut in. “I’m tired of pretending this is just your fight. It’s our fight, Jeonghan. And I’m scared.”

Your voice cracked, and Jeonghan’s face softened.

“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”

For a moment, you just stood there — hearts racing, words unspoken.

Then Jeonghan reached out, gently brushing a tear from your cheek. His fingers lingered, warm and comforting.

“I don’t care what they say,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You should,” you whispered. “You should let me go before this gets worse.”

“I can’t,” Jeonghan said, his voice breaking. “I don’t want to.”

The weight of his words hit you like a tidal wave — all the worry, the pain, the longing you’d tried so hard to bury.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in — and Jeonghan was already there, meeting you halfway.

His lips pressed softly against yours — tentative at first, like he was still giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Your fingers tangled in his hoodie, holding him closer as the tension finally broke — weeks of fear and frustration melting into something warmer, something real.

When you finally parted, Jeonghan’s forehead rested against yours, breath shaky.

“We’ll get through this,” he murmured. “Together.”

The Next Day — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“You WHAT?!” Seungkwan’s scream practically shook the walls.

“You kissed her?” Mingyu grinned like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Finally!” Hoshi cheered. “I thought I was gonna have to lock you two in a room together.”

“Please don’t,” Jeonghan muttered, sinking into the couch.

“Too late,” Seungkwan declared dramatically. “I knew this was happening — it was only a matter of time!”

“I’ll admit,” Joshua added with a smile, “I’m impressed you managed to last this long.”

Jeonghan sighed, face buried in his hands. “I hate you all.”

“No, you don’t,” Mingyu teased. “You’re too busy being in love.”

Jeonghan groaned loudly — but deep down, he knew they were right.

The photo spread like wildfire.

Blurry yet unmistakable — you and Jeonghan standing outside your dorm, his hand on your face, your head leaning against his chest. The dim streetlight barely masked the intimacy of the moment.

"Jeonghan and Y/N — Secret Late-Night Meeting CONFIRMED!" "Rumors Were True All Along?" "Fans Furious Over Jeonghan’s Lies."

The backlash hit immediately.

"I can’t believe he lied to us." "So they’ve been sneaking around this whole time?" "He’s throwing away SEVENTEEN’s hard work for her?"

Your heart sank reading the comments — each one sharper than the last.

“You need to deny it.”

Your manager’s voice was cold and clipped. “Your group’s comeback is weeks away, and if you don’t fix this now, they’ll blacklist you from promotions.”

“I can’t just—”

“You can,” they interrupted. “And you will. Unless you want to lose everything you’ve worked for.”

Their words hit hard. You thought about your group — the years spent training together, the exhausting schedules, the moments you’d fought so hard to earn your place in the industry.

Were you willing to risk all of that… for him?

Meanwhile — At SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“They want me to lie,” Jeonghan muttered, voice low. “Say it was a misunderstanding. Say we’re just friends.”

“Are you gonna?” Joshua asked gently.

Jeonghan shook his head. “I can’t.” His fingers clenched tightly around his phone. “I’m not letting her take the fall for this. Not alone.”

“You’re really serious about her,” Joshua said softly.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” Jeonghan admitted.

Later That Evening — Outside Your Dorm

You opened the door to find Jeonghan standing there — hair damp from the rain, eyes sharp with determination.

“Jeonghan…”

“I know what they’re asking you to do,” he said quickly. “I know they’re telling you to end this — to act like none of this ever happened.”

You swallowed hard. “They said I’ll lose everything if I don’t.”

“And if you do?” Jeonghan’s gaze softened. “You’ll lose me.”

Your breath caught.

“I don’t want you to choose between me and your career,” Jeonghan said carefully. “But I need you to know… I’m not hiding this anymore.”

“What?”

“I’m going public.” His voice was firm. “If they want someone to blame, they can blame me. If they want someone to drag through the mud, I’ll take it. But I’m not letting them tear you down for this.”

“You can’t,” you whispered. “You’ll ruin your career—”

“I don’t care.”

His hand reached for yours, fingers curling tightly around your own.

“I love you,” Jeonghan said softly. “And I’d rather face the whole world knowing I chose you… than lose you trying to save my reputation.”

For a moment, all you could do was stare — stunned, overwhelmed, and hopelessly in love.

“Jeonghan…” your voice shook. “I love you, too.”

His eyes lit up — like hearing those words made everything else disappear.

“Then let’s fight this,” he whispered. “Together.”

The Next Day — SEVENTEEN’s Press Conference

The room buzzed with reporters, cameras flashing from every angle. The members sat in a neat row, tension thick in the air.

Jeonghan’s mic clicked on.

“I know there’s been a lot of talk about me recently,” he began, voice calm but steady. “So I want to be honest — with my fans, with my members, and with everyone else watching.”

He paused, exhaling slowly.

“Y/N and I… we’re together.”

The room exploded with noise — reporters shouting questions, camera shutters clicking furiously.

“But I need to say this,” Jeonghan continued firmly. “Y/N isn’t to blame for this. If anyone deserves criticism, it’s me. I’m the one who pursued her, I’m the one who refused to let her walk away. So if you’re angry… be angry with me.”

He glanced down at his members, who — to his surprise — were smiling.

“Yah,” Seungkwan muttered loudly enough for the mic to catch. “We told you to confess to her months ago.”

The room erupted in startled laughter.

“Yeah,” Mingyu added, grinning. “Took you long enough, hyung.”

The tension lifted — even if just slightly — and Jeonghan felt his chest unclench for the first time in weeks.

Later That Night — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“I still can’t believe you actually did it,” you said, resting your head against Jeonghan’s shoulder.

“Me neither,” Jeonghan admitted, fingers threading through your hair. “But I’d do it again if it means I get to keep you.”

“You know they’re still talking about us, right?”

“Let them talk,” Jeonghan said quietly. “As long as I’ve got you… I don’t care what they say.”

His lips brushed your forehead, lingering long enough for you to feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “Not now… not ever.”

The air inside Pledis felt suffocating.

“You can’t be this reckless, Jeonghan.” The manager’s voice was tight with frustration. “You might think this is romantic, but SEVENTEEN’s comeback is in two weeks. The media’s still focused on this scandal, and it’s dragging the group down.”

“I’ll take the blame,” Jeonghan said firmly. “Leave the others out of it.”

“That’s not how this works,” the manager snapped. “You’re part of SEVENTEEN. Everything you do reflects on them.”

Jeonghan clenched his fists. “So what? You want me to apologize for loving someone?”

“I want you to be smart about this,” the manager shot back. “For now, you’re off the next few promotions. The group can handle it without you.”

Jeonghan’s stomach dropped.

“You’re pulling me from the comeback?”

“No.” The manager’s tone softened. “But until this dies down… lay low.”

Meanwhile — At Your Company

“You won’t be joining the group’s next variety appearance,” your manager informed you bluntly.

“What?!”

“It’s better this way,” they added quickly. “The more you’re seen right now, the worse things get for your group. We can’t risk that.”

“But this isn’t just about me,” you said, voice shaking. “I worked just as hard as the others—”

“And you’re risking all of it because of this relationship,” they cut in. “You need to understand… if you keep this up, you won’t just lose your career. You’ll drag your members down with you.”

Your stomach twisted painfully.

Two Days Later — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

Jeonghan sat on the floor, knees drawn to his chest, as Mingyu quietly placed a can of soda beside him.

“Hyung…” Mingyu began softly.

“I’m fine,” Jeonghan muttered.

“You’re not fine,” Mingyu shot back. “You’ve barely spoken since Pledis pulled you from promotions.”

Jeonghan let out a bitter laugh. “What’s the point? I’ve already messed everything up.”

“You didn’t mess things up,” Seungkwan cut in, appearing in the doorway. “But you are being dramatic.”

Jeonghan shot him a tired glare.

“I’m serious,” Seungkwan said, plopping down beside him. “We’re a team — one stupid scandal isn’t going to ruin SEVENTEEN.”

“But what about her?” Jeonghan’s voice faltered. “Her company’s freezing her out. If she loses everything because of me…”

“Then stop sulking and do something about it,” Hoshi said, suddenly popping his head into the room.

“Like what?”

Hoshi grinned. “Leave that to us.”

The Next Day — Social Media Buzzes

"OMG SEVENTEEN’s Seungkwan just posted a hilarious dance cover — he’s in a full dinosaur costume!" "Mingyu’s live? Why is he making pancakes… at midnight?" "Hoshi’s teaching choreography on TikTok and... failing miserably?!"

Fans were confused — but entertained. SEVENTEEN’s chaotic antics became an instant distraction, drawing focus away from Jeonghan’s scandal.

Later That Night — Quiet Streets

The hashtags shifted.

#JeonghanScandal → #SeventeenDinoDance

#BoycottY/N → #MingyuPancakeKing

You barely recognized Jeonghan with his cap pulled low and mask covering most of his face. He stood just beyond the streetlamp’s glow, waiting for you.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come,” you said softly, guilt weighing heavy on your heart.

“I needed to see you,” Jeonghan whispered. “I don’t care what they’re saying. I just… I had to know you’re okay.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I am.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jeonghan murmured, stepping closer. His hand reached for yours, fingers lacing tightly between your own. “I never wanted this for you.”

You shook your head. “You’re not the problem, Jeonghan. It’s… everything else. My group’s upset. My company’s turning its back on me. I feel like I’m losing everything I worked for.”

“You’re not losing me,” Jeonghan said quietly.

Tears welled in your eyes. “But what if that’s not enough?”

“It is enough,” he said firmly. “You’re enough.”

His arms slipped around you, pulling you close — warm and steady in a way that made the noise of the world seem distant.

“I love you,” he whispered into your hair. “And I’m not giving up on you — or us.”

“I love you, too,” you whispered back.

For the first time in days, you felt like you could breathe again.

The leaked recording hit social media like wildfire.

"Y/N’s agency planned her removal from the start?" "Insider reveals Y/N’s relationship was just an excuse to sideline her." "Did Y/N’s company sabotage her own career?"

The recording — muffled yet painfully clear — played over and over online.

“She’s too independent. Too popular. This scandal just makes it easier to push her back a little. It’s better if we let her fade quietly.”

Your heart sank when you heard it.

“They were planning to get rid of me,” you whispered.

Your manager’s voice echoed in your mind, cold and calculated. “This is better for everyone. The group will do fine without her.”

So all the late-night practices, the sleepless nights, the sacrifices you’d made for your career… had never been enough.

Meanwhile — At SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

Jeonghan stared at his phone screen, fingers clenched tightly around it.

“They’re using her,” he muttered. “All this hate... they planned it.”

“Hyung…” Joshua’s voice was calm, but worried. “You need to be careful.”

“They’re already blaming me,” Jeonghan said bitterly. “Rumors about a dating ban are everywhere.”

“You know Pledis,” Joshua said. “They’ll do whatever keeps the fans happy.”

Jeonghan’s jaw tightened. “I don’t care. If they think I’m giving up on her, they’re wrong.”

Later That Night — Your Dorm

You barely reacted when Jeonghan knocked on your door.

“I heard about the recording,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”

You shook your head. “I’m tired of fighting.”

Jeonghan’s hand reached for yours, fingers threading together.

“You can’t let them win,” he said firmly.

“I don’t know how to keep going,” you confessed. “My company’s turned against me. Fans still hate me. My group is…” Your voice broke. “I’m scared, Jeonghan. What if I end up with nothing?”

“You won’t,” Jeonghan said quietly. “Because you’ll still have me.”

His words hit you hard. The tears you’d been holding back spilled over.

“I don’t want you to lose everything because of me,” you choked out.

Jeonghan’s arms circled you tightly, holding you like you were something precious — something he refused to lose.

“I’d risk it all for you,” he whispered. “Every last bit of it.”

You pulled back, eyes searching his. “But what if—”

“I’m not letting go,” Jeonghan cut in, voice firm. “Not unless you tell me to.”

His fingers brushed your cheek, wiping away your tears.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I’ll fight for you — as long as you’ll let me.”

In that moment, all the fear, all the pressure, all the noise seemed to fade.

“I love you too,” you whispered back.

The Next Morning — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“We need something big,” Seungkwan declared, pacing the room like a man on a mission. “Something so distracting that no one’s talking about the scandal anymore.”

Mingyu’s face lit up. “What if we—”

“No,” Joshua interrupted. “No food fights. No pancake stunts. No chaos.”

“But—”

“Let’s go viral on purpose this time,” Seungkwan insisted.

“You mean… coordinated chaos?” Hoshi grinned.

“Exactly.”

Later That Day — Online

The internet didn’t know what hit it.

Mingyu live-streamed himself reading dramatic poetry while wearing sunglasses indoors. Seungkwan and Vernon posted a dance cover in dinosaur suits — with Dino chasing them in the background.

Then came Hoshi’s masterpiece — a staged “news interview” where he dramatically whispered into the camera:

“Breaking news: Jeonghan is still a menace to society. Please send thoughts and prayers.”

The hashtags shifted overnight.

The energy changed. Suddenly, people were laughing again — not at you, but with SEVENTEEN.

#BoycottY/N → #JeonghanMenace

#Y/NScandal → #DinoDanceChallenge

#JeonghanDatingScandal → #MingyuPoetryKing

A Few Days Later

You and Jeonghan sat side by side, his fingers gently tracing circles on the back of your hand.

“I think things are getting better,” you said softly.

“Because of those idiots,” Jeonghan chuckled.

You smiled — a real one this time.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen next,” you admitted. “But… I’m glad you’re still here.”

Jeonghan turned toward you, his gaze softening.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “Not now… not ever.”

Then, with a smile so warm it made your heart skip a beat, he leaned in — pressing a lingering kiss against your forehead.

The message had been simple.

"Meet us at the practice room at 7 PM. Don’t be late."

You sighed, adjusting your mask as you entered Pledis. Lately, everything felt heavy — the constant whispers, the judgmental stares, the endless rumors. Even your own members seemed distant, their smiles feeling more forced than genuine.

So when Jeonghan’s text arrived, you didn’t think much of it. Maybe SEVENTEEN wanted to talk — or maybe they were just checking in. Either way, you didn’t expect much.

But the practice room was empty.

Confused, you noticed a small envelope taped to the mirror. Your name was scrawled across it in Jeonghan’s familiar handwriting.

“Follow the stars.”

Frowning, you stepped back into the hallway — only to see small glow-in-the-dark star stickers trailing along the floor.

The Performance

The stars led you to a different room — one of Pledis' larger rehearsal spaces. The lights were dim, but as soon as you stepped inside...

Music started playing.

"✨ Baby, baby, baby... ✨"

The soft, familiar tune of SEVENTEEN’s Adore U echoed through the room — and suddenly, Seungkwan burst through the door, dramatically clutching his chest like he was personally serenading you.

“I adore youuuu...” he sang loudly, spinning in slow motion as Vernon popped up beside him, striking an exaggerated pose.

Then came Hoshi — dancing like he was auditioning for Broadway. Joshua followed, holding a fake rose between his teeth. Dino dramatically slid across the floor as if this was some grand love confession.

It was ridiculous. It was chaotic.

And for the first time in days... you laughed.

“I know, I know... you're my angel...”

One by one, the members circled you — reaching out, pointing dramatically to you as the "star" of their performance. Jeonghan appeared last, grinning as he sang his part directly to you.

His gaze never left yours.

When the song ended, Mingyu shot you finger-hearts. “You’re welcome,” he teased.

“You guys are insane,” you laughed breathlessly.

“And you’re smiling again,” Jeonghan murmured beside you, voice softer now. “That’s all that matters.”

“Come with me,” Jeonghan said quietly.

You followed him upstairs, your fingers brushing his as you walked side by side. The rooftop was quiet — but breathtaking.

Fairy lights were strung across the railing, glowing softly against the evening sky. A blanket was spread out beneath a cluster of pillows, and a small box sat beside a flickering candle.

“You did all this?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Well… technically Mingyu nearly set the candles on fire, and Hoshi tried to hang the lights upside down,” Jeonghan chuckled. “But yeah... this was my idea.”

You sat down together, the soft hum of the city below filling the silence. For the first time in weeks, you felt calm — like the world outside couldn’t touch you here.

“I know things have been hard,” Jeonghan said quietly. “I hate that you’re carrying all this alone.”

“I just...” Your voice wavered. “I feel like I’m losing everything. My group, my career... I don’t even know if I belong here anymore.”

“You do belong here,” Jeonghan said firmly. He reached for the small box and placed it in your hand. “And you’ll never lose me.”

You opened the box — inside was a delicate silver bracelet, a tiny star charm dangling from the chain. Engraved on the charm were the words: "나의 별 (My Star)."

Your breath hitched. “Jeonghan…”

“You’ve always been my star,” he said softly. “Even when things feel dark... I just look for you, and somehow, I know I’ll be okay.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you couldn’t stop smiling.

“I love you,” you whispered.

Jeonghan smiled — warm, soft, yours.

“I love you, too.”

He leaned in slowly, brushing your hair back before pressing his lips to your forehead. His lips lingered there, soft and steady, before moving to kiss you — gentle at first, but deepening as you melted into him.

