#is it not enough to just show up at pride and celebrate

[castorizz]

... ❝ A SPECTACLE OF SCALES. ❞ ft. lyney x reader

𝒾. ⠀IN WHICH : a magician finds himself enamoured by a mermaid.

꒰ contents ꒱ lyney is a magician in a circus. reader is a mermaid in a freak show. gn!reader. fluff. wc : 1015

꒰ notes ꒱ day 3 of mermay. this was actually requested by the lovely lovely @soleillunne <3 hope you enjoy mwah mwah

After three months of being a part of the circus, Lyney had settled into a sort of routine.

He would wake with the sunrise, and savor the morning chill as his sister slumbered peacefully in the bed adjacent to his. When she awoke, they would eat breakfast together—simple slices of toast spread with butter, and occasionally some fruit if they could afford it. Mornings were spent taking care of various chores around their camp, mending costumes or cleaning trailers. After a quick lunch, he would dedicate the entire afternoon to practicing for that night’s show.

And what a show it would be; no night—barring the few that he was offered a break during their travels—was without its share of pure magic. There was something thrilling about it, seeing the wonder on the crowd’s faces. He was in his element, thriving. Nothing could touch him when he was onstage, with a deck of cards in his hands, and an endless collection of tricks up his sleeves.

Then, the night would end. And after a few nights to follow, it would be time to pack up, prepare, move on to the next town. The cycle would repeat, punctuated only by the occasional celebration, or mishap, or break in schedule, before quickly falling back into routine. The rest of the troupe followed a similar timetable of their own, living their own quiet, predictable lives alongside him. 

Quiet. Predictable. Mundane. 

Perhaps that was why the periodic celebrations at the end of each stop were such an anticipated event. It was one of the few times that any of them got the chance to kick their heels up and relax, sharing drinks and laughs about their latest affairs. None looked more happy to celebrate the festivities than the ringleader himself, who took it upon himself to seek Lyney out as soon as it began.

“Incredible!” The man threw back his head and laughed, clapping Lyney roughly on the shoulder. Their recent successes would leave him in a good mood for quite some time, which offered some relief. There was no greater fear amongst the troupe than that man’s ire. “Just… incredible! Ever since we snatched up the two of you, our numbers have been soaring. Everyone wants to see you, everyone!”

“Magic is a timeless art.” Lyney remarked, a dazzling smile playing on his lips.

“Damn right.” The man grinned, his voice slurring slightly. “Grab yourself a drink, won’t you? It’s a night to celebrate.”

Lyney nodded mechanically, using the chance to excuse himself and slip away from the party. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t in the mood to celebrate, but there was one more part of his routine that he simply couldn’t forgo.

Past the trailers and the tents was one section of the circus that they took the most pride in: the freak show. It was almost empty, with all of the ‘freaks’ having left sometime after dusk fell and the show closed. There was only one exhibit that was still occupied, the one that didn’t have the luxury of leaving.

“Hello to you.” Lyney smiled, taking off his hat and holding it to his chest. He squinted up at a glass tank, almost seven feet tall and filled with murky water. “Sorry I’m late, I was caught up.”

It was quiet for a beat, before the water rippled, and he saw your figure swim closer, the pale moonlight shining a light on your face. There he could see you in all your glory; scales, and fins, and all. Behind you, your tail swayed in the water to keep you steady, the fins at your hips flicking idly as you swam.

The most prized ‘freak’ of them all, the treasure of the seven seas: the mermaid.

“Took you long enough.” You rolled your eyes. His smile only widened, and he pressed his hand to the glass. After a moment, you laid your palm over his.

“I don’t have anything for you today.” He tilted his head, his words apologetic. “I’ll see if I can bring something sweet for you tomorrow, though. The next town we’re visiting has a lovely bakery, I’ve heard ravings about their cinnamon buns.”

“That does sound nice,” You sighed. Treats like those were a luxury on his pittance of a salary, but he could spare some for you. It wasn’t like you were offered any of your own; you were nothing more than a spectacle, a shiny attraction to draw in crowds of gawking visitors. They did not cheer for you, in the way they cheered for him. Where he got eyes filled with wonder, you got stares and whispers.

It was always worse for you, even if you didn’t voice your discomforts aloud. Since the first night he visited you, months ago, you looked nothing short of miserable in your section, only putting on a bright smile when there was a crowd to please. Perhaps that was why he was drawn to you in a way; you reminded him of himself. His ‘situation’, as it were, was nowhere near as despondent as yours, but the tangled web of debts he owed, trapping him in years worth of employment for almost no pay in return, it shared the same claustrophobic feeling.

“It’s too cramped in here.” You mumbled, almost to yourself. Looking at you, with your tail curled up to fit in the small space, his chest tightened. He wished he could offer more than his company—reassurance, relief, or anything of the sort—but beyond his words, there wasn’t much more he could give to you.

Lyney leaned closer, slowly laying his forehead against the cool glass.

“I’m gonna get you out of here, one day. I’m gonna get us both out.” He whispered. You were quiet, quiet for so long that he wondered if his words were spoken too softly, unable to reach through the glass separating him from you. It’s only when he felt a shadow fall over his face that he knows you heard him, as you lay your forehead to his, and murmur back:

“I know. I’m counting on it.”

©castorizz 2025 : do not copy, translate, repost, redistribute, or use my work to train ai. reblogs are appreciated <33

[margaritastation141]

"Rekindled" - John Price x Divorcee mom of teens

Chapter 3 summary: good food and new beginnings Masterlist ✖︎ Ao3 Read this fic on Ao3 (priority uploads/chapter 4 out now) Playlist Previously

Maybe an hour had passed before Logan was trying to hand back the cleaning cupboard key. John had hardly made a dent in his paperwork—or the game of solitaire he had just clicked out of when he heard the knock on his door. “Am I going to find puddles in the bathrooms if I go in there right now? Did you put out the signs—”

“Yes,” the boy grunted, his entire body seeming to pull toward the door still open behind him. “What do I have to do to get out of here?”

John huffed a laugh, “tomorrow I’ll have you give the trucks a good hose down, I’m sure Johnny’ll be more than happy to show you what to do.”

Logan blinked, “so…can I go then?”

“Yeah, I reckon you’ve had enough for the day. Want me to dr—”

“I can walk.”

“Are you sure? It’s a bit far—”

“I’ll walk,” he said, grabbing his bag from the hallway just outside the door. Muttering, “don’t need your fucking help,” on the way out.

When the door swung shut after him John found himself staring at the door, a long sigh escaping him.

Then he grabbed his phone.

Me, just now

] Hey Felicity, it’s John. Logan’s all finished up for the day here, I offered to drive him home but he’s walking. Just an fyi in case you’re home earlier and wondering where he is.

This woman’s phone number was his bloody pride and joy as of Saturday morning. And, speaking of, their breakfast had been plaguing him worse than the silence in his house. He wanted to have her over again, but he knew it was too soon—perhaps he ought to have everyone over again, Orla was looking ready to pop as of late, might as well celebrate before thing one and thing two get here.

Me, just now

] I’m having some people over this weekend, you and the boys can join if you want. Always the more the merrier.

Felicity, just now

] Hi John! Thanks for the heads up on Logan :)

] I might be working on Saturday sorry, but I’ll let the boys know. Thank you for the invite regardless.

He should’ve known it’d take a little more work to get her back in his grasp—if the past however many years of asking her to join him for coffee was anything to go by. Patience. This would be an exercise of patience.

• • •

Logan’s efforts at the station weren’t the worst John had ever seen—the kid was no professional cleaner for sure, but he wasn’t bad enough to merit a refresher course either. Despite his little speech, the guys didn’t rip into him the way they did with one another, there was the odd jab or two when he was tending to the trucks “hey, no dents man” or “watch that bumper” but remarkably, he took it on the chin, keeping his head down.

In saying that, he was awfully quiet. Hardly said a word to anyone. It made John antsy.

It left him feeling completely surprised when the kid wandered into John’s house awkwardly on Saturday through the open front door. Rubbing the nape of his neck as he looked around for any sign of life. Price tried to relax his rising brows when he closed the fridge door and found Logan on the other side of it. “Hey, you made it!”

Something in the phrase made Logan’s nose wrinkle as he shrugged. Maybe it was the enthusiasm, the implied expectancy. “No one’s home and I’m hungry.”

A little blunt perhaps—not entirely heartwarming—but isn’t that the exact reason why John throws these bloody things to begin with?

“You want a drink?” Logan’s eyes fell to the three bottles of beer held between his knuckles and John barked out a laugh, “yeah right, there’s juice and soda in the fridge. Glasses are just behind me,” he added, with the tip of his head as he made to leave, “it’ll be a little while before any of the food’s ready but come out an’ have a chat, Johnny an’ Gaz are here.”

And that was that. He couldn’t force him to socialize, that was a tactic he already knew wouldn’t work. Slow and steady.

– ☾ –

“Jesus Christ Si, I think yer kids are fighting,” Orla winced, a hand on her stomach as she felt the babies kicking her more than each other.

They were always his when they were fighting, Simon noted with a small grumble—not out loud of course, she’d knock him right out for that. Nevertheless, he grimaced as she watched her stiffen up in the passenger seat, taking her free hand in his. He’d learned the hard way that asking, “are you okay?” and “can I get you something?” were not soothing anymore. She just wanted a hand to hold (and squeeze and to wipe away her tears when it was over) more than any words of bloody encouragement. She was getting cooed at enough in public by random strangers, she didn’t need him joining in too.

After a terrible minute, she finally relaxed, “okay, okay let’s get goin’, dinnae want the crumble to turn to shite in here.”

When they eventually emerged from the car together, apple crumble in one of Simon’s hands, Orla’s hip in the other, a little smile tipped the corner of his lips. She frowned up at him, “wha’?”

“Nothin’,” he murmured, though his grin only grew when he looked down at her, his hand sliding down to squeeze her ass. She gasped, swatting at the thick of his bicep.

“Ach—Ye’re terrible!” But there was a big grin on her face as she giggled, only moving closer, wrapping her arm around his.

He couldn’t help but plant another kiss to the top of her head.

As expected, the house was empty, everyone already outside. But (via Orla elbowing him in the side) simon noticed there was one unfamiliar straggler loitering about John’s kitchen. “Does Price have kids?” she asked, voice dropped to a whisper out of the corner of her mouth.

“Uh, no,” Simon frowned. He knew the face, he’d seen the kid around the station a few times now though neither were exactly the talkative type, so they hadn’t exchanged names. “Think he’s a volunteer at the station.”

“Oh,” she mumbled. “Dinnae realize ye did tha’.”

“…neither.”

Perhaps it was the two people awkwardly standing at the entrance to the kitchen, or the way they were whispering as if he weren’t just a few feet away, but the kid spared them a glance, his eyes only dropping to Orla’s protruding stomach for a second before he frowned, “what’s your problem?”

Oh, this kid was about to have a real problem alright--

Orla blinked in surprise before sparking to life, a hand against Simon’s chest as if she’d sensed his souring mood towards the boy, “sorry, dinnae think we’ve met before. I’m Orla, an’ this lump next to me is Simon,” she said, patting his arm as he moved to leave the crumble in the fridge. “Wha’s yer name laddie?”

“Logan,” he muttered.

“Oh! Tha’s a nice—”

Simon cut her a look, his brow raised, “no. I thought we decided on Ben.” Orla sighed, relenting, eyes rolling. “Seen you down at the station a few times,” Simon grunted after the silence began to hang between the three of them. “Didn’t realize we had volunteers.”

The kid let out something similar to a scoff, “not volunteering.”

Orla glanced at her fiancé, brow raised. He shrugged. “…okay then,” before he was edging closer to the door, her hand slowly slipping out of his.

“I’ll be out in a sec, just gonna have some water.”

❀ ❀ ❀

It was Saturday. Felicity couldn’t believe she was back in the office again.

Nathan, two hours ago

] Hey Felicity, sorry to disrupt your weekend. Just having trouble finding the Wilkins family file. If you could pop in to help me look for it before my flight out tomorrow, that would be great! Lunch on me as usual.

John, two hours ago

] BBQ is still happening in case you’re able to get out of your work thing, no stress if you can’t :)

“Any luck?” Nathan called from his office.

Felicity looked up from the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, sighing. “Is there any chance you sent it ahead of time?”

He laughed, “and then forgot? That’d be a painful miracle.”

“I’ll just assemble a new file for you to take and get out of your hair.”

Nathan finally emerged, leaning against the doorframe that led to his office. He seemed to live in office-wear; today was navy pants and a matching tie to contrast his white shirt. If she commented on it (like she’d done before) he would defend himself with, “but I brought a jersey this time!”

His fashion sense was a work in process.

“I know I’ve been asking a lot of you lately—I’m in the process of looking for a second admin assistant to help disperse the load. The firm hasn’t really gotten many new hires in my specialty either so that doesn’t help,” he grimaced, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I just—your efforts are appreciated. Really, Felicity, they are. I promise, as soon as I get that second assistant, you’re gonna get that time off—”

Felicity gave him a soft, patient smile. Well, the best one she could muster. “I know.”

His eyes dropped to the stacks of files on her desk—to his eyes they must look daunting; but she had them organized; she’d get them done by Tuesday without a problem. “But it’s so—”

“Hey, you want to help as many people as you can. You’re good at your job—you’re a great lawyer. If this is what it takes to get more happy families, then so be it.” She shook her mouse, waking up the desktop computer. “Go home Mr. Abbott, I’ll get the file sorted and formatted ready for you to review during your flight tomorrow.”

The bags beneath his eyes seemed to lighten at her instructions, shoulders unwinding instantely, “are you sure? You must’ve had plans with your boys—”

“Go home Nathaniel, I don’t want to have to tell you again.”

The near fifty-four-year-old went pink across his cheeks, ducking his head with a guilty smile as he went back into his office to collect his things. “I’ll see you Wednesday then. Call me if you need anything!”

The moment the doors to the elevator slid shut, her phone began to buzz.

Incoming call from Logan…

“Hey—”

“I think one of John’s friends just went into labor.”

Felicity fell silent, frowning intently at the lock screen of her computer. “Who—what?”

“It was so gross, and she was swearing at everyone—”

“Who was swearing at everyone?”

Logan groaned, the conversation clearly taxing him, “Orla. The pregnant one. Her water just broke, like, everywhere. Everyone’s gone down to the hospital—”

The name Orla answered exactly zero of Felicity’s questions, she couldn’t think of a single Orla she knew. “Wait,” she frowned, “where are you?”

“At John’s.”

“And he’s…he left you there?”

She knew the exact shrug he gave even without seeing it, slightly lopsided to the right, “said to eat something if I didn’t want to go with.” At that exact moment, he did as he was told, “so I’m eatin’ somefin’.”

The open tone in his voice, the reflex to call her when something happened, didn’t register at first. Something in her brain dismissing the foreign concepts of what her relationship with her son had once been. “Okay, um. Well, when you’re finished, make sure you lock the door behind you, yeah? I’m going to see if I can get a hold of John.”

“Okay—can we have burgers for dinner?”

“Yeah, sounds good. I’ll go to the store when I’ve finished up here. I love you, Logan. See you later.”

“Bye mom.”

She frowned at the phone a while longer when the call cut, confusion seeping into her brain before she got her fingers to move, finding John’s contact and hitting the call button.

He wasted no time answering. “Hey love—oh, Logan’s at my place. I had to go to the hospital, mate’s about to become a dad. Isn’t that brilliant? Lunch got cut short but there should be enough for the kid to eat. How’s work?”

Her lips parted, but his words had set her mind in a whirlwind spin. “I—” …had he just called her love?

“Effie? You there? Sorry, just went through the tunnel before the E.R. Shit, what do you get a new mum?” He suddenly grunted; frown visible through the phone though it was pressed to her ear. She could see it in her mind clear as day.

“Yes—yeah, I’m here. I’m here,” she cleared her throat, pressing a hand to her forehead as she leaned her elbow on her desk. “Um…diapers are always a good choice—for the baby, might be a little invasive for the mom,” she mumbled, a nervous laugh escaping her. Jesus, who allowed her to speak? “Oh—” Her brain finally started to reconnect, and she rambled off a list of things she remembered wanting after her own pregnancies, received by a few hums and mumbles of consideration.

“Thanks Effie—hey, are you still at work?” The sound of a door closing came from his end of the line. Felicity let go of her forehead, tapping her nail against the scrolling wheel of her computer mouse instead.

“Only for another hour or so.”

“Are you free on—Mara! Over here!” Felicity jumped, pulling the phone away from her ear slightly as price suddenly bellowed to someone. “Shit, alright, I gotta go sweetheart. Talk later, yeah?”

She chewed her lip, watching the cursor blink in the password box on the lock screen in front of her, “yeah, talk later John. Congrats to your friend, hope it’s a safe delivery.”

• • •

“Oh bloody hell—”

Orla was giggling softly behind her hand, “Ach—John, c’mere,” she grinned, stretching out an arm.

His body nearly covered her entire frame as he hugged her, “fuckin’ brilliant job sweetheart.” Sniffling, he wiped a quick hand down his face, swiping the tears. “How’re you feelin’?”

Tears were ever-glistening in her eyes too, a soft, watery smile on her lips, “a lot,” she shook her head, breath hitching, “but let’s no’ talk about tha’. Still tired,” she added with a soft laugh, digging the heel of her palm into her eyes, “but I dinnae wanna look away from ‘em.”

The delivery had taken the night—long enough that everyone had to go home and come back in the morning. Price was last to visit. Orla’s parents were being taken to the cafeteria for brunch by Simon. “Don’t blame you,” he grinned, casting another look at the small warmers holding the two most precious little souls in their universe, “didn’t realize they even came that small.”

“It’s a little early for them, but it’s okay. Doc says they’re healthy.”

“And you?”

“I’m good,” she smiled warmly up at him, squeezing the hand she’d taken into her grasp. “Happy.”

He couldn’t hide his smile for anything, wiping away a tear on her cheek with the pad of his thumb, “well done.”

“Oi, you stealin’ my wife?” Simon grunted from the door, looking like he’d skipped the nights rest too, more than happy to watch the tiny chests rising up and down. Just as quick as the frown had arrived, however, it departed with a broad smile, his eyes falling to his babies. “Not too shabby, eh?”

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Orla muttered, “we’re no’ married yet.” Though her grin was no less bright than her fiancé’s.

Entering the room, closing the door behind him, Simon couldn’t escape Price’s hug, his arm draping over the man’s shoulders, tugging him into his side. “You still got tha’ lake house?” Simon asked.

Price nodded, but Orla’s gasp cut him off. “Ye’ve go’ a lake house?! Simon—”

“Why d’you think I’m askin’?” He grunted, a laugh slipping between his words. He nudged Price’s side, “reckon I could ask a favour?”

• • •

The idea only occurred when Monday rolled around again, bringing Logan back to the station with it.

Price watched the kid sweep the empty garage; the trucks had been pulled out for a good hose down after the last job. “Hey,” he called out.

Logan looked up, tugging free an earphone, “yeah?”

“D’you know how to fish?”

The boy squinted, “why?”

“Do you?”

He shrugged, “yeah. What’s it matter?”

John crossed his arms over his chest, offering a shrug of his own. He hadn’t expected Logan to come in today, he’d only meant the “punishment” to last a week. But apparently the routine had continued…and who was John to turn away a helping hand? “Got a lake house I haven’t used in a while. In case you and your family want to head out some time? D’you think they’d be interested?”

He pulled a face, shrugging again, “I dunno.”

Jesus Christ. Just one straight answer would be good. “Right then,” he grunted, watching Logan replace the earbud in his ear, music reigniting. He’d just ask Felicity directly then. Hopefully she could get a weekend off work to treat herself and the boys on a wee trip.

He should probably give the place a dust first though.

[transplanarrpg]

There’s a lot coming up this June: Pride Month, Juneteenth, and FIVE YEARS OF TRANSPLANAR RPG! That’s right, it’s our channelversary — and we’re ready to celebrate.

Join us every Wednesday and Saturday in June to kick-off HALF A DECADE of our super gay, super trans, very noncolonial show! ✨

Each week of June, we’ll be celebrating one of the four main shows we’ve released:

🌟 The Second Stranger

🗡️ GODKILLER: First Blood

❌ The Chaos Protocol

and 🩸 GODKILLER: Last Hope

… with a series of special director’s cuts, reruns, and streams! A full schedule is in the works.

We’ll also share THEMED PROMPTS for the show in question. We’re inviting the space at large to make fan-works, games, or even Actual Plays based on these prompts!

At the end of the month, we'll compile all submitted works into a TRANSPLANAR ANNIVERSARY ZINE to print and/or release digitally.

While we are celebrating Transplanar, it’s important to us to take this time to raise funds for causes that we resonate with.

To that end, each week we’ll be raising funds for a different charity supporting Palestinian Aid, Black Liberation, ICE & Prison Abolition, and Protections for Trans Folks. Our stories are not just fiction!

And as though this thread wasn't long enough, we're also pushing for PARTNER on Twitch this summer! We have five years of streaming on the books, and we know our community is strong, robust, and deeply necessary in online spaces.

Make some noise and help us hit some new heights each Wednesday and Saturday of June, Transplanerds! 💫

We can’t wait to celebrate HALF A DECADE (‼️) of our all-transgender, POC-led Actual Play series set in an noncolonial anti-orientalist world.

Thank you so much to everyone who's supported, tuned in, made fanworks, bonked Connie, and enjoyed our stories over the years. We'll see you in June! 🏳️‍⚧️

[redhoodi]

Takes one to know one | Rhett Abbott/Reader

Rhett couldn’t play your games anymore, he needs you to know he lost.

word count: 1.5K warnings: none

note Find this fic on AO3 #hi haven’t written anything or been kissed in a long time. Sighs. Anyways happy yearner Rhett for those who celebrate. Mentions of God and subtly comparing love to religion. English isn’t my first language btw, hope you like it ^_^ !

While the moonlight couldn’t compete with the white lights turning the rodeo into a spectacle, only his reddening face looking at the ground once his eyes find you in the crowd. He fixes his hat before raising for your challenge, he licks his lips thinking it would distract you from noticing a smile on his face.

It was your favorite game, lowering your head, rising your eyebrows along with the corners of your lips and nodding once just to let him know you see him. That he’s doing a good job at not letting you see how his hand grips on his waist, how his breathing weights on his chest when you’re locked on his eyes.

You wore a tight long-sleeved shirt which color could be stained with wine and it wouldn’t show a difference. Dark red, maroon, Rhett knew about colors. It’s the type of detail it would make you compare it to a certain wine brand or his bruised hands after riding. Type of detail that doesn’t escape your ability to continue chatting. He shouldn’t be thinking about this. Semi-finals had caught him on a cold night. Bull was rougher. His mind could’ve lingered a little longer on the top if it weren’t for the red lipstick painted on your face. The lights started to dim, and people began to fade.

Rhett’s questioned where would you go after this on the tip of his tongue but he was betrayed by his own body the moment he had you only meters away from him. People walking around your bodies like a river softening stones. His shoulders falling once your steps got you closer to him. He froze, keeping in mind the way your father whispered in your ear before the rodeo. He caught your mother’s disapproving eyes staring up and down and calculating just how much of a man he was that couldn’t measure to be even remotely deserving of capturing your eyes. He waited on you to make a move. Not as tough as people made him out to be.

Some say you reap what you sow. And your little eye game riled up his mind beyond forming any coherent word as you got closer. Maybe it was the moon dancing over the side you brushed your hair behind your ear. Maybe his breathing finally stopped and he had you confused with an angel all those years ago.

His clothes stuck to his body from the sweat, bringing out his broad shoulders and tightening around his chest. You swallowed, keeping posture before trying to meet his eyes but he was nowhere to be found. His gaze wandered the floor below and his fingers trailed his brown leather jacket. Boots tapping the dry sand he stood above, there wasn’t any escape and doe eyes stared at you caught on the brightness of your presence.

Then your greetings came as a whisper. Pride on his mouth was spit to the ground before he did something he’d be scared not to regret.

“Not bad,” you insisted as a wry smile adorned his face. As his features could be detailed closer and the skin below your nose tarnished hot from his breath. It was only a matter of time before he got so close he could see behind your façade. Shivers went down your spine steading you to the ground. Focusing on his eyes and the dim light reflecting distracted you from noticing them tracing your mouth. Pink painted his nose and cheeks as the wind blushed his face.

“Expected more” he recited with a low voice, while the grip on his jacket tightened. The results were enough for next round and the thought circles his mind as birds preying, he had been just enough, not good nor great. He swallows the thought before taking a pause to let the mix of hay, sweat and vanilla fill his lungs. The last scent makes him travel to the first and only time he had enough audacity to dare his nose trail the skin below your jaw. A grin lights his face remembering, like yours when it happened.

The kind of games that you played with him worked too well. The small balancing of your torso in place, waltzing to yourself before him, impatient. Something was between you two for years since you’ve started as a nurse in town. You faking you didn’t know what you were doing when you licked your lips staring him with a frown, confusing and intoxicating. It started to poison him the moment he saw you standing on the bleachers tonight. Losing temped him.

There hadn’t been a day now where the thought of tasting you wasn’t the only thought in mind. His family played dumb. Misplacing a plate on the fridge when he caught a bird outside the window that you told him about its legs automatically clamping on branches when they sleep so they don’t fall, his smile only raised concerns to his mother that he was slowly losing it. When you wore a dress tight on your torso and loose on your hips, cut a little above your knees, spotting him staring and smiled, making him miss the door on the store to end up on a wall, Perry only laughed. Now, jeans hugging your legs, arms behind your back, acting all innocent for him, his stupid causing a grin on you.

“Stop that” only making you frown from his stern shaking voice. “What are we doing?”

“What do you mean,” you tilted your head. Amusing yourself with the idea of riling him up without even a touch. The saintly woman you ought to be couldn’t let herself enjoy knowing the effect you had on him. He never stood a change under your voice, your gaze. Delighted by the desperate sight of a man finding little interest in praying to God, pleading to you.

“You know what I mean, sweetheart,” he held his fingers close to your waist, never quite reaching. “Once we do this, I don’t want nothing else”

He was tortured by your ever addicting laugh. Rhett should grab you but his hands stood still, he never waited on permission but any word from you could bring him to ruin. Anger filled his cheeks red trying to find the joke of of having him wrapped around your fingers.

“I want you,” consumed by the loss of his mind, surrendering himself to you. His hands began to shake in place, once you lowered your head to see them. Frowning further.

“What about Maria?” it came as a whisper again, tainted with mistrust. The first time he didn’t hear a gambler tone, or followed up by a topic changing the leading of the conversation as he caught you doing when he tried to flirt with you out front. He did once, thought he could get you easily. Then he got to know you and learned you loved proving people wrong about their expectations of you. It only made you stronger than smoking. He was the one frowning now, searching for the confident foe he made you out to be.

“What about her?”

“You’ve been in love with her since forever,” you reached for his fingers with yours, not reaching his palm. “When she looks at you, you’ll be done with me”

“Was a high-school crush,” he holds your fingers to lead them to his chest, not trying to hide the trembling of his hands. His heart raced on your palm and his eyes traveled from your golden rings adorning your hands to your eyes focusing on him. “I can’t anymore, I know I ain’t much. God’s honest truth that is. But I want all of you”

Rough voice against your tender lips. The tip of your noses lightly finding each other. Your eyebrows relaxed once under his eyes and the pressing of your lips goes unnoticed by the shadow casted from his hat. He takes it off with his free hand, when the right still steadies above your own. Daring to brush his thumb to bring you back. You begin to move your head softly. His head rested on the right side of his neck now, almost bowing.

“I should kiss that grin out of your face,” you manage to say and what kind of man was he to stop you.

“Should’ve done it sooner” before resting his hat on your head and reaching for your ear between his index and middle finger and allowing his thumb to play around your smiling cheek. He sighs when he realizes your free hand reaching for the back of his neck and bringing him closer.

“I hate you” was the last thing he heard before your lips greet his. Slowly finding your way against his mouth. He could taste the lipstick before you opened your mouth to taste his tongue.

The sweetest con often comes in the idea of an indefinite place of faith by someone else’s hands. His, bruised in purple and green with scratches he often downplayed their severity to calm you down, rough and slightly dirty fingers traced a path on the edge of your cheeks. The Rhett Abbott from everyone’s eyes could be careless, couldn’t be more different than the one whose hands slightly tremble when holding your face. You pretend not to notice how he crumbles from touching you, how his eyes tempest blue underneath your gaze.

-

© redhoodi 2025 my writing is prohibited from any replication consisting of reposting, copying, translating or profiting, on any platform regardless if credit is given.

[torchickentacos]

i will always shout praises of bi4bi but given recent discourse I feel the need to say that I love bi4het too! I just love bisexuality in general in its many forms, and anyone who only likes it when it's 'queer enough' for them is biphobic. Bisexuals should be able to bring their LaMe CiShEt BoYfRiEnD to pride without being made to feel like spectators and outsiders to their own event.

[rafesangelita]

♡ grinding in rafe’s lap at the club

warnings: drinking, heavy petting, semi-public sex, dry humping, dirty talk, rafe cums in his pants, suggestive ending

a/n: i imagined this song playing, so i just had to include it..

rafe watched you the entire time you were ordering drinks from the bar, his credit card in your hand while you swayed to the song playing over the speakers in the nightclub. though you were usually accompanied by your friends, rafe decided to rent out your own little section so you two can enjoy a night out together by yourselves, his eyes raking down your body as you leaned over the counter. you were so sexy without even trying, it drove rafe crazy to see how oblivious you were to all of it. the stares, the double takes, he knew you made him look better being on his arm.

to say you were his pride and joy would be an understatement. rafe flaunted you and showed you off in every way he could, always making sure you were front and center and in the spotlight in every social situation. he watched the way you slipped his card back in your purse, your hips moving deliciously as you made your way through the packed crowd with prettily dressed drinks in your hands. rafe was quick to take you in his lap, draping a possessive arm around your waist as he did so. taking a sip from the fruity alcohol in your glass, you looked up at rafe as you licked the rim, his gaze dropping down to your sparkly lips.

jaw clenching, you blinked away from him and shifted your weight, eliciting a groan to rumble from his chest. threading your fingers with rafe’s, he leaned back against the lounge couch, manspreading so you sat smack dabbed where he was growing hard already. placing your drink down on the table in front of you, the lights dimmed as the song changed. with his fingers still interlocked with yours, you reached back and circled your hips over the growing tent straining against his pants, watching as his head rolled to the side. “you’re fucking killing me..” he hissed, his eyes stuck to where your dress rode up your thighs and exposed the bottoms of your ass.

smiling to yourself, you leaned back against him, resting your hand in the curve of his neck as you rocked yourself on top of him, his chest rising and falling at the perfect amount of friction rubbing against his clothed cock. “cum for me, and i’ll give you all the rounds you want back home.” you whispered, nipping the sensitive flesh behind his ear. that was enough for rafe to cup your tits over your low neckline, his mouth moving to your neck as he licked and kissed at the skin there. “you’re so perfect, baby—” he groped you, “and all mine.” closing your eyes, you didn’t care about anyone seeing you two in your intimate state.

rafe imagined getting you home and taking you on the couch in this god forsaken dress of yours. he’d bend you over in front of the large mirror and fuck you stupid with your heels still on, fisting your hair and forcing you to look at him until you couldn’t take it anymore. hearing your moans echo in his head and play on repeat was enough for him to grip your waist with an unforgiving force, your hips slowing down as he felt his cum spurt in his boxers. resting his forehead on your back, he breathed heavily against your skin until he came down from his high.

bringing his drink up to his lips, rafe mumbled a ‘thank you, baby.’ before taking a swig and pulling you up with him. “let’s get you outta here,” he held you flushed against his frontside so no one can see evidence of your earlier activities, “we got a long night ahead of us still.”

thank you nonnie for celebrating with me ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[trashytracktales]

Omg can you please write some smut with Lando about the FIA gala??? He looks so hot in that suit and I need something about it🥵😭 Maybe after the gala ended and they’re back to their hotel or they fuck while they’re on the plane back to Monaco.

