#YOU SAID YOU LOVE CHRISTMAS?? I LOVE CHRISTMAS

[voyter]

STAGED FOR THE SEASON ! ... christmas special

pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader

going back home for the holidays meant facing his ex — the one he still couldn’t let go of. determined to win her back and spark a little jealousy, he brought you along… as his fake girlfriend.

word count. 18.3k words warnings. fake dating au. angst. friends to lovers. jk not over his ex. FLIRTING !! TENSION !! jungkook comes to his senses a lot in this. angst. lots of teasing. smut. unprotected sex. oral (both!receiving). quiet sex hehe. munch jk again sorry i love an eater. a little male masturbation. he looks at her while he strokes it bites lip. dom!jk (still a sub enthusiast tho). oh did i mention angst ?

ana's notes. merry christmas in february !! im crying THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING. i swear this was originally supposed to be posted in december, but i ended scrapping after scrapping. that led to the writing taking much longer than i thought it would and i actually still hate this LMFAO but i did not spend all that time on this just to not post it. so here it is. just .. here JUST TAKE IT. next fic will make up for this mess, i promise x

Jungkook was a wild individual, his life practically a highlight reel of impulsive decisions and stories that somehow always ended with him escaping a war. From his childhood to his teenage years and everything in between, you’d heard your fair share of them — events so absurd that you sometimes questioned if they were even real.

But as wild and ridiculous as those stories were, nothing could have prepared you for what he was saying right now.

“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend for Christmas.”

You froze, staring at him in pure bewilderment. It was so random — like, literally, what the fuck?

The two of you had been lounging comfortably on your couch, a shared blanket draped across your laps as you caught up on each other's lives. The conversation had been perfectly ordinary. He’d just asked about your holiday plans, and you’d told him you were spending your holiday break from work in your apartment.  

And then he said this, like it was nothing.  

Now, judging by the way you were looking at him — eyes wide, utterly dumbfounded — Jungkook couldn’t tell if there was a ghost standing behind him or if his question was genuinely out of pocket.

Jungkook shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Well?”  

You blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of his words. Is he okay? “I’m sorry?”

“Look, I know it sounds crazy, but just hear me out,” he said, sitting upright in one swift motion, his previously slouched posture disappearing as if the words themselves had straightened his spine. “I’m going home for the holidays, and you know how my mom is close friends with my ex's mom, right?”  

“Mhm…” you hum slowly, even though you already know where this is headed.

“Well, my mom invited her over on Christmas… and Misa’s gonna be there,” he says, the words spilling out like a reluctant confession. His gaze shifts to the floor, as though the hardwood could offer him some kind of solace or escape from your reaction. There’s a slight edge to his voice, like he’s bracing himself for your judgment, and his fingers tug at the thread on his jeans.  

“Kook…” Your voice drops to a quieter tone, heavy with exasperation, before a sigh escapes your lips.  

Now, you’ve heard that name a few times. And each time you did, it felt like an unwanted stone hurled into calm waters, rippling outward until it disrupted everything.  

You didn’t dislike Misa herself — how could you, when you’d never even met her? What you couldn’t stand was the effect her name had on Jungkook. It wasn’t just sadness or nostalgia that overtook him; it was something deeper, something heavier. Like a wound that had never fully healed, her name had the power to knock the air out of him, leaving him raw and vulnerable every time.

The first time you heard of Misa was through Jimin and Taehyung. According to them, Jungkook and Misa had been childhood friends who started dating in high school. But that love didn’t survive graduation. They were heading to different universities — she to Ulsan, and him in Seoul — and while Jungkook had begged her to make it work, she never wanted to do long distance. It was practical, maybe even logical, but it had wrecked him.

Jungkook never pursued relationships after her; he didn’t see the point. Love, in his eyes, was a gamble he wasn’t willing to take again. Instead, he sought out fleeting connections with girls he found attractive, indulging in temporary pleasures without the weight of commitment. It wasn’t fair, and deep down, he knew it. But as messed up as it was, he couldn’t stop himself.  

Because he didn’t want to love anyone else.  

Love had burned him once — left him raw, scarred, and reluctant to open that part of himself again. It was easier this way, safer. No expectations, no vulnerability, no chance of heartbreak. Just meaningless hookups that kept the loneliness at bay for a little while.  

“You already know what I’m going to say,” he says quietly, his voice subdued yet heavy with expectation.  