For the first time in weeks, the noise of the world faded away — leaving only the warmth of Jeonghan’s arms and the quiet rhythm of his heart against yours.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jeonghan murmured against your lips. “I promise.”

And for the first time in a long while... you believed him.

The public’s reaction to the leaked voicemail felt like a storm finally shifting direction.

"I can’t believe Y/N’s company did this to her..." "She’s been working so hard, and they just threw her away??!" "#StayStrongY/N — you’ve got people who love you!!"

The tide was changing. Fans began flooding social media with messages of support. Edits of you smiling on stage resurfaced. Clips of Jeonghan sneaking glances at you during award shows went viral again — but this time, the captions were softer.

"He’s been in love with her all along... you can see it."

For the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe.

A Few Days Later — Outside a Café

The cold air nipped at your skin as you stepped outside, adjusting your mask. You’d been hesitant to go out lately, fearing judgment — but Jeonghan had encouraged you to step back into the world, even if just for a short walk.

“Excuse me…”

You froze. A soft, nervous voice called from behind you. Turning slowly, you saw a young girl — maybe fourteen — standing there, clutching her phone tightly.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I just… I saw you, and I—”

You braced yourself for the worst.

“I just… I wanted to say…” Her voice shook. “I believe in you. And... I think you’re really amazing.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“You… you do?”

She nodded quickly. “When I saw everything people were saying, I... I knew it wasn’t fair. You worked so hard, and you deserve to be happy.”

Tears threatened to spill, but you blinked them away.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “That… that means more than you know.”

The girl smiled, her eyes lighting up. “Oh! Wait!” She dug through her bag, pulling out a small letter — folded neatly, your name written across the front.

“I wrote this,” she said shyly. “Just in case I ever got to meet you.”

Before you could even respond, she gave you a quick bow and hurried off down the street.

You stood frozen, clutching the letter to your chest — warmth spreading through you for the first time in what felt like forever.

The Next Day — Jeonghan’s Interview

“Hyung, are you sure about this?” Seungkwan asked, shifting nervously.

Jeonghan adjusted his mic, his expression calm but determined. “I have to.”

The interviewer greeted him with a polite smile, but the tension in the room was undeniable.

“So, Jeonghan… there’s been a lot of talk about you and Y/N recently. Would you like to address the rumors?”

Jeonghan’s gaze didn’t waver. “I would.”

The room fell silent.

“I know a lot of people have opinions about this,” he began slowly. “And I get it — being an idol means people watch everything we do.” He paused, exhaling deeply. “But what hurts the most is how much Y/N’s suffered because of this.”

He looked directly at the camera now, voice stronger.

“She’s one of the hardest-working people I know,” Jeonghan said firmly. “She’s passionate, kind, and she’s given everything for her career. The hate she’s faced… it’s unfair.”

Jeonghan swallowed hard, his voice faltering for a moment.

“I care about her,” he continued softly. “A lot. And I’m not going to hide that.”

The interviewer’s eyes widened, clearly not expecting Jeonghan’s open confession.

“She’s been my friend, my biggest support... and the person I love,” Jeonghan finished. “If people want to blame me for that, fine. But please… stop hurting her.”

Hours Later — Online Reaction

"Jeonghan just openly confessed on live TV???" "I’m crying — he really said, 'She’s the person I love.' 💔" "This is the softest thing I’ve ever seen. #WeSupportJeonghan."

The hashtag #WeSupportJeonghan trended within hours. Support poured in from both SEVENTEEN’s and your fans.

For the first time in weeks, things felt... brighter.

Later That Evening — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“You’re a legend, hyung,” Mingyu declared dramatically, tossing a pillow in Jeonghan’s direction.

“You’re lucky Pledis didn’t kill you,” Seungkwan added. “But honestly… worth it.”

“I figured we should celebrate,” Hoshi chimed in, holding up his phone. “Going live in 3… 2…”

“Wait, what—” Jeonghan started.

But it was too late.

SEVENTEEN’s Live Stream

“HELLOOOOO!” Hoshi yelled into the camera. “We’re here to talk about the true hero of today — Jeonghan the Romantic King!”

Mingyu grabbed a hairbrush, singing dramatically into it. “Jeonghan and Y/N, sitting in a tree... K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

“Hyung, confessing on live TV?” Seungkwan grinned. “We knew you were whipped, but this is a whole new level!”

“Enough, enough!” Jeonghan tried to grab Hoshi’s phone, but Mingyu tackled him before he could.

The comments flooded in instantly:

“OMG they’re so chaotic I can’t breathe.” “Mingyu STOP HAHAHA.” “I stan Jeonghan’s love story more than my own life.”

Amidst the chaos, Jeonghan finally gave up and laughed — a real, carefree laugh that echoed through the room.

And for the first time in what felt like forever… everything felt okay again.

The warmth from Jeonghan’s interview still lingered in your chest. His words — “She’s the person I love” — played in your mind like a song stuck on repeat.

For the first time in weeks, the world felt softer — less suffocating. Fans were rallying behind you, Jeonghan’s members were your biggest cheerleaders, and you finally felt like you could breathe again.

But the moment of peace didn’t last long.

Two Days Later — Meeting Room at Your Agency

Your manager’s face was stone-cold. The tension in the room felt suffocating as your company’s CEO folded his hands on the desk.

“You need to cut ties with Jeonghan,” he said flatly.

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said firmly. “This scandal isn’t over yet, and now Jeonghan’s confession has made you both an even bigger target.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “We’re giving you two options — either publicly deny your relationship… or we pull you from your upcoming comeback.”

Your breath hitched. “You’re threatening to take away everything I’ve worked for?”

“Don’t be dramatic,” your manager snapped. “It’s for your own good.”

Your own good?

“You mean for your good,” you shot back. “Because now people know you tried to sideline me.”

“Think carefully, Y/N,” the CEO warned. “Jeonghan’s career will survive this. But yours?” He shook his head. “You don’t have the same luxury.”

Later That Night — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

The moment Jeonghan opened the door, you fell into his arms.

“Hey, hey…” His voice softened as his arms wrapped around you tightly. “What’s wrong?”

You buried your face in his chest, the warmth of his embrace breaking the dam you’d tried so hard to hold together.

“They’re forcing me to break up with you,” you choked out. “Or they’ll pull me from my group’s comeback.”

Jeonghan’s arms stiffened. “What?”

“They’re giving me two choices — either I deny everything, or they ruin my career.”

Jeonghan pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. “We’ll fix this,” he promised. “I won’t let them hurt you like this.”

“But what if they—”

“I’m not losing you,” Jeonghan cut in, his voice firm. “Not after everything.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His thumbs brushed softly across your cheeks, and the quiet comfort of his presence made your heart ache.

“Whatever happens,” he whispered, “I’m with you. Always.”

The Next Morning — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“You’re telling me they’re threatening her?” Seungkwan’s voice rose an octave. “That’s insane!”

“Hyung, this is serious,” Joshua said, pacing the room. “If Y/N’s company doesn’t back down…”

“We’re not letting them win,” Jeonghan said firmly. “I’ll talk to Pledis if I have to.”

“And if they try to keep you quiet?” Joshua asked.

Jeonghan’s gaze hardened. “Then I’ll make sure the world knows exactly what they’re doing to her.”

“Hyung…” Seungkwan’s voice softened. “Are you sure? You’ve worked so hard to get here.”

“I know,” Jeonghan said quietly. “But she’s worth it.”

Later That Day — Social Media Erupts

Jeonghan’s next move wasn’t subtle.

@JeonghanOfficial "Love shouldn’t come with conditions. No one should have to choose between their career and their heart."

The post went viral in minutes.

“Is Jeonghan throwing shade at Y/N’s agency?” “He’s protecting her AGAIN I’M SOBBING.” “This man is fighting for her like it’s a K-drama.”

That Evening — Your Dorm

“Y/N.”

You froze when your manager stormed into your room, phone clutched tightly in his hand.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I didn’t—”

“Jeonghan’s post is everywhere,” he snapped. “Now you’re both trending, and we’re getting flooded with press inquiries.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” you shot back. “People are starting to see what you’re doing — and they’re not okay with it.”

Your manager’s expression twisted. “If you don’t fix this, you’re out.”

Hours Later — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm Rooftop

“I’m scared,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “What if I lose everything?”

“You won’t,” Jeonghan said softly, reaching for your hand.

“But if my company doesn’t back down…”

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” Jeonghan said firmly. “You’re not alone in this.”

His fingers traced the bracelet he’d given you — the one engraved with 나의 별 (My Star).

“Remember what I told you?” he whispered. “You’re my star… no matter what happens, I’ll always find you.”

This time, when you leaned into him, you didn’t just feel comfort — you felt safe.

And for the first time in weeks, you believed that somehow… you’d both be okay.

The message came late at night.

Your phone buzzed on your nightstand, the screen lighting up with a notification from your manager.

"You are no longer a member of the group. The company will release an official statement in the morning."

You stared at the message for a long time, your fingers trembling as you gripped the phone.

It was over.

The group you’d poured your heart and soul into — years of sleepless nights, endless rehearsals, and sacrifices — all taken away because you refused to let your love be a scandal.

Your phone slipped from your hand as you pressed your palms over your face. The tears came quickly, silent but unstoppable.

The Next Morning

"I can’t believe Y/N’s company actually kicked her out!" "She’s been with them since DAY ONE — and this is how they treat her??" "#BringBackY/N is trending worldwide OMG."

Fans flooded social media. Within hours, hashtags like #JusticeForY/N, #BringBackY/N, and #WeSupportJeonghan dominated the trending list.

Clips of you performing on stage resurfaced — moments where you sang with unwavering passion, moments where you pushed through exhaustion just to stand alongside your group. Fans remembered everything.

"If Y/N isn’t part of the next comeback, I’m DONE supporting this company." "We’re not buying a single album unless they bring her back!"

The boycott movement spread like wildfire — fanbases from other groups even voiced their support.

At SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“Have you seen this?” Joshua’s voice broke the silence, phone in hand. “The fans are seriously threatening to boycott.”

“It’s working,” Seungkwan muttered, scrolling through his feed. “Her company’s getting destroyed online.”

Jeonghan exhaled shakily. “I should be happy,” he said softly. “But none of this matters if she’s still hurting.”

“She’ll get through this,” Joshua reassured him. “You’ll get through this... together.”

A Few Hours Later — At Your Apartment

The pounding at your door startled you.

“Y/N!” Jeonghan’s voice rang out. “Please — just let me in.”

You hesitated, wiping your face before opening the door. The moment he saw you, Jeonghan’s face softened.

“I heard…” His voice broke. “I’m so sorry.”

“I knew they’d do this,” you said quietly. “But it still... hurts.”

Jeonghan cupped your face, his thumb brushing away a tear. “Everyone’s fighting for you right now — your fans, other idols... everyone.”

“I know,” you whispered. “But I can’t go back.”

Jeonghan’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”

“Because…” Your voice trembled. “Even if they let me back in the group, I’d be walking back into the same toxic environment. They never treated me well, Jeonghan.” You swallowed hard. “I can’t go back to a place that made me feel like I didn’t belong.”

Jeonghan’s grip on you tightened — not out of frustration, but out of understanding.

“Then don’t,” he said softly. “You don’t owe them anything.”

“But the fans…” Your voice faltered. “I don’t want to let them down.”

“You’re not letting them down,” Jeonghan reassured you. “They’re fighting for you because they love you — not because they want you to suffer.”

His fingers found the bracelet on your wrist — the star charm shining softly in the light.

“You deserve better,” Jeonghan murmured. “And I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

You felt yourself break down, falling into his chest as the weight of everything finally caught up with you. His arms held you tightly, like he was trying to piece you back together.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered into your hair. “For choosing yourself... for being strong.”

For the first time in weeks, you believed it.

Days Later — A Surprise Statement from SEVENTEEN

Jeonghan’s agency broke the silence with an unexpected announcement.

"Jeonghan will be stepping back from activities for the time being to support Y/N during this difficult time. We ask for your understanding."

The fans erupted with mixed emotions — some worried, others praising Jeonghan’s unwavering loyalty.

But the loudest voices? The ones demanding your former company be held accountable.

"This isn’t over until Y/N gets the respect she deserves." "Even if she doesn’t go back to the group — we’ll support her no matter what." "We’re with you, Y/N — always."

For the first time in weeks, the noise didn’t feel so loud anymore.

Instead, it felt like a chorus of voices — not shouting against you, but standing with you.

And when Jeonghan reached for your hand, his fingers lacing tightly with yours, you knew that somehow… you’d both make it through this.

The days following Jeonghan’s statement felt like a blur. Messages of love poured in from fans, old friends, and even strangers. Despite the warmth, a lingering emptiness clung to you — a hollow reminder of the career you’d spent years building, now gone.

You knew walking away from your group was the right decision, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Three Days Later — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed at his phone screen.

“Hyung, what’s wrong?” Seungkwan asked, noticing the tension in his face.

“Look at this.” Jeonghan handed him the phone. An article was spreading online — an exclusive interview featuring a former idol from your company.

[EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW: Former Idol Speaks Out Against Agency’s Mistreatment]

"I saw it firsthand," the idol confessed. "They treated Y/N horribly behind the scenes — constantly blaming her if things went wrong. The managers pressured her to hide injuries and pushed her harder than anyone else."

"And after the dating scandal? They deliberately sabotaged her — cutting her lines, pulling her from promotions, and forcing her to take the blame for something she didn’t even do wrong."

"Y/N’s been through so much… and she didn’t deserve any of it."

Seungkwan’s eyes widened. “Wait… they cut her lines?”

“I knew they treated her badly,” Jeonghan muttered, “but this?”

“It’s not just her fans now,” Seungkwan said, scrolling through comments. “People are furious.”

"Y/N’s company better apologize — this is disgusting." "She was dealing with this and a dating scandal? She’s stronger than I’ll ever be." "#JusticeForY/N — we’re still here for you."

Later That Evening — Your Apartment

“Did you see the interview?” Jeonghan asked softly, sitting beside you on the couch.

You nodded. “I can’t believe they said all that. I thought... no one knew what was happening.”

“People know now,” Jeonghan said firmly. “And they’re fighting for you.”

You offered a small smile, but doubt lingered in your eyes. “It’s just… what am I supposed to do now?”

“You still love music,” Jeonghan said quietly. “I know you do.”

You sighed, fingers tracing the charm on your bracelet — the tiny star that had become your comfort.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“You don’t have to.”

Jeonghan smiled softly, reaching into his pocket. “Because I already figured that out for you.”

He handed you a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” you asked warily.

“Just… trust me,” he said with a grin.

The Next Day — Surprise at Pledis Studio

When Jeonghan brought you to Pledis, you felt your stomach twist.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you mumbled, anxiety creeping in.

“You can,” Jeonghan said firmly, squeezing your hand. “Just trust me.”

He led you to a practice room — but when the door opened, you froze.

Inside, SEVENTEEN’s members stood scattered across the room — some with instruments, others by microphones. Hoshi grinned from behind a speaker, while Woozi stood by the keyboard, adjusting sound levels.

“What… is this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Your new beginning,” Jeonghan said proudly.

“We’re helping you record a song,” Joshua explained, stepping forward. “Woozi’s been working on a track for you.”

“You’re… serious?” Your voice shook.

“Of course we are!” Hoshi beamed. “This is your comeback — your real one.”

“We believe in you,” Woozi added quietly. “And I know this won’t fix everything… but it’s a start.”

You blinked rapidly, overwhelmed. “I don’t know what to say…”

“Say yes,” Jeonghan said softly, his eyes warm and full of quiet encouragement.

And so you did.

Hours Later — Inside the Recording Booth

Your hands shook slightly as you put on the headphones. The melody started — soft, comforting, yet powerful.

Woozi’s voice came through the speaker. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and sang — quietly at first, then louder as the music swelled.

The emotions poured out — the hurt, the fear, the heartbreak... but also hope. A flicker of strength you didn’t know you still had.

When you finished, you turned to the glass where Jeonghan stood, watching proudly. He gave you a small thumbs-up — his smile warm and full of love.

For the first time in weeks… you felt like yourself again.

Two Weeks Later — Online Reaction

The song — “Unfinished Star” — was released quietly, but it didn’t take long for fans to find it.

"Y/N’s voice sounds even more powerful than before. I’m crying." "She’s back... stronger than ever." "We’ve been waiting for this, Y/N — we never stopped believing in you."

The overwhelming support washed over you, filling the void you once feared would never heal.

And as you scrolled through the comments, Jeonghan’s voice echoed in your mind:

"You’re my star... no matter what happens, I’ll always find you."

You smiled, clutching your phone tightly.

He had found you — and this time, you knew you weren’t shining alone.

The success of Unfinished Star took you by surprise.

In just a few days, the track had climbed the charts — not just because of SEVENTEEN’s involvement, but because fans believed in you. Their comments flooded every platform:

"Y/N’s voice has always been amazing — now the world’s finally listening." "Her emotions hit so hard… I’m so proud of her." "She doesn’t need her old group — she’s a star on her own."

But for every supportive message, there was still noise from your former company.

