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lightseoul · 10 hours ago

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CHAPTER 4 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 5.0k (can you see the trend)

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), still a lot of cussing, some mature themes (no smut, sorry), we're finally in the headquarters!, the story moves significantly along here (i think)

a/n. this one took a second to get out, but i hope the wait was worth it! we're going knee-deep into the storyline, so brace yourselves for the nitty gritty. the dialogue here was too fun to write tho lol

links. masterlist, ao3 (coming soon)

Neither of you says anything about what happened.

After you used your quirk on Masaki and the rest of his crew, eventually convincing them to let you take off the bugs and censor the cameras in the evenings, you and Bakugou were briefed about a few more details before you went your separate ways, returning home to pack up your things and spend your last night alone for the foreseeable future.

The trek back to the subway station was quiet, with Bakugou leading the way and you trailing a few feet behind. The silence that enveloped the both of you bordered on tense more than awkward, and you itched to confront him about unceremoniously jumping you, but restrained yourself at the looming thought of the trackers planted firmly against your chest.

As much as it pained you to think about it, from this point on, you have to work double time on biting your tongue and watching your words. Just your words and location—if you’re lucky—but your facial expressions and movements, too, when there are cameras around.

Fortunately, there weren’t any when Bakugou didn’t step out of the carriage just as the automated voice announced his stop, nor when he wordlessly got out of the train beside you at yours. Your face contorted in evident confusion in those two instances, to which he only tossed you silencing looks. It didn’t take long for you to realize it’d be suspicious if Bakugou didn’t see you home—his alleged girlfriend—this late into the night.

And so you rolled with it.

You even went ahead and thanked him with the sweetest possible voice you can muster when you reached your front door, as well as wished him a safe trip back home. You think you caught him off guard, but he was able to quickly gather himself and mutter back a few words of gratitude before telling you to get a good night’s rest.

You couldn’t.

Aside from the paranoia that came with knowing someone or some people were listening to your very breathing, the anxiety about this whole mess that you’ve walked into was too palpable for you just to ignore. You tossed and turned for what felt like hours—brain buzzing with a hundred what-ifs and hypothetical scenarios—before you eventually knocked out at around 3 AM.

You promptly woke up at 7 AM a few hours later, albeit begrudgingly and all thanks to your bothersome alarm tone. You had to show up at work, despite it being a Saturday, to file an indefinite leave as soon as possible. Annoyance shot through you as you remembered Kouki’s dismissive remark about your job in contrast to Bakugou’s.

You shook it off.

There were more important things to deal with, such as the guilt that bloomed in your gut as you turned in the paperwork to Yuzuki, your school’s HR personnel, who, at the sight of them, visibly deflated.

“You’re going on a leave?” she asked that cool morning, incredulous and tone somewhat begging you to say no.

“Yeah…” you replied, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly.

“But why?” she pressed, sitting up behind her desk that’s riddled with knickknacks and picture frames of her and her toddler. “You never take off from work. And,” she enunciated, “…the kids need you, Y/N.”

Your polite smile faltered at the mention of the kids.

“Yeah, well…” you started, unsure of what to say next. “I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding a temp, what with the recent licensure exam results. The kids won’t even notice I’m gone, I promise.”

She cocked her head to the side, frowning. “I highly doubt that.”

It didn’t matter if she had her doubts, though, because this was happening. You braced yourself to tell Yuzuki just that, but to your relief, she didn’t push further after that exchange, opting to half-heartedly process your request instead.

By the time lunchtime rolled around, you were already cleared by her department and now officially on a short indefinite leave without pay.

In an attempt to take your mind off of potentially losing your job, you stopped by the grocery store on your way home and picked up a few items, such as toiletries and other things you may need for your stay in the headquarters. There was no telling when you’d get to shop for your necessities again, so you went full ham and spent the money you usually budgeted meticulously to the nearest cent. Besides, if you succeeded in this mission, you wouldn’t have to worry about finances for the next year, at the very least.

You were about to head to the check-out counter when your eyes caught the display of…house slippers in the back aisle.

You paused at the sight of them.

If you were going to be under house arrest, you might as well be cozy while doing so.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you grabbed a beige pair for yourself, and a black pair for Bakugou. You had no idea what his feet size was, but those were the largest they carried, and so that’d have to do. Plus, you doubted quirk supremacists were mindful enough to provide their hostages with comfortable footwear.

It was already around 4 PM when you arrived home with your arm-numbing groceries and takeout dinner in tow. Setting them aside by your kitchen counter, you quickly got started on gathering your necessities. You blasted your favorite album as you packed your suitcase partly to make the arduous process more bearable, but mostly to drown out the voices that fought to take the reins in your head. You were nervous—very much so—but there was no going back from this.

And so with a heavy heart and a churning stomach, you swiftly got to work, and by dinner time, you were already packed up and ready to go. After going through your checklist one more time and confirming that everything was accounted for, you got changed into fresh, more appealing clothes and scarfed down the meal you purchased to-go after shopping.

You sat in your living room with all your things stacked beside you on the couch, waiting, though it didn’t take long for Kouki to materialize by the kitchen with that irritatingly haughty expression on his face.

You tried to ignore the disgust that sprung as you watched him step on your freshly washed rug with his booted feet, choosing to shift your attention upwards instead. You observed him as he eyed your belongings with mild disinterest, before shifting to regard you.

“Ready?” he asked, holding up one hand for you to take, while the other moved to touch the pile of stuff.

You didn’t bother to verbalize your consent, resorting to just nodding as you gingerly took his hand. Your surroundings instantly morphed the moment that you did, and you found yourself going through the now-familiar motions, emerging smack dab in the middle of your floor’s hallway a few seconds later.

Kouki was gone just as quickly as he arrived, apparently way above helping you move your things to the space at the end of the hall. The same goes for the twins, who only watched you as you lugged your baggage into the room.

You locked eyes with the female guard, and for a second, you debated engaging her in conversation.

You already knew what to say. You’d ask her if they were sure about you staying in, when Kouki can just teleport you to your respective apartments at the end of each day if they’re so worried about you getting spotted.

Besides, you thought as she glared at you with seemingly unfounded hate, that means we’ll be out of your hair.

But as tempting as it was to bring up that alternative at the moment, you ultimately thought better against it.

You already used your luck to convince them to turn off the trackers at night—something they probably wouldn’t do if you and Bakugou lived outside due to the lack of backup surveillance. It simply wouldn’t be smart and cautious of them if they did. You also didn’t want to undo that already tall order of a bargain when what you needed the most was the privacy in which you could discuss the mission and steps moving forward.

Besides, you bet your money it’s not just that. The teleportation quirk of that old geezer has to have a limitation somehow…

You let all these simmer in your head as you settled in for the night. To your chagrin—you wanted at least one night where you get to sleep on the decent-looking bed—Bakugou showed up not an hour later with his own luggage.

You didn’t say anything to each other aside from brief ‘Hey’s’ as he entered the room and unpacked his belongings, as well as when he disappeared into the small comfort room and showered.

You decided then and there that you both had to work on your conversing skills if you wanted a shot at making this ruse believable for the sake of the mission.

By the time he stepped out of the bathroom, decked out in lounge clothes and haphazardly drying his ash-blonde hair with a towel, it was already 8 PM sharp—your agreed-upon time to retreat for the night and consequently, remove your trackers.

And so you wordlessly filed out of your room, only to see the twins already at your front door, waiting. You doubted they ever left their post ever since you arrived.

You eyed the male twin as he sashayed into your room before his sister called you to attention. Other than that, the exchange was nothing but silent and perhaps a little bit hostile as the woman roughly stuck her hand up Bakugou’s shirt then yours, similar to last time, and removed the devices. You fought back a wince just as she ripped it from your skin, leaving a stinging feeling in its wake.

You could tell she was resisting the urge to shove you back to your room when the deed was done. You didn’t want to risk being her punching bag, so with a curt nod, you promptly turned back and once again entered the room, with Bakugou following you just as the other twin exited and closed the door behind him. Looking up, you immediately registered how the cameras were now facing down—covered—and the red, flickering lights were nowhere to be seen.

An instantaneous wave of relief flooded through you.

Bakugou must’ve noticed, because he whipped to face you, and the disturbed expression on his face was enough to shut you up.

He tilted his head, perhaps gesturing to the rest of the room, and it took you a second, but you eventually managed to make out what he was trying to say.

Shut your trap, his icy stare told you. Check the room for bugs.

And so with a nod of understanding, you tossed him a look right back before quite literally turning the room upside down. It probably took you at least 10 minutes to uncover and check every surface, nook, and cranny, but by the time you both were pretty sure you were safe, you were already stifling a yawn.

And having a hawk eye must come with the job description, because that didn’t go unmissed by the pro-hero, who wordlessly took one of the two pillows from the bed, as well as the throw blanket on top of the actual duvet cover, before tossing both on the brown couch.

You were just about to thank him for preparing your ‘bed’ for you, but you didn’t get to, because you were very much robbed of all words when he plopped himself down on the couch, wrapping himself with the quilt.

“What are you—”

“Don’t argue,” he cut you off, his commanding tone comically juxtaposing how snug he looked with his head barely peeking out of the cloth. You’d laugh at the way his large feet were poking out at the end of it if you weren’t in a contentious mood.

You frowned. “You’re the guest of honor. I should be the one sleeping on the couch.”

“If it bothers you that much—” Bakugou piped from where he laid comfortably on the (p)leather furniture, “—we can take turns. Tomorrow, I get to sleep on the bed, and so on.”

“But—”

“Conversation’s over. ‘Night.”

With that, Bakugou flipped on his side, turning his back against you, effectively shooting the conversation down in its entirety.

You stood there for what felt like a couple more minutes, keen on shaking him awake, maybe even yanking him off the couch and planting yourself on it before he could wrap his head around what was happening, but you ultimately decided to let it go, at least for now.

You wished him a good night as you turned off the lights and snuck into the queen-sized bed a few moments later, although you bet he was already fast asleep based on the lack of a reply.

Which was good for him, because he needed the rest for what was about to crash into you the next day.

Apparently, Masaki wasn’t kidding when he said groups like theirs needed the space to conduct their activities, because they sure handle a lot.

At 8 AM, you were roused awake by a violent knocking on your door, and you could tell Bakugou was awoken by the very same thing, because he shot up in alarm just as you did. You quickly got up and padded to the entryway, trying to ignore the silly embarrassment of being seen in your threadbare pajamas in broad daylight, before whipping to look at the man. You didn’t have to say it, though—Bakugou was already grabbing his pillow and blanket and plopped into the bed, lying down as if he was there the entire night. Only when he was fully settled did you turn the knob open, only to see the female twin scowling at you. Her hand was held up, on top of which were two trackers.

“It’s breakfast time,” she spat out—literally, some of her saliva landing on you. She looked over your shoulder to glare at Bakugou. “Hurry up and get ready. You’ve got a full day ahead of you.”

Behind you, a distinct grumble sounded out across the room, and you glanced back to see Bakugou getting up from the mattress and folding his blanket, a deep frown etched on his sharp features.

Looks like someone’s a morning person, you thought to yourself.

Not wanting to aggravate her even further, you wasted no time in getting dressed and presentable enough. You debated on whether or not to spend five minutes putting on makeup, ultimately deciding to do so, with you ending up patting on just enough product to look eye-catching before you and Bakugou went down to the mess hall to eat breakfast.

Immediately upon entering the space, you found yourself thankful for that extra five minutes because all eyes were on you. Well, maybe more on Bakugou, but they inevitably drifted to you, the person who walked next to him side by side. You could hear the people whisper to themselves as you moved to sit at the table near the back, before it hit you and you froze.

“What?” asked Bakugou from across you, who followed suit and paused, butt hanging mid-air.

“Come and sit next to me,” you blurted out, and before he could react in a way that would incriminate you both: “I want to sit beside you, babe.”

Bakugou’s eyes widened ever so minutely at the pet name, his face then sobering up as if he just realized what you were trying to do.

You wished you could spell it out for him, that couples tend to sit next to each other rather than across, and…you needed to seem like one who is head over heels for each other around these people as well. Thankfully, you didn’t have to, because Bakugou merely nodded without question, before rounding the table and seating himself right next to you.

You did your best to tune out the looks and murmuring throughout the entire meal, after which you got swept to one of the halls for an introductory talk for the new members. There were eleven of you in total, including you and Bakugou, the rest of whom you didn’t recognize. They didn’t even hide their surprise and awe when the two of you walked in and sat yourselves at the farthest row beside each other. You tried to radiate an aura of friendliness, smiling at the others when they looked at you, and then beaming at Bakugou whenever you caught him looking your way.

You could tell he was having a hard time playing the part, his smile strained whenever he attempted to return the motion. It was probably after the third time of trying to get a reaction from him when you mustered the courage to bring a hand to his shoulder, kneading the muscle as a form of an affectionate gesture, but mainly to get him to relax. He initially tensed at the contact, but eventually loosened up as you continued the action.

Soon enough, the talk commenced, with someone you didn’t know presenting himself as Kazuma, one of the officers of the organization. He went on to formally introduce the association, named The Quirk Coalition, as a group of like-minded individuals who aim for a future where quirks are nurtured and fostered to their fullest potential in a democratic society that puts a primacy on said powers. You noted how they conveniently left out the part where they detest the weak and the quirkless, although you did not comment on it. You only glanced at Bakugou one time, who looked onto the stage with tight lips.

Kazuma also went through the hierarchy of the organization, starting with Masaki at the top just as you suspected, then Sayaka and Kouki, followed by Hiroto and Omiru—the two who you recognized as the twins, looking like they just got their mugshot taken in the photos. Kazuma sat there at the lower tier alongside several other officers, under which were the regular members, totaling about 70—some of whom live in the headquarters and most going in and out, having normal jobs during the day and families to tend to.

You don’t know how they got it, but at the bottom row of the chart was a picture of you, right beside Bakugou dressed in his full hero gear.

You let the reality sink in as Kazuma droned on about the group’s beliefs, how they equally valued their ideals and the people who carried out these ideals. You made a mental note of this piece of information, before accidentally zoning out for the rest of the lecture.

The next seven days went on roughly the same way, with either of the twins serving as your unfriendly alarm to demonstrating PDA in the mess hall during breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with talks, history classes, support group sessions, and even quirk training nestled in between mealtimes.

You and Bakugou went through every single thing together, from sitting out the ‘classes’ where the teachers essentially waxed poetic about rewritten history with a strong bias against the quirkless, to attending what felt like group therapy where you each took turns sharing your ambitions and goals as members of the organization. Bakugou even partook in one of the quirk training sessions, wherein he practiced shooting precise targets while propelling himself in the air.

You couldn’t decide if he was trying to act all serious for the mission or was just showing off—could’ve been both, really, but regardless, his efforts were enough to catch the eyes of the fellow members working on their respective quirks. You, on the other hand, sat to the side and watched the pro-hero do his thing, not being able to ‘practice’ anything without a partner to ‘boost’—or really, manipulate.

Needless to say, you’ve both been busting your ass pretending to be eager, dedicated members, but aside from the information readily provided in the forums, you haven’t had much luck extracting details that could prove to be useful for the mission, a fact that you’re now planning to bring up with Bakugou, a full week into moving into the headquarters…

…After you finish checking the bedroom for bugs.

It’s become some sort of an unspoken nightly routine for the both of you. The second the door shuts behind you after the trackers have been taken off and you’ve checked that the cameras are pointed downwards, capped, and are not blinking anymore, you go to your respective halves of the room and thoroughly check each inch for a wiretap. Neither of you dare to say anything compromising until you’ve completed the survey, and even then you’ve telepathically agreed to watch your choice of words.

Still, you can’t deny the familiar sense of reprieve whenever this time of the day comes along, and you’ve since associated these moments with Bakugou with comfort.

Which is probably why you have the audacity to joke around.

“Are they comfy?” you ask just as you plaster your butt down into the couch. You’ve had your fun yesterday, sleeping easily in the soft bed. You watch Bakugou as he eyes you warily, sitting on the edge of the mattress, facing you.

He huffs, crossing his legs. “Are what comfy?”

You point to his feet with your lips. “The slippers. They were buy one take one, you know.”

At that, he smirks. You can’t help but feel your own smile growing.

“I don’t think that’s something you should be bragging about, princess.”

Flying right past the tail end of that sentence for your sanity, you force a frown on your face. “Why not? It was a great deal. And, I’m sure yours are comfy. Mine are.”

He leans back on his hands that are firmly planted at his sides. He’s still smirking. “So why bother asking me in the first place if you already knew the answer to the question?”

You open your mouth to retort a witty comment, but come up short. Bakugou’s smirk morphs into a grin when you do. You wrinkle your nose in disdain, “I was just trying to make small talk. You’re welcome, by the way.”

The pro-hero only chuckles at that, before sitting up and bringing his hands forward, one holding and wringing the other arm’s wrist.

You study him for a beat, and then the cameras, which are still turned down and capped with a lens cover.

And when he only continues the rotating motion, you finally speak up.

“…What are we gonna do now?”

Bakugou’s eyes shift upward from his wrist to look at you, the softness that was just in his gaze a second ago now replaced by his trademark caution. You try not to focus on the disappointment of having caused that, as well as the misplaced longing for what was once there.

It takes him a while to reply, his features contorted into a look of deep thought. But when he does so, he straightens his back. “We—”

A barrage of heavy knocks resounds from the door, startling both of you and cutting Bakugou off. It’s immediately followed by a gruff voice, which you can now easily recognize as Hiroto’s.

“You’re not making any noise,” comes his bite, although it’s slightly muffled. “You better think twice about planning something behind our backs, you two.”

You roll your eyes. You understand any hostility coming from the members, as you and Bakugou come with risks that can potentially harm the organization that they hold dearly. But even you can say that the twins are taking it a bit too far with the harsh treatment.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think their being extra hard on you has something to do with Masaki agreeing with the off-surveillance.

“Fucking relax,” Bakugou seethes in their direction. “Just because we’re not audibly having sex doesn’t mean we’re talking shit.”

You snort. Bakugou whips to look at you, the corners of his lips upturned.

That seems to put a plug on Hiroto, because the man doesn’t say anything after that. Once again, you’re met with silence, with you and Bakugou sitting on your respective furniture, looking at anything but each other.

It’s him, though, who finally breaks it a few minutes later with a clear of his throat.

“We keep at it—” Bakugou starts carefully, “—is what I was trying to say earlier. They’re gonna discuss the plans with us sooner than later.”

…Patience, huh?

You can do that.

Nodding, you adjust your position on your seat. You don’t dare to ask him to expound or add your own thoughts on the matter. Better to be safe than sorry, even though you’re pretty sure your room is free of bugs.

So instead, you finally give in and steer the conversation to something that’s been plaguing your mind ever since the commission kidnapped you a little over a week ago.

“Bakugou,” you begin, and he looks at you expectantly. You gulp. “Can I ask you something?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Depends on the question.”

“…So might as well shoot your shot,” he finishes when you don’t say anything.

Well, then.

You blurt it out before you can talk yourself out of it.

“Don’t get me wrong, alright? I know you’re strong and all that. But…” you trail off, fixing your eyes on him, “Why did they specifically want you of all heroes?”

Almost instantly, Bakugou’s smug expression is wiped off his face just as it falls.

You scramble to backtrack.

“Sorry if that’s too invas—”

“Are you sure we were batchmates?” he cuts you off, a brow raised in question. “Back in UA?”

You stare at him. Where is he going with this?

“Yeah?” you reply, not at all willing to try and jog his memory with the only prominent exchange between the two of you. So instead, you toss the query back at him: “Why?”

“Because if we were, you would’ve heard about the rumors about me, unless they weren’t as widespread as I thought.”

You feel your brows furrow. “Rumors?”

He peers at you for what feels like an eternity, before shaking his head in what you think is resignation. His body language has changed drastically, you note—the distinct confidence from earlier now long gone, having been replaced with…shame?

He heaves a deep breath.

“I was a bully,” he finally declares, meeting your gaze. “I bullied someone for being quirkless. I guess you could say I had a…” he hesitates, as if he’s trying to filter his words,” …certain mindset up until late into our first year.”

He shakes his head again, which is now bowed down toward the floor. “I did some pretty…awful stuff, to say the least.”

And before you can say anything, he beats you to it. “And don’t ask me about what I did.”

“I wasn’t going to,” comes your speedy response. That causes him to look up again and at you, a surprised look written on his face.

“Well, that’s a first.”

“I don’t have to know,” you reason, schooling your features into a neutral, even sincere expression. “Besides, I can clearly see there’s remorse. There’s no need to reopen that can of worms, especially if you’ve tried to make amends.”

You pause, eyeing him. “Have you?”

He tosses you a look of offense, as if you just accused him of being a serial killer. “Of course. And he’s forgiven me. What do you take me for?”

“Someone who feels remorse—” you chuckle, “—just like I said.”

He shoots you a glare, although it’s playful and has no bite to it. “Smartass.”

You grin at him. “I am smart, aren’t I?”

Bakugou doesn’t verbalize his agreement, but he doesn’t deny it either. Instead, he turns the table on you.

“You’re a guidance counselor, aren’t you? You use your quirk on your clients?”

You gasp, insulted. That grants you a smirk from him. “No! Of course, not. What do you take me for?”

He shrugs, “What? It makes sense to me.”

“So should this thing called ethics, which I follow and is very important, especially for people like me who work in the mental health field.”

That doesn’t seem to convince him. “Why’re you in this field, then? If not for its compatibility with your quirk?”

You think about it for a beat.

“I guess you can say my quirk did play a part in all of this, but not as my crutch,” you eventually explain. “Using it made me realize how much I like making people feel and do better, which is something that I now do with evidence-based techniques as a counselor. Plus, my job trains me in identifying emotions, which, you know…”

—helps with maximizing your quirk.

But you don’t say it out loud for fear of getting exposed, and it seems like that’d be unnecessary, because understanding flashes across Bakugou’s eyes. He nods, and that’s all you need to know he gets what you’re leaving unsaid.

“That’s a pretty noble cause,” he offers, although it comes out a bit awkward.

Still, you flash him a genuine smile. He looks away.

…Right at the wall clock, which now reads a little too late o’clock.

“You should get some sleep,” says Bakugou just as you are about to tell him the very same thing.

And when you don’t respond: “Are you sure you wanna sleep on the couch?”

‘What, are you proposing we share the bed?’

…Is what you would say if you were a fucking lunatic, which you’re glad you aren’t, because you don’t know how you’d survive this hell of a mission if you were.

Instead, you nod, shooting him a grateful look as you move to lay back and drape the blanket over your body. “Bask in the luxury of a proper mattress, your highness.”

You don’t get to see his reaction anymore in your new position, but you bet your cheap but surprisingly ergonomic slippers that he’s grinning with the way he snorts loudly.

“Stupid.”

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

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wis-art · 2 days ago

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Hai, I wrote this post with picture examples of me in replies being extremely transmisoginistic but the person blocked me, which, fair.

Anyways hi, I did not realize what role my post I made in 30 seconds would play in this all, and how my response to first contact with these posts of teans women's experiences was to make this post.

I saw posts of these women, being angry about being treated below Trans men, and expressing it in a very angry way and made a post expressing how that made me uncomfortable. Lately I have been finding that I am pretty slow, and that I really struggle to pick up on the true meaning of emotionally charged posts. Even if it is obvious.

I think it's important to talk about experience with transmisoginy, I think it's good Trans women are angry at being put below people, I think it makes people wake up to the idea that maybe our community isn't so perfect and that maybe we are experiencing oppression within it ourselves.

I won't deny that you got the reason why I made this post spot on, i think that wouldnt be very productive. This is a new and very important avenue of discussion and while I am slow and I didn't pick up on it and that this post isn't any less harmful to the discussion because I now know better, I want to let people know that I do know better, thanks to the discussions the women who expressed their anger and emotions held.

If not for the women talking about this, I wouldn't realize just how much internalized transmisoginy i carry around within me, I wouldn't realize just how little I value myself and how I have been conditioned to think I am below everybody. Something so obviously wrong, yet hard to see for me. So yeah. It sucks! And I can't really blame anybody for finding my takes, repulsive.

I'm sorry, I don't know how much weight these words really carry. I understand the issue at hand, I understand my role and how irresponsible with my platform I was. I understand why people are upset that this is the first thing I thought to myself is to tell these women to shut up, I think it's really telling. But posts like this, analyzing the mistakes and deconstructing misoginy however uncomfortable are very important, and make you realize how much the society and every interaction we ever experienced really imprints on us all.