The FIA (Feral Instincts Arise) Awards | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── I knew there would be requests for this the second I saw Lando on that carpet. Bon appétit 😛

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

𐙚 summary ──── It's the 2024 FIA Awards, and Lando and his girlfriend can't help but steal a moment of passion, unable to resist the tension built through teasing touches and glances during such a glamorous night.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, established relationship, teasing, mild public intimacy, smut, descriptive language, fingering, bathroom sex, swearing.

𐙚 word count ──── 3.2k

𐙚 date ──── Dec. 14, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── I have nothing to say except that I am absolutely devastated that my role model and inspiration, Michèle Mouton has officially retired from her role as FIA Safety Delegate. I love her so much and will forever be grateful for the representation she provided for women in motorsport throughout the years. In other news, at least everybody looked so fucking hot last night.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

IT WAS PURE torture for her to see him up on that stage from the beginning of the evening. She’d sat in the audience, her heart swelling with pride and gratitude for being able to be by his side during this exciting stage of his life — witnessing his hard work, his wins, and his dreams becoming reality. It's more than she ever imagined.

As she watched him, she realized she wasn't just proud of his accomplishments, but thankful to be the one he comes home to, the one who gets to share these moments that will live forever in both of their memories.

Standing up to cheer for him, as Lando’s name was announced for finishing second in the Drivers’ Championship, was a natural reaction. The applause was loud, a mix of respect and so much admiration for her determined racer boy who had fought tooth and nail all season.

McLaren’s triumph in the Constructors’ Championship only added to the celebration, the team beaming as they ascended the stage to accept their award.

While the room celebrated them, all she could think about was him — her man, standing under the spotlights, looking impossibly handsome in his perfectly tailored black suit and crisp white shirt. He looked perfect, from his styled curls to his sharp jawline and sweet, nervous smile. She felt very conflicted, overwhelmed with pride and love, yet squirming with a different kind of heat every time he looked for her in the audience. The way his dimple appeared when he smiled, the casual confidence in his voice as he gave his speech, and the glint of determination in his eyes as he thanked the team for having faith in him — every bit of it was intoxicating.

Now, at the dinner table, the atmosphere has shifted.

Glasses of champagne catch the glow, sparkling like liquid gold, as conversations hum softly among the elite of the motorsport world.

Lando sits beside her, relaxed in a way only he can manage after such a long, eventful evening. His suit jacket is draped over the back of his chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal his forearms. He holds a champagne flute in one hand, the other resting lazily on her thigh beneath the table.

She can feel the warmth of his palm on her skin, his fingers flexing ever so slightly. It’s a casual touch — he’s sipping champagne, laughing at something Oscar just said — but the effect it has on her is anything but relaxed. Her heart races every time his thumb brushes against her soft skin, slow and intentional, almost like he knows exactly what he’s doing to her.

Her own glass of champagne sits untouched in front of her, her attention split between the conversation around them and the heat blooming under Lando’s hand. She tries to pay attention, nodding along while Andrea talks about some funny incident that happened in the garage during the last race of the season. But her thoughts keep drifting back to him.

She glances over at Lando, her breath catching at how effortlessly handsome he is, now that he’s more relaxed and in his element. The golden light softens the sharp lines of his face, making him look almost ethereal. But it’s the dimpled smirk that forms as he catches her staring that sends a shiver down her spine.

“Everything okay, gorgeous?” asks Lando, his voice low enough that only she can hear.

She nods, swallowing hard. “Positive. I'm just incredibly proud of you, that's all.”

His smirk widens, his thumb stroking her thigh with more purpose now. “You’ve said that already,” Lando murmurs, leaning in just enough that his breath brushes her ear. “But keep going. I like hearing it,” he adds, pressing his lips to her cheek.

She smiles, looking away, determined not to let him fluster her further.

However, Lando has other plans. His fingers trace unhurried patterns on her inner thigh, edging closer to the hem of her dress. The movement is subtle — nobody at the table would notice — but to her, it feels like her skin is burning. Her breathing gets heavier, and she shifts in her seat instinctively, her legs parting just enough under the table to grant him more access.

“My good girl,” whispers Lando, smiling against her cheek, then turning his attention back to the conversation.

Her heart skips at the quiet praise, and she shoots him a quick, warning glance, her eyes wide with panic.

Lando looks completely unbothered, taking part of the dialogue like he’s the epitome of innocence. The slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips tells a very different story, though. A secret one, that only they know about.

“Stop it,” she whispers through gritted teeth, her voice so low that it’s practically a breath.

Obviously, he doesn’t. If anything, her quiet protest seems to spur him on. The pads of his fingers creep higher, brushing dangerously close to the heat between her legs. She grips the stem of her champagne flute tightly, her knuckles white as she tries to take her first sip of alcohol of the night — at least then she'll have something to blame if anyone asks her why she got so flustered all of a sudden.

“Lando,” she warns, her voice soft but firm.

“Hm?” he hums, his expression completely neutral as he keeps his attention to Oscar, who’s recounting his Turn 1 incident from Abu Dhabi.

She bites her lip, willing herself not to squirm in her seat. She almost can not believe how shameless Lando is, then she remembers all the times he tested her patience when they were in public. At that, her free hand drops to her lap, fingers wrapping around his wrist in an attempt to still his movements. He doesn’t pull away, but he also still doesn’t stop. Instead, his thumb presses a little harder, a constant reminder of his presence.

“You’re squirming, baby,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement. “People are going to notice.”

“Then stop,” she repeats quietly, her tone sharp enough to earn a quick, curious glance from Andrea, who's sitting across from her. She ends up forcing a small smile, nodding, then turning back to Lando.

He chuckles under his breath, leaning in just slightly so his words are for her ears alone. “But we’re having so much fun,” he teases.

Her body betrays her as heat pools low in her belly, and she can’t stop herself from shifting again, her legs spreading a fraction wider. Lando takes full advantage of the movement, his fingers grazing higher until they’re just shy of where she needs him most. She glares at him, her eyes filled with need and her cheeks burning when his fingers slide easily over her lace panties, pressing harder on her warmth. As a response, her body jerks, and she barely suppresses a gasp, her nails digging into his wrist.

“I hate you,” she mutters under her breath, her voice shaky.

His grin returns, and he tilts his head, finally looking at her again. His gaze is dark, heated, and he looks entirely pleased with himself. “No, you don’t,” says Lando, so sure of himself.

It’s a miracle she doesn’t combust on the spot.

Because he's right — she doesn't hate him, she hates the fact that they're in public and she's incredibly turned on, but there's nothing she can do about it.

Finally, she can breathe normally when he withdraws his hand from between her legs, just as casually as he’d started. Her body is still buzzing with the lingering traces of his touch as she places her hand lightly on Lando’s shoulder. Slowly, she rises from her seat, her fingers squeezing just enough to send him a silent message only he’d understand.

At that, Lando’s heart stutters for a beat, his mouth suddenly dry as he watches her glide gracefully toward the bathrooms. The way her dress hugs her curves doesn’t help the growing situation in his pants — it’s like she knows exactly what she’s doing to him, a small punishment for what just happened between them. He tries to act like he's not affected, emptying his glass of champagne while his eyes turn back to the table, but his focus is scattered.

His hand still tingles from touching her under the table, and now he’s left to deal with the knowledge that his teasing had gotten to her.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Minutes tick by, though they feel like an eternity.

Lando finds himself forcing a laugh at something Oscar says, remembering how impossibly talkative his teammate gets when he has a few drinks on board. He shifts in his seat, trying to mask his growing anticipation, but she’s all he can think about. His fingers drum against his empty glass, the weight of the moment making it almost impossible to sit still.

Then, his phone buzzes inside his pocket, her name lighting up the screen.

He doesn’t need to answer to know it’s just a diversion, and she’s not waiting for a conversation, either — she’s just giving him an out.

Lando clears his throat, “Sorry, I have to take this,” he says, giving the table an apologetic smile, as he pushes back his chair and making his way out of the dining area with purpose.

His heart pounds in his chest as he walks toward the bathroom, careful not to seem too rushed, but acutely aware of the tension building inside his body with each step he takes.

The hallway leading to the bathrooms is quieter, lined with soft, ambient lighting and artwork that screams understated luxury. He takes a turn, his steps slowing as he spots her standing in front of the mirror inside the women's restroom. The space itself is elegant, all marble countertops and gold fixtures, with sleek stalls and huge mirrors.

She’s touching up her lipstick, her purse resting next to her, the subtle curve of her smile betraying the fact that she knows he’s behind her. Lando approaches slowly, his footsteps soft against the polished tile. When he’s close enough, his hands settle on her waist, his touch firm yet familiar as he pulls her closer.

“There you are,” he says, his voice low and full of heat. “Worried about your makeup when it’s just going to smudge off you anyway?”

Her smile turns into a smirk as she meets his gaze in the mirror. “God, you’re the worst,” she teases, her tone light but laced with something more intimate.

Lando chuckles while she turns in his arms. Her hands slide up his chest, her touch lingering as she looks up at him, her eyes dark with intent.

“Are you sure it can’t wait until we get back to the hotel?” asks Lando, even though he already knows the answer, because he knows the look she has painted all over her face very well.

Her lips brush against his cheek in a warm, lingering kiss before her breath tickles his ear. “Baby, that's hours away.”

She intertwines her fingers with his, and leads him to one of the stalls at the end of the bathroom. The space is just as luxurious as the rest of the venue — tall wooden doors that reach from ceiling to floor, polished brass locks, and a sense of privacy that makes it feel more like a secluded room than a bathroom stall. As soon as they step inside, the door locks with a soft click, and every ounce of restraint disappears.

Lando’s lips are on hers instantly, hot and demanding, his hands already traveling to the hem of her dress. There’s no time to waste, with all those people back at the table who could realize at any moment that it is no coincidence that they are both missing at the same time.

His hands slide up her thighs, pushing the fabric of her dress higher until he reaches the thin band of her panties. His fingers slip beneath the lace, tugging them down in one swift motion before his hand returns, sliding between her legs and finding her completely soaked.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his forehead resting against hers as his fingers dip into her heat. “All this from a bit of touching?”

Her breath comes out in a shaky laugh as she clutches his shirt. “No,” she whispers, “All this from watching you on that stage, sitting next to you the entire night, seeing how people were cheering for you — and then from a bit of touching.”

A cocky smirk tugs at Lando’s lips. “That so?” he asks, pressing a finger into her, his pace measured as he stretches her slowly.

She gasps, her head falling back against the door, and he takes the opportunity to kiss her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. A second finger joins the first, curling inside her as his thumb circles her clit, making her see stars.

Her hands, trembling with anticipation, move to his belt, fumbling for a moment before she pushes his pants down just enough to free his hardened cock. Her touch is soft at first, her fingers wrapping around him and stroking slowly, making his jaw clench.

She looks up at him, her lips curving into a teasing smile as she echoes his earlier words. “All this from touching me under the table?”

“Shut up,” he growls, grabbing her thigh and hitching it around his hip. His cock presses against her entrance, teasing her as he slides the tip through her slick folds.

“You shut up, and fuck me already,” she says, her voice thick with desire.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With one swift thrust, he buries himself inside her, both of them gasping at the full sensation. The stretch is so sweet and perfect, and he pauses for just a moment, letting her adjust before pulling back and thrusting again, harder this time. Her back presses against the door, the cool wood contrasting with the heat of his body as he sets a relentless pace, in and out of her tight pussy. His hands grip her thighs, spreading her wider for him as he drives into her, each movement hungrier than the previous.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Lando groans, his lips brushing against her ear. “Perfectly thight around me, baby. Always so sweet and eager, aren’t you?”

She clings to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as he angles his hips, hitting a spot that has her biting back a cry. “Lan,” she breathes, her voice shaky and full of need, while trying to mimic his rapid movements.

“That’s it,” he encourages her, his voice rough as his fingers dig into her hips. “Let them hear you, baby. Let everybody know how well you take my cock.”

Her head falls on his shoulder as he thrusts deeper, harder, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside her. The tension coils tighter and tighter in her belly, her body trembling as she teeters on the edge.

“Lando, fuck,” she moans wetly into his shoulder, feeling her pussy clenching around his length. “Shit, baby. Yes, don’t stop.”

As he buries himself so deep inside her, Lando realizes that's what he wants to do for the rest of the evening — the rest of his life, as a matter of fact. His lips part as he feels her walls twitching around him, making him — if that's even possible — even harder for her. His breaths come out in spasms, letting out a small cry of pleasure as his chest crashes against hers violently.

Sensing that she’s so close, Lando’s hand ends up slipping between their bodies to rub her clit in time with his thrusts. “Come on, baby. Let me feel you.”

“Are you—oh, fuck,” she tries to speak, but all her thoughts are focused on how good he makes her feel.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando assures her, “Right behind you, love.”

It only takes a few more thrusts before she shatters around him, her walls clenching hard as her orgasm washes over her. Her moans are muffled against his neck as he continues to fuck her through her release, chasing his own high. His movements grow erratic, sloppier, his grip on her tightening as he finally lets go, spilling into her with a low, guttural moan.

For a moment, they can’t hear anything else except the soft whir of ventilation and their labored breathing. Their bodies stay pressed tightly together as the echoes of their pleasure lingers in the small space.

Her chest heaves against his as she exhales shakily, her lips brushing his neck, then up his jaw in a silent thank you.

Lando smiles, slowly pulling out of her, his cock still hard and sensitive from his release. She shudders at the sudden emptiness, but before she can speak, his hand slips between her thighs again. His fingers slide inside, pushing some of his cum and their mingled release back into her.

“Lando,” she gasps, her body clenching instinctively around his fingers.

His breath falls hot against her skin. “Gotta make sure you feel it all night.”

Her cheeks flush at his words, and she bites her lip, torn between glaring at him and melting into his touch. He strokes her lazily, savoring the way her body responds to him even now.

“Insane behavior, Norris,” she exhales sharply, finally looking up at him.

“My brand,” he smirks back at her. “But what about you, hm?” he asks, his tone soft, but teasing as his eyes rake over her wrecked expression. “Going back knowing you’re filled up so good?”

She rolls her eyes at him, but the heat in her gaze betrays her. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You love it,” he quips, fixing a strand of her hair and then kissing her deeply one last time.

She smiles against his lips, brushing her thumb over his mouth to wipe away the faint smudge of her lipstick. Then, leaning up, she presses a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. “Don’t take too long, champ.”

With that, she exits the stall, glancing once in the mirror to make sure she looks composed, and collecting her purse before heading back to the table.

When she returns to her seat, the conversation flows just as before, no one paying much attention to her absence beyond a polite glance. Her heart pounds in her chest, the sensation of being so intimately connected to Lando still fresh in her mind as she settles into her chair. She picks up her glass of champagne, finishing it in one go, her hands steady despite the warmth still coursing through her body — and the wetness between her legs.

A few minutes later, Lando comes back, his phone pressed to his ear as he pretends to be mid-conversation. His expression is casual, his voice light as he murmurs something unintelligible before slipping his phone back into his pocket and taking his seat.

But as soon as he sits down, Oscar’s eyes narrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Lando catches the look, frowning slightly as he tilts his head. “What?” he asks silently, his expression confused.

Oscar doesn’t answer, instead he points directly at Lando’s bowtie, which is noticeably crooked.

Lando’s eyes widen as he glances down, and straightens it as casually as he can, his cheeks turning faintly pink.

“It's windy outside,” Lando mutters under his breath, low enough that only Oscar can hear.

His teammate just grins knowingly, leaning back in his chair. “Whatever you say, mate.”

PREVIOUS LN⁴ ONE-SHOT

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Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2024

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ BIRTHDAY BOY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Bakugou used to love birthdays.

He’d be the center of attention. With every year being bigger than the last (because, honestly, did you expect his well-off parents to hold back on their only son?). Cameras clicked, kids shouted his name, and adults smiled in awe. He never cared if they liked him or feared him—he was admired.

And for a time, that was enough.

But somewhere along the line, the spark in those birthday candles started to feel dull.

His parents still celebrated, of course, usually with a home-cooked meal, a cake from his favorite bakery, and a gift he pretended not to like but secretly adored. His grandparents would always show up with noisy hugs and poorly wrapped presents, and his mother still made him wear a stupid little birthday crown at the table.

It was embarrassing, but it was also safe.

Familiar.

Then came UA.

By high school, the world cracked open in ways he hadn’t expected.

Everyone was strong.

Everyone had dreams.

He wasn’t the only one aiming for the top, and it was maddening—but also, for the first time, grounding. And he got friends—real ones. Not sycophants or kids scared of his quirk to say anything—so they just stay behind him, but people who challenged him through his shouting, his pride, and his anger.

Shitty Hair was the first to barge into his dorm room on his birthday with a lopsided grin and a poorly wrapped gift. “It’s a protein bar sampler! Thought you’d wanna see which one you could crush with one hand!”

After that, it became a tradition. Racoon Eyes brought handmade cards with glittery explosions. Soy Face made crown cut-outs from construction paper that Bakugou refused to wear but never threw away. Dunce Face bought the same grocery store cake every year with a new dumb nickname written in icing (he gets more creative each year—it’s starting to piss Bakugou off).

It was stupid. It was chaotic. It was good.

It became his day again.

And now—now he was 23.

The world around him had changed again.

He was a pro now. He had his own agency, his own patrols, and his own damn business cards that got passed around in hero circles and used to shut down villains on sight. Dynamight—no, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, they called him, like he was some unstoppable force (and an unstoppable force for a long-ass hero name). Which he was, most of the time.

But today?

Today, he just wanted to come home.

The celebration at the agency had been loud, grand, and grating. His staff meant well. Hell, even his sidekick (wow, surprising, he only had one because he was the only kid with the balls to directly say to Bakugou that he’ll surpass him during a personal interview) had pooled money to get him a custom gauntlet case with engraved initials.

There were banners (too flashy), snacks (pretty good), an off-key song, and a gaudy cake that someone ordered with indoor-safe sparklers instead of candles. He’d smiled (barely), given a thank-you speech that was short and gruff but genuine, and then dipped out the first moment he could without looking like a total ass. Bakugou knew exactly where he wanted to be.

Home.

You were waiting for him there.

Because you are his home.

He inhaled and instantly recognized the scent of soy, garlic, and ginger—it hit like a nostalgic punch straight to his gut. Home cooking. His home. You.

You peeked your head out from the kitchen and grinned. “Took you long enough, birthday boy.”

He let out a long breath, shoulders dropping, mouth tugging into a real smile as he kicked off his boots and unzipped his jacket, haphazardly draping it on the coat rack. “You been cooking this whole time?” he asked, padding toward the kitchen, hands already aching to hug you.

“I had to start late since someone had a fancy party,” you teased, arching a brow.

He caught your waist and pulled you in, burying his face into your shoulder. You were warm. Always warm. Always his to come home to. “Smelled it from the driveway. Thought I was gonna cry.”

You laughed, carding your fingers through his hair. It’s soft. It’s real. It’s what Bakugou, for the longest time of his life, thought he didn’t deserve.

“Well don’t cry. You’ll ruin your grumpy old man image.”

“You keep sayin’ old like I’m ancient,” he grumbled, voice muffled against you.

“You are! Twenty-three? That’s basically the beginning of the end.”

Bakugou snorted, lifting his head just enough to kiss your cheek. “Then I guess you better start takin’ care of me, huh?” he murmured, giving you another kiss on the cheek—and he’s tempted to bite into those round cheeks of yours, but he holds back; maybe later, he thinks. “Gonna live up to your promise?”

“I already do,” you said, smug.

Dinner was spread out in neat portions on your little dining table—fried karaage, miso soup, tamagoyaki, mapo tofu (yes, you finally lived up to surpassing Fuyumi’s recipe), Japanese curry, and a bowl of white rice shaped into a neat little mountain with a pickled plum on top. Comfort food. His favorites.

You even laid out a folded napkin at his seat and put a can of his favorite cold tea beside it.

But it was the bento cake in the center that made him pause. It was small—round and modest, clearly homemade. The white frosting was a little uneven, and there were three stubby candles jammed into the top in a crooked triangle. The frosting on top attempted an explosion shape but looked more like a flower in bloom. He loved it.

“You made that?” he asked, lowering into the seat and staring at it like it was some rare artifact.

“Baked and frosted. Don’t look too close, or you’ll see my fingerprints in it,” you said, sitting across from him. “And before you ask—no, I didn’t buy it from some store. I wanted to make it for you. Even if it’s ugly.”

“It’s not ugly.”

“Liars go to hell.”

He huffs. “Well, I think it’s fuckin’ adorable.”

You two ate slowly. Bakugou didn’t scarf it down like he did in the breakroom or during hero meetings. He savored each bite as you two shared a warm conversation over dinner. You told him how a kid at daycare tried to make you a birthday card to give to him but ended up scribbling dinosaurs fighting a volcano instead. You showed him a crayon drawing folded in your bag. It said, “Happpy Brithdai KATSOOKY.”

He laughed so hard he snorted.

After dinner, you two sat at the table for a while, talking about nothing, hands brushing occasionally, until you leaned forward and lit the candles. When you’re close like this, Bakugou could clearly remember every feature on your face—it’s something he wants to commit to memory every night.

“Make a wish.”

“Hm,” he hummed in thought.

“Make a wish quickly before the fire alarm sets off, dummy,” you smiled, joking.

He looked at you through the candlelight—lips slightly parted, eyes soft and loving. Yeah, he wants your face engraved in the deepest corners of his brain.

Bakugou made a wish. Then blew them out.

“What’d you wish for?” you asked.

He got up, walked around the table, and pulled you to your feet. “You.”

“You already have me,” you tilted your head to the side.

“Then I wished for more of you,” he replied, pressing your foreheads together.

“You’re sappy when you’re full,” you murmured, brushing your thumb across his jaw.

“I’m sappy when you bake me cake and feed me curry.”

You fed each other bites of the bento cake, poking fun at how sweet it was, until he dabbed a bit of icing on your nose. You retaliated by smearing it across his cheek. It turned into a mini war. Hands, faces, even his shirt took frosting damage. He scooped some off his collar and flicked it at you.

“I surrender! Oh my god, we’re a mess.”

“We can always take a shower later,” he says.

...

“Is that a suggestion or a promise?”

“You’re fuckin’ shameless,” he taunted, though showering together after isn’t that far off from what he was thinking.

“Uh huh. And who’s now old?”

“Still not me,” he said, wiping his face clean with a napkin. “And even if I was—if I hit fifty and go bald and need reading glasses and fall asleep at 9PM—if you’re still here with me, I’ll be fine.”

You paused.

“Yeah?”

He nodded.

“Even if I go gray first?” you asked.

“I’ll dye it with you.”

“What if I need a cane?”

“I’ll get one with spikes, and we’ll match.”

You laughed so hard you almost fell onto him. And when you looked up again, your eyes were glassy with affection.

“Happy birthday, Katsuki.”

He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your skin with care he rarely showed anyone else.

“Best one yet.”

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[kakashisacademia]

pairing: katsuki bakugo x you | warnings: roleplay, dirty talk, teasing, mild bondage, rough sex, praise, orgasm denial, comeplay, overstimulation possessive Bakugo

summary; after Katsuki became the top five hero you wait for him at home and tied up to celebrate

ೃ⁀➷ Rescue Me, Hero

The door slams shut behind him. He doesn’t even need to say anything. You can feel the cocky aura rolling off him in waves. The top five announcement had aired an hour ago, and you’d been buzzing since.

“Is that… the top five hero Dynamight?” you call from the bedroom, your voice high and breathy with mock innocence. “I need help! Someone strong! Someone… explosive!”

There’s a pause. Then his voice, gravel and pride rumbles down the hallway.

“You better be tied up just like I like, baby.”

You giggle, squirming a little. “Only one wrist today. I thought I’d make it challenging.”

He appears in the doorway a moment later, still in his uniform, gloves half-off, eyes molten with heat. And then he sees you.

Flat on your back. One wrist cuffed to the headboard. Wearing nothing but his Dynamight shirt, sleeves drooping off your shoulders, hem barely covering your hips. You’d even pulled the collar to the side, baring your throat just so. He stops. Stares. Grins like a predator.

“Goddamn,” he breathes. “Look at my fuckin’ prize.”

You pout up at him. “Please, hero. I’m just a helpless civilian. I’ve been waiting for Dynamight to come rescue me.”

“Oh, I’ll rescue you, alright,” he growls, dropping his gear as he stalks toward the bed. “Gonna save every inch of that needy little body. Gonna show you exactly what a top five hero does to his number one girl.”

You spread your legs for him just a bit, the shirt riding up your thighs. He notices. He always notices. He climbs onto the bed, kneels between your legs, and runs a single finger up your bare inner thigh.

“Bet you’re already dripping, huh? Fuckin’ filthy for your hero.”

You whimper. “I waited so long. What if a villain came and-”

He cuts you off with a hand on your throat, not tight, just claiming. “Ain’t no villain stupid enough to touch what’s mine.”

He yanks the shirt up, exposing you completely, and groans at the sight of you bare beneath it.

“Fuck. Look at you. One little wrist tied like a slut, wearing my fuckin’ name… You knew exactly what you were doing.”

You nod, breathless. “I needed Dynamight.”

He leans in, mouth hot at your ear. “Then you’re gonna get him.”

His mouth is on you in seconds. Tongue everywhere. Worshipping you while he pins your free hand above your head. You’re gasping, arching, already soaked, already begging.

“Can you feel how grateful your hero is?” he growls, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick folds. “You made all the rankings worth it. You’re my fuckin’ reward, babe.”

“Please,” you whimper. “Rescue me, Dynamight.”

And he thrusts in, all at once, pulling a cry from your throat that echoes in the room. He’s relentless. His rhythm is hard, perfect, possessive. Every thrust claiming you, making you his.

“That’s right,” he pants. “Say it. Say who fuckin’ owns you.”

“You!” you cry. “Dynamight! Katsuki!”

He leans down, kissing you rough and deep.“Damn right.”

His hips slap against yours, every thrust punching breath out of you. You’re sobbing already, one wrist straining against the cuff, the other buried in the sheets.

“Fucking perfect,” he grits, watching your tits bounce with every movement. “Tied up, dripping, beggin’ for her hero. You know what this does to me, huh?”

You whimper, incoherent. He pulls out suddenly, and you wail at the loss. Then his cock slaps hot and heavy against your belly. He wraps his hand around it, pumping once, then twice until thick ropes of come spill across your skin.

“Fuck, look at that,” he pants, smearing it into your stomach with his palm. “Top five hero takin’ his prize, makin’ a mess of her. You like bein’ used like this, baby?”

You nod frantically, legs trembling. “Want more, please… Please, I didn’t come.”

He grins wickedly. “You think heroes just give happy endings, sweetheart?”

He slaps your thigh. Once. Just enough to make you jerk. “You gotta earn it.”

He kneels between your legs again, two fingers sliding through your soaked folds, pressing just enough.

“You hold that in,” he warns. “Until I say. Or I’ll leave you here tied up and aching while I go hit another patrol.”

You bite your lip, hard. Nodding. He slips his fingers inside and presses his mouth to your clit, sucking hard. Your whole body jolts. You’re crying now, the pleasure too much, his filthy words wrapping around your brain like chains.

“Gonna let your hero taste every drop,” he groans into you. “Gonna drink you dry.”

It builds fast. Too fast. And just when you’re about to break-

“Now,” he whispers. “Come for me, princess. Show me who you belong to.”

You shatter.

Back arching. Thighs clamping. Wrist straining. He doesn’t stop. Not until you go boneless, blinking up at the ceiling like your soul left your body. And then he finally unties you.

Cleans you gently with warm cloths. Kisses your sore wrist. Wraps you up in the Dynamight shirt again, this time with boxers and a hoodie over top. He pulls you into his lap, feeding you sips of water from a bottle, hand stroking your back. You’re quiet for a long time.

“You’re really in the top five.”

His arms tighten around you. “Damn right.”

You rest your head against his chest, listening to the thump of his heart.

“I’m proud of you, Kats.”

He kisses your temple. “Couldn’t’ve done it without you.”

“You did most of the work.” You smile.

“Nah,” he murmurs. “You’re the reason I fight.”

And in his arms, sore, loved, and totally wrecked you finally understand what it means to be the prize of a hero.

[sunnyjeon]

Jagiya?

(Wonwoo Imagines) A drabble, fluff!

Inspired by the video below and my alarm-Wonwoo's Jagiyaa, during a concert! This is so random, sorry I miss Wonwoo a lot. Thank you for all the love on my recent drabble! I hope you like this, Wonwoorideuls. Fighting! ⋆˚ 𝜗🐈‍⬛𝜚˚⋆

Wonwoo accidentally discloses your relationship during a game on set. Everyone is left in stunned silence before bursting into laughter and teasing him relentlessly. Embarrassed but taking it in pride, Wonwoo’s slip-up leads to some fun moments and a lot of ice cream.

“Park Bo Gum!” Hurriedly, Seungcheol answers.

The group erupts in celebration. This was not new to them– a game where you had to name the picture within three seconds after being presented by the host. What’s new is that more than half of the team are somehow getting worse at this no matter how many times they play. And for some reason, the box of free ice cream makes them act like it's a prize worth a million dollars.

Feeling pressured, Wonwoo’s heart beats rapidly. The tension in the air thickens and the members hold hands in anticipation. If they continue to get the last few right, it’s a win. There’s still a few more cards left to identify and he prays it won’t be enough to reach him. 

Dino got it barely on time. But he still got it, nonetheless. Seungkwan went next and as expected, he got it right. Mingyu stood tall beside him with arms crossed as he answered confidently. The group goes into chaos as the staff reveals that they’re left with the last card– Wonwoo’s card. 

The members circle around him. Jun and Minghao thank the heavens that it didn’t land on them. Dino laughs at this sight. 

Vernon pats Mingyu’s back congratulating him. Jeonghan soothes Wonwoo’s arm as Seungcheol massages his shoulders like he’s preparing for a fight. 

DK holds Wonwoo’s collar as he shakes him, “Hyung, jebal. My mouth is watering.” 

“Hyung, you got this.” Seungkwan emerges beside him. “Let’s get it!” Joshua adds.

“Yaa~ Wonwoo let’s gooo!” A tiger roars, hugging an annoyed Woozi. 

The staff motioned them to get ready. Getting dizzy because of the tension (and from DK’s shaking) he closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath. The group clings to Wonwoo, both of his arms being held by the members. He gulps and nods as the staff picks the million dollar picture. 

They take the card, showing it to the group of producers who are nodding and giggling for some reason. His manager peeks a glance and shakes his head. This sends him sweating. Is it someone he doesn’t know? An international artist? Are they going to lose because of him? 

He grits his jaw, nostrils flared, ready to give it his all. He’s going to try, he’ll get it. He just has to focus. His zeroes out, head empty, ears ringing, eyes glued on the card as it’s being passed on. It reaches to the host, it turns. And the card reveals— you? 

Meaning to say your name, he shouts the first thing that comes to mind. 

“JAGIYAAA!!!” 

Silence. Everyone stares at him in disbelief.

The host– who was about to start counting, closes his mouth, aghast. Like everyone in the room, they all stood rigid. Surprised? Confused? Amazed? Astonished? The air conditioning rings louder than their breaths.

But Wonwoo? He’s ecstatic. His arms break free from his members’ hold as he fists the air in victory. His smile is bright and wide as the picture stares back at him– it’s you at a recent award show. He knows, because he was there. He clapped and cheered for you when your name was announced, he shed a tear with you as you gave your speech, he gave you an “I told you so,” at the after party because he knows. He knows you, more than anyone in this room does. 

His hopeful expression falters as the silence stretches on, his mind catching up with the confusion in the room. Seungkwan was the first to speak, through gritted teeth he asked “Jagiya?”. 

Wonwoo’s eyes widened. Pabo! he thinks. “Y/L/N! Y/L/N! Y/L/N! ” He screams your name on repeat, hands clasped as he pleads for consideration. Technically, they haven’t done the count down and he did correct it within three (it was five) seconds. So they didn’t lose, right? 

A bewildered Mingyu pouts. “Hyung, how did I not know! I feel betrayed!” Wonwoo looks at him, head turning–  confused. He didn’t know you? Impossible! You did a challenge together! 

