Is it about your job? I remember reading that you might lose your job, what do you do? I mean what do you do for a living?
Yeah, the place where i work is going to close our branch, so we’re all going to lose our jobs
it’s a warehouse, and i work in the control and quality area, making sure all the operators leave with the correct merchandise or fixing any issues that come up during the morning operation when everyone has to head out on their routes, they were also considering moving me into the logistics side of the same operation. honestly, these past few weeks have been really stressful because of that, i already had a lot of plans for this year and the next, and now everything has to shift since i have to start job hunting again
but I think I’ve sorted things out a bit and I have a new idea in mind about what to do
Hey, hru? Are u okay? I noticed you haven’t been around here lately. 👀
Hii! i’m actually here pretty often, i’ve just been trying to make progress with the ideas i have, but a lot has been going on in my life lately. These past few weeks especially feel like everything piled up and is about to explode, so right now I’m just trying to focus on getting through it and figuring out my near future, i kind of put my ideas on hold for now, but everything’s okay
sumary: After one of the most bitter arguments of their relationship, silence fills the apartment while Sehun takes refuge in the absolute focus of the National Team. Meanwhile, as she grapples with the aftermath of a devastating shift at the hospital, she must decide if love is enough to cross the world and support a man who seems to have forgotten her for a trophy.
The apartment was still draped in silence when she returned. It was a silence that didn't feel like peace, but rather like a burden. She closed the door cautiously, attempting to make as little noise as possible. There was no sound from the television, no sign of movement in the living room; Sehun didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight from her vantage point.
She was about to head toward the bedroom, just to check if Sehun was asleep, when something on the dining table caught her eye: a scrap of parchment. She approached slowly, a strange, nameless sensation stirring in her chest. She took it in her hands.
“I don’t want to be a bother, I’ll be sleeping at the team facilities so you can have some peace at home.”
She stared at it for longer than necessary. There was no anger, only a slow sinking feeling, as if that single sentence had finally confirmed everything she’d felt hours before. She sank into the nearest chair, the parchment still held between her fingers.
—So you can be at peace —she barely whispered, more to herself than anyone. She let out a short, humorless laugh—. Peace.
As if that were what she had been asking for. She rested her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands, finally allowing the exhaustion to catch up with her. She hadn’t had a moment to process anything: not the hospital, not the argument, nor the emptiness now filling the apartment. She closed her eyes and, for a fleeting second, she was back there: lights far too white, the erratic rhythm of labored breaths, her hands stained with blood. The weight of something she couldn't save.
The roar of the fireplace startled her. She straightened up, her back aching and her head feeling foggy, as if she had just jolted awake. Through the Floo Network, Jongin stepped out, dusting ash from his training robes. He carried a bag of food and an expression she knew all too well.
—Hey… —he said, setting the bag on the table, right on top of Sehun’s note—. I went to the hospital.
She blinked, processing his words.
—They said you didn't show up today. ¿Are you okay? —Jongin tilted his head, observing her with focused concern.
She looked around, trying to make sense of what Jongin had just said. ¿She hadn’t gone to work? Finally, her gaze settled on the window across the room; the light outside looked like twilight. Her eyes shifted back to her brother. His question was simple, but it was enough. She shook her head. She wasn’t going to sugarcoat it, nor would she pretend for his sake. Jongin sighed and sat across from her, pointedly ignoring the note still peeking out from under the food bag.
—¿What happened?
She hesitated, not knowing where to begin.
—Yesterday… —her voice was softer than she expected—. I lost a patient.
Jongin remained silent, just watching her.
—It was a child —she added, swallowing hard—. A werewolf attack… it was too much.
The silence stretched on, but it wasn't awkward. It was Jongin giving her the space she needed.
—I did everything I could —she continued, though her voice began to crack—. But it wasn’t enough.
Jongin lowered his gaze for a moment, taking it in.
—I’m sorry.
She gave a faint nod.
—I tried to call him —Jongin looked up at her again—. But he was training.
She let out a bitter laugh. No more words were needed; she leaned back into her chair, as if her body had suddenly become too heavy to hold up.
—And when I got home… —she glanced at the corner of the parchment on the table—. We ended up fighting.
Jongin followed her gaze and, for the first time since he arrived, took note of the parchment. He didn't comment on it.
—¿Was it bad?
She shook her head slowly.
—No. —And somehow, that made it worse—. It was… —she searched for the right word, but came up empty.
Jongin understood. He leaned over the table, crossing his arms.
—He’s staying at the facilities. I saw him this morning. He’s a wreck, even if he won’t admit it. He’s just reviewing the same play over and over.
—He chose to be there —she replied, her voice hollow—. He told me the World Cup and what happened to me yesterday were… comparable.
Jongin tensed. For a heartbeat, the protective brotherly instinct flared in his eyes, but then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
—He’s an idiot, one with a head full of Quidditch and fear.
She looked at him in surprise.
—¿You talked to him?
It was Jongin’s turn for a humorless laugh.
—I tried. Before your fight. Apparently, he didn’t listen much. He’s terrified of failing —Jongin explained gently—. He thinks that if he stops to be human, to be your boyfriend right now, he’ll lose his edge and it’ll cost us the cup. He’s convinced his entire worth depends on that trophy. It’s not that he doesn’t love you… it’s just that right now, he doesn’t know who he is without a broom in his hand.
A heavy silence followed. She looked down at her hands, which still seemed to carry the exhaustion of the hospital.
—I can’t keep being the last priority, Kai. I don’t have any strength left to wait.
He reached out and squeezed her hand over the table.
—I know. And you shouldn't have to. The problem wasn't what you said, it was maybe how you said it. He’s so buried in this that anything that isn't the match… feels like a threat.
—I’m not a threat —she said.
Jongin sighed.
—I know. And I also know that if you don't go to that stadium, you're the one who won't forgive yourself. Not for him, but for you. You’ve spent years supporting him to get here.
The words settled slowly. She pressed her lips together as tears began to sting her eyes.
—He doesn't want me there. He said I’m a distraction.
Jongin let out a short, dry laugh.
—He told you that because you’re the only one who can snap him back to reality, and he’s scared to death of reality right now. But listen to me: if we win, he’s going to search for you in the stands. And if we lose... you’re the only person he’ll want to see when he climbs off that broom, believe me.
Jongin stood up and pulled a golden ticket with the national team's seal from his pocket. He placed it on the table.
—It’s for the main stands, the family section. You’ll be right at the front, with the best view. You don’t have to tell him; go as his girlfriend, go as my sister, whatever you want. But don't let his stupidity rob you of the right to see the end of this journey.
He walked toward the living room, heading back to the fireplace. He turned back and offered a small smile.
—Eat… —he pointed at the bag—. You’ve got a long trip ahead, and I’m not just talking about Ireland.
He gave her a wink as the emerald flames of the Floo Network engulfed him before he vanished.
The days leading up to the trip were a blur of anxiety and determination. The hours at the hospital felt longer, her shifts increasingly grueling. She hadn't heard a word from Sehun or Jongin since her brother's visit. She knew they were in the midst of peak pressure and preparation.
When the day finally came and she was finalizing the details to travel to the Portkey location that would whisk her away to the vast moors of Ireland, her phone began to vibrate. It was Jongin.
When she picked up, her brother’s voice lacked its usual brightness. It sounded strained, muffled by the roar of dozens of people in the background; he was likely already in the locker rooms.
—Tell me you’re on your way —Jongin said, skipping the pleasantries.
—I’m getting there. ¿Is it really that bad? —she asked, a small hollow forming in her stomach.
—Worse. Sehun is a ghost; he’s a total disaster —Jongin let out a heavy sigh—. He’s here, physically he’s the best on the team, but his mind is elsewhere. He blew three basic blocks today. If he doesn’t find his focus, Canada is going to demolish us. His ultimate nightmare is coming true: he knows he’s unfocused and he’s terrified that he’ll be the reason we lose the cup.
She pressed the phone tighter against her ear.
—He needs to know you’re here —Jongin continued, lowering his voice—. I haven't told him because I want him to see it for himself. I know that the moment he spots you in those stands, he’ll be the ruthless Beater we know again. Just... hurry, please.
From the second she hung up, the journey to Ireland became a whirlwind of nerves. Despite what Kai said, she had no idea how Sehun would react to seeing her. Maybe he didn't want her there; maybe he was still angry. Her mind was racing so much that she did everything on autopilot: packing her small bag, making sure the house was in order, and finally appearing on the hill where a group of wizards waited to take the Portkey to Ireland together.
She didn't even feel the characteristic uncomfortable tug at her navel during the transport.
Upon reaching the moors, she saw that the campsite looked like a city built of light. Enchanted tents dotted the hillsides. In the distance, the massive stadium rose majestically; she was still occasionally struck by how breathtaking magic could be for such feats of engineering.
The knot in her stomach tightened as she watched the crowds begin to stream toward the stadium for the start of the match. She didn't feel ready to face Sehun, even from a distance. Once she found her tent and realized she couldn't stall any longer, she looked at the two tickets in her hands: the standard ticket she’d bought months ago, and the gleaming golden one Jongin had given her.
Still feeling overwhelmed by her brother’s words, she decided against the main stands. She followed the crowd and climbed almost to the very top, far away from the heart of the action, where she could hide her face by blending into the sea of people.