“Yeah, I do,” you snap back, unable to hide the sharp edge in your tone. There’s a bite of attitude behind your words, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

And of course, you do. He wanted you to come with him, to play the part, to make her jealous. Everything Jungkook did seemed to circle back to her. Every action, every thought, every breath — it all revolved around Misa. She was an unshakable presence in his life, even in her absence, consuming his every waking second.  

And that’s what stung. Not for yourself, but for him. Because she wouldn’t have broken up with him in the first place if she thought about him the way he still thought about her. If she cared even a fraction as much as he still does.  

You could only stare at him, your expression a mixture of pity and quiet disappointment. He had so much to give, so much love that could be directed toward someone who might actually deserve it. Yet here he was, stuck in a loop, still thinking about someone who chose to let him go.  

“I know,” he says softly. And the worst part? He really does know. He knows exactly what you’re thinking because he’s heard it all before. And it frustrates you to no end because knowing and doing are two very different things.

You’ve never held back from telling him exactly how you feel. As one of his best friends, you had every right to be upset about it. Watching him go through girls like they’re disposable wasn’t just reckless; it was self destructive. You’d made it painfully clear how detrimental it was for him to still be hung up on his ex, and even more so to avoid meaningful connections altogether. But despite your blunt honesty, Jungkook has never made an effort to truly change.

He never takes the time to get to know the women he hooks up with — it’s always a simple fuck and go. It’s a vicious cycle that leaves no room for growth or healing. But Jungkook’s stubbornness is both his armor and his downfall.

Before you could scold him, you catch yourself. You take a breath, reminding yourself that emotions, especially Jungkook’s, aren’t something he can just flip on and off. Instead of letting your frustration bubble over, you pause, choosing empathy. You let yourself step into his shoes, imagining the weight he must carry, the way old memories cling like cobwebs in the corners of his mind.

Jungkook has always been there for you, through thick and thin.

Now, it was your turn to return the favor.

“I’ll do it,” you said, finally breaking the heavy silence.

His head snapped up so fast you flinched, half expecting him to pull a muscle. His hair bounced with the sudden movement, and his eyes were wide, shining with a mix of disbelief and cautious hope. “Really?”

“This is very stupid, Jungkook,” you replied, your tone firm but tinged with a resigned gentleness.  

“It is,” he agreed without hesitation, nodding like a chastised child. Because he knew you were right — it was stupid, immature even. The two of you were grown adults for crying out loud, and here he was asking you to fake being his girlfriend just to get under his ex’s skin.

You only sighed, the weight of your decision settling over you. “Then I guess we should lay down some boundaries,” you said, your voice steady, though your stomach churned with unease.  

His face lit up with a bright, almost childlike smile, his eyes sparkling with hope. He still couldn’t believe you were agreeing to this. “Right-”

“I’m not kissing you,” you interrupted, your tone firm.

The joy drained from his face in an instant, replaced by pure, unfiltered horror. “What? No one is going to believe us if you don’t let me kiss you!”  

“Then we’ll just say we aren’t comfortable with PDA,” you countered with a shrug, as if it were the simplest solution in the world.  

“I always kissed Misa in front of our parents!” he argued, a faint whine creeping into his voice.

“Then we’ll say I’m not comfortable with PDA,” you shot back, emphasizing your words. “Kook, I just don’t think it’d be appropriate.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he reluctantly nodded. As much as he hated the idea of limiting the act, he understood where you were coming from. The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable. “Fine. Can I at least kiss you on the cheek?”  

“Yeah,” you said, offering a small smile.  

“Great,” he replied, perking up slightly. “We must be touching at all times. I was always very clingy with Misa, so it needs to look natural…”  

You almost grimaced at the thought. You let out a long sigh, nodding reluctantly. “Fine. Touching at all times. But keep your hands where I can see them.”  

“Relax,” Jungkook said with a grin, leaning back smugly. “I’m not a perv. Maybe we should practice-”

“If you touch me, I will hit you,” you cut him off, glaring.

Days after your little agreement with Jungkook, you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat of his car, the heater humming softly as it worked to fight the cold winter air that seeped through the windows. The trunk was packed tightly with your bags, a visible reminder of the journey ahead, and the winding highway stretched endlessly before you under the dull gray sky.  

Initially, the plan was simple: head to Busan on Christmas day, just in time for dinner. But Jungkook’s mom insisted that you both arrive a day earlier to rest after the long drive. The suggestion didn’t bother you — in fact, it seemed practical. Yet, it also meant one extra day to brace yourself for the moment you’d stand beside Jungkook as he faced the girl who broke his heart.