If you don't fuck with trans men get the fuck off my blog, it's transfem and transmasc solidarity bitch 🖕🖕🖕🖕

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luvismenu · 2 days ago

Text

09 — miss your touch ✎ ,, index

nsfw warnings: kissing.

note: she's not pregnant you guys dw 😭

wc: 3.4k

a week.

it's been a week since you've seen jungkook.

there were a few texts from him, asking if you were okay, but nothing beyond that. you answered with short replies; a yes or a no. sometimes, you asked how he was, and he'd say he's okay. but there’s a clear shift now, an invisible line drawn between you two.

a line you’d already crossed once but now seem to be retreating behind. back to where you started; strangers who just happened to share something.

you might’ve overreacted.

the thought stings, but yeah, maybe you did. he wasn’t even that late. you believe him when he said he had to deal with something. that something being a female, it’s not like he hid it. still, for reasons you can’t explain, just thinking about it makes you roll your eyes.

but he came straight to you after that.

and you know jungkook doesn’t lie. at least, that’s what you’ve learned about him in these two months.

two months.

it’s been two months, and yet here you are, acting as if he’s yours.

he isn’t.

and that’s good. you don’t want a relationship. you never did. relationships are nothing but unnecessary stress or drama. or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

you can’t let jungkook fall into the “relationship” category. but calling him your casual fuck buddy feels off, because you’re both closer than that now. thinking of him as just a friend, though... that feels wrong. unnatural, even.

it’s so complicated.

it shouldn’t be. but it is.

sometimes, it feels like he doesn’t care. you wish he’d show more emotions, something more than his usual calm, nonchalant demeanor.

it feels like you’re the only one overthinking this while he’s just... fine. unaffected.

why do i feel like a wreck? is it just me? you wonder.

you don't wanna miss his touch.

you don't wanna miss him.

but you miss him more than you want to admit.

and now, you don’t even know how to approach him. things feel so awkward. you’re not sure how to cross that line you’ve suddenly drawn.

a week without seeing him feels like forever. especially when, for the past two months, he’s been part of your every day. whether it was texts or calls, he was there.

which is why you’re here. at the business expo everyone’s been working so hard for.

you don’t know much about it, just the bare minimum yoongi mentioned. apparently, other majors can attend as long as they say they’re interested in learning something.

as if. you would never attend something like this.

but for him? for jungkook?

you’re here anyway.

jungkook feels like a wreck.

he misses you.

a lot.

but at the same time, he thinks he needed that break. from everything. a week isn’t much, but it gave him enough space to clear his head.

iseul tried to contact him again. he blocked her number.

then she tried to approach him in person. he blocked her out of his life too.

he knows she’s probably furious, and maybe even hurt, but he couldn’t let her keep dragging him into the same cycle. not anymore.

“jungkook, i’m sorry, honey, i didn’t mean to snap at you that day—” she said, her voice was soft, almost pleading.

but he cut her off, firm and final, his words heavy but deliberate.

“i think it’s for the best if we move on now.”

he couldn’t believe those words came out of his mouth, but for once, he didn’t regret them. saying it felt like a weight had been lifted, one he’d been carrying far too long.

it wasn’t easy, but it was necessary.

now, though?

all he can think about is you.

you told him you were fine now. the conversations between you two since then have been brief, surface level, and awkward. it feels like a wall has been built, and though neither of you acknowledges it, it’s there.

jungkook wishes you’d talk to him soon, break through whatever tension is lingering.

when you told him to leave that day, he froze for a moment. it stung, but he understood. if you needed space, he’d give it to you. the last thing he wanted was to make things harder for you when you were already unwell.

but he feels awful.

all he did was add to your stress, and now the guilt is eating at him. he’s ready to do anything—absolutely anything—to make things right with you, to hear you say you forgive him.

yet, it feels strange.

why does he feel this way about you?

whatever this is between you, it was supposed to be no strings attached. that was the deal. you both made it clear from the beginning. but somewhere along the line, things shifted. you’re not just a hookup to him anymore. you’re so much more than that, though he’s not sure how to define it.

he wonders if he should set boundaries, remind himself of what this arrangement is supposed to be. but it’s hard—impossible, even. every time you’re together, he’s drawn to you. it’s like you’ve got this pull on him, and he doesn’t even want to resist it.

he doesn’t wanna miss your touch.

and right now?

right now, he just misses you. everything about you.

“jungkook, is that you?” a voice cuts through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. jungkook turns, searching for the source of the familiar voice.

“ah, it is you!”

his lips twitch into a smile when he spots the person approaching him.

“jin hyung,” he says, a little surprised to see him.

jin strides up to him, pulling him into a firm hug and patting his back.

“took you long enough to show up,” jungkook says as they pull apart, raising a brow.

jin lets out a dramatic sigh. “had to deal with things, you know how it is,” he says, waving a hand before flashing a grin. “but hey, i’m here now, aren’t i?”

“yeah, you are,” jungkook replies, shaking his head lightly, though the smile on his face betrays the faint scolding in his tone.

“oh, come on,” jin says, feigning offense. “is that it? is that all the welcome i get? give me a proper one! i am one of the guests tonight, after all.”

his grin grows wider, and jungkook can’t help but chuckle at his hyung’s playful energy.

where is jungkook?

you're in the auditorium, surrounded by bustling booths, neatly arranged tables, and groups of students passionately discussing their projects. you didn’t realize business majors went all out for an expo like this.

you feel like yelling his name at the top of your lungs. you've been walking around, searching through a sea of unfamiliar faces, but you can’t find him anywhere.

“uh, hey,” you say, tapping a guy’s shoulder, interrupting his conversation.

woah, this guy has really broad shoulders.

he turns around, and you’re momentarily taken aback. the man is tall, dressed in a suit that looks like it was tailored for him, glasses framing his handsome face, and hair styled perfectly.

“yes?” he asks, polite but slightly curious.

you hesitate, then decide to go for it. “do you know where i can find jungkook? i mean, jeon jungkook? he’s supposed to be here somewhere,” you say, unsure if he even knows who jungkook is. but you’re desperate now.

his lips curl into a small smile. “why, of course. i was just speaking with him a few minutes ago. he excused himself to use the restroom, so he should be back shortly.”

“thank you,” you reply quickly, already preparing to make your way toward the direction of the restrooms. maybe, just maybe, you’ll bump into him as he’s walking back.

“are you one of his friends?” the man asks suddenly, stopping you from taking a step forward.

you glance at him, unsure how to respond. “uh... yes, kinda. sure,” you say awkwardly. you catch the faint arch of his brow, as if your answer only piqued his curiosity more.

why didn’t i just say yes? you mentally scold yourself, feeling ridiculous.

clearing your throat, you quickly excuse yourself.

"excuse me,” you mumble before turning and walking away, hoping the restroom isn’t far and jungkook will finally appear.

you walk through the rows of booths, still scanning the area for any sign of jungkook. the loud chatter of students and the hum of discussions fill the air, but all you can focus on is the thought of finding him.

as you near the restrooms, you catch a glimpse of a familiar figure standing by the entrance, hands stuffed in his pockets, his posture relaxed yet somehow tense.

it’s him.

your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help the small sigh of relief that escapes you. he looks as good as ever, effortlessly drawing your eyes to him. he’s wearing a sharp black suit that fits him perfectly, making him look every bit as important as you’re sure he is. he must be a key figure in this expo, you think.

all you know is that he’s supposed to give some kind of presentation. that’s it. nothing more. you didn’t bother to find out the details because, honestly, none of it matters to you.

all you want right now is to see him.

you walk towards him, taking slow steps, unsure how to act. you haven't seen him in what feels like forever, and all that awkward tension you’ve been trying to ignore creeps back up.

when he notices you, his eyes widen for just a second before a small smile breaks across his face. it’s a smile you haven’t seen in a while.

“hey,” he greets you.

you nod, trying to keep your cool despite the rush of emotions. “hi,” you say, feeling your heart race. you look at him, searching his face for any clue about how he’s been, but you can't tell much.

“i didn’t think you’d show up,” he admits, his gaze flickering over you. “thought you were gonna skip it.”

“just wanted to see what this is all about.” you say, trying to sound casual

he chuckles softly, his eyesglancing down. “didn’t expect you to be interested in this stuff.”

“well, i’m not,” you say, feeling the need to explain yourself. “but i wanted to see you. jungkook.”

there’s a brief moment of silence as his expression shifts, and you can’t tell if he’s surprised or if he’s just been waiting for you to say something. his eyes meet yours, and there’s an intensity there that makes you second guess every word you just said.

“i’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he says quietly, stepping a little closer. “i know things have been... off. and honestly—”

loud chatter in the background interrupts him, making both of you exchange a quick glance before he speaks up again.

“follow me.”

you follow him without thinking. the sound of people fading away as you walk through the crowd. he leads you to what feels like an empty lecture hall, making sure to lock the door behind you. you stand there, waiting for him to speak, the quiet now heavy between you two.

“i know things have been different recently,” he starts again, his voice soft. “and i honestly don’t know why...” he sighs. “but i want to apologize for that day. i’m really sorry.”

you swallow, trying to steady yourself. “i forgive you,” you say, your voice steady, but there's still an uncertainty in your chest.

“really?” he looks at you, his gaze searching yours for some kind of reassurance.

“yeah,” you nod, “i was just sick and i guess i overreacted a little, i’m sorry for that.”

he shakes his head quickly. “you didn’t. you didn’t overreact.”

a quiet but heavy silence fills the space between you both.

“so, uh, cool event,” you say, trying to break the tension.

“don’t act like you care,” jungkook smiles, the familiar smirk finally making its way onto his face.

you smile too, shrugging lightly. “yeah, i don’t.”

there’s another brief silence. you’re not sure what to say next, the awkwardness still lingering in the air. what if he’s going to end things? what if he’s had enough? what if.

“jungkook, i—”

his lips are on yours before you can even finish your sentence. the kiss catches you off guard, but his arms wrap tightly around your waist, pulling you in, and any hesitation melts away. his warmth seeps into you, grounding you in the moment as his lips move against yours with a desperate sort of tenderness.

you don’t pull back. instead, you let yourself fall into it, let him guide you. the kiss deepens, and with it, the questions and uncertainties that had been weighing you down dissolve, replaced by the overwhelming feeling of him. here, now, with you.

when you finally pull back, your chest heaves as you gasp for air. your mind is racing, your heart pounding in your chest. you don’t know how to respond. a part of you wants to spill everything; how much you’ve missed him, how unbearable the distance has been, how empty you’ve felt without his touch. but the words catch in your throat, like they're stuck somewhere.

“i’m sorry, i…” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. his hands don’t leave your waist, holding you close as if afraid you might slip away. “i missed you.”

those three words hit harder than you expect, stirring something deep inside you. warmth spreads through your chest, a quiet comfort you didn’t realize you’d been craving.

it’s simple, almost too simple, but it feels like it’s enough. like it’s the answer to everything that’s been weighing on your heart; the confusion, the space, the silence between you two. suddenly, none of it matters.

“you missed me?” you ask softly, your voice trembling just slightly. it’s as if you need to hear him say it again, to be sure you’re not imagining it.

he nods, his eyes locked on yours. his voice is gentle. “yeah, i did.”

you stare at each other for a moment, the air between you thick with many unspoken feelings. then, without thinking, you lean in, closing the distance as your lips find his. your arms wrapping around his neck as if pulling him closer could erase all the time you spent apart. he responds immediately, his lips pressing against yours with equal fervor, like he’s been waiting for this.

your right leg slides up instinctively, brushing against his hip, and he understands your silent request. his hands move to your thigh, gripping it firmly as he lifts you effortlessly. your legs wrap around his waist, and his strong hands shift to cup your ass, holding you securely against him. the closeness sends a rush of heat through you, your bodies fitting together perfectly.

the kiss deepens, his tongue teasing against your lips until you part them, granting him access. his tongue brushes against yours, slow and deliberate, sending a wave of warmth straight to your core. you hum softly into the kiss, the sound vibrating between you, and his grip on you tightens.

he places you on the nearby desk, his lips never leaving yours. his hands grip your waist, keeping you steady. your fingers slide down to his chest, gently gripping his shirt as if holding on for balance. he pulls back for a brief moment, giving you both a chance to catch your breath.

without hesitation, he shrugs off his blazer, carelessly tossing it to the floor. the sound of it hitting the ground barely registers as his hands return to you, cupping your face with a tenderness that contrasts the heat between you. his lips find yours again, urgent yet soft, and you let him take control, your hands moving to cup his face too.

your legs wrap around his hips, pulling him closer, and you can feel his soft bulge pressing against you. the sensation is enough to make your breath hitch, and you instinctively tilt your hips toward him, craving more of the pressure.

he pulls back slightly, his lips brushing against yours as he murmurs, “you drive me crazy.”

oh fuck.

“what—” you start to ask, but the sound of knocking interrupts you.

both of your heads snap toward the door, your bodies tense.

“jungkook!? you in there?” a familiar voice calls out, loud and clear.

jungkook immediately recognizes it and clears his throat, trying to steady his voice. “yes! jin hyung, i’m here.”

“i’m about to give my speech, so you better be there asap!” jin’s voice is full of its usual dramatic flair. “i came all the way here for this moment, and i don’t want you to miss my glory.”

you hear his footsteps retreating, his words lingering in the air.

jungkook exhales, his head leaning slightly forward until it rests against your forehead. his hands remain on your waist, his touch warm, grounding you in a moment that feels anything but steady. he mumbles under his breath, almost as if he’s scolding himself. “of all the times…”

your heart races, and your mind spins in circles. what does he mean by you drive him crazy? the weight of those words presses down on you, heavy and confusing.

“jungkook,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “i think you should go.”

he lifts his head to look at you, his brows furrowing slightly. the regret in his eyes is unmistakable.

maybe i shouldn’t have said that. he thinks as he takes a small step back, creating a gap between you that suddenly feels too wide.

“are you going to stay?” he asks cautiously, his voice softer now.

you open your mouth to answer but hesitate. you don’t know what to say. this was never part of your plan. all you wanted was to see him, to tell him you were sorry too. but now, standing here with him, everything feels so much more complicated.

“___,” he says your name gently, snapping you out of your daze. your gaze meets his, and he blinks at you, his expression searching.

“i know things have changed between us, and—”

“what do you mean? we’re fine, though,” you cut him off quickly, the words spilling out as if saying them will make them true.

he lets out a heavy sigh, “are we?”

the question catches you off guard. your frown deepens as uncertainty settles in your chest.

are we?

your silence answers for you, and he notices. he always notices.

“it’s okay,” he says softly, almost like he’s trying to soothe you. “i don’t know how to deal with it either.” he pauses, his voice quieter. “i don’t know what we are right now.”

what are we?

the words echo in your mind, and you hate how much they hurt. it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you never wanted it to turn into this mess.

“i think…” you start, and his eyes are on you immediately, waiting, hoping you’ll say something that will make this all easier.

“...i should go.”

you don’t miss the way his shoulders drop just slightly, the smallest sign of defeat. you hesitate for a moment before sliding off the desk, your movements stiff and uncertain.

you gulp, forcing yourself to meet his gaze one last time. “good luck with your presentation,” you say softly. you linger for a second, watching him, hoping he’ll say something to stop you. but all he does is nod, his response quiet and unreadable.

with a deep breath, you turn around and walk toward the door. every step feels heavier than the last.

behind you, jungkook exhales a long, weary sigh, running a hand through his hair.

did i mess it up? he wonders, his chest tightening with something he doesn’t know how to name.

a/n: um haha.... jin with glasses yay!! 🏃🏻‍♀️

📜 series taglist: @deepikhaprakash @rjooniesdimples @wombatkitten127 @hoseokteardrop

📜 permanent taglist: @lovieku @deluluisdasolulu @ddanasjk @onlyforyoukook @diamondjeon @nnybtitts08 @lil0u0 @butnotmontana @fr0ggieth1nk @minimoninini @whoa-jo @lola75111 @iswearimover5feetall @rispwr @genevieveeeee @kookoo-kachoo @junecat18 @iheartchanelle @internetrando64 @jkvias @134340-kr @mar-lo-pap @fluttershypoo @kyuupii @https-mei @elinaki92 @jungkookmyoneandonlybaby @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @jaykay-world @jmscaffeine @libra04 @beigerin @nikidream24 @svnbangtansworld @mimi1097

#jeon jungkook #jungkook x y/n #fanfic #bts jungkook #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #bts fanfiction #bts fic #jjk x y/n

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fennecfoxdavid · 12 hours ago

Note

Please don't stop posting your lovely fennec fox posts, they never fail to make me smile and I know they do the same for so many others too. It may have sprouted from a NG in-joke, but it, like so many other things, belongs to the fandom now and have very little to do with Good Omens and everything to do with the wonderful, delightful David Tennant. By all means change the tags, but know that you can block anybody who harasses you even if they are anonymous by clicking the '...' at the bottom right hand corner of the screen. There is no reason you should have to take abuse - you are clearly a kind, humorous and lovely person who is simply trying to help bring a little more joy into the world. I hope you are well, and send peace and love your way. Phoenix.

I’m sorry it’s taking me this long to reply to this message… I just didn’t know how because I haven’t really had the right words since everything has happened. I still have a lot of hate in my Twitter inbox telling me I should stop this account that I’m trying to get through and delete so I’ve been hesitant to open my tumblr inbox because of it. I am still trying to process things while grieving a connection of a person who was extremely important to me growing up.

But I still think this account deserves to continue because despite where the origin of the joke came from, it’s still a David Tennant fan site and I truly don’t think he finds it weird or uncomfortable…I think if he had he would have voiced it during that panel when he talked about it.

This account had kept me going and gave me a reason to get up every day when I needed it the most and I feel like it spread positivity to other David Tennant fans who need a little cheering up once in a while.

So I’m going to do my best to keep it going…at least for a little while longer.

It might not be every single day like before but I’ll do my best.

Thank you phoenix for your kind message. 🩵

Thank you all for the kind words and encouragement in the comments. Sorry I have been MIA lately but I promise I’ll get back into the swing of things to help bring some small joys.

We definitely need it after this hectic year…

I love you guys ❤️

#envil update #envil #replies #dailyfennecdavid

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cherikdogfood · 2 days ago

Text

Thank you for the tag @polaris-likethestar !!! And I'm so sorry for the late reply!!

YOU'RE RIGHTTTTT omggg how the hell did you get it right? I like the city haha, I mean, I like pictures of the countryside and the vibes of the countryside, but I couldn't imagine actually living there, maybe cuz I'm prone to mosquito bites QAQ

Here's my headcanon of you @polaris-likethestar : uhm if you ever met your blorbo you'd probably give them lots of hugs.

Do tell me if I'm right/wrong, hehe.

Tagging: @thatcrazymind @mapofyourstars @neonwizardheehee @alchemagickal @ouchpotatoex @castleartsebaciel

I came up with a new tag game!

Create a headcanon for the person you reblogged from! (Aka assume something about them lol)

No pressure tags!: @iloveacronix @greenamethyst-16 @hijabiwriter @crystaleclipse10 @mislamicpearl and anyone else who wants to join!

#tag game

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hl-obsessed · 2 days ago

Text

link to original manip

✨ fics i've read in November ✨

.🌸🌸🌸.

Roman Empire by Speechless

(E, 11k) One day Louis answers Liam's phone while he is in the shower. That's how he meets Harry, Liam's friend who moved to Italy just a while ago. And that's how Liam loses ownership of his phone.

“Do they sleep on the other side of the bed in Italy?”

He hears Harry laugh for a moment.

“I sleep right in the middle,” Harry replies. “Because no one will marry me.”

Louis bites back a little smile.

“Have you asked enough people?"

“The old lady walking her dog, just now.” Harry confirms. “She said no.”

Tastes like Strawberries by @sadaveniren

(E, 5k) I’m stressed. I’m nesting and demand cuddles. Come over

Harry frowned and double checked who the text was from. Yup, it still said Louis - Grad, which meant it was from Louis from his grad school.

aka Louis texts Harry by mistake. It works out

✨ Until the Pearls Get Lost by @londonfoginacup

(M, 25k) London, 1933. Harry Styles, alpha, elusive bachelor and happy third wheel to his coupled friends, receives a visit from one Liam Payne, begging for his help.

Liam’s childhood friend Louis is about to become the talk of the city; left at the altar because the mating bond was rejected, Louis will spend the rest of his life in an institution unless Liam can find someone to take him in and care for him as he recovers. Most omegas with failed bonds are never the same again.

With rumours swirling around about the reason for the rejected bond, Harry gives in to Liam’s pleas. He hasn’t the slightest idea how that decision will shape the rest of his life.

Bloom Just For You by @sunshineandthemoonlight

(E, 7,6k) Marcel decides to get straight to the point. "So I was wondering if you’d be interested in bottoming,” he says.

He glances anxiously over at his boyfriend in time to see Louis’ eyes widen over his mug of tea. There’s a choking sound, and all of a sudden Louis is coughing violently, trying to draw in a breath as his tea goes down the wrong way.

“Oh my– oh my god, Louis!” Marcel yells, panicked.

Marcel has never been happier; he has a job he loves, a boyfriend he adores, and a sex life with said boyfriend that exceeds his wildest of fantasies. But there’s one thing he and Louis haven’t yet tried in the bedroom. And he can’t get the thought out of his head...

No Surprises by @louislittletomlintum

(E, 21k) “I smoke socially, sometimes. Depends who I’m with,” Harry shrugged, taking another puff. Louis watched his soft little lips wrap around it and purse just slightly on the inhale. It wasn’t the first time he considered if Harry was perfectly made just to torment him.

“Hm. I won’t send you to jail for now, then. On crimes of fibbing,” Louis decided benevolently. He was about to open his mouth to spout off some other shite before he saw Harry had a bit of a pensive look in his features despite how his eyes were a little glassy.

“Lou,” he began, and god Louis loved that he’d earned that little nickname off of him. “Can I ask you summat?” Harry added, tapping the ash of the cigarette in the tray before taking another puff.

“You just did,” Louis smiled because Harry walked right into that one. “But I’ll give you another,”

“How did you know you were queer?”

or; an office au where louis is a loveable brat and harry is working himself out

You're Not Harry Styles (or are you?) by @bluegreen28fics

(E, 20k) Singer Louis Tomlinson finally meets his crush - ex-boybander Harry Styles - on a late night talk show after he recently released a hit single mentioning Harry. They hit it off and fall in love.

Play Pretend, Find a Friend? by @angelichl

(E, 40k) They had to pull back for air. Louis surveyed the guy’s face, in awe of his blown pupils and sharp jawline, the way their shared spit glistened on his lips.

“Hi,” he breathed. He blinked, and came back to himself a little bit, blushing at his own boldness. “Sorry. Is this okay?”

The stranger removed his right hand from the curve of Louis’ waist in order to cup his jaw, tilting it up to the angle he desired. He pressed their lips together, murmuring, “Definitely.” And then he kissed harder.

***

When Louis sees his ex-boyfriend kissing a random girl at a party, he acts out of blind jealousy. He kisses the first guy he can find. It turns into a thing.

✨💎 To Fight For Freedom by @snowy38

(E, 112k) It was snowing when he went down.

His sturdy and well-worn hiking boots were tied snugly to his socked feet; the knee-high thick black fabric keeping his legs warm to almost the point his pleated kilt rested just above his knees. Almost, because there was still a good four inches of skin bared to the elements.

His father had told him he had no need to wear the traditional uniform, but Harry knew better than to believe him. In fact, the only reason his father would say such a thing was because he would rather see him in anything other than an item of clothing which resembled a skirt. The reasons for his reservations may well be justified but Harry couldn’t think about that right now.

It was snowing and he’d been shot.

✨ Into the Woods (series) by mystic_believexx

(M, 44k) The one where the future Alpha of the Tomlinson pack imprints on the human, Harry Styles.

(warning❗this story is unfinished, last update in 2017. it's so easily to fall in love with it and have your heart broken 💔)

✨ amaryllis by @hattalove

(E, 146k) "Where are we?"

"Um. A little while out of London?" Niall tries, seemingly the only one willing to not be mysterious and provide Harry with information, and. Oh.

"London London? As in, the capital of England London?" he asks, just in case he'd misheard.

"No, the other London," Louis laughs, low and biting. He comes closer finally, the moonlight just enough to reveal a sharp-cut jaw and pale skin. "Sorry, Pup."

Nobody's ever called Harry a "pup". Frankly, he finds it quite insulting, but he lets it slide to try and comprehend his current crisis.

***

or the one where harry gets bitten by a werewolf. louis is the mysterious not-quite alpha, liam and zayn have Things going on, niall is their token human, and together, they watch a lot of TV.