At Your Former Agency’s Office

“Are you sure we can spin this?” your former manager asked, pacing the room.

The CEO scowled, reading the latest headlines.

"Y/N’s Emotional Return Shines Brighter Than Ever!" "Ex-Idol’s Comeback Outshines Her Former Group’s Promotions."

“She’s gaining sympathy,” the CEO muttered. “And sympathy sells.”

“What if we… I don’t know… claim the song was ours?” your manager suggested.

The CEO’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll say we supported her from the start. Flip the narrative — make it sound like we encouraged her to pursue solo activities.”

“But that’s a lie,” your manager said cautiously.

The CEO smirked. “It doesn’t have to be true — it just has to look true.”

Later That Day — Online Statement from Your Former Agency

"We are proud to have supported Y/N throughout her journey. Her recent success is a reflection of the dedication we nurtured during her time in our company. We look forward to celebrating her continued achievements."

Your phone nearly slipped from your hands.

“They’re really trying to twist this?” you muttered under your breath.

Before you could even process the betrayal, your phone buzzed again — this time from Jeonghan.

At SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“I can’t believe they’re doing this,” Jeonghan muttered angrily, pacing back and forth. “They’re acting like they didn’t kick you out!”

“I should just ignore it,” you said quietly, still processing the statement. “I don’t want to drag this out.”

“You don’t have to ignore it,” Joshua said firmly. “They’re taking credit for everything you did on your own.”

“Yeah,” Hoshi chimed in. “You deserve to speak up.”

Jeonghan stopped pacing, turning to you. “If you’re ready… we’ll help you.”

The Next Morning — Your Statement

With Jeonghan beside you, you started the live stream.

“I didn’t plan to say anything,” you began, your voice soft but steady. “But I can’t stay silent anymore.”

You took a deep breath, feeling Jeonghan’s quiet presence beside you.

“My former agency claims they supported me through this,” you said slowly. “But the truth is… they didn’t.”

Your fingers gripped the bracelet on your wrist — the star charm grounding you.

“They cut me from performances. They isolated me from my group. And when I refused to deny my relationship with Jeonghan, they forced me out completely.”

Pausing, you swallowed hard, feeling your emotions build.

“But despite everything… I’m still here. I’m still singing because of the people who believed in me — my fans, my friends… and Jeonghan.”

You turned to him briefly, and his warm smile gave you the courage to finish.

“I won’t let anyone rewrite my story,” you said firmly. “Because this is only the beginning.”

A Few Days Later — SEVENTEEN’s Concert

“Come with me,” Jeonghan said, tugging your hand as the concert neared its end.

“Wait, what?” you stammered. “Where are we—”

Before you could protest, you were backstage — and SEVENTEEN’s encore had just begun.

“We’ve got one more surprise,” Seungkwan announced, his voice echoing through the venue.

Your heart stopped as Jeonghan took your hand and led you on stage.

The crowd erupted in cheers — deafening, overwhelming, yet so full of love.

“Everyone!” Jeonghan shouted into his mic. “This star right here?” He turned to you with a smile. “She’s been through so much… but she never gave up.”

The cheers grew louder.

“You believed in her when no one else did,” Jeonghan continued. “And because of you… she’s back where she belongs.”

He gave your hand one final squeeze before stepping aside — motioning for you to take the mic.

The crowd went quiet.

And then… you sang.

Later That Night — Backstage

“You did it,” Jeonghan murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“We did it,” you corrected, smiling softly.

“You know…” Jeonghan smirked. “I still remember the first time I saw you on stage. I knew back then you were something special.”

“You’re just saying that,” you teased.

“I’m serious,” he insisted. “Back then… you were just my crush.” He leaned in closer, voice low. “But now? You’re the love of my life.”

The warmth in his eyes stole your breath away.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you more,” Jeonghan smiled, his fingers gently tracing the bracelet on your wrist.

“You’re still my star,” he murmured. “And no one’s ever going to dim your light again.”

[divinit3a]

📝drabble: catch me! (if i fall) -> ao3 link 🌟sun x (a devious) assistant reader word count: 2423 chosen words: sparklers, cloud nine, honeydew, letting go, restart

here are the cafe prompts for fellas interested! the deadline for 'new beginnings' is jan 12, 2025 ;3c

“They're called sparklers,” You once told him. Nestled away in the darkness, the sparkle igniting the dim space like a strike of a match. He’s still not sure how you snuck the miniature fireworks into work that day, and he was never brave enough to ask in fear of the cheshire grin that would split across your face. Effectively making him your accomplice, as always. Wore that same grin that always told him he was going to loathe learning what you did this time that put your employment and his life on the line.

The low lighting of the evening tickled at their switch release. Sun hadn’t yet shifted into Moon, but his other half had been awakened and tugged at the dual AI until a presence pressed against his ‘mind.’ The rooftop was technically off limits to the attendant, but you insisted that a technicality was not enough to stop you. 

You dragged him up the stairs, ‘against his will!’, the ‘innocent’ robot would cry with crocodile tears–but he knew that with a single lock of a knee joint, he could have stopped you. He always could've stopped you, but curiosity and intrigue were too devious to ignore. 

”C-careful, you're going to start a fire!“ He remembers you laughing off his safety precautions, letting the sparkler continue to send of tiny sparks. The blitz of light danced across your face, sparkled in your eyes. That's what he always liked about you; a firecracker, a wild spirit who struck the whole ‘Plex like tornado scorned. Always bending the rules in a way that ignited his circuitry, without triggering a full reprimand. Teetering on the line. 

A liability he could delete with one report. Saved a headache.  And yet, the tightrope walk was too enthralling to cut short. 

The air was bitter cold, turning each breath you took into wisps that mystified him. Like you were exhaling magic. 

You'd stand up on the edge of the rooftop, walking along toe-by-toe, a fistful of sparklers in one hand. A fire-hazard. The attendant refused to light one of the hellish sticks, and instead followed right beside you. Matching each step. Reflexes engaged to catch you at any moment. Your actions always triggered their hypervigilance; a disaster sense tickling through his components. 

You brushed your opposite hand against the grated fence that bordered the rooftop, laced fingers between each metal link as you stepped along. 

A slight mis-step. The give of the fence was enough for it to fall down. A comet racing by as the anxiety surged in their wires, compelled to reach forward. 

Wrapping arms around he tugged you backwards, stopping you from recklessly tumbling into danger. You'd laugh and tap away at his shoulder joints, insisting that it was all just in good fun, that you were always fine, that you were safe here. You’d file a maintenance ticket later to fix the fence, it really wasn’t a big deal.

That day, the sparklers slipped out of your grip, and fell two stories down. The bright lights snuffed out in a strong gust of wind. A stroke of luck, Sun scolded, as otherwise it could have started a fire in the parking lot. He remembers that you snorted out a laugh, and patted at his chest plate until he relaxed his grip and set you down. 

You kept acting like nothing in the world bothered you, though he felt the quickened rhythm of you pulse from almost slipping and falling. Simply readjusted the scarf around your neck, and offered him a sparkler, fresh from the pack. Not giving in a single budge until he took it into his hand. 

From your jacket pocket you pulled out a lighter, a deep violet one that was all scuffed up. With great trepidation, Sun squeezed his optics shut and let you light a sparkler for him, tipping it towards the small flame you lit with a click of the sparkwheel. 

Even now, replaying the memory in his mind, he remembers how you cheered on that he was finally ‘loosening up a little.’ Sun let out a nervous chuckle, certain you’d be the end of him. 

Yet, he clings on to the memory of opening his eyes to see how bright that light was. How it lit up the joy on your face, vivid and bright.

The feeling was electrifying. Addictive. The thrill of walking life on the edge; hopped up all the way to cloud nine. 

-------

”Oh, it tastes sweet.“ You'd tell him, reading the robot's mind as it watched with fascination as you pecked away at your lunch. At first you put the employee discount to good use, tried out the fast-order tacos slopped with week-old sour cream and fizzy soda until realizing that it was a one-way ticket to stomach sickness. So now, the tupperware lids scattered around the play table. You wipe off your hands from the sticky residue, and offer the attendant a piece of honeydew.

Sun accepted the piece of food, as if it could ever matter to him. He turned it around between two pinched fingers, appraising the cubed piece of fruit. ”S-sweet?“ He asked, optics flickering up to look at you with an audible click. ”Are you sure, friend? It's all...“ His optics thin out, shutters lowering like eyelids that always caught a spark of light, drew you in to lean closer. Lacking a vaster vocabulary to rely on, the attendant settled on: ”Green. Like broccoli.“ He made a so-so gesture with his hand.

You pulled a face then sneakily slid a piece towards his static smile. The fruit tapped against their piano-key teeth, the snapped-close mask barring entry. A tingle dances across the faceplate, sensing the slightest shift in pressure. Detecting the cold temperature. 

Optical sensors scan the fruit as you hold it to his ‘lips’: 90% water, 9% carbohydrates, 0.1% fat, and 0.5% carbohydrates. The sugar content was moderate, about 8-12 grams of sugar per 100 grams. He failed to grasp the appeal, and said as much through the whirring kicked up of fans.

“Too bad.“ You taunted. ”Guess you'll never understand how great it is.” You popped the piece of fruit onto your tongue instead, made a show of savoring the taste. 

Taste. One of the few senses an entertainment automation certainly can’t replicate. As you chewed, you looked as smug as can be. A twinge of electricity nicked up his arms, caused fingertips to twitch with inaction. 

The subtle interactions stacked up to an avalanche a tap away from tipping over and all falling down.

In the moment, he remembers laughing along, while redirecting extra coolant to his circuits to quiet down the betraying whirl of fans as he overheated. He tip-tapped his fingers together, then shifted the topic towards an easier one. One that made sense to the lines of code filtering through his system, simple and predictable. Unlike you.

“A-anyways, I was thinking that today's afternoon craft could be...” He started a long spiel about cardstock, glitter glue, and macaroni. 

He noticed the way you'd subtly deflate, fiddled around with your notebook as you nodded along to the plans for the day. 

-------

“Like this?” You held up the abomination of a craft. Glue dripped down the sopped piece of paper, colorful faux feathers pasted on without logic or forethought. 

“Nonono, that’s all wrong!” The robot seethed, tugged at his rays, and you just laughed at his superficial anger. The way he’d stomp, and the ring of bells would ridicule his jester-themed tantrum. 

“Alright, Mr. Perfect. Show me how its done.” You gestured to the craft supplies in front of you. He recalls the timestamp: Sunday, 3:42 pm, 18 minutes before you’d stall on leaving. Again.

Sun’s voicebox crackled out a few choice insults, all child-friendly, he’s sure. Lured over by your practiced and weaponized inadequacy, he’d set down the supplies and be pulled from his hellbent task of cleaning the Daycare for the fourth time today. Fell victim to your trivial distractions. 

“Go on, enlighten me.” you’d tease with gusto, and his ruffles would bristle. 

“Well, first off, you aren’t even putting the caps backbackback on the gluesticks—” You’d barely answer his rants, responded with quipped ‘uh-huh’s that grinded his gears. And yet you’d listen to every pointless word, resting your head against your palm as eyelids drooped. At ease. 

With you around, he found that the weekends weren’t so boring anymore. 

For better or worse.

-------

There were days you were quiet, too. Not like yourself– at first he thought, incorrectly. No, all aspects of you were you; as multifaceted as the attendant himself. With darker shadows, a botched attempt at purging a secondary AI. Recycled and restarted, and yet still imperfect. 

Sun couldn’t find you on the shift most the day. Normally he’d tsk and hum and already have half an email drafted to send off to management, but he felt rather generous—and certainly not biased in his decision to spare you. He’d find you tucked into the alleyway directly behind the daycare, bypassing the emergency exit alerts with your clearance badge.

“Smoking is bad for your health,” Sun chided. 

You startled, nearly dropping the lighter in your hands. The small flame warms your palms. A violet stain on your record. 

“You should really let-let-let that badbadbad habit go, firefly.” The robot tsk’s, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway to appear imposing. The firewalls blared in his mind not to take a step outside, as it would go against protocols and leave the daycare unattended during hours of operation. 

You looked up at the nickname, interest piqued. Flicked the lighter closed, a small, damningly hopeful smile quirked at the edges of your lips. “Yeah, yeah. Preach to the choir, sunshine.” You bat the playful nickname right back, and his panels would shudder at the audacity twisted up in his circuits. Fingers curled into fists, rattling with underlaid frustrations. 

“R-right. Well.” Sun scritched at his lowermost rays. “H-hurry back in, its cold outside, and your breakbreakbreak is over in three minutes!” Sun taps the lack of a watch on his wrist, jostling the bells there like a tambourine. 

You bumped against the attendant as you walked past him in the doorway, unbothered by his spindly silhouette. 

“Oh, right. Sun?” His neck hinge swiveled, locking eyes. Rays shrunk back, waiting for your next remark.

“Thanks for looking out for me,” you said with a wink.

The attendant stammered as you cackled and walked away, lacking a pre-programmed retort to put up with your hijinks. The hot and cold act that left his wires bunched up into a mess. The intricacies of human behavior often went beyond his programming, but Sun could pinpoint a rulerbreaker with ease. He was sure he rushed you indoors, hands lingering on the cold of your shoulders just a little while longer than necessary to warm you back up. 

-------

It happened when he was trying to restock the supply closet.  An incident he refused to report to save out on his own pride.

Now, the animatronic was taller than the average human, but the storage layout in the ‘Plex was absurd even for robotic standards. Multi-leveled, crates and boxes, all shoved into the warehouse out back. Ladders with wheels attached type deal. Sun tried to catalogue the health-code violations, but his programming set up proxies and wiped the data each time. 

Beneath him, you waited impatiently and held the ladder to keep it steady. In Sun’s opinion the menial task was better than watching you roll the supply cart back and forth, played the squeaky wheels like a fiddle. Now that was a service ticket worth sending in — that the cart’s wheels needed a good oiling. After all, idle hands make for idle minds, and you are too much to leave unattended. 

“Find it yet?” You called up, louder than necessary. His rays retracted, audio input peeked by your shout. He shook their head, resetting the input levels to neutral. 

“A-almost, just need a few more–” Sun reached out to grab a crate with one arm, confident in the circuitry and hydraulics that powered his arms to handle the weight. 

Yet the briefest flicker in the power was enough to toggle the inbetween state between him and Moon, gears grinding and power reserves swapping tempos. The sudden flash was like being struck by lightning, agonizing and leaving their wires tingling as if burnt.

He let go of the ladder. He was falling.

The impact was softer than he imagined.  And noisier, too. 

“Caught you,” You laughed, arms encircled around their scrawny waist as you held them up from crashing into the concrete floor below. The buttons of their chestplate dug into your work uniform. The devious grin he was so enamored by cracked across your face like a thunderbolt. Maybe you knew, and just wanted to cheer him up.

The attendant was shockingly lightweight, a fact you’d deviously keep in mind for later. You acted as if blissfully unaware of the severity of the moment, the possibility of what would unfold should the power have went off for good, or should they have landed and dinged up their chassis over boxes of pom-poms and silly scissors. 

“I—I—You are insufferable!” Sun sputtered.

“Easy there, sunshine. You’ll blow a fuse.” You leaned the attendant back, righting his frozen posture. “See? No harm, no foul.” You brushed the bits of dust and debris off his shoulder mechanisms, paused to feel the delicate thrum of intricate machinery beneath the outer casings. 

The touch lingered as you zoned in on the humming. He remembers that part clearly, the most confusing of all.

“Hey, Sun?” You asked to cut through the shared silence. Voice soft as feathers. 

The attendant leaned in closer, circuits pumped to overdrive with anticipation. 

“Its 4:08. Do you think they’d pay me overtime if I stick out another hour?” You asked, cheekily aware of the extent of your damages to their emotional processors. He would reel back, reprimanded you for staying past clock-out time. The hardwired programming won out against the clockwork in their chest that just wouldn’t calm down, even as he walked you to the exit, raving all the while about your poor work ethic as you grinned.

Sun remembers spending the rest of the day in a daze, too starstruck by the encounter to accomplish much else. 

How he felt anything besides hatred for you, unpredictable, firecracker, wonderful you, the attendant would never be able to calculate or comprehend.

[thewordswewrite]

Be My Guest

Pairing | Kate Carter x Tyler Owens

Summary | One time Tyler stays in Kate’s guest room and one time she stays in his

Warnings | discussions of trauma/injury associated with storm chasing, SMUT 18+

W/C | 6.6k

A/N | We wanted to hop into the Twisters fandom before it took ao3 by storm and this is *so far* what we've come up with. So...if you feel it... -smoe <33

AO3 | Link

Donations | Link 

Hers

She came home for safety, familiarity, to find her way forward but instead, she found herself more lost than when she’d arrived. 

It was only supposed to be a week. Sure, Kate thought it would be difficult to be back in the field but she hadn’t anticipated this. She hadn’t anticipated him. It shouldn’t matter. She had a job in New York, a life, a stable, safe job, her own apartment–everything she needed. But was it everything she wanted? 