Vernon interrupts in amazement, “Jagiya? Wow, Michyeosseo.” 

Wonwoo’s face flushes bright red as the realization hits him. “Oh.” He hasn’t told them about you yet. Jagiya? He must be out of his mind! On camera too! He covers his face in embarrassment, face burning hotter the more he thinks about you. He he holds his breath, feeling all the butterflies weaken his knees, he dramatically pretends to pass out. 

His reaction sends the room erupting into claps, whistles, and laughter. The teasing is going to be relentless. But at least they know now. The hard part is over. He shuts his eyes, resigning to his fate. Still lying on the floor, he slowly uncovers his face, his cheeks still flushed bright red. 

He looks up at the camera, a sheepish smirk drawn on his face. "We still get the ice cream, right?” He winks. 

They absolutely lost it that day. 

[reidmarieprentiss]

Could you perhaps write something? It’s the readers birthday and Reid waits all day to see if she brings it up, but they never do. So he shows up at her apartment with a gift for her and tells her he’ll always remember her birthday, even if she doesn’t tell anyone when it is. And then a little smut occurs. 😱

Birthday Surprise

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: smut (18+), fluff

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, forgotten birthday

Word count: 7.9k

a/n: this is such a great idea i'm so sorry it took me forever to get around to writing it !! it's probably way smuttier than you thought lolol i was in a smut slump but we're back !

main masterlist

Additional warnings: oral (fem receiving) protected PinV

The day unfolds like any other, with the usual rush of paperwork, coffee runs, and the occasional moment of laughter echoing through the bullpen. You stay focused on your work, avoiding any unnecessary interactions that might draw attention to yourself. After all, it’s your birthday, but you’ve chosen to keep that to yourself. It feels strange, withholding such personal information, but in a high-stakes environment like this, there’s a part of you that prefers to blend into the background. Birthdays aren't meant to be a spectacle here. 

You glance around the room, noticing the typical energy coursing through the space, unaware that a pair of eyes have been subtly watching you all morning. Spencer Reid, as meticulous with people as he is with facts, has always been someone who notices the little things others tend to miss. Today, it’s your silence, the absence of a celebratory card, or a slice of cake that catches his attention. He’s well aware of what today means, not because you told him, but because he knows. Just like he knows the birthdays of every other team member, except yours is different—yours matters more to him. 

Spencer taps his pen against his notebook, his gaze drifting toward you. He debates internally whether to say anything, to let you know he’s aware. He’s read enough about social norms to understand that birthdays often come with expectations—balloons, cake, a few awkwardly sung lines of "Happy Birthday"—but that’s not your style. He’s noticed how you avoid the spotlight, how you prefer quiet moments over public celebrations. Still, he wonders if there’s something you’re hoping for today.

Penelope, typically the beacon of all things celebratory, hasn’t said anything either. But Spencer figures you’ve kept it quiet on purpose. He knows Penelope would have plastered the office with decorations had she been aware, and since the office remains as normal as ever, Spencer figures you’re not in the mood for that kind of attention.

He watches you, waiting for a sign—a smile, a quick glance his way, anything that might suggest you’d appreciate a private acknowledgment. When nothing comes, he respects your decision, but there’s a gnawing feeling inside him. Birthdays are supposed to be special, and even though you’ve chosen not to celebrate, he can’t just let it pass without doing something. Not for you.

The day comes to an end, and not a single word has been spoken about your birthday. You’ve kept it quiet, of course, but still, the silence lingers a bit more than you expected. Not from anyone else, and not from you. Spencer has watched the day unfold in his quiet, observant way, and though he knows you’re not one for grand gestures, he can’t let this pass unnoticed. 

After leaving the office, Spencer’s mind is already set on what he needs to do. He stops by your favorite restaurant, carefully picking up dinner. You never told him your favorite spot, but he’s always been the kind of person who pays attention to the little things—especially when it comes to you. He takes pride in knowing these details, even if he’s never made a show of it.

From there, he heads to a local bakery, the door chiming just as the frustrated baker is about to close. Spencer, out of breath and apologetic, manages to convince the baker to stay open just long enough to get a small cake with your name written on it. The generous tip helps, but more than anything, it’s the desperation in Spencer’s voice that softens the baker’s resolve. 

Now, standing outside your front door with his arms full—dinner in one hand, cake in the other—he uses his elbow to press the doorbell, feeling a flicker of nervousness that’s unusual for him. He never shows up unannounced like this, but he knows this is different. This matters.

Inside, you’re curled up on the couch, completely absorbed in the book your parents sent you as a gift. It’s one you’ve been dying to read for months, and it’s been the perfect way to end your quiet day. The unexpected ring of the doorbell pulls you from your peaceful moment, your brow furrowing slightly as you set the book down. 

You tiptoe toward the door, glancing out the sheer blinds to see who it could possibly be at this hour. When you spot Spencer standing there, your heart skips a beat. You quickly open the door, a confused grin tugging at your lips.

"Reid?" you ask, your voice light but puzzled. "What are you doing here?"

He shifts awkwardly, his arms still burdened with dinner and the cake, and there’s a sheepishness in his expression that’s both endearing and unexpected. 

"Happy birthday," he says, though it comes out more like a question, his uncertainty evident.

Your heart swells at the sight of him, the surprise of his gesture hitting you all at once. You glance at the dinner in one hand, the cake in the other, and something warm blooms in your chest.

"Thank you," you say, your voice soft as you open the door wider. "Come in, please."

Spencer followed you into the kitchen, his eyes subtly taking in the details of your small, cozy home. It occurred to you that this was the first time he had ever been inside, and that realization only added to the strange, fluttery feeling that had been building inside you since he showed up at your door.

He set the bags down on the counter, the quiet clinking of takeout containers filling the brief silence between you. 

“How, um... how did you know it was my birthday?” you asked softly, a hint of shyness in your voice. 

Spencer didn’t look up immediately, making himself busy with the food, carefully unpacking it as though it were an everyday task. “I would never forget your birthday, Y/N,” he replied, his voice so matter-of-fact yet warm. 

His words struck something deep inside you, and your heart swelled all over again, the warmth spreading through your chest and into your limbs. “Reid... that's so sweet,” you murmured, barely able to contain the emotion in your voice.

He smiled over his shoulder at you, that soft, almost boyish grin that made everything feel lighter. “I hope this is okay,” he said, turning around to show you what he had brought. “I guessed you’d like this.”

You blinked, staring at the familiar containers in his hands, and your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t just any takeout—it was your favorite order from your absolute favorite restaurant. Your mind struggled to process how he could have known, and your body felt like it was on the verge of exploding with a tidal wave of affection and gratitude.

“H–how?” you stammered, unable to get out anything more coherent as your emotions threatened to overwhelm you.

Spencer shrugged in that sweet, almost bashful way he did sometimes, his eyes meeting yours as he simply said, “I pay attention.”

Those three words hit you harder than anything else he could’ve said. It wasn’t just the dinner, or the cake, or even the fact that he’d remembered your birthday without you saying a word—it was that he saw you, truly noticed you, in ways you didn’t think anyone ever did.

Without thinking, you stepped closer, your eyes soft and full of everything you couldn’t put into words. “Reid, you didn’t have to do all of this,” you whispered, but there was no mistaking the happiness in your tone.

He smiled gently, placing the food down on the counter. “I know,” he said, his voice soft, “but I wanted to.”

And just like that, your quiet birthday became something more than you ever could have expected—because of him.

As the two of you settled into an easy rhythm of conversation over dinner, it felt surprisingly natural—despite the unexpectedness of the evening. You sat across from each other at your small kitchen table, the soft clinking of forks against takeout containers punctuating the space between your words. Spencer, usually so reserved and careful, seemed more relaxed, as if the intimacy of the moment had broken down some of his usual barriers.

“You know,” Spencer began between bites, “this restaurant has one of the highest customer satisfaction ratings in the area. I didn’t just pick it at random—I wanted to make sure it was perfect.” He looked up at you, his eyes bright with sincerity.

You smiled, taking in how thoughtful he had been without even realizing how much it meant to you. "I can’t believe you went to so much trouble for this. I really don’t expect anything big for my birthday."

Spencer shrugged, his expression so genuine it made your heart ache just a little. "Well, it’s not just any day. It’s your day. And you deserve to feel special."

His words landed gently, but with a depth that made your pulse quicken. You had always seen Spencer as more than a colleague, but you’d never really considered him in a romantic light. The way he was speaking tonight, though, made you notice things about him you hadn’t before.

“You’re really thoughtful, Reid,” you said, picking at your food, your voice soft. “I don’t think I’ve ever had someone remember the little things like you do.”

He glanced at you with a shy smile, pushing his glasses up slightly. “I like to notice the important things. People tend to overlook those details, but they matter.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, and you suddenly realized how much attention he must’ve been paying all this time. Spencer was always observant—he was a profiler, after all—but this was different. He was talking about you, not in a way that made you feel studied, but in a way that made you feel seen.

“I guess I’ve never really thought about it like that,” you replied, your voice light, though your heart felt anything but. “Most people don’t pay that much attention.”

Spencer looked at you intently then, his gaze soft but unwavering. “It’s hard not to pay attention to you.”

The statement was simple, but the way he said it felt like something more. You felt your cheeks warm, caught off guard by the realization that Spencer Reid might see you in a way you hadn’t seen yourself.

“Reid, I—” you started, but he interrupted, not even realizing the shift in the conversation.

“And you’re always so organized with your case files,” he continued, a small smile playing on his lips. “I appreciate that about you. You make my job easier, and honestly, it’s hard not to enjoy working with you.”

You laughed softly, feeling flustered but trying to keep it light. “You make me sound like I’m perfect or something.”

He tilted his head, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. I’ve always thought you were... well, pretty amazing.”

“I... I didn’t know you felt that way,” you admitted quietly, playing with your fork to avoid looking directly at him.

Spencer, seemingly oblivious to the weight of his own words, shrugged again. “I'm not always good at saying what I’m thinking, but you’ve always stood out to me. I guess it’s just… obvious to me.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and for the first time, you found yourself really considering Spencer Reid in a different light. Sure, he was brilliant, kind, and more attractive than you’d ever let yourself dwell on—but you had never imagined he might see you that way.

You felt... average. Just you. How could someone like Spencer, with his genius mind and thoughtful nature, possibly see you as anything more than a friend or colleague?

As you looked across the table at him, his expression soft and open, you realized that maybe—just maybe—you had been wrong about where you stood with him.

After the plates were cleared, you and Spencer sat side by side, laughing as you decided to abandon any pretense of formality and dig into the cake with forks. It was just the two of you, after all, and the evening had become too comfortable for anything else. Every bite seemed to add to the warmth between you, and even though neither of you had touched a drop of alcohol, it felt like you were both intoxicated—drunk on the unexpected affection and connection between you.

You noticed Spencer watching you with an intensity that was both thrilling and unsettling. His gaze felt heavier than usual, more present, more... intentional. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a little self-conscious under his watchful eyes. “What?” you asked, your voice light but breathless as your lips curled into a small, uncertain smile.

Spencer let out a soft laugh, a sound so gentle it sent warmth coursing through you. He shifted closer, his hand lifting, and before you could process what was happening, his palm was cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed across your lips tenderly, lingering there. 

“You have...” he murmured, eyes never leaving yours, “some frosting.”

His touch was electric, sending a shiver through you, though you were frozen in place. Your lips parted slightly in surprise, but you couldn’t move. Spencer's thumb continued to gently trace the curve of your bottom lip, the moment stretching between you, thick with something you hadn’t realized was there until now.

He leaned in a little closer, his breath brushing your skin as he whispered, “Y/N… I’m going to kiss you. Is that okay?”

His words, soft and tentative, sent your pulse racing, and you barely registered the nod you gave in response. But that was all he needed. Spencer's gaze flicked down to your lips, and he closed the remaining distance slowly, as if giving you every chance to stop him, though you knew you wouldn’t.

His lips met yours gently, a hesitant kiss that was soft, warm, and everything you hadn’t realized you’d been craving. The world seemed to fall away for a moment, leaving just the two of you, locked in something fragile and sweet.

Spencer’s hand stayed cradling your face as he deepened the kiss just slightly, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache. When he finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his forehead rested gently against yours, and his eyes were still closed as if he were savoring the moment.

“Was that okay?” he asked quietly, his voice thick with emotion, still holding onto the last traces of your kiss.

You let out a shaky breath, your hands instinctively finding their way to his chest. “Mhm, very okay,” you whispered, smiling softly as your heart raced in your chest.

Spencer opened his eyes slowly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. The room felt heavier with meaning now, but it was the kind of weight you welcomed, a sense that things had shifted between you in the best possible way.

“Can I do it again?” Spencer asked, his voice playful, his lips pulling into a silly grin that made your heart flip. 

You couldn’t help but giggle at his eagerness, your cheeks warming as you nodded once more. This time, though, you didn’t wait for him to make the first move. You leaned up toward him, your hands sliding from his chest to the back of his neck, your fingers gently threading through the soft strands of his hair.

Spencer’s hands moved from where they had been resting on your face, sliding down to your waist as he pulled you in closer, your bodies now pressed together with a new, delicious kind of tension. He let out a soft, happy hum, the sound vibrating through you, making you feel like your entire body was alight with warmth. 

When you felt his tongue gently part your lips, exploring your mouth with such tender care, you couldn’t help the soft, sweet moan that escaped you. The sound seemed to stir something in Spencer, and you felt his fingers tighten on your waist just as a low, deep groan rumbled from his chest.

Encouraged by his reaction, you tangled your fingers further into his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. The world outside this moment seemed to fade even more, leaving just the feeling of Spencer against you, the intoxicating heat between your bodies, and the soft sounds of contentment that passed between you both.

Each kiss was deeper than the last, each touch more deliberate, as if you were both slowly learning a new language made of gentle caresses and lingering glances. Spencer’s lips were soft and insistent against yours, but always so tender, as if he was savoring each moment, never wanting to rush. The feeling of his body pressed so intimately against yours, his hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go, made your pulse race.

Spencer pulled back ever so slowly, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. You let out a soft whine, your body instinctively leaning forward, both at the loss of his lips and the delicious pull of his teeth. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath, the air between you thick with unspoken feelings.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he murmured, his voice soft and almost breathless, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Your heart skipped at his words, and you tilted your head slightly, curiosity getting the better of you. "How long?" you asked, your voice just as quiet, as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile intimacy between you.

Spencer laughed, the sound low and almost bashful. "Two years and three months," he said with a soft chuckle, his breath tickling your skin.

You paused for a moment, realizing how specific that time frame was. Then it hit you. "That's... that's when I started at the BAU," you said slowly, your mind racing to piece it together.

He nodded, his forehead still resting gently against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between. "Since the first day I saw you, I knew you were special."

His words hung in the air, and something inside you shifted. You could feel the weight of his confession settle in your chest, and it only made the moment feel more intense, more real. Spencer had been feeling this way for so long, waiting patiently, watching from the sidelines, all without you ever knowing.

That’s when you made your decision.

"Take me to the bedroom, Reid," you said, your voice steady but filled with anticipation.

Spencer pulled back instantly, his eyes wide in surprise, his expression almost comically stunned. "What?"

You held his gaze, your hand gently brushing his cheek as you repeated, more softly this time, "The bedroom, please?" You threw in your best puppy dog eyes, knowing it would be hard for him to say no.

For a moment, Spencer was frozen, his mind clearly racing to catch up with the reality of what was happening. "Okay—yeah, yeah," he stammered, still in shock but unable to hide the excitement building in his voice.

He stood back quickly, offering his hand to you with a mix of eagerness and hesitation. You took it, letting him pull you gently from the kitchen, the warmth of his palm against yours sparking something deep inside you. As he led you down the hallway toward the bedroom, your heart raced, the anticipation growing with every step. 

As soon as the bedroom door closed behind you, your hands were already tugging at Spencer’s sweater vest, pulling it over his head with eager fingers. His usually neat hair was left a little wild and messy, and you couldn't help but giggle softly at the sight. He grinned back at you, shaking his head like a dog trying to shake off water, making you laugh even harder.

"You're ridiculous," you teased, but your words were laced with affection.

Spencer just smiled wider, his eyes filled with mischief and desire. Without missing a beat, his hands found the hem of your shirt, slowly lifting it up as you raised your arms in surrender, allowing him to undress you with deliberate care. The fabric slipped over your head, and as soon as it was discarded to the floor, you could feel his gaze roaming over your body.

His eyes lingered on your chest, clearly noticing the absence of a bra, and the way his breath caught sent a shiver through you. There was something so intense, so reverent in the way he looked at you that it made your skin tingle. His hands found their way to your breasts, his touch gentle yet filled with hunger, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

Without another word, Spencer dipped his head back down, capturing your lips in another kiss that left you breathless. This time, it was deeper, more urgent, as if all the emotions he'd been holding back for years were pouring into this moment. His thumbs rubbed at your nipples as he kissed you, and you could feel his heart beating wildly against your chest, matching the rhythm of your own as you whined softly into his mouth.

Your hands found their way to his hair again, tangling in the soft strands as you pressed your body closer to his, craving more of him, more of the way his lips moved against yours, more of the way his hands explored you.

The moment you felt the unmistakable press of Spencer’s arousal against you, your instincts took over. Your hands trailed down, quickly working at the waistband of his pants, eager to feel more of him. Spencer’s fingers left your body only long enough to undo the buttons of his shirt, your breaths becoming heavier as the distance between you both shrank even more.

Soon, he was down to just his briefs, his skin warm against yours, and for a second, you thought he was about to pull you into another kiss. But instead, he surprised you by crouching down in front of you, his hands resting on your hips. You looked down at him with curiosity and amusement, tilting your head.

“What are you doing down there?” you asked, laughing softly, though your heart was racing.

Spencer looked up at you, and the look in his eyes sent a rush of warmth through your body. There was something almost reverent about the way he gazed at you, like you were the most precious thing he'd ever laid eyes on. “I have wanted this for so, so long,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I want to savor every little bit of you.”

His words made you flush with heat, the intensity of his desire crashing over you like a wave. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, and before you could say anything in response, Spencer's hands were moving again, removing the last pieces of your clothing as he kissed the newly exposed skin. 

And then, you were standing completely bare before him, your most intimate parts now level with his face. The vulnerability of the moment, combined with the raw hunger in Spencer’s eyes, made you feel dizzy, but you couldn’t look away.

It seemed like this was exactly what he had wanted all along. Without hesitation, he leaned in, his breath hot against your skin before his tongue traced a sure stripe through your slick folds. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure up your spine, your knees almost buckling from the sheer intensity of it.

A gasp escaped your lips as Spencer continued, his mouth working with a determination that made it clear this was something he had imagined countless times before. His hands gripped your thighs, steadying you as he continued his ministrations, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes designed to unravel you from the inside out.

You couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your lips, your fingers tangling in his hair once again as he savored you, just like he said he would.

"You taste better than I imagined," Spencer murmured between breaths, his voice thick with desire before he dove back in, his mouth moving over every inch of you, leaving no part untouched. His tongue was thorough, his lips relentless, and each movement made it harder for you to hold on to any coherent thoughts.

Your grip on his hair tightened as a desperate whimper escaped your lips. "You—ungh—you imagined this?" you managed to gasp out between moans, your voice shaky and breathless.

Spencer hummed against you in response, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, his mouth latching onto your clit with more intensity, suctioning his lips tightly before shaking his head back and forth, creating a sensation so intense it made you scream out, your body trembling with the force of it.

The sound that left you was raw, completely involuntary, as waves of pleasure rolled through you, Spencer's hands gripping your thighs tighter to hold you steady as you lost yourself in the moment. He was relentless, devouring you with an eagerness that matched his earlier words. It was clear he had thought about this—dreamed about this—and now, with you here in front of him, he wasn’t going to waste a single second.

"Reid..." you moaned, your voice breaking as your entire body responded to his touch, your legs threatening to give out beneath you. Each movement of his tongue, each gentle bite or hum, pushed you closer and closer to the edge, and all you could do was hold on tight, letting him take you wherever he wanted you to go.

But then, just as you were teetering on the edge, Spencer pulled back, leaving you breathless and aching for more. The sudden absence of his touch made your body tremble, a desperate whine escaping your lips. When you looked down, confused and still dazed with pleasure, you noticed the almost stern look in his eyes, his lips glistening as he gazed up at you.

"Spencer," he said, his voice low, full of intent.

Your brow furrowed slightly, your mind hazy from the high you had been riding. "What?" you managed to ask, your voice breathless and needy.

His eyes softened, but his expression remained firm. "Call me Spencer," he repeated, his tone a mixture of command and affection, as if this small detail mattered more than anything in that moment.

Before you could fully process it, he leaned back in, parting you gently with his thumbs to give himself even more access. The feeling was overwhelming, your body trembling as he resumed his ministrations with renewed intensity, his tongue and mouth working in tandem, more precise and focused than before.

The need in you swelled again, even stronger than before, and this time, you couldn’t hold back the moans that spilled from your lips. "Spencer," you gasped, his name escaping your lips like a prayer, your body arching into him as he pushed you further and further toward the edge.

Hearing his name on your lips seemed to spur him on, his movements growing even more deliberate as he devoured you with every ounce of the hunger he had been holding back. You were completely at his mercy, unable to think, unable to do anything but feel as he brought you closer and closer to the peak of pleasure, his name falling from your lips again and again.

Spencer could sense how close you were, your breath hitching and your body trembling beneath his touch. He doubled his efforts, his tongue moving with precision and urgency, his fingers pressing against your thighs to keep you steady. The need to see you completely unravel, to give you that release, spurred him on as he focused entirely on you.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, and then, finally, the tension that had been building in your core snapped. You tilted your head back, your body arching as the overwhelming pleasure took over. With a loud, uncontrolled moan, your hands found Spencer’s hair, gripping it tightly, tugging hard as you released, your body shuddering and your mind reeling from the intensity of it all.

Spencer didn’t stop, his mouth never leaving you as he worked you through your climax, swallowing everything you offered him. The feel of your fingers gripping his hair, the way your body shook as you released in his mouth—it was everything he’d dreamed of, and more. Only when your body began to calm, your breath evening out, did he slowly pull back, his lips brushing against your skin one last time, savoring the moment.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of satisfaction as you slowly came back to reality. You were still breathless, your body weak from the intensity of your orgasm, but the way Spencer looked at you, filled with awe and admiration, made you feel like you were floating.

"That," he murmured softly, "was everything."

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, still floating in the afterglow, your head in the clouds, your body humming with the remnants of pleasure. Spencer slowly rose from his knees, his hands gently skimming your skin as he stood to his full height, a soft, amused smile playing on his lips as he looked down at you.

“You with me, beautiful?” he asked, his voice full of warmth and amusement as he stroked your hair, fingers threading through the strands tenderly.

You blinked up at him, your eyes still hazy with satisfaction, but your smile was soft and content. “I’m with you,” you replied, voice breathy but sincere, your whole body feeling like it was made of light.

Spencer chuckled, the sound affectionate and full of something deeper. “Good, good,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. “Do you want to keep going?”

A slow smile spread across your lips, and the way you said, “Please, Spencer,” made his heart race with excitement and affection.

Spencer grinned, the playful glint in his eyes returning as he gently guided you down onto the pillows, his hands firm but tender. He leaned over you, his fingers brushing your cheek as he whispered, “Anything for the birthday girl.”

With that, Spencer lowered himself over you, his body pressing against yours with a sweet, delicious heat. You could feel the warmth of him, the anticipation growing as his lips found yours once again, slow and lingering, savoring every second. His hands explored your body as though he wanted to memorize every curve, every inch of your skin, and the way he touched you made your heart race all over again.

This wasn’t just about physical pleasure anymore—it was about something deeper, something that had been quietly building between you both for much longer than either of you had realized.

"Can you..." you started, but then hesitated, suddenly feeling a wave of shyness crash over you. This was Reid, after all, your colleague and friend, someone you'd see at work tomorrow. The reality of that hit you, and it made your heart race for an entirely different reason now.

Spencer, noticing the shift in your demeanor, raised an eyebrow, his voice soft and reassuring. "Can I what, darling?" he asked, a small, amused smile on his lips as he looked down at you.

You shook your head, trying to brush it off, but Spencer’s expression quickly shifted to concern. His hands, which had been tracing gentle patterns on your skin, paused, and his voice became softer, more serious. "Y/N... are you okay?"

You let out a quiet sigh, nodding, but there was still a lingering tension in your chest. "Just... is this going to be weird tomorrow?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The intimacy of the moment, the emotions wrapped up in everything that had just happened—it suddenly felt fragile when faced with the idea of seeing him at the office the next day, going back to the usual routine like nothing had changed.

Spencer's face softened even more, and he tilted his head, his eyes searching yours. "Weird?" he repeated, his voice thoughtful, as if he was carefully considering your words. He shifted slightly, his hand coming up to gently stroke your cheek. "No, Y/N, this doesn’t have to be weird."

You blinked up at him, your heart settling slightly at his calm demeanor. He continued, his voice gentle but certain. "We can take it one day at a time, okay? But if you're worried about work, nothing between us will change unless you want it to. I care about you too much to let this ruin anything.”

"If anything, this makes everything better," Spencer continued softly, his eyes full of sincerity as his hand stayed gently on your cheek. "I’ve wanted to be close to you for so long. I wouldn’t do anything to mess that up or make you feel uncomfortable. We can handle this however you want—slow, steady, or even just keeping it between us for now."

His words soothed the unease that had started to form, the tenderness in his tone making it clear that he wasn’t rushing anything, wasn’t trying to push for something more than what you were ready for. Spencer, as always, was careful, deliberate, and understanding. The way he looked at you, the way he touched you, made you feel safe, even in this new, uncertain territory.

You took a deep breath, feeling some of the weight lift from your chest. "I just… I don’t want this to change things in a bad way," you admitted, your fingers lightly brushing over his arm as he hovered over you, your bodies still close but the air between you calmer now.

Spencer shook his head, his smile warm and full of affection. "It won’t. I promise. I’ll still be me, you’ll still be you. And we’ll figure out whatever this is together, one step at a time. You don’t have to worry about work or anything else right now. Just... be here with me tonight."

You felt a sense of relief wash over you, his words grounding you in the moment. The fear of what tomorrow might bring began to fade as you looked up at him, trusting that Spencer, with all his care and thoughtfulness, would never let this turn into something that would hurt either of you.

"Okay," you whispered, offering him a small smile. "I’m here with you."

Spencer’s face lit up with a soft, almost shy grin as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, his hands once again finding their way to your waist, holding you close as if reassuring you through his touch.

“Good,” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm and comforting. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

With that, the tension between you melted away, leaving only the quiet intimacy of the moment. Spencer guided you back onto the pillows, his movements slow and deliberate as he kissed you again, this time with more ease and tenderness, making it clear that whatever happened next would be on your terms, whenever you were ready.

Spencer groaned deeply into your mouth as you pushed his briefs down, your hand wrapping around him, stroking him with just enough pressure to make his breath hitch. You guided him into position, your need for him clear in the way your body responded. His lips never left yours, but his breath grew more ragged as the tension between you mounted.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours, his voice thick with restraint.

You whimpered in response, the feeling of him grinding against you, the tip of his cock hitting your clit, making it impossible to think of anything else. “Please, Spencer,” you begged, your voice trembling with need. “I want you so badly. Please.”

He let out a strained groan, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as your words washed over him. "Okay, okay," he whispered, trying to soothe you even though he was losing his own control. "Shh, you never have to beg me for anything, ever."

Your body writhed beneath him, desperate for more, for him, and you shifted your hips instinctively, trying to coax him to push inside. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, and your need for him was palpable in every shaky breath you took.

Spencer, however, managed to hold onto a sliver of resolve, even as it wore thin. "Y/N, beautiful," he said, his voice rough, "we need to use a condom."

"Top drawer," you gasped, your words nearly a plea as your body moved beneath him, craving the release only he could give you. "Hurry!"

With a nod, Spencer fumbled toward the bedside table, pulling the drawer open with shaky hands. He found the box quickly, tearing it open with urgency. Your eyes stayed locked on him, watching every movement, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your skin burning with need.

He returned to you swiftly, sliding the condom on with practiced care, though his hands were trembling. The moment he was ready, he positioned himself above you again, his eyes filled with both desire and affection as he leaned down to kiss you, this time slower, savoring the feel of your lips against his.

"I'm here," he whispered, his voice softer now, filled with reassurance as he finally pressed forward, slowly pushing inside of you, the sensation sending a wave of pleasure crashing through both of you.

Your head fell back against the pillows, a loud, satisfied moan escaping your lips as he filled you completely, your body welcoming him in a way that felt natural, perfect. Spencer groaned, his breath hitching as he felt your tight walls constrict even further around him. 

"Y/N, darling, relax, please," Spencer panted, his voice laced with both urgency and concern as he struggled to hold himself back, his body tense with restraint. He could feel your tightness, the way you clenched around him, and it was driving him wild, making it hard to stay in control. 

You whimpered, your body still adjusting to the sensation. "You're just—ah!" Your voice broke into a loud gasp as he finally pushed all the way inside, filling you completely. The stretch was intense, overwhelming in the best way. "You're so big... why didn't you tell me you were so big?"

Spencer let out a tense chuckle, clearly amused by your reaction despite his own effort to keep himself in check. "I, uh... didn't think it was that big," he managed to get out, his breath shaky as he looked down at you, his forehead damp with sweat from the strain of holding himself back. 

“You’re a fucking liar,” you laughed breathlessly through your whimpers and whines, your body trembling with both pleasure and amusement.

His chuckle, though filled with affection, was also tight with restraint, and you could feel the tension in his body as he tried to keep from moving too quickly. "Just... breathe," he murmured, his voice gentler now as he leaned down to kiss your forehead, trying to calm both you and himself. "I'll give you as much time as you need. I don't want to hurt you."

You nodded, taking deep breaths as your body slowly adjusted to the feeling of him inside you. Spencer’s hands stayed gentle, stroking your sides and thighs as he gave you time to acclimate, though you could feel him trembling with the effort of holding back.

After a moment, you shifted your hips, testing the sensation, and the movement elicited a low groan from Spencer, his self-control wavering. "Okay..." you whispered, your voice soft but filled with need. "I’m ready."

Spencer’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with desire as he slowly began to move. His pace was careful at first, each thrust deliberate as he let your body adjust to his size, but the tension between you built quickly, and soon, the rhythm grew more urgent, more desperate.

Each movement sent sparks of pleasure through you, the sensation of him filling you so completely making you dizzy with desire. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the way he moved so perfectly in sync with you, as if you were made for each other.

Spencer groaned deeply, his forehead pressing against yours again as his movements grew more intense. "You feel so good," he murmured, his voice strained as he fought to hold himself back just a little longer, wanting to make this last as long as possible for both of you.

"Spencer!" you cried out, your nails digging into his back as your body trembled beneath him, the pleasure overwhelming you.

"Yeah, baby?" he panted, his voice rough and breathless as his hips slapped against yours in a steady, rhythmic motion. "Tell me what you need."

"You! More! Please!" Your voice was a desperate plea, every inch of your body burning with want.

"Fuck," he breathed, his control slipping as he sped up, his thrusts becoming more intense. His hand snaked between your bodies, fingers finding your clit as he began to rub you in time with his movements. The sensation made you cry out again, the combination of his fingers and his body sending you spiraling toward the edge.

“I’m—I’m gonna come,” you whined, your body trembling as you clenched tightly around Spencer, the sensation pushing you toward the brink.

“Y/N!” he gasped, his voice strained as he tried to hold on. “Calm down, baby, you’re going to push me out.”

But you were too far gone to hear him, lost in the overwhelming pleasure that was building inside you. Your whimpers grew louder, your body thrashing uncontrollably as Spencer’s fingers moved faster, working in perfect rhythm with your body's need.

Suddenly, it hit you all at once, the most intense release you’d ever experienced. You let out a violent scream, your entire body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, something deeper and more powerful than anything you'd ever felt before.

Your walls clenched so tightly that you did, in fact, push Spencer out, and you gushed all over him, your body overwhelmed by the force of your orgasm. Spencer let out a low groan at the sensation, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and arousal as he watched you come undone in front of him, watched your release coat his stomach and thighs.