'Sup by @mediawhorefics

(G, 6,7k) Gemma really wants her little brother to sign up for a dating app and get back in the game after a messy divorce. Harry thinks he’s way too old to swipe. They compromise to devastatingly embarrassing results.

Meanwhile, all Louis wants is to finish the play he’s been commissioned to write, but one of the regulars at his local coffee shop keeps distracting him.

***

ft. older larry, pushy gemma, harry being a disaster gay and silver fox louis.

Can't Imagine You Without The Same Smile In Your Eyes by @galacticlarry

(T, 4k) It’s been over a week since Harry’s first semester at university began, and he has had zero new exciting friendships or noteworthy experiences, just a bizarre dream that keeps waking him up in the middle of the night.

What happens when the boy with the pretty blue eyes from his psychology class catches his eye and starts occupying his mind?

Art of seduction by harrysprostate

(E, 13k) “Besides, I have a fiancé.”

“Does your fiancé know where you are right now?” Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.

“He knows I’m out with a friend.”

Harry blinked. “A friend?”

“What, engaged people can’t have friends?”

Harry chuckled at that and shook his head very slowly. He took his time to answer, even shifted in his seat and made sure that they were making eye contact first. “Oh Louis, we’re not going to be friends.”

Louis just smirked.

~or the one where louis is engaged but that doesn't stop harry from seducing him~

✨ my kingdom for a kiss (tonight you're on my mind) by leighbot

(E, 30k) “Oh fuck, I’m going to have to tell my mum,” Louis says, closing his eyes.

The silence stretches between them for a long moment until Harry starts breathing heavily. “I’m going to have to tell the Queen,” he says, “and my mum.”

Or, the one where Zayn and Louis make a friendly wager and it goes too far, Harry's a baker with a heart of gold and really great hair, Liam is an overworked PA who just wants to enjoy his holiday and Niall is completely at ease, as always. An accidentally married AU mixed with a splash of modern royalty.

Still Dreaming ‘Bout You by @ireallysawanangel

(T, 3k) Harry doesn’t pay much attention to football. That’s proven even more apparent when the biggest football star in the UK walks into his juice bar and he doesn’t even notice. He does start to take notice when that football star keeps coming back.

✨ Just for Tonight (I can be yours) by @sadaveniren

(E, 42k) Harry, prince of Cestrescir, has been betrothed to Ludvic, prince of Yorvik, since birth. He'd accepted a loveless marriage as his duty to his country, until an accident threw him in the path of a gentle alpha

✨ This World's Ashes by @sunshineandthemoonlight

(E, 34k) The man stares at him, and all Harry can hear is his own heartbeat, racing.

Then the stranger turns away. He walks a few paces and bends down, picking up a large knife from the ground and shoving it into a pouch attached to his belt.

“I won’t hurt you, you know.”

Harry’s eyes snap up to the man’s face. He’s looking at Harry sincerely, palms held up as though in surrender. There’s still a knife in his right hand, though, so Harry is only slightly reassured.

Harry swallows to combat the dryness of his throat, and then says, “I won’t hurt you either.”

***

A post-apocalypse AU where Harry, battling his past as he survives in the woods, has learnt not to trust anyone except his dog. Then Louis crashes into his life, with his bright spirit and soft lips, pulling Harry from the depths of a loneliness he hadn’t realised he was drowning in. But there is danger lurking, and Harry’s not the only one wrestling with his past.

✨ no faith left to lose by @louieshalo

(M, 7k) Louis shoves an album booklet — Harry’s album booklet — into Harry’s hands, folded open to a familiar page. “I need you to tell me that that goddamn song is not about me.” His voice cracks a little in his vehemence, and ice fills Harry’s veins as he glances down at the creased page.

He doesn’t need to look closely to know what it is Louis is talking about — the title is printed plainly on the page, Second Chances, along with every incriminating lyric, line by line. It’s his most blatant offense off the entire album, probably; sickeningly indulgent and too obviously vulnerable to even defend himself against. The song is a surface-level dip into the fantasy world Harry toys with when the ache of loneliness gets to be too much in the middle of the night, the brief glimpse already toeing over the boundary he’d promised himself he’d set for his career.

Most damning, though, is the tiny embossed dedication at the bottom of the page;

“For who I’d be if I wasn’t afraid,” Louis recites, looking expectantly at Harry. “What the fuck does that mean?

***

or, the one where they miss each other more than anything.

.🌸🌸🌸.

part 1 (+50k) ✨💐 part 2 (30-50k) ✨🥀 part 3 (10-30k)

part 4 (< 10k) ✨🪷 part 5 (monthly rec) ✨💐

#my fic recs #28th appreciation #larry fic #larry fics #larry stylinson fanfic #larry fanfic #hlficvillage #hlficlibrary #larry fic rec #fic rec #1d fic rec #one direction fic rec

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yelenasdiary · 9 hours ago

Note

I usually stay up late (right now is 3 am and I still have things to do) programming and doing stuff.

I thought about this fic idea and you popped into my mind.

How about we mostly work in IT for SHIELD/the avengers so we mostly stay with computers or we are in workshops. The thing is we are with yelena and in general we get along with everyone. Lately yelena has noticed that we are more tired than usual, because us being a workaholic person can’t just stop working. One night yelena finds us sleeping on our computer while we were programming/hacking, she tries to gets us to sleep and we try to deny it. Next day yelena has some words with nick fury.

This is probably bad written but right now my brain is not braining sorry

Workaholic

Pairing: Yelena Belova x GN! Reader

Summary: You’re a workaholic that doesn’t realise how drained you can get.

Fluff & Tiny Angst

Warnings: None, if there is any, please let me know. | 1.7K

Translations: Detka (baby)

AC: Thank you for sending this! I know it has taken me FOREVER & I do apologise for that. I hope you enjoy this! x

She watched in silence every morning when you would drag yourself out of bed to the kitchen for breakfast before leaving for work and she would watch again when you would finally come home late at night, hair slightly a mess before you’d take a shower and crash almost instantly the minute you sat down on the bed. She didn’t know what was going on at work, but she knew it was draining any energy you had left.

Anytime she would meet you for lunch or when she would see you for the short period of time before and after work, you were just tired. Conversations were flat and short; you began to work later than usual which led to you going to work earlier than normal.

At first, Yelena just assumed it was something really important that Nick Fury, your boss, needed you to get done but when she found you one night, asleep at your desk, it raised more concern and worry for you.

Yelena sighed lightly to herself as she leant against the doorframe of your office, her brows frowning with concern at the sight of you slumped over your desk, the blue light from the monitors didn’t seem to wake you, your fingers still lightly pressed on the last letters you had pressed before resting your head. Lines of coding ran across the multiple screen system surrounding you, these were things she knew she would never truly understand how they worked.

“Detka” she said softly, attempting to wake you. You stirred slightly, giving her a light groan but no real signs of opening your tired eyes. “Let me take you home so you can get some real sleep” you heard her Russian accent ever so softly speak. Unintentionally, you groaned once more, this time your eyes flickering open, the brightness of your screen making them sting.

“I..I’m fine” you mumbled, sitting up straight, trying to rub the sleep from your eyes.

“Detka, you can’t keep doing this. What is so important to Fury that has you falling asleep at your desk?” Yelena asked, her brows frowned with worry.

“I just need like 5 more minutes, I promise” you replied in your groggy state.

“More like another 5 hours” Your girlfriend muttered before she reached for your computer mouse before you could even string together where things were. “I’m not letting you make yourself sick for whatever this is” Yelena added, her voice low but firm, “you need sleep. No more hacking for tonight” she said as you watched the little arrow on your screen close down your opened tabs.

“Yelena!” You spat, “I can’t! I have too much do to and you just shut it down?!” You added, annoyed by your girlfriends actions as you looked up at her. Yelena shook her head, “if you write another line of coding, you’re going to become the damn coding!”

“You don’t get it, I need to get this done!” You frowned.

“And you get do it tomorrow” Your girlfriend said, crossing her arms over her chest. Your eyes dropped slightly, there was no fighting her one this, not even you felt your eyes grow heavy once more.

“Fine” you sighed, tiredly, “just let me close everything down properly before we go home” you added.

----

The next morning, you woke up in a panic. The sun light creeping in through the crack of the curtains, you reached for your phone to find out your alarm had been switched off. You sighed before throwing your head back down on the pillow before covering your face with both of your hands.

Yelena was giving her daggers a sharpen when you asked her why she had turned your alarm off.

“Because, detka, you needed a real sleep” she said, not batting and eye at you.

“Yelena, you made me late for work! I don’t even know what to tell Nick when I get there” you argued.

“I already told him you’d be running late today” Your loving girlfriend replied, looking up at you, “I’m worried about you” she added. One look into her green eyes and you were reminded of the worried look she had on her face late last night when she found you at your desk, asleep.

“You’re working yourself too hard, you come home and have a re-heated meal then shower and go to bed for a few short hours. Natasha and Wanda both said that you don’t even leave the compound for lunch, not even to get some fresh air. You are consistently at that desk working until early hours of the morning” Yelena said in a soft but firm tone.

“Baby, it’s my job” you said, leaning against the doorframe.

“Yes, it is but your job isn’t 16 hours a day”

Your eyes dropped to your feet, “I know, I just….i just want to make sure I’m doing the best I can for Fury. All the coding and hacking I do, it’s not easy. It’s time consuming and I need ot be on top of my game all the time” you explained in hopes it would help Yelena understand.

“You’re not going to be on top of your game if you’re falling asleep at your desk and barely function outside of work. Detka, I hate to say it, but you’re a workaholic” Yelena replied. You cocked a brow at the blonde, “I am not” you said, making Yelena chuckle.

“You are detka, a hard, smart working workaholic” she teased, causing you to playful roll your eyes. “Think whatever you want Lena, I’m going to go get ready for work”

“I’m taking you today” Yelena said just before you pushed yourself off the doorframe, “and I’m picking you up at 5pm” she added.

“Lena, you can trust me to come home at the end of my shift today”

“I know, but Nat is dragging me in to help her with some training thing so why not carpool?” She replied with a rather proud grin on her lips. You playfully shook your head at her before making your way to the bathroom to get ready for work.

----

You and Yelena walked into the compound, hand in hand before Yelena placed a soft kiss on your cheek and wished you a good day as you both parted ways, she waited until you were inside the elevator before she turned on her heels and headed towards Nick’s office.

Nick, busy as usual was sitting at his desk with a stack of paperwork beside him. His focus so deep on the document in front of him he didn’t even hear the knock on his door.

“Fury” Yelena said lightly, her accent coming in thick.

Nick looked up before leaning back in his chair, “Belova” he acknowledged with a raised eyebrow.

“I need to talk to you, it’s important” Yelena began, “it’s about Y/n” she added. Fury nodded, “come on, take a seat” he replied. Yelena closed the large wooden door behind her before she took a head on the typical office style chair. “What can I help you with?” The head of S.H.I.E.L.D asked.

“They’re pushing themselves too hard for whatever it is you have them working on. This is shield, right? Not some tech startup company. They need a break” Yelena said firmly.

“Right” Nick nodded, “and you think that I’ve been keeping them prisoner to their desk?” He added as he stood up from behind his desk and wandered over to Yelena, taking a the empty chair next to her, “Y/n is one of my hardest working IT employees, they are dedicated to their job, I admire it, I will all my IT employees would put in half the effort Y/n does. This job isn’t easy, there isn’t a real shift time start or end. We may need them at 4am if a mission goes south and they know that” he explains.

“But they are here early every day, and they leave later than anybody else. You can’t tell me that every mission over the last month has gone to shit” Yelena argued.

“No, but, like I said they are dedicated to their job. Look, I’ll have a look at the clock ins and outs. If Y/n is doing too much unneeded overtime, I will have a word to them but if they aren’t, I’m not going to get in the way of somebody who has a drive to work”

Yelena sighed lightly, “have you even seen them lately? They are exhausted, last night when they didn’t come home, I came here and found them asleep! At their desk! I’m not asking you to check their clock ins and outs, I am asking you to give them the break they deserve and need” Yelena said firmly, not backing down. “You can go a few days without them here. A few days is worth it then not having them at all” she added.

Fury remained silent for a moment, contemplating Yelena’s request. He knew Yelena was right; losing a little of something is better than not having it at all. “Okay” he said, finally breaking the silence, “I will speak to them on their lunch break” he added.

“Thank you” Yelena said, giving him a polite nod.

“You’re just like your sister, stubborn” Nick muttered with a cocked brow.

“I am when I need to be” Yelena teasingly grinned.

----

When 5pm came, you didn’t want to keep Yelena waiting, you shut down your computer and made sure your desk was tidy for tomorrow morning before you wandered the main hall of the compound. You smiled softly when you locked eyes on her leaning against her blue pick-up truck talking to Natasha, Bucky and Sam.

“What’s the gossip today guys?” You asked with a light chuckle.

Natasha was the first to turn and smile at you, “hold on a moment, are you unwell?” She asked, jokingly.

“Ha, Ha, very funny” you replied, playfully rolling your eyes as you stood next to Yelena, leaning your head on her shoulder. “Somebody couldn’t help themselves and spoke to Fury today” you added.

“Ohhh! Yelena went to the big dogs!” Sam laughed.

“She did and honestly, thank you” you said, looking up at Yelena.

“You’re welcome” she smiled softly.

If you want to be on the taglist for my work, please click HERE.

#yelenasdiary asks #living my marvel fantasy #fanfiction #yelena belova #marvel #Yelena Belova x reader #Yelena Belova x you

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gwalch-mei · 12 hours ago

Text

aaaa ty for the tag @enjoyerofstories !! i’m so sorry for the late reply 😭😭

tagging @filletedfennysnake @flyingboatfortressthingy @lancedoncrimsonwings @lancelots-squire

Lets start tag game

draw or make a picrew of the person who tagged you based on vibes alone

@macabre13darling you shall be my test subject, you can be a part of the game as well if you want

i suck at drawing people so here’s a picrew

Would’ve made your hair black but they didn’t have it :(

tagging:

@15depressedducks @libbworl @minty-and-others

@pennyroyald @mildlybizarrecorvid @mango-mentally-ill @dustyoldclock

And also anyone else

#i’m very drunk so if this looks like a drunk person made it. it’s bc he did.#ty for the tag though hehe <3333 #i did also realize this looks. a lot like my galahad design #i guess you have galahad energy #tag game

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w1w2 · 1 day ago

Text

The Echo of an Ordinary Girl

Irene x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 17K

Genre: Fluff

Synopsis: After years of relentless work, Y/N’s promotion celebration takes a surprising turn when a chance encounter leads her to an exclusive idol party. There, she catches the attention of Irene from Red Velvet, sparking a quiet yet profound connection.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

Oops,I had to fix a small part, so I'm posting it again. Sorry!

♡ Enjoy! ♡

A soft snow had started to fall, casting a glittering veil over the bustling streets of Seoul. Y/N pulled her coat tighter as she stepped out of the sleek glass doors of her company’s headquarters. The cold bit at her cheeks, but she didn’t mind; the warmth of her success was more than enough to keep her spirits high.

Earlier that day, during the morning briefing, she had been officially promoted to Manager—a position she had worked tirelessly toward since moving to Seoul three years ago. The congratulatory emails and warm smiles from her colleagues had left her feeling both accomplished and reflective. She thought of her journey from Europe to South Korea, the challenges she faced, and how this moment was a testament to her determination.

Reaching the curb to hail a cab, Y/N adjusted her glasses, the sleek frames resting perfectly on her subtly arched brows, framing her thoughtful green eyes. There was a calm intensity in her gaze, a reflection of the emotional intelligence and quiet confidence that had carried her through the hurdles of her career. Her lips curled into a small, genuine smile as she glanced at her phone buzzing in her pocket.

It was a message in the group chat she shared with her three closest friends in Seoul:

[Soojin]: Manager Y/N! That title looks good on you. We’re celebrating tonight, no excuses!

[Jiho]: Seriously, you deserve a night out! We’ve got something special planned, so don’t even think about canceling.

[Minji]: Wear something cute, but don’t go overboard. You know we’ll be late if you overthink it.

Y/N chuckled softly, tucking her phone back into the crossbody bag slung across her shoulder. She had learned early on that arguing with her friends was pointless. Their love for celebrations—and for her—meant she was in for an evening she wouldn’t soon forget.

Later that night, Y/N stepped out of the cab in front of a well-known bar nestled in the vibrant district of Itaewon. The neon sign above the entrance flickered invitingly, reflecting off the light snow that continued to fall.

Her outfit was both stylish and understated, a perfect blend of her practical nature and subtle flair. She wore ripped jeans paired with a crisp shirt that emphasized her toned upper body—her hard-earned muscles a quiet testament to her dedication to maintaining balance in her hectic life. Over the outfit, she’d thrown on a high-fashion jacket, the perfect mix of casual and refined. Rings adorned her fingers, adding a touch of edge to her ensemble, while her dark blond hair fell loosely in soft, straight strands, catching the faint glow of the streetlights.

As she approached the bar, her eyes scanned the crowd, immediately spotting her friends standing near the entrance. Their excited waves and cheerful grins brought a warmth to her heart that rivaled the glow of her earlier success. Tonight wasn’t just about celebrating her promotion—it was about embracing the life she had built, surrounded by the people who made it all worthwhile.

“Finally!” Soojin exclaimed, pulling Y/N into a warm hug. “We thought you’d back out and bury yourself in work.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Y/N replied, grinning. “Not with you three plotting against me.”

Minji gave her a once-over, nodding approvingly at Y/N’s outfit. “Good. You look the part of a manager who knows how to let loose.”

Jiho, ever the planner, led the way inside. “Okay, ladies. Follow me. I know a guy.”

The bar was packed, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. True to Jiho’s word, they were quickly ushered upstairs to the VIP section, a cozy yet sophisticated suite overlooking the main floor.

“How do you always manage this?” Y/N asked as they settled into plush seats.

Jiho winked. “Let’s just say I have connections.”

The night unfolded in a whirlwind of laughter and clinking glasses, the lively hum of the bar providing the perfect backdrop for their celebration. Y/N found herself loosening up as her friends swapped stories and jokes, their energy infectious. The VIP suite was intimate but elegant, with plush seating, dim lighting, and a panoramic view of the bustling main floor below.

Jiho had ordered a round of signature cocktails for the table—colorful concoctions served in ornate glasses that seemed almost too fancy to drink. “To success!” Jiho proclaimed, lifting her bright blue martini high in the air.

“To Y/N!” Minji countered, standing up dramatically and holding her glass aloft. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she added, “The most hardworking, badass Manager we know!”

Soojin, always quick to join in, tapped her glass against Minji’s. “And don’t forget the most loyal friend and terrible dancer.”

“Hey! I’m not that bad!” Y/N protested with a mock glare, though her laughter quickly broke through.

“To Y/N!” they all echoed, their voices rising above the noise of the bar as their glasses met with a satisfying clink. Y/N felt a warmth spread through her—not from the alcohol but from the love and pride radiating from the people around her. In the three years she’d spent in Seoul, these people had become her rock, a second family that reminded her she wasn’t navigating this city alone.

“You’ve earned this, Y/N,” Jiho said earnestly, her hand resting on Y/N’s shoulder. “All those late nights, the way you push yourself—you inspire us.”

“And now,” Soojin added, nudging Y/N playfully, “you get to bask in the glory of our undivided attention and terrible drinking habits.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You three are impossible. But thank you—for tonight, for everything.”

As the drinks continued to flow, their stories became more animated, the jokes increasingly ridiculous. Jiho shared a tale of her most awkward client interaction, which had Minji practically in tears from laughing too hard. Soojin, ever the dramatist, acted out an exaggerated rendition of a failed first date, complete with over-the-top gestures that had the entire table roaring.

But as the night went on, Y/N felt the need to step away, to breathe in the quiet pride swelling in her chest. “I’ll be right back,” she said, standing and smoothing her jacket.

“Don’t get lost!” Minji called after her, raising her glass.

The crisp December air filled Y/N’s lungs as she stepped outside the bar’s back entrance. A faint glow from the streetlights reflected off the freshly fallen snow, giving the alley a serene, otherworldly feel. She leaned against the brick wall, fishing out a cigarette from her pocket and lighting it with a quick flick of her lighter.

This was her night—a culmination of years of hard work, late nights, and moments of doubt. It was a small victory, but one that reminded her she was capable of more than she sometimes gave herself credit for. A sense of contentment washed over her as she tilted her head back, gazing at the snowflakes drifting lazily down from the dark sky.

The quiet moment didn’t last long. A few meters away, muffled voices rose into a heated exchange. Y/N squinted, noticing three figures huddled around a man near the alley’s edge.

“Just one more photo! Come on, you owe us that much for waiting!” one of the voices demanded, sharp and insistent.

“I already took photos with you and gave the autographs,” the man replied, his tone calm but laced with frustration. “I’d appreciate some privacy now.”

The fans ignored him, stepping closer, their voices growing louder and more aggressive.

“Why are you being so rude now? Do you think you’re too good for your fans?”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t recognize the man at first, but his discomfort was clear. Her instinct to protect kicked in. Without a second thought, she stubbed out her cigarette and walked toward the group.

“Hey!” she called, her voice firm. The fans turned, startled by the interruption.

“Who are you?” one of them snapped, glaring at her.

“Someone who’s not afraid to call the police,” Y/N shot back, pulling out her phone. She locked eyes with the man they were harassing, silently asking if he was okay. He gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“You don’t even know what’s going on,” another fan spat.

“I know enough,” Y/N replied, her voice steady. “You’ve been harassing him, and if you don’t leave now, I’ll make sure this alley is swarming with cops in minutes. Your choice.”

The trio exchanged uncertain glances before finally backing off. “Whatever,” one of them muttered, turning to leave.

As the fans disappeared down the street, the man let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said, his voice warm with gratitude.

“No problem,” Y/N replied, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “You okay?”

“I am now,” he said, offering a small smile.

Now that the tension had eased, Y/N got a better look at him. His stylish clothes, perfectly tousled hair, and unmistakable aura of confidence made recognition click. Her eyes widened slightly. “Wait… you’re Key, right? From SHINee?”

He nodded, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Guilty as charged.”

Y/N felt a wave of embarrassment but quickly brushed it aside. “I didn’t recognize you right away. Sorry about those fans.”

“Don’t apologize,” Key said. “You handled that better than most people would. I owe you one.”

“Don’t worry about it. I just hate seeing people being cornered like that,” Y/N replied.

Key chuckled softly. “You’re not like most people I meet.”

As they stood there, Key glanced back at the bar. “I was just here to pick up some bottles of my favorite drink for a party. It’s imported, and the owner’s an old friend who keeps it in stock for me.” He hesitated before continuing, “Actually… you and your friends should come. It’s going to be an idols and stuff get-together, but I think you’d fit right in.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “I don’t know about that. My friends and I aren’t exactly… your usual crowd.”

Key tilted his head, a playful smirk forming. “You helped me out when you didn’t have to. Consider it my way of saying thanks.”

Before Y/N could respond, the door behind her swung open. Jiho, Minji, and Soojin appeared, their laughter filling the alley.

“There you are!” Jiho said, her eyes narrowing as she noticed Key. “Wait… is that��?”

Key gave a small wave. “Hi.”

“Holy—” Minji began, but Soojin elbowed her before she could finish.

“Your friend here is amazing,” Key said, gesturing toward Y/N. “I was just inviting you all to a party tonight.”

“A party?” Soojin asked, her eyes lighting up.

“Yes,” Key confirmed. “It’s at a villa not too far from here. Exclusive, private, and plenty of fun. What do you think?”

Y/N hesitated, glancing at her friends. Jiho’s excited nod and Minji’s wide grin made it clear they were already on board.

“C’mon, Y/N,” Soojin urged. “When are we ever going to get another chance like this?”

Y/N sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Okay. Why not?”

Key grinned. “Great. Let’s go.”

A sleek black van pulled up moments later, and the group piled in, their excitement bubbling over as the van drove off into the night.

The van glided smoothly through the snow-dusted streets, leaving the bustling nightlife of Itaewon behind. Y/N gazed out of the window, her mind wandering between disbelief and curiosity. Her friends, on the other hand, were practically buzzing with excitement.

“Did you see the interior of this van?” Jiho whispered loudly, nudging Minji. “This isn’t just luxury—it’s idol-level luxury.”

“We’re literally heading to an idol party,” Minji replied, grinning. “How is this even real?”

Key, seated comfortably at the front, glanced back with a smile. “You’ll see soon enough. It’s just a little gathering, but I think you’ll enjoy it.”

As they turned into a gated community, the surroundings shifted. The streets were lined with towering villas, their architecture sleek and modern. The van stopped in front of a sprawling property, its façade illuminated by soft, golden lights. Snow shimmered like diamonds on the manicured lawn.