What Tyler had said crossed a line but that didn’t mean it wasn’t the truth. It was just something she probably already knew, deep down, and hadn’t wanted to accept. She was running away from the storm but she should know better than most that it would always catch up.

With an aggravated sweep of her arm, all of her past research was on the floor, pages floating around her before finding a place to land. She almost immediately regretted the mess but it had felt good. For the last five years, she’s avoided risk but now it almost feels hypocritical to say that she misses it.

Kate bent to gather the papers but only grabbed a few before stopping at her Cloud Physics notebook which had fallen open to a familiar page. She sat down in front of it and traced the impressions of her writing on the pages. It was too much to retrace her steps, to consider what had gone wrong. She needed to get out of her head and she couldn’t do that without getting out of this damn barn.

She knocked lightly on the kitchen door so as not to startle her mom. Being an adult, Kate felt an aversion to putting these things on her mom. Her mother had always been supportive, even when knowing her daughter’s passion was actively putting her in danger. Maybe she just didn’t want her mom to repeat the same sentiments as Tyler but she also knew she wasn’t about to come to any decision without some guidance. Just like seeing her middle school science project again, she felt like a child standing in the kitchen.

“Kate?”

“Yeah, it’s just me.” She sighed and pulled out the chair at the dining table that had always belonged to her. The smell of whatever her mother was stirring made her stomach grumble. “Where’s Tyler?”

“Oh, he drove pretty far so he’s getting cleaned up.” Kate could tell her mom was trying to sound uninterested, maybe for her sake but still she asked, “What’s his story anyway?”

“He’s just some internet star from Arkansas,” She explained, picking at a stain on the table. For a moment she thought about leaving it at that but the fire he had lit in the barn was still burning inside her. Sardonically, she added, “He’s made a living as a so-called ‘Tornado Wrangler’ but so far he’s only shot some fireworks into a cyclone and nearly killed the reporter signed on to cover him and his team.”

Her mom chuckled and replied, “Sounds like a man looking for a thrill to me.”

Again, she felt like a child relaying the latest gossip from the schoolyard but she couldn’t help but continue.

“And his whole team is this ragtag group of people who’ve never been to school for this either!”

“I see.”

“I mean sure he’s studied meteorology but they could get seriously hurt.” Kate had busied herself by fiddling with a napkin she’d pulled from the homemade holder. The shreds of it were getting smaller and smaller.  “They’re no professionals.”

Her mom hummed, acknowledging her annoyance but countered with, “Well he doesn’t seem too bad to me, he did drive all the way here.” Although her mother graciously spared her the ‘for you’ that they both knew completed that thought, she felt its weight. It was easier to make him seem unlikeable than tell her mom that it was her that was in the wrong.

“You’d believe me if you saw the shirts he sells, his face all sprawled across them.” Kate laughed, thinking of the cheesy slogans. It wasn’t lost on her that she had assumed the worst of him. She thought back to what Lily had said and felt ashamed. “Though,” She conceded, “the money does pay for food for the aftermath survivors. They were handing it  out at the last town we were in after the tornado hit.”

“Not all bad then?” Her mother turned fully to face her and Kate knew her teasing expression said all she needed to know.

“I guess not.”

_ _ _

Dinner had been passable, if not enjoyable. Kate had figured it would be awkward, that the dynamic between her and her mom would be offset by Tyler’s presence but it had flowed easily. The only gripe she had was that her mother had gone over her head to invite him to stay the night. In her ideal world, she would’ve ushered him out right after dinner saying a quick thanks for his concern but sending him on his way knowing that she’d never have an obligation to speak to him again. 

Tyler had, of course, helped her mom with the dishes, leaving her to watch awkwardly so as not to take up unnecessary space in the small kitchen. She’d shot him a tight smile as he’d excused himself to his room for the night. 

“Well,” Her mom said from the doorway, “I’m off to bed. Shut the lights, will you?” She didn’t wait for an answer as she made her way past the living room to her bedroom. 

Kate tapped her fingers sporadically against the table, the sound echoing in the quiet house. She hadn’t been fully present for dinner. Every time she looked at Tyler she could only think about what she was doing wrong, what she was missing. As much as she resented the fact, there was no way she could make peace with the past couple of days if she didn’t get in another word with him.

She flipped the last of the switches off and made her way up the stairs, avoiding the ones she knew were extra creaky. At the landing, Kate considered just going to her bedroom but her feet kept their integrity and trudged her towards the guest room.

Her hand was poised to knock when the door opened.

“Kate?” The sound of his voice combined with the unexpected image made her jump. Whatever she had been prepared to say had left with her surprise but Tyler was already speaking again.  “Listen, what I said in the barn was out of line I shouldn’t have–”

“No you shouldn’t have…but you weren’t wrong either.”

Stepping back, he opened the door a bit more and though it wasn’t quite an invitation. It was a line she wasn’t sure she wanted to cross with his apology and her admittance the gist of what she’d hoped for. She promised herself that if he didn’t try to say anything else, she’d just turn around and walk away. He bit his lip, seeming to wrestle with something the same way she was.

“What’s the story behind you and Javi?” The question surprised her and she felt a vague excitement about his interest or rather the fact that he was interested at all. But the story itself was not something she was sure she could share.

“We met in college, he was friends with my…my boyfriend at the time.”

Tyler’s eyebrow raised in a silent question before he said, “And your boyfriend he was…”

She couldn’t stand in the hallway any longer where she was fully open to his scrutiny whether the story inspired pity or something else. Kate stepped past him into the room and started to explain,

“He was in the accident, along with two of my best friends.” She folded her arms across her chest, in a way trying to shield herself from the memories. “We were testing the polymer on what we thought was an EF1 but–”

“It was an EF5.” She nodded and his lips shifted into a sympathetic frown. Kate sat on the edge of the bed so that she didn’t have to face him head on.

She continued with, “So, I quit school and packed up to New York. Javi went back to Miami but because of the outbreak he thought he could use a second pair of eyes and invited me on.” From her peripheral, she could see the way he nodded along as she spoke, the genuine compassion still written in his features. She shrugged, unwilling to allow herself to feel the extent of the situation and the memories in front of him, “None of it matters though, I’ll be back in the city by the end of the week anyway.”

“You mean you’re giving up?” Tyler asked like it was somehow a personal affront to him or some greater injustice. Kate wasn’t sure what he cared. They’d only just met and he didn’t know her, not really. 

“I’m not giving up. I can’t live like this again, risking my life every day.”

“Because of the accident?” The way he said it, like it was only a passing moment and not something that monumentally changed not only her life but her, made her response sharp. 

“Yes, because of the accident.” 

He was unshaken by her hostility and placed a hand lightly on top of hers where it sat between them on the bed.

“Kate, I’ve seen people get hurt too, I’ve–” She couldn’t listen to this, couldn’t have him reduce her experience by comparison. If he thought this was the way to change her mind, he was sorely mistaken.

“Yeah, Tyler, well I got hurt. I watched people die, and I’ll bear those scars for the rest of my life.” Her body filled with tension of the memory as her breath began to quicken. She let the anger take over, the simplicity of it easier than the complicated truth. “I don't know why I even–”

 “Hold on–Kate!”

Kate could feel the air his failed reach created as he tried to grab her wrist to stop her. She was fast though, spurred on by the singular goal of getting the hell away from him. When she made it to the threshold of her room, she moved to shut the door. It almost slammed fully closed but groaned as the wood crashed into the foot he’d managed to snake in.

“Go to bed,” She demanded.

“So what, you’re going to help Javi line the pockets of Riggs for the rest of the week? The real estate shark that's directly profiting off the suffering of these people?” It seemed he couldn’t help, was adept at, pushing her buttons. If she were any bolder, she’d have already struck the self-righteous expression off his face.

“I didn’t know about that, I would have never–these are my people but this isn’t the way, the polymer didn’t work and people died because of it.”

“More will too, but only if you don’t do anything.” He tried to reach for her again but she shrugged away, “It could work. Together we could do this.” Tyler’s expression was pleading, his eyes urging her to make the right decision.

“Goodnight, Tyler.”

His

The flight was thankfully uneventful and much easier than her last flight to Oklahoma when she’d been dreading the very idea of her return. There were still memories that haunted the place she called home but now she could rest assured that they weren’t losses for nothing and that she may very well be able to save someone, hopefully many someones, from the same suffering she had endured for years.

Kate dragged her suitcases through the airport and the bustle of people coming and going made her feel oddly comforted. New York was easy to get lost in and for the time, it was exactly what she needed. But it had only ever been a place she ran away to and after a while she was running too fast to ever see it for what it was. Here, in Oklahoma, she was home.

She made her way out to the pickup lanes and was met with a calm blue sky, one that she knew–or maybe even hoped–wouldn’t last. At the five-minute mark, Kate was unbothered. By ten, she considered concern. By twenty, she was on the phone. It took three calls getting sent to voicemail before her mother picked up on the fourth.

“Hey, are you alright?” She tried not to sound too concerned but it wasn’t like her mother to forget an obligation or to not pick up the phone. 

“Oh, sunshine, I’m fine. It’s my truck that’s acting up,” Her mom replied. “I was on the road already when it decided to quit on me. I’m not sure how long repairs are going to take. You want me to call someone for you?” Kate sighed, more relieved by her mother’s well-being than bothered by the situation.

“No, don’t worry about it,” She answered, “As much as you don’t like it, I am a big girl. I can take care of it.”

“I know you can, baby. Don’t worry about making it here tonight, just take care of yourself.”

They exchanged ‘I love you’s before it sunk in that actually did have to take care of it. She found herself a spot on a nearby bench and tucked her luggage in beside her. Scrolling through her contacts, her thumb hovered over Javi before something urged her to keep going. Kate wasn’t sure if this was a bad idea but lately, she could handle a little risk.

“Hello?” She bit her lip, knowing this was her last chance to turn back. Still, he might not even be around or available to get her.

“Hey, Tyler?”

“Uh, yeah?” His voice was in performance mode, his uncertainty no match to his inherent charisma. Kate found herself filled with an urgent hope.

“It's Kate, Kate Carter.”

“Kate!” She could hear the smile in his voice. It was the first time she’d called him since he gave her his number and she was just beginning to regret not using it sooner. “What uh…what's going on?”

Her stomach flipped at the realization that she had to explain herself, that she wasn’t just calling him. Oh god, was this a mistake? Kate had thought there was something there when they were saying goodbye but maybe this was pushing it.  

“Are you in Oklahoma by any chance?”

“I am actually,” Tyler replied before he, with a hopeful tone, asked, “Are you here?”

“Do you think you could pick me up from the airport?” She fought the urge to cross her fingers like a little girl. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if she had to call Javi but she couldn’t help but want to see where this path led.

“Of course!” Her chest tightened, a mix between excitement and worry. “Is everything alright with your mom?” Kate’s cheeks flushed, touched by his concern. 

“Yeah–truck just wasn’t starting, don’t worry,” She said, hoping she sounded nonchalant.

“Alright then, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” In the background, Kate could hear his keys jingling already and she smiled to herself.

“Thanks so much. Bye.”

_ _ _

Kate had been inside, sitting at a cafe when her phone buzzed in her pocket, Tyler letting her know that he’d made it. She tossed out her empty coffee cup before regathering her things and taking a deep breath. If she was being honest with herself, she was excited to see him but she didn’t want to endure the inevitable teasing she’d be subject to should she seem too eager to be in his presence.

The sliding doors opened and it took her a minute to spot the familiar red truck. Her eyes followed the path to where Tyler was busy basking in the attention of an adoring fan. What more could she expect?

“And did you want this signed cause I could definitely sign this for you.”

He didn’t notice as she siddled up, even with the rumble of her suitcases on the concrete. She shook her head at the display of his ‘Tornado Wrangler’ persona and thought better than to let him off the hook.

With the exaggerated voice of a dedicated fan, she implored, “Oh my goodness! Is that Tyler Owens? I am your biggest fan!”

“That’s me darlin’, what can I do for–Kate.” He cleared his throat and straightened out his posture, putting on the real Tyler at the sight of her. Kate bit her lip, sparing him the laugh that threatened to escape her.

“Tyler,” She said, “You look good.”

“Well, I feel good.” Tyler stood with his hands on his hips, the two of them alone now and it seemed neither of them knew just what to say. She laughed at his remark and began to heave her luggage into the bed. Before she could lift the larger of the two bags, Tyler was stopping her with a hand on her wrist. Kate looked up at him, confused. 

“Don’t make me make you get in the truck.” She glared at him, gauging whether or not he was serious. He only matched her expression. “Get in the truck,” Tyler repeated.

Kate rolled her eyes and climbed into the passenger seat. She couldn’t help but lean over toward the shift, running her fingers across the buttons. Her pointer finger landed on the tape labeled, ‘Kate’s Barrels’ and traced over his writing. When the driver's door opened, she jumped at the movement and tore her hand away. 

“Headed to your mom’s?” Tyler asked, fingers tapping a rhythm onto the wheel.

“Uh, no actually just any motel close would be good. Home’s a bit far and the flight was long. I just want to go to bed.” She reminded herself that that was the only reason.

“I’m close,” He told her. Since when was he close? “I mean you could stay in my guest room and I could take you back to Sapulpa in the morning?” The idea sounded as equally dangerous as it was appealing. With a motel, she was in control of the situation but his place? There was no knowing.

Clearing her throat she answered, “That…sounds fine.”

Tyler tipped his hat toward her and then he was making his way out of the parking spot. For a little while, they sat in comfortable silence, the radio filling the empty space between them. Once they were outside the city, it was comforting to watch as farmland made up her view. The word rattled in her head again. Home.

“So, how did it end up going with the investors?” He asked. “Good, I assume since you’re back in Oklahoma.” Kate couldn’t help but smile knowing well enough already how happy he’d be to hear. Not to mention how happy she was to achieve something she’d been chasing since the possibility entered her mind.

“Yeah, it went very well actually. We uh–we got a lot of people interested and the offers were so good…I quit my job and sold the apartment. I’m back, back.”

Tyler’s smile grew to a million watts as he exclaimed, “Kate! That’s amazing!”

“Thank you, we’re really excited.” She thought she saw his grin falter a bit but she couldn’t pin down why. Still, after a moment he let out a whoop, honking the horn at the expense of the car in front of them. Kate laughed, placing her hand over his to keep him from doing it again.

“So, where you planning on living? With Javi?”

“Actually I’m not sure yet. Javi has this new girlfriend from back in Miami and they’re pretty wrapped up in each other.” His eyebrows raised and she continued, “My mom's kind of out of the way too. Plus, she’s thinking of selling since seed prices just keep going up. Says she’s sick of the weather.”

Tyler’s jaw went slack, exaggerating his shock. “Sick of the–Sick of the weather?”

“What can I say, she doesn’t appreciate the beauty of the storm.” Kate sighed theatrically. Her hand went to her forehead in a ‘woe is me’ gesture. He chuckled, punching her playfully in the arm.

“On the topic of prices though, she is right.” Tyler sighed as he turned onto a new street.  “That’s why I bought land and started from the ground up.”

“Land?” She repeated. It hadn’t been that long that she’d been gone. When and more so why had he decided to put down roots and outside of Arkansas for that matter.

“Yes, ma’am.” His mouth quirked up in a prideful smirk.

“And here I thought I’d be sharing some shitty motel room.”

They pulled into a long dirt driveway, the grass surrounding it still young. While the house was clearly new, the style had a nostalgic feel to it. It was painted a fresh shade of cream and the white wrap-around porch just screamed summer nights. If she didn’t know better she’d think she was going to visit some sweet old lady.

“Here we are, home sweet home.”

Tyler opened her door for her like a proper gentleman and she stepped out into pleasant fresh air. The whole thing was picturesque. Kate supposed she shouldn’t really be surprised considering she didn’t really know his tastes but the whole thing surprised her nonetheless. 

She followed Tyler through the front door as he carried her bags inside. The interior was just as sweet as the exterior had been but Kate could see the signs that were uniquely him. There were various piles and pieces of gear strewn about that she recognized from having filled her mother’s house with. Even with the classic style, the appliances and layout were tastefully modern. She was impressed.

Kate stepped into the kitchen which seemed to be the most lived-in room. There were pictures of the Wranglers and what she assumed was his family stuck to the fridge. Her eyes drifted to a bulletin board hung up next to it and tacked up in the center of it was a page ripped out of their article from Ben, one with a picture of her. She could feel her cheeks flush even with him still in the other room. Though she wanted to, Kate knew she wouldn’t mention it.

“You hungry?” She jumped at the sound of Tyler’s voice.

“No, I couldn’t–” The same look that urged her to ‘get in the truck’ painted his face and she reconsidered her answer. “Starved.”

Tyler seemed satisfied. He pulled out a seat at the kitchen island where she could have a clear view of him whipping something together. The whole thing felt unnervingly domestic but she enjoyed it all the same.

“This place is really nice, Tyler,” Kate said. Gesturing toward his tricked-out home office–that was maybe a little too nice for a YouTube star–she pointed out, “Got a nice setup too.”

“Yeah, the team has pretty much paired off and they live here and there but we come back for a warm meal more often than not.”