The team roared onto the pitch for their opening demonstration, but she could see Sehun was rigid, his gaze distant; he flew behind the rest. He looked flawless in the national kit, but Jongin, flying close by, kept casting him worried looks.
She watched her brother scan the main stands with desperation; she saw his eyes narrow in suspicion when he failed to find her in the family section. Jongin took a sharp turn, soaring higher as his eyes searched through thousands of faces, until his gaze finally locked onto a single point in the crowd.
She stood up immediately, hoping to head off her brother’s next move, but Jongin didn't waste a second. He flew straight toward her, stopping right in front of the railing. There was no warm greeting, no smile, only a stern expression and an authoritative gesture pointing toward the main stands. It was a command.
She sighed, gave a small nod, and began to weave through the people still finding their seats, her heart thumping against her ribs. She reached the front row of the section, just behind the magical barrier, exactly as the match began.
The pace was relentless. Sehun was playing defensively, but it looked more like fear—he was avoiding the kind of risks he usually took with ease. During a counterattack, a Canadian Beater sent a Bludger whistling dangerously close to a Korean Chaser's head. Sehun’s reaction was a beat too slow.
It wasn't a lack of skill. It was doubt. And in Quidditch, doubt is a death sentence.
The scoreboard was bleak: 200 to 30 in favor of Canada. The Korean team was beginning to buckle under the pressure. The Canadian Chasers were fast and clinical, moving the Quaffle with a synchrony that seemed impossible to break.
From her vantage point, she could see the Korean Seeker circling high above, maintaining his distance. She knew what that meant: they couldn't catch the Snitch yet. Even with the 150 points, it wouldn't be enough to overtake Canada’s lead. They needed time; they needed the Beaters to do their jobs.
In a momentary lapse in the Canadian defense, the Korean Chasers managed to start scoring. 50… 80… 120… The gap was closing, but Canada wasn't backing down.
In a brutal counter-offensive, a rival Beater launched a Bludger with such force that it slammed into Sehun’s shoulder. She bolted to her feet, gripping the railing, completely forgetting her desire to remain unnoticed.
She saw Sehun sway on his broom, his face twisted in pain, but he didn't pull back. Jongin was at his side in an instant, shielding him while Sehun found his balance. Without a second thought, she screamed his name, pulling a banner from her cloak that she’d made years ago, his name stitched in shimmering orange sparks.
At the sound of her voice, Sehun’s eyes frantically searched the stands until they landed on her, standing there, holding his name high. It seemed as though the pain in his shoulder was instantly drowned out by a surge of pure adrenaline. Breathing hard, sweat dripping down his face, and clearly stunned that she was there, he flew directly toward her section. His eyes locked onto hers.
The world seemed to fall away. With the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, he gave her a wink and swung his broom back toward the fray. The transformation in Sehun was immediate. The fog in his eyes cleared, replaced by an electric spark. Seeing her there, cheering for him despite everything, was the anchor he had been missing. Sehun gripped his oak bat, gave her a look over his shoulder that carried a silent promise, and ascended vertically at a staggering speed.
Jongin’s shouts echoed from across the pitch as he watched his partner finally rejoin the fight. Sehun intercepted the next bludger with a hit so powerful the sound rang out through the stadium like a gunshot. He was no longer playing scared, and he wasn't going to let anything get near his team.
The stadium erupted when the score hit 210 to 160. Only a 50-point difference. This was it. Sehun raised his bat to the sky, a signal to the Seeker, just as a golden glint appeared on the far side of the pitch for the second time that night. The Korean Seeker went into a vertical dive, but the Canadian Beaters weren't about to make it easy.
A stray bludger was launched directly at the Seeker. Sehun, on the opposite side of the field, wouldn't be able to reach it in time to deflect.
—¡Sehun, launch me! —Jongin roared.
In a move forbidden in any minor league, Jongin gripped the tail of Sehun’s broom as Sehun pushed off with every ounce of his strength. Jongin was catapulted like a projectile, his body nearly horizontal. He intercepted the Bludger millimeters from the Seeker, knocking it away with the edge of his bat.
A second later, a deathly silence fell over the stadium, lasting only a heartbeat. The referee’s whistle blew three times. The Korean Seeker soared upward, his right arm thrust toward the sky. Between his fingers, the Golden Snitch’s wings were still fluttering in vain.
Korea 310 – Canada 210.
The explosion of joy was deafening. Tears streamed down her face as she continued to wave her banner with everything she had. They had won. They were World Champions.
Sehun didn't join the team’s celebration immediately. While the others cheered and flew in victory laps, he slowed his broom. His eyes, rimmed with red from the tears he was holding back, went straight to the front row of the main stands.
He pulled up in front of her, hovering at the railing. He was a mess: his kit was torn, his face was caked in mud and sweat, and the hand still clutching the bat was trembling slightly. Sehun said nothing; he simply reached his hand out to her through the magical barrier that was beginning to fade. She dropped the banner and reached out to take his hand. She used her other hand to gently brush the dirt from his face.
Sehun leaned into her touch, closing his eyes for a brief moment.
—We did it —he whispered.
—You did it —she replied, beaming with pride.
—Not without you.
Sehun smiled, a genuine smile she hadn't seen in months and in that moment, the weight of the glory was finally replaced by something else. The chaos of the victory celebration pulled them apart before they could say another word.
Despite being one of the stars of the night, Sehun moved through the post-match party like an elegant shadow, dodging reporters and officials trying to drape medals around his neck. He only had eyes for one person. He found her near the main bonfire, laughing with Jongin. As Sehun approached, he caught Jongin’s gaze. His best friend gave him a knowing smile and a slight nod. No words were needed; Jongin would handle the formalities, the fans, and the excuses for the press.
Jongin stood up, turning to Sehun.
—Get her out of here —he said quietly, giving Sehun an affectionate pat on his newly healed shoulder—. I’ve got you covered, champ.
Sehun didn't hesitate. He took her hand and they began to walk toward the edge of the campsite, where the Irish grass was heavy with dew and the noise of the party began to fade into the background. They stopped in front of a small tent for official Portkeys. On an old wooden table sat a mundane, battered object: an old leather boot glowing with a faint blue aura. It was their ticket back to Seoul.
Sehun stopped and turned her to face him. The Irish moonlight washed over them.
—¿Do you know what the first thing I thought was when the match ended? —he asked, lacing his fingers with hers.
—¿The cup? —she guessed with a playful grin.
Sehun shook his head, his expression serious.
—I thought that I didn't want to spend another second being "Sehun, the Beater." I just wanted to be Sehun. Your boyfriend. The guy who makes you terrible coffee in the morning and has no idea how to make it up to you for being such an idiot these past few weeks.
She let out a soft laugh, feeling the knot that had lived in her chest since their fight finally dissolve.
—The coffee isn't that bad —she lied, earning a smile from him.
—Let’s go home —he said, a sweet urgency in his voice—. I want to put this kit in a closet, turn off the magical phone, and forget that Bludgers, stadiums, or training schedules exist. Just us.
Sehun reached for the Portkey, but before he touched it, he leaned in and kissed her. It was a kiss that tasted like relief, like an apology, and like a fresh start. A kiss that confirmed that while he had conquered the world that night, his home would always be wherever she was.
—On three —he murmured against her lips.
They both touched the leather boot at the same time. The world around them dissolved into a whirlwind of color and wind, and in the blink of an eye, the cold Irish air was replaced by the familiar warmth of their living room in Seoul.
The keys were still on the table where she had left them. The silence in the apartment was no longer heavy; it was welcoming. Sehun let go of the Portkey, took a deep breath, and hugged her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder as they looked out at the city lights, a city that didn't yet know its heroes had returned.
⟡ summary: when your best friend signed you two up for cooking classes, you didn't expect to find junmyeon, your ex, as the chef.
⟡ content: sfw, exbf!junmyeon x gn!reader | word count: 2.5k words
⟡ a/note: tbh, i didn't know if that was what you were looking for on your request, but i really tried my best. hope you like it <3
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You looked at Liz, one of your coworkers and friends, who was… beaming with excitement.
“Of course!” She pressed the elevator button. “You won’t believe how handsome he is! Just imagine if we get a chance to speak to him—ah! I’m so excited!”
You just laughed at her sudden eagerness, leaning against the wall. “So you know him?”
“Not in person, but,” Liz fixed his hair, checking her reflection in the elevator mirror. “When I signed us both up on the website, he was on the preview. So… I did my research and found his personal IG.”
“Creepy…” you murmured, teasing her.
“Shut up!” She smacked your forearm while you laughed, following her out as the elevator doors slid open.
When you arrived in the classroom, you found the space packed with women who were clearly there for him—some of them checking their hair, others reapplying their makeup, others just murmuring about him. You looked at Liz, who seemed even more surprised than you were.
“That’s not fair…”
You grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the last two empty seats near the front. “C’mon!”
“Do you… think we’ll have a chance to talk to him today?” Liz looked genuinely down, but you didn’t have the heart to give her a realistic answer.
“Of course!” You smiled, giving her a tight hug. “Liz, I’m pretty sure he’ll notice you the second he walks through that door!” Her face lit up. “Now, what was his name again?”
“Kim Junmyeon,” Liz replied, smiling back at you.
Your face fell as if you had just heard the worst joke imaginable. “What?” You froze. It couldn’t be the same Kim Junmyeon you knew. He couldn’t be your ex.