The driver opened the door, and the group stepped out onto the cobblestone driveway, their breath visible in the crisp night air. Y/N paused, taking a moment to absorb the sight before her. The villa was nothing short of breathtaking, a modern architectural marvel nestled in one of Seoul’s most exclusive neighborhoods.

Its façade was a seamless blend of sleek glass panels and natural stone, the warm golden lights from within spilling onto the manicured grounds. The building rose in staggered levels, each section connected by terraces adorned with elegant wrought-iron railings. Vines with winter berries clung to the lower stone walls, adding a touch of charm to the contemporary design.

The large floor-to-ceiling windows offered tantalizing glimpses of the party inside—silhouettes of people laughing, mingling, and dancing under ambient lighting that shifted in soft hues of purple and gold. A grand staircase swept up to the main entrance, flanked by tall, meticulously trimmed evergreen trees wrapped in twinkling fairy lights. It felt like stepping into a dream, a world far removed from the bustling streets of the city they’d just left behind.

To the right of the villa, Y/N noticed a sleek infinity pool that shimmered even in the winter chill, its edges blending seamlessly with the view of the sprawling city below. The snow-dusted patio surrounding it was dotted with clusters of modern outdoor furniture and heat lamps, where a few guests braved the cold to chat and sip their drinks.

“It’s like something out of a movie,” Jiho murmured, her voice tinged with awe as her gaze swept over the scene.

“More like a music video,” Soojin quipped, nudging Minji. “Think we’ll end up in the background of someone’s Instagram story tonight?”

Minji rolled her eyes but grinned. “If we’re lucky.”

Y/N shook her head with a soft laugh, her initial hesitation about coming here momentarily forgotten. The villa exuded an atmosphere of exclusivity and indulgence, yet there was an undeniable warmth to it, as if it invited you to step closer and be part of the magic inside.

“Let’s not stand here gawking all night,” Jiho said, tugging Y/N gently toward the staircase. “Key didn’t invite us just to freeze out here.”

With one last glance at the dazzling exterior, Y/N followed her friends up the stairs, her heart pounding with a mix of curiosity and anticipation for what awaited them beyond those glass doors.

“Here we are,” Key announced, leading the way. At the entrance, a pair of well-dressed security guards stood by, clipboards in hand. Key spoke to them briefly, gesturing toward Y/N and her friends.

“They’re with me,” he said confidently.

The guards nodded, and one of them opened the door. “Enjoy the evening.”

As they stepped inside, the warmth of the villa enveloped them. The interior was just as stunning as the exterior. Floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the city lights below.

Key turned to them with an easy smile. “The bar’s in the kitchen. Drinks are on me. Have fun!”

“Wait, you’re not sticking with us?” Soojin asked, feigning a pout.

Key chuckled. “I’ll see you around. Gotta make my rounds first.” With that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving the group to fend for themselves.

Following Key’s directions, the group made their way to the kitchen, which had been transformed into a sleek bar setup. Bottles of every kind lined the counters, and a bartender stood ready to mix drinks. The space buzzed with energy as idols and their friends mingled, their laughter blending seamlessly with the upbeat music.

As Y/N and her friends approached the sleek marble bar, a pair of familiar faces caught their attention. Jeon Somi and Giselle from Aespa stood side by side, their radiant appearances drawing casual glances from other guests. They were deep in lighthearted conversation, their laughter blending seamlessly with the background hum of the party.

Jiho’s jaw dropped, her eyes widening in disbelief. “Is that—?”

“Yes,” Y/N whispered quickly, cutting her off before Jiho’s excitement could spill over.

Somi was striking as always, her blonde hair styled in loose waves that cascaded over her shoulders. She wore a shimmering silver mini-dress with a plunging neckline, paired with towering heels that accentuated her already statuesque frame. Her makeup was flawless, her glossy lips curved into an inviting smile as her sharp, cat-like eyeliner added an extra edge to her features. She looked every bit the superstar she was—bold, confident, and effortlessly glamorous.

Beside her, Giselle exuded a more understated elegance. Her sleek pink hair framed her face perfectly, softening the angles of her jawline. She wore a tailored blazer dress in deep emerald green, cinched at the waist with a belt that highlighted her figure. Her look was paired with chunky ankle boots, adding a playful edge to her refined style. Subtle gold jewelry caught the light as she moved, her demeanor cool and approachable.

Noticing the newcomers, Somi’s gaze flickered to them, and she flashed a bright, friendly smile. “Hey there! You’re new faces.”

Y/N’s heart skipped slightly at the casual warmth in her tone, but Minji stepped forward first, her voice a mix of excitement and nervousness. “We just got here. This place is amazing.”

“It’s something, isn’t it?” Giselle chimed in, her tone easy and welcoming as her sharp eyes quickly scanned the group. “Are you here with Key?”

Y/N nodded, regaining her composure. “Yeah, we ran into him earlier, and he invited us.”

“Well, Key has good taste,” Somi said with a wink, the corner of her mouth tugging upward in a mischievous grin. “I’m Somi, by the way. And this is Giselle.”

Giselle gave a small wave, her smile soft but genuine. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Y/N and her friends introduced themselves in turn, their initial awkwardness melting under the idols’ casual, welcoming presence. Somi leaned slightly against the bar as they spoke, her interest piqued by the group’s easy camaraderie. “So, what do you guys do?” Giselle asked, her curiosity clearly genuine.

“We’re just regular people,” Y/N replied with a modest smile, her voice steady. “I work in logistics, and these troublemakers are my friends.”

“Troublemakers?” Somi echoed with a laugh, her tone playful. “I like them already.”

Minji grinned, her confidence growing. “Y/N’s the serious one in our group. The rest of us? Chaos. Total chaos.”

“Oh, I can tell,” Giselle said with a knowing smirk, her gaze shifting to Jiho, who was still star-struck. “But it’s good. Regular people with a little chaos? That’s refreshing.”

The bartender arrived with Somi and Giselle’s drinks—Giselle’s a dark cocktail garnished with a twist of orange peel and Somi’s a vibrant pink concoction that matched her bold personality. Y/N couldn’t help but notice the casual way they carried themselves, despite the aura of celebrity that clung to them.

“So, do you guys party often, or is this a once-in-a-blue-moon thing?” Somi asked, swirling her drink as she leaned forward slightly.

Jiho, emboldened by the atmosphere, answered quickly. “We celebrate when we can. Tonight’s special—it’s Y/N’s big promotion!”

“A promotion?” Giselle’s brows rose, her interest clearly piqued. “That’s amazing. Congrats, Y/N.”

“Thanks,” Y/N said with a bashful smile, ducking her head slightly. “It’s been a long road, but worth it.”

Somi raised her glass, her smile turning almost conspiratorial. “Well, that calls for another toast. To promotions, new friends, and a night to remember.”

Y/N raised her own glass with a small smile, her earlier nervousness fading. “Cheers to that.”

The group clinked their glasses, and as the conversation flowed effortlessly, Y/N felt a sense of ease settle over her. Somi’s humor and Giselle’s grounded nature made the idols feel less like untouchable stars and more like people she could genuinely connect with.

“You guys are fun,” Somi declared after a sip of her drink, her gaze sparkling with mischief. “Stick with us tonight. We’ll make sure you have a great time.”

“Careful what you promise,” Y/N teased lightly, her grin matching Somi’s.

The low hum of music and laughter spilled from the various rooms of the villa, but it was the karaoke room that drew Somi’s attention. After finishing their drinks, she turned to Y/N and her friends with a wide grin.

“Alright, karaoke time!” Somi announced, grabbing Y/N’s arm.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, amused. “We just got here. Shouldn’t we, you know, mingle?”

“You can’t hide that voice forever,” Soojin chimed in, nudging her teasingly.

“What voice?” Somi asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Oh, she’s amazing,” Minji said, her eyes sparkling. “But she’s shy about it. You’ll have to drag her up there.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Somi declared. “Let’s go.”

Y/N groaned playfully but couldn’t suppress her smile as Somi led the way with an infectious energy, her friends trailing behind them. The hallway leading to the karaoke room grew quieter, the distant hum of the party fading as they approached. When Somi pushed open the door, Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, taking in the scene before her.

The karaoke room was a cozy yet vibrant haven nestled within the sprawling villa. It was spacious but designed with an intimate feel, the walls lined with plush, velvet-textured panels that absorbed sound and gave the room a luxurious warmth. A massive TV mounted on one wall displayed an animated karaoke menu, its neon colors contrasting against the dim lighting.

The ceiling featured a constellation of tiny, twinkling LED lights, creating the illusion of a starry night above. Along the perimeter of the room, colorful LED accents pulsed faintly to the beat of the music, shifting between deep blues, soft purples, and occasional bursts of gold, casting an ever-changing glow on the occupants.

A semi-circular arrangement of plush leather sofas wrapped around the room’s center, their deep cushions inviting guests to sink in and relax. In front of the TV, a small raised platform served as the makeshift “stage,” complete with two cordless microphones resting on sleek stands. A marble minibar was tucked into one corner, stocked with an array of drinks, from sparkling water to imported liquors, with an elegant countertop illuminated by soft under-lighting.

The air carried a subtle blend of scents—faint notes of citrus from the cocktails and the lingering warmth of expensive cologne. A handful of other partygoers were already there, sprawled comfortably on the sofas, laughing and singing along to the current performance. The karaoke system was state-of-the-art, seamlessly syncing lyrics to music videos displayed in vivid clarity on the screen.

The atmosphere was relaxed yet charged with the kind of energy only found at gatherings where inhibitions were left at the door. The hum of music mingled with bursts of applause and occasional laughter, creating an environment that felt alive, yet somehow comforting.

“This place is insane,” Minji whispered as they stepped inside, her gaze darting from the starry ceiling to the stocked minibar.

“Why am I not surprised?” Soojin added, her voice low as she took in the luxurious details. “Leave it to idols to make karaoke feel like a five-star experience.”

Somi turned back to them, her grin wide as she gestured toward the stage. “Alright, who’s up first?”

Y/N couldn’t resist rolling her eyes as her friends all looked at her expectantly. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Too late!” Jiho teased, nudging her forward. “You’re the singer in the group. It’s your destiny.”

“Destiny?” Y/N groaned, laughing despite herself. “I thought we were here to relax.”

Somi leaned in conspiratorially. “Relaxation is overrated. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Before Y/N could protest further, Somi grabbed the remote and flipped through the song list, then turned to Y/N. “How about we do a duet? Something fun to break the ice?”

Y/N hesitated, glancing at her friends, who were all grinning at her. “Fine,” she relented with a sigh. “What do you have in mind?”

“‘APT.’ by Rose and Bruno Mars.” Somi said confidently.

Y/N laughed softly. “Alright. Deal.”

As the first notes of “APT.” filled the room, a few heads turned toward the stage out of casual curiosity. The vibrant, synth-driven beat and playful energy of the song were impossible to ignore, and Somi wasted no time diving into her part.

“Kissy face, kissy face, sent to your phone, but, I’m tryna kiss your lips for real,” Somi sang, her voice light and flirtatious as she swayed effortlessly to the rhythm. She twirled on the stage, her blonde hair catching the colorful lights as she pointed cheekily at the crowd. The room buzzed with her energy, and a few partygoers began clapping in time with the beat.

Y/N leaned into the microphone for her turn, her voice steady yet filled with a quiet confidence. “Red hearts, red hearts, that's what I'm on, yeah, come give me somethin' I can feel, oh-oh, oh,” she sang, her soulful tone adding depth to the playful lyrics.

As they moved into the pre-chorus, their voices blended seamlessly. “Don't you want me like I want you, baby? Don’t you need me like I need you now? Sleep tomorrow, but tonight, go crazy, all you gotta do is just meet me at the…” Their harmonies rang out, drawing more attention from the room.

By the time the chorus hit, the energy in the room had shifted completely. “아파트, 아파트, 아파트, 아파트, uh, uh-huh, uh-huh,” they sang in unison, Somi’s vibrant tone and Y/N’s rich, resonant voice weaving together effortlessly. Y/N allowed herself to relax into the performance, swaying to the rhythm and exchanging playful glances with Somi.

On the second verse, Somi turned the spotlight fully onto Y/N, stepping back with a grin as Y/N picked up the next lines. “It's whatever (Whatever), it's whatever (Whatever), it's whatever (Whatever) you like,” Y/N sang, her voice gaining strength as she swayed to the rhythm, her green eyes sparkling under the room’s dim lighting. The playful edge in her delivery was undeniable as she leaned into the next line, “Turn this 아파트 into a club, I'm talkin' drink, dance, smoke, freak, party all night,” adding a touch of charm and mischief that made the audience sit up and take notice.

The shift in the room was palpable. Conversations paused mid-sentence, heads turned, and people began clapping along with the beat. Even those who hadn’t initially been paying attention were now fully captivated by the chemistry and energy on stage.

Near the minibar, Red Velvet’s Wendy looked up from her drink, her eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity as she leaned toward Irene. “Who is that?” she murmured, gesturing toward the stage.

Irene, who had been watching the performance with quiet intensity, didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze lingered on Y/N, drawn in by the ease with which she commanded the song. Y/N’s stage presence was magnetic—her voice rich and controlled, her every movement natural yet captivating. She wasn’t just singing; she was performing as if she belonged on a stage.

As the song reached its bridge, Y/N and Somi both leaned into the mics, their voices intertwining effortlessly. “Hey, so now you know the game, are you ready? 'Cause I'm comin' to get ya, get ya, get ya,” they sang, their playful delivery eliciting cheers from the crowd. Somi twirled again, encouraging the onlookers to clap along, while Y/N’s voice carried the weight of the next line: “Hold on, hold on, I’m on my way… yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah, yeah, I’m on my way…”

By the final chorus, the room was fully alive with energy. The crowd clapped and swayed to the infectious beat, and even the idols who had been lounging on the sofas were now leaning forward, their attention firmly fixed on the stage.

“아파트, 아파트, 아파트, 아파트, uh, uh-huh, uh-huh,” the two sang together, their voices blending in a vibrant crescendo that brought the performance to a powerful close. The final note lingered in the air for a beat before the room erupted into cheers and applause.

Somi, slightly breathless but grinning wide, threw an arm around Y/N. “Okay, okay, I see you!” she teased into the mic. “We’ve got a superstar in the house tonight!”

Y/N, her cheeks flushed from the attention, laughed and shook her head as she handed the microphone back. “I think you’re exaggerating,” she said modestly, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her exhilaration.

“Exaggerating? Please,” Somi shot back with a smirk, addressing the crowd. “Y’all saw that, right? She owned it.”

Amidst the laughter and applause, Y/N glanced at her friends, who were practically bouncing with excitement.

Somi grabbed the microphone with a flourish, her grin wide and mischievous. Turning to the room, she waved her hand theatrically. “Alright, she’s warmed up now. Time to let her shine.”

Y/N shot her a look that was half-glare, half-smile. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Somi smirked, scrolling through the song list. “Oh, you’ll thank me later.” Her eyes lit up when she found her choice. She turned the screen toward Y/N with a playful glint in her eye, selecting Seulgi’s “28 Reasons.”

Y/N groaned softly, running a hand through her hair. “You’re evil.”

“Exactly,” Somi whispered with a wink, handing her the mic as the first haunting notes of the song filled the room. A soft whistle echoed through the speakers, followed by the deep, hypnotic bassline that set the tone. The playful yet ominous melody seemed to hum with tension, pulling the room into its orbit.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N stepped forward, her entire demeanor shifting. As if a switch had flipped, she stood taller, her eyes narrowing with focus. The playful edge from her previous performance was gone, replaced by a poised, commanding presence. With the mic in hand, she became someone else entirely—intense, magnetic, and impossible to look away from.

Her voice slid into the first line, sultry and deliberate. “I kiss your brother, 그 맘 훔쳐, 독이 퍼져도 못 느껴, my pleasure.” The rich timbre of her voice sent a ripple through the room, her delivery both teasing and dangerous, perfectly capturing the song’s duality. Her gaze swept across the crowd, lingering just long enough to draw them into the story of the lyrics.

“짓궂은 반칙, 떨리는 눈빛, 그런 널 보는 게 참 재밌어, 웃겨,” she sang, her tone playful yet dripping with wicked amusement. Her movements were subtle but purposeful—a small step forward, a tilt of her head, the faintest curve of her lips. It wasn’t over-the-top; it was controlled, calculated, and utterly entrancing.

As the pre-chorus began, Y/N’s voice softened, drawing the audience closer. “Ooh, ooh, I'm breaking every rule 자꾸만 괴롭히고 싶은걸” she sang, her tone haunting and deliberate. The room seemed to hold its breath, the pulsing LED lights reflecting off her figure as she moved fluidly with the music. The tension in her delivery perfectly matched the song’s groovy bassline, her voice weaving between playful temptation and subtle danger. Every syllable carried the duality of the song’s themes—good and evil, attraction and chaos.

By the time she hit the chorus, the energy in the room had shifted entirely. “널 망친 28 reasons 몰라도 돼, 나쁜 의도 없어 내겐, 도망칠 28 reasons 다 아는데, 왜 또다시 내게 기대?” Her voice soared effortlessly, powerful and precise, capturing the delicate balance of innocence and mischievous intent. Her performance seemed to radiate a duality that echoed the very essence of the song—a mix of allure and danger, seduction and defiance.

Some of the partygoers began swaying in time with the music, their earlier chatter completely forgotten. A few idols had moved closer to the stage, their eyes fixed on Y/N as if trying to figure out how a “regular” guest could exude such star-like energy.

In the back of the room, Seulgi was leaning forward, her excitement unmistakable. She nudged Irene, her voice barely above a whisper. “She’s singing my song. And she’s good.”

Irene didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze remained locked on Y/N, her expression unreadable but undeniably intrigued. The way Y/N embodied the song—the subtle interplay of light and shadow in her delivery, the way she commanded the room without trying too hard—was something Irene hadn’t expected. There was no hesitation, no doubt. It was as if Y/N was made for this.

The eerie melody lingered as she delivered the next lines with controlled intensity. “You in danger, But it's okay, You're a grown-up.” Her voice dropped to a lower register, sending a ripple through the room as every word landed with weight, pulling the audience deeper into the story she was telling.

Then came the final chorus, and Y/N let her voice swell, each note pouring out with a raw intensity that left no room for distraction. “천국을 보여 줄게, I’m not the devil, 마음껏 더 원망해, I don’t care, 망가질수록 나를 원해.” Her voice climbed to its peak before fading into the final, haunting note, the sound reverberating through the room like a lingering echo.

The silence that followed was electric, the room still caught in the grip of her performance. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, the audience erupted into cheers and applause, their enthusiasm ringing out loud and clear.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed faintly as she handed the microphone back to Somi, her earlier confidence melting into a shy smile as she stepped off the stage. Her friends were already cheering loudly, their pride evident in their beaming faces.

Somi grabbed her by the arm, her grin wide. “What did I tell you? You killed it!”

“I think you just wanted to embarrass me,” Y/N teased, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her again.

“Embarrass you? Please,” Somi shot back. “I just gave the people what they wanted—your superstar moment.”

As Y/N made her way back to her friends, she couldn’t help but notice someone’s gaze lingering on her from across the room, the faintest hint of a smile playing on the idol’s lips.

Y/N barely had time to sink into the plush sofa before she felt a light tap on her shoulder. Turning around, she found herself face-to-face with Seulgi, Wendy, and Irene. Their presence was striking—not just because of their fame, but because they carried themselves with a natural, understated confidence that filled the space around them.

Seulgi stood at the forefront, her bright smile a perfect match to her friendly demeanor. Her shoulder-length, wavy black hair framed her face effortlessly, and her casual yet chic outfit—a tailored blazer paired with relaxed trousers and bold sneakers—made her look approachable yet undeniably stylish. She exuded an easy warmth, like someone who could make anyone feel at home.

Wendy, standing slightly to the side, had a spark of energy about her that seemed to draw people in. Her short, sleek hair fell just below her chin, accentuating her radiant smile and sharp, sparkling eyes. She wore a soft lavender blouse tucked into high-waisted pants, a look that balanced playfulness with sophistication. There was an air of grounded humor to her, as though she could lighten any moment with a single witty comment.

And then there was Irene.

She stood just behind the others, slightly to the left, her posture poised yet effortlessly relaxed. The soft lighting of the room seemed to gravitate toward her, catching the sleek fall of her dark hair, which was parted perfectly and cascaded over one shoulder in polished waves. She wore a black, fitted midi-dress that emphasized her slender figure with understated elegance. The minimalist design of the dress—no embellishments, no distractions—only served to highlight her natural beauty.

But it wasn’t just her appearance that drew Y/N’s attention—it was the quiet command she exuded, the way her presence seemed to fill the space without effort or pretense. There was a subtle magnetism in the way she carried herself, as though every movement was deliberate, every glance imbued with a thoughtfulness that set her apart.

Her eyes, deep and expressive, lingered on Y/N for a fraction longer than seemed necessary, as if she were assessing something beyond the surface. They held a quiet intensity, a softness that seemed to say she saw more than what was immediately apparent. When their gazes met, Y/N felt the air between them shift—subtle, almost imperceptible, but undeniably there.

Irene’s lips curved into the faintest smile, a gesture so subtle it could have been missed if Y/N hadn’t been paying attention. But she was. There was something about the quiet grace in that moment, the way Irene stood as though the chaos of the party existed around her but not with her, that left Y/N slightly breathless.

“Hi,” Seulgi said warmly, her signature bright smile instantly putting Y/N at ease. “I just wanted to thank you for singing my song. Most people go for the more mainstream ones, but it means a lot that you picked ‘28 Reasons.’”

Y/N blinked in surprise, her smile widening. “It’s a great song,” she replied, her voice steady despite the sudden attention. “It’s so layered and expressive—it really speaks to you. Thank you for writing it.”

Seulgi’s eyes lit up at the compliment. “I’m glad it came through that way. You really nailed the feeling behind it.”

Wendy, standing slightly to the side, leaned forward with a grin. “You’ve got some serious talent,” she said, her tone genuinely impressed. “Are you a singer?”

Y/N laughed softly, brushing off the praise with a wave of her hand. “Not at all. Just a regular person with a karaoke habit.”

Irene, who had been quietly observing the interaction, tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as if studying Y/N. When she finally spoke, her tone was soft but pointed. “You didn’t seem like a regular person up there.”

The words lingered, carrying more weight than Y/N expected. For a moment, she was caught off guard, meeting Irene’s steady gaze. The intensity in Irene’s voice didn’t feel like flattery—it felt like an observation, almost like a challenge. Y/N wasn’t sure how to respond, but before she could speak, Wendy’s laugh broke the silence.

“Well, whatever you are,” Wendy said, her voice light but filled with sincerity, “you’ve got some star power.”

Seulgi nodded enthusiastically, her grin widening. “Seriously. If you ever decide to give this a shot professionally, let us know. You’d be a natural.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush, a mix of pride and disbelief washing over her. “Thank you,” she said earnestly. “That means more than you know, coming from you.”

Her friends, sitting a little further back, were visibly beaming, Minji even giving Y/N a small thumbs-up as if to say, I told you so.

The interaction could have ended there, but Irene’s gaze lingered on Y/N for just a beat longer. There was something unreadable in her expression—curiosity, perhaps, or something deeper. Finally, she glanced away and turned to follow Seulgi and Wendy as they excused themselves.

Just before she disappeared back into the crowd, Irene glanced over her shoulder one last time, her dark eyes meeting Y/N’s. There was no smile, no nod, just a fleeting look that carried a quiet intensity. It was over in an instant, but it left Y/N wondering what, exactly, Irene had seen in her up on that stage.

As the Red Velvet members disappeared into the sea of partygoers, Y/N turned back to her friends, who were already bursting with excitement.

“Did that just happen?” Minji whispered, leaning forward. “Like, the real Seulgi, Wendy, and Irene just came to talk to you?”

“And complimented you,” Soojin added, her tone practically giddy. “Don’t forget that part.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing softly as she reached for her drink. “Let’s not make a big deal out of it.”

Minji smirked. “Oh, no. This is a big deal.”

The noise and energy of the karaoke room still buzzed in Y/N’s ears as she slipped into the main part of the villa. The distant hum of music and laughter filled the open space, but it was quieter here—a welcome reprieve from the vibrant chaos of the party. Her friends were still soaking up the atmosphere, mingling with idols, and basking in the glow of the night. Y/N, however, needed a moment to herself.