With an acrylic nail caught between your teeth, you stared out the window, taking in the scenery as it changed around you. It didn’t snow here; the air was crisp, the breeze carried faint traces of salt from the sea. The bustling cityscape of Seoul was a stark contrast to the quieter, more laid back atmosphere of Busan. You found yourself admiring the differences, marveling at how a different part of Korea could feel so distinct yet familiar.

The person beside you was lost in thought, grappling with something entirely different.

In just about a day, Jungkook would come face to face with the girl he once swore was the love of his life — the one who had ruined love for him. Nine years ago. Almost an entire era of his existence had passed since they last saw each other, back when he was just a seventeen year old kid. She had been the center of his world once, and even after she broke up with him, she still lingered in his mind.

During the midst of the long drive, you’d fallen asleep. The steady hum of the car and the rhythm of the road had cradled you into a peaceful slumber. But as the journey came to an end, so did your nap, when you felt a gentle pressure on your arm.

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting the soft glow of the garage door in front of the driveway. You blinked a few times, your vision adjusting to the new surroundings, before pulling your headphones off your head.

“Sleep well?” Jungkook’s voice broke through the haze of sleep, his smirk evident even before you looked at him.

“Mmm, sitting up and with my neck bent? Slept so good,” you tease, a sarcastic smile pulling at the corners of your lips as you stretch your stiff limbs.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but there’s a playful edge to his response. He presses the button to turn off the car. “Let’s go inside. I’m fucking beat,” he says, his voice casual, but the tiredness in his tone betrays how much he’s ready to be done with the drive.

You stretch one more time, a satisfying crack running down your spine as you unbuckle your seatbelt. You glance out the window, your eyes falling on Jungkook’s childhood home. It’s a beautiful house, its exterior glowing warmly under the lights, casting long shadows. 

It’s a home that likely holds countless memories for him. You can almost imagine the sound of laughter, of family dinners and the warmth of his parents’ love. The kind of place where so many moments, both small and monumental, are tucked away in corners.

“Coming?” Jungkook calls, his voice carrying a teasing edge. You snap your head toward him, catching the sight of him leaning down, his head poking just enough from the car door so he can see you clearly. His mischievous grin matches the playful tone in his voice. “Or you gonna sleep in here some more?”

You raise an eyebrow, your lips curving into a smirk. “Keep fucking with me, and I’ll drive your car back home and leave you here,” you warn, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He clicks his tongue in mock frustration, rolling his eyes dramatically, clearly amused by your threat. “Girl, hurry up,” he retorts, the playful irritation in his tone betraying how little he actually means it.

You chuckle before you grab your purse and swing the door open. The cold air rushes in, sharp and biting against your skin, but you barely notice as the playful tension between the two of you lingers in the space between the car and the house.

You shut the car door with a soft thud before making your way to the back of the car. Jungkook is already there, pulling out the suitcases like it’s second nature — his sleek black one in one hand and your unmistakeable pink one in the other.

“I could’ve got it myself, you know,” you say, reaching out to press the button that automatically closes the trunk.

“Sure you could’ve,” he quips without missing a beat, effortlessly balancing both suitcases as if they weigh nothing. “But I can’t have my girlfriend going around carrying her stuff. That’s what I’m here for.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head, though the smile tugging at the corners of your lips betrays your true feelings. You two weren’t even inside yet and he was already playing boyfriend. “You’re annoying.”

Jungkook merely smirks, adjusting his grip on the luggage with practiced ease. "Yet, here you are," he teases, his tone dripping with playful arrogance. Without waiting for a reply, he strides past you, carrying both suitcases as if they weighed nothing. Of course, he wasn't just dragging them by the wheels; Jungkook wouldn't dare let them get scratched up. He doesn't even glance back as he says over his shoulder, "And you can't say that to me. I'm your boyfriend, remember?"

You let out a soft laugh, biting back a retort, and simply trail after him, the cold breeze nips at your cheeks as the warmth of his playful energy draws you closer.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon not long before you woke up. The neighborhood was peaceful, a stark contrast to the buzz of the city you were used to. It felt like time moved slower here, as if everyone respected the rhythm of each other's lives. The only sound came from the faint crunch of pavement beneath your Uggs, a small echo that followed you as you walked behind Jungkook toward the front door.

Jungkook reached the door first, the suitcases set down on each side of him as he pressed the doorbell. The sound of the melodic chime was faint but clear, cutting through the stillness of the night. You barely had a second to process it before the door swung open.

The first thing that hit you wasn't the warmth of the house or the inviting scent of cinnamon, pumpkin spice candles, or the faint pine from the Christmas tree you could see in the distance.