“Kim Junmyeon,” she repeated, oblivious to your shock. “He’s literally the face from the last culinary competition in—”
“Morning, class!” Junmyeon’s voice filled the room, drowned out slightly by the collective, flirtatious response. “It’s so good to see you all again.” He scanned the crowd with that bright, familiar smile. “It seems like there are new faces here, and…” He paused a second when his gaze landed on yours. “Some others I knew all too well.”
You were panicked, feeling the desperate urge to escape. But Junmyeon seemed like he was genuinely happy to see you again.
“Did he… notice us?” Liz whispered, vibrating with excitement. You could only manage a stiff nod, feeling numb.
You sat stiffly in your chair as Junmyeon moved to the front of the room to begin his class. He stole everyone’s attention, speaking with practiced ease and laying out the safety protocols, but... you doubted anyone was actually listening to his words. Instead, they watched the way his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows or flirted shamelessly when he laughed with them at his small jokes.
Every woman in the room leaned forward, chins resting on palms, looking at him with heart eyes. Even with your frustration, you thought it was the perfect distraction—quietly, you could slip out the back while they were all under his spell.
“Liz.” You leaned in close so only she could hear. “I need to go to—”
Liz’s phone buzzed across the table, cutting you off, and she nearly knocked it onto the floor in her scramble to grab it. Her eyes went wide as she read the notification.
“Oh… no, no, no,” she hissed. “I totally forgot it! The furniture delivery! My landlord won’t let them in without me, and they’ll send the whole thing back to the warehouse!”
Before you could even process the words, Liz was already grabbing her bag. She gave you an apologetic look, her hands hovering in the air as if she wanted to hug you but didn’t have the time.
“I have to go! I’m so sorry! Good luck with the class—and with him!” she whispered.
Liz practically sprinted toward the exit, murmuring a quick excuse. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving an empty seat beside you. You were completely frozen, trapped, and you had missed your chance.
Up to the front, the rhythm of Junmyeon’s voice didn’t falter. He transitioned from the introductory lecture to the hands-on portion of the day: handmade pasta. It was meant to be a collaborative effort, and he suggested working in pairs to manage it.
The room erupted into a flurry of movements as friends leaned together and strangers introduced themselves. But you? You remained rooted to your spot, without a partner, so you had to swallow your pride, focusing on the mound of flour, and mimic the movements he had demonstrated.
Later, you were so focused on the sticky mess on your hands that you didn’t see the shadow falling across your workspace.
“Hhm? The walls are a bit too thin.”
You snapped your head up to find Junmyeon leaning over your table. He wasn’t looking at the class anymore; he was looking at you with an expression that was entirely too friendly.
“Do you need some help?” His tone was soft enough that it felt private.
Immediately, a wave of disgruntled muttering rippled through the room. Everyone was glaring in your direction. One or two women even raised their hands, calling out for his attention, but Junmyeon didn’t even turn his head.
“I’ll be with the rest of you in just a moment.” His voice regained its professional projection without losing its focus on you.
The pressure was suffocating. You could feel dozens of envious eyes boring into your back, and the weight of his undivided attention made your hands shake as they remained coated in flour. Of course, you weren’t just a student to him.
You nodded, accepting the inevitable. You kept your eyes fixed on the wooden board, trying to maintain a shred of dignity while your ex leaned in to show you how to stabilize the flour walls. Every time his hand brushed near yours, your heart skipped a bit. Yes, he noticed it; however, he didn’t say anything.
Once he was satisfied that your doubt wouldn’t collapse, he stood up and gave you a soft smile, moving to the next group. You sighed in relief and threw yourself into the work, imitating his instructions step by step. The dough was stubborn, but eventually, it turned smooth and elastic under your palms. You rolled it out until it was translucent, the rolling pin clicking rhythmically against the table, and sliced it into long, uneven ribbons of fettuccine.
You were so mesmerized by the process that you didn’t realize how much time had passed. You just heard Junmyeon thanking everyone for being there, and the room began to clear as people packed their bags and wiped down their stations. You, however, were still struggling, your movements clumsy, leaving you trailing behind everyone else.
You stood there with flour still dusting your forearms, desperately pulling at the strings of your apron. They had somehow knotted behind your back, and the more you tugged, the tighter they became.
A soft, familiar chuckle echoed through the kitchen. Junmyeon was standing a few feet away, tidying his own station with a grace that made you feel silly—you were trapped, messy, cheeks completely red—there was no point in pretending he wasn’t there.
“I didn’t know you were the instructor,” you said quickly as you finally yanked the apron knot loose, desperate to clarify things. “I only came because of my friend. If I had known you were the one teaching this, I wouldn’t have been here.”
A slow, gentle smile spread across his face, and he gave a small understanding nod. “I believe you.”
His lack of defensiveness only made you more frustrated. It felt like he was handling you with the same patience he used for a difficult recipe.
“I mean it,” you snapped. “I’m not trying to follow you or… or make things weird. It was a total accident!”
“I know.” Junmyeon remained perfectly relaxed; he looked happy to see you.
He reached for his own apron again, trying it back on with practiced movements. He walked over to your station and reached for the tray of raw fettuccine you had just finished cutting.
“What are you doing?” Your brow furrowed in confusion.
He looked at you with a slight tilt of his head, as if the answer should have been obvious. “You’re the only one who didn’t actually cook the pasta,” he explained. “The water is still hot. I’m gonna help you finish it so you don’t have to take home a tray of sticky dough.”
Frustration bubbled up in your chest. Junmyeon was acting as if the years of silence between you didn’t exist, as if the bond you had once shared hadn’t been snapped into pieces.
“You don’t have to do that. I can just… throw it away.”
“I know. But you worked so hard today,” he countered, dropping the ribbons into the boiling pot.
You wanted to be mad and yell at him, but… he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was just being nice—the same sweet, attentive Junmyeon who always took care of the details—and it felt like he was intentionally messing with your head.
“Look,” he said gently. “I know you were the one who decided we needed distance. I know you broke up with me because I was immature. I respected that then, just like I respect it now.”
Junmyeon took a small step closer, though he kept enough distance to ensure you didn’t feel cornered. “I’m just… honestly happy to see you again. I’m happy to see that you’re doing well.”
You felt like your tongue was physically trapped in your mouth. You had spent the last hour treating him like an enemy, and he was standing there offering you nothing but grace.
“You can go home. I don’t want you to feel trapped here,” he added, noticing your silence. “The pasta will only take another minute. I can pack this up and leave it at the front desk for you, or I can just toss it if that’s easier for you.”
“I’m not doing good or bad. I’m just here,” you admitted.
“Just being here is enough sometimes,” he murmured, carefully lifting the fettuccine from the water, smiling softly. He looked at you. “Are you still writing reviews?”
You blinked, surprised he remembered such a specific detail. “I… yeah. I still do.”
“I knew it.” Junmyeon nodded, his eyes lighting up. “I’ve actually read a few of them. Your review of that little bookstore downtown was spot on—you always had a sharp eye. I’m glad you’re still doing it.”
You felt your cheeks turn a deep red. The idea of him sitting somewhere, scrolling through your words long after you had left his life, made your stomach do a nervous flip. “You’re lying,” you countered, trying to deflect.
“No,” he let out a nervous laugh. “Actually, it’s funny. I spent all morning rehearsing what I’d say, worrying about the new students... and when I saw you, everything just went out the window.”
“You seemed pretty composed to me,” you muttered, looking at the floor. “You were flirting with the whole front row.”
Junmyeon let out a short, surprised laugh. “Is that what you saw? I was terrified. I was trying so hard to look at everyone except you because I knew if I stayed in your gaze for too long, I’d forget everything.”
“You? Terrified?” you mumbled. “You’re far too busy with your classes and all those students… trying to catch your attention.”
Junmyeon let out a laugh again—that genuine, melodic sound that you realized… you had truly missed. “Are you asking if I’m single?” he teased, catching you completely off guard.
“What? No! That’s not—I wasn’t—” You stumbled over your words, your hands waving dismissively in the air as you tried to regain your footing.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he said gently, though his smile remained. “To be honest, I haven’t actually dated anyone since you.” He carefully swirled the pasta into the container.
You froze. “But it’s been…”
“I know,” he interrupted softly, looking at you with a warm smile. “You were my first true love. I didn’t wanna erase all those memories from my heart and fill the space with someone else. At least, not for now.”
The way he looked at you in that moment made you realize why you had fallen for him years ago. You felt nervous, completely seen, and somehow, deeply loved.
“Oh! Wait—” He came back to his station for another container—one filled with a rich, fragrant sauce he must have prepared earlier. He walked back toward you, offering you both containers. “There.”
You looked down at the plastic lid. Even without tasting it, you knew exactly what it was. “You made it again…” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I always loved this sauce.”
“I know.” A small knowing glint appeared in his eyes. “I thought, if I was gonna make sure you actually accepted something from me, it must be something you could never turn down.”
Your cheeks flared red again. The warmth of his presence was starting to feel less like a threat and more like a familiar blanket.
“Thank you, Junmyeon.”
His expression turned even softer, like he wasn’t ready to hear his name from your lips again. “Will I… see you again?”
You met his gaze, and for a second, you felt your mind racing through a thousand excuses, your tongue heavy. Seeing your hesitation, he quickly clarified.
“As friends,” Junmyeon added, holding up a hand as if to offer a truce. “If that’s what you want. I just… I’d like to catch up properly, y’know… without a room full of people.”