“Did you just... squirt?” Spencer asked, his voice full of pure awe as he looked down at you, his eyes wide with amazement.

You were a panting mess on the bed, completely spent from the intensity of what had just happened. “That, or I just peed on you,” you mumbled, half-joking but still trying to make sense of the overwhelming sensation you had just felt.

Spencer laughed, shaking his head as he dipped down to kiss you, his lips soft against yours. “You are so sexy, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice full of affection and admiration.

You kissed him back tiredly, your body too exhausted to do much more, but the desire to give him what he needed still lingered. "Want you to come too," you whined softly, your words almost pleading.

“Okay, okay,” Spencer soothed, his breath hitching as he positioned himself once more, slowly pushing back inside you. The sensation made your body jolt, and you cried out, your back arching from the overstimulation. It was too much and yet not enough, the oversensitivity sending sharp pulses of pleasure through you.

“Are you okay, darling?” Spencer asked, his voice breathless as he fought to hold himself back, concerned about your comfort.

You nodded quickly, though your body was trembling beneath him. “Nuh huh,” you whimpered, your voice shaky as you gripped him tightly, pulling him closer. “I’m okay, I want this. Please,” you urged, your body still sensitive but craving the closeness, needing to feel him chase his own release.

Spencer groaned at your words, his resolve crumbling as he began to move again, thrusting into you with an increasing pace. His body was tense, his breath ragged as he neared the edge, each movement sending both of you into a dizzying spiral of pleasure.

You clung to him as he chased his release, your breaths mingling, your bodies connected in a way that felt intimate and overwhelming all at once. And when Spencer finally let go, his body shuddering as he found his own climax, you held him close as he groaned and whispered your name. 

After Spencer had taken care of both of you, gently cleaning you up and even changing the sheets that had been soaked in your release, the two of you finally settled into bed, wrapped up in each other's arms. His body was warm against yours, his breath steady as he held you close. Everything felt so perfect, so right in that moment, like the world had shrunk to just the two of you in that cozy little space.

You nuzzled into Spencer's chest, feeling his heartbeat under your lips as you placed a soft kiss there. "I want things to be different," you mumbled, your voice quiet and filled with a softness that made his heart swell.

Spencer looked down at you, his hand stroking your hair gently. "Yeah?" he asked, the happiness in his voice evident. "Different how?"

You shifted slightly, still cuddled close, your lips brushing over his skin. "I want everyone to know," you murmured, your voice more certain this time.

Spencer chuckled softly, though he held you tighter, a smile spreading across his face. "Know what exactly?" he asked, teasing slightly, though he had a feeling he knew where this was going.

You tilted your head up, meeting his eyes with a sweet, serious look. "That you're my boyfriend," you said, your voice full of affection, but also with a sense of determination.

Spencer’s heart fluttered at your words, and he couldn’t help but break into a grin. He’d never thought he’d hear you say something so simple yet so powerful. "Boyfriend, huh?" he teased softly, though his own voice was thick with emotion. He pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours. "I think I’d like that," he whispered.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his words settle over you like a blanket. "Good," you replied, kissing him softly. "Because I want everyone to know how lucky I am."

Spencer let out a soft laugh, his thumb gently tracing the outline of your face. "I think I’m the lucky one, Y/N," he murmured, his voice filled with nothing but pure, overwhelming happiness. And in that moment, with the two of you wrapped up in each other, everything felt like it was exactly as it should be.

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[maidenvault]

It genuinely does not matter if there were independent contractors or indentured workers on the second Death Star when it was blown up, oh my God.

Maybe for a moment rebel command thought about it and had a hard decision to make. We don’t need to see that because it would be a short conversation. You don’t let the fascist overlords have a doomsday device that can genocide a whole planet at the push of a button because then the next hard decision you’ll be making is whether you keep fighting the Empire at all when they’ll retaliate by destroying a whole planet, and another one tomorrow and another the next day. The Empire hasn’t poured a stupid amount of resources into creating this weapon and then completely replacing the first one because they don’t mean to use it lightly.

Victories in war always come at a serious cost, but of course after the Death Star is gone there’s celebration despite losses on both sides. Soldiers can celebrate victories and still being alive even when there are complicated feelings because people just died. People lived under the tyranny of the Empire for two decades before the rebellion started striking any serious blows, and it’s not bloodthirsty that seeing the Death Star go up in a huge explosion is treated as a huge win both times.

There’s just no quantifying the damage done by that conversation in Clerks and stupid takes like that becoming inescapable and taken seriously, not just put in a movie to be funny. Star Wars is about fighting fascism and it has a relatively black-and-white morality. As someone who loves some very heightened fantasy that feels like myth and folklore and doesn’t need realism in everything, I’m so tired of it being treated as a given that more symbolic and black-and-white portrayals of good and evil are inherently problematic. They’re not. There’s plenty of problems to be found in Star Wars without straining to be such an insufferable edgelord about its basic premise.

Yes, Star Wars is also about the sanctity of life and how violence and anger can corrupt people. But still every SW trilogy has been about a Jedi fighting in a war of some kind. TLJ ultimately shows DJ to be wrong with his “Don’t join” attitude, and Luke to be wrong for abandoning his duty as a Jedi, and Ben to be wrong for thinking he and Rey can carve their own path that doesn’t mean uncompromisingly resisting the dark side without that meaning they become the bad guys. The Bendu, representing neither the dark or the light, turns out to be a petty asshole whose refusal to pick sides because he’s so above it all just makes him totally useless until Kanan insults his pride enough for him to act. SW makes the point over and over that some things are worth fighting for and neutrality or complacency in the face of oppression is bad, that there’s truly not much gray area when the enemy are Sith or greedy and genocidal despots. Any civilians on the Death Star probably were there because they made a choice to just do their jobs whoever’s in power, because there are plenty of people in Imperial space like that. But by all means keep nitpicking how the particular way the rebellion stopped the Empire makes them ackshually not such good guys you know.

[dcxdpdabbles]

I love your Freelance Inventor Au so much! (And, like, all your other work,, lol) I can't help imagining Danny finding out about the Batfam and turning to Bruce like, "You let our kids be vigilantes?!" Meanwhile Bruce is stuck on the fact that Danny called them "Our" kids. Or the reveal the other way, with Bruce finding out about Phantom first? He'd freak out- clearly he doesn't know Danny as well as he thought he did. And he can't believe Danny never told him! Meanwhile, Danny thought he mentioned the Phantom thing ages ago and that Bruce just doesn't care.

Since Jazz put the idea in his head, Danny has been unable to think of anything else. The idea that he might be in love with Bruce Wayne and had been for so many years but didn't notice because he assumed everyone felt that it was for that one friend.

It was there whenever he was drafting new blueprints, when he traveled across the world looking for inspiration and investors, when he settled into bed for a good night's rest, and most of all, when he finished his weekly phone call with Bruce.

"Get some rest," Bruce's warm, smooth voice says over the speakers. "I'll talk to you soon. Goodnight, Danny."

"Goodnight," he responds softly. He has a request to stay on the line on the tip of his tongue, but with the time difference, he knows it's not a good idea. And have a good day, Bruce."

The call ended with a click, but he couldn't help but feel their goodbye needed something.

I love you.

That was it. That's what was missing. But did he dare? Could he? Was he confusing love for something it wasn't? Was Bruce even interested?

Danny places his phone on his chest, staring at the ceiling of the latest hotel he booked, wondering if Bruce is leaving for lunch with the kids. He said they were celebrating Tim's new clothesline and wished he was there to cheer the boy and his team on.

Danny is in Toykyo today, presenting his new hologram keyboards to a big company.

Of course, they were the second company allowed the selling rights. Wayne Tech was the first, and Danny kept the production and creation rights. It was one of Danny's most ingenious inventions, if he did say so himself, but the look on Bruce's face when he revealed it to him was far more exhilarating than creating the keyboard or gaining the fat paycheck.

Fenton's Ghost Touch was a set of two rings with a hologram keyboard inside. When someone needed to type, they would spin the rings and double-tab the inner lining, connecting to devices using the Bluetooth function.

A visible hologram would pop up underneath their fingers, or if they wanted (and were good enough typers), they could move their fingers in the air without it, which would still allow them to type.

Danny had chosen to release the line in black internationally with Toyko, but Wayne Tech would release an exclusive color line. The rings were of the same design, all using slick silver bands but with different colors as the activation inner rings and some elegant carvings, unlike the international releases, which were just one solid color.

Fenton's Ghost Touch would come in seven colors: blue, red, pink, green, purple, white, and yellow.

Danny had purposely designed them using each of the Wayne kids' favorite colors and sent them all a set with their corresponding colors. The morning they arrived, he got a picture of them showing off their new rings, smiling widely at the camera from Bruce.

He saved the photo as his laptop background. His phone background already had a picture of him and the Waynes at Thanksgiving. They had crowed around, holding their wreaths with Bruce and Danny in the center.

Danny had been facing the camera, beaming in pride at the kids' work. Bruce was half-turning, his gaze stuck on Danny's face with a strange, fond, soft smile, the kind he rarely saw Bruce give anyone else.

It made him hope. Oh, how he hoped, but it also scared him. What if this wasn't love? Danny has never been in love before, has never fallen to the urges that others describe, and had been so comfortable convincing his asexuality meant he would never have to be the kind of person staying up long into the night overthinking every interaction with another person.

Yet here he was, seeing Bruce in a whole new light and discovering how different everything was because of it. But at the same time, how nothing had changed. He spoke to Dani about this, but his clone-turned-sister had only shrugged.

"You raised kids with the man." She laughed. Dani wasn't like Danny, and although she was more informed than their parents, she had difficulty wrapping her head around not having those feelings. "I think it's past the point of having a crush on him. I think you should go for it. Make it official."

Danny reaches up, rubbing at his eyes. It was midnight, and he had a meeting with another with the Japanese board again at eight. He really needed to rest and be on top of his wits so that he and his lawyer could ensure the contact was in his best interest.

He clicks open his gallery on his phone instead of swiping through photos of Bruce and feeling his heart leap nearly out of his chest. He misses the man.

Since Jazz's conversation, Danny has been practically avoiding him. This is due to his being hyper-aware of himself and Bruce: the way Bruce laughed, the dip in his voice whenever the British accent he picked up from Alfred popped in, the slight facial expressions he made when confused about emotions, the shift from playful to professional in work settings, and most of all, the attention he always bestowed onto Danny.

How the world just seemed brighter whenever he was with the man.

Bruce was his sun, and Danny was nothing more than a flower seeking him out. It made the Halfa want to hide in a hole but dance around in public all at once, and he didn't know why.

He finds a video, tapping the play button before thinking further of it, and melts when the first sound he hears is Bruce's laughter. It's quickly followed by the loud noise of the Waynes' Children. It was taken at the last Wayne game night—at the time, Danny had been in England with Dani.

Tim recorded Damian standing proudly over a map covered in white trains, arms spread into a T position, and Duke screaming accusations of cheating. After Alfred banned Monopoly in the Manor, the game Ticket to Ride quickly took over as the new worst enemy creator.

Dick was in the background sobbing into his hands as Jason tried to confront him. Steph and Cass were each leaning on Bruce's two shoulders, laughing as hard as their father, and Alfred was out of frame but not out of hearing, so when he stated, "Master Dick, how could have gone in the wrong direction? It's the map of the USA, it hasn't change in years!"

"He has a concussion, Alfrie!" Jason protested hotly. "Leave him alone!"

"YOU CHEATED!" Duke raged as Damian continued his pose with the most serious expression he'd seen on the child. It made his heart swell to see Damian copying him.

Danny struck the same pose whenever he beat his sisters at a game, even at his advanced age. Once an annoying brother, always an annoying brother.

The video ends with Tim flipping the camera. His broad grin covered the whole screen as he shouted, "Love you, Dad! Miss you! Can't wait to see you!"

Danny turns to his side, feeling his heart flutter more as the word plays repeatedly in his head. A few years ago, the Wayne Kids—excluding Damian, who was polite to the point it hurt—switched from Danny to Dad when referring to him.

Bruce hadn't made a big deal about it even though they called him Dad. Would that mean the man was happy his kids saw him as a second father figure? Did it mean the man thought of him as....a husband?

Danny groans, burying his face into the cool sheets of his futon, begging his mind to stop for a few seconds so he can rest. After this deal goes through, Danny is going to face the music.

He would go to Gotham and figure out a way to tell Bruce how he felt. He just hopes he has it figured out by then. Danny has an idea, but explaining the mess in his head into words is going to be much harder than anything he's ever done.

Not to mention Phantom. That was a can of worms he hadn't ever touched in Wayne's presence. What was Bruce's stance on ghosts anyway?

Should he practice what he would say about the topic? Turning onto his back, Danny holds up his phone, clicking the screen so the lock screen image of a grinning Bruce appears.

It was from the surprise vacation Danny rented out the hut next to the ones the kids sent Bruce to. It had been taken at sunset, the soft orange and purples of the sky framing Bruce's grin and dancing on his wind-blown hair. It had been a spur-of-the-moment walk around the beach, but from Danny's perspective down below and Bruce climbing back up to his hunt, it had almost appeared like Bruce was descending from the heavens.

Danny had used every film skill he had ever heard Dani speak about to capture the beautiful sight.

It is the best picture he's ever taken.

"I love you," the words leave his mouth in surprise, even though he had meant to talk about ghosts. But when they are spoken, he ducks into ice water and realizes they are true.

He sits up, using both hands to hold the phone in front of him, hoping that somehow, in some unrealistic dream, the words will carry across the world, and Bruce will hear them. Maybe even feel them, too. "I love you, I think I do. Do you love me too?"

The screen goes dark, and Danny sighs. Ten years. Will he really risk ten years of friendship over these little feelings?

Yeah. He thinks he will.

[bueckersworld]

AFTER THE LIGHTS

SYNOPSIS: on the night of paige’s wnba draft, the spotlight is on her—but all she sees is you. from a public kiss on national tv, to a private night full of passion and promises, the two of you celebrate her biggest moment yet, wrapped in pride, love, and the kind of intimacy that makes the world fall away. — REQUEST

WARNINGS: smut — mdni, pussy eating (r!receiving)

WORD COUNT: 2.2k. info. masterlist. taglist.

────୨ৎ────

the ballroom is buzzing, the energy electric, but you barely hear a thing. not after she walked in.

you’d been sitting at one of the small tables off to the side, nursing a flute of champagne, trying to stay out of the way and out of the spotlight. you’re used to paige drawing all the attention—it’s been that way since the day you met her—but nothing prepared you for this.

the room had gone still the second she entered.

jet-black suit hugging her frame just right. collar dusted with shimmer. no shirt underneath—just a teasing expanse of toned skin, a dip between her collarbones that made your breath catch. and jewelry. so much jewelry. rings, earrings, chains stacked at her neck like she knew exactly what she was doing. her hair was down, soft waves falling over her shoulders, framing a face that looked too unreal to be walking around on earth.

you blinked, and the world came back in pieces—voices, music, cameras flashing. but you didn’t move.

she spotted you across the room, gave you that look—one brow lifted slightly, corners of her mouth twitching up like she knew exactly what kind of power she held over you. and she did. she always had.

but tonight? tonight she knew you were weak for her, and she was playing with it.

by the time she made it across the room to you, you were barely holding it together. you stood, hands shaking just a little, not sure if you were supposed to hug her or just stare at her forever.

“hey,” she said, like she hadn’t just ruined you.

your eyes flicked down to the deep cut of her blazer and back up. “seriously?” you whispered, leaning in. “you’re gonna show up looking like that?”

she smirked. “you like it?”

you swallowed hard. “unfortunately, yes.”

paige stepped closer, brushing her hand down your arm in a way that looked innocent but set your skin on fire. “you’re supposed to be proud of me tonight,” she teased. “not flustered.”

“i am proud,” you said, voice lower. “just also very distracted.”

the moment held—close enough to kiss, close enough to forget where you were—but she pulled back, linking her fingers with yours instead. “come on,” she said, tugging you toward the crowd. “let’s celebrate.”

⸻

she got picked early, like everyone expected. cameras panned to her the moment her name was called, and you stood right behind her as she hugged her family, the coaching staff, her agent, and then you.

you didn’t expect her to kiss you on live tv.

just a quick one. soft, but sure. one hand on your waist, one tucked behind your neck, pulling you in with that quiet confidence only she had. you barely heard the commentators lose their minds as you melted into her.

after the buzz, after the cameras moved on to the next pick, paige didn’t let you go far. her hand stayed at the small of your back, occasionally trailing up to your shoulder or down to your hip. you couldn’t stop glancing at her—how her jawline looked sharp enough to cut glass under the lights, how the diamonds at her neck sparkled every time she moved, how the silk lapel of her blazer parted just so.

she leaned into your ear while people around you clinked glasses. “you keep staring like that and i’m gonna think you’re undressing me with your eyes.”

you blinked at her. “i absolutely am.”

that grin again. mischievous, knowing. “noted.”

⸻

later that night, when the room started emptying out and the adrenaline wore off, paige found you again, this time with two drinks in hand and a tired kind of softness in her eyes.

“come with me,” she said.

you didn’t ask where. you just followed.

she led you out through the back of the ballroom and into the hallway, heels clicking against polished marble as the night quieted behind you. you made it to the elevator, and when the doors closed, she finally let the front drop.

“i’m exhausted,” she said, leaning her head back against the elevator wall.

you tilted your head. “mentally or physically?”

paige gave you a lopsided smile. “both. but mostly emotionally. it’s… a lot.”

you stepped closer, resting your hand on her chest gently. “i’m proud of you. so proud i can’t even put it into words.”

she looked down at you, eyes softening. “you’ve been with me through all of it,” she said. “i wouldn’t have gotten here without you.”

“you would’ve,” you said, shaking your head. “but i’m glad i got to be there. every second of it.”

when the elevator opened onto your floor, she reached for your hand again without even thinking. her fingers felt cool against yours, her rings clicking lightly. you followed her down the hallway, heart hammering, every step filled with anticipation.

you both stepped into her hotel room. door shut. lights dim.

then, silence.

you stood there for a second, just watching her. the way she tugged her rings off slowly, setting them down on the nightstand. you stared again. you didn’t even try to hide it.

she noticed.

“still distracted?” she asked.

you nodded. “you have no idea.”

paige crossed the room in a few slow steps and stopped right in front of you. one hand lifted to your jaw, thumb brushing just under your lip. her voice dipped low. “i think i do.”

she kissed you like she meant it. no stage, no cameras. just her mouth on yours, slow and deep and dizzying. you leaned into her, hands finding her waist, the smooth fabric of her pants beneath your fingers. you could feel her smile against your lips.

“you looked so good tonight,” you murmured.

her hands slipped around your waist, pulling you flush against her. “only for you.”

you blinked at her. “liar.”

she laughed softly. “okay. maybe a little bit for the league.”

you kissed her again before she could say anything else. this time longer. hungrier. your fingers curled into her hair, tugging gently until she sighed into your mouth.

eventually, she pulled away and rested her forehead against yours. “i can’t believe it’s over,” she whispered.

you cupped her face. “it’s not over. it’s just starting.”

she kissed you again, something possessive in the way her lips moved against yours—slow, confident, like she knew exactly what she was doing to you.

your hands slid down her blazer, nails grazing the glitter-covered collar, tugging her closer until there was no space left between you.

paige’s lips barely left yours when she started to move, trailing along your jaw and down your neck, leaving behind heat and shivers in her wake.

“fuck, you’re so pretty, baby,” she murmured, her voice low and rough, hands gliding up the tops of your thighs to grip your hips tight.

her fingers found the zipper of your dress and dragged it down slowly, teasing, letting the straps slip off your shoulders one by one until the fabric dropped to the floor in a soft heap. your bra followed a second later, unclasped without effort, her gaze never once leaving your face.

you didn’t even get a chance to breathe before she was pushing you back onto the bed, her lips returning to your neck, then lower—pressing warm kisses across your collarbone, your sternum, your stomach…

she dropped to her knees between your legs, spreading them gently, like she was opening a gift.

then she looked up at you—eyes dark, hungry—with that smug little smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“i got you this wet, huh?” she whispered, dragging your panties down painfully slow. “just me?”

you nodded, breath hitching. “only you—”

“mm,” she hummed, leaning in and wrapping her lips around your clit without warning.

your hips bucked up immediately, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat.

her tongue flicked across you deliberately, groaning against your skin like the taste alone could drive her mad. “so fuckin’ sweet,” she muttered, licking deeper, messier, hungrier.

“mmph—paige…” you moaned, arching your back, your head falling back against the pillows as pleasure rolled through you in thick waves.

her hands held your thighs open, fingers gripping hard enough to leave marks as she devoured you like she hadn’t eaten in days. she didn’t stop. not when you begged her to slow down. not when your legs started trembling. she needed you—desperately, fiercely, like she was proving something.

“paige—please…” you whimpered, fisting her hair as the tension built too fast, too strong.

and then she gave you more.

two fingers slipped inside you, curling just right, syncing with the rhythm of her mouth.

“oh fuck—!” you cried out, your back arching so high you nearly came off the bed. her fingers fucked you hard, steady, curling deeper with every thrust.

“tell me this pussy’s mine,” she growled against you, lips brushing your clit between words.

you choked on a moan. “it’s yours—it’s all yours, paige…”

she moaned into you, tongue circling your clit again, and that was it.

you shattered—legs trembling, body shaking, a cry ripping from your throat as your orgasm slammed into you hard. it stole the air from your lungs, left you boneless beneath her.

paige didn’t move right away. she slowed her fingers gently, working you through every aftershock, peppering soft kisses along your inner thighs as she finally pulled away.

she rested her head on your stomach, arms wrapped around your hips, just holding you for a moment.

“you good?” she asked softly, voice thick and low.

you ran your fingers through her hair, still panting. “you’re insane…”

she smiled against your skin. “only for you.”

you laughed breathlessly, tugging her up until she was lying beside you, pulling the covers over both of you. she leaned in, kissed your shoulder, then your cheek, then your lips again—gentler this time, like she was kissing you back to life.

and when you curled into her chest, heart still racing, she whispered, “told you i needed you.”

⸻

later, when you were curled up beside her in bed, the city lights casting gold against her skin, paige traced lazy circles on your bare arm. she looked thoughtful, her brows pinched just slightly.

“what’s going on in that brain?” you asked.

she hesitated. “what if it all changes now? what if the travel, the pressure, the distance… what if it pulls us apart?”

you shook your head immediately. “it won’t.”

“you say that like it’s easy.”

“no, i say that because i know what we have. and i know i’d never let that happen.”

paige rolled onto her side, propping her head up with one hand. “promise?”

“always,” you said.

she kissed your shoulder. “you’re stuck with me now, you know.”

“i’ve been stuck,” you teased.

her fingers trailed down your spine. “good.”

silence settled again, but it wasn’t heavy. it was full. full of everything you couldn’t say out loud in the chaos of earlier. full of all the looks you shared across the room, all the words you whispered into her neck, all the pride you felt watching her live her dream.

you looked at her then, really looked at her. her long lashes, her flushed cheeks, the slow rise and fall of her chest. you knew this was just the beginning. new cities, new teams, new challenges. but you also knew you’d be there. front row, always.

she turned to you just before falling asleep and whispered, “thank you for loving me through everything.”

and you whispered back, “always.”

© bueckersworld

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ guys i am SOO sorry i haven’t posted in a while!! ive been really busy lately and haven’t had time to post!! deepest apologies

taglist: @imnotkaizer @private-but-not-a-secret @paigebaby5 @raimund00 @bravemode @d1paigebueckersglazer @evanpeterstoe @zi0nnnn @jadasogay @fuddaround @jaylie-bee @everyonewatchesuconnwbb

𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝘩𝑢𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠, 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑟

[helioooss]

back to december

synopsis: after years of being together, jimin and y/n’s relationship starts to crack under the pressure of karina’s new-found world: fame.

w/c: 8.5k+

warnings: angst, swearing, this and that, not proofread

a/n: merry christmas

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the apartment door opened with a soft creak, letting in the sound of jingling keys and quiet footsteps. you looked up from where you sat, curled into the corner of the worn-out sofa, a book resting open in your lap. the faint hum of the world outside was replaced by silence as jimin stepped into the apartment.

her black hair, slightly damp with sweat, clung to her temples, and the oversized hoodie she wore looked three sizes too big. her shoulders slumped with exhaustion, but even through her tired eyes, a familiar spark of excitement flickered to life.

“you’re home late,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips as you sat up straight, putting the book down on the coffee table.

she exhaled a breathy laugh as she moved toward you, collapsing onto the spot next to you with a heavy sigh. her body sank with yours onto the cushions as if they were the only things holding her together.

“baby,” she started, voice breathless yet glowing as her face beamed. “it’s happening.”

you frowned lightly, a mixture of confusion and curiosity dancing across your face. “what’s happening?”

she turned her head to look at you, a grin slowly spreading across her face. “the debut.”

your heart stilled for just a second, your mind needing a moment to catch up with her words.

“what?” you asked, almost as though you’d misheard — but you heard her right.

“i’m debuting!” she burst out, her hands flailing briefly before dropping back to her lap. her voice rose with that mix of disbelief and joy, like she was saying the words out loud to make them real. “it’s official. i’m going to debut in a group. with yizhuo, minjeong and aeri.”

the news struck you like a wave, one that carried a mixture of pride, excitement and something you couldn’t quite place — a faint flicker of anxiety.

“baby, that’s fucking incredible!” you threw your arms around her without thinking, and she let out a surprised laugh as you held her tightly. her body was warm and familiar, the scent of her floral shampoo lingering faintly — the smile broke across your face, legs tangled together and all.

her arms tightened around you for a moment before she pulled back just enough to look at you. her dark eyes softened. “i couldn’t have done it without you.”

“i told you it was only a matter of time,” you murmured into her shoulder, your voice muffled but steady. “it’s all you and your hard, baby. i just happen to be the lucky one cheering from the sidelines.”

“you’re always there, cheering me on, even when i doubt myself,” her eyes glimmered, showing adoration towards you.

“of course i am,” you replied simply. “i believe in you. i always have.”

her smile faltered for just a second, like she was overwhelmed by something unspoken. yet she sat up straighter, the energy returning to her. “i want to celebrate with you. i invited the girls over for dinner tomorrow — i hope you don’t mind.”

you nodded, feeling that familiar itch to do something for her. for all of them. “i’ll cook,” you offered without hesitation.

“you don’t have to —”

“i want to,” you cut in, smiling as you already made a mental note of the dishes you were going to cook. “it’s not every day my girlfriend debuts as a k-pop star. it has to be special.”

jimin’s face softened, her eyes lingering on you a little longer than usual. “you’re going to love them,” she said quietly. “and they’re going to love you.”

the next day passed in a blur of preparation. the apartment smelled like home — garlic, soy sauce, and ginger infused the air and the sizzle of meat on the stove echoed through the small space.

you’d been chopping, marinating, and stirring for hours, sleeves rolled up to your elbows and a soft hum of music playing in the background. cooking for people always gave you a sense of calm, as though each dish you prepared was a quiet offering of care.

when the knock came at the door, followed by the distinct sound of your girlfriend’s laugh, you wiped your hands on a towel and peeked around the kitchen doorway. a small, proud smile tugged at her lips as she caught your eye.

“welcome, welcome!” she said brightly as three girls spilled into the entryway, shedding coats and shoes.

their energy filled the apartment instantly — a mixture of excitement, nerves, and something unspoken that came with dreams finally taking shape.

“this place is so cute,” one of the girls said, her sharp features framed by black hair that brushed her shoulders. she was grinning brightly, her accent smooth but distinct. “you must be y/n? i’m aeri. or giselle, i guess.”

you smiled warmly, offering a small wave. “i’m y/n, nice to meet you all. i hope you’re all hungry!”

“oh, trust me, i’m starved,” the blonde beside her piped up, eyes sparkling. “all good things, i hope. i’m minjeong. they’re calling me winter now.”

“and i’m yizhuo,” the third girl said, giving you a small but bright smile. her energy felt calmer but no less vibrant. “ningning on stage.”

“stage names, huh?” you glanced at jimin teasingly. “what’s yours?”

her cheeks blushed faintly. “karina.”

“karina,” you repeated softly, testing the name. you smiled. “it suits you.”

the girls teased her relentlessly over your response, but she took it with that playful pride, her gaze lingering on you.

“you cooked for us?” yizhuo asked, peeking into the kitchen with curiosity.

“it’s nothing fancy,” you said, though you knew the spread was far from simple. “just a little something to celebrate.”

“you’re spoiling us already,” minjeong teased as she followed the others into the living room. “jimin, take notes, would you?”

“idiot,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “i look after you three enough.”

they filed into the living room, and soon enough, the dinner table was alive with chatter, the girls filling the small space with their voices, stories and questions.

jimin sat beside you, her eyes occasionally flickering your way. she looked more at ease than you’d seen her in weeks, even with the chaos.

“so, y/n,” aeri started, leaning forward with curiosity, “your girlfriend said you’re an artist. you have your own gallery, right?”

you nodded, surprised she even knew that much. “yeah; it’s a small space, but it’s mine.”

“that’s so cool,” minjeong added, her eyes wide. “what kind of art do you do?”

“a bit of everything,” you replied, feeling a faint heat creep up your neck. “portraits, landscapes, abstracts…i’ve always loved experimenting with textures and colours.”

“jimin proudly told us she was your muse,” yizhuo teased, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

the girl groaned softly beside you, burying her face in her hands. “ning.”

the girls erupted into laughter while you smiled faintly, looking at jimin’s flustered form. “she’s not wrong,” you shrugged, earning a few squeals from around the table. she peeked at you between her fingers, her cheeks dusted pink.

they fell into an easy conversation with you, despite their initial curiosity about who you were and how you fit into jimin’s life. they teased her endlessly — about her stage name, her habits, her tendency to practice endlessly, but they did so with a kind of deep affection that made your heart ache in the best way.

at one point, yizhuo turned to you once again, grinning mischievously. “so, how did you two meet?”

you glanced at jimin, who was already looking at you with that knowing smile. “we met at my gallery,” you said. “she walked in one day, acting like she was lost.”

“i was lost,” she interjected defensively, though her grin betrayed her amusement.

“sure you were,” you teased back, earning laughter from the table. “she stayed longer than most visitors, though. we got to talking. and she kept coming back.”

“for the art?” minjeong asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“for her,” jimin admitted quietly, her voice almost drowned out by the noise.

the table quietened for a beat, and you felt your cheeks heat under their gazes.

“that’s so cute,” aeri declared, breaking the silence. “karina, the hopeless romantic. who would’ve thought?”

“she’s not as tough as she looks,” you joked, catching her eye. her expression softened, a quiet kind of gratitude lingering in her gaze.

jimin dropped her hands, her voice quieter now. “i’ve always been her biggest fan,” she said softly. “she just doesn’t know it.”

your heart fluttered in your chest, but you focused on scooping rice onto your plate, fighting the smile threatening to take over your face.

as dinner wound down, the conversation shifted to the industry itself. they talked about practice schedules, strict diets and the endless rehearsals that had led to this moment.

“it’s harder than people think,” aeri explained, leaning back in her chair. “we’re up at 6 in the morning most days and sometimes finish past midnight. and then we have to get up and do it all over again.”

“and don’t forget the pressure,” minjeong added. “from fans, the company, and even ourselves. it’s…a lot.”

you listened quietly, glancing at your girlfriend, who was staring down at her plate. something about the way she pressed her lips together tugged at you.

“you’ll all be amazing,” you said softly, cutting through the weight of the conversation. “it’s not easy, but you’re already doing something most people could only dream of. and… ou have each other. that’s what matters, right?”

they all smiled and jimin’s gaze finally lifted to meet yours. there was something unspoken in her expression — gratitude, perhaps, or pride.

“she’s right,” jimin said quietly. “we’ll make it. together.”

as the night drew to a close, you retreated to the kitchen to clean up despite their protests. jimin followed you eventually, leaning against the counter as you scrubbed dishes. the apartment behind her buzzed with the muffled sound of the girls talking and laughing.