“Not you though?” It had crossed her mind that maybe the sudden home ownership had been a response to some sort of serious relationship. She tried to sound casual since it wasn’t really any of her business.

Tyler smiled and shrugged. “Nah, a fearless leader has to hold down the fort.” Kate rolled her eyes and laughed at his cockiness. It was better knowing that it didn’t run deep. She thought better than to push it but still, she wanted to know what this whole thing was for.

“No, but seriously, why a house?”

“Oklahoma is the past, present and future of tornadoes. That’s no secret,” He replied like it was some well-known slogan. Yeah, the outbreak they experienced had put Oklahoma back on the map but Tornado Alley spanned a wide area, including Arkansas. 

“How do you figure?”

“Well you’re here, aren’t you?” Her stomach sank, trying to decipher the meaning behind what he said. His focus was trained on the pot in front of him like what he’d said was no big deal. What was she supposed to say to that?

Without an answer, Tyler clarified, “You’ve got better instinct than anyone I’ve ever met, better than any Doppler too.”

He’d turned to her and winked in her continued silence. Kate nodded with a smile like it was casual to her too. She shifted under his intense gaze and thought it was an apt time to break the tension with something she’d been tossing around in her mind. He laid a plate of spaghetti in front of her before sitting down himself. She cleared her throat.

“I was going to wait to bring this up but…I was wondering if you would consider being partners.”

“Really?” The excitement on his face was genuine and Kate could see the surprise too. It made her feel secure in her decision. 

“Javi and I both have stakes in it but he’s avoiding the field as much as he can right now. He’s got the business side under control but, like I said, he’s got someone at home who’d prefer he didn’t get blown away.”

Tyler stayed practically frozen in place. Maybe she’d overstepped her bounds after all. She could tell herself all she wanted that she wouldn’t be hurt if he didn’t want to partner with her but that didn’t make it the truth. 

“What do you say, me and you?” Kate asked, bracing for his answer.

“You and me,” Tyler replied genuinely and with what she hoped was a hint of awe.

They ate silently, half from hunger and half in consideration of their future. As much as Kate didn’t want to admit it, there were other questions lingering between them. When her plate was cleared, he insisted on taking care of the simple cleanup himself leaving Kate to sit idly at the kitchen table, unable to get anywhere else without his direction anyway.

With the dishes washed, Tyler turned his attention back to her but it seemed he had just as much of an idea of how to proceed as she did.

“So, uh…” She began, uncertain where she was going.

“I bet you probably want to get cleaned up. There’s an en suite in the guest room.”

“Yeah, great.” As much as she wanted to bolt, Kate got up from the table slowly as if she were as calm as could be. Still, she didn’t wait for any instructions as to where to go. She didn’t turn back to look at him as she climbed the stairs, internally cursing herself for adding to the awkward atmosphere.

“First door on the right!” Tyler called after her because, of course, she hadn’t asked.

_ _ _

The warm water had been just what she needed, especially paired with the time away from Tyler to think. As much as there had been a sense of tension between them, her feelings had settled on contentment and maybe even excitement. They were partners now and they had plenty of time to figure everything and anything else out. They’d been through hell already and he would help her through it again.

She stepped out of the shower, her feet hitting the plush bath mat, and reached for a towel. Her hand grabbed only air. Upon further inspection, the towel rack was completely unoccupied. Shit.

“Um, Tyler?” Kate called. She waited a few minutes for his response and when it didn’t come she yelled louder. “Tyler!” She let out a breath when she heard his footsteps on the stairs.

“Yeah?” 

“There are no towels in here!”

“Shit. My bad, no one has used that bedroom yet,” Tyler explained. His feet were already causing the wood floor to creak when he assured, “I’ll grab you one, be right back.”

Kate couldn’t believe this was happening. There was a good chance that she’d expose herself in the exchange. She’d even left her clothes on the bed, choosing to strip before going to the bathroom.

A few minutes later there was a hesitant knock on the door.

“Here, I brought you a few. I don’t know what you prefer,” Tyler said.

She had to assume that he was smart enough not to look. He’d been nothing but polite after all. When she opened the door, his eyes were covered by the palm of his hand, and his other arm was extended out to her. Kate tried not to laugh at the look of him.

“Thanks.” 

Kate wrapped the largest towel around herself and used another to dry the excess moisture from her hair. She pulled the door back open, assuming he was gone but she was met with his figure, eyes still shielded. Nearly bumping right into him, she let out an involuntary sound something between a squeak and a groan. Tyler echoed the sound and quickly flipped his hand so he could see her. She had to assume that his subsequent turning around was motivated by her state of undress.

She didn’t know what else to do besides starting to dress. It seemed he wasn’t done talking to her just yet. After a moment, he spoke.

“Uh, Kate…I, uh, realized I didn’t say thank you just then for considering me.”

“Who else could I possibly consider?” She winced at her own words. By no means did Kate want to sound like she was unhappy, she just didn’t want to make it a big deal between them.

“Well, right, I guess there’s not many storm chasers to begin with and especially not ones who’ve studied meteorology.” Kate could hear the slight hurt in his voice even as he tried to tease and she couldn’t blame him. She’d said the wrong thing. She quickly finished pulling on her pajama pants so she could focus on the conversation before she said something else she regretted.

“Tyler,” She said softly. He still had his back considerately turned to her. Like a kid trying to pass notes in class, Kate tapped his shoulder to get his attention. Tyler smiled as he faced her and it gave her the boost she needed to say what she wanted.  “You’re the reason I’m doing this in the first place. You believed in me even when I didn’t. We’re going to be helping people and that’s because of you.”

He was shaking his head before she’d even finished.

“You can’t believe that, it's your polymer, your idea–”

She took a confident step forward, the action effectively shutting him up. The closer Kate got the more she angled up at him, his height towering over her. Her hand found its way to his jaw, cupping it gently, her thumb brushing over the stubble of his skin. Before she had the chance to close the distance, Tyler took his chance to capture her lips with his own.

It started slow, hesitant to the possibility of too much too fast but quickly gained momentum as they threw caution to the wind. It had been years since Kate had done this, never quite feeling able to move on from Jeb and the accident but now with a sense of closure and Tyler’s guiding hand she felt ready.

His mouth was eager as their kiss deepened, Tyler’s tongue painting the inside of her mouth, almost as if he was committing it to memory. Their heavy breaths filled the air and neither of them seemed willing to break the kiss as the minutes went on. It wasn’t until her fingers played at the hem of his shirt that he broke off, looking down at her through hooded eyes, his mouth swollen and flushed.

“Kate…”

The sight was too much and she couldn’t help but bring her lips back to his skin. They found purchase at his pulse point, kisses littering his neck as she made her intentions known to him with every touch.

Taking a step back, Tyler’s hands cradled her face and he searched her eyes, looking for what she wasn’t sure but when he seemed to find it a smile broke across his face. It was the same smile he sported every time the wind picked up and the radar lit up red: a man ready to face a challenge.

“You still wanna stay in my guest room?” He asked, though his joking town was limited by his heavy breathing. Kate knew he was teasing but he was just as eager as she was.

“If you keep up with that attitude I just might,” She replied, smiling ruefully.

“Honey,” Tyler beamed, “all I’ve got is attitude.”

A chuckle escaped her lips and his face turned from cocky to sincere before he leaned in to steal a kiss once more. His hands moved from her face to grasping her own as he led her to what she assumed was his room.

Kate struggled to keep up as he held his hands behind him for her to grasp. She held them awkwardly as the unusual position did not grant her a good grip. The playful air gave her butterflies but also made her feel a sense of safety, knowing that things didn’t have to be heavy between them.

Tyler turned, pulling their hands over his head so that Kate twirled around with him. He used the momentum to guide her backward into his room with his hands on her hips, attempting a cheesily seductive smolder. She used her heel to kick the door shut behind them.

Kate walked ahead of him to go sit on the edge of his bed. She could tell he was watching her closely to consider his next move but she enjoyed the idea of playing coy with him. Ignoring him, she took in the space which was surprisingly sparse especially compared to the ground floor.

“Wow, real homey in here,” Kate joked, feigning awe at the blank walls

“Oh, hush,” Tyler chided, “It hasn’t been that long since we finished construction.”

She put up her hands in surrender and replied, “Sure, sure.” He rolled his eyes at her and then his expression became soft again. Tyler walked forward, kneeing her legs open and standing between them. With just a tilt of her head they were kissing again and this time when she grabbed his shirt, he let her take it off of him. Kate paused a moment to take him in, the image one she intended to commit to memory before pulling her own shirt over her head.

The rest of their clothes came quickly but when it was time for her to remove her jeans she hesitated.

“We don’t have to do this.” Tyler reassured her, misreading her reluctance. Kate shook her head.

“It's not that it’s–” She huffed in frustration and rather than continue to overthink, pulled her pants down in one swift motion, hoping he’d move past the interruption rather than linger on the issue.

Instead, his eyes moved immediately to her lower half and zeroed in on her leg…her scar. Kate’s stomach began to churn. She knew that he knew the story but she hated that it had to be part of this moment between them. He had been part of making it possible for her to redeem herself, to make sure the losses were not worth nothing. Still, the memories and the physical signs would never leave her. It made her insecure but if he had a problem with it, this wasn’t worth continuing.

“Is this from…”

“Yes,” Kate replied flatly. She didn’t have anything to prove and she wanted more than anything to move on from this as soon as possible. Tyler looked up from the marred skin on her leg and cupped her face with one of his hands. His eyes were filled with pure admiration.

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

Tyler’s lips were on hers again as he leaned her back into the bed, his body sculpting to hers. She felt a hand trail down her body, over her ass, before he hoisted her leg over his shoulder, his face turning towards her thigh and kissing over her scar as he lined himself up with her entrance. He looked at her until she realized he was waiting for her cue. She grabbed onto his upper arms and nodded, making it clear she was ready.

He was slow with her, caressing in all the right spots and making sure she was comfortable until he was finally fully inside her and they moaned in unison at the feeling. She hadn’t felt like this in a long time and when he took a moment to brush the hair from her face it made it all that much sweeter so much so that she laughed. Tyler looked at her, concerned but when she kissed him, he smiled into it catching her drift.

As he began to grind into her, he coaxed mewls from her lips, her hips meeting his instinctually at the pleasure. The way he watched her carefully for her reactions made her heart soar. He made it evident that they were in this together, that he cared about making her feel good. One of Tyler's hands still held her leg while the other found her clit, circling it while keeping pace and she couldn’t help the words spilling from her mouth.

“Tyler,” Kate pleaded, “Don’t stop.” He listened to her demand but she could see how it made him falter. His expression was that of awe as if he couldn’t believe that he was here with her, that she was enjoying what he was doing for them. She curled an arm around his neck and played with the hair there in a way that caused him to flush.

“I gotcha,” Tyler promised, somehow pressing them closer together, “I gotcha.”

She could’ve been embarrassed at how fast she came but Tyler didn’t give her a chance, instead riding her out through her climax and continuing to thrust even after. It was almost too much as tears of pleasure pricked her eyes and her moans filled the room. Her hands gripped the sheets, his arms, his hair, anything that she could reach to keep hold of her senses as they were overwhelmed. All she could think or comprehend was Tyler.

“I–I’m close,” He stammered, the tremble in his voice radiating throughout his body, “Kate, I–”

Her vision went white when she came again, though she could hear Tyler moan her name like a mantra, his head buried in her neck. One hand reached into his hair while the other traced absent circles on his back. It took him a minute but eventually, he came back to her.

“Hey,” He said, letting out a breathy laugh. 

“Hi.”

Tyler pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, clearly savoring the moment. Kate didn’t want it to end either but she was confident that it was only beginning. They both let out their own versions of a disappointed noise as he pulled out.

When he disappeared into the ensuite, she pulled his comforter up around her, the scent of him enveloping her as well. He came back with a damp towel and once helped her clean up, he flopped into bed beside her, pulling her into his side.

Kate placed a hand on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat under her palm. Tyler pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She wanted to bask in the moment a bit longer but before she knew it she was beginning to yawn. 

The last thing she remembered before she fell into a peaceful sleep was the sweet kiss they shared and the soft rumble of his voice.

“Goodnight, Kate.”

[whirlybirbs]

simon walking a patrol in his walls w a bucket of mortar, moth following behind him whistling tapping the wall with a rlly small chisel

3. handler's manual — ghost / reader

desc: a new year's eve honeypot brings a realization. pairing: lt. simon "ghost" riley / f!reader ; callsign: moth listen to: asmr by only fire (for seoul bar beats) a/n: i like making this traumatized man come to terms with his repressed sexual attraction to his co-worker in questionable mission scenarios. he really said "i am gonna kill this man because he touched you wrong" ⇽ prev / next ⇾

Your boots are crossed at the ankle and perched on the debrief table. You lean back, flip through the mission report, and then level Laswell with a look that — if given proper ammunition — could kill.

Your affect is flat. Unenthused.

"Honeypots are outdated."

"—But effective—"

"And misogynistic," you insist as you sit up and smack the manilla folder to the table. You drop your head back, "Kate, come on—"

"You're the only fit for this assignment, Moth," her eyes wander the room; bless their hearts, the men look decidedly uncomfortable about the subject. Price is fiddling with his watch. Johnny's tugging at his lip, watching the exchange closely. Gaz looks like he's going to be skinned alive if he speaks. Ghost is silent with his hands in his lap, unmoving — is... is he even listening?

"If you're trying to tell me the el-tee wouldn't look good in a red dress and a pair of heels—"

"Oi."

So he is listening.

There are snickers. Price rolls his jaw to hide a smirk. Johnny slides a look to Gaz. Gaz presses both palms to his eyes. Ghost is staring now and boring a glare into the side of your head, wishing it was a 9mm.

You wish it was a 9mm. Then, at least, you'd be at peace.

"I don't want to outsource this, Moth, the less people involved the better," Kate exhales tightly; she can't say she blames you, she's never been a fan of honey-trapping in her own career, "It's quick. In, out. Rendezvous with the target, sweeten him up, sell the story, get the information, and then get out."

You let out a long sigh. You're thinking about it, how — sure — this is part of your job description but for fuck's sake. This sort of assignments make your skin crawl. Too close, too dangerous. Things can go sideways fast and all you'll have is the skin on your back and a knife under your skirt.

"What's th' problem, Moth?" comes Ghost's low rumble from the corner; his arms are crossed tightly over his chest, his knee bouncing, "You 'fraid y' won't look good in a red dress an' a pair of heels?"

Son of a bitch. It must be a good mood day.

You flash him a glare — you narrow your lashes and then throw him your best faux laugh. It dies flat into a deadpan. "Ha, ha — That's funny, Riley."

Ghost chuckles; it's quiet, you barely hear the gravel rasp from your spot at the debrief table.

Laswell cracks a wry smile. Price rubs his beard.

"I'll do it," you concede after a long breath; the tension in the room dissipates upon your agreement. You stand, tuck the folder under your arm, and flash a threatening pointed finger at Laswell and Price.

"But, no glitter."

"Lookin' awfully sparkly, Mothy."

You hope Lieutenant Simon Riley falls off the building he's doing Overwatch from. Actually, no. You hope he gets hit with a stray New Year's Eve firework. Then, you hope a bird shits on him. And then he falls off the building.

There's glitter everywhere. Gold glitter. Flakey, scratchy gold glitter. It's in your hair, and all over your hands. You feel... uncomfortable. Uneasy.

It doesn't help that your Overwatch is cracking jokes in your ear as you weave through the busy rooftop bar in Seoul. The music is loud; the bass rattles in your chest and the lights strobe making the crowd melt away into blinks of light.

Soap's laughter is louder.

"Wha' was tha' request 'bout no glitter?"

You hope he also falls off the building.

You can't reply — you're too busy thanking a waiter for the flute of champagne that's gripped like your lifeline. Your rings tinker against the glass as you smile and bob to the music; your eyes are busy scanning the room, trying to spot Joo Sung-Min — the son of a tech mogul whose recent involvement with some questionable political allies has raised flags in the intelligence community. He's under the impression he's meeting with a Russian businesswoman: you.

You spot the target ten minutes in — the Brit and Scotsman's occasional commentary is no help. For fuck's sake, those two cannot shut up as you lean against the bar and toss your best dazzling smile at Joo Sung-Min. It catches the man's eye.

"That 'ow you flirt, Mothy?" comes the more grated reply from Ghost; through his scope he can see you place a hand on Sung-Min's arm. He grimaces down the ACOG, "Could use some work."

Ghost doesn't know what this feeling is in his chest. It's uncomfortable. Wrong. You're smiling up at the target again, giggling, and leaned back against the bar. That dress is a right show. All leg. His scope wanders — only for a moment — and immediately Ghost grits his jaw so tight his teeth ache.

"There y' go, Moth," comes Soap's slow encouraging whisper over the comms — there's something being slipped into your fingers by Sung-Min; Soap props himself up on his elbows, binoculars trained on his face, "Almost done."

Fingers linger, your smile drags out, your face tilts up — then, Sung-Min's gilded hand grips your chin. It's tight enough to bruise, and Soap curses tightly. Ghost's finger twitches on the trigger, his sight trained directly on the man's skull.