You doubted yourself for a heartbeat, the memories from the past coming back, but then, you looked at the containers in your hands and back at his sincere expression. You just nodded softly, almost imperceptibly.
A look of genuine relief washed over him. “There’s a new coffee shop that just opened around the corner,” he suggested. “The interior is beautiful—lots of natural light and plants. You’d have plenty to write about for your blog.”
Your enthusiasm suddenly broke through your defensive shell. “A new one? That sounds great.” You looked at him, a familiar spark returning to your eyes. “Will you buy the coffee, right?”
Junmyeon let out a bright, genuine laugh that echoed against the kitchen. “Of course,” he said, nodding softly. “It’s on me!”
After you two exchanged numbers, he walked you toward the door, the air between you finally feeling light. As you stepped out into the hallway, you felt him linger for a second. “I’ll text you the address,” he sounded hopeful.
“I’ll be waiting for it,” you replied, clutching the warm containers to your chest.
Junmyeon looked like he didn’t quite want to let you go yet. “Go on, before the pasta gets cold. I’ll text you later.”
You nodded and reached the elevator, pressing the button, looking back one last time to see him waving from the classroom door. You stepped inside, the doors sliding shut on the sight of his smile, and for the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about the past—you were looking forward to that coffee.
✧˚ ⋆｡˚ exo x madeinmyeon month masterlist | main masterlist Ი︵𐑼
Summary: Amidst the national euphoria for the Korean National Team, what carries more weight: a life lost on a stretcher or a trophy decided in midair? For her, the answer is clear; for Sehun, the line has become dangerously blurred.
This takes place in a wizarding world where wizards have adapted Muggle technology for their own use
In the Wizarding World, people hadn’t stopped talking about the same thing for days. In the magical newspapers, the same headline kept repeating: the Korean National Team had qualified as a finalist in the Quidditch World Cup for the first time in over 50 years.
Commentators and fans of the magical sport continued to analyze every play of the semifinal. The newspapers published enchanted portraits of the team flying in slow motion.
For Sehun, it felt surreal; since he was a child, he had imagined this moment: the full stadium, the pressure of the final match, the instant someone would catch the Golden Snitch and the entire wizarding world would cheer.
Now, that moment was only a few weeks away, and Sehun was not willing to let this opportunity go to waste.
Sehun had been chosen as one of Korea’s representatives to participate in the selection during the World Cup. He belonged to one of the most acclaimed Beater duos in the sport alongside his inseparable childhood friend, who was living the dream they had always imagined for their careers right by his side.
Ever since they won the semifinal and had to prepare to face the Canadian National Team in the World Cup Grand Final, Sehun had immersed himself in longer training sessions, more match replays to analyze the competition, and, above all, more hours studying strategies that could grant them the championship.
So deep was his immersion in training that, at times, he wouldn’t leave the pitch until well after dawn.
Someone else was watching all of this with a mixture of amusement and concern on the same team: Kim Jongin, the other member of the tournament's most famous Beater duo, Sehun’s best friend, and the older brother of a person who had spent days looking at a hospital calendar filled with schedules and overtime, waiting for the day of the final to arrive: Sehun’s girlfriend.
Jongin knew both of them far too well, and that was why he began paying close attention to Sehun.
One afternoon, after a brutal training session, the team was resting in the locker rooms. Sehun was still watching a replay of one of the Falcons' matches from last season on a floating screen.
Jongin sat down beside him with a bottle of water.
—You know training ended twenty minutes ago, ¿right?
Sehun didn’t look away from the play on the screen.
—I’m just reviewing a play.
—Yeah, sure.
Jongin took a sip while his eyes remained fixed on the side of Sehun’s face, which was tight with concentration. Silence surrounded them as the other players left, saying their goodbyes. When Jongin felt they had more privacy, he said:
—My sister says she’s barely seen you lately.
That did catch Sehun’s attention, making him tear his eyes away from the match and turn to look at him.
—I’m training —he said, showing little emotion on his face, but with a slight furrow in his brow. ¿Where was Jongin going with this?
But Jongin said nothing more than a simple:
—I know.
Sehun felt a bit impatient; this seemed like a waste of time to him, he still had more plays to review.
—We are in the Quidditch World Cup final.
Jongin raised an eyebrow.
—Yes, I noticed. I was there when we qualified.
Sehun looked back at the screen.
—Then you know and understand how important this is.
Jongin rested his elbows on his knees.
—I also know something else.
Sehun sighed, turning once more to look at Jongin with an expression of irritation on his face.
—¿What? —he asked, trying to keep his voice from sounding as irritated as his expression.
—That you’ve been living in this stadium for days, even when we aren’t on the pitch.
Sehun frowned even more, if that were possible.
—¿You too?
—¿Too what?
—Saying that I’m obsessed.
Jongin shrugged.
—I didn’t say that.
—But you thought it.
—Maybe.
Sehun shook his head.
—You don’t understand.
Jongin let out a small laugh.
—Believe me, I understand perfectly.
Sehun looked at him skeptically. Jongin pointed to the screen.
—The World Cup final. The most important match of your life, the pressure not to screw it up —he smiled, looking at Sehun, who for the first time that night was looking directly at him; then he added—. I understand because I’m playing that match too.
That made Sehun fall silent. Jongin watched him for a moment before saying:
—But there’s a difference between focusing… and forgetting about everything else.
—I’m not forgetting anything —Sehun spat, returning to his irritation.
Jongin tilted his head.
—¿When was the last time you had dinner with her without talking about Quidditch? —Jongin asked because he knew him very well. Sehun didn’t answer—. Or ¿When was the last time you listened to her talk about her work while actually paying attention, and not with your mind lost in a match replay?
Sehun looked down.
—It’s not fair.
—I never said it was —Jongin said before taking another sip of water.
Sehun was starting to look a bit uncomfortable, while the match replay continued to play in the background.
—I’m just saying my sister isn’t against your dream.
—I never said she was —Sehun cut him off.
—You’re treating her as if she were, as if she were obstructing your path.
Sehun let out a long sigh.
—I just need to focus right now.
—And you’re doing it so well that you’re leaving everything else out.
Sehun pressed his lips together. Jongin looked at him with a half-smile.
—Look… I’ve been watching the two of you since we were teenagers.
Sehun raised an eyebrow and said:
—That sounds ominous.
—I just mean my sister doesn’t need you to win the World Cup.
Sehun looked at him confused. Jongin stood up from the bench.
—But she does need to know that she’s still part of your life while you’re trying to win it. Don’t get things confused.
And he left him alone in front of the screen that still showed the small figures of the Falcons players flying across the pitch.
For the first time that night, Sehun lost interest in continuing to review plays.
Although he didn’t return to his apartment immediately; he went back out to the pitch with his broom and, mounting it, took a few laps around the stadium.
Jongin had left him with many thoughts in mind, but he needed to stay focused on the strategy he had to follow to win the final. So, as the wind hit his face while flying, he tried as hard as he could to empty his mind of anything that wasn’t his next match.
The apartment seemed to be in silence when she entered. She closed the door quietly, with the kind of calm that settles in when someone arrives too tired to make noise. She placed her keys on the table carefully, as if any sound could break something invisible in the air.
Then she heard it: Sehun was in the living room.
From where she stood, she could hear the screen in that room was on and heard the excited, muffled voices narrating a match.
She walked to the door separating the hallway from the living room and stood there watching him for a moment.
He hadn't realized she had arrived.
Sitting on the sofa, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze was fixed on the floating screen where a play was being repeated over and over. Players moving in perfect patterns, bludgers dodged at the last second, strategies that only he seemed to see with such intensity.
—¿That match again?
Her voice wasn’t accusatory, just full of exhaustion.
Sehun barely turned his head.
—I’m still reviewing the left Beater’s play —he said as he turned back to the screen immediately, as if he were unable to miss even a second.
She nodded, though he was no longer looking at her.
As she took off her hospital robes, her hands were still shaking from the events of her day. She walked toward the kitchen.
—Today was a horrible day.
She said it aloud; she truly had a very bad day and wanted to talk to him about it to release some of the guilt she was feeling.
Sehun didn't answer; instead, she only got a distracted sound, something automatic as a response:
—Mm.
She stood still for a second, her back to him. She tried to process if what had just happened was real, but she decided to go on with what she wanted to tell him.
—I lost a patient.
The silence that followed was different; it felt heavier. Sehun paused the video.
—I’m sorry.
And, though she didn't see him, she realized he didn't turn toward her. He didn’t get up from the sofa either, and above all, he didn’t ask anything else.
She walked to the edge of the sink, leaning against it and looking down to continue.
—He was just a child, I could have done better… —her voice broke—. I should have done better, but his injuries were too severe. It was the worst werewolf attack I’ve seen in my career.
There was no reaction from Sehun. She turned around.
—I tried… —she paused for a second, swallowing hard—, I tried to get in touch with you.
Sehun frowned slightly.
—I was training.
She sighed.
—I know.
The answer came quickly. Too quickly. She took a few steps forward to get a better view of where he was sitting.
—You were also training when I called you afterward.
Sehun sighed, finally turning to look at her.
—I can’t be checking my phone all the time.
He didn’t say it harshly, but the way he said it, as if it were something obvious he didn’t have to explain to her, that was what hurt.
She nodded slowly.
—No… of course.
A small silence grew between them.