“you were right,” you said softly. “i do love them.”

she smiled faintly, stepping closer. “and they love you.”

you turned off the tap and dried your hands before facing her, putting your hands on her waist. “i’m proud of you, you know.”

she placed her palms against your face, her gaze searching yours, and for a second, the world outside disappeared. “i’ll make you even prouder,” she promised. “you’ll see.”

she was always meant to shine. there was such a promise in her words that you believed her. with everything you had.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

aespa’s debut had been nothing short of a phenomenon. their first music video went viral overnight, their sleek, futuristic concept capturing millions. everyone fell in love with them, chanting their names in sold-out arenas and plastering their faces across glossy billboards.

the world had changed in just one year and karina had become its centre. their schedules stretched endlessly, a constant cycle of rehearsals, performances, and interviews.

you watched it all unfold from the sidelines.

it wasn’t a surprise. she had always been destined for this kind of success, but you never realised how much it would take from her — from both of you.

her phone calls to you grew shorter and texts came slower. ‘i love you’ turned into rushed goodbyes, the weight of her schedule pulling her further and further away. you understood. of course you did — this was the dream she had fought for.

understanding didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

the fanmeet was packed, the sound of chatter and excitement vibrating through the venue. you stood in line with the rest of the fans, clutching your aespa album and a small envelope. your pulse thrummed faintly with nerves, though it wasn’t the first fanmeet you’d attended. you’d been to as many as you could manage, standing in the crowds like everyone else, cheering and waving your lightstick.

jimin — karina, you corrected yourself — had spotted you more than once during these events. sometimes, her gaze would linger a second too long, her smile softening at the corners but you never pushed for more.

you were just another face in the crowd. it stung sometimes.

“next!”

you stepped forward, and there they were, seated at the table, faces bright with smiles. giselle was first to see you as she grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners as she took your album. “hi!”

“hi,” you said, smiling back.

she glanced up, studying you for a second. “you look familiar,” she said, pen poised above the page. “have we seen you before?”

you blinked. “uh, maybe? i’ve been to a few fanmeets.”

“oh, a dedicated fan,” giselle teased, scribbling her signature across the page. “i like that.”

dickhead. you laughed softly before moving on to ningning, who beamed brightly as you approached.

“it’s you again!” she said, pointing at you with her marker.

your stomach dropped slightly. “again?”

“yeah! you’ve been to, like, every show, right? and didn’t you trend once for that fan chant video?”

your cheeks burned. “oh…um, yeah. i guess.”

“we appreciate it,” ningning said warmly, leaning forward slightly. “you’re one of those fans — the ones we know are always there.”

your heart clenched at that, but you managed a small smile.

winter was next. her gaze was more observant as you handed her the album. “you’ve got that stan twitter vibe,” she said bluntly, and you nearly choked on air.

“what?”

she smirked. “come on. the energy? the dedication? you’ve got a secret fan account somewhere, don’t you?”

“i…” you began, unable to stop your nervous laugh. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

her smirk widened knowingly as she handed you back the album. “sure you don’t.”

and then it was karina.

she looked up as you stepped forward, her face breaking into a smile that she tried to make look casual but didn’t quite succeed.

“hey,” she said softly, her voice almost lost under the hum of the venue.

“hi,” you replied, keeping your own voice light as you stared at your girlfriend.

“you’re here again,” she murmured as she took the album.

“i always am,” you said quietly, watching her sign her stage name: karina, in elegant loops.

her hand paused for just a second and then she passed the album back to you, her thumb brushing over your skin for a second. her eyes flickered up, searching yours.

“thanks for coming,” she said finally, her tone just a little too soft to be professional.

you swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded. “of course, always.”

the weeks bled into each other and your conversations with jimin really became less and less frequent. you would see her once a week, if you were lucky.

aespa had moved into a luxury apartment together months ago, but most of her old things were still here — left exactly as they had been, like ghosts of a quieter life. her old hoodie still hung on the back of the door, her favourite mug sat unused in the cupboard and you swore her perfume lingered around.

the thing that kept you afloat was constantly reminding yourself of what she’d fought for — how she had argued with her company to keep you, how she had sat across from you, holding the nda papers with shaking hands.

“i won’t lose you, y/n,” she’d whispered that day. “i’ll do whatever it takes.”

and she had.

now, the silence was the hardest part.

it was late afternoon when you arrived at their apartment, a small bag of groceries clutched tightly in your hands. the sleek, modern building seemed too pristine, like it belonged in a magazine, but it suited the: polished, untouchable, larger than life.

jimin wasn’t there. she’d left early that morning for solo activities. a photoshoot, you thought, though it was hard to keep track of her schedule these days. her texts had been brief that morning.

from: my love 🫶

leaving early today. the girls are home, though. they miss you. i miss you. i love you baby

sent 5:07 AM

it wasn’t much, but it was enough.

you stood at the door for a second, taking a deep breath before knocking. the door flew open, revealing yizhuo in an oversized hoodie and socks that looked like they belonged to a child. she grinned at you, eyes lighting up.

“y/n!” giselle’s voice echoed from the doorway, accompanied by the sound of excited footsteps. “is that you? what’s in the bag?”

you smiled, holding up a grocery bag full of ingredients as you slipped off your shoes. “you guys asked for kimchi jjigae, right?”

“oh my god, she came through again,” yizhuo cheered, rushing over to take the bag from your hands. “this is why we love you. well, one of the reasons.”

“don’t flatter me too much, ning,” you joked, nudging her playfully as she helped you into the luxury apartment’s sprawling kitchen. the place was sleek and spotless — completely different from the homey, cluttered flat you still shared with jimin’s belongings.

the other members were scattered around the living room, lounging across sofas like exhausted cats. minjeong, in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants, sat cross-legged on the carpet with a controller in her hands. she glanced up when she saw you.

“y/n!” her face lit up as she paused the game, throwing her hands up. “you’re here! i thought you abandoned us after how awkward that fanmeet was.”

you snorted as you set the groceries on the kitchen counter. “i can’t abandon you guys if you keep bribing me with compliments.”

“it works every time,” aeri said with a wink, trailing behind you. “i nearly slipped up the other day and was about to ask you if you could cook at home and feed us.”

“you’re just stupid like that sometimes,” you chuckled teasingly as, earning a slight push from her. you quickly got to work, tying your hair back and pulling out pots and pans from their neatly arranged cupboards.

while you prepped ingredients, aeri and yizhuo hovered around the kitchen like puppies begging for food.

“so,” aeri started, propping her elbows on the counter. “when are you moving in here officially? we might as well just claim you as aespa’s honorary fifth member at this point.”

you laughed softly, shaking your head as you chopped tofu. “i think you’ll have to run that past your managers.”

“nah, you’re already in,” yizhuo piped up, stealing a piece of green onion from the cutting board and dodging your swat. “jimin just doesn’t want to admit she’d lose her mind without you.”

at the mention of her, something in your chest twisted, but you masked it with a light smile. “you’re all dramatic. i’m sure she’d be fine.”

“don’t let her fool you,” aeri leaned closer with a cheeky grin. “she acts all cool and composed, but we’ve seen her mooning over you. ‘the love of my life is coming over? i’ll clean the living room!’ ‘my girlfriend likes this snack, we should keep some here.’ it’s adorable.”

“stop,” you said, your voice softening involuntarily, cheeks warming.

“she’s lucky, though,” minjeong said from the couch, still tapping idly on her controller. “no one else would put up with her constant brooding and perfectionism. we’d have kicked her out.”

you laughed at that, the weight in your chest lifting for just a moment. “well, someone’s got to keep her in check.”

“exactly,” aeri agreed, clapping her hands together. “and you feed us, which means you’re already way cooler than karina. no offence to our leader.

“all the offence please,” yizhuo teased under her breath, earning a set of laughter from minjeong.

minjeong finally stood up and leaned against the counter, watching you with a curious expression. “so, what’s up with jimin today? she’s doing something solo, right?”

you nodded, focusing on cutting tofu. “photoshoot, i think. she didn’t say much.”

“she never does,” she muttered, though her tone was light. “she’s so busy lately. we barely see her, and we live with her.”

“i know,” you said softly, more to yourself than to her.

the kitchen fell quiet for a moment. yizhuo and minjeong exchanged a quick look, but neither said anything.

“are we gossiping?” aeri teased, breaking the silence. “because i can tell you who’s been stealing my snacks again.”

“not me!” yizhuo shot back immediately.

“sure,” aeri deadpanned before turning to you. “smells amazing, y/n. i don’t know why karina ever let you out of her sight.”

“it’s not like that,” you said quickly, trying to keep your voice casual.

“no, seriously,” she added, crossing her arms. “you’re her soft spot. we’ve seen it.”

the words hung in the air for a moment, making your chest ache faintly. you’d always been her soft spot — her quiet space away from the noise. you wondered if that space was shrinking, if the demands of the world were slowly pushing you out.

by the time you finished cooking, the entire apartment smelled like garlic, simmering kimchi, and savoury broth. you set the bubbling pot of jjigae in the centre of the dining table, along with plates of rice and simple side dishes you’d thrown together on a whim.

“y/n, you’re a literal saint,” minjeong said, sliding into the seat closest to the pot. “this smells so good.”

“i swear you’re trying to ruin us,” aeri added, spooning herself a generous helping. “we’re going to start rejecting all the food the company gives us.”

“you’ll get me blacklisted if you keep saying that,” you teased, sitting down across from them.

“worth it,” yizhuo said through a mouthful of tofu.

it was easy to slip into conversations with them. between bites of stew and rice, they told you stories about their chaotic schedules — forgotten dance moves on live stages, accidentally matching outfits and how yizhuo almost fell asleep during a radio interview.

“fame’s not as glamorous as it looks, huh?” you mused after aeri recounted how she nearly tripped down a set of stage stairs.

“nope,” minjeong, resting her chin on her hand. “it’s exhausting. but when we’re on stage, it feels worth it.”

“still,” yizhuo added, looking at you, “i don’t know how you do it.”

you blinked. “do what?”

“deal with jimin’s schedule,” she said bluntly. “you guys don’t even get to see each other that much anymore, right?”

the air shifted slightly, the question hanging heavier than it should have. you forced a small smile, stirring the rice in your bowl. “we make it work,” you said quietly, trying to sound casual.

aeri glanced at you, a flicker of something like sympathy in her eyes. “she doesn’t shut up about how much she misses you, you know.”

“she’s just bad at showing it,” minjeong added with a shrug.

“really bad,” ningning agreed, earning a smack on the arm from aeri.

you chuckled softly, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “i know she’s busy. it’s her dream. i’m proud of her.”

“you’re good to her, y/n,” aeri tilted her head, her voice softer now. “she knows that. and honestly… she’s so lucky to have you.”

something about the way she said it tugged at you — like a quiet reassurance, but also a reminder. you nodded, offering her a small smile before focusing on your food. “well,” you said after a beat, “as long as you guys keep eating what i make, i guess i’ll stick around.”

“don’t need to ask me twice,” minjeong said instantly, earning a round of laughter.

after dinner, the girls collapsed onto the couch, groaning about how full they were while you tidied up the kitchen. you heard one of them flick on the tv, someone grumbling about someone else hogging the remote.

barely noticing the time, you were just finishing up when you felt arms loop around your waist from behind, a familiar chin resting on your shoulder.

“you didn’t tell me you were coming,” jimin murmured, her voice low and tired.

you paused, leaning into her touch slightly. “i wanted to surprise you.”

“you always do,” she said softly, her grip tightening.

you exhaled quietly, turning to look at her. her face was bare of makeup, her eyes slightly shadowed with exhaustion but she still looked like her.

“you okay?” you asked gently, brushing her hair back.

she nodded, though her gaze dropped slightly. “i missed you.”

“i’m right here,” you said softly, trying to smile.

her eyes flickered with something unspoken before the sounds of aeri shouting from the living room broke the moment.

“jimin! get out here! y/n’s our girlfriend now, so you’re being replaced by three beautiful women.”

jimin rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. “remind me why i brought them into my life?”

“because they’re good for you,” you murmured, nudging her.

“you’re better,” she replied quietly, almost too soft for you to hear.

you pulled her face, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. “are you still coming to my opening next week? mum and dad will be there.”

“i wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

and even though she pulled you into the living room with the others, her arm slung over your shoulder, you couldn’t shake the weight of her words.

i wouldn’t miss it for the world.

you hoped she meant it. because as you looked at her, laughing with the girls, you couldn’t help but feel how far away she seemed — even when she was right beside you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the hum of quiet conversation slowly faded as the last of your guests trickled out of the gallery. the evening had been a success — more than that, really. the walls were lined with paintings that had taken months of late nights and countless hours to finish, and people had loved them.

three had sold in the first hour and one was going to los angeles.

yet as you stood by the entrance, offering polite goodbyes, the warmth of the evening didn’t quite settle in your chest the way it should have.

“sweetheart, are you okay?”

you turned toward the familiar voice. your parents stood a few feet away, your mum’s coat draped over her arm while your dad shifted his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

smiling tightly, you tugged the sleeves of your shirt down as you shrugged. “of course, mum. it’s been a great night.”

your dad sighed, his eyes falling towards the nearest painting; a soft, abstract silhouette of a woman, bathed in streaks of light and shadow. “is jimin still coming?”

the question hit you harder than it should have. after all, you’d spent all evening glancing toward the door, hoping for a flash of black hair, hoping to see her slip in quietly, apologetically, but she never came.

you forced a casual tone. “she’s…working still. something ran late, i think. she’ll text me later.”

“she’s going to miss the entire night?” he asked, frowning slightly. “it’s your opening.”

“yeah, idols and their schedules,” you awkwardly rubbed your nape, chuckling. “it’s okay, dad, really.”

your mum gave you a knowing look, the kind only mothers could manage — one that said she saw straight through you. she reached out and gently squeezed your hand. “you’re always so understanding, darling. but don’t let her forget how important you are, too.”

“i’m fine, mum,” you reassured her, though the words felt hollow.

he nodded, clearly wanting to say something else but holding back. “we’re proud of you, kiddo. the show was incredible. you’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

“thanks dad,” you murmured, offering them a small smile. “i appreciate you two showing up, i know the drive was pain.”

“anything for you, sweetheart,” your mum pulled you into a hug, kissing your cheek goodbye. “come over for dinner when you’re free, okay? i miss you both.”

they gave you a final hug before heading out into the night, leaving you alone in the quiet of the gallery. you exhaled slowly, looking around at the space you’d poured yourself into.

the pieces were yours. each stroke, each colour a reflection of something you couldn’t quite put into words, but so many of them were her.

she was everywhere, woven into the canvas, immortalised in paint.

your phone buzzed, breaking the silence. you grabbed it quickly, hope rising in your chest and only for it to deflate as you saw the multiple names on your screen.

from: minjeonggg

your show looked amazing, y/n! karina told us about it. hope you’re celebrating 🫶 sorry we couldn’t be there today but i promiseeee i’ll see u this week

sent 11:31 PM

-

from: aeri-chan

ok miss popular, dinner’s on me. i’m cooking (please don’t let me)

so proud of your hard work <3

sent 11:40 PM

-

from: ningx2

i saw photos from a friend of mine who came to the openinggg, showed the girls if u don’t mind. they’re all so beautiful 🤩

sent 11:43 PM

-

you stared at the screen for a moment, your chest tightening — all but from your girlfriend as you swiped to your call log. no missed calls. no texts.

pressing her name, the phone rung in your ear as you paced the room. it rang once. twice. seven times. just as you were about to hang up, the line connected.

“hello?” her voice was tired, clipped in a way that instantly told you this was going to go poorly.

“hey,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady as you hesitated for a second. “are you still coming?”

“coming where?”

you paused, heart stopping. “the gallery show. my show, jimin. the one you promised you were show up to. in fact, mum and dad actually waited for you.

a beat of silence stretched between you.

“y/n, i told you i was busy tonight,” she muttered, a hint of frustration bleeding into her voice. “i had a shoot that ran over. it wasn’t like i could just leave.”

“i know you’re busy,” you replied softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “but this was important to me and i wanted you to be there, even just for a little while.”

“you think i don’t know that?” she shot back, her voice rising slightly. “i’m sorry, okay? i wanted to be there, but i can’t just drop everything for a gallery show.”

you flinched, her words striking deeper than she likely intended. “it wasn’t just a show. it was my work — a year’s worth of it.”

“and what do you think i’m doing?” she snapped suddenly. “you think i’m working this hard for nothing? i’m doing this for us. for our future.”

“i’m not asking for a future, i’m asking for now,” you replied, your voice catching at the edges. “you don’t even call anymore. you don’t text. i feel like i’m standing on the outside of your life, watching you move further and further away.”

“fuck y/n, stop,” she called out, sharper this time. “you’re making it sound like i’m doing this on purpose — like i don’t care. i care about you, you know that.”

“then why do i feel like i don’t have a place in your life anymore?” you asked in a quiet voice, trying to hold back your tears.

the silence that followed was deafening. you could hear her breathing faintly on the other end, uneven and tense. “i don’t have time for this,” she muttered, her voice cold.

“wait —“ you followed, desperation evident in your voice.

the line went dead.

you stared at your phone, your fingers still clutching it tightly. the words felt like they’d been ripped out of you, leaving you hollow. you wanted to apologise and tell her you weren’t angry — just hurt, but knowing jimin during arguments, all you could do was wait.

the next few days crawled by. she didn’t call, and you didn’t text her. every time your phone buzzed, you reached for it instinctively, only to feel that sting of disappointment when it wasn’t her.

you spent your hours in the gallery, moving through the motions — packing paintings, restocking supplies, tidying the studio, anything to keep your mind busy.

three days later, the doorbell above the gallery chimed and you looked up, surprised to see aeri and minjeong walking in, their faces bright with easy smiles.

“look what the cat brought in,” you said, trying to sound cheerful as you tucked a cloth into your pocket. “what are you two doing here?”

“we came to see your show properly,” aeri smiled. she glanced around the space, her eyes widening as she took in the paintings on the walls. “wow, these are amazing!”

minjeong wandered toward a painting near the window — a soft, abstract piece of two hands reaching for each other but not quite touching. “you’re really talented, you know that?”

“i appreciate it,” you replied, the words feeling hollow in your mouth.

awri paused, pointing to another painting; a woman sitting alone by a window, light spilling onto her face. “is this karina?” she asked softly.

you nodded, trying to keep your voice steady. “yeah.”

minjeong studied the piece for a moment before turning back to you. “she’s lucky to have someone who loves her like this, you’re so good to her.”

you chuckled, pressing your hands together. “i try.” they both stopped at another canvas, an abstract piece this time — gazes lingering on the soft blues and greys. “that one sold immediately for twenty thousand dollars. i was in the middle of packing it down.”

minjeong’s eyes widened. “holy shit, y/n. that’s insane. i’m glad we got to see it then!”

you smiled faintly, though the ache lingered. “thanks. i want to make something that matters, you know?”

“you already have,” aeri said firmly. “ning would’ve come too, but she got dragged into solo schedules today.”

your heart sank slightly, though you didn’t let it show. “it’s fine. i’m glad you guys came.”

“we wouldn’t miss it,” minjeong wrapped her arms around you. “your work deserves to be seen, y/n. don’t ever forget that.”

aeri kissed your cheek, letting out a laugh when the brim of her hat hit your face. “i’m sorry!”

“idiot,” you shook your head, smiling. “sorry to see you guys go.”

minjeong sighed. “we’re sorry too, we have a meeting with our director in half an hour.”

you bowed your head. “please send my regards to ning and jimin.”

after they left, the gallery fell quiet again, leaving you alone with your thoughts. you sank onto a small bench near the centre of the room, staring at the paintings surrounding you.

they were all pieces of her — fragments of moments, memories captured on canvas. her laughter in the kitchen as you danced around with flour on your hands, the way she’d lean her head on your shoulder when the world felt too heavy.

the way she’d whispered, “i’ll always be here.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

it was november and the city was wrapped in the magic of the season. soft snowflakes drifted from the sky, blanketing the streets in white. shop windows glowed with warm lights, adorned with wreaths, tinsel and cheerful displays.

the world around you buzzed with a festive energy, but it felt distant; a joy you couldn’t quite reach.

jimin hadn’t spoken to you in over a week.

she told herself she was giving you space, letting things settle before she reached out but every passing day without hearing your voice made the ache in her chest grow heavier.

she missed you. horribly.

she missed the sound of your laughter, the way you always tilted your head when you were concentrating on a painting. she missed your voice, even the way you’d tease her about how serious she could be.

but what hurt most was the way you’d sounded during the argument: disappointed, like she’d let you down beyond repair and she shut you down.

her phone sat untouched on her bedside table, but she couldn’t bring herself to call you.

she told herself you were fine, that you always understood.

and then she found it: an old flyer tucked into her wallet, creased from months of being ignored.

free weekend art class: saturdays, 2-5 p.m.

without a second thought, she grabbed her hoodie and a coat, pulled a cap low over her face, and left the dorm.

when she arrived, the small studio sat quietly on the corner of the street. large windows stretched across the front, letting in subtle beams of warm afternoon sunlight. she stopped just outside, heart pounding in her chest as she looked in.

there you were.

you stood near the window, laughing with a group of students as you demonstrated something with your hands. you wore an old paint-streaked apron over your clothes, your hair messily tied back with strands falling loose around your face.

jimin froze, her chest tightening painfully at the sight of you.

you were so beautiful.

for a moment, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. your laugh carried faintly through the window, and she felt like someone had punched the air from her lungs.

you looked happy here, in your space — your world. one she hadn’t been a part of in far too long.

her hands trembled as she pushed open the studio door. the small bell above it jingled, startling you mid-sentence. your gaze flicked to the door, and when you saw her, your expression froze.

the soft smile on your face faltered, replaced by something unreadable.

“oh…hello, have a seat,” you said, your voice calm but distant. “the class finishes in an hour, sorry you missed most of it.”

the class turned briefly to look at her, then back to their work, unfazed. she stood awkwardly near the door, her cap pulled low, unsure of whether to move closer.

“i’m sorry,” she said quietly, though her voice barely carried over the hum of the room. “it’s okay, i’ll stay and watch for now.”

you stared at her for a beat before turning back to your students, forcing yourself to focus. “right, let’s keep going. we’re almost done for today.”

jimin stayed silent at the back of the studio, hands shoved deep into the pocket of her hoodie. she watched as you moved between easels, stopping to encourage your students with soft words and kind smiles.

“light strokes,” you were saying, guiding a young girl’s brush across the canvas. “you’re not fighting the paint, you’re moving with it, okay? let it flow.”

the girl nodded, grinning up at you. “like magic?”

you laughed softly, the sound carrying faintly through the glass. “exactly like magic.”

jimin’s heart clenched painfully. she’d forgotten what it was like to just watch you.

the way you moved between students, offering encouragement, helping them mix colours, or joking with them about how ‘happy accidents’ were just part of the process.

“mr. kim,” you said with a grin to one of your older students, “i know damn well you didn’t mean to paint a tree in the middle of your cityscape, but we’re rolling with it now.”

the man laughed heartily, shaking his head. “art is chaos, isn’t it?”

“exactly,” you replied with a wink.

as the class carried on, you felt her gaze on you. it was familiar, but you didn’t meet her eyes.

when the class ended, the students began packing up, thanking you as they grabbed their bags and coats. you busied yourself cleaning brushes and wiping down tables, pretending not to notice jimin still standing by the door.

eventually, the last student waved goodbye, and the doorbell chimed softly as it closed.

once the last student left, the room fell eerily quiet. you didn’t say anything at first, just continued gathering supplies, your back to her.

“y/n,” jimin said softly, taking a small step forward.

“did you enjoy the class?” your voice was polite, but there was no warmth in it.

she flinched at how distant you sounded. “i didn’t come here for the class.”

you finally turned to face her, arms crossed over your chest. your face was calm, but your eyes gave it away; hurt and guarded.

“then why did you come here, jimin?”

her throat tightened, her voice almost failing her. “because…because i missed you.”

you turned away, picking up brushes and placing them back into jars. “it took you over a fucking week to realise that?”

she flinched at the quiet sharpness in your words. “baby, i’m sorry. i —”

“don’t,” you said quickly, cutting her off. “don’t say anything if you don’t mean it.”

her face fell, guilt flashing across her features. “i know. i messed up. i…i wanted to come to the show, my love. i wanted to, but —”

“but you didn’t,” you said flatly, crossing your arms.

she flinched. “i know. i’m sorry.”

you shook your head, your voice quieter. “you’re always sorry, jimin, and it doesn’t change anything.”

for a moment, neither of you said anything.

“let me take you home,” she said suddenly, her voice breaking the silence. “just…please. let me come home. i want to talk. let me fix this.”

she looked terrible — tired. the bags under her eyes indicated that she’d been crying, the sight of her tugging your heartstrings.

you stared at her for a long moment before sighing softly. “fine.”

the drive to your shared apartment was quiet. jimin glanced at you occasionally, trying to make small talk, but you stared out the window, your expression unreadable.

when you got to your shared apartment, it felt strange walking in again, like she was intruding something she shouldn’t be a part of.

everything was still the same.

her old hoodie still hung on the back of the chair in the living room. her favourite mug; chipped at the rim, sat on the kitchen shelf. and piles of her shoes were still lined up neatly by the door.

she felt her throat close as she picked up the hoodie, fingers trembling. “you didn’t move anything,” she whispered.

you paused, turning to look at her. “of course it is.”

her voice cracked. “you didn’t…you didn’t throw anything out?”

“why would i?” you replied softly, setting your bag down on the table. “i was still hoping you’d come home one day.”

she sank onto the sofa, her head in her hands. her eyes burned, the weight of her guilt crashing over her all at once. she looked down at her lap, her shoulders trembling slightly.

you turned at the sound of a soft sob, stunned. “jimin?”

“y/n,” she looked up at, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her face. “i’m so sorry.”

you stared at her for a moment, surprised to see her like this.

“i’ve been so caught up in everything that i forgot,” she whispered, her voice choked. “i forgot what this…what you mean to me. i’ve been so afraid of losing everything that i ended up hurting the one person who’s always been there for me.”

you felt your own throat tighten as you watched her wipe her face with the sleeves of her hoodie, her tears unfiltered. she never cried — not like this.

slowly, you stepped toward her and sat down on the edge of the sofa beside her.

she reached for your hand, her fingers trembling as she gripped desperately, afraid that you’d pull away. “i don’t want to lose you. please…please don’t let me lose you.”

your heart clenched painfully, and you sat down beside her, letting her hold onto you like you were the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

“you just need to talk to me, my love,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm. “you can’t keep shutting me out. i need to know you still want this — still want us.”

“i do,” she whispered, tears still spilling down her cheeks. “more than anything.”

you sighed, leaning your head back against the sofa. “you’re home now.”

she nodded, squeezing your hand tighter. “i’ll do better. i swear.”

you looked at her then, seeing the sincerity in her tear-streaked face. she looked small, like the girl who used to curl up beside you in this very apartment, sharing dreams she never thought would come true.

she’d gotten so far.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

a month had passed and though jimin tried to make an effort, the space between you only seemed to grow. the list on her relentless schedule grew longer with each passing day — leaving no room for you. like always.

she started coming home more often, not to her luxury apartment, but home, to the apartment you both called yours.

sometimes she was too tired to say much, collapsing onto the couch while you worked on a new painting in the studio but her presence was enough.

“this is where you work your magic, huh?” she said one evening, peeking her head into the room.

you looked up from the canvas, smirking faintly as you tucked a brush behind your ear. “magic is a strong word, baby.”

“nah,” she murmured, crossing the room to press a kiss to your temple. “it’s magic to me.”

you didn’t respond, but you smiled softly as she wandered back out, her footsteps light as she disappeared into the bedroom.

she tried, she really did — but it even felt like the universe was just pulling you two apart. there were calls scattered throughout the day, sweet but fleeting texts that felt more like habit than genuine conversation.

practice went late. how’s your day?

just saw a dog that looks like the one that peed on you

goodnight. i love you!

the words still made your heart ache, but it was different now: almost routine. and on her rare days off, you no longer got a call asking if you wanted to spend time together. or if she could come home to you.

instead, you saw photos online; grainy shots on social media, taken at a distance but unmistakable — jimin out with other idols, at parties, smiling brightly in the dim glow of neon lights. you recognised the faces of her friends, ryujin and yeji among them and the aespa girls were always there too, which gave you some relief. but it still hurt.

you weren’t her person anymore. and you sat just right where she left you.

one evening, you were sitting at your parents’ kitchen table, a cup of tea warming your hands as your mum watched you carefully. your dad sat nearby, pretending to read a book but clearly listening to every word.

the quiet ache in your chest refused to let go as you tried to focus on the tv chatter.

it was your birthday.

and while your parents had gone out of their way to make it special, the absence of a single message from jimin loomed over you like a shadow.

“you’re quiet today,” she said gently, passing you a slice of bread.

you forced a smile, wrapping your hands around the mug. “just tired. it’s been a long week.”

your dad glanced up from his book, his brows furrowing. “you’re not supposed to be tired on your birthday. you’re supposed to be happy.”

“i am happy,” you said quickly, though your voice lacked conviction.

she gave you a knowing look, the kind that only mothers could master. “has she called yet?”

you hesitated, your throat tightening. “she’s busy.”

“busy?” he repeated, setting his book down with a soft thud. “too busy to call on your birthday?”

“dad, it’s not like that,” you said quietly, though the words felt hollow.

“and she doesn’t tell you anything anymore?” she asked gently, brow furrowed.

“not really,” you murmured, stirring your tea absently. “she calls, she texts but it’s…surface-level stuff. like she’s trying to keep me calm without really including me in her life.”

“you’ve been together for years, kiddo. have you told her how this makes you feel?”

“i’ve tried,” you said, voice small. “but she doesn’t hear me. it’s like…i’m shouting into a void and she’s not even there to listen.”

“y/n, love,” she began softly, reaching for your hand, “we’ve known jimin for years. we know she’s a good person, but even good people make mistakes, they can get lost.”

“she’s busy. her life has changed,” you replied, repeating the excuse you’d given yourself countless times.

he shook his head. “being busy doesn’t mean she can’t try. you deserve someone who makes you feel seen, y/n. we accept the love we think we deserve, and you —” he pointed at you gently. “deserve so much more than feeling invisible.”

you swallowed hard, the words hitting you square in the chest. “i love her,” you said softly. “but i don’t know if she loves me the same way anymore.”

your mum gave your hand a small squeeze. “then maybe it’s time you ask yourself whether love is enough to keep holding on.”

the words settled heavily in your chest, but you forced a small smile, not wanting to ruin the moment. “thank you, mum, dad. and thank you for this,” you gestured to the table, trying to shift the focus.

“we just want you to be happy, kiddo,” your dad said, squeezing your shoulder.

you returned to your apartment later that evening, the quiet space feeling colder than usual just like the season. you hadn’t heard from jimin all day —not a call, not a text. you tried to tell yourself it was fine, that she was busy with rehearsals or a schedule she couldn’t control. but as the hours dragged on, the ache in your chest grew heavier.

it was nearly midnight when your phone finally rang. your heart leapt as her name flashed on the screen, and for a moment, you hesitated. but you answered anyway.

“hey,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady.

“my love,” jimin’s voice came through the line, soft and warm. you could hear the faint hum of noise in the background — music, voices — before it quieted. “are you busy?”

you leaned back against the couch cushions, clutching the phone tighter. “no. just…relaxing. where are you?”

“still at the studio,” she said, her tone carrying that familiar exhaustion. “we’re running late again, but i just wanted to hear your voice.”

your chest ached at how sweet she sounded —soft, almost needy.

“you sound tired,” you murmured. “have you eaten?”

“not yet,” she admitted. “but i will. promise.”

you smiled faintly. “you always say that.”

“because you always ask,” she replied softly. “how was your day? tell me about it.”

you hesitated, surprised at how genuine she sounded as you swallowed the lump forming in your throat. “it was fine. quiet, mostly. i went to see my parents.”

she really forgot your birthday.

“how are they?” she asked quickly, her tone filled with genuine curiosity. “i miss them. did your dad make his lemon bread again?”

you managed a faint smile despite the ache in your chest. “yeah, he still calls it his signature recipe.”

she laughed softly, the sound tugging at your heart. “i wish i could’ve been there. your mum’s tea, your dad’s bread…i miss all of it. and them. and you.

your heart squeezed painfully at her words.