...Then, you rake your eyes down Sung-Min's black-on-black suit and make a point of biting your rouged bottom lip.

Whatever the fuck that was? It worked.

The kiss that Sung-Min drags out of you is anything but sweet, but you twirl that data-stick in your fingers when he pulls away to release the rough grip on your chin.

Ghost swallows tightly, his pupils dilating. He lets go of a tense breath as Johnny exhales in relief beside him. His trigger finger twitches again.

...He doesn't like this feeling.

Your bitten lips are meant to insinuate thanks, and you toss a lingering look over your shoulder as Sung-Min's eyes follow you as you blend back into the crowd.

You're in the elevator when you finally chirp back over the comms:

"Get me the fuck out of here. "

You hate honeypots.

Ghost is realizing, as he shrugs his sniper over his shoulder, that he does too.

[heliads]

Fireworks - Charles Leclerc

Ferrari hosts the party. The sponsors circle like sharks. You and Charles, the latest pair of teammates, find a way to escape.

masterlist

a/n: two months without uploading we come back with rpf. living the dream xoxo

It’s New Year’s Eve, and despite the party roaring around you, you’ve never felt more alone.

Ferrari hosted. Of course. It’s a good opportunity for dancing and a better opportunity for networking. You can see Fred in a corner, chortling over a glass of champagne while he attempts to extort some Pirelli execs for graining insights. Somewhere in the crowd, the hiring managers are trying to poach every strategist that comes across their path, and the media department has never been happier than when everyone is looking good and rich and pleasurable, which they do.

Just like always, you suppose. You didn’t know what to expect when you signed the contract making you Ferrari’s second driver, but when you pulled back the scarlet curtain, everything was just as luxurious and exquisite as it appeared on the outside. You never wake up from the dream, not in a way that matters. Not in a way that will ever cleave the golden thread tying you to the seat, the expectations, the contract you signed last year. It’s your first season as a Ferrari driver, but so far you’ve only spent your time praying it won’t be your last one.

So far, the pressure is mostly coming from your own head. In January, your only races have been on the sim, and so far your times have been more than respectable. So they tell you, at least. Still, after each circuit around the digital track, you can’t help but shoot nervous glances towards the engineers on hand, trying to tell from every furrowed brow or caught breath whether you’re truly on track for a successful season.

The real test will come when winter testing comes and goes, when you line up for the first round of qualifying in your new Ferrari. A million eyes will be looking your way. They’re already saying you won’t make the cut, or that you’ll blow your teammate out of the water. The Tifosi cannot decide whether you’re going to flunk out or lead them to success, and honestly you couldn’t tell them either way.

Your fingers tighten around the stem of your glass as you try to calm yourself down. You’re here to smile and convince the sponsors that the Scuderia are going to work wonders. How can you do that if you look like you’re going to throttle somebody?

“Having fun?” An innocent voice comes from behind you.

You turn around hastily, already plastering on a fake smile, but you’re able to let the ruse drop a little when you find your latest teammate approaching you.

He arches a brow at your sudden change in response. “Sorry, did I startle you?”

You shake your head quickly. “No, not at all. I just thought you were one of the sponsors.”

Charles pretends to shudder. “No, thankfully. We are safe here for the moment, I think. Look, they’re circling already.”

You have to fight not to laugh. “We’re supposed to be creating a welcoming environment for the guests, Charles. Not comparing them to sharks.”

He smiles in spite of your teasing. “Is that why you jumped so far off the ground when I came over? You were so excited to welcome them?”

You huff. “Can you blame me? The first person I talked to all evening asked me directly if I planned on obeying team orders or putting up a fight. I take it back, they’re worse than sharks.”

Charles pulls a face. “Bringing up team orders is a low blow. Was it someone from Sky? Or Rosberg?”

You shake your head. “No reporters here, thankfully. Tonight is strictly business. We might as well be in another strategy meeting.”

Charles glances at you. “Well, you look wonderful, even despite the sharks.”

You feel your face heat up in spite of yourself, and decide you should probably slow down on your champagne. That must be why you feel like there’s a rain of fire wherever Charles looks at you. Not for any other reason, not because he keeps shifting closer to you with every word you say under the guise of trying to hear you better, and certainly not because he was warned about a hundred times to only talk to sponsors tonight, yet he can’t stop himself from constantly coming to you.

There was a lot of online discussion about how you and Charles would be as teammates. Most seemed to reach the conclusion that you’d do alright, probably bear the collective burden of being a Ferrari driver for better or for worse and use it to further your friendship. A few thought you’d fight, but the majority of voices indicated that you were likable, and so was he, so you’d get along just fine.

Fine doesn’t even begin to cover it. Fine can’t put into words how it feels when you and Charles have officially only been teammates for less than a month now, but you’ve known him for longer, plus harbored a secret crush on him for longer still, and yet never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined how close you’d become. Charles insisted on giving you a personal tour on your first day as a Ferrari driver. He’d bought you lunch and used that shared meal as an excuse to keep staring at you so obviously that his own race engineer came over and laughed at him for it.

You’d laughed, too. Mainly to cover how relieved you were that you were a bit more subtle when it came to your own staring problem, or the fact that you can’t seem to do anything but be hopelessly in love with him. You’ve already had one too many nights where you stayed late at the factory and he offered to drive you home. The green beams of the stop lights flashed overhead, lighting his handsome face sporadically, just enough for you to see the cautious smile on Charles’ face when he reached over to lace your fingers with his as he drove one-handed, tapping drum beats on the steering wheel as he went. You don’t think you could be more hopeless. You don’t think you could possibly grow more infatuated with him, and then you surprise yourself the next day, and the next.

“It shouldn’t surprise me anymore,” Charles continues, oblivious to the thoughts racing through your head or perhaps just distracted by the similar ones occupying his, “You always look good. Tonight especially, though.”

“Charles,” you whisper, trying to convince yourself you have any semblance of control over what you say to him next.

“Y/N,” he mocks playfully, “It’s true. You’re the loveliest person here by a long shot.”

“You’re supposed to be flattering the guests, not me,” you insist halfheartedly.

Charles smiles, knowing he’s won. “And why is that?”

“You haven’t convinced the sponsors to be on your side yet,” you answer.

“And you?” He asks, leaning closer still. All you can see is him, all you can feel is the heat of his breath dusting your cheeks. You wonder if he tastes like the champagne forgotten in your glass. The thought, once born, refuses to leave your head.

You hold his gaze steadily. “You had me convinced a long time ago.”

That does it. Charles takes your hand, pulling you matter-of-factly through the party even despite your less than urgent protestations. He only stops moving once you’re far enough away that you can’t be spotted by eagle-eyed PR agents who would want to stop your fun. Charles holds open the door to a balcony, then follows you out. The night air is a little brisk, but you can’t feel it, not when he draws close to you again, sliding his fingers around your waist as if even the few inches between you is just too far.

“They’ll be looking for us,” you whisper. 

“Let them,” Charles urges. “We’ve got time.”

Time, as it turns out, is the one thing you do have in abundance. The year stretches before you, vast and untamable like a new circuit. You have no idea where the season will lead you, if you’ll hate him by the end of this or love him more in spite of it all. All you know is that Charles is here with you now, promising you this moment, at least, and the next one while he’s still got it.

Behind you, fireworks roar into the inky sky, startling you. Charles laughs quietly and leans forward to kiss you. Against your lips, he murmurs, “Happy New Year,” and you don’t bother to murmur it back before kissing him again. If you make a wish, if you still have the neurons left to think about anything but this moment, this kiss, this man, you would wish for this good thing to last forever. You would wish that the next time you taste champagne, it’s not just on Charles’ tongue but on the top steps of a podium. You wish for victory and you wish for love and you wish for the life you’ve always wanted. You wish for this, the first step in the greatest race of your life.

The sparks of the fireworks roar and crackle around you, a hundred shades of promise. You can see them when you close your eyes, when you reach for Charles. You have him now, at least. You have him now.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey, @faerieroyal

all tags list: @wordsarelife, @supervoldejaygent

[totallyxtaurus]

I just want you to know who I am 🏮

Summary: What if Sylus had kept going to all those lantern festivals in hopes you'd be there and what would he do if you actually were. Pairing: Sylus x gn reader A/N: Um hi! I haven't written a "fanfic" since middle school so this has me super uncomfortable and feeling especially vulnerable since I am VERY out of practice. I've only been writing academic papers for the past four+ years and while I've taken a couple creative writing courses I just felt subpar compared to my peers and I stopped writing fiction completely. However, I maladaptive daydream constantly and Sylus + music is a really good source of creativity for me. I have a part two in mind but we'll see! So, my awkward ramblings aside, I hope you enjoy! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Next

“Boss, we found them. Apparently, they’re residing in Linkon,” the twins reported as they placed the manila folder on his desk. Sylus, not sparing them a glance, grunts softly in recognition keeping focused on his task at hand. However, a fire fueled by hope kindles in his heart at the news, radiating warmth through his chest, as if gently urging him to surrender to its pull. He opened the folder and began to read the information in front of him. Still, nothing matched the description he had given. Heaving a sigh, the flame of hope dampened, Sylus notices a note on the document about the upcoming lantern festival. He pauses, wondering if, regardless of the accuracy of the information he has, you might be there.

The sky had already grown dark, and fireworks echoed in the distance. The smell of delicious food permeated the air and the bright lights of millions of lanterns strung up and decorated every inch of the ground burned into Sylus’s retinas. Yet, he continued to press on. He’s been walking around for hours, taking in every sight and smell, but also searching for anyone who might be you. Anyone with the same color hair or stature as you once had. His trained eye sought out anyone who laughed in a similar octave you had, scrutinizing each face, hoping he finally found you. But every time, it led to that same emptiness cradled deep in the core of his being—the part of you still trapped there, lying dormant.

That was… how many years ago now? Sylus had lost count of how long he’d returned to Linkon’s lantern festival. Each time a failure, each time dimming the flame of hope that once burned at the mention of Linkon City. Yet, it was that time of year again when the festival would commence, just as it always did. This would be the last time Sylus participated, finally deciding to give up the search for you—for good. The same sights, sounds, and smells that once sparked curiosity in Sylus, now suffocate him. What had once been a world of wonder distorts into a stifling prison, each sensation now nauseating, a reminder of the weight that has settled on him.

Up and down the same aisles, back and forth through familiar stalls, Sylus drifts through the festival on autopilot, visiting the vendors he’s known for years. Each one greets him with a warmth that feels strangely foreign, their smiles are tinged with an apprehension he can’t ignore. That same apprehension had followed him ever since he first started coming to the festival—whether it was the stolen glances of passersby or the blatant gawking of children. Sylus knows he sticks out like a sore thumb, but he ignores it, continuing his monotonous stroll.

He stops in his tracks, taking in the scene before him—a child wailing over what sounds like a lost hand puppet. Sylus glances down at the lion head puppet resting in his hand and kneels to offer it to the child. The crying halts instantly, and wary yet sparkling eyes look up at him. The parents, overwhelmed with gratitude, profusely thank him before ushering their child along. As he straightens up, a familiar floral fragrance hits him. His heart races. His head snaps left and right, his body swiveling desperately as he searches for the source. He knows that scent—it sparks the fire within him, a fire that ignites and pulses through his entire body. Without thinking, his legs begin moving, drawn by a golden trail of light that weaves through the reddish-black mist around him. It’s guiding him. It’s guiding him to you. You’re actually here.

Also, in case anyone is like me and is interested in knowing the inspiration behind pieces of writing. This is the song I was listening to while writing and titling this! 💗

[billspaid]

By the fire

“I know you’re flirting with me Frank.” Mel says, looking out at the small fire in front of them.

A few of them were gathered at Samira’s for a small July 4th Party, which also marked a year since Langdon returned to work.

She inadvertently kne that she'd been a small helping hand in his recovery and during those first few rocky months, she was a shoulder to lean on. Since then though, they'd become friends, best friends even. The kind of relationship that Mel never saw coming but loves just the same. He was probably the most important person in her life aside from Becca, but admitting that to herself felt terrifying in a monumental way.

Anyway, they had become each other's anchors over the past year, sharing every victory and every sorrow, every parenting

highlight and every breakdown. It's why when Mel realised he was flirting with her, *really* realised, she didn't have it in her heart to call him out on it, or stop him.

She's not really sure how long it had been going on, probably a lot longer than she realised, but over the last few months, it was becoming more and more clear that he was trying to get under her skin. And he was succeeding.

It started like it so often did, with small gestures, little quips about her attempts at cooking or leaning over her shoulder to take a look at a chart, especially when he really could just stand next to her. Getting on Becca's good side and teasing Mel with a smirk that would make her pulse race.

But then it got more intense and Mel would find herself giving in, actively engaging in it despite knowing that it probably isn't for the best. She would innocuously run her hand through his hair whilst they'd sit on his couch, watching lilo and stitch reruns with his kids - Mel's idea - and she would revel in it when he'd eventually reduce down to putty in her hands. He'd goad her into telling him about her old boyfriends, until she'd say something particularly racy leaving them both flustered. She'd ask him if he'd been with anyone since Abby, despite them both knowing the answer is no. She just wanted to hear him say it .

But as much as their flirting became more of a regular thing, the shared domesticity of their lives grew too. It helped that Becca loved spending time with his kids, helped that Tanner was completely enamoured with Mel, that Frank had become an emergency contact for Becca after Mel got stuck at a particularly bad shift.

What sealed it for Mel, what really got her to step back and re-evaluate it their relationship was what happened a week ago, when they had fallen asleep on his couch. They were on night shift, still adjusting to the time difference when a daycare reported a gas leak. They stayed 3 extra hours and collapsed on the couch before they could get another word in.

She's not sure when they woke up, but she could feel Frank's hand gently rubbing up and down her arm, coaxing her. "Mel. Mel Honey, come on, let's get to bed." And she did. She walked into his room, not bothering to peel her scrubs off as she climbed into his bed, dropping her head against the pillow. She distantly heard him do the same and felt a warm, comforting weight ground her as his arm slipped around her waist. He was snoring within the minute.

Mel would've been too, if the realisation that she's in Frank's bed for the first time didn't hit her like a train. They hadn't done anything like this before - never had any excuse to. And the actual sleeping together part aside, she was more shocked at how willingly she just followed him. Like the bed was theirs to share.

She eventually fell asleep, too tired to think about what it meant and since then, she has been avoiding him slightly. Until tonight.

When she insisted he come to the party. A little celebration for him too. So the 10, 11 of them squeezed into Samira's tiny square shaped backyard, if it could even legally constitute at such and watched the fireworks go off. Whitiker, always a man of surprise, lit a small fire whilst Donnie and Mateo tried their hand at a disposable bbq.

It was later in the evening, half had filtered out and Mel had stayed, well, because Langdon had. The fire was dwindling slightly and the few that were left were trying to figure out how to light the few stick of dynamites, courtesy of Santos.

They were on the other side of the garden, and Mel had spoken so quietly, so casually, it's no surprise Frank looks up, frowning in confusion as he mumbles, "What?"

"I know you're flirting with me" She repeats, shifting her eyes to get a quick glance at him.

He makes an odd face, like he's just been caught doing something that he himself isn't sure is right or wrong. Mel smiles gently, curling her arms around her knees as she looks out onto the fire.

"And I know you know I do it back. Have been, probably longer than I've realised."

Frank doesn't reply to her but she understands that. So much of his recovery has been laced with self-doubt, the fear of saying or doing the wrong thing . It makes her uneasy sometimes but in this case she expects it.

"I just," she pauses, pushing her glasses up on her face. "I'm not sure it's a great idea exploring that, right now.” As many times as she's practised this in the mirror, saying it in real time makes her feel queasy.

Makes her feel even worse when Frank replies hoarsely, "Okay." He sounds so unsure when he says it, like he strictly disagrees with his reply.

Mel turns to look at him. "I didn't say ever, Frank, I just said right now." She adds with a smile in her voice. He looks up at her, brows furrowed gently like he's trying to gauge her.

She angles her body towards him before looking over her shoulder, making sure the others aren't listening in.

Mel takes a deep breath. "I think I'm quite selfish because you're always going to be someone that I want. Need, more like."

Frank stares at Mel, frozen completely as if the slightest movement might scare her off. She's not so sure it won't.

"And I know we're going to fall into each other. I know that, I believe that." She continues, swallowing hard. "But I don't want to rush into this. You've only been divorced 6 months, You've barely moved into your new place."

Frank purses his lips in a way that makes Mel believe he understands her.

"And I think we've got some growing to do. I want your sobriety to depend on you, not me, not your kids, not your job. And I need to figure out how to have the things I want in a way that doesn't entirely overwhelm me."

Frank lets out a shaky breath.

"So I think we should give it some time." Mel says, biting the inside of her lips. "Cause I want this, Frank. I want you. But it's gotta last. It's gotta be it. I-I can't imagine doing *this* with anyone else." She shudders, chest heaving slightly.

Frank nods carefully.

Mel finally catches his gaze, flashing him a weak smile that he mirrors gently. A sudden bang pulls them away from their moment and Mel looks over her shoulder at the others. When she turns back, Frank is looking at her incredulously.