—I just thought that… —she started, but couldn’t finish the sentence as she felt her throat tighten with the immense urge to cry that was flooding her. Sehun watched her, waiting. She shook her head gently—. Nothing.
She turned away, approaching the sink again and turning on the tap even though there was nothing to wash. The sound of running water filled the space between them. Sehun spoke again.
—We are a week away from the final.
She closed her eyes for a second. There it was.
—I know —she replied.
—Then you understand that I can’t get distracted now.
She let out a small, humorless laugh.
—Am I distracting you?
Sehun frowned again.
—I didn’t say it like that.
—You don’t have to say it —she interrupted him. She turned back toward him—. Lately, every time I try to talk to you, I feel as if it bothers you, as if I’m interrupting something.
—That is exactly what you are doing.
Silence fell like something solid between them. Sehun seemed to realize too late what he had just said, but he didn't take it back.
She stared at him.
There was no anger in her eyes, that made it worse.
—I needed you today.
She didn’t say it loudly, there was no reproach in her tone; she said it as a fact.
Sehun pressed his lips together slightly.
—And I need to win this match.
The blow was clean, direct. It took her a second to react.
—Those things aren't comparable.
—To me, they are.
That was what finally broke the tension. She looked down for a moment, nodding very slowly.
—Of course, to you, they are.
Sehun stood up then, stepping slightly toward her.
—This is what I’ve been waiting for my whole life.
—¿And at what point did I stop being a part of that?
The question stopped him. He didn't answer immediately.
—You aren’t.
She looked up.
—That’s not what I’m saying —he hurried to say.
—Well, that’s what it seems like.
The air between them became denser.
—I think you aren't understanding what is happening —Sehun said, this time with a hint of frustration.
She looked at him in silence for a few seconds.
—No —she finally replied—. I think I do understand.
Sehun shook his head. Before he could say anything, she spoke first.
—I understand that it doesn't matter what happens to me… you’ve already decided what is important.
That made him tense up.
—That’s not true, what you’re saying isn’t fair.
She let out a small breath.
—I never said it was fair.
The silence returned, but this time it felt like a distance between them.
—I’ve been trying, I’ve changed my shifts —she added more quietly—. Adjusted my on-call hours… trying to be available for you, for whatever you need.
Sehun said nothing.
—But I guess you didn't notice, because you’re never home anymore.
That sentence fell softly, but it weighed more than everything before it.
Sehun opened his mouth, but found nothing to say. She looked at him one last time, still without anger, not even with sadness, only with the immense exhaustion she had been carrying for a long time.
—I’m not going to ask you to choose —Sehun frowned—. Because I know you already did.
That hurt.
—But I’m not going to keep waiting for you to have time for me again, either.
Sehun felt something tighten in his chest.
—It’s not like that…
—It’s exactly like that —she interrupted him without raising her voice. Then she shook her head gently—. I just… I just needed you to be here today.
That was all. There were no screams, no more explanations. She took her bag and walked past him without touching him. Sehun didn't know how to stop her. The door closed with a soft sound. Too soft for everything that had just broken.
And for the second time that night, the screen behind him continued to show the play… but Sehun was no longer seeing anything.
A feeling that could be called guilt filled Sehun, but he didn't go after her; he didn't even move for the next five minutes.
And when he finally did, he took a piece of parchment, ink, and a quill, leaving a note for her on the table:
“I don’t want to bother you, I’ll be sleeping at the team facilities so you can be at peace at home.”
He took a few things and left the apartment.
a/n: This isn't finished yet, but I felt it was getting excessively long
could you tell me a bit about what you’re working on right now? Or are you not writing anything at the moment? 👀
Hii! Of course, I’m currently writing a QuidditchplayerSehun x Healer!reader;
It’s about Sehun playing professional Quidditch and being one of the representatives of the Korean National Team at the Quidditch World Cup. They make it to the finals, and Sehun feels like it’s the match of his life, but also like no one really understands him when he wants to focus on not making a single mistake to win the Cup.
Annnnnnnnd I’m also developing two similar ideas with Baekhyun and Jongdae;
Baekhyun, who falls into Grindelwald’s ideology and wants to join his ranks, convinced it’s all for the greater good, while the reader tries to make him see reality.
And then we have Jongdae, who believes wizards should stop hiding from muggles and is convinced that Voldemort’s movement is the best path for the magical community, or something along those lines 🙂↕️
HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?? Chanyeol in that suit AND those daMNn glasses?? He’s so insanely attractive, I feel attacked this early in the morning and I can’t evEN PROCESS it
I was literally at work while these men were out there looking unreal; handsome, sexy, just… unfair
I wasn’t planning to respond, but you’ve been sending the same thing for days, over and over again.
I don’t know what you’re looking for, what you expect, or what you want, but I’m very aware that I’m here because I enjoy writing and because I enjoy the things other people share. You say no one likes what I post. Well, maybe that’s true, maybe not, but I like it. It’s my work. I write for myself, and I’m not ashamed of what I wrote and shared years ago, and I’m not ashamed of what I’ve written and shared recently either.
If you don’t like my content, then don’t consume it, but please don’t bother me with those comments. As you said, there’s a huge community of talented people here. We can all enjoy what we like without any problem, so I encourage you to do exactly that: enjoy the content you like without hurting others.
Wizarding World!Obliviator!Kim Junmyeon x Muggle!reader.
Summary: Kim Junmyeon is one of the Wizarding World’s most skilled Obliviators, trusted to erase memories and protect the fragile boundary between magic and the Muggle world. But everything changes the night he falls in love with a Muggle. In a magical London where witches and wizards who grow too close to Muggles are hunted down and cast out, Junmyeon must face an impossible choice: his place in the wizarding world… or the girl he was never meant to love.
The rain fell softly over the streets of London when Junmyeon was called in. The Office for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts had requested precautionary assistance after an enchanted object ended up in an antique shop in Bloomsbury. Nothing dramatic. Just a clock that had been fooling Muggles by playing with time.
The head of the office had requested a few obliviators from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, just in case. The reason… there had been more than just a couple of customers in the shop when the clock started acting “strange.”
Most of them wouldn’t remember a thing in a few minutes.
Jun looked around and noticed a girl standing at the shop’s doorway, peering curiously inside. He immediately realized she wasn’t one of the people whose memory needed to be modified, since no one was questioning her or even paying attention to her presence.
Her hair fell forward as she tilted her head slightly, like she was searching for something. Completely focused on it, completely unaware of the magical chaos happening inside.
Junmyeon wasn’t sure why he couldn’t seem to look away.
Maybe it was her curious eyes scanning the room. Maybe it was the calm she seemed to carry while doing it. Maybe the way she furrowed her brows as she tried to focus on the dozen unfamiliar faces around her.
Or maybe it was simply because he thought she was incredibly pretty.
One of the Artefacts agents finally confiscated the clock, and the commotion that followed pulled Junmyeon’s attention back to what he was supposed to be doing. Quietly, he modified the memories of a few people nearby.
When he finished, she was still there.
She was talking to the elderly woman who ran the shop. Junmyeon could see the concern in her eyes as she asked if the woman was alright and tried to figure out what had happened.
She hadn’t seen anything, so there was no reason for Jun to approach her.
Still, when she left, he couldn’t help but follow her with his eyes.
And when Junmyeon walked out of the shop himself, he found himself looking in the same direction his gaze had drifted earlier.
He saw her enter a small bookstore across the street, greeting a few customers with a warm smile.
For some reason, that image stuck with him for days.
The first time Junmyeon walked into the bookstore was by accident.
For the first time in a long while, after finishing his shift at the Ministry, he ended up wandering the streets of London without a destination.
He could’ve apparated home.
He could’ve used the Floo Network.
But instead, he found himself walking through muggle London until he stopped right in front of that bookstore.
It stayed open later than most.
The walls were lined with shelves packed with books, some old, some older.
A small bell rang when he stepped inside. He spotted her on the other side of the shop, standing on a small wooden ladder while placing books on the highest shelf.
—We’re closing soon,—she said without climbing down or even turning to look at him.
Junmyeon picked up the first book he saw on a nearby table.
—I’ll be quick.
That was when she turned around, giving him a curious once-over with a small smile.
—People who say that are usually the ones who stay the longest.
Junmyeon felt his legs go a little weak when she smiled like that.
He ended up staying forty minutes.
Then he came back two days later.
That time he bought a book he didn’t need.
A few days later he came back again.
They never talked much. Just small conversations. Book recommendations between shelves.
She assumed he worked for the government. Junmyeon never corrected her. It wasn’t exactly a lie, and it wasn’t like he could tell her the truth anyway.
One night, while Junmyeon was wandering between the shelves and she was closing the register, she said something that stayed stuck in his head for days.
—You’re very mysterious, you know?
Junmyeon looked up from the book he had been flipping through.
—How so?
—You show up on the quietest nights like you just appeared from behind a bookshelf, you browse the books for forty minutes and only buy books about the sky. You never talk about yourself—.She shrugged.—It’s interesting.—she said with a playful smile.—I just hope you don’t disappear out of nowhere someday.
Junmyeon froze for a moment before quickly recovering.
—Why would I?
—It’d be a shame not to see someone that interesting again.
For a second, Junmyeon thought maybe that was his sign. Maybe he could ask her to grab coffee after closing.
But the thought stayed exactly that. Just a thought.
The incident happened a week later.
An urgent report came into the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.
Loose creature. Out of control. Soho district.