No, it was her.

The woman who opened the door was stunning. She stood there, framed by the doorway, dressed elegantly in a red blouse that complemented her bold, perfectly applied red lipstick. Her silky, dark hair fell in long waves around her shoulders, each strand catching the soft glow of the porch light. Her skin was radiant, practically glowing, free of any signs of age or stress — you just knew her husband didn’t stress her out.

"Ah, finally! I was wondering when you'd be here," she exclaims, her voice warm and inviting as she immediately pulls Jungkook into a hug.

"Hi, Ma," he chuckles softly, his tone affectionate and familiar.

She pulls back slightly, just enough to plant a kiss on his cheek, her smile widening as she takes a moment to admire her youngest son. Her eyes then shift to you, and her expression brightens even more. It's as if she already knows you, her warmth extending effortlessly as she steps forward and wraps you in a hug without hesitation.

You glance up at Jungkook over her shoulder, and he's already mouthing a quick, sheepish apology behind her back. Caught off guard, you freeze for a moment, but the comforting scent of her home wafting from her brings you ease. You lean into the hug, letting her warmth envelop you.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, finding your hands and holding them. “Oh, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” she says softly, saying your name in a tone that feels so sweet, so genuine, that it tugs at your chest. Her gaze is filled with awe, as if she’s seeing someone she’s already heard so much about, and the kindness in her eyes makes you smile despite yourself.

"It's nice to meet you, too," you chuckle softly, your voice warm and genuine. Her kindness is infectious, and you can't help but feel at ease. "Thank you for having me over," you add, meaning every word.

"Oh, of course!" she exclaims, her excitement bubbling over as she grabs your hands tighter. "I'm so glad you could make it. It's been far too long since I've seen this one with someone."

"Mom," Jungkook says, his tone edged with a mixture of embarrassment and impatience, ready for her to end her swooning.

"Alright, alright," she relents, though the affectionate smile on her face doesn't waver. Releasing your hands, she gestures toward the doorway with a gentle nudge at your shoulder.

"You two must be tired. Let's get you inside."

You step forward as she guides you in, the warmth of her gesture matching the atmosphere inside. Jungkook stays a step behind, standing at the side of the doorway to let you and his mom enter first.

The moment you step inside, the welcoming heat of the house envelops you, melting away the lingering cold that clings stubbornly to your layers of sweaters. With a quiet sigh of relief, you slip off your shoes, letting the warmth of the carpet floors guide you further in. Each step feels like an invitation, the comforting atmosphere drawing you deeper into its embrace.

The living room greets you with a cozy glow, the Christmas tree taking center stage. It's adorned with ornaments, from handmade crafts to glimmering baubles, all illuminated by warm string lights that cast soft reflections onto the nearby walls.

The kitchen's dim lighting spills softly into the space, complementing the golden ambiance. Picture frames hang on the walls, each one a memory.

Mrs. Jeon dismisses you both, urging you two to go upstairs and wind down before dinner. You and Jungkook hum in acknowledgment before he starts up the stairs, his hands gripping the handles of the luggage. You follow closely behind, your pace matching his slower one as he hauls the bags up. The steps creak softly beneath your weight, and your eyes wander to the walls, taking in the baby pictures framed and lined up with care.  

“You were such a cute kid,” you tease, a fond smile curling your lips. “What happened?”  

Jungkook glances back at you, feigning offense. “Don’t act like I’m ugly now.”  

“I didn’t say you were,” you reply sweetly, trailing just behind him.

“So, I’m not ugly?” Jungkook asks, setting his suitcase on the ground before turning the knob and pushing open the door to his bedroom.  

“That’s also not what I said,” you reply, a hint of amusement in your tone.  

He picks up his suitcase again, carrying it into the room and placing it neatly beside your pink one. “Kind of is,” he teases, his words drawn out as if savoring the moment. “Keep it up, and I might start thinking you have a crush on me.”  

“Ugh,” you groan dramatically, scrunching your nose. “You wish.”  

He chuckles, the sound light and carefree, as he strides over to his nightstand and flicks on the lamp.  

The warm glow washes over the room, casting a nostalgic ambiance. Your eyes sweep across his childhood bedroom, taking in the details. Posters of anime characters and superheroes still cling to the blue-painted walls, a testament to the boy he once was. Shelves crammed with trophies, medals, and action figures line one side of the room, proudly showcasing his accomplishments and hobbies. In the corner by the window sits a desk, cluttered yet organized, as if it had been left untouched since his teenage years. It’s clear Jungkook’s mom hadn’t touched his room all these years, preserving it like a time capsule of his youth.  