She wandered toward the bar, the open kitchen bathed in soft, ambient lighting that gave the space a cozy warmth despite its sleek, modern design. The marble countertops gleamed under the low lights, and the faint scent of citrus and mint lingered in the air from freshly made cocktails. Sliding onto a stool, Y/N signaled to the bartender for a glass of water.

The cool glass was a relief in her hands, grounding her as her mind swirled with the night’s events. The karaoke performances, the compliments from Red Velvet, the sheer absurdity of being at a party surrounded by some of the biggest names in the industry—it was exhilarating and surreal, but also overwhelming. She stared into the clear water, her reflection faint and distorted on its surface.

“Taking a break?”

The voice was soft, almost hesitant, but unmistakable. Y/N turned, her breath catching slightly as she found herself face-to-face with Irene. Up close, away from the noise and the crowd, Irene seemed almost ethereal. The dim lighting softened her features, and the slight curiosity in her calm expression made her feel approachable, even as her presence carried an air of quiet authority.

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, letting out a small laugh to mask her surprise. “Needed to catch my breath. This is… a lot.”

Irene nodded, her lips curving into a faint, understanding smile. “It can be. Especially if you’re not used to it.” She gestured toward the bartender. “A glass of water, please.”

Y/N chuckled, leaning lightly against the counter. “Not a fan of cocktails?”

Irene shook her head, the corners of her mouth lifting in a faintly amused expression. “Not really. I prefer tea, but that’s hard to come by at parties like this.”

“Tea?” Y/N asked, tilting her head. “That’s… surprisingly low-key.”

Irene raised an eyebrow, a glint of humor flashing in her eyes. “Should I have said champagne? Would that fit the image better?”

Y/N laughed, the tension easing from her shoulders. “No, tea’s perfect. You don’t strike me as someone who does anything just to fit an image.”

Irene’s smile softened, her gaze flickering downward briefly before returning to Y/N. “You’d be surprised how often people try to tell me otherwise.”

For a moment, a comfortable silence settled between them, the quiet clink of glasses and the murmur of distant conversation filling the space. Y/N found herself studying Irene—the way her posture was effortlessly elegant, the way her presence seemed to fill the room without demanding attention. Yet, there was a softness to her up close, a vulnerability that the cameras never seemed to capture.

“Do you ever get used to it?” Y/N asked after a moment. “The attention? The noise?”

Irene exhaled softly, her gaze shifting to the glass of water the bartender placed in front of her. “Not entirely,” she admitted, her tone thoughtful. “But you find ways to cope. You have to.”

Y/N nodded, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “Speaking of coping…”

Irene’s nose crinkled slightly, an expression of subtle distaste flickering across her face before she could mask it. Y/N froze, catching the reaction immediately.

“You don’t like smoking,” Y/N said, her tone more observational than accusatory.

Irene hesitated, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass. “I don’t hate it,” she said carefully, “but it’s not my favorite thing.”

Y/N considered this for a moment, glancing down at the pack in her hand. She hesitated, the weight of the decision lingering in the air between them. Then, with a decisive motion, she walked to the nearby trash bin and tossed the pack inside.

Irene’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, why did you do that?”

Y/N shrugged as she returned to her seat. “You said you didn’t like it. No point in making you uncomfortable.”

The honesty in her tone caught Irene off guard. For a moment, she simply stared at Y/N, a mixture of surprise and something deeper flickering in her eyes. “That was… unexpected.”

Y/N leaned her elbows on the counter, a small, teasing smile playing at her lips. “Good unexpected or bad?”

“Good,” Irene admitted, the faintest hint of pink coloring her cheeks as a smile tugged at her lips. Her gaze softened, and for the first time that night, her guarded demeanor seemed to melt just slightly.

“Well, I’m glad I can surprise you,” Y/N replied, her tone light but sincere.

As Irene took a sip of her water, Y/N couldn’t help but feel the shift in the air between them—a quiet understanding, a shared moment of something unspoken.

The faint hum of the party buzzed around them, but here at the bar, the atmosphere felt quieter, more personal. Y/N swirled the last bit of water in her glass, her gaze occasionally flickering toward Irene, who was sitting poised yet relaxed. Their conversation had started with casual pleasantries but had slowly shifted into something deeper, the kind of exchange that left Y/N wanting to know more.

Y/N glanced toward the large glass doors leading to the balcony. The soft glow of the city lights outside promised a peaceful escape from the bustling villa. She hesitated for a moment, debating whether to ask. There was something unspoken between them, a subtle connection that she couldn’t quite name. It was a gamble, but something about Irene’s quiet presence made her want to take the risk.

“Do you want to step outside?” Y/N asked, her tone casual yet inviting. She nodded toward the balcony. “It’s quieter out there. A little easier to breathe.”

Irene tilted her head, her brown eyes meeting Y/N’s with curiosity. “Are you trying to get me away from the party?” she asked lightly, her lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile.

“Maybe,” Y/N replied with a playful shrug. “Or maybe I just thought you could use a break too.”

For a moment, Irene studied her, as if weighing the offer. Then, without a word, she picked up her glass of water and stood, her movements graceful. “Alright,” she said softly. “Lead the way.”

Y/N smiled, gesturing toward the doors as she moved to open them.

As they stepped onto the balcony, the cold night air hit them like a gentle wave, crisp and sharp against their skin. Y/N barely flinched, used to chilly nights, but she noticed the way Irene folded her arms close to her body, her black midi-dress offering little warmth against the biting air. The faint glow from the city lights illuminated her features—the delicate curve of her profile, the faint blush on her cheeks from the cold, and the way her breath formed soft, fleeting clouds in the air. Irene’s hair, cascading over one shoulder, caught the light, creating a subtle shimmer that made her seem almost ethereal as she gazed out at the view. A slight shiver ran through her, though she made no move to complain or retreat indoors.

Y/N hesitated for only a moment before shrugging off her jacket. “Here,” she said softly, stepping closer. Without waiting for a reply, she draped the jacket over Irene’s shoulders, the motion smooth and casual but deliberate. “You’ll freeze otherwise.”

Irene blinked, surprised by the gesture. She glanced down at the jacket and then back at Y/N, her lips parting as if to protest. “You’ll be cold,” she said, her tone quiet but laced with concern.

“I’ll survive,” Y/N replied with a small grin. “You’re the star. You can’t get sick, or your fans would be mad.”

Irene’s cheeks tinged pink, though whether it was from the cold or the compliment, she couldn’t tell. She clutched the jacket around her shoulders, the fabric warm from Y/N’s body heat and carrying the faint scent of Y/N perfume. It was comforting in a way she hadn’t expected, grounding her amidst the unfamiliar intimacy of the moment.

“Thank you,” Irene said after a beat, her voice soft but sincere. She looked at Y/N, her gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

Y/N nodded, her grin widening slightly. “No problem. Can’t have you turning into an ice sculpture out here.”

Irene let out a small laugh, the sound quiet but genuine, and turned her attention back to the city lights below. The chill of the air seemed less noticeable now, the weight of the jacket and the presence of Y/N beside her somehow enough to keep it at bay.

Irene glanced at Y/N, who seemed lost in thought as she gazed at the cityscape. There was something about the woman’s presence—unassuming yet quietly magnetic—that made Irene feel unusually at ease.

“Irene… or Joohyun?” Y/N asked suddenly, her voice breaking the silence with a playful lilt.

Irene’s brow furrowed slightly, her curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?”

“Well, which name do you prefer when you’re not on stage?” Y/N turned her head, her green eyes meeting Irene’s warm brown ones with an open, curious expression.

“Joohyun,” Irene replied after a moment, her voice soft. “It feels more… me.”

Y/N smiled, the corners of her lips curling gently. “Joohyun it is, then.”

For a few beats, they stood in comfortable silence, the quiet between them filled only with the faint hum of traffic below and the occasional gust of wind. The moment felt suspended in time, the city sprawling before them as if they were the only two people in the world.

“Can we please start talking informally?” Irene’s voice was gentle but direct, her gaze steady as she looked at Y/N.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “Only if you’re comfortable with it. Since you’re the unnie,” she added with a teasing tone.

Irene blinked, momentarily startled. Then she let out a soft laugh, the sound like a quiet melody carried on the cold air. “Wait. ‘Unnie’? You’re younger than me?”

Y/N chuckled, her breath forming small clouds in the cold.

The surprise on Irene’s face was endearing, her eyebrows raising slightly as she tilted her head in curiosity. “How old are you?”

“That would be too easy,” Y/N teased, leaning casually against the railing. “Why don’t you guess?”

Irene crossed her arms under the jacket, pretending to consider it carefully as her lips quirked in amusement. “Hmmm… I’ll say… 30?”

Y/N burst into laughter, the sound echoing softly in the open air. “Not even close! Wow, I must look really mature to you.”

Irene furrowed her brows, equal parts amused and puzzled. “So, how old are you, then?”

“Well..” Y/N said, leaning in slightly with a playful grin, “I was born in 1999. Does the age gap bother you?”

Joohyun froze for a moment, the unexpected answer catching her off guard. The casual confidence in Y/N’s tone contrasted with the weight of the question. “Eight years…” Irene repeated softly, her voice trailing off as she processed the revelation.

Y/N studied her closely, noticing the flicker of uncertainty in Irene’s expression. “It’s okay if it’s weird,” Y/N said quickly, her voice gentle. “I get it if the age gap is a problem. I just—”

“No,” Irene cut her off, shaking her head slightly. “It’s not that. I just didn’t expect you to be so… young. You seem much older.”

“Older, huh?” Y/N teased, her grin widening. “Should I be flattered or worried?”

Irene smiled despite herself, her cheeks tinged with a faint pink. “Flattered, I think. You’re very mature.”

“Thanks,” Y/N replied, the warmth in her tone softening the moment. “But honestly, I think age is just a number. It’s how you connect with someone that matters, right?”

Irene hesitated, her gaze shifting back to the city lights below. “You’re right,” she said softly, her voice thoughtful. “It’s just… different for me. I’ve always been cautious about letting people in.”

“Well, I’m not here to complicate your life, Joohyun,” Y/N said sincerely. “I just… really enjoy talking to you.”

The simplicity of her words made Irene’s heart flutter, the sincerity behind them resonating more than she expected. The weight of the age difference, the boundaries Irene had carefully built around herself—it all seemed to fade in the quiet warmth of the moment. For the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to simply be.

Just as Irene opened her mouth to reply, the balcony doors swung open, the spell of the moment breaking as Joy’s cheerful voice filled the space.

“There you are, unnie! We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she said, her tone playful as her eyes darted between Irene and Y/N, her grin widening with mischief.

Irene straightened, her professional demeanor slipping back into place, though her hands clutched the jacket more tightly around her shoulders.

“I was just…” Irene began, but Joy’s teasing smirk interrupted her.

“Having a moment,” Joy finished with a dramatic tone, her eyes sparkling. “I see that.”

Y/N chuckled, stepping back from the railing with a shrug. “I should probably get back to my friends anyway. Thanks for the chat, Joohyun.”

Irene’s lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. She only nodded, her gaze lingering on Y/N.

As Y/N turned to leave, Irene called after her softly, “Thank you for the jacket. I’ll return it before the night’s over.”

“Keep it,” Y/N replied over her shoulder, a grin flashing in the dim light. “It suits you better.”

Irene stood there for a moment, clutching the jacket tightly as the scent of Y/N lingered around her. Joy tilted her head, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

“So…” Joy began, her tone light but loaded with curiosity. “Who was that?”

Irene didn’t reply immediately, her gaze still fixed on the now-closed door. “Someone different,” she said finally, her voice soft, almost wistful.

Joy smirked. “Different, huh?”

Irene glanced at her, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Let’s get back to the party.”

The next morning light filtered softly through Irene’s curtains, painting her room in hues of gold and cream. She sat at her vanity, absently running a brush through her dark hair, the rhythmic motion a habit more than necessity. Her gaze wandered to the Prada jacket draped over the chair beside her, its sleek fabric catching the light. A silent reminder of the night before.

Her hand stilled, the brush hovering mid-air as her thoughts inevitably returned to Y/N.

Joohyun had met countless people throughout her career—smiling faces at fan events, fellow celebrities at events, industry professionals at photoshoots. Most blurred together, their interactions fleeting and transactional. But Y/N wasn’t like the others. Her calm confidence, genuine warmth, and selflessness had lingered in Irene’s mind like the last notes of a favorite song.

She sighed, setting the brush down on the vanity with a soft clink. Picking up her phone, she stared at the screen for a long moment, her thumb hovering indecisively over the messaging app. Finally, she stood and left her room, seeking a second opinion.

“Seulgi?” Irene called out as she entered the living room. The younger member was sprawled across the couch, scrolling through her phone lazily, one leg draped over the armrest.

Seulgi looked up, her brows raised in mild curiosity. “What’s up, unnie?”

Irene hesitated, trying to keep her voice casual. “Do you have Giselle’s contact information?”

Seulgi sat up, her curiosity sharpening. “Why? Looking to hang out with the Aespa juniors now?”

Irene gave her a pointed look. “I need her help getting in touch with someone from last night.”

“Oh?” Seulgi’s lips curved into a teasing smirk as she sat cross-legged on the couch. “Who?”

Irene’s reply was quiet, almost reluctant. “Y/N.”

Seulgi’s smirk widened, her tone turning mischievous. “Y/N? The karaoke superstar?”

“Seulgi,” Irene warned, her tone light but edged with impatience.

“Alright, alright,” Seulgi relented with a laugh, reaching for her phone. She tapped the screen a few times before raising it to her ear. “I’ll call Giselle for you.”

Irene crossed her arms, leaning lightly against the back of the couch as she waited. Her mind drived back to the jacket in her room. The faint scent of Y/N perfume still clung to it, and despite herself, she found the smell comforting.

After a brief exchange, Seulgi ended the call and grinned. “Good news, unnie. Giselle can get Y/N’s number from one of her friends. She’ll send it to me asap.”

Irene’s pulse quickened, a quiet flutter of anticipation rising in her chest. She took the phone from Seulgi as the message came through, the string of digits appearing on the screen like a secret invitation.

Seulgi watched her with a curious tilt of her head. “You seem pretty interested in Y/N.”

“She left her jacket, it's a pretty expensive one.” Irene replied quickly, her tone carefully even as she gestured toward the item in question.

“Uh-huh,” Seulgi replied, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to press further.

Back in her room, Irene sat on the edge of her bed, holding her phone in her hands. The contact information stared back at her, deceptively simple, yet it felt impossibly daunting. The idea of texting Y/N—of deliberately reaching out—was both exciting and terrifying.

Her mind drifted back to their moment on the balcony. The way Y/N had laughed so easily at her miscalculated age guess lingered in Irene’s mind. That laugh—bright, genuine, and free of judgment—had slipped past her usual defenses with an ease that was both unsettling and comforting. Y/N’s bold, self-assured admission of their eight-year gap had carried no hesitation, as though it was a simple fact rather than an obstacle. And then there were her words, delivered with such sincerity: Age is just a number. It’s how you connect with someone that matters, right?

The sincerity in Y/N’s voice had struck a chord in Irene, brushing aside her carefully constructed doubts in the moment. But now, alone in the quiet of her room, those doubts crept back in, louder and more insistent.

They mattered.

“She’s so young,” Irene’s inner voice whispered, sharp and critical, curling like smoke at the edges of her thoughts. “What will people think? What if she doesn’t understand how complicated this is? What if it’s just some fleeting infatuation for her? Something she’ll laugh about one day as a passing phase?”

Her thumb hovered over the text field on her phone as she chewed her lip. Her free hand tightened into a fist on her lap.

It wasn’t just the age gap, though it loomed large in her mind. Y/N was everything Irene was usually cautious about: spontaneous, disarmingly open, and seemingly unbothered by the walls Irene had spent years building around herself. The younger woman didn’t seem to care about appearances or expectations, brushing off Irene’s hesitations as though they were irrelevant.

And yet, those hesitations were relevant. Irene had spent most of her adult life guarding her personal world with almost military precision. It wasn’t just the media or her career—it was the deep fear of letting someone in, of giving someone the power to disrupt the delicate balance she maintained.

Her stomach twisted with doubt. What if I misread her? What if I let my guard down, only to regret it?

The jacket hanging on the chair caught her eye again, its presence both comforting and taunting. Y/N had handed it over without a second thought, brushing aside Irene’s concern about her getting cold with a playful comment: You’re the star. You can’t get sick, or your fans would be mad.

That memory softened the tightness in her chest.

Y/N’s easy laughter, her straightforwardness, and the way she had tossed away her cigarette pack without a moment’s hesitation—it all played in Irene’s mind like a highlight reel. Y/N had done it for her. Not for appearances, not for some ulterior motive, but because she wanted to.

The thought disarmed Irene again, just as it had on the balcony. Y/N’s actions weren’t about impressing anyone—they were about sincerity. And sincerity was something Irene rarely encountered in her world of carefully managed interactions and calculated relationships.

Her doubts pushed back, louder this time. “But what if she’s too young to understand what she’s asking for? What if I’m too set in my ways to even try?”

She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and pressing the phone against her chest.

Stop.

The word echoed firmly in her mind, her own voice this time, clearer and steadier. “This isn’t about other people, and it’s not about the age gap. It’s about her.”

Y/N’s words from the balcony returned, calm and earnest: I’m not here to complicate your life, Joohyun. I just… really enjoy talking to you.

Those words hadn’t been a promise or a demand. They were an offering—a simple, genuine connection. Irene realized that the only thing standing in the way of accepting it was her own fear.

She took another deep breath, her fingers trembling slightly as she began typing. The words came slowly at first, her mind second-guessing every letter.

Hi, this is Joohyun. I hope you don’t mind me contacting you. I’d like to return your jacket and maybe talk for a bit, if that’s alright. Let me know when you’re free.

She stared at the message for a long moment, her thumb hovering over the send button. The doubts whispered again, quieter now but still present: “What if this changes everything?”

But then she thought of Y/N’s laugh, the way it had made her feel lighter for the first time in weeks.

With a decisive exhale, Irene hit send.

The message hung in the air, the seconds ticking by feeling impossibly long.

When Y/N’s reply came through quicker than expected, Irene’s chest tightened.

Hi, Joohyun! Of course, I don’t mind. I’m free most evenings after work. Just let me know what works best for you.

Irene exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. A small smile tugged at her lips as she quickly typed a reply, suggesting they meet at Y/N’s apartment to avoid any unwanted attention.

With the plan set, Irene placed her phone down and leaned back against her headboard, staring up at the ceiling. The uncertainty still lingered, but now it was outweighed by something else entirely—a quiet anticipation, tinged with the faintest spark of hope.

For the first time in a long while, Joohyun allowed herself to wonder what might come next.

The faint sound of soft jazz played in the background as Y/N set down two steaming mugs of tea on her small but neatly arranged coffee table. She glanced around her apartment, ensuring everything was in order. It wasn’t fancy, but it was cozy and reflected her personality: bookshelves lined with novels and travel guides, framed photos of her family and friends, and a faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air.

Her heart skipped a beat when the intercom buzzed. “It’s Joohyun,” came the familiar, soft voice.

Y/N pressed the button to unlock the door and stepped back, taking a calming breath. Moments later, there was a knock, and when she opened the door, Irene stood there, jacket in hand.

“Hi,” Irene said, a small, polite smile on her lips.

“Hi,” Y/N replied, stepping aside to let her in. “Come on in. It’s freezing out there.”

Irene slipped off her coat, revealing a simple but elegant turtleneck and tailored pants. She handed Y/N the jacket. “Thanks for lending this to me. I wasn’t sure how to return it without it being… awkward.”

Y/N chuckled, setting the jacket on a nearby chair. “It’s just a jacket. You didn’t have to go through all the trouble of texting and coming over.”

“I wanted to,” Irene admitted, her voice soft.

They settled onto the couch, the soft cushions sinking under their weight as the aroma of freshly brewed tea filled the room. Irene cradled her mug, letting the warmth seep into her palms as she looked around, her gaze landing on a small stack of books neatly arranged on the coffee table.

“You read a lot,” she noted, the observation tinged with curiosity.

“It’s my escape,” Y/N said, her smile soft but genuine. “And my excuse to stay in when my friends are being too wild.”

Irene chuckled, the sound low and melodic as she took a sip of her tea. “Your friends are… energetic.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Y/N replied with a laugh, her green eyes twinkling. “But they mean well. Honestly, they’re the reason I even ended up at that party.”

Irene tilted her head slightly, her gaze sharpening with interest. “Kibum mentioned how you helped him,” she said, her tone shifting to something more serious. “That was brave of you.”

Y/N shrugged, the motion casual but unassuming. “I didn’t really think about it. It just felt like the right thing to do.”

Irene studied her for a moment, the admiration clear in her gaze. The simplicity in Y/N’s words—no need for embellishment or grandeur—made them feel all the more sincere. “You don’t act like someone your age,” Irene said finally, the words slipping out before she could think better of it.

Y/N smirked, leaning slightly forward. “Here we go again with the age thing.”

Irene’s cheeks tinged pink as she looked down at her mug, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” Y/N said softly, setting her own mug on the table. The playful teasing in her tone gave way to something gentler. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s a big deal. The age difference, I mean.”

Irene hesitated, her fingers tightening around her mug as her thoughts wrestled for clarity. “It’s not that I think it’s a problem. It’s just…” She trailed off, her gaze drifting briefly to the tea in her hands before lifting back to Y/N. “I’ve never met someone quite like you.”

Intrigued, Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Irene seemed to consider her words carefully, her expression briefly vulnerable. “Most people, when they realize who I am… there’s a shift. It’s subtle, but it’s always there. They start treating me like an idol instead of just a person. But with you…” She met Y/N’s gaze, her brown eyes steady and open. “You don’t do that. You treat me like… Joohyun.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a small, almost shy smile. “Because that’s who you are, isn’t it? Joohyun first, Irene second.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Irene’s face, followed by a warmth that softened her features in a way that caught Y/N off guard. “Not everyone sees it that way,” Irene admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Well, I’m not everyone,” Y/N replied, her tone light but tinged with sincerity.

“That’s clear,” Irene murmured, almost to herself, her lips curving into a faint smile. She shifted slightly on the couch, letting herself relax further as the tension in her shoulders eased. “You have this way of making people feel at ease. It’s… different.”

Y/N tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes. “Different good or different bad?”

Irene chuckled softly, shaking her head as she brought her mug to her lips. “Definitely good.”

Y/N leaned back against the couch, one arm draped casually along the backrest as her expression turned teasing. “Good to know I’ve passed the Joohyun compatibility test.”

Irene laughed, the sound bright and unguarded, and shook her head again. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” Y/N replied with a grin, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. “But you’re still here, so I must be doing something right.”

Irene smirked, the playful banter putting her at ease. “Or maybe I’m just too polite to leave.”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Y/N shot back, her tone full of mock agreement.

The warmth of the moment wrapped around them like the steam curling from their mugs. For Irene, it was strange and yet refreshing—how natural it felt to sit here, trading words with Y/N as though they’d known each other far longer than just a few days. She wasn’t sure what it was about Y/N—the straightforwardness, the calm confidence, the refusal to tiptoe around her like most people did—but it felt disarmingly easy.

For Y/N, the moment felt almost surreal. She could see the layers of Joohyun—the idol, the perfectionist, the guarded woman—and yet, here and now, she was seeing someone else. Someone softer, someone real.

“I don’t think I’ve laughed this much in a while,” Irene admitted quietly, almost as if to herself.

“Well,” Y/N said, her voice light but tinged with warmth, “I’m glad I could help with that.”

And for a brief moment, as their gazes held, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

They talked for a while longer, their conversation drifting to lighter topics: favorite movies, dream destinations, and the quirks of their respective friends.

“You’re really close to your group, aren’t you?” Y/N asked, leaning forward slightly as she rested her chin on her hand.

“They’re like family,” Irene replied, her voice carrying a quiet fondness. “We’ve been through so much together. I don’t know where I’d be without them.” Her lips curved into a small smile, but there was a weight in her words that hinted at the challenges behind the bond.

“I get that,” Y/N said after a thoughtful pause. “I moved here alone, so my friends kind of became my family. They’ve been amazing, but… it’s not the same as having people who’ve been through it all with you. People who just get it.”

For a moment, Irene’s expression softened, her brown eyes reflecting an unspoken understanding. “It’s hard,” she murmured, her gaze dropping briefly to the mug in her hands. “Letting people in, even when they mean well.”

Y/N nodded, the quiet bond between them deepening. The world outside her apartment—Seoul’s noise, its bright lights, its expectations—felt far away, like a distant memory they didn’t need to revisit just yet.

Eventually, the conversation shifted to the stack of DVDs on Y/N’s shelf, the gleaming plastic cases catching Irene’s attention.