By the time Junmyeon arrived, chaos had already taken over. Broken windows. Bent street lamps. People staring up at the rooftops. Something moving between buildings.
An occamy.
Its silver-looking wings caught the streetlights as it glided from one rooftop to another, growing larger as it expanded into the open air. Impossible to ignore.
—Containment team!— someone shouted.
Obliviators began spreading through the crowd.
Junmyeon moved among the witnesses, memorizing faces. Until something he heard made him freeze.
—Jun?.
The sound hit him like a spell.
He turned slowly.
She was standing there on the edge of the sidewalk, eyes wide. Not with fear, but amazement.
And she was looking directly at him.
One of the obliviators beside him frowned.
—You know her?
Junmyeon answered without thinking.
—No.
But it was already too late.
She was walking toward him.
—What are you doing here?
The Ministry staff around him exchanged glances. Junmyeon felt the weight of the situation settle on his shoulders.
—Miss.—he said professionally,—please stay back.
She looked confused.
—Junmyeon, ¿Did you see that thing? ¿What is it?
One of the obliviators glanced at him.
—She knows your name.
Junmyeon closed his eyes for a second.
Mistake. Big mistake.
If it was discovered he had prior contact with a muggle witness… the consequences would be serious.
He could lose everything. Even his job.
He grabbed her lightly by the forearm and led her a few meters away from the crowd and the Ministry staff.
The glow of spells from raised wands lit the street as magizoologists finally managed to contain the occamy.
—Listen to me carefully,— Junmyeon said.
She looked at him with deep curiosity.
—¿You know about this?
Junmyeon pulled out his wand. His hands were famous for their precision. They never trembled.
But right now it felt like he was holding a weapon aimed at her.
—Junmyeon?
—You shouldn’t have been here tonight.
—That’s not really my fault.
Her attempt at humor fell into silence.
—That creature…—She looked at the wand, then back into his eyes.—The rumors are true, ¿Right? Magic exists.—She took a breath.
Junmyeon didn’t answer. Saying anything would only make things worse.
—You lied to me.
It wasn’t an accusation. Just a conclusion.
Junmyeon felt the thought he’d had days ago return. Asking her out for coffee. Walking through London. Getting to know her better.
All of that would disappear in an instant.
—You saw too much,—he finally said.
She watched him for a moment, then nodded slowly.
—So ¿What happens now?
Junmyeon raised his wand.
But hesitated.
If he left her memories intact, she’d remember seeing him there. She’d remember his name. And his coworkers had already heard her say it.
He had to erase everything.
Not just the creature.
Not just the accident.
Everything else too.
Every night in the bookstore.
Every recommendation.
Every laugh.
Every small moment.
She saw the hesitation on his face.
—Whatever you’re about to do… you look like you hate it,— she said softly.
Junmyeon swallowed.
—It’s necessary.
—For who?
He had no answer.
The occamy was finally locked inside an enchanted suitcase. The chaos was beginning to settle.
It was time.
Junmyeon whispered the spell, and blue light illuminated her face.
When it faded, she blinked.
Confused.
She looked around.
—Excuse me,—she said politely to him. —Is everything alright here?
Junmyeon slipped his wand away.
—Yes.
She nodded and turned to leave. But after a few steps, she paused.
She glanced back at him.
Her eyes rested on him with a trace of curiosity.
—¿Do we know each other?
Junmyeon couldn’t meet her eyes. Every memory had been erased. Every conversation. Every possibility.
—No.
She hesitated for a second, then gave him a polite smile, even when he avoided her gaze.
—Must’ve been my imagination.
And she walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
Junmyeon remained there on the now-quiet street.
The Statute of Secrecy was intact again. His work was flawless, like always.
But as he prepared to disappear back to the Ministry, he thought something strange.
If he had been a little less efficient…
Maybe he would’ve had the chance to ask her for that coffee.
Days later, unable to forget the last look she gave him before her memories vanished, Junmyeon returned to the bookstore. But he didn’t dare step onto the sidewalk in front of it.
Instead he stopped near the corner, where he realized he had the perfect view of her inside.
Obliviators were trained to erase memories from people.
Not to deal with the ones they created themselves.
Junmyeon leaned slightly to get a better look at her face when she turned to help a customer. His chest tightened when he saw that smile.
He took a step forward, ready to cross the street and walk through that door again.
But he stopped.
Because he remembered something muggles believed in.
Déjà vu.
That strange feeling like something has happened before. Like a glitch from forgotten memories brushing past your mind.
He couldn’t risk it.
He couldn’t put her in danger.
So there, where he had spent forty minutes standing in front of the large bookstore window that allowed him to see her again, he made himself a painful promise: this would be the last time he ever came here.
Because he would remember every small interaction.
Every word shared between those shelves.
But she would never remember that on one quiet night, a man who sparked her curiosity had walked through that door and stayed forty minutes.
Inside the bookstore, under warm lights, the bell above the door rang as a customer walked in.
She looked up from the register with an automatic smile.
—Good evening, welcome.
The man browsed through a few tables before leaving.
She went back to what she was doing, organizing books on the counter and preparing a display for a new astrology volume that had just arrived.
She paused for a moment.
A strange feeling crossed her mind.
As if something was missing from the scene in front of her.
But she couldn’t remember what it might be.
She frowned slightly and simply continued working.
I’m currently rereading Harry Potter and watching the films again while eagerly waiting to see what the new series will offer. So many story ideas have been popping into my head, blending the Wizarding World (Harry Potter, Fantastic Beasts, Hogwarts Legacy) with EXO. Hopefully I’ll be able to share them here soon
Neon, Noise, and What We Didn’t Leave Behind in Las Vegas…
F1driver! Chanyeol x reader.
sumary; What happens in Las Vegas stays in Las Vegas… Except if you get married… and then win the world championship.
Las Vegas never sleeps.
But during Grand Prix weekend, the city pulses louder than ever.
The street circuit was a serpent of asphalt wrapped in lights, cheers, and giant screens replaying every moment from qualifying again and again.
The final session had already ended when Chanyeol shut down the engine of his single-seater, waiting for a silence that never came. It never did. The sound of the engines on track still vibrated in his bones.
In Chanyeol’s life, the noise never stopped.
Neither did the speed or the adrenaline.
He spent most of his time traveling around the world and driving a car capable of more than 360 km/h in a storm of speed and roaring engines. But in the middle of all that, all he really wanted was to escape.
The season was almost over. Only two races remained.
Three drivers were fighting for the championship. And the gap between them was only five points.
Pole position. P1.
Chanyeol climbed out of the car and removed his helmet, the cold night air hitting the warm skin of his face, which wore an automatic smile.
Voices, cameras, and hands stretching out to catch his attention filled his view, but he was only looking for one person. And when he found her, he ran straight toward that spot.
A small barrier separated them. She welcomed him with a smile, and he quickly leaned down to press his lips to hers. And in the middle of that chaos, that noise, the engineers shouting, the fans cheering, and the flashes of cameras, Chanyeol’s world returned to its normal speed, just like it always did whenever his attention settled on her.
When everything ended and Chanyeol was finally able to return to the Hospitality area, she noticed his exhaustion immediately. Sitting in a comfortable armchair, she watched him in silence.
—I need to get out of here, —he murmured, running a hand through his still damp hair.
She gave him that half-smile he knew always meant trouble.
—Perfect, —she said. —Then let’s go.
He raised his gaze, turning his head slightly. She had already stood up and was walking toward him with calm steps.
—Where.
She shrugged.
—Nowhere. Somewhere without cameras, interviews, or people telling you what to do.
Pause.
Then, with a playful sparkle in her eyes:
—We’re in Las Vegas, aren’t we?
Chanyeol let out a short laugh and looked at her a second longer than necessary.
There was something about her when she said things like that. It wasn’t empty impulsiveness. It was… a hunger to live something different.
And honestly, at this point in the year, he needed that too.
—This is going to be a bad idea— he finally said.
They left holding hands, saying goodbye to everyone as they crossed the paddock toward the parking lot. The car the team had lent Chanyeol was waiting there. He opened the door for her and helped her inside before walking around the vehicle and settling behind the wheel.
The drive wasn’t long. Once they reached the city streets, she quickly spotted the sign for Guy Fieri’s Kitchen appearing like an oasis in front of her. She asked him to stop there. That night there would be no room service, none of the buffet included with their luxurious hotel reservation. That night she would make sure it was something different: burgers, fries, and all the things Chanyeol normally wouldn’t agree to eat for dinner.
They walked in looking around. She searched for the best table while he tried to count how many people were inside. Since closing time was approaching, the place was almost empty, so he allowed himself to relax a little more.
When they finally sat down at a table, she played with the straw in her drink, watching him while hundreds of ideas crossed her mind, and Chanyeol knew that was never a good sign.
Before he could say anything, something outside the restaurant caught his attention.
A man dressed as Elvis shouted about offering “an unforgettable experience” while holding up a sign with the name of a chapel. Chanyeol stayed watching him, lost in the city lights and the movement of the streets.
She kept her eyes on him, and after a long silence while he watched the street, she simply said without thinking:
—Let’s get married
The world stopped.
Chanyeol closed his eyes for a second, trying to process what the girl in front of him had just said. When he opened them again, Las Vegas was still shining, but in a different way, and outside the man in the white suit and dark sunglasses seemed to be the only thing Chanyeol’s eyes could register.
—Are you serious?