“they miss you too,” you mumbled quietly.

you heard faint shouting in the background — yizhuo’s voice calling, “is that y/n? let me say hi!”

“nope,” jimin said firmly, her voice playful but resolute. you heard shuffling, then a door slam shut. “i’m hiding in the bathroom. they’re trying to steal the phone.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “you’re ridiculous.”

“you love me,” she teased softly.

“i do,” you admitted quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

there was a beat of silence on her end before she whispered, “i love you too.”

you closed your eyes, holding the phone to your ear like it might pull her closer. “i miss you,” you added, forcing the words out before your emotions could betray you.

“i miss you more baby, i’ll be home soon,” she heaved a sigh. “i’ll get them to drop me off at our place if you don’t mind.”

our place — it sounded nice, but you don’t know if it held so much meaning anymore. the apartment was quiet, unbearably so. the only sound was the faint hum of the heater.

“baby?” her voice cut through the line, a set of knocks coming from her end. “are you still there or did you fall asleep? i have to go!”

“yes, sorry,” you sniffled. “i love you, see you at home.”

“love you too, bye,” she whispered; you heard shuffling, then the line went dead.

your eyes burned as tears spilled over, hot against your cheeks. you’d told yourself you wouldn’t cry tonight, but it was so hard to sit here, in the apartment that still held so many memories of her feeling like you were the only one left trying to hold onto them.

the thought echoed in your mind, relentless and cruel. no matter how much you tried to rationalise it: how busy she was, how hectic her life had become — it didn’t change the fact that she’d forgotten a day that once felt sacred between you.

the girl who used to light up at the sight of you, who’d once been your rock, that jimin felt like a ghost now, a memory fading further with each passing day.

you buried your face in your hands as the sobs came harder. you lifted your head up when you heard a buzz on the table, phone lighting up.

-

from minjeonggg

happy birthday, y/n. sorry it’s so late, only just coming home from visiting my family in busan. sorry i couldn’t spend your special day with you and the girls but i hope rina spoilt you!! <3

sent 11:47 PM

-

well, at least she remembered.

part of you still hoped she’d walk through the door, even if it was late and sweep you into her arms, apologising for everything — for forgetting your birthday, for the distance, for the way she’d made you feel so small.

for everything.

but the hours dragged on and the door never opened.

you curled up on the couch, the blanket pulled tightly around you like a shield, and cried until your throat was raw and your chest ached.

you loved jimin.

but tonight, as the silence stretched on and your tears soaked the pillow beneath you, it felt like that love wasn’t enough to fill the growing void she’d left in her wake.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

a few days later, you didn’t hear from karina and neither did she hear from you. you were tired of chasing after her love, of being neglected. instead, her friends were the only ones making an effort to get you out of the apartment.

-

from: aeri-chan

why are you ignoring me :( do you not like me :( i thought we were friends :( can you come over :(

sent 10:15 AM

-

from: minjeonggg

missing u y/n, come over today? jiminnie isn’t here but i’m sure you love us enough to cook us italian right

sent 10:16 AM

-

to: minjeonggg

you only love my cooking, not me. but i guess i love u all enough

sent 10:17 AM

-

from: ningx2

????? hello come over

sent 10:23 AM

-

from: aeri-chan

management is starving us !! why only reply to minjeong >:( ok you don’t care about me

sent 10:25 AM

-

the apartment felt both familiar and foreign when you stepped inside an hour later. outside was freezing cold and their heater being cranked up was so inviting.

“y/n!” aeri practically shouted when she opened the door, pulling you into a hug before you could even step inside. “about fucking time.”

“we thought you forgot about us,” minjeong said from her spot on the couch, where she was curled up with a blanket.

“she can’t forget us,” yizhuo added, peeking her head around the corner from the kitchen. “we haunt her dreams.”

you laughed softly, slipping off your shoes. “you’re all ridiculous.”

“and you love us,” aeri replied smugly, grabbing your hand to pull you toward the kitchen. “come on. we’re starving, and we saw the grocery bags.

“where is karina?” you asked, feeling your throat tighten. you were hoping she’d be here…and maybe talk to you.

she raised an eyebrow. “karina who now? since when did you ever call her that? and she’s out with ryujin and yeji right now.”

since i stopped knowing her, you thought. and yet another free schedule she refused to spend time with you on.

“just in case i slip up and call her baby in front of everyone,” you mumbled. gotta get used to it.”

“tea or coffee, y/n?” minjeong smiled as she took your coat in her hand. “we have matcha too.”

“coffee, please,” you nodded as you placed the bags on the counter. “at least someone in this room cares about me.”

“yah!” aeri slapped your shoulder playfully. “ning, get our weapon.”

and before you knew it, minjeong covered your eyes with her palms. “don’t even try to wiggle out of here — ning, hurry up!”

you could hear giggling and whispering as minjeong slowly uncovered your vision, revealing a beautiful white box wrapped in satin just sitting on the counter.

“you didn’t think we’d forget, did you?” aeri said with a smirk, gesturing for you to sit.

“we’ve been busy, but we didn’t want to let it go uncelebrated,” minjeong added, smiling softly.

your throat tightened as you looked at them, their bright smiles and genuine excitement pulling at your heart.

“guys, you didn’t have to do this,” you said quietly, sitting down as yizhuo plopped down beside you.

“we wanted to,” aeri nudged the box closer to you. “now open it before ningning explodes.”

“hey!” the girl protested, though she grinned just as widely.

you carefully untied the ribbon, lifting the lid to reveal a collection of beautifully wrapped items. your eyes widened as you started pulling them out one by one.

“you guys…”

first, a sleek cartier box holding a stunning watch, its elegant design making your breath catch.

“that’s from all of us,” minjeong smiled shyly. “we wanted you to have something special.”

“it was mostly her idea, you’re always asking for the time but you never have the watch for it,” yizhuo revealed, making minjeong slap her playfully.

next, a stack of cookbooks, each one carefully chosen. “because we know you’re basically our personal chef,” aeri teased.

then a set of high-quality art supplies — paints, brushes and sketchbooks, each item carefully selected. “ning picked those out,” minjeong mentioned, pointing at her proudly. “she insisted on the fancy stuff.”

“nothing but the best for our artist,” yizhuo said with a grin.

but it was the last item that made your breath hitch — a photo album.

your hands trembled slightly as you opened it, flipping through pages filled with photos of you and jimin, some candid, some posed. moments you didn’t even know had been captured — her laughing as you cooked together, the two of you curled up on the couch, a blurry shot of her kissing your cheek while you looked embarrassed.

“we’ve been taking these over the years,” aeri said softly. “thought you might like them all in one place.”

you pressed a hand to your mouth as tears welled up in your eyes.

“y/n, are you crying?” minjeong asked, leaning closer, her voice full of concern.

“no,” you mumbled, wiping at your cheeks with a laugh. “okay, maybe.”

“we just wanted you to know how much we love you,” minjeong muttered, sitting down on the other side of you. “you’ve always been there for us— even when you didn’t have to be. you deserve to feel special.”

you closed the album carefully, holding it to your chest as fresh tears fell. “thank you. i…i don’t even know what to say. this is a lot.”

“nothing’s too much for you,” aeri said firmly.

“besides, jimin’s probably already spoiled you, right?” yizhuo added with a grin. “what did she get you?”

the question hit you like a punch to the stomach, your mind going blank as you scrambled for an answer. “uh,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “karina…she got me this really expensive ring. it’s beautiful.”

aeri raised an eyebrow. “a ring? that’s a big deal.”

“yeah,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “it’s…a promise ring.”

your heart twisted painfully as the lie left your lips.

minjeong clapped her hands together, grinning. “of course she did. she’s always been extra when it comes to you.”

you nodded, your smile wavering as you clutched the photo album tighter.

-

the conversation moved on, but the weight of your words lingered in your chest. you knew you shouldn’t have lied, but admitting the truth, that karina had completely forgotten your birthday felt too raw, too painful.

the apartment buzzed with warmth and noise as you worked in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up and hands busy slicing tomatoes and kneading fresh dough for pasta. aeri hovered nearby, stealing bites of cheese while yizhuo pestered you with questions about how to properly season garlic bread.

“you don’t get to criticise when you burn instant noodles,” you teased, flicking flour in her direction.

“that was one time,” yizhuo shot back, dodging the flour.

minjeong wandered in at one point, sneaking a spoonful of the sauce and groaning dramatically. “y/n, you’re a genius. we don’t deserve you.”

“you really don’t,” you replied with a faint smile.

“careful,” aeri teased, leaning on the counter. “if you cook like this all the time, we might just keep you here.”

“it’s tempting,” you admitted softly, but the words carried a weight you didn’t intend.

they didn’t press further.

“my parents visited your gallery, by the way,” yizhuo added.

“what?” you asked, surprised. “when? abd why didn’t you tell me?”

“like two days ago, they said it was like stepping into a dream,” yizhuo explained, her voice full of admiration. “they loved it, y/n. i swear they were ready to redecorate their whole house.”

you smiled, your chest swelling with pride. “that’s really sweet of them — i wish i was there to meet them.”

“you’re so talented,” minjeong added from her seat at the table. “jimin’s lucky. she gets to be your muse.”

the mention of karina made you pause for a split second, but you forced yourself to smile. “thanks, minjeongie.”

dinner was a lively affair, the girls laughing and talking over each other as they devoured the dishes you’d made. it felt good to be here, to see them again, even if a quiet part of you wondered why your own girlfriend hadn’t said anything about inviting you over herself.

it was minjeong who dropped the bombshell halfway through dinner.

“we have a world tour coming up,” she said casually, twirling spaghetti onto her fork.

you froze. “the what?”

aeri shot her a look, as if to say ‘why’d you say that?’ but the girl didn’t seem to notice.

“the tour,” she repeated, looking at you. “it starts in a couple of months. did jimin not…tell you?”

you felt your chest tighten, though you kept your voice even. “no. she didn’t.”

the table fell quiet for a beat. yizhuo fidgeted with her fork, avoiding your gaze, while aeri sighed softly. “she’s probably just waiting for the right time to tell you,” she said, though it sounded more like an excuse.

“it’s fine,” you replied with a small, forced smile. “it’s a huge opportunity. i’m proud of you guys.”

and you were. but beneath the pride was a sharp ache — an understanding that this would mean months of not seeing her, of waiting for calls that might never come.

and what might be the end of your relationship.

after dinner, you were curled up on the sofa, leaning against the back of it while aeri and yizhuo picked a movie to watch and minjeong finished up the dishes.

“you mean you have terrible taste,” yizhuo shot back at something aeri said, crossing her arms as she stood near the couch.

“please tell them notting hill is a masterpiece,” yizhuo pleaded, looking at you for reassurance.

“it is,” you said, laughing softly. “julia roberts is iconic.”

“see!” she yelled triumphantly, flopping onto the couch.

as they began another argument about snacks and who got control of the remote, you really settled onto the couch, letting the warmth of their presence ease some of the tension that had been building in your chest for days.

the argument over the movie ended in a win for yizhuo and the group eventually settled into the couch with bowls of popcorn. the soft glow of the television illuminated the room as notting hill began, the familiar soundtrack filling the air.

minjeong sat down beside you, the couch sinking further. “sorry,” she pursed her lips.

you playfully rolled your eyes, groaning. “i was already comfortable!”

your phone sat untouched on the coffee table, the screen dark. you couldn’t stop glancing at it, hoping it would light up with her name.

but it didn’t.

all the lights were turned off, the tv illuminating most of the apartment. it was late when the door finally opened, and karina stumbled in.

the first thing you noticed was the smell —alcohol, faint but unmistakable. she looked slightly disheveled, her hair loose and falling into her eyes, her cheeks flushed as if she’d been out drinking all night.

“y/n?” her voice was sharp, her brows furrowing as she stopped in her tracks. “what are you doing here?”

the room fell silent. yizhuo paused the movie, her gaze flicking between the two of you.

“we invited her,” minjeong said, standing up and crossing her arms. “she didn’t just show up, jimin.”

“are you drunk?” aeri asked concerningly, stepping closer to your girlfriend. “maybe sit down before you say something stupid.”

karina shot her a glare before turning back to you. “why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

you frowned, your chest tightening at her tone. “because i didn’t think i needed to, karina.”

“you should have,” she snapped, frustration clear in her voice.

“okay, that’s enough,” aeri said, stepping between you two. “y/n didn’t do anything wrong. we invited her because we missed her.”

“can i have some privacy?” karina asked sharply, her gaze hardening.

aeri exchanged a look with yizhuo before sighing heavily. “fine. but don’t make this worse, jimin. and minjeong is another world you have to tackle.”

she and ningning retreated into the kitchen, but minjeong stayed rooted in place, her arms crossed as she watched karina carefully.

“minjeong,” she warned, her voice low.

“don’t start with me,” she replied, not moving an inch.

“i mean it,” she muttered, her tone sharper now. “go.”

minjeong looked at you, her gaze softening slightly. “are you okay?”

you nodded faintly, though your chest ached. “it’s fine. i’ll be fine.”

reluctantly, minjeong followed the others into the kitchen, leaving you and karina alone in the living room.

“what’s wrong with you?” you asked softly, your voice trembling. “why are you acting like this? i haven’t even seen you in days.”

she sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair as she slumped onto the arm of the couch. “i just…i didn’t expect you to be here, okay?”

“why does it matter?” you shot back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “you’re the one who hasn’t been around. what’s wrong with me spending time with people who actually want to see me?”

her face softened slightly, her gaze dropping to the floor. “it’s not that…i just wish you’d told me.”

“why? so you could avoid me too?” you asked bitterly, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. “that’s not fair.”

“what’s not fair is me finding out about your world tour from them,” you said, your voice rising.

she froze, her eyes widening slightly.

“you didn’t even tell me,” you continued, your voice trembling. “you’ve had all this time, and you couldn’t say a word? do you know how that feels?”

“i was going to tell you,” she said defensively, though her voice lacked conviction.

“when, jimin?” you asked, stepping closer. “when it was too late for me to even process it? when you were already gone?”

she sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. “can we not do this here?”

“why not? because it’s inconvenient for you?” you shot back.

“because it’s not their business,” she snapped, gesturing toward the kitchen. “come with me. we’ll talk in my room.”

you hesitated, your chest tightening.

“y/n,” she said more softly this time, her voice steady but firm. “please. just come with me.”

you glanced toward the kitchen, where aeri and yizhup were clearly trying to eavesdrop. minjeong stood leaning against the counter, her expression unreadable as she watched you.

finally, you nodded, following her down the hallway.

as she opened the door to her room, she turned back to glance at minjeong.

“stay out of it,” she warned.

minjeong’s gaze narrowed, but she said nothing as you stepped into the room, the door closing softly behind you.

-

the room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the heater. karina stood by the door, her arms crossed, while you stood near her desk, trying to keep your emotions in check.

“so,” you began, your voice trembling slightly, “you were going to tell me about the world tour?”

“i was,” she replied flatly, avoiding your gaze.

“when?” you asked, your voice sharper this time. “after you left? after i found out from some interview or social media post?”

“don’t be dramatic, y/n,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair. “i was going to tell you when the time was right.”

“the time was right weeks ago,” you snapped, your frustration spilling over. “do you even hear yourself? i’m supposed to be part of your life. why am i always the last to know about everything that matters?”

“because it’s hard,” she shot back, her voice rising. “it’s hard to keep up with everything. my career, my schedules, this relationship — you don’t get it.”

“no, i don’t,” you admitted, tears stinging your eyes. “because you don’t let me in. you shut me out. you don’t talk to me, you don’t tell me things, and then you act like i’m the problem for wanting to be included in your life.”

“maybe you are the problem,” she said coldly, the words cutting through the air like a knife.

you froze, staring at her in disbelief. “what?”

“you’re so needy, y/n,” she continued, her voice harsh. “you’re always clinging to me, always wanting more. i’m doing my best, and it’s never enough for you.”

“needy?” you repeated, your voice trembling with anger. “what the fuck?”

“yes, needy,” she snapped. “it’s like you can’t function without me. it’s not my fault you don’t have any other friends. you built your whole life around us, and now you expect me to do the same?”

the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over, but you refused to let them stop you. “that’s not fair,” you whispered. “i sacrificed so much for you because i love you, karina.”

“life isn’t fair, y/n,” she said, her tone bitter. “and it’s not my fault you don’t have anything else going on. i didn’t ask you to make me the centre of your world.”

you stared at her, your chest tightening with each word she threw at you. “jimin, do you even hear yourself right now?”

“i do,” she said sharply. “and you should, too. my world doesn’t revolve around you, y/n. it never did, and it never will. my life will keep spinning with or without you in it.”

the words hit you like a physical blow, stealing the breath from your lungs. for a moment, the room was silent, save for the sound of your shaky breathing.

“you don’t mean that,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“maybe i do,” she muttered, looking away. “you don’t belong in my —“

your chest tightened painfully, and before you could think, you raised your hand and slapped her right across the face.

the sound echoed through the room, sharp and final.

her head snapped to the side, her hand flying up to her cheek as she stared at you coldly — eyes devoid of the love she held for you that filled them.

“you don’t get to talk to me like that,” you said, your voice trembling with anger and heartbreak. “not after everything we’ve been through. not after everything i’ve done for you and all the bullshit you put me through.”

you grabbed the photo album from her desk, the one the girls had made for you.

“this was supposed to be a gift,” you shoved it into her hands. “for my birthday. the one you forgot. but i don’t want it anymore. you can have it.”

she stared at the album in her hands, her mouth opening slightly as if she wanted to say something, but no words came out.

“we’re done, jimin, karina, or whoever the fuck you are right now,” you said, your voice breaking. “i can’t do this anymore. i can’t keep loving someone who doesn’t love me back. it’s over.”

“y/n —” she began, but you shook your head, cutting her off.

“don’t,” you raised your hand, voice firm despite the tears streaming down your face. “don’t say anything. just…don’t.”

you turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind you.

as you gathered the rest of your things with quiet sniffles, you felt a hand stop you. you looked up at minjeong with shaky breaths.

“let me help you, y/n,” she started putting your gifts in the box whilst aeri handed you your coat.

there was an unspoken silence — it told them everything they needed to know. as you left the dorm, the cold night air hit you like a wave, but it did little to numb the pain in your chest. and even though it felt like your heart was breaking into a million pieces, you knew it was the right thing to do.

because you deserved more than this.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the morning after the breakup, you woke up to a silence so thick it felt like it might suffocate you. the cozy apartment you once loved, nestled in the corner of a quiet street, now felt hollow.

this was the place where you’d built a life with jimin — before she was karina. it was your shared sanctuary, the place where laughter echoed in the evenings, where the smell of her favourite tea lingered in the air, where you both dreamed of a future that now felt like a distant memory.

you sat on the edge of the sofa, your phone in your hand. the screen lit up with a flood of messages — aeri, yizhuo and minjeong. they were worried, apologising for the night before, telling you they were there if you wanted to talk.

but you couldn’t face them. not because they’d done anything wrong, but because they were a part of jimin’s world; the one she didn’t want you to be a part of.

your thumb hovered over the screen for only a moment before you made the decision.

aeri-chan. ningx2. minjeonggg.

you blocked each of them, one by one.

when it was done, you set the phone down, staring at it blankly. it felt like another thread severed, another piece of your life with jimin falling away.

-

the next task was harder.

you stood in the middle of the bedroom you’d decorated for her, staring at the collection of her belongings scattered around. her favourite hoodie was still draped over the chair in the corner, her skincare products neatly lined up in the bathroom and stacks of her old clothes in the wardrobe.

with trembling hands, you began packing them into boxes. each item was a reminder of the life you’d built together, and as you held them, memories surfaced unbidden.

the books: the ones she’d never quite finished, tucked away on the shelf.

your hands moved methodically, placing everything into boxes, but your mind drifted. you remembered how she’d sit at the tiny kitchen table, humming softly as she waited for you to finish cooking. how she’d sneak up behind you while you painted, her arms wrapping around your waist as she whispered, “you’re amazing, you know that?”

you paused when you came across framed photos of you throughout the years — from that one vintage photobooth in gangnam.

the tears didn’t come. you were past that now. there was only an ache; deep and heavy that settled into your chest like it might never leave.

you knew what you had to do.

the photos couldn’t stay. not for your sake, and not for hers.

gathering every picture of the two of you, you made your way to the kitchen. with a deep sigh, you lit the edges with a match, watching as the flames consumed the images.

it wasn’t anger that drove you. jimin was karina of aespa now, a name and face known to millions. these moments were yours, and yours alone. no one else needed to see them.

as the last photo burned, you stood in the quiet kitchen, the faint smell of smoke lingering in the air.

you stood in the doorway, looking out at the space you had called home. the sofa where the two of you had spent countless nights watching movies. the tiny kitchen where you’d cooked her favourite meals. the walls that had once been filled with laughter and love.

you were going to miss this place; you had built a life with her here, after all.

it was the one place where she wasn’t karina, but just jimin.

that life was gone now.

within three days, with your dad’s help, you packed up your things and moved out of the apartment. he worked tirelessly, carrying box after box to the car, only pausing to check on you every so often.

“you okay?” he asked gently as you stood in the now-empty living room, staring at the bare walls.

you nodded, though your chest felt tight. “yeah. i just…i need a minute.”

he gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before stepping outside, leaving you alone.

you took one last look around, the memories flashing before your eyes. the laughter, the love, the life you’d built here — they were all distant now.

then, you closed the door behind you, feeling both the weight of the past and the faintest glimmer of relief.

-

the air inside the gallery was heavy with the scent of paint and wood varnish, a smell that had always felt like home to you.

today, it carried a bittersweet edge. the light streaming through the windows highlighted the scattered boxes and carefully wrapped canvases as you stood in the centre of the room, trying to figure out where to begin.

“y/n, where do you want these?”

you turned to see jaehyung, one of your long-time students, balancing a stack of sketchbooks in his arms. his brows furrowed with focus, though his boyish grin peeked through.

“just over there by the window, jae,” you said, gesturing toward a corner where you’d already begun stacking supplies.

“got it,” he replied, setting them down gently before glancing around. “i can’t believe this place is closing. it feels…weird.”

“you’re telling me,” mr. kim chimed in from across the room, his usual warm demeanour tinged with sadness. he was one of your older students, a retired schoolteacher who’d taken up art as a hobby. “this gallery has been like a second home for us.”

you smiled faintly, though the weight of their words pressed on your chest. “it’s not forever,” you said gently. “just…a break. for now.”

mr. kim paused, studying you with his kind eyes. “sometimes a break is necessary, y/n. don’t forget, you’ve built something special here. we’ll be waiting when you’re ready to come back.”

“yeah,” jaehyung added, his grin widening. “and in the meantime, you’re stuck with us online.”

you laughed softly, the sound easing some of the tension in the room. “i’ll hold you to that. i expect all of you to still send me your projects, okay? no slacking off just because i’m not here to check in person.”

“you got it, boss,” jaehyung said with a mock salute, earning a chuckle from mr. kim.

the three of you worked steadily throughout the day, wrapping paintings, packing supplies, and carefully disassembling easels. the gallery grew quieter as the shelves emptied, the once-vibrant space slowly transforming into a blank canvas.

as the last box was taped shut, you glanced around the room, frowning.

this gallery had been your dream — a place where you could share your passion and build a community.

“y/n,” mr. kim said gently, interrupting your thoughts. “you okay?”

you turned to him, offering a small smile. “yeah. it’s just…hard to say goodbye.”

“it’s not goodbye,” jaehyung said quickly. “it’s ‘see you later.’ right?”

you chuckled, nodding. “right.”

once everything was packed, you sent out a final email to your students.

-

Dear Everyone,

The gallery will be closed until further notice. Thank you for your support, your creativity, and the joy you’ve brought into this space. I’ll miss seeing your faces every week, but this isn’t the end — just a pause.

If you need anything or want to continue lessons online, please don’t hesitate to reach out. You know where to find me.

With gratitude, Y/n

-

the last thing you did was hang a small notice on the gallery door.

you stepped back, staring at the sign as it swayed gently in the breeze. the weight of finality settled in your chest.

“ready?” jaehyung asked, stepping up beside you.

you nodded, taking one last look at the gallery before turning away.

“goodbye.”

“see you later,” mr. kim corrected you firmly.

-

the morning was cold, the air sharp and heavy with the promise of snow. as you carried the last box of your ex-girlfriend’s belongings down the stairs.

mrs. choi’s apartment was just two doors down from yours and when you knocked, she answered almost immediately, her warm, familiar smile faltering slightly when she saw your expression.

“y/n-ah,” she said gently, stepping aside to let you in. “come in, come in. it’s freezing out there.”

you stepped inside, the warmth of her small, cozy apartment wrapping around you like a blanket. her place smelled of fresh kimchi and tea.

“you’re all packed, then?” she asked softly, gesturing for you to set the final box near her kitchen table.

“yeah,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly. “this is the last of it.”

she glanced at the box, her expression growing even softer. she reached out, placing a hand on your arm. “you’re really leaving, aren’t you?”

you nodded, swallowing hard. “i need to, ajumma.”

she looked at you for a long moment, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “you and jimin…always thought you two would make it. watching you both grow up, seeing the love you had — it was something special, y/n.”

her words made your throat tighten, but you forced a small smile. “it was special,” you said quietly. “it just…wasn’t enough.”

she sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. “sometimes, the ones we lose find their way back to us,” she murmured. “not always, but sometimes. and if they don’t, it’s only because something better is waiting.”

you looked down at your hands, her words both comforting and bittersweet.

“you’ve always been kind, y/n,” she continued, her voice warm and steady. “to jimin, to everyone. don’t let this make you hard. the world needs more people like you.”

her words brought tears to your eyes, but you blinked them away quickly, not wanting to break down here. “thank you, mrs. choi. for everything.”

she smiled, patting your hand before glancing at the box. “i’ll keep this for her. she’ll come by eventually and i’ll make sure she gets it.”

“thank you,” you said again, your voice barely above a whisper.

as you stood there, ready to leave, she suddenly tilted her head, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “now, tell me, is she on tv?”

you blinked, surprised by the question. “yeah,” you said softly, a small, proud smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “she’s doing really well. she’s…she’s amazing.”

her eyes lit up and she clapped her hands together. “i knew it was her and my mahjong friends called me crazy. she must be famous!”

you nodded, the pride in your chest mingling with the ache of loss. “she is now.”

she frowned, reaching out to pull you into a hug, her small frame surprisingly strong as she held you close. “you’ll be okay, y/n,” she said softly. “i know you will. and wherever you go, they’ll be lucky to have you.”

“thank you,” you murmured, your voice breaking slightly as you clung to her for just a moment longer.

when you finally stepped back, she smiled at you again, her eyes filled with a quiet sadness but also hope.

“goodbye, mrs. choi,” you said softly, your hand lingering on the doorknob.

“goodbye, y/n-ah,” she replied, her voice warm. “don’t be a stranger. and remember — sometimes, lost ones find their way home.”

as you stepped out into the cold morning air, her words stayed with you, wrapping around your heart like a fragile thread of hope.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the christmas tree sparkled in the warm glow of the living room, the scent of pine mingling with the faint aroma of mulled wine and cinnamon candles.

you carefully placed the last ornament — a delicate glass bauble your mum insisted on saving for last: on the highest branch.

“perfect,” your dad said, stepping back to admire the tree with a satisfied nod. “i’d say we’ve outdone ourselves this year.”

“we always do,” your mum chimed in, setting down a tray of wine glasses on the coffee table.

you stepped back, joining them as the three of you stood side by side, taking in the sight of your handiwork. the tree was a masterpiece, adorned with years of collected ornaments, each one holding a memory.

she handed you a glass of merlot, raising hers with a smile. “to family,” she said softly.

“to family,” you and your dad echoed, clinking glasses.

the warmth of the wine spread through you, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a sense of peace.

you sank into the couch with your parents, the fire crackling softly in the background. as you sipped your drink, the weight of the past few months hung heavy in the air.

“this isn’t how i thought the year would end,” you admitted quietly, staring at the tree. “i mean…i didn’t think i’d be single for christmas.”

your mum placed a gentle hand on your knee, her eyes soft with understanding. “life has a way of surprising us, sweetheart. sometimes in ways we don’t expect.”

your dad nodded, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “but you’re here with us now, and we couldn’t be prouder of you, y/n. you’ve handled everything with so much grace.”

their support wrapped around you like a warm blanket, and you felt a lump rise in your throat. “i don’t know what i’d do without you two,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “thank you. for everything.”

she smiled, squeezing your knee. “you don’t have to thank us. that’s what family is for.”

there was a pause, a comfortable silence as the three of you sat together. then your mum broke it, her tone gentle but curious. “so, what’s next for you, y/n? what’s the next chapter?”

you hesitated, swirling the wine in your glass as you gathered your thoughts. “actually,” you began slowly, “there’s something i haven’t told you.”

both of them turned to you, their expressions attentive.

“way before aespa debuted,” you said softly, “a gallery in paris has been sending me yearly invitations for an artist-in-residence program. it’s a huge opportunity…one i’ve always dreamt of. but…i kept declining.”

your dad frowned slightly. “why?”

you took a deep breath, the words heavy on your tongue. “i didn’t want to be far away from her. i didn’t want to miss any part of her life, specially when she was working so hard to make her dreams come true.”

your mum’s expression softened, her eyes glistening. “oh, y/n…”

“i made a lot of sacrifices,” you admitted, your voice steady but quiet. “and i don’t regret loving her. but now…i think it’s time i start saying yes to things for me.”

“are you going to accept this time?” he asked, his voice full of quiet encouragement.

you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “i already did. i’m going to paris a week after the new year.”

she gasped, her smile wide as she reached over to hug you tightly. “paris! oh, sweetheart, that’s wonderful!”

“about time you did something for yourself,” he added with a proud grin.

she pulled back, a playful glint in her eye. “do they have any good korean restaurants in paris?” she asked your dad.

he chuckled, shaking his head. “we’d better find out.”

“maybe we’ll come with you,” your mum teased, winking at you.

you laughed, the sound light and genuine. “you two would love it.”

“to paris next week then!”

-

that night, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, your thoughts drifted to jimin.

there was no anger in your heart, no hatred for her. you couldn’t hate her. she wasn’t a bad person. she wasn’t even a bad girlfriend — not entirely.

she was just someone who had been swept up in a world that demanded more than she could give.

you thought about who she was before the world knew her as karina — the girl who made you laugh until your sides ached, who held you when you cried, who whispered dreams of forever into the quiet of the night.

you had grown up together, loved each other deeply. and while it didn’t last, it had been real.

“thank you,” you whispered into the darkness, not knowing if the words were meant for her, yourself, or both.

as you closed your eyes, the weight of the past began to lift, paris awaited.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

jimin stumbled out of her car, the freezing air biting at her cheeks as she stared up at the familiar apartment building. the snow fell in slow, heavy flakes, blanketing the quiet street in white. her breath came in uneven puffs, her heart pounding harder with every step she took toward the door.

her first day off in weeks and all she could think about was you. it had been over five weeks since she’d seen you and she couldn’t ignore the ache in her chest any longer.

it was the first time she’d had enough space to think, to realise just how much had slipped through her fingers. she told herself it wasn’t too late, that if she just got to you, everything would be okay.

she could explain, apologise, fix things — really try her hardest this time.

her hand trembled as she unlocked the door, her key sliding into place like muscle memory. she pushed it open, half expecting to see you curled up on the couch with a book or maybe in the kitchen painting something.

the first thing she noticed was the silence, heavy and suffocating. her eyes darted around the space, searching for any sign of you, but everything was gone.

the walls, once decorated with your paintings and small shelves of trinkets, were bare. the bookshelf was empty. the worn-out sofa, still in its usual spot, felt smaller without your blanket draped over it or the little pillow you always used.

“y/n?” she called out, her voice cracking.

no answer.

she stepped further inside, her footsteps echoing in the hollow space. the bedroom door was open, and when she walked in, the emptiness struck her all over again.

the closet was empty. no clothes, no art supplies, no trace of you. the desk where you used to work on sketches late at night was gone, leaving only faint scuff marks on the floor.

her chest tightened as she stood in the centre of the room, her breathing shallow.