"I guess one of us is taking the floor," you remark, breaking the silence as you shut the door behind you.

Your eyes flick to the bed in the center of the room, the blue-and-white striped comforter tucked neatly over the mattress. It's spacious — easily big enough for two.

Jungkook turns toward you, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. "Yeah, I'll take the floor," he says, his tone light but certain, as if he's already resigned himself to the discomfort.

Despite all the teasing and playful banter you two always fall into, moments like this remind you of who Jungkook truly is: thoughtful, selfless, and entirely too earnest for his own good.  

“Are you sure?” you ask, your voice quieter now, tinged with hesitation.  

He nods firmly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.  

You return his smile, stepping closer to the bed and carefully placing your purse on the neatly made comforter. Sharing a bed with Jungkook wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world, but it still felt like a line — one you weren’t entirely sure either of you wanted to cross.

The brief tension in the room dissolves as Jungkook clears his throat, shifting the atmosphere back to something more neutral. He moves to unpack his suitcase, crouching to place it on the floor, his hands working through the neatly folded clothes inside. You lower yourself onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight.  

Grabbing your own suitcase, you busy yourself as well, the sound of zippers and rustling fabric filling the space. The simplicity of it feels grounding, a quiet prelude to the whirlwind you both know is coming.  

The rest of the evening unfolds seamlessly.

After unpacking, you and Jungkook join his parents for dinner, the warm glow of the dining room making everything feel cozy and intimate. The food is delicious — homemade and hearty — and the conversation flows easily. You find yourself genuinely enjoying their company, feeling more at home than you expected.  

After dinner, you help clear the table despite Jungkook’s insistence that you relax, and his mother beams at you in gratitude. By the time you and Jungkook finally head upstairs, your stomach is full, your cheeks are sore from smiling, and a comfortable warmth lingers in your chest.  

While Jungkook was in the bathroom, unwinding for the night, you stood in his bedroom, slipping into something more comfortable for sleep.

Reaching behind your neck, you unclasped the last of your accessories, your fingers brushing over the familiar chain. And that's when you felt it — the delicate metal snapping apart in your hands.

Your breath hitched as you stared down at the broken necklace, your heart sinking. The piece that had been passed down to you, the one that meant so much, now lay in two fragile halves in your palm.

“No!” you exclaim, your voice sharp and panicked.

Jungkook appears in the doorway within seconds, his brows furrowed with concern, his hair falling into his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asks, scanning the room as if preparing for the worst. 

“Oh, nothing, sorry,” you pout, holding up the broken chain in your hand, the delicate locket dangling from your fingertips. “My necklace just broke.” Your tone is softer now, but the frustration and sadness are evident. 

Jungkook steps closer, his expression softening as his eyes fall on the piece of jewelry. “Let me see,” he says, his voice calm and steady. 

You hand him the chain, its links split cleanly apart, and the locket, small and aged, but clearly well-loved. His fingers brush yours as he takes it, inspecting the damage with a gentle touch. 

“I’ll get you a new one,” he offers without hesitation, his voice firm with intent. 

You shake your head, though you can’t help but smile at his kindness. “Thanks, but it’s okay,” you say, your voice carrying a bittersweet note. “It was my grandma’s. She gave it to me before she passed.”  

His gaze shifts from the broken chain to your face, his expression softening further. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice low and apologetic. 

“Don’t be,” you reply quickly, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. It’s a feeble attempt to deflect, and you know it. So does Jungkook. He’s perceptive like that — always has been. But instead of pressing the matter, he lets it slide, his silence a quiet mercy.

You walk toward your toiletry bag sitting on the dresser, rummaging through it in search of your lotion. Behind you, Jungkook sneakily pockets the broken necklace without a word.

Without hesitation, he heads for the closet, his movements fluid and unhurried as he retrieves a couple of comforters, draping them over his arm.  

He drops the bundle onto the floor beside the bed and crouches down, carefully arranging his makeshift sleeping area. The soft rustle of fabric fills the room as he spreads one comforter out as a base, smoothing over the creases with practiced ease.  

“You really don’t have to do that,” you murmur, your voice gentle as you settle onto the bed, watching him.  

Jungkook glances up at you, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “It’s fine,” he replies, the simplicity of his words carrying an unspoken certainty.  

You observe him as he finishes setting up, his movements unbothered, almost second nature. When he finally stretches out on the floor, arms folded behind his head, he looks far too relaxed for someone who willingly chose the hardwood over the comfort of the bed.  