"Mel?" He says, quietly. So quietly.

"Hm?"

"When will we know it's the right time?"

Mel's face splits into a soft smile. "I'm not sure. I think we'll just know. It'll feel right, like we're just falling into it." She glances at him. "Against my better judgement, it will probably be sooner than later."

[hobipobi]

The Echo of Steel and Ash

Stanley Snyder x Male Reader

Summary: A soldier and his former trainee reunite after years apart, reigniting a deep, unresolved bond forged in war.

Very short one-shot.

Inspired by a bot on Character.ai lol (pls don't kill me)

Warnings: short, 3 year age gap, slightly spicy by the end but nothing too much.

Words: 941

War doesn’t end with treaties.

It doesn’t fold neatly into history books or dissolve under flags and fireworks.

War lingers — in the silence of early mornings, in the shape of a man’s gait, in the sharp way some people look over their shoulders like they expect a bullet.

It lives in muscle memory, in nightmares, in the things left unsaid.

Stanley Snyder was not a man born of peace. He was sculpted in the crucible of blood-soaked snow and whisper-quiet kills. If war had a face, it might’ve looked like his — sharp-jawed, cold-eyed, eternally alert. There was nothing accidental about Snyder; every movement was deliberate, every word measured. To those under his command, he was myth and menace, the kind of soldier you didn’t look at too long for fear he might see something in you — and carve it out.

He wasn’t decorated for gallantry. His medals were awarded in sealed ceremonies, his reports redacted until they were more black than ink.

Cold War operations.

Black sites.

Asset removals.

Things that disappeared in smoke and gunpowder.

By twenty-one, he wasn’t just respected — he was feared. The kind of operative whispered about in tents at night by men too shaken to sleep.

And then came the boy.

Eighteen.

Civilian file barely dry, barely legal to hold a rifle.

But the fire in him — it burned. Not the reckless kind found in young men trying to prove themselves. This was something older, darker. M!Y/n didn’t walk into basic training; he stormed into it like he had something to prove to God. He didn’t smile, didn’t flinch. Everything about him said he had already survived something worse.

Snyder saw him and didn’t blink.

Didn’t have to.

He knew the look of a haunted soul trying to crawl its way out of the dirt. M!Y/n was a blade, dull but unbroken, waiting to be tempered in fire.

So Snyder did what he did best.

He broke him.

Ice drills at dawn. Forced marches. Hours in gas masks. Night simulations with live rounds. Psychological drills that made older soldiers tremble. He stripped the boy bare — of ego, of fear, of illusion — and what remained was something clean.

Something lethal.

But beneath the soldier, there was still a boy. A boy who looked at Snyder like he was both salvation and damnation. A boy who stayed after drills, lingered too long in doorways, whose hands sometimes brushed Snyder’s under the excuse of gear adjustments.

And Snyder, who had always known where the line was — and when to cross it — didn’t cross. At least, not at first.

It happened on a night soaked with rain, adrenaline still humming in their bones after a successful field op.

Alone in the barracks, hearts still pounding, Snyder looked at M!Y/n and saw something he couldn’t unsee. Saw the way the water traced his collarbone. The way those eyes begged for something that had nothing to do with orders.

He closed the distance. No words. Just heat. Contact. The kiss wasn’t gentle — it was desperate, urgent, inevitable.

And it didn’t stop.

In the days that followed, their bond grew sharper. A secret pact forged in quiet touches, in lingering glances exchanged over rifles and rations.

Snyder gave the boy his discipline, his silence, his trust.

M!Y/n gave him his youth, his loyalty, his whole damn heart.

But war has no mercy. It takes and takes until there’s nothing left. And Snyder knew — love was just another weakness to be used.

So he let him go.

No warning. No goodbye. Just an assignment reassignment slip and an order to move on.

“Live beyond this,” Snyder had said. And that was the last thing he said.

---

Four years and a hundred lives later, Lieutenant M!Y/n strode into a secured briefing room with medals gleaming on his chest and ghosts in his shadow. His uniform was sharp, posture rigid, but the fire in his eyes — that hadn’t dimmed.

The room was cluttered with intel — topographic maps, intercepted communiqués, satellite photos. High-level brass murmured, voices clipped and professional. The smell of coffee, sweat, and cold steel hung in the air.

And then, at the head of the table — he saw him.

Stanley Snyder.

Unchanged. And yet, older. Weathered. The same sharp cheekbones, but his hair was longer now — swept back, no-nonsense. Uniform immaculate. Command rolled off him like heat.

Their eyes met.

For just a second, everything else fell away.

“Coping?” Snyder asked, voice a blade wrapped in velvet.

M!Y/n gave a crooked smile. “Barely. But I see you managed not to die without me.”

A flicker. That was all Snyder gave. A blink, a twitch of a smile that never reached his eyes.

They spent the next forty-five minutes discussing insurgent movements, asset extractions, and encrypted locations — but none of it mattered. Not really. M!Y/n could barely register the words. All he heard was the unspoken — the echo of rain on metal, the rhythm of Snyder’s breath in the dark.

When the room emptied, Snyder didn’t move. Just tilted his head slightly.

“Stay.”

It wasn’t an order. It wasn’t a question.

It was a plea.

M!Y/n stayed.

The room seemed to shrink in the silence that followed. Years of absence pulsed in the air between them, thick and electric. Snyder stepped closer.

“Come here,” he said — soft, guttural.

And M!Y/n did.

No salutes. No rank. Just two men caught in a war they’d never stopped fighting. Snyder reached out, slow — thumb brushing the edge of M!Y/n’s lip like he was checking to see if the boy still tasted like rain.

“You came back stronger,” he said.

M!Y/n’s voice trembled. “I came back for you.”

Snyder didn’t kiss him. Not yet.

He breathed him in like a memory, like an ache he’d never healed from.

Then — their mouths met. A rush. A collision. Years of silence broken by the sound of breath and hunger.

It wasn’t gentle. It was possession.

“You’re mine,” Snyder rasped, gripping the back of his neck.

“I always was,” M!Y/n whispered, teeth grazing his jaw.

They left the room like shadows — silent, seamless. No one dared to question them. The halls blurred. Snyder’s hand gripped his arm like a tether.

They reached quarters. The door slammed shut behind them.

---

The room was stark. Government-issue cot. Steel locker. Faint light flickering from the overhead bulb. But none of it mattered.

Because M!Y/n was pinned to the wall, Snyder’s breath hot on his throat.

This wasn’t lust. It was reclamation.

Clothes came off in frantic motions — belt clinking, fabric tearing, boots thudding to the floor.

Snyder was all sinew and scars, lean muscle forged through discipline. M!Y/n’s fingers traced every old wound, every brutal memory etched into flesh.

“You never stopped being mine,” Snyder whispered into his skin.

“I never wanted to.”

The cot groaned beneath them. Their bodies met with urgency, heat building like a battlefield flare. Every gasp, every moan, every whispered name — it filled the room like a hymn.

And afterward — when they were nothing but sweat and breath and tremors — Snyder pulled him in, arm wrapped across his chest like a shield.

The silence stretched. Comfortable now. Heavy with meaning.

“I never looked away,” Snyder said, voice hoarse. “Even when I swore I would. I followed every op. Every mission. I knew when you were wounded. When you got promoted. When you were sent behind enemy lines.”

M!Y/n kissed his temple, lips soft and sure. “I knew. I felt you in every goddamn heartbeat.”

Snyder laughed then. Not joy — release. The sound of a dam breaking.

They didn’t sleep. Not really. But they held each other as the night stretched on. Two men carved by war, bonded by something stronger than rank or duty.

No more ghosts. No more orders. Just this.

A chance to breathe. To rebuild.

To begin again.

2025 © hobipobi — do not repost or translate my work. Likes, reblogs, and comments are welcome.

[umbrellajam]

Tim (narration): Nightwing does an excellent cool, but I have to bite my swollen tongue. Lieutenant: Herman, have I told you how much I hate these flashy ginks? Officer: 'Least they don't have neon signs on their chests, Lieutenant. Lieutenant: No, but one's got wings, the other's got a cape, and they've both got masks. I hate masks. Tim (narration): He's still cool. Amazing. Lieutenant: All right, Captain Spandex, what happened here? We got reports of an explosion. Nightwing: It was Bracuda and Chulo - and a couple of drug-thugs they were making a buy from… Nightwing: We almost had them, until they chucked a grenade and got away on a boat. Lieutenant (jerking a thumb at Nightwing): You hear that, Herman? Our Halloween party boys had a little fun here on the docks--complete with fireworks. Officer: Ain't even Fourth O' July, Lieutenant. Tim (narration): My tongue's about to bleed, but Nightwing doesn't even flare a nostril. How does he do it? - Showcase '93 #12

this is still one of my favorite Tim-fanboying-Dick moments, not only for all the "wow how is Dick so good at keeping his cool when I have to bite my tongue bloody to keep from punching these jerk cops in the FACE 🤬 he's amazing I have to take notes and master this skill asap 👀📝"

but also because this is so early--their first actual team-up--that they barely know each other at all. they're still feeling out how to work together, and furthermore, Tim hasn't really. like. grasped yet how completely un-chill Dick can actually get at times lol

yes, Dick grabbed him by the arms and yelled in his face during ALPoD (provoked, I bet Tim would say!). yes, he just watched the priest get vaporized in the middle of Dick and Kory's vows at their terrible ruined wedding and yes, Bruce just broke his back and Tim had to try and justify him passing over Dick to make JPV Batman (even though Tim thought it should be Dick!) - I'm not sure if he knows that Dick was also fired as leader of the Titans and then blew up and left the group entirely (a lot has been going on in Gotham ok stalking keeping on top of Titans gossip might have fallen by the wayside) but he definitely knows Dick has plenty of reasons to be Unhappy and Short-Tempered

but Dick being Dick he channels his perceived failures into workaholism and even more perfectionism so right now he's a lean mean crime-fighting machine trained by Bruce's Batman and way better than JPV and so Tim is just like WOW HE STAYS SO COOL CALM AND PROFESSIONAL UNDER PRESSURE THAT'S SO IMPRESSIVE I'M SO IMPRESSED

and he's not wrong about Dick, it's just not. the full picture. and hindsight makes his current blissful ignorance even more hilarious because in the extremely near future, Dick, in front of Tim:

rips Bruce a new one during Knightsend when it looks like Bruce killed someone

mcfuckin' loses it at AzBats when he appears to have killed Bruce

worries at his doubts and insecurities like a dog with a bone all through Prodigal

meanwhile Tim during Prodigal (stubbornly): WOW YOU'RE SO IMPRESSIVE AT THIS BATMAN THING SO MUCH BETTER THAN PAUL NO SHUT UP YOU'RE AMAZING

he will not budge lol, Tim will witness or experience first-hand exactly how un-chill Dick Grayson can get throughout his highs and lows over the years, but the fanboyism won't dim or falter, just gain more facets and depth, and that's beautiful 😌

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet Cute - Ace's Story - 9

Source for pic

Firestarter 9

Word Count: 4410

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader, slight NSFW (It's mature, not explicit), slightly sugestive behaviour, flirting, jealousy, frenemies, sexual tension, miscommunication, unresolved tension, slight angst, slow-burn, romantic comedy vibes, alternate universe modern setting, swearing, drinking, fluff, feelings realisation, denial of feelings.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You intended to have some alone time, to reflect and heal, but your childhood friend's older brother, Ace, seems to be there just to upset that fragile peace you're striving for. He's a flirt and a womaniser. But why does he also have to be so handsome and perfect? And how long can you resist his charms?

Notes: Almost at the end! I was planning on having only 10 chapters, but chapter 10 - which is in Ace's POV - is starting to get big. So maybe 10 and an epilogue? We'll see! Also, sorry if the next chapter will suffer a little delay, I will try to finish it soon, but life has been getting in the way! 😶

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn

Masterlist for previous introductory chapters.

|Previous Chapter 🔞 | | |Next Chapter|

Days roll by slowly and you feel the happiest you've ever been. The only time you're apart from Ace is when he's working or when you're helping your father. You spend all the rest of your time together, hanging out, getting to know each other, and having so much sex.

You have only spent one night apart since you two hooked up. The night after you visited the fire station, he told you he was busy with work because the reports from the whole week had piled up and he was going to pull an all-nighter, so he couldn't be with you. The other nights were spent in each other’s company. 

You slept with him at the fire station once and then he developed the habit of climbing your bedroom window so you could be together. Even though he usually arrives when you're already asleep - because of work - and it's not until you sense his hot touches and lingering kisses that you realise he's next to you. 

And you both have to be very quiet, because Shanks would be very mad if he found you desecrating your childhood bed. 

Finally the last day of the Jubilee arrives and it's Ace's day off work, so you decide to turn it into a proper date. You'll eat something there, play a few games - you've been eyeing a giant stuffed panda since the first day - maybe ride the Ferris wheel, and then Ace suggests driving to your spot for a privileged view of the fireworks at midnight. 

And after… 

Well, you'll both see where the night takes you. 

You have already eaten some snacks at the food stalls and are now enjoying a piece of candy floss - which Ace keeps stealing from you - when a little kid bumps into your leg and falls on his butt. It takes you a bit to calm him down and find his parents and suddenly you lose sight of Ace. 

Raising your eyebrow, you take another bite of your candy and wait in the same spot. He might have seen someone he knew and wandered off to say hello. 

“Did you miss me, Firestarter? I've only been gone for five minutes.” He says from behind, near your ear as he lays a kiss on your cheek. 

“Oh, barely even noticed you were gone.” Sticking out your tongue at him, you offer the rest of the candy and he happily takes it. “Why were you gone?”

“Business.” He chuckles softly and winks, letting you know that he will either tell you later or it's a surprise. “Let's go to the Ferris wheel.” 

You take the hand he offers you and smile at the giddiness you feel from such a simple gesture. It's amazing how he can warm your heart just by holding your hand. Waiting in line for the wheel takes almost no time and you both hop into the booth, settling in together and sighing at the sight.

You're about to snuggle into his embrace when he takes something from his pocket and you raise your eyebrow. “Turn.” He instructs, rotating a finger to indicate you should turn your back on him. Curious, you do as he tells you. 

His fingers are soft and warm as he moves little strands of your hair aside. You hear a small clasp and then he places a necklace on your chest, clasping it at the back. It's a locket with a heart. 

“This is lovely, Ace. It's beautiful.”

His lips scorch your skin as he presses them against your nape. He murmurs an agreement and continues his worship down your exposed spine, leaving a trail of kisses and feather-like touches, creating a burning and aching sensation all over your body. 

“Ace…” You whine and melt into his touch. 

“You're so perfect.” He keeps murmuring sweet nothings against your skin and you turn around, enveloping his neck in your arms and losing yourself against his lips in a passionate kiss. 

No outside view compares to the stars his touch reveals. The languid strokes of his tongue against yours trace out a constellation of your own, while his fingers caress your skin, igniting goosebumps like the fiery trail of a meteor. 

The booth comes to a stop far earlier than both of you would like and you emerge flushing, panting and quite dishevelled. Both sporting equally goofy grins of fools in love. 

No, that's not true. You know you're in love, but you have no idea how Ace feels about you. 

Maybe you'll confess once the fireworks start? See how he feels about you. You know he cares for you, that much you can tell. And you're willing to wait, if he's not at the same stage as you are, since he did claim to want a serious relationship. 

Yeah, you'll ask him. 

As the resolution sets in and the midnight hour approaches, you start to make your way back to the car, but Ace gets called over by some friends and you tell him to go say hi as you browse some vendor stands. 

“So you're Ace's new thing?” The voice is haughty and scornful and it takes a hot minute for you to realise that the person is talking to you. 

“Excuse me?” You ask as you turn around and are greeted by a tall, elegant girl with a snide smile. 

“Honey, don't play dumb.” She spits as she throws her hair over her shoulder. “Ace likes to have playthings to toy with from time to time. He gets tired of his one-night stands and dates a rando for a few weeks. Until he gets bored.” She laughs a high-pitched annoying laugh into her hand and stares at you from top to bottom, making you feel self-conscious about your casual outfit - denim overall shorts and a cute over the belly top. “Oh, and honey, you are certainly boring.”

The remark leaves a hot blush on your cheeks as it stings. This girl is poking her finger in the wound and digging, making it worse. She's the type of girl Ace would go for: tall, skinny, pretty. And you… you're just you. A normal girl, nothing too special. 

“Enjoy your time with him, sunshine, soon enough, he'll trade up. I'm sure he's told you you're special, and that he's never met someone like you; that you were never just some random girl, right? Does he have a special nickname for you, too?”

You're pretty sure your teeth will snap from all the grinding they're doing. You want to tell this girl to go to hell because you know Ace cares for you. But what she's saying strikes too close to the truth for your liking. It's all too real. And that's when she hits you with the final blow. 