“no,” she whispered to herself, shaking her head. “this isn’t…this can’t be —”

she turned back to the kitchen, her eyes frantically scanning the counters, hoping to find something that would tell her where you’d gone.

that was when she saw it — a folded piece of paper with her name written in your handwriting.

her hands trembled as she picked it up and opened it.

“jimin,

i’ve left a box of your things with mrs. choi. there are about three of them filling up her apartment. please pick it up when you can. i asked her to keep it safe for you.

take care,

y/n.”

the note slipped from her fingers, landing softly on the floor.

for a long moment, she stood there, staring at the paper, her mind racing. you were gone.

-

her next stop was mrs. choi’s apartment, just two floors down. the elderly woman answered almost immediately, her kind face softening when she saw jimin.

“jimin-ah,” mrs. choi said gently, stepping aside to let her in. “come in, dear. you must be freezing.”

she stepped inside, her eyes darting around as though expecting to find some sign of you here, even though she knew better. “mrs. choi…where is she? she’s not at the apartment, and i…i thought maybe…”

she sighed, her expression tinged with sadness. she gestured toward a neatly packed boxes sitting by the sofa. “y/n left before christmas, dear. she asked me to hold onto these for you.”

jimin stared at the boxes, her chest tightening. “she…she left?”

mrs. choi nodded, her voice soft. “she didn’t say much else, just that it was time for her to go.”

the words hit her like a physical blow, and her knees nearly buckled. “i didn’t think she’d actually leave,” she whispered, more to herself than to mrs. choi.

the older woman reached out, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “you know, jimin, love can’t grow if you don’t take care of it. even the strongest love can wither if it’s left in the cold for too long.”

her eyes filled with tears, her throat tightening as she looked down at the box.

“sometimes,” mrs. choi continued, her voice even softer now, “the ones we lose find their way back to us. but you have to be willing to meet them halfway.”

jimin nodded numbly, unable to respond.

“thank your, ajumma,” she bowed her head. “i’ll have someone pick these up from you, but for now, i have to visit her gallery.”

-

the snow was heavier now, falling in thick flakes that clung to her hair and lashes as she sprinted down the familiar streets. when she reached the building, she stopped short, her heart sinking all over again.

the windows were dark, the inside barren. a small sign hung on the door:

“closed until further notice. thank you for everything.”

her hands pressed against the cold glass as she peered inside. the space that had once been alive with your creativity and passion was empty, stripped of all the warmth and colour that made it yours.

her forehead rested against the glass as tears streamed down her face, her breath fogging the window.

“y/n,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “please…”

but there was nothing.

-

jimin gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white as tears blurred her vision. the snow fell heavier now, making it harder to see the road, but she didn’t care.

the silence in the car was unbearable, filled only with the sound of her shaky breaths and the occasional muffled sob. she couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t breathe properly. she had spent weeks distracted by her career, ignoring the growing distance between you and now the weight of what she had done — what she had lost — was crashing down on her.

she should’ve followed you that night.

her phone buzzed in the cupholder, and with trembling hands, she reached for it, barely able to see the screen through her tears. it was aeri.

“jimin, where are you?” aeri’s voice was steady but tinged with worry. “minjeong and ningning said you ran off. we’re freaking out —”

“she’s gone,” she interrupted, her voice cracking as the tears came harder. “aeri, she’s gone.”

“who’s gone?” aeri asked, her voice softening with concern.

“y/n,” jimin sobbed, gripping the phone as if it were the only thing anchoring her. “i went to the apartment, she’s not there. the gallery, it’s closed. mrs. choi said she left before christmas. i don’t know where else to look.”

“yu jimin, breathe,” aeri said firmly, though her voice remained gentle. “where are you now?”

“driving to her parents’ house,” she whispered. “i just…i need to see her. i need to fix this.”

“okay,” the other girl said. there was a brief pause before she added, “i’ll call our manager. we’ll come get you.”

“no,” jimin pressed on, her voice trembling. “just meet me there. please.”

“jimin,” aeri said again, her tone more insistent. “you shouldn’t be driving in this state. pull over. we’ll come get you, okay?”

she hesitated, her grip tightening on the wheel, but the desperation in aeri’s voice broke through her haze. finally, she pulled over to the side of the road, the car skidding slightly on the icy pavement.

“please hurry,” jimin whispered before hanging up.

when the van arrived, aeri was the first to step out, her face pale with worry as she rushed to jimin’s car. yizhuo and minjeong followed closely behind, their eyes wide with concern.

jimin opened the door, stumbling out into the snow as the sobs overtook her again.

“she’s gone,” she choked out, her voice barely audible. “i fucking ruined everything and now she’s gone.”

aeri caught her before she could fall, holding her tightly as she cried into her shoulder. yizhuo placed a hand on her back, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, while minjeong stood close, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if trying to hold herself together.

“we’ll figure it out,” minjeong reassured her, though her voice trembled. “let’s just go to her parents’ house, okay? maybe they’ll know where she is.”

jimin nodded weakly, allowing them to guide her into the van.

the drive felt awfully long. when they finally arrived at your parents’ house, the driveway was empty, the windows dark.

her heart sank as the reality began to set in.

she stumbled out of the van, ignoring the biting cold as she made her way to the front door.

“y/n!” she shouted, her voice echoing into the still night. “please! i’m sorry! just talk to me!”

the silence was deafening.

she pounded on the door, her fist striking the wood harder and harder as tears streamed down her face.

“y/n!” she screamed again, her voice breaking.

there was no answer.

she backed away, her legs giving out as she fell into the snow. “no,” she whispered, shaking her head. “no, no, no…”

the sobs came harder, wracking her body as she clutched at the ground.

minjeong knelt beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders while aeri crouched in front of her, gently holding her face.

“jimin,” yizhuo said softly, her voice breaking. “she’s not here. we need to go.”

“i can’t,” she sobbed, shaking her head violently. “i can’t leave. she has to come back. she…she has to.”

“she’s gone,” minjeong mumbled, her voice thick with emotion as she rubbed circles on her back. “but it doesn’t mean she’s not coming back.”

jimin let out a guttural scream, the sound ripping through the night as she collapsed into minjeong’s arms.

“please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible now. “just let me stay. please.”

their manager stepped forward, his expression filled with sympathy. “karina, we need to go. it’s not safe out here.”

jimin shook her head, her tears freezing on her cheeks. “i can’t…i can’t leave her. i can’t.”

aeri’s voice cracked as she gently pried jimin away from ningning. “jimin, she’s not here. staying won’t change that.”

finally, after what felt like hours, jimin allowed them to guide her back into the van. her body felt heavy, her mind numb as she stared out the window at the dark house, her tears falling silently.

as the van pulled away, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the empty driveway in white.

and for the first time, jimin truly understood what it meant to lose the person she loved most.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end.

[loving-daisy]

Snitches and Potions | Severus Snape x Reader

loving-daisy masterlist

summary: Merlin knows that he didn't even have to lift a finger because Y/N Black would always choose Severus Snape in a heartbeat

words: 11.3k

────────── ♱ · 𓆩🤍𓆪 · ♱ ─

Severus Snape sat in the stands, his black eyes fixed on the emerald blur darting across the sky. Y/N Black, his best friend, was captaining the Slytherin Quidditch team for the second year in a row, and as their Seeker, she was ruthless—fast, strategic, and relentless.

He knew her well enough to see past the composed mask she always wore. The way she clenched the handle of her broom just a little tighter and the sharpness in her turns. She wanted to win and she wanted it badly.

Sirius Black, her older brother and his tormentor, was in the Gryffindor stands, shouting her name in a mix of taunts and encouragement. 

The contrast between them was stark. 

While Sirius played for Gryffindor’s team with reckless, cocky confidence, Y/N’s approach was different. She was focused, calculating, and played to win rather than to show off.

Snape wasn’t usually one for Quidditch, but he had never missed a match she played in. He would never admit it, but watching her chase the Snitch, defying gravity with a smirk on her lips, was one of the few things that made Hogwarts bearable.

A flash of gold appeared near the Gryffindor goalposts, and without hesitation, Y/N shot forward, her broom slicing through the air. Snape leaned forward instinctively, heart pounding despite himself.

“Come on, Black,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the fabric of his robes as she closed in on the Snitch.

The Gryffindor Seeker, a wiry seventh-year, was just a few feet behind her, pushing his broom to its limit. But Y/N was faster. Snape had seen her fly countless times, had even watched her practice in secret when she thought no one was looking. 

He knew her style. She didn’t lunge blindly for the Snitch. She was patient, calculated. 

And then, just when it seemed like the Gryffindor Seeker might overtake her, she swerved at the last second, forcing him to adjust. That split-second hesitation was all she needed.

With a sharp dive, she stretched out her gloved hand, her fingers closing around the Snitch.

The stadium erupted into noise, but Snape barely heard any of it. His eyes were locked on Y/N as she straightened up, wind whipping through her hair, her triumphant smirk unmistakable even from a distance. She held the Snitch high as the Slytherin stands exploded in cheers.

Across the pitch, Sirius Black groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Bloody hell, Y/N! You’re supposed to be a Gryffindor at heart!” he yelled, though there was a grudging sort of pride in his voice.

Y/N turned her broom sharply toward the Gryffindor stands and, without missing a beat, flipped her older brother off.

Severus let out a rare chuckle, shaking his head. 

That was Y/N Black. She was unapologetic, sharp-tongued, and effortlessly brilliant. 

He found himself smirking as she landed, her teammates swarming her in celebration.

Part of him wanted to go down there, to congratulate her before the rest of Slytherin stole her attention. But instead, he simply watched from his spot in the stands, arms crossed, as she basked in her victory. She didn’t need his words to know he was proud. She would just know.

As Y/N landed, her teammates swarmed her, shouting, clapping her on the back, and ruffling her hair. She barely acknowledged them, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd instead.

Then, without a word, she pushed past them.

“Oi, where’s she going?” one of the Chasers muttered.

“She’s probably off to rub it in her brother’s face,” another laughed.

But they were wrong. 

Y/N wasn’t heading for Sirius. She wasn’t even acknowledging the rest of Slytherin’s celebration.

She was walking straight toward the stands, straight toward him.

Severus Snape sat frozen for a moment, his arms still crossed, before hurriedly schooling his expression back into indifference. His heartbeat, however, betrayed him.

Y/N reached him, standing just in front of where he sat, her broom still clutched in one hand, the Snitch resting in the other. She tilted her head at him, her smirk sharp and teasing.

“You gonna congratulate me, or are you too busy sulking about whatever it is that you sulk about?” she taunted, breathless from the match.

Snape rolled his eyes. “As if I care about Quidditch.”

Y/N scoffed. “Oh, please. I saw you watching me.” 

She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “You always do.”

Severus’s grip on his robes tightened, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You fly like an idiot. One wrong move, and you could’ve broken your neck.”

“Ah, so you were worried,” she teased, grinning.

“Hardly,” he muttered, but there was no venom behind it.

Y/N studied him for a moment before extending her hand, the one holding the Snitch. His brow furrowed in confusion as she placed it in his palm.

“A souvenir,” she said, shrugging. “For sitting through an entire match just for me.”

Severus stared at the Snitch in his hand, then back at her. His fingers curled around the cool metal, and for once, he didn’t have a sharp remark ready.

Y/N grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “Come on, Snape. Walk with me before the team kidnaps me for some over-the-top victory party.”

And just like that, she turned, expecting him to follow.

With a sigh, one that was far too fond for his liking, Severus tucked the Snitch into his pocket and stood, trailing after her.

As they walked away from the roaring Slytherin crowd, Severus fell into step beside her, hands shoved into his robes. The Snitch sat in his pocket, its tiny wings twitching now and then, but he ignored it.

Y/N strode forward with that effortless confidence of hers, broom over one shoulder, head held high like she owned the castle. And in some ways, she did. 

She was a Black, a Slytherin, a bloody brilliant Seeker. Everyone either admired her, feared her, or wanted to be her.

And yet, here she was. Choosing to spend her post-victory moment with him.

They reached a quieter corridor, the distant cheers fading behind them. Y/N finally exhaled, tilting her head back against the cool stone wall. “Merlin, I thought that match would never end.”

“You made quick work of it,” Severus muttered, leaning beside her. “Wasn’t even a challenge, was it?”

She smirked, eyes glinting. “Not even close.” Then, nudging him with her elbow, she added, “You enjoyed it, admit it.”

He scoffed. “I tolerated it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but let it slide. Instead, she turned to him fully, studying him with an unreadable expression.

“You know,” she mused, “you’re the only one I actually wanted to talk to after that match.”

Severus swallowed, caught off guard. “Why?”

“Because you don’t treat me like I’m some bloody trophy,” she said simply. 

“Everyone else is off celebrating me—but you just… I don’t know.” She paused, as if searching for the right words. “You see me. Not just the captain, or the Seeker, or ‘Sirius Black’s little sister.’ Just me.”

Severus felt his throat go dry. He looked away, unsure what to say to that.

Y/N didn’t push him for an answer. Instead, she grinned, leaning closer. “So, since you’re such a dedicated fan now, you coming to my next match?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If I must.”

She laughed. It was bright, unapologetic, and it was the kind of laugh that made even his cold, guarded heart warm just a little. 

“You must.”

Y/N pushed open the door to an empty classroom, stepping inside like she owned the place. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows against the stone walls, the only sound the faint echo of the ongoing celebration down in the dungeons.

Severus followed, closing the door behind them. “Skipping the victory party entirely, then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N tossed her broom onto an abandoned desk and hopped up onto another, swinging her legs. 

“Please. If I stay any longer, they’ll shove Firewhisky down my throat and make me listen to Mulciber’s tragic attempts at flirting.” She smirked. “I’d rather be here.”

Severus leaned against the opposite desk, arms crossed. “With me?”

“With you.” Her voice was softer now, less teasing.

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he looked down, pulling the Snitch from his pocket and watching it twitch in his palm.

Y/N’s eyes flicked to it. “Like it?”

Severus huffed. “You forced it on me.”

She tilted her head. “But you haven’t given it back.”

He hesitated, fingers tightening around the Snitch. The truth was, he liked having it. A reminder that, out of everyone in that bloody Quidditch pitch, she had chosen him to share her moment with.

Y/N grinned, clearly pleased with his silence. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Rolling his eyes, Severus flicked his wand at the candles, dimming them slightly. The atmosphere shifted into a quieter and more intimate setting. The usual playful edge between them softened, replaced with something unspoken but heavy in the air.

She watched him carefully, then sighed, leaning back on her hands. 

“You know, for someone who ‘doesn’t care about Quidditch,’ you sure looked invested today.”

Severus exhaled sharply. 

“I wasn’t invested—”

“You were leaning forward in the stands.”

“I was watching.”

“You muttered something under your breath when I went for the Snitch.”

“That doesn’t—”

“You were worried about me.” Her voice was light, teasing, but there was something searching in her gaze.

Severus clenched his jaw. “…You could have broken your neck.”

Y/N’s smirk faltered just slightly. “But I didn’t.”

“That’s not the point.”

She studied him for a long moment, then hopped down from the desk, stepping closer. 

“Sev.” Her voice was softer now, almost careful. “You do care.”

He swallowed hard. It was infuriating, the way she could see right through him.

“…You’re so annoying,” he muttered.

She grinned. “And you love it.”

Severus refused to dignify that with a response, but he didn’t move away when she plucked the Snitch from his hand, rolling it between her fingers before throwing it back at him. Severus put it back in his pocket.

Silence settled between them, warm and heavy.

After a moment, Y/N smirked. “So, since we’re skipping the party, what do you suggest we do?”

Severus glanced at her, at the flickering candlelight dancing in her eyes.

“…Stay here,” he said finally. “Talk. Until they give up looking for you.”

Y/N hummed in approval. “Sounds perfect.”

And so they stayed.

Severus sat on the edge of the desk, arms crossed as he fixed Y/N with a sharp look. “Have you even read the new Advanced Potions textbook yet?”

Y/N, who had settled comfortably into the chair beside him, legs draped lazily over one armrest, snorted. 

“No, Severus, I thought I’d just wing it on my N.E.W.T.s.”

He sighed dramatically, pulling the book from his bag and flipping through the pages with an irritated sort of reverence. “Then you haven’t noticed the absurd number of errors in it.”

Y/N quirked an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Errors? In the Slughorn-approved textbook?”

Severus scoffed. “Slughorn wouldn’t notice an error if it exploded in his face. Which, frankly, some of these might.” 

He jabbed at a particular page with his finger. “Here. Draught of Living Death. Ridiculous instructions. If you follow them as written, the potion will be unstable and potentially lethal.”

Y/N leaned forward, peering at the text. “It says to stir counterclockwise seven times.”

“Exactly.” He flipped a few more pages aggressively. “And this one—Babbling Beverage? Why in Merlin’s name would they suggest stewing the rat spleens first? That ruins the consistency completely.”

Y/N grinned, resting her chin on her hand. “You really love this stuff, don’t you?”

Severus paused, caught off guard. His fingers, which had been poised to flip to yet another grievous offense, hesitated over the pages.

“…It’s logical,” he said finally, shrugging as if it didn’t matter. “Precise. Potions do what they’re supposed to if you follow the right process.”

Y/N studied him, something unreadable in her gaze. Then, she reached out and plucked the book from his hands.

“Oi—”

“Relax, Sev,” she drawled, skimming through the pages. “If you hate this version so much, why don’t you just rewrite it yourself?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You already know what’s wrong with it. Fix it. Make notes, change the instructions, do whatever you do with your creepy little personal experiments.” She smirked. 

“Merlin knows you’d probably make a better textbook than this rubbish.”

Severus stared at her, lips parting slightly in surprise. 

“…You might actually be onto something,” he admitted.

Y/N laughed, tossing the book back at him. “A rare moment of brilliance, I know.”

He rolled his eyes but tucked the idea away, running his fingers over the cover thoughtfully.

Maybe she was right.

Y/N smirked as she watched Severus flip furiously through the pages of the textbook, muttering to himself.

“This is completely wrong,” he grumbled, tapping the page with the tip of his wand. “They’re telling students to add crushed asphodel before the infusion of wormwood. That completely alters the reaction time. If anything, it weakens the potion instead of enhancing it.”

Y/N continued to rest her chin in her palm, watching him with amusement. “And what would you do instead, Professor Snape?”

Severus shot her a glare, but his irritation was undercut by the slight twitch at the corner of his lips. “I’d start with finely ground asphodel. Not crushed, because consistency matters. Then, let it steep after the wormwood infusion. That way, the properties mix properly instead of counteracting each other like whatever idiot wrote this thinks they should.”

Y/N whistled. “You really do think this book is a personal insult, don’t you?”

“It is an insult,” he snapped, flipping to another page. 

“This is supposed to be advanced potion-making, not first-year-level incompetence. Look at this. Elixir to Induce Euphoria. The instructions say to stir clockwise the entire time. That’s idiotic. You need to alternate clockwise and counterclockwise to balance the infusion properly, or it’ll be too volatile.”

Y/N couldn’t help but grin. 

There was something fascinating about the way he spoke when he got like this. It was sharp, passionate, as if the entire world should care about potion-making as much as he did.

“I have to say, this is the most passionate I’ve ever seen you about anything that isn’t glaring at my brother.”

Severus sighed dramatically. “If I didn’t have to waste my time dealing with him, I could actually focus on things that matter.”

Y/N chuckled. “So potions matter to you, then?”

He hesitated. “…Obviously.”

She tilted her head, watching him thoughtfully. “Then why don’t you make your own notes? Your own version of the textbook? You know more than half the idiots who’ll be using this, anyway.”

Severus was silent for a moment, his fingers tapping lightly against the cover. Then, slowly, he reached into his bag and pulled out a battered old notebook, its pages filled with scribbles, corrections, and improvements in his precise, slanted handwriting.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You’ve already started, haven’t you?”

Severus cleared his throat, flipping through the notebook as if he hadn’t just been caught red-handed. “I just thought it would be useful to have the right information written down. For myself.”

Y/N smirked. “And for anyone smart enough to steal your book.”

He scoffed. “As if I’d let anyone get their hands on it.”

She grinned. “You’re a genius, Sev. You know that, right?”

He faltered for just a second, gripping the book a little tighter. “…Hardly.”

But Y/N just shook her head, leaning back. “Well, I think so.”

Severus didn’t respond, but he didn’t argue, either.

Instead, he went right back to ranting about the next mistake in the textbook. This time, something about a disastrous bezoar dosage and Y/N just listened, secretly enjoying every second of it.

Severus was mid-rant about improper bezoar usage when he noticed Y/N staring at him, a slow grin tugging at her lips. Her head still rested on her palm, her elbow propped lazily on the desk, eyes bright with amusement.

He faltered. “What?”

Y/N’s grin widened. “Nothing. Just enjoying the show.”

His brows furrowed. “I’m not performing.”

“You are,” she teased, tapping her fingers against her cheek. 

“A very passionate, very angry performance about the dangers of incompetent potion-making. Quite riveting, actually.”

Severus rolled his eyes, closing the textbook with a sharp thud. 

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are, ranting to me instead of to your cauldron in the dungeons,” she pointed out.

He exhaled sharply, leaning back against the desk. “Because you actually listen.”

Y/N’s expression softened slightly. “Of course, I do.”

A beat of silence passed between them. Severus shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, not used to being looked at like that. Like he was worth listening to.

“…You’re staring,” he muttered.

“Observing,” she corrected.

He scoffed. “And what, exactly, are you observing?”

She tilted her head, studying him like he was a particularly interesting puzzle. “Just that you get this look when you talk about potions.”

He narrowed his eyes. “A look?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, lips curling. “Like the rest of the world disappears, and it’s just you and whatever ridiculous mistake you’re trying to fix.”

Severus hesitated, unsure how to respond to that. He’d never thought about it before. But the way she said it made his chest feel strangely tight.

Y/N smirked at his silence. “It’s kind of nice, you know. Seeing you actually care about something.”

He huffed, looking away. “You make it sound as if I don’t care about anything.”

“Well,” she mused, “besides potions, glaring at Gryffindors, and being thoroughly unimpressed with everyone else…” 

She tapped her chin. “No, can’t say I’ve seen you care about much else.”

He shot her a flat look. “Hilarious.”

She grinned. “I try.”

Another pause. The candles flickered, casting soft shadows across the old classroom.

Then, Y/N’s voice was quieter, more thoughtful. “I like when you talk about potions.”

Severus glanced at her, caught off guard by the sincerity in her tone.

Y/N shrugged, still watching him. “It’s nice hearing you talk about something that makes you happy.”

He opened his mouth, but no words came. Because no one had ever said that to him before.

After a moment, he cleared his throat, looking back down at his notebook. 

“…It’s not happiness,” he muttered. “It’s just—logic.”

Y/N just smiled knowingly. “If you say so, Sev.”

And despite himself, Severus didn’t argue.

Severus sat back against the desk, his fingers drumming lightly against the cover of his notebook. 

After a moment, he sighed and said, almost begrudgingly, “You played well today.”

Y/N blinked, then grinned. “Was that a compliment from Severus Snape? Merlin, I must be dreaming.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, I definitely will,” she teased, leaning back in her chair. “Go on, say it again. Just so I know I didn’t hallucinate it.”

Severus huffed, crossing his arms. “I’m not repeating myself.”

“Pity,” she sighed dramatically. “Would’ve been nice to have it burned into my memory forever.”

He shook his head, but his gaze lingered on her, something softer in his usually sharp eyes. 

“You were impressive,” he admitted after a moment. “Even Slughorn wouldn’t stop talking about how Slytherin finally has a proper Seeker.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Slughorn, huh? What about you? Were you impressed?”

Severus scoffed. “I’m always impressed by competency. And considering the rest of the team is mediocre at best, it’s fortunate you know what you’re doing.”

Y/N laughed. “High praise, coming from you.”

He glanced away, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “It was… entertaining. Watching you completely humiliate Gryffindor.”

Y/N smirked. “So that’s what you enjoyed.”

“Obviously.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, I am the best.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Now you’re pushing it.”

Y/N only grinned, nudging his knee with her foot. “Admit it, Sev. You liked watching me play.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If I admit it, will you finally stop pestering me?”

“Maybe,” she teased.

Severus exhaled, looking at her for a long moment before shaking his head. “…You were good.”

Y/N’s grin widened. “Knew it.”

He shook his head again, but despite his best efforts, he couldn’t quite hide the small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips.

Severus pulled his hand from his robe pocket, the small golden Snitch resting in his palm. The tiny wings fluttered weakly against his fingers, as if reluctant to leave his grasp.

“I believe this belongs to you,” he said, holding it out to Y/N.

She looked at it, then at him, and instead of taking it, she just smirked and leaned back in her chair. “Keep it.”

Severus frowned. “What?”

“Keep it,” she repeated, her voice softer this time. “So you’ll always remember me.”

His fingers curled slightly around the Snitch as he processed her words, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable. “…Why would I need something to remember you by?”

Y/N grinned. “Because, Sev, someday I’ll be famous. Hogwarts’ best Seeker, a legend in the making. And when that happens, you’ll want to say you knew me first.”

He scoffed, but there was no real bite to it. 

Severus looked down at the Snitch in his palm, the tiny wings brushing against his skin. He could have argued. He could have insisted she take it back. But instead, he closed his fingers around it and slipped it back into his pocket, letting the weight of it settle against him.

“…Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll keep it.”

Y/N smiled. “Good.”

And for the first time that night, Severus didn’t have a single complaint.

The next morning, the Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chatter, but Severus barely paid it any mind. He sat at the Slytherin table, absently picking at his breakfast, still adjusting to the idea of carrying a Snitch in his pocket. Her Snitch.

And then, like clockwork, Y/N slid into the seat beside him, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Morning, Sev.”

He huffed, not looking up from his plate. “You’re awfully cheerful.”

“I did win a match yesterday,” she reminded him smugly, grabbing a piece of toast. “And, you know, got a very rare compliment from a certain grumpy Potions prodigy.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “I’m beginning to regret it.”

“Oh, don’t be like that.” She smirked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “Did you sleep well? You and your new prized possession, I mean.”

He stiffened slightly, but kept his expression neutral. “It’s just a Snitch.”

“My Snitch,” she corrected, taking a bite of her toast. “Did you put it somewhere safe?”

Severus exhaled through his nose, reaching into his pocket and subtly showing her the small golden sphere resting in his palm before tucking it away again. “Satisfied?”

Y/N grinned. “Very.”

He shook his head, turning his attention back to his breakfast, but he didn’t push her away when she leaned comfortably against him. 

Narcissa Black sat gracefully across from them, her sharp blue eyes scanning Y/N with mild curiosity as she stirred her tea. 

“You weren’t at the victory party last night.” It wasn’t a question. It was an observation, one laced with subtle judgment.

Y/N smirked, casually buttering her toast. “Oh, you noticed?”

“Of course, I noticed,” Narcissa replied, arching a perfectly shaped brow. 

“You were the star of the match, and yet, no celebratory gloating? No basking in the glory of your own success?” 

She tilted her head slightly. “Very unlike you, cousin.”

Severus huffed quietly, hiding his amusement behind his goblet of pumpkin juice.

Y/N shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it.”

Narcissa’s eyes flickered between the two of them before landing back on Y/N. “You did disappear rather quickly after the match…”

Y/N smirked. “What can I say? Had better company.” She nudged Severus with her knee under the table, earning an unimpressed glance from him.

Narcissa’s gaze sharpened, her lips curving slightly. 

“I see.” She rested her chin on her hand, watching Y/N with something between amusement and suspicion. 

“So, instead of celebrating with your adoring fans, you spent your evening somewhere, locked away with Severus.”

Y/N gave an exaggerated sigh, placing a hand on her chest. “Oh, forgive me, dear cousin, for prioritizing meaningful conversation over drunken debauchery.”

Narcissa rolled her eyes. “Please, you love the attention.”

“True,” Y/N admitted easily. “But I love annoying Sev more.”

Severus scoffed, not looking up from his plate. “How fortunate for me.”

Narcissa observed the two of them for a moment, then smirked. “Well, I do hope he made it worth your while.”

Y/N’s grin was immediate. “Oh, he did.”

Severus stiffened, glaring at her. “Don’t say it like that.”

Narcissa chuckled, sipping her tea. “Interesting choice of company, Y/N.”

Y/N just leaned back, perfectly unbothered. “Best choice, actually.”

Severus didn’t say anything but under the table, his fingers curled around the Snitch in his pocket.

“Anyways…Sirius came looking for you yesterday. Something about introducing you to his best mate, Potter. I think he fancies you,” Narcissa said, her tone light, but her gaze sharp as she watched Y/N’s reaction.

Y/N snorted, tearing off another bite of toast. 

“James Potter? Fancies me? Please, Cissy, don’t insult my intelligence.”

“I’m serious,” Narcissa pressed, twirling a strand of blonde hair between her fingers. 

“Sirius wouldn’t shut up about it. He kept saying how he thinks you and Potter would ‘get on brilliantly.’”

Severus, who had been silent up until now, suddenly gripped his fork a little too tightly. His jaw tensed, but he said nothing, staring at his plate as if it personally offended him.

Y/N sighed dramatically. 

“And yet, somehow, I doubt James Potter would be terribly interested in me, given the way he practically worships Evans.”

Narcissa waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, well, maybe he’s expanding his options. You are the Black everyone actually likes, after all.”

Severus scoffed, finally breaking his silence. “Potter is an arrogant, brainless git. You’d sooner find a Kneazle getting along with a Manticore than have an intelligent conversation with him.”

Y/N smirked at his tone. “Aw, Sev, that almost sounded jealous.”

His scowl deepened. “I don’t get jealous.”

Narcissa raised an eyebrow at him, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Right. And yet, you look like you’re about to hex your plate into oblivion.”

Severus set his fork down with deliberate care, clearly restraining himself. “I simply find it unbelievable that anyone would subject themselves to Potter’s presence willingly.”

Y/N chuckled, nudging him with her elbow. 

“Don’t worry, Sev. If I ever lose all sense of self-respect and go anywhere near James Potter, you’ll be the first to know.”

His expression didn’t soften, but the tight grip on his robes loosened ever so slightly. 

“See that you don’t,” he muttered.

Narcissa just smiled behind her teacup, watching them both with interest.

“As if Potter has a chance…” Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Did he really think I’d choose him over Severus? He’s literally a bully, just like that Gryffindor of a brother of mine.”

Severus, who had been gripping his goblet a little too tightly, stilled at her words. His dark eyes flickered to her face, searching for any sign that she was joking. But she wasn’t. She had said it so casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Narcissa, however, only hummed, looking thoroughly entertained. “Oh? So you are choosing Severus, then?”

Y/N smirked. 

“Obviously.” 

She leaned into Severus slightly, her shoulder pressing against his. “Why would I waste my time with a Potter when I already have the best company?”

Severus swallowed hard, his face carefully blank but his fingers twitched slightly against the table. He knew better than to read into her words, but for the first time that morning, the tension in his shoulders eased just a little.

Narcissa’s smirk widened. “Interesting,” she mused, tilting her head. 

“You’re lucky, Severus.”

Severus huffed, finally recovering enough to roll his eyes. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

Y/N grinned, resting her chin on her palm. “It is.”

And despite himself, Severus didn’t argue.

Narcissa took a slow sip of her tea, her smirk never wavering. 

“Well, that settles it, then. I suppose I’ll have to break the tragic news to Potter—he never stood a chance.”

Y/N chuckled. “Oh, please do. And be sure to tell Sirius that I’d rather hex myself than date his insufferable best mate.”

Severus let out a quiet breath, his fingers still curled around his goblet. 

“Speaking of your Gryffindor brother,” Narcissa continued, setting her cup down with a soft clink, “he was in quite the mood when I saw him last night. Apparently, he’s rather upset that you’re still spending all your time with Severus instead of ‘better company.’”

Y/N rolled her eyes, stealing a piece of fruit from Severus’ plate. 

“Right, because his definition of ‘better company’ consists of Potter and Lupin and that other friend of theirs. No, thanks.”