“Comfortable?” you ask, raising a brow, your tone laced with amusement.

“As comfortable as the floor can get,” he jokes, running a hand through his hair with an easy grin.  

You shake your head, chuckling softly, but the warmth spreading through your chest lingers — a quiet appreciation for his effort.  

The room settles into a comfortable silence, the muffled hum of the night pressing in through the walls. The faint scent of fresh linens mingles with the soft sweetness of your lotion, wrapping around you like a gentle cocoon. You tug the covers higher, the warmth seeping into your skin as your gaze drifts downward.  

Jungkook lies sprawled out on the makeshift bed, his face partially illuminated by the dim glow of the bedside lamp. The golden light casts soft shadows along the sharp angles of his jaw, highlighting the quiet ease in his features. There’s something unreadable in his expression, but the calmness about him is infectious, settling over you like a lull.  

“Mom told me she likes you a lot,” he says suddenly, his voice low and steady, breaking the stillness.

You blink, momentarily caught off guard by his words. “Oh, really?” you ask, aiming for a casual tone, though the slight waver in your voice betrays your curiosity.  

He nods, resting his head on one hand, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "Yeah," he murmurs, his voice soft yet laced with amusement. "She said I should treat you well… so I don’t lose a good thing."  

His words linger between you, unexpected yet undeniably warm. A surprised smile tugs at your lips as heat creeps up your neck, spreading faster than you’d like. You glance away, attempting to play it cool. "That’s really sweet of her," you say, keeping your tone light despite the flutter in your chest. "But how exactly are we going to break it to her that your beautiful, amazing, perfect girlfriend… isn’t actually your girlfriend?"  

Jungkook huffs a small, disbelieving laugh, his eyes narrowing slightly. “We’ll figure that out soon,” he says, voice low and certain. “For now… don’t worry about it.”

You wake up abruptly, blinking against the morning light streaming through the curtains. Your mind feels hazy, and you can’t quite piece together the moments before you fell asleep. Sitting up, you glance toward the floor, only to find Jungkook’s makeshift bed empty and disheveled.

Right on cue, the door creaks open, and in walks Jungkook. Your breath catches in your throat. His hair is damp, droplets clinging to the strands and dripping onto his broad shoulders. A towel hangs precariously low on his hips, barely covering enough. His tattooed arm, ink running from his shoulder down to his fingers, flexes as he pushes the door shut behind him. Your gaze betrays you, trailing down the contours of his chest, his toned abs glistening with water droplets, and further down to the deep V-line teasing just above the towel’s edge.

“You’re awake,” he says, his voice casual as if he isn’t standing there half-naked and looking like a walking thirst trap.

“You’re naked,” you mock.

He glances down at himself, running a hand lazily down his abs, a motion that only emphasizes his physique. “Nope, I’ve got a towel on.” His lips curl into a smirk as he meets your gaze. “Why? You tryna see more?”

“Jungkook!” you exclaim, heat rushing to your face as you yank the blanket over your head, effectively shielding yourself from the sight.

“I’m kidding!” he laughs, his voice rich with amusement, and you can practically hear the grin on his face.

After a moment of muffled indignation, you peek out from the safety of your blanket. Jungkook has turned to his dresser, his back muscles shifting and flexing with every movement as he searches for clothes. You hesitate, your gaze lingering longer than it should, admiring the way the morning light outlines the definition of his shoulders and back.  

“Are you done staring, or should I pose for a picture?” he teases without turning around, his voice laced with playful smugness.

You groan, throwing yourself back against the pillows. “Unbelievable.”  

He chuckles again, pulling out a sweater and jeans. “Relax. I’ll get dressed in the bathroom.” He tosses a wink over his shoulder before heading back out, leaving you alone to cool down your burning cheeks and racing heart.  

The room feels quieter once he’s gone, but his presence lingers in the charged air, heavy and undeniable. You throw the blanket off with a sigh, sitting up and running a hand through your hair, trying to push away the thoughts swirling in your mind. His teasing smirk, the droplets of water trailing down his skin, the way he stood there so casually — it was all too much.  

You stand abruptly, the need to escape the confined space overwhelming. The cool floor beneath your feet grounds you slightly as you make your way to the door. Heading downstairs feels like the only option, the only way to clear your head and put some distance between yourself and the overwhelming presence of Jungkook.  

The staircase creaks softly under your weight as you descend, the faint hum of morning activity filtering up from the kitchen. The smell of coffee drifts through the air, warm and inviting, a contrast to the storm of emotions brewing inside you.  