She shrugged.
—There are like a thousand chapels around here. We could do it. Why not?
He studied her carefully, looking for the joke.
—That’s crazy—he said.
—We’re in Las Vegas. It would be something ours, something spontaneous, fun.
Chanyeol held her gaze, and in the middle of all that neon from the streets, all that distant noise, she looked too real.
Silence.
She raised an eyebrow.
—Well?
Chanyeol sighed. And smiled, surrendering.
—Then let’s go before I change my mind.
The chapel was exactly how they imagined it.
Small. Ridiculous. Perfect.
Over-the-top lights and an Elvis greeting them at the start of an exaggerated red carpet.
She couldn’t stop smiling while Elvis sang to them, and Chanyeol couldn’t wipe the smile from his face while watching her so happy.
Everything felt unreal until it didn’t, because once they stood face to face, everything became clearer.
They exchanged improvised vows, a little clumsy. Too honest for something she believed wasn’t supposed to be serious.
—I promise…—she started, biting her lip to stop herself from laughing, —not to ruin your life.
Chanyeol shook his head, laughing.
—That’s a lie.
—Let me finish.
He smiled.
She took a deep breath.
—I promise to stay… even when everything turns into a disaster.
Silence.
Chanyeol looked at her differently.
—I promise to follow you, —he said afterward—even when it’s clearly a bad idea
Rings.
Photos.
A kiss that started with laughter… and ended sealing their story.
Later that night they returned to the hotel as if nothing had happened. As if they weren’t carrying hidden rings and a brand-new marriage floating between them like a secret too big to hide.
The weekend ended, and Chanyeol continued leading the championship.
The last race of the year approached, and even though everything seemed to continue as normal, Las Vegas had not forgotten them.
At first it was just small comments, confused fans who weren’t sure what the image showed.
A blurry photo on social media.
“Does anyone else think that’s Chanyeol in the background?”
“I don’t think it’s possible… but it really looks like him.”
She saw it one night while lying in bed, scrolling without thinking too much.
She decided to ignore it, because Las Vegas always confuses itself.
Because people see what they want to see.
Because what happens in Las Vegas stays in Las Vegas, right
But then more appeared.
A short video.
Two silhouettes entering a chapel.
An Elvis blocking the shot, nothing clear, nothing definitive.
But enough to keep feeding the doubt.
Practice days had begun, and in the paddock, even though no one said anything, the looks had changed, curiously searching for something.
But neither of them carried the rings they had received at that small wedding.
The final race finally arrived with an invisible weight that couldn’t be explained but could definitely be felt.
Everyone waiting for one thing.
And in the middle of the chaos, the two of them.
With a secret that was already being shouted without words.
The circuit was alive, with a deceptive calm.
Chanyeol sat resting in his motorhome, turning his ring between his fingers without noticing.
He wasn’t wearing it, but he had kept it.
She noticed.
And slowly walked toward him.
—You’re very quiet.
Chanyeol looked up.
—I want to say it.
Silence.
A small smile appeared on her face. He had left her speechless.
—Say what? —She blinked.
—That we’re married.
Silence again.
Not uncomfortable, but surprised.
—Chanyeol…—she laughed softly. —That was Las Vegas.
—Yes.
He kept his gaze on her eyes.
—You know how Vegas is. That what happens there…
—Doesn’t have to stay there—he interrupted gently.
She fell silent again.
—You mean…? I thought those weddings were fake. There was an Elvis, —she said, frowning slightly.
—That doesn’t make them less legal—Chanyeol said, shaking his head.
She let out a more genuine laugh, incredulous.
—There was glitter on the forms.
—They were still forms.
And then, like a piece finally falling into place, the signature, the paper.
Chanyeol didn’t say anything, he only watched her.
—I didn’t think my wedding would be like this.
—Random?
She looked at him and smiled.
—Ridiculously random.
Chanyeol stood up and took a step toward her.
—Do you regret it?
The question wasn’t urgent or fearful, but honest.
She held his gaze, thinking about that night, the lights, their vows, and the kiss.
How easy it had been to say yes.
She shook her head.
—No. —There’s no doubt in her answer. —I just truly didn’t think it was real.
Chanyeol nodded.
Before they could continue, he was called because the final race was about to begin.
With Chanyeol’s thoughts on the ring and their marriage, the race started almost without him noticing.
The lights went out.
Twenty-two cars exploded toward the first corner.
There was contact in the midfield. Chanyeol defended his first position with everything he had.
A voice shouted through the radio.
[ Keep it up, Chanyeol. Try to build a bigger gap. ]
The first laps became a game of patience. The second-place driver refused to let him go.
On lap twenty he tried to overtake through the inside of turn seven. The move almost caused a collision, but it ended as a light touch, the other car’s tires barely grazing his front wing and causing some damage.
The crowd roared.
[ Box, box, Chanyeol. We need a quick stop. ]
Chanyeol clenched his teeth.
His pit stop was one of the fastest of the season. The entire team knew the championship could slip away if Chanyeol didn’t return to the track quickly.
When he came back out, he had to maintain a strong pace to catch the driver who now held first place.
The car vibrated at over 300 km/h while the track lights blurred past him.
Minutes passed, and Chanyeol had already tried several times to overtake his rival, but the other driver was putting up a serious fight.
On the final lap, a voice returned over the radio.
[ Just bring it home. ]
Chanyeol exhaled.
On the final straight he found the perfect opportunity to pass the other car, crossing the finish line.
The world went silent for a second.
Then everything exploded.
[ P1, P1, Chanyeol, you’re champion, WORLD CHAMPION! ]
The air rushed back all at once, along with the screams and the crowd’s euphoria.
Chanyeol closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the tears burning behind them. He let reality catch up with him.
Champion.
He had done it.
And in that moment his mind traveled somewhere completely different.
Bright lights.
A ridiculously small chapel.
An Elvis singing.
And her laughing while saying her vows.
“I promise to follow you… even when it’s clearly a bad idea.”
Under the helmet, Chanyeol smiled.
Maybe he hadn’t said it entirely seriously that night.
But now he was here.
On the final podium of the season.
With his first world championship and a marriage that had begun as madness.
He slowed down slightly to wave and let the other cars pass before spinning a few celebratory donuts.
Then he continued along the track with the second and third-place drivers behind him.
They reached the podium and he finally stepped out of the car.
He immediately searched for her with his eyes.
And like every race, she was there, right in front, surrounded by the team.
After removing his helmet, he walked toward her and leaned down to kiss her.
When he pulled away, she discreetly showed him her hand and a smile lit up Chanyeol’s face.
Around them, flags waved, the team jumped behind the barriers, and the crowd roared.
She offered him his ring.
Without saying anything, Chanyeol slipped it onto his finger in front of her.
No hiding. No hesitation.
Later, when he was called up as the champion of the season, he walked out without his helmet, without his gloves, ready to receive his trophy.
When the journalist held the microphone toward him, the question came through the noise of the crowd.
—Who do you dedicate your victory to?
Chanyeol lifted his gaze searching for her again.
He found her among the crowd, exactly where he had kissed her earlier, leaning against the barrier celebrating with the engineers.
The same place she always stood during every race she attended to support him.
With a smile on his face, Chanyeol lifted the hand holding the trophy, the podium lights making the ring on his finger shine.
—To my wife.
The journalist blinked.
For a second nobody seemed to understand what Chanyeol had just said.
But the cameras were already turning to capture her, showing her on the giant screen behind him.
The murmurs started growing.
She shook her head while laughing, raising her left hand to cover her face, revealing the ring resting on her finger.
The same ring.
The same secret that had been born under neon lights, improvised promises, and an impersonation of the King in a ridiculous chapel in the middle of the night.
Las Vegas had been absolute madness.
Ridiculous.
Impulsive.
Unforgettable.
And now, under the podium lights, it was no longer just a memory.
It was their story.
The one that clearly hadn’t stayed in the city of lights.
Because in the end, some things that happen in Las Vegas… definitely don’t stay in Las Vegas.
a/n; Basically, this is everything that took over my brain after rewatching every dinosaur movie I could find over the past two weeks.
For a little more context:
Chanyeol is a paleoveterinarian who used to work with our fem!reader in the past. She studied the behavior of newly introduced species or those that had been released into large open reserves, while he was responsible for monitoring the animals’ health, their vital signs, illnesses, and injuries.
The night they called him, Chanyeol was already halfway through closing the improvised clinic he ran on the outskirts of the city. It wasn’t a large place, just an old hangar refitted with the bare essentials to treat animals most veterinarians preferred to avoid.
After all, it wasn’t every day someone knew how to care for creatures that had been extinct for millions of years.
When the communicator vibrated against the metal table, he hesitated before answering. Calls at that hour rarely brought good news.
—Dr. Park?— The voice on the other end sounded tense.—We need you in the northern sector. There’s… a problem with one of the specimens.—
Chanyeol sighed as he grabbed his jacket.
A “problem with a specimen” almost always meant the same thing: panic, damage in the city, or an animal too badly injured to defend itself.
The drive to the site was short, but long enough for the city lights to fade behind him and the sound of traffic to dissolve into the distance. When he arrived, several containment vehicles surrounded the area, and a pair of massive floodlights lit the scene as if it were midday.
And at the center of it all was him.
The ankylosaurus was breathing with difficulty, its enormous body coated in dust and scrapes. Its armored tail rested across the cracked asphalt, and every movement it made produced a heavy, almost painful sound.