Severus sneered at the mention of them, his grip on his goblet tightening again. “Black should concern himself with his own miserable existence and stay out of yours.”

Y/N smirked, popping the fruit into her mouth. “Agreed.” 

She turned to Severus, nudging him with her knee. “But if he ever tries to drag me to the Gryffindor common room, do me a favor and curse me unconscious, yeah?”

Severus gave her a flat look. “I’d do it regardless.”

Y/N laughed, completely unbothered, while Narcissa shook her head in amusement. “You two are ridiculous.”

“And yet,” Y/N said, resting her head on Severus’ shoulder, “you’re still sitting with us.”

Narcissa merely smirked, watching the way Severus stiffened at the sudden contact, his ears just barely tinged red. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Once Narcissa had finished her tea and had her fun at their expense, she stood gracefully, smoothing out her robes. “Well, I’ll leave you two to… whatever this is.” She shot Y/N a knowing look before glancing at Severus with the same amused expression. “Try not to let her get you into too much trouble, Severus.”

Severus merely scowled, but Y/N grinned. “No promises.”

With a quiet chuckle, Narcissa turned and left the Great Hall, her blonde hair swaying as she went.

The moment she was out of earshot, Severus finally spoke, his voice quieter than before. 

“You didn’t have to say that.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Say what?”

Severus shifted slightly, his fingers brushing over his pocket where the Snitch still rested. 

“That you’d choose me over Potter,” he muttered, almost like he didn’t believe it.

Y/N rolled her eyes, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her palm. “But I would.”

He frowned, clearly skeptical. “It’s not a competition.”

“Well, if it were, you’d win.”

Severus looked at her then, really looked at her, as if trying to find the punchline in her words. 

But there wasn’t one. 

Y/N was being completely serious.

“…Why?” he asked after a beat.

Y/N tilted her head, her gaze softening just a fraction. 

“Because I actually like spending time with you, Sev.” She nudged his knee under the table, smirking. “And because you’re my favorite.”

Severus swallowed, looking away as a faint redness dusted his pale cheeks. He wasn’t used to being anyone’s favorite.

“…Idiot,” he muttered, but there was no venom in his voice.

Y/N grinned. “That’s me.”

And for the first time that morning, Severus let himself relax, the weight of the Snitch in his pocket grounding him as he sat beside the only person who had ever truly chosen him.

After finishing breakfast, Y/N and Severus stood from the Slytherin table, grabbing their books and making their way toward the dungeons for Potions class.

Severus walked beside her, his usual scowl in place, but Y/N could tell he wasn’t actually annoyed. If anything, he seemed more thoughtful than usual, his fingers idly drumming against the spine of his Potions textbook.

Y/N bumped her shoulder against his. “What’s with the brooding? Thinking of new ways to make Potter’s life miserable?”

Severus scoffed. “I don’t need to think of new ways. He’s miserable enough just existing.”

Y/N laughed. “That’s fair.”

They arrived at the dimly lit Potions classroom, where students were already filing in. Slughorn, ever the enthusiastic professor, was scribbling today’s instructions on the blackboard.

Y/N and Severus slid into their usual seats at the back, setting their books down.

“Another partnered assignment today,” Y/N observed, glancing at the board. “Think Slughorn will have the audacity to separate us?”

Severus smirked slightly, his dark eyes flickering toward the front of the room. “He wouldn’t dare.”

And, as if proving his point, when Slughorn finally addressed the class, he didn’t even bother reassigning partners.

“Excellent, excellent! You may stay with your current partners,” Slughorn announced. “Today, we’ll be brewing a Draught of Peace! A rather delicate potion. One mistake and it won’t work at all.”

Severus rolled his eyes as Slughorn droned on about the potion’s properties. Y/N, meanwhile, leaned toward him, grinning. “Bet I’ll finish mine before you.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “You can’t even cut ingredients properly.”

“That’s slander.”

“That’s fact.”

Y/N huffed but still smirked as she flipped open her textbook. 

“Fine, Professor Snape, you do all the chopping, and I’ll handle the brewing.”

Severus sighed as if this was the greatest burden in the world, but he didn’t argue. He never did when it came to her.

And so, as the rest of the class struggled, Y/N and Severus worked seamlessly, the usual banter filling the space between them as they brewed yet another flawless potion—together.

As usual, working with Severus was effortless. While other students fumbled with their ingredients, misread instructions, or hesitated over their cauldrons, Y/N and Severus moved like a well-oiled machine.

Severus meticulously chopped the ingredients, his precise, practiced movements ensuring uniform slices. Y/N, despite her usual teasing, took the brewing process seriously, stirring at the exact pace and adding the ingredients only when Severus nodded in approval.

“Steady,” he murmured as she carefully poured in the powdered moonstone.

Y/N smirked. “You act like I’m about to botch the whole thing.”

“Because you would,” he replied dryly.

Y/N gasped in mock offense. “Rude.”

Severus merely shook his head, a rare, almost amused look flickering across his features. “Just keep stirring.”

They continued working, the soft bubbling of their potion filling the space between them. Around them, students groaned in frustration as some had cauldrons emitting faint purple smoke, while others had turned a worrying shade of green.

Slughorn made his way around the room, peering into cauldrons and offering words of encouragement (or, in some cases, looks of deep disappointment). When he reached their station, he beamed.

“Ah, exquisite work, as always!” he declared, clapping his hands together. “Perfect color, perfect consistency. Well done, well done!”

Severus merely inclined his head, while Y/N grinned. “Naturally.”

Slughorn chuckled. “I daresay, the two of you make quite the brilliant team. Perhaps I should have you brewing for me.”

Y/N nudged Severus. “Hear that, Sev? We’re brilliant.”

Severus scoffed, but his lips twitched slightly. “I am brilliant. You’re just lucky you sit next to me.”

Slughorn let out a hearty laugh. “Oh, you remind me of myself in my youth, Severus! Such confidence, such talent! If you ever have any interest in pursuing Potions beyond Hogwarts, I would be more than happy to offer guidance.”

Severus gave a polite nod. “Thank you, sir.”

Slughorn turned to Y/N. “And you, Miss Black. Remarkable work as well! Though I must say, I’m quite surprised you didn’t celebrate your Quidditch victory last night.”

Y/N shrugged, glancing at Severus briefly. “Didn’t feel like it.”

Slughorn raised an eyebrow. 

“Ah, well. More dedicated to your studies, I see! Excellent priorities, my dear.” 

He gave them both a final pleased nod before moving on to the next station.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Y/N turned to Severus. “See? Brilliant team.”

Severus exhaled, shaking his head as he began cleaning up their workspace. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late.”

And for the rest of the class, while their classmates struggled, Y/N and Severus sat back, their potion already perfected—just as always.

Severus sat with his quill resting idly between his fingers, his gaze flickering between his parchment and Y/N as she leaned over to copy his notes.

She didn’t even bother asking anymore. She just slid his notebook closer, turned her own to a blank page, and began copying down his meticulous handwriting with lazy, fluid strokes.

Severus should have been irritated. Should have snapped at her to take her own notes, to pay attention instead of relying on him.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he watched as she absentmindedly chewed the end of her quill, her brows furrowing slightly in concentration. A few strands of her dark hair fell forward, brushing against the parchment, and every so often, she tapped her fingers against the desk in an offbeat rhythm.

She had done this a hundred times before. Stealing his notes, ignoring her own half-written ones, leaning just a little too close without realizing it. But for some reason, today, Severus couldn’t look away.

“Sev,” Y/N suddenly said, not looking up, still writing.

He blinked, straightening slightly. “What?”

“You’re staring.”

His grip on his quill tightened. “No, I’m not.”

Y/N smirked, finally glancing at him from beneath her lashes. “You are.”

Severus scoffed, shifting in his seat, his expression settling back into its usual scowl. “You’re copying my notes. I’m simply making sure you don’t ruin them with your atrocious handwriting.”

Y/N gasped in mock offense, pressing a dramatic hand to her chest. 

“Atrocious? Excuse me, I happen to have flawless handwriting.”

Severus snatched his notebook back, flipping it shut. 

“It’s a disgrace.”

Y/N laughed, resting her chin on her palm as she gazed at him, entirely unbothered. “Then I guess you’ll just have to keep taking notes for me forever.”

Severus rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched slightly. It was just enough for Y/N to catch.

─ ♱ · 𓆩🤍𓆪 · ♱ ──────────

The Slytherin common room was quiet that night, the usual chatter of students fading as most had either gone to bed or were off doing Merlin-knows-what in the castle. The fire crackled softly in the dimly lit space, casting long shadows across the stone walls.

Severus and Y/N sat side by side on the emerald-green sofa closest to the fireplace, books open on their laps.

Well, Severus was reading. Y/N was halfheartedly flipping through her textbook, occasionally tapping her fingers against the spine, clearly bored.

After a few minutes of silence, she let out a dramatic sigh, tilting her head to look at him. 

“Sev.”

He didn’t look up from his book. “What?”

“I’m bored.”

Severus exhaled sharply, still not looking at her. 

“Then go to bed.”

Y/N ignored that completely and shifted to rest her head against his shoulder. 

“Nah. This is fine.”

Severus stiffened for half a second before forcing himself to relax. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this, leaning against him like it was the most natural thing in the world, but it always caught him off guard.

“You’re distracting,” he muttered, eyes still on his book.

“I’m existing,” she corrected, smirking against his shoulder.

“Exactly.”

Y/N chuckled, and the sound was warm, familiar. She didn’t move away, though, and after a moment, Severus found himself leaning into it.

They sat like that for a while, the only sounds being the flickering of the fire and the occasional turn of a page.

“I’m stealing your notes again tomorrow.”

Severus sighed, closing his book. “Of course you are.”

And when she smiled, drowsy and content, Severus simply shook his head.

The common room grew quieter as the fire burned lower, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Severus had long since stopped reading, though his book remained open in his lap.

Y/N had gone still beside him, her head slipping from his shoulder. He glanced down just in time to see her shift, curling up slightly as her head now resting against his lap.

Severus tensed.

His breath hitched, his entire body going rigid as if moving even an inch would somehow wake her. But Y/N didn’t stir. She simply exhaled softly, her face peaceful, her arms tucked beneath her head as she settled deeper against him.

For a long moment, Severus just stared.

Her hair spilled over his robes, the firelight casting a warm glow on her features. 

She looked… comfortable. Completely at ease.

He should wake her up. Tell her to go to bed.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he swallowed hard and carefully set his book aside. His fingers twitched as if debating whether or not to move, to touch her, but he quickly clenched them into fists, keeping them at his sides.

Merlin, she was infuriating.

Did she even realize what she did to him? How she invaded his space so easily, so effortlessly, like she belonged there?

Severus exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to lean back against the sofa. He couldn’t (wouldn’t) wake her.

Not when she looked like that. 

So, instead, he sat there, unmoving, his heartbeat entirely too loud in his ears. And as the fire crackled beside him, Severus Snape did something he never allowed himself to do.

He let himself enjoy the moment.

Severus hesitated. His fingers hovered just above Y/N’s hair, as if touching her would shatter the quiet, fragile peace of the moment.

But she was there, asleep on his lap, her breathing slow and even. The firelight cast soft golden hues across her skin, making her seem almost unreal like something delicate and untouchable.

Severus exhaled, then, before he could think better of it, finally let his fingers brush against her hair.

It was soft. Softer than he expected. His movements were tentative at first, barely there, but when she didn’t stir but simply nestled deeper against him, he let himself continue.

He didn’t know why he did it. He had never been one for tenderness, never the type to comfort or soothe. But with Y/N, it felt natural. 

His fingers threaded through her hair again, and his breath caught when she shifted slightly, a faint hum escaping her lips.

Severus stilled, his heart hammering against his ribs. But Y/N only sighed in her sleep, her body relaxing further against him.

His hand lingered for just a moment longer before he withdrew it, resting it tensely on the armrest.

This was dangerous.

She was dangerous.

Because if she kept doing this, kept looking at him like that, touching him like it meant something, falling asleep on him like he was someone safe, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could pretend he didn’t want her.

And that terrified him more than anything.

────────── ♱ · 𓆩🤍𓆪 · ♱ ─

The wind was crisp as Y/N and Severus made their way down the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade, the chatter of students filling the air. 

It had been a few weeks since that night in the common room—since Y/N had unknowingly ruined Severus with her presence, her warmth, the feeling of her hair slipping through his fingers.

And now, here they were, walking side by side, the snow crunching beneath their feet as Y/N tugged on his sleeve.

“Come on, Sev,” she said, linking her arm through his as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “You walk so slowly.”

Severus stiffened at the contact, his breath catching for just a fraction of a second.

She was touching him again.

And not just touching but rather clinging. As if she belonged there. As if she didn’t even have to think about it.

Y/N didn’t seem to notice his internal crisis, though. She simply grinned, leaning slightly into his side as they made their way toward Honeydukes.

“I don’t know why you even agreed to come,” she teased, nudging him with her shoulder. “You hate sweets.”

“I don’t hate them,” Severus muttered, keeping his gaze firmly ahead, pretending that the warmth of her arm against his wasn’t distracting him. 

“I just don’t see the point in wasting my money on sugar when I could buy something useful.”

Y/N gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? Sweets are useful. They’re essential, actually.”

Severus rolled his eyes, but he didn’t pull away.

He should have.

But he didn’t.

Because Y/N was still holding onto him, and Merlin help him, he liked it.

The second they stepped inside Honeydukes, Y/N all but dragged Severus through the shop, pointing at various sweets with an excited grin.

“Oh, you have to try these,” she said, grabbing a handful of Chocolate Frogs. 

“And these—” She tossed a few Sugar Quills into her basket. 

“Oh! And definitely these.”

Severus sighed, crossing his arms as she piled more and more sweets into her basket. 

“You do realize I never asked for any of this.”

Y/N grinned, completely unfazed. “That’s the best part. You don’t have to ask. I just know what you need.”

Severus scoffed. “And what exactly do I need?”

“Sugar.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “I—”

Before he could finish, Y/N grabbed a small chocolate and unwrapped it. Then, before he could protest, she held it up to his lips.

“Open,” she ordered.

Severus stared at her, unimpressed. “You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious.” She wiggled the chocolate in front of his face. “Come on, Sev. Humor me.”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

And yet…

He begrudgingly parted his lips just enough for her to pop the chocolate into his mouth.

Y/N beamed.

“See? Not so bad, right?” she teased, watching him closely.

Severus chewed, his expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, he muttered, “It’s fine.”

Y/N gasped. “Fine? This is premium chocolate, Severus. Premium.”

Severus just shook his head, swallowing the chocolate. “Idiot.”

Severus sighed, already regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment. But when Y/N lifted the next treat to his lips, he didn’t resist.

By the time they left Honeydukes, Y/N had practically stuffed half a dozen different sweets into Severus’ mouth. Each time grinning triumphantly whenever he reluctantly accepted them.

Now, as they strolled back through Hogsmeade, Y/N happily munching on a Sugar Quill, Severus still tasted the remnants of chocolate and caramel on his tongue.

“I don’t know why you’re acting like you hated it,” Y/N teased, bumping her shoulder against his. “You ate everything I gave you.”

Severus shot her a flat look. 

“You shoved it in my mouth. What was I supposed to do? Spit it out?”

Y/N smirked. “You could’ve said no.”

Severus scoffed. “Like you’d listen.”

She grinned. “Exactly.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the cold winter air crisp against their skin.

Then, suddenly, Y/N stopped in front of a small tea shop, peering through the frosted windows. “Oh, let’s go in here for a bit. It’s freezing.”

Severus followed her gaze, immediately recognizing the shop. Madam Puddifoot’s.

His face twisted in disgust. “Absolutely not.”

Y/N turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because,” Severus muttered, glaring at the couples visible through the window, “this is practically a breeding ground for lovesick imbeciles.”

Y/N burst out laughing. “You would say that.”

Severus crossed his arms. “I refuse to set foot in there.”

Y/N, still grinning, hummed thoughtfully. “Alright. How about The Three Broomsticks instead?”

Severus hesitated, eyeing her warily. “And what’s the catch?”

Y/N linked her arm through his again, smirking. “No catch. Just butterbeer. And maybe, maybe, I’ll stop feeding you sweets for the day.”

Severus exhaled through his nose, pretending to be completely unaffected by the way she clung to him so easily.

“…Fine.”

Y/N beamed. “Good choice, Sev.”

And just like that, she pulled him along once more, her arm still wrapped around his.

The Three Broomsticks was warm and bustling with students escaping the cold. As soon as they stepped inside, Y/N led Severus toward a small table near the corner, away from the loudest groups.

She let go of his arm (much to his dismay, though he’d never admit it) and slid into her seat. 

“I’ll order for us,” she declared before he could argue, already making her way to the counter.

Severus sighed, rubbing his temples. He should’ve known letting her drag him here would mean losing every battle.

A few minutes later, Y/N returned with two steaming mugs of butterbeer, setting one in front of him.

“There,” she said proudly, sliding into her seat. “A drink and a break from my relentless generosity. You should be thanking me.”

Severus rolled his eyes but accepted the mug anyway. “I didn’t ask for your generosity in the first place.”

Y/N smirked. “Quit your whining, Snape.”

Severus huffed but took a sip of his butterbeer. It was warm, sweet, and undeniably comforting, not that he’d ever say that out loud.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the warmth of the tavern settling over them. Every now and then, Severus found himself watching her like how her fingers curled around her mug, how she tapped her nails idly against the wood, how her lips pursed slightly as she took a sip.

It was maddening.

She was maddening.

Y/N suddenly looked up, catching him mid-stare.

Severus immediately looked away, clearing his throat.

“What?” he muttered.

Y/N tilted her head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You were staring.”

Severus scoffed. “I was not.”

“Liar.” She grinned, leaning forward slightly. “See something you like, Sev?”

Severus choked on his butterbeer.

Y/N burst into laughter, her eyes shining with amusement as he coughed into his sleeve.

Severus opened his mouth but before he could, a familiar voice interrupted them.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Y/N turned in her seat, her smile vanishing as she spotted the person standing beside their table.

Sirius Black.

And behind him—Potter, Lupin, and Pettigrew.

Severus clenched his jaw, already bracing himself.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, little sister,” Sirius drawled, his lips curled in amusement. “And with him, no less.”

Potter elbowed him. “Guess she has questionable taste.”

Severus scowled, but before he could snap back, Y/N spoke first.

“If you came all this way just to be annoying, then congratulations, you’ve succeeded,” she said flatly, leaning back in her chair.

Sirius chuckled. “Oh, come on, Y/N. You could be sitting with anyone—and yet, here you are, stuck with old Snivellus.”

Severus’ fists clenched under the table, his face carefully blank.

Y/N, however, just laughed.

“You’re so predictable, Sirius,” she said, shaking her head. 

“You think I care what you lot think?” She gestured between them lazily. 

“If I wanted to sit with idiots, I’d let you all join us. But I’d rather not lose brain cells, thanks.”

Sirius raised his brows, clearly surprised by her sharpness.

Lupin sighed, giving her a wary look. “Y/N, you really don’t—”

“I do,” she interrupted, her tone unwavering. “Now, if you don’t mind, we were in the middle of something.”

Sirius scoffed, but Potter pulled at his sleeve. “Leave it, mate. Let her sit with her pet snake if she wants.”

Y/N’s eyes flashed dangerously. “At least he’s not an arrogant, self-obsessed git,” she shot back.

Potter’s smug expression faltered.

Sirius let out a low whistle. “Damn. Didn’t realize you hated us that much.”

Y/N crossed her arms. “I don’t. But I hate this. The way you always think you can tell me what to do. Who to be around.”

“Sirius… I’m not you,” she murmured. “I never was.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Fine. Whatever.” He turned to leave, pausing only once. “Don’t come crying to me when he betrays you.”

With that, he walked away, the others trailing behind him.

A heavy silence hung in the air.

Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. “Merlin.”

Severus, who had been deadly quiet through the entire exchange, finally spoke.

“…Why did you do that?”

Y/N looked at him, confused. “Do what?”

“Defend me,” he muttered, his voice oddly unreadable. “Against them.”

Y/N frowned. “Severus, I’d defend you against anyone.”

The words were so simple, so obvious to her. But to him…

Severus stared at her, something unreadable flickering behind his dark eyes.

And then, slowly he reached for his mug again, taking a long sip of butterbeer to cover the unbearable warmth spreading through his chest.

“…You’re an idiot,” he muttered.

Y/N grinned. “Maybe. But I’m your idiot.”

Severus scoffed, rolling his eyes.

But he didn’t argue.

Severus watched as Y/N slumped back in her chair, exhaling a tired sigh.

He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Y/N twirled the handle of her butterbeer mug between her fingers, her gaze distant. 

“I was just thinking…” She hesitated, then let out a humorless chuckle. “I wonder how long I have before my father pushes me to some pureblood boy.”

Severus stiffened.

Her words settled between them, heavy and unspoken.

It wasn’t surprising, really. It was expected for someone like Y/N, from a prestigious family like the Blacks. Arranged marriages, strategic unions, keeping the bloodline pure.

But no lie, the thought of Y/N being forced into a life she didn’t want, with someone she didn’t choose made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

He swallowed, his voice carefully neutral. “…Do you have anyone in mind?”

Y/N scoffed. “As if it’ll matter. It’s not like I’ll get a choice.” 

She tapped her nails against the table, sighing again. “I’m sure my father already has someone lined up. Probably some arrogant pureblood twat who thinks he owns the world.”

Severus’ grip on his mug tightened. Of course he does.

“You don’t have to do it,” he said quietly.

Y/N gave him a knowing look. “You know that’s not how it works, Sev.”

He clenched his jaw. Of course it isn’t.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, with a wry smile, Y/N nudged his foot under the table. 

“Unless you want to marry me, Snape.”

Severus nearly choked on air.

Y/N burst out laughing at his reaction, but there was something in her expression like she was only half joking.

Severus forced himself to breathe. 

“You really need to stop saying things like that.”

“Why?” she teased. “Does it make you nervous?”

Severus huffed. “It’s infuriating.”

Y/N grinned. “Good.”

But as she took another sip of her butterbeer, Severus noticed how her fingers curled slightly tighter around the mug. How her smile, bright and teasing as always, didn’t quite reach her eyes.

And he hated that.

Hated that she felt trapped.

Hated that, no matter what she wanted, the world would still try to dictate her fate.

Without thinking, he muttered, “I’d rather it be me than one of them.”

Y/N stilled.

Slowly, she set her mug down, her eyes meeting his. 

“What did you just say?”

Severus hesitated. He hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t even realized he’d said it aloud.

But now that he had…He didn’t take it back.

Y/N blinked at him, and for the first time, there was no teasing, no laughter.

Severus exhaled sharply and looked away. 

“Forget it.”

Y/N, however, did not forget it.

Instead, she just kept staring at him, something unreadable in her gaze.

Something dangerously close to hope.

Severus’ breath caught in his throat.

He turned to look at her, but Y/N was already staring at him with her eyes unwavering.

“No,” she said, voice quiet but firm. 

“Tell me, Severus. Because I swear… if I heard whatever it is that I think I heard, then…” 

She swallowed, her fingers curling against the table. 

“I’d give it all up.”

Severus’ heart stopped.

For a moment, all he could hear was the low hum of The Three Broomsticks around them—the chatter of students, the clinking of glasses, the distant sound of rain beginning to drizzle outside.

But right now, none of it mattered.

Not when she was looking at him like that.

Like he was something worth choosing.

Severus exhaled sharply, forcing himself to speak. 

“Y/N… don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” she challenged, leaning closer. 

“Because it’s impossible? Because you think I wouldn’t do it?” Her voice softened, gaze searching his. 

“Because you don’t want me to?”

Severus clenched his jaw, his hands tightening into fists beneath the table.

Of course he wanted her to.

But she was a Black. She had a future already planned—one that had nothing to do with him.

But then, she was here. 

Offering, choosing him, despite it all.

“Y/N… if you say something like that, you can’t take it back.”

Y/N gave him a small, lopsided smile. “Good. Because I wouldn’t want to.”

Severus hated how much that affected him.

Because the truth was—if things were different, if the world wasn’t what it was…

He’d choose her, too.

Slowly, cautiously, he reached across the table, his fingers barely brushing against hers.

“Y/N…” His voice was quiet, unsteady. 

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

But she only turned her hand over, letting her fingers lace through his.

“Sev,” she murmured, “I do.”

Severus stared at their intertwined fingers, his breath unsteady.

She wasn’t letting go.

Did she understand what she was saying? What she was offering?

Giving up her family’s expectations—for him? Throwing away a life of power, wealth, and status because of a quiet, half-spoken confession he hadn’t even meant to say?

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

His grip tightened slightly around her hand, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“You’d really do that?”

Y/N exhaled, something relieved in her expression. 

“I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

Severus felt something in his chest ache.

“I don’t want you to regret it,” he murmured.

“I won’t,” she said immediately. “But you have to tell me, Sev… if I gave it all up—my family’s expectations, the stupid arranged marriage—if I walked away from all of it…” 

She hesitated, then asked, softer, “Would you want me?”

Severus inhaled sharply.

The answer was yes. Of course it was yes.

But admitting it and saying it aloud would make it real.

And if he let himself have this, let himself believe that someone like her could choose someone like him…

“I—” His voice faltered, thick with something he couldn’t name. “Y/N, this isn’t fair to you.”

Y/N let out a soft, exasperated laugh. “Severus, I’m the one making this choice. And I’d choose you. Every time.”

Severus felt his world tilt.

Every time.

He looked at her then and for the first time in his life, he let himself want.

Slowly, hesitantly, he raised their joined hands, pressing his lips lightly against the back of hers.

It was the smallest, softest thing.

But Y/N inhaled sharply, eyes widening because she knew. She knew what it meant.

Severus pulled away just slightly, his lips barely brushing against her skin as he whispered, “Then I’d choose you, too.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

He held her gaze, his fingers still curled gently around hers, his lips still tingling from where they had touched her skin.

Y/N swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Say it again.”

Severus exhaled shakily. He didn’t need to ask what she meant.

“I’d choose you,” he murmured.

Her grip on his hand tightened, like she was trying to ground herself. And then, without thinking, Y/N surged forward, wrapping her arms around him.

Severus stiffened but only for a second. Because as soon as he processed what was happening, he melted into it.

His arms hesitated before slowly wrapping around her, his hand coming up to rest on the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair.

She smelled like fresh strawberry milk and ink and something inherently her, something warm and safe and entirely forbidden.

“I meant it, Sev,” she whispered against his shoulder. 

“I don’t care about any of it. I just—” She pulled back slightly, her hands gripping the front of his robes. 

“I want you.”

“Y/N…”

She shook her head. 

“No, don’t try to push me away again. You want me too, I know you do. So tell me, Severus Snape—do you want me enough to fight for this?”

He would burn the entire world if it meant keeping her.

His grip on her waist tightened as he exhaled, slow and deliberate.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I’ll fight for it.”

Y/N’s lips parted slightly, eyes searching his. “You mean it?”

Instead of answering, Severus did the one thing he’d never allowed himself to do.

He leaned in, slowly and carefully, giving her a chance to pull away.

She didn’t.

And when their lips finally met, it was soft and tentative, like the two of them were still learning how to have this, how to believe in it.

But then Y/N sighed against his mouth, her hands threading into his hair, pulling him closer and suddenly, there was nothing hesitant about it.

Severus kissed her like he’d been waiting for this moment his entire life and didn’t know if he’d ever get it again.

Because maybe he wouldn’t.

Maybe the world would take this from him.

But not today. And maybe not ever. 

Today, she was his. Tomorrow, she’ll be his. 

Severus tightened his grip on her waist, searching her face as if trying to make sense of her words.

“You know you’ll get disowned for being with a half-blood,” he muttered.

But Y/N only laughed. A soft, amused sound, like the thought of it didn’t bother her in the slightest.

“At least my mother would have the pleasure of blasting my face off that stupid family tree,” she said, rolling her eyes. “She’s been dying to do it for years, anyway.”

Severus frowned. “Y/N—”

“No, Sev.” She reached up, brushing a strand of his dark hair away from his face. 

“I mean it. My family doesn’t control me. Not my mother, not my father, not Sirius—no one.” Her voice softened as she cupped his cheek. 

“I choose you.”

Severus inhaled sharply.

He had spent his whole life being a second choice. An afterthought. Someone people tolerated but never chose.

But Y/N… she wasn’t hesitating.

“Do you know what you’re saying?” he whispered, barely trusting his voice.

Y/N smiled. Smirked, actually. “I do.” 

She leaned closer, eyes flickering between his lips and his gaze. 

“Now, are you going to keep questioning my life choices, or are you going to kiss me again?”

Severus let out something between a sigh and a laugh before giving in.

He kissed her.

And this time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing.

Because, for once in his life, someone had chosen him.

As if she hadn’t just turned his world upside down, Y/N pulled away, settled comfortably beside him, and asked, 

“So, tell me about that new potion you were working on.”

Severus blinked. “What?”

She smirked. “You were ranting about it last week, remember? Something about stabilizing the Wolfsbane formula? I was listening, you know.”

Severus stared at her, still reeling from everything that had just happened. The kiss, the way she had chosen him so effortlessly. And now, she was acting like it was just another normal afternoon between them.

But that was Y/N Black. She had always been like this. Unshaken. Unbothered. Acting like she hadn’t just kissed him like she meant it.

And Merlin help him, but Severus loved that about her.

He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

Y/N just grinned. 

Severus rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the faint smirk tugging at his lips. 

“Fine. If you must know…” He turned slightly, getting into his usual lecture mode. “The problem with the Wolfsbane Potion is its volatility when stored improperly. The key is stabilizing the aconite concentration without diminishing its effects—”

And just like always, Y/N listened.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, eyes half-lidded in quiet interest, and let him speak.

And for the first time in his life, Severus felt like someone truly wanted to hear what he had to say.

They had been deep in conversation—Severus explaining the intricacies of potion stabilization, his voice passionate, his hands gesturing slightly as he spoke.

And then, out of nowhere, he said—

“And did you know, for the longest time, I have had my eyes on you and you don’t even realize that I’m so in love with you.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

She turned to him, eyes wide, searching his face for any hint that he was joking. But Severus was dead serious.

His dark eyes held hers, unwavering, like he had needed to say it. Like it had been clawing at him for years. And for once, he didn��t look like he regretted speaking.

Y/N opened her mouth, then closed it again, completely caught off guard. 

“You—” She let out a breathless laugh. 

“You just say things like that in the middle of a potions discussion?”

Severus smirked slightly, but his voice was softer when he said, “I suppose I do.”

Y/N shook her head in disbelief, a grin tugging at her lips. “Sev—”

“I mean it.” His fingers twitched where they rested against the table. 

“I have for a long time.”

Y/N’s chest ached.

Slowly, she reached over, threading her fingers through his. 

“Then it’s a good thing I’m so in love with you, too.”

Something in Severus’ expression softened.

He squeezed her hand.

“Good,” he murmured.

Severus furrowed his brows as Y/N suddenly pulled away, tilting her head at him with a knowing smirk.

“Where’s my Snitch, Sev?” she asked.

Severus hesitated for a moment before reaching into the pocket of his robes, fingers brushing against the small, familiar golden ball. He had carried it with him every day since she gave it to him, unwilling to part with something so hers.

Wordlessly, he handed it back.

Y/N took it with a quiet hum, running her fingers over the cool metal before pressing it open with ease.

Severus watched as the delicate wings fluttered, revealing a small folded note inside. His stomach tightened—he had never opened it before. He hadn’t even realized there was something inside.

Y/N didn’t say anything. She simply pulled out the note, unfolded it, and turned it around for him to see.

Severus’ breath hitched.

There, in her familiar handwriting, were three simple words:

“I choose you, Severus Snape.”

His heart stopped.

And then it raced.

His lips parted slightly as he stared at her, eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation.

But she only smiled, pressing the Snitch back into his palm. 

“Keep it for me, won’t you?” she murmured.

Severus swallowed hard, fingers curling tightly around the Snitch, holding onto it like a lifeline.

He had never been given something so precious before.

And now, he swore he’d never let it go.

“…Always,” he whispered.

End.