“You still have DVDs?” Irene asked, a rare playful glint sparking in her eyes.

“They’re classics,” Y/N defended with a mock-offended look, her grin betraying her amusement. “Besides, they work when the internet goes out. You can’t put a price on reliable entertainment.”

Irene chuckled, shaking her head. “You sound like an infomercial.”

“Hey, don’t knock it,” Y/N shot back, getting up to rummage through the stack. “You’ll appreciate it when the apocalypse hits, and I’m the only one with a working movie library.”

“Sure,” Irene replied dryly, but the amusement in her voice was unmistakable.

After some back-and-forth, they finally settled on a romantic comedy. Irene seemed more relaxed now, her usual polished demeanor replaced with an easy warmth. She tucked her legs beneath her on the couch, the mug of tea still cradled in her hands, and let out a quiet sigh of contentment.

As the movie began, their laughter blended with the antics on screen, filling the apartment with a lightness neither of them realized they’d needed.

Credits started rolling, the final strains of the movie’s theme fading into the quiet hum of the apartment, Y/N turned to Irene. Her heart pounded slightly, her confidence wavering for the first time all night. The words she wanted to say seemed caught in her throat, the weight of the moment pressing down on her.

“Joohyun… can I ask you something?” Y/N finally said, her voice softer than usual.

Irene turned to her, tilting her head slightly, her gaze warm and attentive. “Of course,” she replied, her tone calm, though curiosity flickered in her gaze.

Y/N hesitated, her fingers fidgeting slightly with the edge of the couch cushion. The confidence she was usually known for felt just out of reach, but she pushed through the nerves. “Would you… maybe want to go out with me sometime? Just the two of us. Somewhere quiet, away from all the chaos.”

Irene blinked, caught off guard by the suddenness of the question. The silence stretched just long enough for doubt to creep into Y/N’s chest. She wondered if she had misread all the signals—the stolen glances, the lingering smiles, the way Irene’s presence had felt so natural beside her.

But then Irene’s expression softened, and a small, genuine smile spread across her lips. It reached her eyes, making them sparkle in the dim light.

“I’d like that,” Irene said softly, her voice carrying a sincerity that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat.

Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her shoulders relaxing as a grin broke across her face. “Really?”

“Really,” Irene affirmed, setting her now-empty mug down on the coffee table. “I wasn’t expecting you to ask, but I’m glad you did.”

Y/N’s grin widened, her earlier nerves melting away into quiet excitement. “I’ll text you the details soon,” she said, her voice gaining its usual steady confidence.

“Looking forward to it,” Irene replied, her tone light but genuine.

The moment hung between them, warm and full of possibility, until Irene’s phone buzzed, breaking the spell. She glanced at the screen, her brow furrowing slightly. “That’s my manager,” she said, standing and gathering her things. “He’s here to pick me up.”

Y/N rose to her feet, following her to the door. The apartment felt quieter now, the air charged with the weight of everything unsaid. Irene slipped on her coat, her movements graceful but unhurried.

Just as Irene reached for the door handle, she paused and turned back. Her movements were deliberate, but her expression carried a hint of shyness that made Y/N’s heart skip. Leaning in, Irene pressed a soft kiss to Y/N’s cheek, the touch warm and fleeting but full of quiet meaning.

“Thank you for tonight,” Irene repeated, her voice barely above a whisper, her breath brushing against Y/N’s skin.

Before Y/N could respond, Irene stepped out into the hallway, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air. The sound of her heels echoed softly against the floor, fading as she disappeared down the corridor.

Y/N stood frozen for a moment, her hand instinctively brushing the spot where Irene’s lips had touched her cheek. A slow, almost disbelieving smile spread across her face as the warmth of the moment settled into her chest.

The door clicked shut, leaving the apartment in silence, but the energy Irene left behind still lingered—an unspoken promise of something more.

Y/N leaned back against the door, staring at the spot where Irene had been moments ago. “Well,” she murmured to herself, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “That went better than expected.”

Her thoughts quickly shifted to what came next. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she opened their text thread, her fingers hovering over the screen as she considered her options. After a few moments of deliberation, she typed out a message:

How does Friday evening sound? There’s this little café I think you’ll love—quiet, cozy, and very private. I’ll text you the address.

Irene’s reply came quickly, the soft chime breaking the stillness of the apartment.

Friday works. Looking forward to it.

Y/N grinned, her excitement bubbling over as she began planning. She called ahead to the café, confirming a secluded table by the window with the best view of the fairy-lit trees outside. She wanted everything to be perfect—relaxed, intimate, and free from the chaos Irene was so used to.

When Friday arrived, Y/N adjusted her collar nervously as she waited in front of the small café tucked into a quiet corner of Seoul. The warm, golden glow of the lights spilling onto the cobblestone street reflected the cozy atmosphere she had been aiming for—a space that was private yet inviting.

The cool night air carried a faint hint of roasting coffee and pine, mingling with the sound of distant chatter from passersby. Y/N glanced at her watch, her fingers fidgeting slightly before she tucked them into her jacket pockets.

Then she saw her.

Irene approached, wrapped in a sleek black coat with a scarf draped elegantly around her neck. The soft light of the café caught the subtle shine of her hair, and her delicate features seemed even more radiant in the glow of the surrounding fairy lights.

Y/N’s breath caught as Irene gave a small, almost shy smile. She quickly stepped forward, holding the door open for her.

“Hi,” Irene said, her voice warm but quiet, as if the moment were something fragile.

“Hi,” Y/N replied, her grin widening as she gestured for Irene to step inside.

They were greeted by the rich, comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with faint hints of vanilla and cinnamon. The soft strumming of an acoustic guitar played in the background, the music low and soothing, blending perfectly with the quiet chatter of other patrons. A warm glow from the pendant lights above bathed the space in a golden hue, creating an intimate atmosphere that felt removed from the busy world outside.

The café staff greeted them with a discreet nod and led them to their reserved table, a cozy nook near the window. Strings of fairy lights framed the glass, and outside, the trees sparkled faintly under their glow. Irene followed closely behind Y/N, her scarf still loosely draped around her neck, her gaze sweeping the room with a mix of curiosity and appreciation.

“This is… perfect,” Irene said softly as she slipped off her scarf and set it on the chair beside her. Her brown eyes flicked to Y/N, warmth evident in her expression. “Thank you for finding a place like this.”

“I wanted you to feel comfortable,” Y/N replied, her voice steady despite the faint pounding of her heart. “Somewhere away from prying eyes, where you could just… be.”

A small, genuine smile tugged at Irene’s lips, and for a moment, she said nothing, just meeting Y/N’s gaze with quiet gratitude.

They sat across from each other, the table small enough that the tips of their fingers occasionally brushed as they reached for their cups. Irene stirred her tea with slow, deliberate motions, the clinking of the spoon against porcelain filling the brief silences, while Y/N wrapped her hands around her mug of hot chocolate, savoring the warmth that seeped into her palms.

The initial moments were tentative, their conversation weaving through small, safe topics—the crisp winter weather, favorite dishes, and the café’s charming décor. They exchanged polite laughs and observations, but the air between them felt heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Then, Y/N decided to take a leap.

“Can I ask you something, Joohyun?” she said, her voice soft but purposeful.

Irene’s fingers paused mid-stir, her eyes lifting to meet Y/N’s. There was curiosity in her gaze, mixed with a flicker of vulnerability. “Of course.”

Y/N hesitated for a brief moment, then asked, “What’s the one thing you’d do if you could have a day completely free from all expectations—no schedules, no cameras, no people recognizing you?”

Irene blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. Her lips parted slightly as she processed it, and then, after a moment, a wistful smile appeared. “I’d spend the entire day in bed,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, as though she were confessing a secret. “Reading books, watching old movies, staying in pajamas. No makeup, no pressure. Just… peace.”

Y/N chuckled, her grin widening. “That does sound perfect. I think I’d join you.”

Irene’s smile deepened, and a soft laugh escaped her. “And you?�� she asked, her tone shifting to one of genuine interest. “What would you do?”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, thinking for a moment. “I think I’d get in my car and just drive,” she said finally. “No destination in mind, just the open road. Maybe stop at random little places along the way—cafés like this, antique shops, small towns with hidden gems.”

Irene nodded thoughtfully, her expression serene. “That sounds freeing,” she said softly, her gaze distant as if imagining the scenario for herself.

Their conversation flowed more easily after that, moving from wistful dreams to stories of their lives. Y/N spoke of her decision to move to Seoul—the uncertainty, the thrill, and the comfort she eventually found in her close-knit group of friends. Irene, in turn, shared snippets of her childhood in Daegu, painting a picture of simpler days filled with family traditions and quiet moments that felt a lifetime away now.

As the evening progressed, their laughter became more frequent, their smiles more natural. They leaned closer without realizing it, their words spilling out in easy rhythm, their connection deepening with every passing moment.

When they finally stepped out of the café, the cold night air greeted them, crisp and bracing. Irene adjusted her scarf, wrapping it more tightly around her neck, but a sudden gust of wind made her shiver slightly despite the effort.

Noticing this, Y/N reached into her bag, rummaging for a moment before pulling out a soft, knitted beanie.

“Here,” Y/N said, holding it out with a grin. “You look like you could use this.”

Irene blinked, surprise flashing in her eyes. “You carry a spare beanie with you?”

“Not exactly,” Y/N admitted, chuckling. “It’s mine, but I’m not letting you freeze.”

For a moment, Irene hesitated, her gaze flicking between Y/N’s face and the beanie in her outstretched hand. Then, with a small smile, she took it, carefully pulling it over her head. The fit was a little loose, the fabric dipping just slightly over her ears, and the sight made Y/N grin even wider.

“What?” Irene asked, her cheeks flushed—not entirely from the cold.

“Nothing,” Y/N said, her grin softening. “It suits you.”

Irene rolled her eyes, but the fondness in her smile was unmistakable. She tugged the beanie snugly over her ears, her voice light. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” Y/N replied with a playful shrug, “but I’m warm, and now you are too.”

As they walked down the quiet, cobblestone street, their laughter mingled with the faint sound of the café door closing behind them. The lights from the trees above cast soft patterns on the pavement, and the crisp air felt less biting, wrapped as they were in the shared warmth of a night neither would soon forget.

When they parted ways at the end of the street, Irene offered a soft smile that lingered in Y/N’s mind long after she’d disappeared into the waiting car. The faint scent of Irene’s perfume and the warmth of her laughter stayed with Y/N, wrapping around her like a comforting echo.

The next day, Y/N hesitated before typing her first text. She didn’t want to seem overeager, but the thought of letting too much time pass felt unbearable.

Hi, Joohyun. I hope you’re having a good day. Let me know if you’re free this week—You still owe me another warm drink for stealing my beanie.

The response came faster than Y/N expected, her phone lighting up with Irene’s message.

I think I’ve already paid you back with good company. But I’d love to meet again.

Y/N grinned, her chest warming as she typed her reply.

Good company is a rare find these days. I think we’re both lucky.

A moment later, Irene replied:

You give yourself too much credit.

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head as she typed back.

And you don’t give yourself enough. I’ll take that as a yes for another tea, though.

The playful exchange set the tone for the steady rhythm of their conversations, growing warmer and more natural with every message.

The banter flowed easily, their texts a back-and-forth rhythm that quickly became a regular part of their days. At first, Irene’s messages were careful and composed, always polite, but as the days turned into weeks, something shifted. Her responses grew warmer, tinged with playfulness and the occasional flirtation that caught Y/N off guard.

One evening, Y/N sent a picture of her hastily assembled dinner: slightly burnt toast next to scrambled eggs that looked more scrambled than eggs.

Chef of the year, don’t you think? she texted, adding a laughing emoji to soften the self-deprecating humor.

The reply came after a brief pause, Irene’s tone light but biting:

Do you usually subject your kitchen to such tragedies?

Y/N laughed, shaking her head as she quickly typed her response.

Only when I’m hungry. Care to save me with your culinary expertise?

Her grin widened as she hit send, but when the next message took longer to arrive, Y/N wondered briefly if she’d overstepped. The silence stretched for a few minutes, her nerves creeping in. Then her phone buzzed again, and Irene’s reply made her laugh aloud.

Only if you promise to leave the cooking to me next time.

Deal, Y/N shot back. But that means you’ll have to let me take you out again.

Irene’s response came quickly this time, and Y/N could almost picture the faint curve of her smile as she read:

That’s the idea.

Their conversations became a steady rhythm, filling the spaces between their busy lives. Despite her normally reserved nature, Irene found herself reaching for her phone more often, eager to hear from Y/N. Late-night texts turned into moments of shared vulnerability, while daytime banter revealed Irene’s unexpected playful streak.

One afternoon, Y/N sent a picture of her desk, papers strewn everywhere, and a nearly empty coffee mug perched precariously on the edge.

This is my current “escape.” Beautiful, isn’t it?

Irene’s reply came quickly, her tone as sharp as ever:

Beautiful might not be the word I’d use. Chaotic, maybe.

Y/N grinned, typing back with mock offense:

You wound me, Joohyun. Truly.

Just being honest, Irene replied. Then, after a beat, she added: But for what it’s worth, you work hard, and it shows.

The compliment made Y/N pause, warmth spreading through her chest. She reread Irene’s words a few times before replying:

Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.

In return, Irene occasionally shared glimpses of her own life. One afternoon, she sent a picture of a steaming cup of tea resting on a windowsill, the cityscape visible in the distance, painted gold by the late afternoon sun.

My little escape between schedules, she wrote.

Y/N stared at the serene image for a moment before replying:

Peaceful and elegant. Very you.

Irene’s reply came almost immediately, teasing but not unkind:

Are you saying I’m predictable?

Not at all, Y/N replied. Just that you have good taste.

The ease of their conversations deepened in the quiet hours, when the weight of their respective worlds felt lighter in the presence of the other.

One night, as the city outside Y/N’s window grew quiet, she sent a message:

How do you handle it? The pressure, the expectations?

This time, Irene’s response didn’t come right away. Y/N could imagine her deliberating, carefully choosing her words. When the reply finally arrived, it was more honest than she had anticipated:

Some days, I don’t think I do. I just… keep going.

There was a pause before another message came through:

You seem like you’d understand that. You make it look effortless.

Y/N’s reply was immediate, her honesty mirroring Irene’s:

I don’t. Not always. But talking to you helps.

Amid the seriousness, humor often found its way into their exchanges. One afternoon, Y/N sent a post-gym selfie: her hair was a sweaty mess, her cheeks flushed red, and her expression one of mock exhaustion.

Glamorous, right? she captioned.

Irene’s reply came almost instantly, her wit on full display:

Definitely. Very idol-like. Should I be worried about competition?

Only if you think I can pull off sparkly outfits as well as you can, Y/N shot back, laughing as she typed.

Moments like these became their quiet escapes, a space where they could share laughter, confessions, and dreams without fear of judgment. Late one night, Irene sent a single message that lingered in Y/N’s mind long after their conversation ended:

I think you make me braver than I usually am.

Y/N stared at the words, rereading them several times before finally typing her reply:

And you make me better than I usually am.

For a while, neither of them said anything more. But as Y/N lay in bed, staring at her phone, she knew that their connection had grown into something neither of them had quite expected—but neither of them could deny.

One evening Y/N stared at her phone, rereading the half-typed message for the third time. She wasn’t usually one to hesitate, but something about Irene made her pause. After a moment, she sighed, deleted the draft, and hit the call button instead.

The phone rang twice before Irene’s soft voice answered, “Hello, Y/N.”

“Hey, Joohyun,” Y/N said, trying to sound casual while her heart thumped in her chest. “How’s your day going?”

“Busy,” Irene admitted with a chuckle. “But your call is a nice surprise.”

Y/N felt her confidence returning at Irene’s warm tone. “I was thinking… if you’re not too busy this weekend, would you like to go out with me again? Somewhere quiet, just the two of us?”

There was a pause, just long enough for Y/N to start second-guessing herself. But then Irene’s voice came through, soft but sure. “I’d like that. Do you have something in mind?”

Y/N exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I do. It’s a surprise, though. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“Then I’ll trust you,” Irene said, her smile evident in her voice.

The soft hues of twilight painted the horizon as Y/N finished setting up the picnic by the lake. She’d chosen a quiet park on the outskirts of the city, where the sound of rustling leaves and lapping water replaced the usual urban noise. A blanket was laid out with cushions for comfort, a small spread of food neatly arranged in wicker baskets, and warm, battery-powered candles flickered softly around the setup.

When Irene arrived, wearing a cream-colored coat and a delicate scarf, her eyes widened at the sight.

“You did all this?” Irene asked, her voice tinged with awe.

Y/N shrugged, though her cheeks flushed slightly. “I wanted it to feel special. I know how chaotic your life can get, and I thought… maybe we could both use a little peace.”

Irene’s lips curved into a soft smile. “You were right. This is perfect.”

They settled onto the blanket, and for a while, they ate and talked, their conversation punctuated by laughter. Y/N had packed sandwiches, fresh fruit, and even a small bottle of wine—though she brought sparkling water, knowing Irene didn’t drink much.

“I can’t believe you put all this together,” Irene said, taking a bite of a strawberry.

“Well, I can’t sing or dance like you,” Y/N teased, “but I’m pretty good at making picnics.”

Irene laughed, the sound light and melodic. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’m still thinking about your karaoke performance.”

“Oh no, you’re never letting me live that down, are you?” Y/N groaned, covering her face.

“Never,” Irene said with a playful smirk.

As the sun dipped lower, the conversation shifted to quieter topics. Irene talked about her favorite childhood memories, the joy of running through fields in Daegu without a care in the world. Y/N shared stories of road trips across Europe, painting a picture of freedom and adventure.

At one point, Irene leaned back on her hands, gazing at the lake as twilight deepened. “I don’t think I’ve ever been somewhere so quiet in the city. It’s… nice.”

Y/N nodded, her gaze fixed on Irene. “You deserve moments like this. A chance to just be Joohyun.”

Irene turned to her, her eyes warm. “And you make that feel possible. That’s rare.”

The words lingered between them, unspoken emotions carried in the stillness.

After a while, Y/N stood and extended a hand to Irene. “Come on.”

“What are we doing?” Irene asked, looking at her hand curiously.

“Trust me,” Y/N said with a grin.

Irene let herself be pulled up, and Y/N led her to the edge of the lake, where the water reflected the soft glow of the moonlight. Y/N took out her phone, scrolling to a playlist she’d prepared, and soft music filled the air.

“You made a playlist for this?” Irene asked, her tone incredulous but amused.

“Of course. What’s a picnic without music?” Y/N said, holding out her hand again. “Dance with me?”

Irene hesitated, glancing around. “Here? What if someone sees?”

“No one’s here,” Y/N reassured her. “And even if they were, we wouldn’t care. Just one dance.”

With a slight shake of her head and a soft smile, Irene stepped closer, letting Y/N take her hand. They swayed gently to the music, the world around them fading into the background.

“You’re terrible at this,” Irene teased as Y/N stepped on her foot.

“Hey, I said dance, not waltz,” Y/N shot back, laughing.

The laughter soon subsided, replaced by a comfortable silence as they continued to move together. When the song ended, Irene rested her head lightly on Y/N’s shoulder, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you for tonight. I don’t think I’ve ever had a date like this.”

Y/N smiled, her hand tightening slightly around Irene’s. “Then I’ll just have to make sure the next one is even better.”

As the evening wrapped up, they lingered for a few moments longer, reluctant to let the magic of the night end. Eventually, Y/N stood, offering Irene her hand once more. They gathered their things under the glow of the moonlight, their movements unhurried, savoring the last moments of their time together.

The quiet hum of the car engine filled the space as Y/N drove Joohyun home, the soft playlist she had chosen earlier still playing in the background. The conversation had grown quieter, not out of awkwardness but from the comfortable silence that had settled between them after the picnic.

As the car turned onto Joohyun’s street, she glanced at Y/N, her expression warm. “Thank you for tonight. It was… really special.”

Y/N smiled, briefly taking her eyes off the road to meet Joohyun’s gaze. “You don’t have to thank me. Spending time with you makes it special for me, too.”

Joohyun looked down, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“Only when I mean it,” Y/N replied softly.

When they reached Joohyun’s building, Y/N got out of the car, quickly moving to open the door for her. “I’ll walk you up,” Y/N offered, her voice casual but resolute.

Joohyun hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Alright.”

Inside, the building was quiet, the faint sound of the elevator humming as it carried them to her floor. They walked side by side down the hall, their footsteps muffled by the plush carpeting.

When they reached Joohyun’s door, she turned to face Y/N, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat. “You really didn’t have to come all this way.”

“I wanted to,” Y/N said simply, her hands resting at her sides.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them charged with unspoken words. Y/N’s gaze softened as she looked at Joohyun, noticing the way the dim hallway light caught the delicate curve of her face.

Joohyun broke the silence first, her voice quieter now. “You make things feel… easier. Even when I feel like they shouldn’t be.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a small smile. “That’s all I want—to make things a little easier for you.”

Joohyun’s eyes lingered on Y/N’s for a moment longer before she stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile forming. “How so?”

“Because you make me forget all the rules I usually set for myself,” Joohyun admitted, her gaze flickering down briefly before returning to Y/N’s.

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat as she stepped forward, closing the small distance between them. “Maybe breaking a few rules isn’t so bad.”

Joohyun’s lips parted, her breath hitching slightly, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she tilted her head just enough, her eyes searching Y/N’s for permission.

Taking the silent invitation, Y/N leaned in, her movements slow and deliberate. When their lips met, the kiss was soft and tentative, like the first note of a song waiting to be composed. Joohyun’s hand came up to rest lightly on Y/N’s arm, and Y/N’s heart raced at the gentle touch.

When they pulled apart, Joohyun’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. “I should probably go inside,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Y/N smiled, her voice low but steady. “Goodnight, Joohyun.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Joohyun replied, lingering for a moment before stepping through her door.

As the door clicked shut, Y/N stood there for a beat longer, her lips still tingling from the kiss. She turned and walked back down the hall, her heart lighter than it had been in years.

The memory of the night stayed with her, replaying in quiet moments when she least expected it—Joohyun’s smile, the way her hand fit perfectly in hers, the soft warmth of her voice. It made the time between their meetings feel both endless and worth the wait.

Now, standing in her small kitchen, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sense of disbelief at how effortlessly Joohyun had become a part of her life.

The faint aroma of garlic and spices filled Y/N’s small but cozy kitchen as Irene stood at the counter, meticulously chopping vegetables. Across from her, Y/N stirred a pot of pasta sauce, stealing glances at Irene every chance she got. The soft hum of music played in the background—a playlist of quiet, jazzy instrumentals Y/N had curated to set the mood.

The kitchen itself was modest but inviting, with clean countertops, a row of neatly arranged spices, and a small potted plant perched by the window. A set of mismatched mugs sat drying on a rack, hinting at the cups of tea they’d shared earlier.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Irene teased, not looking up from her chopping. “Is everything okay?”

“Just admiring your knife skills,” Y/N said with a grin. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got a future as a chef if this idol thing doesn’t work out.”

Irene rolled her eyes but smiled. “You flatter me too much.”

“Not possible,” Y/N replied warmly.

They worked seamlessly together, moving around the small kitchen with practiced ease. When Y/N accidentally spilled a bit of sauce on the counter, Irene smirked and handed her a towel, shaking her head in mock disapproval.

When dinner was ready, they carried the plates to the small dining table near the window, where a single candle flickered softly. Outside, the city lights glittered faintly against the evening sky, the view framed by sheer curtains.

“This might be the best meal I’ve had in a while,” Irene said after taking a bite.

“You’re just being nice,” Y/N said, though her cheeks turned pink.

“No, really,” Irene insisted. “Cooking with you makes it even better.”

After dinner, they moved to the couch, bowls of ice cream in hand, as the opening credits of a romantic comedy played on the TV. Y/N settled into the corner of the couch, and Irene curled up beside her, their shoulders brushing. The scent of vanilla lingered faintly in the air, mixing with the sweetness of their dessert.

As the movie unfolded, Y/N found herself paying less attention to the screen and more to Irene—the way she laughed at the cheesy jokes, the slight crinkle in her nose when a scene was overly dramatic, and the way her presence made the room feel warmer.

When the credits rolled, Y/N turned the TV off and set her empty bowl on the coffee table. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts as Irene remained curled beside her.

“Joohyun?” Y/N began, her voice softer than usual.

Irene tilted her head to look at her, a small smile on her lips. “Hmm?”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the couch cushion. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us. About how much I’ve enjoyed spending time with you these past two months.”

Irene straightened slightly, her expression growing curious but unreadable.