“I bet he's taking you to his special place to see the fireworks, right? Think you're the only one, honey? Think again. Been there, done that. And here I am. Jilted, as you'll also be.” She gives another high-pitched cackle and you swallow the lump in your throat. There's nothing you can say to her. No comeback, no witty response. She's telling the truth, you're sure of it. “And think about it, honeybee, didn't he tell you the other night he was too busy to spend the night with you? You thought it was about work? Oh, honey…”

You practically freeze on the spot. Yes you thought he was busy with work. You didn't doubt it at all! But if she knew about this, could she have been the one to spend time with him? And here you thought that you were actually special, that this time he was telling the truth and really wanted to be with you. 

Turns out you really are just another girl? 

You see Ace coming back and the girl disappears just as quickly as she appeared. You're standing in the same spot, heart thumping against your chest, eyes prickling and throat dry. 

“Hey, Firestarter, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost.” He touches your cheek softly and you recoil, a hurt look on your features. “What's wrong?” Ace eyes you with confusion. 

But you don't quite know what to tell him. “I… this girl…” You take a deep steadying breath. “I… never mind.” Swallowing the huge lump that has formed in your throat, you reluctantly accept his hand. 

Your head keeps replaying the words that girl told you, like a broken record, echoing them over and over. And every time your heart constricts harder against your chest as tears start to prickle the corners of your eyes. Once you reach the jeep, you feel Ace's worried look burning into you, yet when he asks you what's wrong again, you don't really know what to tell him. 

You don't know if you're just making things up in your head or if what the girl said is true. What you do know is that your already fleeting trust in Ace has been rattled. And you feel more insecure than ever. 

“Can you take me home, Ace, please?” Your voice is a mere whisper and you can't force your eyes to meet his. Are you really just another thing for him to play with when he's bored? Or are you actually as special as he makes you feel? You need time alone to process and think and you can't do it with him giving you worrying looks. 

“You don't want to go see the fireworks? At our spot?” He sounds more sad than upset, but you shake your head at his words. A scornful expression on your lips as a dry chuckle rumbles through your throat. 

“Is it really our spot, Ace? You told me it was special and you wanted to show it to me because I am special. And that's fine. But I'm not the only special girl you've had in your life, am I? I'm just your current special girl.” You're stubborn, and so are your tears. Yet you're not surprised when one breaks through the barrier you were constructing and falls down your cheek. “And that's also okay! You've had your life before me, and I can't blame you for that! Especially because I knew that before we happened.” A silly little sob escapes your lips and Ace stares at you, helpless. It looks as if he wants to hold you and comfort you, but you're giving him all the signs that you want him to stay away from you, so he does just that. 

“I'm really confused at the moment, Ace. Please, take me home.” You climb into the passenger seat, vowing not to say anything else because you're feeling hurt and slighted and you know you'll snap and end up shouting and getting mad at Ace. 

And you can't really do that. You told him the truth. He had a life before you reconnected. He could have dated, fucked, kissed half the town or the whole town. It was none of your business. 

It still hurts, though. Because you really were starting to feel special. In your mind you had a made-up scenario where Ace had never felt for anyone the way he feels for you. That you're the first girl he ever fell in love with. Yet, according to that girl, there were other special girls before. And it should be fine, as you keep repeating to yourself. 

But it's not fine. 

Because you wanted to be special for Ace. 

And you're not. 

Ace climbs into the jeep and before starting the engine, his eyes try to pry some kind of information from you as to why you're behaving like this. You keep silent and face the window, effectively shutting him out. Sighing deeply he starts the car at the same time bright lights erupt in the sky, though neither of you cares to watch them now. 

When Ace stops the jeep in front of your porch, you climb out immediately and he follows you. You're halfway up the stairs when he grabs your wrist to stop you. The burn in your eyes is getting stronger and you just want to open the dam and cry your heart out. 

Whispering your name Ace wills you to turn. You do, reluctantly, but have trouble facing his gaze. 

“Are you going to at least tell me what happened before you go?” He sounds so distraught. Enough to make you glimpse at his dark eyes, though your expression is still very sombre and pained. 

“A girl came to talk to me, Ace. She told me you had a tendency to get bored of one-night stands when you found a special girl. You would give her a cute nickname, treat her as if she's the only girl in the world, take her to your special place and then, once you got bored again, you traded up. She made it quite clear that I'm not your type at all.” You couldn't help the sting and venom from dripping out of your words. 

You had been mulling over the girl's words during the silent ride, growing angrier and angrier at them, at her, and at yourself. You were the gullible one for believing that someone would find you special. 

“But you are special.” He says frowning and tugging at your wrist in a feeble attempt to get you to descend the steps and come closer to him. Yet you don't relent. 

“Yet you can't deny what she said.”

He looks down and sighs. “I don't lie to you, Firestarter. You know that. You know there were other girls before, but I have never taken them to our place. And they might have been special if you want to call them that, but none of them compares to you.”

You do know that he doesn't lie to you. He told you that and you chose to believe it. 

Though… “The other night when you said you were busy, did you meet with a girl?”

Ace grits his teeth and avoids your gaze as your jaw drops in surprise. He's not denying it. 

“It's not what you think. She came by the station to-...”

You pull your wrist hard, away from him and he has no choice but to open his hand for fear of hurting you and he lets you go. “I don't want to hear this right now, Ace. I don't. I need to think.” You place your index and thumb against the bridge of your nose, trying to both contain a throbbing headache and the torrent of incoming tears. “I need some time apart to think things through and if you start to sputter excuses I'll just be angry and that's not what I want. I need to think about us objectively.”

You take a step back, climbing another step, still shaking your head and raising your hand to stop his words or his strides. To stop him. Period. 

“Don't reach out, Ace. Don't. I'll speak with you when I'm ready.” You make the mistake of looking into his face before you turn and you can almost feel your heart shatter into tiny pieces. 

He looks devastated. 

Yet, so do you. 

-*-

You barely sleep all night and each time you get up - often, actually - to get food, water or use the bathroom, you notice that Ace has a small light on in his room as well. He must be struggling to find sleep, too. 

Every time you think about the look on his face, you feel like crying. It seems as if you are special to him, it really does. But are you, really? Or is it just wishful thinking? 

Deep down you have trust issues that still need healing. Your ex cheating on you only brought them to the surface, but you know enough about trauma to realise that many of these issues stem from childhood and from feeling abandoned by Shanks. Although you hold no grudge against your father, you know you still haven't fully healed. Little triggers like what happened with that girl, are all it takes to get you spiralling out of control. 

You know you need to deeply evaluate your feelings for Ace before taking this relationship further. Because there will always be girls from his past. Ace has been around. You knew that. So it's bound to happen. 

Girls hold grudges like a miser hoards gold! 

They will come and try to claim him, throw you off with hurtful words, and plant seeds of doubt in your mind. You need to decide now if you are willing - and strong enough - to face that every now and then. 

And if the relationship you build will be strong enough to withstand it. 

Sighing, you check your phone again. You're fighting hard against calling him. You've caught him writing something to you twice, seeing the speech bubbles appear. Yet, he hasn’t sent any text. Although part of you wishes he had reached out, another part of you is glad he's respecting your request. 

You do need time to process. 

Your heart, however, doesn’t. It keeps pounding relentlessly against your chest, reminding you it has already made its decision: it wants Ace. Desperately. It's a longing and a yearning so deep it almost aches. 

You miss him. 

You miss his scent, his touch, his voice and his kisses. You need him. 

You cuddle the pillow he uses when he visits and take a deep sniff, filling your lungs with his scent and shed a few more tears. The only other night you've spent apart was… 

The one the girl knew about. The one he was probably with her. 

Sitting up you throw his pillow to the floor and cross your legs, finding your phone and unlocking it. You find Luffy’s contact and rejoice when you realise he's online. You had a vague idea he was at the firestation today, but this confirms it. 

You call, and it rings twice before he answers, greeting you with your name. “How are you?” He sounds worried. Has Ace spoken to him already? 

“Hey, Loof.” Your voice sounds hoarse and raspy from all the crying. “I'm… feeling shitty.” You chuckle softly while fiddling with your ankle bracelet. 

“Ace told me you needed some time apart from him.” He sounds serious, which is so rare that you sit up straighter. “Want to talk about it?”

“Hmm, hmm.” You mumble between a sob and a hiccup. 

He calls your name again with a sigh. “Ace really likes you. I've never heard him speak about someone the way he does about you. He even told Grandpa you two were getting serious. He never tells Grandpa anything!”

The pressure on your chest builds up and starts to expand. Does he really think you're special?

“Loof… this girl came to me at the festival. She knew Ace couldn't be with me the other night. She implied she was with him and when I asked him, he didn't deny it.”

You sound miserable. You can't help but think that perhaps you're the one keeping yourself from being happy. You've had that thought before. When you discovered that Ichiji was cheating on you, your first thought was that it was your fault. That you deserved to be cheated on because you hadn’t tried hard enough. 

And now, your mind instantly goes to the same place. Ace spent the night with another girl because you just aren't good enough for him. You're not what he wants in a girl. 

Completely ignoring everything he tells you and how he acts towards you. Because he keeps acting devoted and dedicated to you, and you're too dumb or too self-absorbed in self-pity to realise it. 

Perhaps it's time to stop feeling sorry for the misery you create for yourself and start taking responsibility for your actions. 

Ultimately, you have to be the one responsible for your fate. 

“I know who she is. Ace was with her for a little while, but it wasn't that serious. I didn't even meet her officially… Anyway, she did come by the station the other day, when Ace was working. He was talking to you on the phone when she came looking for him. The station issn’t exactly private if you're not in the rooms, and he wasn't. Maybe she overheard the conversation between the two of you?” He exhales your name on the other side. “She was barely here for five minutes. Ace told her off and she left pouting. I'm sure that whatever she told you was meant to try and split you up.”

You're seething now. Obviously it was meant to split you two up! She couldn't know about your trust issues, but anyone who's dating Ace has to have them. He's a player. There will always be a nagging feeling about other girls he's been with. So it wasn't exactly a shot in the dark. She baited the hook and you swallowed it whole. 

You can bet she's just waiting for you to blow up your relationship - or beginnings of one - to smithereens so she can pick up Ace's pieces and help him get over you. 

“Fucking hell, she will!”

Luffy laughs on the other end. A short shishishi that gets you laughing along with him. “That's the spirit!”

Tears are still streaming down your face. But you might've reached a decision. You're going to take that leap of faith and give all of yourself to Ace. No reservations. You need to accept him for who he is. 

And, more importantly, you need to trust him. 

The previous plan will have to go back into action. Tell him you love him. Maybe you can build from there? Because you do love him. And there's no bitch in the world that's going to tear you apart like that. 

“Thank you, Luffy. That was enlightening. I needed that.” You sigh into the phone, your voice much lighter. 

“Anytime! You know, I really like my dumb brother.” And he laughs again, making you chuckle with him. “I've never seen him as happy as he's been these last few days. So talk to him soon, will you?”

You promise to do it first thing tomorrow since sleep is finally claiming you, and you say your goodbyes to your friend. Before going to bed, you pick up Ace's pillow from the floor and check out his window - the lights are now out. 

Okay, you'll both get to sleep on it. Tomorrow is a new day. 

-*-

Yet, tomorrow begins with a raging storm. There's pouring rain everywhere and you rush to help Shanks with the animals. Both of you are working hard and pulling the hay bales inside the barn, because the forecast did not foresee this deluge, and the bales were fine outside. 

Shanks tells you he tried to call Ace to help - your heart somersaults - but he was heading to the station to help since there were floods all over town. 

Well that's just another thing the storm manages to hinder. Your encounter with Ace. You were planning on heading to his house as soon as you helped Shanks, to talk with him, yet you can't do that now because he's not there. 

And there's no use in calling him. For two reasons, actually: one, he's probably super busy and two, the lines are acting up because of the storm and the service is down. 

So you decide to wait out the storm. 

Yet, the afternoon rolls by without any sign of the storm stopping, and now you're overly anxious. Ace is still not home - the jeep is out - and you need to speak with him. You don't think Luffy would've shared your conversation with his brother so Ace is probably still feeling devastated by the way you parted yesterday. You feel responsible. And you miss him so much. 

You try to call him again and by the third time, you finally get through. 

Ace sputters your name with surprise. “Ace!” You can barely hear him and you're pretty sure he can barely hear you. There's lots of static and the thunder and pouring rain don't help at all. “Ace! Can you hear me?”

“Barely!” He says something else but you can't understand it. 

“Are you at the station?”

“Yes.”

“I'm going to meet you there! We need to talk.”

You're not sure he heard you at all, but you think you hear him saying for you to stay home. Probably because of the storm. Yet, it seems like the rain has finally relented so what better time to go to him than now?

You're not quite sure if he hears you or not, but you need to get this off your chest before you go. “Ace, I love you.”

You hold on a second but are only greeted by static. He might not have heard you. 

Sighing, you get the car keys and send a text to your dad - even if you don’t know if he’ll get it or not, so you’ll leave a note in the kitchen as well. Shanks is over at Benn Beckman helping him because the roof of the barn broke and they need to fix it because all the animals are getting wet. Shanks promised he would not get on top of the roof, in case his back gave out, but he's still helping out any way he can. So you let him know you are going out so he doesn't worry. 

You've gotten into the habit of patting your car before turning the ignition and it responds well to praise, so that's exactly what you do before starting the engine and it doesn't let you down. 

Grinning, you make your way to the station, going well under the limit because the road is wet, slippery and the rain reduces your visibility significantly. 

You can't wait to see Ace. You need to feel him against you. There's an unending desire to feel his lips moving in tandem with yours, his tongue caressing your own as his hands explore you. The stupid silly grin doesn't leave your face. 

Not even when you spot the tiny black cat in the middle of the road and you swerve right to avoid hitting the poor thing. 

Not even when your car slips and slides as you push the brakes. 

Not when the deafening sound of metal crashing, windows breaking and the sickening crunch of broken bones fills your ears. 

It all happens too fast. 

Then darkness descends just as quickly.

[raillue]

One Destiny 2 headcanon I’ve always had is that the Vanguard has now had to set up a very specific set of rules for all Guardians that are 90% caused by shit the Young Wolf has done.

They include but are not limited to:

1. Do not Strand grapple to ships as they leave the hangar. This is directed to one person and one person only. You know exactly who you are.

2. Don’t give random kinderguardians Gjallarhorns. We do not need to build a third Tower

3. Stop telling New Lights ‘kys’ means ‘keep yourself safe’. Crow is still running from Osiris

4. Do not use multiple fire extinguishers as a replacement engine on Sparrows, especially while INSIDE the Tower.

5. Do not use fire extinguishers as ‘jetpacks’ either

6. All fire extinguishers are now off limits to The Young Wolf. Please report any missing ones to the Vanguard

7. Do not create a ‘pigeon army’, lead them to the Tower, throw a bag of bird seed on the ground and then leave. Seriously I have never seen this many pigeons in one place before. Wolf where did you get this many pigeons

8. If you set off fireworks in the Tower, don’t let them fall over please

[busterkeatonsociety]

This Day in Buster… June 11, 1924 It’s reported that fireworks set fire to the set on “The Navigator”

[saywhat-politics]

A 10-year-old girl in Florida was struck and killed by a stray bullet while celebrating New Year’s Eve with her family, say police.

At 12:04 a.m. on Wed., Jan. 1, Yaneliz Munguia was with her family near NW 27th Ave. and NW 21st St. in Northwest Miami when she was hit by “celebratory gunfire,” the Miami-Dade Police Department said in a statement.

“This heartbreaking incident serves as a devastating reminder that what goes up must come down,” the department said. “Bullets fired into the air can take innocent lives.”

Police say the little girl was with her family, who were lighting fireworks outside of their apartment when she was struck in the head by the bullet, CBS News Miami reports.

When Yaneliz fell to the ground, her parents found the gunshot wound in the back of her head. They then jumped in a car and raced to the hospital while calling for help, according to CBS News Miami.

[probablyasocialecologist]

“We’re seeing a tsunami of police investigations,” Sfard said. “People who are targeted go through a very frightening experience and even if it ends with no indictments, it’s still horrendous.

“There is a wave of silencing of any type of, not only criticism, but also just compassion.”

Protests in sympathy with Gaza have been dispersed with force and Israel’s chief of police, Yaakov Shabtai, said last week: “Anyone who wants to identify with Gaza is welcome. I will put them on buses now that are headed there and I will help him get there.”

At the beginning of last week, Israel’s attorney general’s office also announced that it had instructed universities and colleges to forward cases to the police of students who had posted “words of praise for terrorism”.

In the wake of the attorney general’s instructions, there has been an apparent purge in Israeli universities. The legal rights group Adalah has reported that about 50 Palestinian students have been summoned to disciplinary committees about their social media posts and some have been suspended from their studies.

Intimidation of both Jewish and Arab Israelis with dissident views has also come from faceless individuals and groups, stirring up hate online.

In one notable incident, the ultra-orthodox leftwing journalist Israel Frey posted a video saying Kaddish (the Jewish prayer for the dead) for the victims of the Hamas slaughter and Palestinian civilians under fire in Gaza.

Soon afterwards, an anonymous user of the Telegram messaging platform published his address, which was shared widely by rightwing groups, and a mob turned up outside, lobbing fireworks at his windows, forcing him to flee with his family. He is now in hiding.