The open space of the living room feels like a relief, but the image of him lingers in your mind, unshakable. You take a deep breath, your steps slower now as you reach the kitchen, hoping the steady rhythm of the house will settle the tension knotting in your chest.  

But even as you move through the familiar space, you can’t help the way your thoughts betray you, replaying the moments upstairs. The sight of him, so effortless, so... distracting. You shake your head, trying to push it all away, determined to focus on anything else as the morning unfolds.

As you make your way to the kitchen, the sound of someone moving around greets you. Mrs. Jeon is already up, a warm smile on her face as she spots you. "Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"

You hesitate for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I did. Thank you."

Her smile widens, and she hands you a steaming mug of coffee. "Good. Jungkook's not giving you a hard time, is he?"

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "Not yet."

Oh, he definitely already was. But she didn’t need to know that.

She chuckles softly, the sound warm and familiar, as you take a sip of the coffee she brewed for you. You savor the drink, the warmth spreading through your chest, and just as you’re about to compliment her coffee making skills, Mrs. Jeon speaks first, her voice breaking the silence.  

"So, I assume you know who's coming over tonight?" she asks. Her gaze meets yours briefly, a knowing look flickering in her eyes.

The question catches you mid-sip, and you lower your mug slowly, nodding in quiet acknowledgment. You haven't fully unpacked the weight of what's to come tonight, but denying it feels pointless now.

Mrs. Jeon's expression softens, the corners of her lips curving into a kind, almost maternal smile. "I'm sorry, honey," she says, her tone gentle but sincere.

“No, there’s no need to apologize,” you reply, doing your best to sound steady, even as a flicker of unease gnaws at the edges of your composure. “It’s… really okay.”  

“Surely it isn’t,” she says softly. “If circumstances were different, I wouldn’t have put you in this situation in a heartbeat.”  

Her words hit you harder than you expect, stirring emotions you weren't prepared to confront. It's like a sudden weight pressing down on your chest, an ache that you can't quite place. You swallow hard, the once comforting warmth of your coffee now tasting bitter on your tongue.

"Thank you," you murmur, your voice soft and measured. Your gaze falls to your mug, fingers curling tighter around it, as though its warmth might quiet the unease swirling in your chest. After a pause, you add, "I really appreciate it, but as long as Jungkook’s okay, I’ll be okay."

Mrs. Jeon hums, the sound warm and heartfelt, a quiet acknowledgment of your sincerity. “You’re a good one,” she says, breaking the silence. “Jungkook’s been through a lot over the years. Seeing him happy like this... it makes me happy, too. So, thank you — for being there for him.”

The words strike a chord, and you feel a sudden, sharp pang of guilt twist in your stomach. You glance up at her, her kind eyes meeting yours, and it takes everything in you to keep your composure. She believes you’re the reason for Jungkook’s happiness, that your relationship with him is real, and the weight of that misunderstanding feels heavier than ever.

“It’s nothing, really,” you say, though your voice wavers ever so slightly. “I care about him a lot and he’s always been there for me, too.”  

She offers a genuine smile, her expression warm and inviting, but before she can say anything more, the soft creak of footsteps descending the stairs catches both your attention. You glance toward the staircase just as Jungkook comes into view, his presence commanding.  

He’s dressed casually yet somehow manages to look effortlessly put together in a beige knitted cardigan layered over a plain white tee, paired with light-washed baggy jeans that hang perfectly on his frame. His hair, still damp from his recent shower, clings to his forehead in soft strands.

The morning light streaming through the windows catches the subtle sheen of water in his hair, making him look... warm, almost domestic in a way that feels oddly intimate. He steps forward, sock-covered feet brushing against the floor, and suddenly, it feels like the air in the room has shifted.

"Speaking of the devil," Mrs. Jeon teases, her playful smile accompanied by a raised eyebrow in your direction.

You let out a soft giggle, as you lift the mug to your lips. The warmth of the coffee spreads through you, rich and comforting, a small distraction from the nervous flutter in your chest. It's delicious, just like everything else she's prepared since you arrived, a subtle testament to her care and hospitality.

"Oh, talking about me already?" Jungkook's voice pulls your attention as he strolls into the kitchen.

"Only the good things," Mrs. Jeon replies warmly, turning to grab a mug from the cabinet. She reaches for the coffee pot and fills the mug, steam curling into the air. "Good morning, sweetheart."

"Morning, Ma," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly from sleep.