“You’re… incredible,” Y/N continued, her words earnest. “You’re kind, strong, funny in ways you don’t even realize, and just being around you makes my days better. I know we come from different worlds, and I know this might be complicated, but… I care about you. A lot.”

Y/N paused, her heart pounding. “I want to be more than just… someone you spend time with. I want to be someone you can count on, someone who makes you happy. I want us to be something real.”

As the warmth of the moment settled between them, Y/N’s heart raced, yet she found herself calmed by Irene’s steady presence. The silence wasn’t heavy or awkward—it was charged with the unspoken possibilities of what could come next.

Irene’s hand, still lightly holding Y/N’s, tightened slightly, grounding her thoughts. Her soft smile turned into something deeper, more sincere. “Y/N..” Irene began, her voice even softer than before, “you make me feel… free. Like I can be myself without the weight of everything else.”

Y/N’s lips quirked into a gentle smile. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to give you—a space to just be Joohyun, not Irene.”

Irene’s eyes glistened as she looked down for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “You have this way of making me forget the things that usually scare me—how complicated everything can be.”

Y/N’s voice softened, her tone sincere. “That’s not a bad thing, is it? Forgetting, even for a little while?”

Irene met her gaze again, her lips curving into a faint smile. “No. It’s not bad at all. It’s just… different. But good different.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, her own smile widening. “I can work with ‘good different.’”

They both laughed softly, the tension giving way to a mutual understanding. Irene’s gaze drifted to their hands, now entwined. “I never thought I’d meet someone like you. Someone who sees me for me and doesn’t flinch at the messy parts.”

Y/N’s voice turned resolute. “That’s because every part of you, Joohyun, is worth seeing. The messy parts, the strong parts, the quiet parts—they all make you who you are. And I want to be there for all of it.”

Moved, Irene leaned forward, resting her forehead gently against Y/N’s. Their breaths mingled in the intimate closeness. “You already are,” she murmured.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as her eyes searched Irene’s, finding a quiet vulnerability that mirrored her own. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air charged with a palpable tension. Y/N raised her hand slowly, her fingers brushing against Irene’s cheek, tentative yet full of intent.

Irene’s eyes fluttered closed, and the smallest of smiles tugged at her lips as she tilted her head just slightly—a silent invitation. Y/N leaned in, their faces so close she could feel the warmth of Irene’s breath.

When their lips met, it was soft and unhurried, a delicate exploration that spoke more than words ever could. Irene’s hand came up to rest lightly on Y/N’s arm, her touch anchoring the moment in quiet certainty. The kiss deepened slightly, tender and warm, leaving them both breathless yet content.

When they pulled apart, their foreheads touched once more, a shared smile passing between them like a quiet promise.

The weight of Irene’s words settled warmly in Y/N’s chest, and she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. Tentatively, she raised her free hand, brushing a strand of hair from Irene’s face. “So, where do we go from here?”

Irene pulled back slightly to look into Y/N’s eyes, her expression both vulnerable and determined. “We take it one day at a time. No rush, no pressure. Just us.”

Y/N nodded, the sincerity in Irene’s words anchoring her. “I like the sound of that.”

Their moment was interrupted by the soft patter of rain against the windows, a cozy rhythm that matched the beating of their hearts. Y/N glanced toward the window and smiled. “Looks like the universe is in on our mood.”

Irene followed her gaze and chuckled. “Maybe it’s trying to tell us something.”

“Like what?” Y/N asked, her tone playful.

“That we should stay here, wrapped up in the warmth of this moment,” Irene replied, her voice tinged with amusement and affection.

Without thinking, Y/N reached for the throw blanket on the back of the couch and draped it over their laps. “Well, who am I to argue with the universe?”

As the rain picked up, the two settled back into the couch, Irene leaning her head on Y/N’s shoulder. They didn’t need to fill the silence with words—the quiet companionship between them said everything. For the first time in a long while, both felt at peace, the weight of their separate worlds momentarily forgotten.

Y/N looked down at Irene, whose eyes had fluttered closed. “Joohyun?”

“Hmm?” Irene replied without opening her eyes.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Y/N whispered. “I want us to be something real. Something lasting.”

Irene smiled faintly, her voice heavy with drowsiness but steady with conviction. “We already are.”

And as the rain continued its steady cadence, the two remained wrapped in each other’s presence, content with the quiet promise of what was to come.

#irene x reader #kpop imagines #red velvet x reader #irene x fem reader #bae joohyun x reader #girl group imagines #kpop x reader #red velvet imagines

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supercorpkid · 18 hours ago

Text

The Best Kind of Trouble - part 1

Supergirl. Lena Luthor x Reader! Kara Danvers. Alex Danvers.

Word Count: 3645.

The other part is coming soon.

Ever since you met Lena, the two of you have had a knack for stumbling into the strangest situations together. It’s almost like the universe has a sense of humor at your expense. But every time it happens, you find yourself quietly asking: How did we get here?

Take the first time you met her. It was Alex’s birthday, and she’d dragged everyone out to a bar she swore was ‘low-key and chill’, but turned out to be neither. You exchanged a soft hey with Lena when Kara introduced you, your eyes flickering up just long enough to clock how ridiculously stunning she was before quickly looking away. She was nice, but that was it.

And yet, by the end of the night, you found yourself sitting on her lap.

It wasn’t like you’d planned it, obviously. Everyone was too wasted to drive, and when you were all cramming into the car, someone pointed out there weren’t enough seats for everyone to sit properly. As the smallest person in the group, the solution seemed obvious to them—if not to you. Not Alex’s lap, because her girlfriend might have something to say about that. Not Kara’s, because she’d called shotgun before anyone could argue. And not Nia’s, because Brainy would enjoy less than someone splitting an atom incorrectly.

So there you were, perched awkwardly on Lena’s thighs as the car lurched into motion. Her hand rested on the edge of the seat, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her skin through your jeans. It was fine. A bit uncomfortable, sure. And definitely weird. But fine. At least until Kelly hit a pothole, and your body jolted against hers, leaving you both a little too aware of how close you actually were.

The second time you meet, it’s just you and Lena—stuck in an elevator at the DEO. The system glitches mid-maintenance, and before you can process what’s happening, the elevator groans to a stop. You and Lena exchange wide-eyed glances.

“At least we’re not free-falling,” Lena quips, though the sheen of sweat on her brow betrays her ease.

You press the emergency call button. After a pause, Alex’s voice cracks through the speaker. “What’s up?” she asks casually, like it isn’t a full-blown crisis.

“We’re stuck,” Lena steps closer to the panel, her voice calm but sharp. “Care to fix that before this turns into a sauna?”

“Oh, yeah,” Alex replies, like she just remembered. “Tech says it’s a quick fix. A few minutes, tops.”

Lena arches a skeptical brow at the speaker. “A few minutes,” she repeats, unimpressed.

“Promise,” Alex’s smirk is practically audible. “Try not to kill each other.”

The line clicks off, leaving silence. You sigh and lean against the wall. A few minutes stretch into twenty. The air thick, hot, and stifling, makes Lena shrug off her blazer, folding it neatly as she leans back against the opposite wall.

“You should lose the jacket,” she suggests casually, adjusting the collar of her blouse.

You hesitate but eventually give in. The all-black uniform feels unbearable, and you pull it off, revealing a thin, sweat-soaked white tank top beneath—and yes, you’re aware it’s completely see-through. Lena’s gaze lingers a second too long, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“What?” you ask, your voice tighter than you’d like.

“Nothing,” she murmurs, her tone softer. “You’re just really flushed. You alright?”

“Really hot circumstances, you know,” you reply quickly, and the instant the words leave your mouth, you regret them. The double meaning isn’t lost on her, and her smile deepens.

“Do tell.” Her gaze flicks back to the floor a beat too late.

Alex’s voice breaks in, unprompted. “Sorry, guys. A few more minutes. But hey, silver lining—you’ve got each other!”

Lena closes her eyes briefly, her fingers gripping the panel’s edge. “Wonderful. Thanks, Alex.”

Lena mutters, the words like a half-hearted attempt at dismissal. Her gaze lingers on you a second too long, and there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—a warmth that doesn’t quite match the cool distance she’s trying to keep.

“Anytime,” Alex chirps, clearly ignoring the sarcasm, before the line clicks dead.

Lena moves back to the wall—closer this time. Her arm brushes yours, the touch fleeting but enough to send a shiver down your spine despite the oppressive heat.

She starts a soft conversation to pass the time, but every glance she steals, every movement she makes, feels like static in the air. Her hand brushes yours again, and this time neither of you pulls away.

The air between you shifts. You meet her gaze, and Lena meets yours, her eyes darker and deeper than you’ve ever seen. For a heartbeat, it’s just her. Just the heat of her gaze.

Then the elevator jolts, snapping the moment like a rubber band. Lena straightens her blouse, retrieves her blazer, and slips back into her usual composure like armor.

“Well,” her lips curl into a faint smile, “let’s not make a habit of only meeting in these weird situations.”

You nod, following her out into the cool hallway, but the memory of her gaze lingers—along with the heat that has nothing to do with the elevator.

And then, it does become a habit.

There’s the storm during a game night at Kara’s apartment. The power goes out, and everyone splits up to search for flashlights. Somehow, you and Lena end up fumbling in the same closet, searching for batteries. It’s pitch black, the kind of darkness that muffles everything, even the sound of your own breath.

Your hands brush—once, then again—and you freeze. The silence between you feels deafening, and just as your breath catches, Lena breaks it with a low, teasing murmur. “Should I be worried you keep trying to hold my hand?”

It’s playful. Too playful. But the words hang in the air like an open challenge, and you can’t quite laugh the way you want to. Instead, your breath stops, and that awkward sound you make isn’t nearly enough to push the tension away.

It only makes it worse. You can feel the charge between you, an electric hum that shivers down your spine. It wraps around your chest, your pulse racing with it. Then, just as the moment is about to consume you, the lights flicker back on. The sudden brightness stings your eyes, and it’s like the world has slapped you back into reality.

You blink, disoriented, standing there in the small closet, the air between you still heavy and thick. Too close. You’re too close.

“Look at us,” Lena whispers, breath hot on your face. “Stuck together somewhere small and hot.” Her words roll out slowly, like she’s savoring them. “It agrees with you.”

The words settle on your skin like a flame, and your throat goes dry, your chest tight. You stay frozen in place, unable to form the words that might undo whatever she just implied. She steps out of the closet, leaving you standing there, the heat of her words still burning into your skin.

Small and hot. Was she talking about you?

Of course, you’re roped into helping Nia move into Brainy’s new place. The apartment is a disaster zone—boxes everywhere, and Brainy’s color-coded system only makes things worse. The real issue? The couch. An L-shaped monstrosity that refuses to budge no matter what you do.

Alex is running late, Kara has a Supergirl emergency, and Brainy has to leave too. So now it’s a five-person job being executed by you.

Just as you’re about to lose your mind, Lena breezes in, taking in the chaos. “What on Earth are you doing?”

“Fighting for my life,” you say, sweat dripping.

She steps closer, looking annoyingly perfect in her blouse and jeans. “It looks like you’re losing.”

“Glad you could join us. Came to judge, or help?”

“You know I love watching people fail,” Lena smirks, crouching by the couch. “Have you tried taking the legs off?”

“The legs?” You narrow your eyes. “That’s your solution?”

“It’s called problem-solving,” she says, inspecting the bolts with an infuriatingly calm precision. “You should try it sometime.”

You grab the screwdriver. “Fine. Let’s see if your genius plan works.”

It works. Because Lena is a genius. An annoyingly pretty, rich, flirty genius. But it works at the expense of her being so close to you, you can’t think straight—pun intended. Her perfume is maddeningly pleasant, and her eyes are provocatively distracting. It works at the expense of your sanity.

“You’re blushing,” she teases.

“No, I’m sweating,” you snap, looking away.

When the move is over, Alex strolls in with a six-pack, pretending she didn’t miss all the hard work. You're annoyed, but then Lena leans in beside you, her shoulder brushing yours. “We work well together, don’t you think?”

And somehow, you’re not mad anymore.

Once again, you're dragged into something you have no business being a part of. Kara needed help with a DEO tech project, and as you step into the lab, it hits you—you’re the only uniformed officer here. The other two? Alex and Lena. Of course.

“Kara? Why am I here?” you ask, already suspicious.

“We need the brightest minds for this!” Kara beams.

You arch an eyebrow. “Yeah? Then why am I here?”

Lena chuckles softly, her gaze sweeping over you with a hint of mischief. “Come on, Y/N. You’re smarter than you think.”

It takes you a second to process the unexpected compliment. You snort, trying to play it off. “If you say so.”

Before you can protest further, Alex’s phone buzzes, and her face shifts into full-on mission mode. “Crisis. Gotta go.”

“Wait, you’re leaving us?” Unbelievable. Somehow, you’re always the one stuck with Lena. And, annoyingly, it secretly thrills you.

“We trust you two,” Kara says with a reassuring pat on your arm before she and Alex rush out the door.

Lena shrugs, her smirk firmly in place. “Looks like it’s just us.”

Great. Just you, Lena, and whatever tension has been simmering between you lately. You try to focus on the device in front of you—some kind of world-saving gadget Kara swore needed attention—but it’s nearly impossible with Lena standing so close.

“Fantastic,” you mutter under your breath. “Just me and the world-saving gadget.”

Lena leans in, her shoulder brushing yours ever so slightly, her voice dropping to a maddeningly low pitch. “You’ve got a brilliant mind, and I’m a genius. We’re good together.”

The double meaning in her words isn’t lost on you. Your throat tightens, your pulse kicking up. You grin despite yourself, hoping to keep things light. “Flattery? Is that how you survive the workday?”

Her smile lingers, warmer this time. “Maybe. But I mean it.”

The air between you shifts—heavier now, charged. Every glance, every brush of her hand sends your focus spinning. And then, as if the universe wants to make things even more difficult, Lena stretches, her shirt lifting just enough to reveal a sliver of a tattoo. Your mouth goes dry.

“Everything okay?” she asks, turning her head just enough to catch you staring.

You force a laugh, trying to sound normal. “Yeah. Totally fine.”

Her eyes narrow, amusement dancing in their depths. “Are you sure? You’re looking a little… flushed.”

You should’ve seen it coming—the teasing, the way her words seem to coil around you, the brush of her fingers against your arm. You should’ve expected it, but you’re thrown every time.

“Hot,” you blurt out, feeling like an idiot. “The room. It’s just... so hot.”

She leans in, impossibly close now, her breath brushing against your skin as she whispers, “You do tend to run hot a lot, don’t you?”

Your brain short-circuits. The world narrows to just her—the warmth of her proximity, the scent of her perfume, the way her voice feels like it’s wrapping around your chest and pulling tight. You can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move.

When you don’t respond, she pulls back with a soft exhale, her gaze lingering. “Maybe we should take a break,” she suggests, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You nod too quickly, practically bolting for the air vent. Sitting on the floor directly beneath it, you try to calm your racing heart. But of course, Lena follows, settling beside you—close enough to make you question if she’s doing it on purpose.

“You look tired,” she says after a beat.

“I’m fine,” you lie, closing your eyes like that might drown out the scent of her perfume or the way she’s completely invaded your space. “Just need a minute.”

And somehow, the next thing you know, you’re waking up with your cheek pressed to her shoulder. Her scent is intoxicating, her warmth like a trap you don’t want to escape. Your heart stutters as you jerk away. “Oh my God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Relax, darling.” Her smirk is maddening, her tone teasing but impossibly soft. “I told you—you were tired.”

Your face burns. “Yeah, but I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine.” Her grin doesn’t falter, her eyes dancing with something that makes your stomach flip. “I didn’t mind.”

Before you can say anything else, Kara and Alex return, their voices pulling you back to reality. You scramble to your feet, putting as much space as possible between you and Lena. But as the lab hums back to life, her warmth lingers on your skin, and her knowing smile burns in your mind, refusing to fade.

Then again you’ve somehow ended up in the thick of feelings you can't even comprehend.

“Director Danvers?” You press the comm into your ear, the usual buzz of activity humming in the background. “I’m in position for the lookout.” You scan the area once more, making sure no one’s watching. “And it seems I’m the only one here.”

“Great. Supergirl’s on her way with backup,” comes Alex’s voice over the comm, calm but urgent. “Just sit tight and take pictures if you see someone entering the place. We need proof this is a Cadmus lair.”

“Copy that. I’ll stay put.”

The place they’ve stationed you at is… unexpected. You thought secret lairs were supposed to be hidden, not right on the water like some kind of expensive real estate. The view is gorgeous—wide, endless blue stretching out to meet the horizon, the water sparkling in the late afternoon light. It almost feels too peaceful for the task at hand.

Minutes later, you hear the faint sound of a familiar whoosh, and Supergirl lands beside you, Lena tucked gently in her arms. As she sets Lena down, Kara gives you a brief smile. “Okay, I’ll leave you two here for a minute. I’ll be back to pick you up before we break in. Lena, use the watch if you need me.”

Lena gives her a small nod, her eyes lingering on Kara for just a moment before she turns to you. “We’ll keep a lookout, boss.” She tries to be casual, but there's an edge of uncertainty in her voice.

Kara winks before she takes off, leaving you alone with Lena. You know it’s time to talk. You’ve been avoiding her—after that last time you saw her, when you fell asleep on her shoulder, things have been weirder. But now, standing next to her, so close, you can’t keep pretending like it doesn’t matter. You have to break the silence.

“Hey,” you say, your voice is a little softer than you meant. She glances at you, her expression unreadable for a beat before she offers you a tight smile.

Lena takes a seat next to you, her gaze shifting toward the lair. “Looks like something my mother would do,” she says, voice steady but with a hint of something else you can’t quite place. “Have a secret lair in plain sight. With a view like that.”

She gestures toward the building, but it’s clear her attention is more on you than the lair. You catch her glance, and for a moment, you’re not sure if it’s just the light or if her eyes are a little softer than usual.

“It is gorgeous,” you agree, your voice barely above a whisper. You’re not sure if you’re still talking about the view. It’s hard to focus on anything else with her so close—so close that you can feel the warmth from her body.

Lena shifts a little, and her leg brushes against yours. The contact is light, but it makes your heart stutter. She doesn’t pull away. Neither do you.

The two of you stay silent for a beat, the tension hanging in the air like a storm ready to break. You wonder if she feels it too—the quiet, invisible thread between you. Her hand, resting casually on the edge of the bench, inches closer to yours. You’re acutely aware of the soft sound of her breath, the way her shoulder brushes yours when she shifts.

For a moment, it feels like the world has narrowed down to just the two of you, and everything else—the lair, the mission—fades into the background. It’s just Lena, and you, and the air between you that’s thick with unspoken words.

And then you realize—you’ve been holding your breath.

You blink, coming out of your dream-like state, and press the comm in your ear. "Director, we're about to lose daylight soon." You glance at the sky, watching the soft pink hues spread across the horizon. "Should we move?"

“No, stay put. Supergirl’s following Lillian’s car as we speak. She might be approaching the lair.”

“Copy that.” You bite your lip, still feeling the weight of the moment, and glance back at Lena. “You’re okay? With... all of this? The whole situation with your mom?”

“Oh, yeah. I know what the Luthors are capable of,” she says with a quiet resolve. Her eyes stay fixed on the lair, but you catch the flicker of something deeper behind her words. “I’m just glad we’re here to help.”

You nod, agreeing with her sentiment, but there's something unspoken hanging in the air between you two.

“The sun’s setting soon,” you say, fidgeting with the small flashlight in your hand. “I have this, but I don’t think we can use it without giving away our position.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lena replies, her voice light, trying to brush off the tension. “I’m not scared of the dark. Unless… you are.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving her a playful side-eye. “Please. I’m an agent of a secret organization. There are very few things I’m scared of.”

Lena leans in, her gaze intense yet teasing, and her lips curl into a mischievous smile. “Oh? Do tell.” she whispers, as if the question is more of an invitation than anything else.

Her proximity makes your heart skip a beat. The warm air between you feels electric, charged with an unspoken challenge. For a moment, you forget about the mission, your mind drifting away, caught in the rhythm of her words, the softness of her breath.

You almost want to tell her that you are scared—scared of this, right here. Scared of how close you’ve gotten, of how something so small—a glance, a smile, a shared silence—feels like it’s pulling you in, deeper and deeper. Scared of where it might lead, or worse, scared that it might not lead anywhere at all.

The words hang in your throat, heavy and unspoken.

Instead, you shrug, your smile a little too soft as you watch her, feeling the warmth in your chest. “You know, there are just some things even secret agents can’t prepare for. Like... how distracting a pretty face can be.”

Lena studies you, her gaze softening as she leans in just a little, her eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes. She’s so close now, and the air between you is thick with something unspoken, charged with a tension that feels almost electric. Your heart races and everything else fades away.

Then, just as you think she’s about to close the gap, her lips brush against yours—the softest, most fleeting contact. It sends a jolt through you, a rush of warmth that leaves you breathless, like time itself has stilled for a heartbeat.

But before you can even fully process it, Supergirl’s voice crackles through the comm, “Guys, she took a detour. I think you’re in the wrong place.”

The sudden interruption shatters the moment, and you both pull back quickly, your breath shaky, your pulse still thrumming in your ears. Lena’s gaze flits away from you, disappointment settling heavily in the air, though neither of you says a word.

“What should we do?” you ask into the comm, trying to steady your voice.

“I'll follow through. We have more agents here. You two head back to the DEO. We’ll see you soon.”

You glance back at Lena, a flicker of disappointment in your eyes. “Back to business as usual, then?”

Lena meets your gaze, her expression soft and sincere, but there’s a wistful edge to her voice. “I hope not.”

The flirtation between you two, once subtle, quickly intensifies. The soft touches, the lingering glances, evolve into something raw—unspoken, but palpable. It feels magnetic, inevitable, like you're helplessly swept into something you can’t escape. You can't not flirt back, can't not lean into the charged moments between you.

There’s something heady in the way she looks at you, in the tension you both refuse to acknowledge. It’s like standing on the edge of something deeper, something that makes your heart race and your thoughts scatter. You can’t name it, but it’s undeniable, humming in the silence. The air around you crackles, thick with something everyone else seems to notice, too.

And that’s why you keep ending up in situations like this. Over and over, like you’re addicted to the chaos of it all. To the way she pulls you into these intoxicating, strange moments. And now, you're left wondering if it’s the situation you crave—or just her.

Whatever it is, you need more of it.

#supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #lena x reader #reader insert #alex danvers #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl imagine

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chinzhilla · 20 hours ago

Text

thank you for your comment!

first i just wanna say i apologize for lifting that language from your post when really this was an outburst of frustration about the general increase in people shitting on gmmtv for being gmmtv. i saw so many posts (not just about TTH) that rubbed me the wrong way that day and your phrasing stuck in my head and made it easy to be pithy. but it also surely made it seem like a targeted attack which i know feels shitty so i'm sorry for that!

it actually seems like we agree more than either of our original posts imply (which given that they're both like 2 lines long i feel like is a perfect illustration of why sites like twitter are such war zones but i digress). i meant it when i said aof fucked up with LT - i didn't even finish it when i heard how the last two episodes went. and i hear you on the concerns about tone and follow-through. plenty of gmmtv series seem not to know what they're trying to be, which doesn't always make them unenjoyable but there have been some over the last couple years that i've really had to muddle through the back half of (dangerous romance and 23.5 are the first that come to mind)

so i would never want to ask people to be uncritical! i've just been really frustrated lately with people being overly dismissive of gmmtv, and also with this trend of making negative assumptions about series or episodes before they've aired (which is not exclusive to bl fandom - i got super annoyed with certain portions of the 9-1-1 fandom about this recently). that said i share a little bit of your hesitation about TTH just because i got so excited by the trailer and about gemfourth in this project and i just want it to be good SO bad!

sorry again for indirectly taking my frustrations out on you, and thanks again for the reply! i hope we both get everything we want from gmmtv next year 🩷

‘can we trust gmmtv with ticket to heaven’ idk can we stop acting like gmmtv has never made anything worth watching

#sorry if this isn't the most put-together response it's a busy day #also side note i too am a we are enjoyer and defender that show was so fun and comforting #bon.txt

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mlqueen89 · 1 day ago

Note

Hi! Can I request Thanksgiving with Marc Spector? Pls make it smutty

UHM. YES, ANON. YES. Sorry it took me so long, but here you gooooo! ♡

pairing: marc spector x f!reader (moon knight)

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

warnings/triggers: smut, fingers in “pie”, oral (m & f receiving), (unprotected) p in v sex, slight dom behaviour, dirty talk, cream pie.

word count: 5,231

summary: november prompt request. marc has a kink for finger sucking which might definitely make you late for thanksgiving dinner with your family.