Chanyeol approached carefully.
Even after years of working with different species, the presence of one standing before him never stopped being impressive. There was something deeply surreal about looking at an animal he had only known through fossils and textbooks growing up.
—Easy…—he murmured, more to himself than to the animal.
He knelt beside the dinosaur, sweeping the beam of his flashlight across the bony plates that protected its body.
That was when he saw it.
The wound.
It was small compared to the animal’s size, just an uneven opening between two plates. But something about it didn’t add up.
It didn’t look like a bite.
Nor like a puncture made by containment equipment.
Chanyeol frowned as he carefully cleaned the area.
—That doesn’t make any sense…— he muttered.
The team that had called him watched from a distance, keeping the perimeter clear. No one approached when he carefully slid a tool between the hardened scales to examine the inside more closely.
Something metallic glinted under the light.
Chanyeol froze.
For a moment he thought it might be a piece of shrapnel or a standard tracking implant. But when he finally managed to extract the object, an uneasy knot formed in his stomach.
It was small. Too small.
And far too old.
He recognized the design before he had even finished wiping it clean.
He had only seen it once in his life.
—That can’t be…—he whispered.
That was when he heard footsteps approaching behind him.
Chanyeol didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
Some voices you recognize even in silence.
—You still talk to yourself when you work— the voice said, calm in a way that didn’t seem to belong in a place like this.
Chanyeol closed his eyes for a second before standing up. It had been too long since he’d last heard her voice.
When he finally turned, the perimeter lights illuminated the figure walking slowly between the containment vehicles.
The tension between them was as sharp as the cold night air.
—I thought you promised you wouldn’t come back,— Chanyeol said at last.
The other person lowered her gaze to the small device he still held in his hand. Then she looked back at him.
—And I thought you’d never find one of those.— For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Behind them, the ankylosaurus let out a heavy snort.
Then the girl in front of him spoke again, her voice much quieter.
—Chanyeol,— she said. —That tracker belongs to a project that was shut down seven years ago.—
A pause.
—The problem is… if one of those has resurfaced, it means someone reactivated it.—Chanyeol looked down at the device once more. Its metal surface bore a symbol, almost erased by time.
A symbol he remembered far too well. And one that, officially, was never supposed to have existed.
Chanyeol held the small device between his fingers for a few seconds longer, as if simply staring at it might offer some kind of logical explanation.
But there wasn’t one.
Not in a world where that project was supposed to stay buried along with everything that had gone wrong.
Behind them, the ankylosaurus shifted again, releasing a deep rumble that vibrated through the night air. Chanyeol reacted on instinct, slipping the device into the pocket of his jacket before kneeling beside the animal once more.
—It needs light sedation,—he said without looking back. —And antibiotics. The wound isn’t deep, but if it gets infected it could turn ugly.—
One of the technicians hurried over with medical equipment while the rest of the team maintained the perimeter. No one seemed particularly interested in what he had found, which, for once, worked in his favor.
As he worked, Chanyeol could feel her presence only a few steps behind him.
She hadn’t left.
That alone was strange.
The silence between them stretched for several minutes, broken only by the soft clink of medical tools and the dinosaur’s heavy breathing.
Finally, after cleaning the wound and administering the treatment, Chanyeol stood and removed his gloves.
—How long have you been here?—he asked without turning around.
—Long enough.— The answer came calmly. Almost too calmly.
Chanyeol let out a humorless chuckle.
—Always so specific.—
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her cross her arms while studying the ankylosaurus with a focus that didn’t seem casual.
That unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
—You shouldn’t be here,—he said at last. —After what happened…— He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t need to.
She didn’t respond immediately either. Her gaze remained fixed on the animal.
—Is the wound recent?—she asked instead.
Chanyeol hesitated for a moment.
—A few hours. Maybe less.—
She nodded slightly, as if that answer confirmed something she had already suspected. —Then we’re too late.—
Chanyeol frowned. —We?—
This time she looked at him.
There was something in her expression he didn’t remember seeing before. It wasn’t guilt. It wasn’t discomfort.
It was something else.
Something closer to concern.
—That ankylosaurus wasn’t just wandering around,—she said quietly. —Someone was moving it.—
The night wind swept through the site, lifting dust from the cracked asphalt. In the distance, the faint murmur of traffic blocked by the containment vehicles drifted through the air.
—Moving it from where?— Chanyeol asked.
She shook her head.
—That’s what we still don’t know.—
Chanyeol slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled the tracker out again. Under the harsh floodlights, the metal reflected a cold glint.
—This design is old,— he said. —No one’s used these in years.—
—Exactly.—
Silence settled between them again.
For a moment, they both stared at the device as if expecting it to suddenly activate on its own.
But it remained inert.
Chanyeol sighed.
—I thought that project had been completely wiped out.—
She lowered her gaze briefly before answering.
—That’s what they said.—It wasn’t the answer he expected.
—That’s what they said?—he repeated. —You worked there—Another pause.
Heavier than the others.
—We did work there,—she corrected gently. —Before everything shut down.—
Chanyeol held her gaze.
Too many questions had piled up in that moment.
Too many things that had never been fully said.
—Then tell me something,— he said finally. —Why does a wild ankylosaurus have a tracker from a dead project?—
She took a few seconds before responding.
When she did, her voice was barely above a whisper.
—Because that project never died.—
A chill ran down Chanyeol’s spine.
The ankylosaurus released another deep snort, shifting its armored tail slightly. The technicians had begun dismantling parts of the containment setup. The animal was now sedated enough to be transported.
Chanyeol watched them prepare the mobile platform.
Then he looked back down at the device in his hand.
—You know what the worst part is?—he said after a moment.
She watched him in silence.
—This means someone’s been breeding dinosaurs outside the official system.—
For the first time since she had arrived, the certainty in her expression cracked slightly.
—Not breeding,—she corrected.
Chanyeol looked up. —Then what?—
She took a slow breath before answering.
—Reproducing.—
The wind swept through the site again.
And for a moment, Chanyeol had the unmistakable feeling that the mystery they had just uncovered was only the beginning of something far bigger.
Something neither of them was truly prepared to face.
Chanyeol couldn’t remember when he stopped pretending to be strong. He couldn’t remember ever raising his voice at her before either.
Not like this.
Maybe it was the way she said his name, exhaustion clinging to every syllable. Or maybe it was the realization that this time, he could actually lose her.
—Don’t go—. He shouted, and the sound of his own voice startled him as much as it startled her.—Please.—
She stopped, frozen in place, but didn’t turn around. The silence barely lasted a second before it broke.
—Chanyeol, stop…—
—No—.He stepped closer, desperate.—Listen to me.— His voice hadn’t been calm since the first shout. Now it wasn’t steady at all. It was raw. Urgent. Falling apart.
—I don’t care if I sound pathetic. I don’t care if I regret this tomorrow. I can’t stay quiet.—His hands were trembling. His breathing uneven. He wasn’t trying to look strong anymore. He wasn’t trying to be composed.
—Look at me— he begged.—Look at me when you tell me this isn’t working anymore.—
She turned, eyes glassy, worn down.—You can’t do this,— she said. —You can’t yell at me like that.—
He closed the distance between them, too close, completely exposed. His hands found hers without thinking, as if not touching her meant losing her altogether.
She tried to pull away. He didn’t tighten his grip, but he didn’t let go either.
—Don’t look at me like that—He said, his voice cracking.
The tears came freely. He didn’t hide them. Didn’t wipe them away. He let them fall, humiliating and honest. She lifted her face, her eyes still shining.
—You shouldn’t have to beg.—she whispered.
He shook his head, a broken laugh slipping out between sobs. He brought his hands to his face, then lowered them again, unwilling to lose sight of her for even a second.
—I want to,—he said.—Because I love you. If begging is what it takes for you not to leave, I’ll do it. Do you know how humiliating this feels?—His hand pressed to his chest, like the ache there was physical.
She stepped back.
He stepped forward.
—Please, don’t get this close— she said softly.
—Then don’t walk away,—he answered, his voice barely holding together. —Because I don’t know how to survive that.—
He dropped to his knees without realizing it.
The impact was sharp. Real. Almost ridiculous.
—Look at me,— he said again, staring up at her. —This is who I am when I lose you. This.—His vision blurred, his voice breaking apart with every word.
Silence settled heavily between them. She took a deep breath, like she was trying not to fall apart herself.
—Chanyeol…— she whispered, and this time his name sounded different.
His voice softened, but the intensity stayed.
—I can lose everything,—he said. —The calm. The life I thought I wanted. But not you. Not you. Don’t make me learn how to live without you.—
She covered her mouth, tears spilling over. This time she didn’t step away. She moved closer, lowering herself until they were at the same level, resting her forehead against his. Chanyeol closed his eyes, exhausted, undone, still breathing.
—Stay,—he pleaded. —Even if you don’t know how. Even if you’re scared. Even if you can’t promise anything.— His crying wasn’t quiet anymore. It was messy. Loud. Childlike. Real.
—They never taught me how to love any other way,—he said.—And right now… I need you more than I can handle.—
The air felt heavy.
She was shaking. He was too. Chanyeol collapsed into her, clinging to her like letting go would mean losing everything. And maybe she didn’t say anything after that, but she stayed. She held him.
And it wasn’t a promise that kept them together that night, but the simple fact that neither of them had the courage to let go.