A/N: wanted to get this one out before American Thanksgiving. here you go guuuuys, enjoy smutty marc—thanks anon for requesting this one! p.s.: pleeeeeease read this at the dinner table or in front of your family and think about smutty marc. lemme know how that goes. also sorry, cause i don’t think i could write anything short to save my own damn life.

❥ masterlist ♡ requests ♡ taglist ❥

“Pumpkin or apple?” You peered at the beautiful pies lined up behind the glass at the bakery, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you balanced your phone between your cheek and shoulder.

“What?” Marc’s response crackled through the phone, and you could hear the faint sounds of a crowded grocery store in the background. Marc had offered to brave the Thanksgiving rush crowd that morning, leaving you at your shared apartment, apron tied around your waist, staring at a variety of ingredients and a mommy blogger’s recipe.

It had taken you three reads of the entire recipe, flour already spilled on the front of your old band tee, before you decided that there was a perfectly good bakery a fifteen-minute walk from here. Better to play it safe.

“Pumpkin or apple.”

“You said you’d bake it, didn’t you?” His voice took on a cautious edge, the kind he reserved for tense negotiations and life-or-death situations.

You laughed, dry, incredulous, catching the curious glance of the teenager behind the counter. “Marc, baby,” you drawled, straightening and pacing toward the large plate glass window, “do you remember what happened the last time I tried to bake a pie?”

“Are you talking about the fire or Steven being sick for a week?”

“Exactly,” you replied, ignoring that the question was an either or situation. His response was enough to prove your point.

“So…”

“So, I’m going to play it safe this time...” You studied your freshly manicured nails, the deep merlot polish shining in the mid-November sun streaming in through the bakery’s front window. “I’ll just take it out of the box, put it in a pie plate and—”

“Bob’s your uncle,” Marc finished and you could almost hear the smile in his tone. It still made your stomach do that stupid little flip it did, the same one you’d felt on your first date with him.

“Glad we’re on the same page,” you replied, the same smile in your voice as you nodded at the teenager to box up the pumpkin pie.

“Look, I’m cutting it close,” Marc said, his voice taking on that familiar clipped efficiency that you found strangely sexy. “I still have to grab the bread rolls and that canned cranberry sauce your uncle likes.”

You suppressed a gag. “How is it possible that someone willingly eats canned cranberry sauce?”

“Maybe it’s, I dunno—nostalgic?” He offered lightly.

“Or a very loud cry for help,” you muttered, tucking the boxed pie under your arm as you made your way to the register. “Anyway, just don’t be late. You know how my mom gets.”

“Oh, I remember,” Marc replied dryly, and you could practically hear him bracing for what was to come later that evening, sitting in a tiny split-level your parents refused to sell, all 19 of your family members crammed inside.

“Just—this is the first time you’re meeting my family, and it’s Thanksgiving—” you began, trying your best to underpin your nervous energy. You were sure Marc had clocked it from the moment you woke up last week with the odd stomachache and nauseated feeling that came only with the burgeoning terror of yet another family gathering.

“Hard to forget,” Marc sighed. You could hear the shuffle of activity on his end of the line, probably weaving between aisles and other patrons with the precise, purposeful strides that were very typical of Marc. “You’ve only reminded me six times this week.”

“I know it’s a bit—” you waved your hand even though you knew Marc couldn’t see it, trying to conjure the words clouding your mind, “much. It’s just because this year can’t be like last year.”

Even though you had been with Marc officially since before last Thanksgiving, this was the first time your family was meeting him.

Last year’s planned gathering had been efficiently derailed by what your family simply referred to as “The Great Turkey Incident,” which in reality was not simply just a series of near—catastrophes involving a broken oven, a kitchen fire, food poisoning and your sister swearing off hosting any family gathering for all of eternity. Your mother still choked up when you mentioned it, your father subsequently had to be medicated for high blood pressure. You assumed the latter had nothing to do with “TGTI,” but your dad swore up and down it did, in his thickest Bostonian accent, which only surfaced in moments of high stress or anger.

This year, your mother announced in August, would be better. Less chaotic. Normal or at least in the neighbourhood of normal. It remained to be seen, however, if that was at all possible. Property value in the Normal Neighbourhood had skyrocketed in the last year or so.

On one hand, Marc’s specialties were vast, especially when it came to making and keeping you extremely north of happy. Being normal, through no fault of his own, just wasn’t exactly one of those specialties.

As you stepped out of the bakery, into the November chill, you stopped, gathering yourself. “You’ve got this,” you amended softly, a bit for yourself and some for Marc too.

“What? Charming your entire family or surviving the day without anyone finding out about my… extracurricular activities?”

“Both,” you teased, your smile pulling up the corners of your lips until your cheeks hurt. How you’d gone so many years of your life without loving this man was beyond you.

“Great.” Marc’s response was quick, the hint of dry humour rolling through the phone, “piece of cake.”

“Pie. Piece of pie,” you shot back, “pumpkin, specifically.”

You smiled despite yourself, pulling your coat tighter as a chilly November breeze swept down the street. “It’s just… important to me, Marc. They’ve been waiting to meet you for ages, and after everything that happened last year…”

“I get it,” he said, his voice softer now. “But you don’t have to worry. I’ve got this.”

You stopped on the corner, letting his reassurance settle over you. Despite his gruff exterior and his tendency to run headfirst into danger, Marc Spector had a way of grounding you when you needed it most.

“See you soon, babe,” Marc sighed, and though his words were casual, there was something calming in the way he spoke, the cadence of his voice a soothing sound.

“Oh! Don’t forget the flowers!” You reminded him, just before he could hang up, as you dashed across the street toward your car, a death grip on the pie box.

There was a long pause on the other end, so long that you pulled the phone away from your face to see if he’d accidentally hung up. “Flowers?”

“Just—trust me. It’ll win my mom over.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said, a note of reluctant determination in his voice.

“Thanks, baby,” you smiled, making a kissing sound before you hung up the phone and carefully deposited the pie into the passenger seat and belted it in like precious cargo.

Tucking your phone away into a pocket, you shifted into the driver’s seat, hands on the wheel for a moment as you looked at the bustling street and sidewalk outside. This Thanksgiving was bound to be memorable—whether for all the right reasons or for another chapter of family chaos, you weren’t entirely sure. But if anyone could handle it, it was Marc Spector.

You hustled up the stairs to your second floor apartment, precious pie cargo gripped tightly in your hands as you pressed against the stubborn front door.

Marc had texted you about five minutes ago complaining about being at the back of some absurdly long lineup at the cashes, so you figured you had about 30 minutes to shower, get dressed and pull off the great pie lie.

Depositing the pie on the kitchen island, you hurried to the bathroom, stripping layers of clothing in a trail on your way. The hot spray of the water a welcome calm before the storm that would Thanksgiving with your family. Even when there weren’t disasters to speak of, there were differing opinions on everything ranging from politics to sports, celebrity dating drama to conspiracy theories. It was enough to drive even the most sane person, absolutely, stark—raving mad. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t just north of wary introducing Marc into this mix that was already a powder keg.

Maybe this year, you’d pitch that next year, your family could celebrate Canadian Thanksgiving instead: early October, no arguments over politics, singing Kumbaya and sharing maple flavoured desserts while saying “sorry” a lot. That was how Canadians did it, right?

You were in the middle of thinking maple dappled, northern thoughts under the warm cascade of water when you heard the telling sound of the sticky front door of your apartment opening, followed by the sound of Marc’s voice, calling your name.

“Shower!” You called, though you were sure that Marc would be able to follow the trail of clothing even if you hadn’t answered

By the time you’d wrapped up the shower and stepped out from the steamed room, you found Marc in the kitchen, his eyes peering into the pie box curiously, the lid lifted carefully. “I think you’re going to owe me for enabling this lie,” his eyes were still on the pie box as you padded into the kitchen in your towel. Replacing the lid daintily, he handled the dessert like it was ticking, wired with red and blue leads and affixed with a countdown clock before his eyes flicked up to you. You didn’t miss the way he assessed your clothing situation, or lack thereof.

It was one of the many things you loved about this man, he made no show of hiding that he was always one opportune moment away from fucking you.

“First of all,” you started, folding your arms across your chest, “it’s not a complete lie: it was baked by someone, just not me. So, more like pie-adjacent authenticity. If my mom buys it, then I think I owe you—a thank you.”

Marc raised an eyebrow, “a thank you, huh? That’s all I get for being complicit in a fib to save you from culinary embarrassment?”

“Depends,” you smirked, stepping closer to peak into the top of one of the paper bags on the counter, “did you pick up the flowers?”

Marc smirked, tipping his head to a small bouquet of seasonal blooms sitting on the counter. “I think you’re just trying to distract me from the conversation—we were talking about how much you owe me.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t keep a straight face as Marc stepped in closer, narrowing the space between you. “Fine. Thank you, Marc. You’re my Thanksgiving hero.” You feigned a swoon.

“Damn right, I am,” his voice dropped an octave, his hand finding your toweled waist, pulling you across what little distance remained between you. He dipped his head to your neck and you moved to allow him access, your body responding as if moving with him as he explored your body came as naturally as breathing, as easy as the path of orbit, the innate pull of gravity.

You eased into the touch of his lips, losing yourself in the feeling of him against your skin, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you could feel the heat coiling low, between your legs, the wetness that had nothing to do with your shower growing.

“Marc…” you huffed as his hand left your waist and tangled in your damp hair at the nape of your neck, his other hand finding the top of the towel tucked against your body. “Careful…” you teased, but you were breathless as the words came out, no real urgency or command in them, “we still have to leave on time and you’re not exactly dressed for a first-time dinner with my family.”

“Plenty of time,” he murmured against your skin, his fingers hooked at the top of your towel, a single, gentle tug the only thing between you and the hungry man who stood before you, waiting to devour you completely.

If you didn’t have anywhere to be, you’d have shed the towel, found his belt and been on your knees in front of him, your mouth aching to be around his thick cock. But you did have somewhere to be and around the haze of the way Marc set your skin on fire under his touch, just on the edge of a losing battle between desire and responsibility, you knew you couldn’t. You’d attend dinner, stay an appropriate amount of time and then make sure to congratulate him for surviving your family on the drive home down a darkened stretch of backroad.

“You’re making this really hard for me….” you breathed out in a cross between a huff and a groan, pressing your hands flat against his chest and pushing without much effort, almost as if you wanted to say you’d put up a fight and had lost. There was always Christmas dinner, that was right around the corner, right?

“I was about to say the same thing.” His voice was a little more than a growl, a rumble in his chest you could feel beneath your palms, still flattened on his chest.

“Marc, baby,” you whispered, a small yelp interrupting your next words as he nipped at your jaw just below your ear, he was good. Too good. Marc had a way of making you forget where you were, of making everything around you melt away until it was just you and him, him and you, locked in perpetuity, together. “This isn’t going to get you out of wearing a tie….”

Marc groaned, his head falling to your bare shoulder and you turned to press your nose to his scalp, his soft, dark curls smelling of sandalwood and something distinctly him. “It was worth a shot….” he muttered after a moment before he kissed your collarbone and swiftly turned you around, giving you a slight, gently nudge toward the back bedroom. “Now go get dressed before I change my mind about taking that towel off.”

You sighed, pressing your knees together for a moment before you looked back at him over your shoulder, his hand pressed against the countertop for support, the bulge in his jeans clearly visible from where you stood. “Marc?”

His response was little more than a strained hum of acknowledgement, his eyes drawing up to you.

“Wear the tie Steven likes,” you smiled, partly knowing the playful tease would wedge somewhere under his skin, a small little dig, “it brings out your broody eyes. It’ll give you more of the boy-next-door look and less of the guy your mom warns you about.”

You carefully opened the lid of the pink pie box, using a knife to tactfully slice the tape holding it closed.

When you made it to the back bedroom, still in your towel, you thought briefly about touching yourself, loudly enough to entice Marc to finish what he started. It took you half a minute to decide against it, instead picking out Marc’s favourite pleated skirt, the one that was just barely appropriate for a family dinner. The one he’d fucked you in over the back of your couch after he brought you home from your third date together at that cute mini putt place downtown.

If you couldn’t fuck him now you’d make him sweat through the dinner, make him think about all the ways he wanted to fuck you when you got home.

You were only slightly disappointed that Marc was in the shower when you headed back into the kitchen. Quickly though, the disappointment faded to dread when you realized that you still had to plate the Lie Pie, the Pumpkin Pretense.

You were trying to lift the pie out of the box, when you felt hands on your waist, “you’re not playing fair,” Marc’s voice was next to your ear, his breath warm against your neck sending a shiver down your spine, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Jesus, Marc!” You jumped, your hand slipping off one side of the pie, your index finger and thumb dipping into the custard pumpkin filling and pieces of the perfect crust crumbling into the top of the pie. You froze and you could feel Marc stiffen at your back.

Marc broke the silence first. “It looks more… uh—realistically baked by you?” He rubbed the back of his neck and you huffed, carefully setting the pie back down in the box. You felt Marc leave your back and watched from the corner of your eye as he shuffled over to the cutlery drawer. “It’s okay—it’s fine. We’ll just, smooth it down and crumble some of the other edges and—”

You noticed that Marc was shirtless, his dark hair damp from the shower, a white towel tied around his waist. Suddenly, you felt like the skirt wasn’t diabolical enough. Your man naturally exuded “fuck me” vibes. You’d absolutely dine on this image of him through dinner. In fact, at this rate, your eyes raking over the hard lines of muscle banding his shoulders and arms, the deep cut of his abs trailing below the line of the towel, you’d be the one opting to skip Thanksgiving dinner and beg him to undo you.

When he moved back behind you, a butter knife in hand to remedy the situation, you could feel the outline of his cock, fitting just between your ass cheeks through the thin materials of the skirt and the towel. You swallowed thickly.

The thought made you smirk, Marc always wanted you and that thought alone drove you crazy with want. Still, you tried to remember that this was supposed to be the year that your family met him, this was supposed to be the big leap in your relationship with him.

“Okay, so just—,” you pointed to the spot on the pie where you could see the divots from your fingers. Marc moved the knife over to the spot you’d pointed to, carefully trying to figure out how he could make it look like a more natural flaw. “Yeah, I mean, I’d just kind of—”

Without thinking, you stuck your thumb in your mouth, carefully sucking off the custard as you pointed to the offending dents in the pie with your other hand. You noticed when the knife in Marc’s grip faltered and his knuckles whitened against the handle. You were sticking your index finger between your lips when you turned to look at him and froze, his face so close to yours, but his eyes were on your mouth and the finger currently trapped between your lips. You could hear his breathing hitch for a fraction of a second, his eyes darkening as his own tongue moved to whet his lips. Behind you, you could feel the length of him twitch against your body and it was enough to make the coiling heat pulse low, between your legs.

In a fraction of a second, he’d abandoned the knife on the counter with a clatter, grasping your wrist as he pulled your finger from your mouth and stuck it in his up to your second knuckle. Slowly, he pulled it from his mouth, careful to relish the taste of the sweet dessert on you.

“You had to go and do that, didn’t you?” He huffed lowly as your finger left his mouth, clean, the sound almost a rumble in his chest and you leaned your head back against him. You definitely weren’t going to make it in time for dinner, but you’d known that when you slipped into the skirt. You were playing a dangerous game around Marc and he’d broken first.

“Marc…” you tried to sound exasperated, but his name came out as a whine as his rough hand slid up your thigh and dipped under the hem of your skirt. You could feel his hard cock against your ass through his towel as he pressed himself against you tightly. Instinctively, you pushed back and ground yourself against him and he groaned in response, his arm banding around your waist and anchoring you to him.

Reaching behind yourself, you wriggled to reach his length, but he moved just out of your reach, your fingers just brushing the rigid outline of him beneath the towel.

“Careful, gorgeous,” he murmured in your ear, a low warning, “not too fast. I’ve been wanting you all fucking day—”

Your head swam, the thought of him inside of you, pumping, pulsing, stretching you, bottoming out on repeat blurred all else. His fingers reached for the line of your panties under your skirt, and paused when they found none. You could feel his smirk against your neck as he alternated between kissing and nipping.

“Looking for something?” You hummed, teasing. Pleated skirt and no panties—you’d been asking for it, waiting for him to discover it. Though, to be fair, you hadn’t expected he’d find out this soon, not while you were still at home, at least. In testing his resolve, you’d set a trap for yourself, overestimating your ability to keep yourself from him.

Marc didn’t pause for long, his fingers following the lines of your already slick pussy until he found your swollen clit and began to massage in long, generous strokes. You sighed, humming as you melted into his touch.

“Can’t decide if you’re a bad girl or a good one….” Marc’s voice was low, his hips rutting against you as if he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t keep from the pleasure he felt as his shaft rubbed against the towel that rubbed against you. You responded under his touch in kind before the sound of a grunt that escaped him had you turning in his arms to face him.

“I can decide for you,” you murmured, low, your tone just on the edge of sing-song, husky with want. You just wanted him inside of you, any way you could get him. You began to sink to your knees in front him, your fingers hooked on the top of his towel. It came away easily, the cotton pooling at his feet, his cock springing out, erect.

Coyly, from your knees, you looked up at him through your lashes as he looked down on you, his pupils blown wide. You kept direct eye contact as you ran your tongue, wide and flat on the underside of him, tracing the path of the pronounced vein from base to ridged tip, slowly.

The deep moan that you pulled from his lips was enough to undo you, your hand wrapping around the base of his shaft as you slowly guided the length of him inside your mouth.

“Fuck, baby. I—I just—if you,” his words were choppy, interspersed with muttered curses, grunts and groans as your tongue made careful paintings on the underside of his pulsing cock, the taste of precum filling your mouth with each pass. “I’m going to—fuck, baby—”

Marc pulled you up from your knees before he dropped to his, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder before he set in on your wet center.

Holding yourself against the counter behind you, you arched your back, biting your lip against the moan that sounded more like a plea for more. As you reached for an edge of counter to grip, the tips of your fingers nudged the abandoned pie box. “Marc—fuck, fuck, fuck—” You pressed yourself up on the tips of the toes on the one leg that was still planted on the ground, your toes on the leg over Marc’s shoulder curling until your foot threatened to cramp.

“You said boy-next-door,” Marc huffed out a small laugh, the edges of his voice tinged with need as he lightly kissed your throbbing clit. He knew exactly how to drive you to the edge of madness and hold you there until you begged him to throw you over. “Is that what you want me to be right now?”

“F—oh god, fuck the boy next door,” your words were without heat, your tongue heavy, your mind a swirl of fog; you were malleable in his hands, you’d do anything he asked if he just said the words.

“Oh, is that what you want? I can get Steven out here if you—” Marc teased, stopping the perfect alternation of tongue and nose, thumb and light, maddening suction with his lips against your pulsating center. Before he could finish, you ground your hips into his face, cutting off his next words as you pressed your pussy against his mouth, encouraging him to continue with a moan as he licked a stripe between your folds carefully. Marc was nothing if not tactical, precise.

“Marc,” his name came out strained as you braced yourself against the counter at your back, your leg hooked over his shoulder as his fingers dug into your ass, pinning you in place, “please…”

You could feel yourself ascending, reaching the peak, your hips gyrating against each stroke of his tongue as he ate you out.

“Say my name, baby...” he murmured, his finger slipping into your wet cunt, his chin and mouth slick with you as he looked up at you from under dark lashes, his deep brown eyes blown wide. His gaze held yours, your chest heaving with each deep stroke of his thick finger, before he added another and you gasped, stretching around them. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips before he dipped to pepper light, noisy kisses on your clit.

“Marc—” you barely formed his name, your hand leaving the counter to grab a handful of his beautiful hair. “Please, I need you, now, right now—holy fuck—.”

Marc hardly ever lost control, hardly ever cracked, but when he had you, naked and begging for him… you felt powerful, like you held kryptonite, the kind that would bring Marc to his knees, quite literally.

Marc stood, holding you steady as your leg slipped off his shoulder and you lost your balance. Grabbing a nearby stool, he lifted you swiftly onto the edge of it, wedging himself between your open legs, the tip of his weeping cock nudging your slick opening. He held himself there for a moment, his hands on your hips, steadying you, his eyes holding yours as you wriggled, chest heaving, on the verge of begging for him to fill you.

“Say it again,” Marc’s eyes, dark with lust, held yours and you complied.

“Fuck. Me.” You breathed the words, low and clear, his thumb rubbing through your folds rhythmically, “please.”

Marc didn’t need to be told twice, his hips thrusting up into you, his length filling you as you gasped. Each thrust pulled him out nearly all the way, the long strokes, paired with the pressure of his pubic bone send you cascading over the edge. Marc wasn’t far behind, his pulsing cock emptying inside of you as you squeezed around him and you both breathed out the sounds of release.

“Well—” you sighed, content as you carefully balanced on the edge of the stool, your breathing evening out as Marc stood before you naked, still erect. “I think we’re definitely going to be late now.”

“Fashionably late?” Marc shrugged, bending to gather the forgotten towel off the floor. As he straightened, he stepped up to the counter, reaching across to grab the bouquet of flowers. “At least we have these and the—” Marc’s hand swept across the counter, misjudging the distance between him and the pie box.

The low thud of the pink box, pie still inside, hitting the tiled floor in the kitchen quickly wiped away the post-sex haze and you looked up at Marc, his eyes shifting to the floor and back to you, apologetically.

You shifted your weight as you and Marc stood on your parents’ porch, catching your breath after rushing from the car. Marc adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, still looking annoyingly put together despite the… delay. A delay that lead you to be a whole two hours late, between that and the pie clean up.

Meanwhile, you were still hoping no one would notice the hastily fixed flyaways in your hair or the slight flush on both your faces. You had left the skirt at home, put on some panties and changed into a more family appropriate green dress.

“You ready?” you asked, glancing at him, the glow of the yellowed porch light catching the angles on his face. “Remember, if my cousin Alex asks you about anything to do with his Art History classes, it’s okay to let Steven take the wheel for a bit…”

Marc smirked, his eyes raking over you appreciatively in a way that always made you feel loved. “More than ready. But next time, sweetheart, maybe we shouldn’t start something when there’s a ticking clock involved.”

You gave him a pointed look, though your lips twitched with amusement. “You’re the one who couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”

“You were wearing that skirt. I think you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into,” he teased, leaning in for a quick peck, “it’s not like you tried to stop me.”

Before you could retort, the door swung open.

“Finally!” your mom exclaimed, throwing her arms wide. “I thought I was going to have to start without you.” Her eyes lit up as she took Marc in. “And this must be Marc.”

Marc straightened, offering his hand with a charming smile. Oh good, he was trying the Steven approach first before laying into the smolder. “It’s great to finally meet you, Mrs—”

“Oh, none of that Mrs. nonsense,” your mom blustered, swatting his hand away to pull him into a hug instead. Marc stiffened for a beat before relaxing into it, casting you a slightly wide-eyed look over her shoulder.

Your mom pulled back, beaming. “I’ve heard so much about you. Now, come in, come in! Dinner’s almost ready, and everyone’s starving. Where’s that pie you were bringing?”

You froze for half a second before slipping seamlessly into a casual smile. “The pie?”

“Yes, the pie,” your mom said, hands on her hips. “Pumpkin, wasn’t it? You said you’d bring it. You texted me about it this afternoon—”

Marc opened his mouth to speak, but you jumped in, shooting him a sly grin. “Oh, uh—there was a pie shaped accident… a tragic end, really. I was really proud of the way it turned out too.”

“Tragic end?” your mom repeated, eyebrows arching.

Marc cleared his throat, stepping in smoothly to fill the gap. “Completely my fault, actually. I wasn’t paying attention, and it ended up on the floor. I promise to make it up to you—I’ve got a knack for desserts. Next time, I’ll bake something myself.”

Your mom looked between the two of you, her lips twitching as though she didn’t quite buy the story but wasn’t going to press. “Well, accidents happen,” she said, waving it off. “But next time, you’re on pie duty, Marc.”

Marc smiled, his charm dialed up to full. “It’s a deal.”

As your mom led the way to the dining room, you leaned into Marc, whispering, “Nice save.”

“You owe me,” Marc smirked down at you, his hand brushing the small of your back.

“Pretty sure you’re the one who owes me, pie destroyer.”

His low chuckle followed you both into the warm chaos of Thanksgiving dinner.

Tags: @silvernight-m

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#marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector smut #moon knight smut #marvel smut #november prompts #pumpkin pie #oscar isaac characters #oscar isaac smut #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fanfic #moon knight x reader #smut #moon boys x reader #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant #steven grant smut

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