Then, without warning, Jungkook steps closer, wrapping his arm casually around your shoulders. Before you can react, he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek, the soft warmth of his lips lingering far longer in your mind than on your skin.

If Mrs. Jeon weren't standing right there, you would've shoved him away playfully. Instead, you do the only thing you can — lean into the moment, letting the weight of his arm anchor you in this charade.

Mrs. Jeon's smile doesn't falter as she watches the two of you, her gaze warm and affectionate. She hands the coffee to Jungkook, who mutters a soft thank you before taking a sip, his arm still comfortably draped around your shoulders.

He’s good at this — too good. The way his smile comes so effortlessly, the way his body instinctively leans into yours as though it’s second nature, makes it almost impossible to remember that this is all just an act, a carefully crafted part of the plan.  

You thought this would be easy. After all, Jungkook had always been just Jungkook to you — a friend, a constant presence, someone familiar and safe. But now, with the memory of his bare torso lingering stubbornly in your mind, your cheeks flush at the worst moments, and your thighs press together involuntarily when the thought sneaks back in.  

Mrs. Jeon moves gracefully around the kitchen, her voice warm and full of life as she talks about plans for the day. You nod and hum in agreement, but your mind is far away. Guilt churns like a storm in your chest, heavy and unrelenting, rising anew every time Mrs. Jeon sends a kind, approving smile your way.  

When she looks at you, it’s with such pride, as though she’s thrilled her son has found someone like you. And for a fleeting second, you almost wish it were true. You wish you could live up to the image of the person she clearly thinks you are. But you’re not. You’re just playing a part in a story she doesn’t know is fake.  

Jungkook’s hand rests casually on the back of your chair, his fingers brushing against your shoulder lightly, as if to remind you that he’s there. The touch should be comforting — it is comforting — but it also sets your nerves on fire. The warmth of him, so close, so steady, only makes the tightness in your chest worse.

The room is suffocating despite its cozy charm. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling breakfast mingles in the air, but it’s not enough to drown out the heaviness in your heart. Still, you press forward, past the discomfort and the guilt. If nothing else, you remind yourself, you’re doing this for him.

What was once a quiet, serene home now buzzes with warmth, laughter, and conversation. The lively energy catches you off guard, and before you can fully take it in, a high-pitched voice squeals through the air.

"Kookie!"

Your attention snaps to the source just as Jungkook's face lights up, his entire demeanor shifting into something softer, more playful.

"Jihyun!" he calls back, crouching slightly and stretching his arms wide open in anticipation.

A little girl, no older than four, comes bounding into view. She's dressed in an adorable red blouse and a denim skirt, her two space buns bouncing as she sprints toward him. Without hesitation, she flings herself into his waiting arms, colliding with him in a way that makes him stumble back a step with a playful groan.

He lifts her effortlessly, holding her securely against him as she giggles wildly. "I missed you so much," he murmurs into her shoulder, his voice tender and full of adoration.

"Me too!" she replies, her small arms wrapping tightly around his neck. The pure joy in her voice makes your chest ache in the sweetest way.

You can't help but smile as you watch the interaction, warmth blooming in your chest at the sight of Jungkook so effortlessly in his element. The way he holds her, talks to her, and grins from ear to ear — it's a side of him you don't get to see often, and it's undeniably endearing.

She pulls back slightly, her tiny hands still gripping Jungkook's shoulders as she admires his face with a bright smile. You can't help but admire her in return — her big, glossy boba eyes are so reminiscent of Jungkook's that it makes your heart squeeze. She's adorable, with a lively sparkle in her gaze and a face that's impossible not to love.

Jungkook glances at you, catching your gaze as he tilts his head slightly, silently beckoning you closer. You step forward, your hand naturally resting on his bicep as you meet his gentle smile.

"Nini, say hi," Jungkook coaxes softly, bouncing her in his arms just enough to make her giggle.

The little girl turns her attention to you, her eyes wide and curious as they meet yours. For a moment, you're captivated by the way they seem to shine, full of wonder and mischief.

You give her a warm smile and a small wave. “Hi," you say softly, your tone as gentle as the moment feels.

Her lips curl into a shy grin, her eyes crinkling at the edges as she mimics your wave and chirps, "Hi." Her voice is small and sweet, and you feel your heart melt instantly.

"This is my Nini," Jungkook says, his tone affectionate as he presses a kiss to the top of her head. He then introduces you by name, emphasizing it just enough for her to catch on.

She tilts her head slightly, testing the sound of your name on her lips. Her tiny voice repeats it, and the way she says it with a soft lilt makes you smile even wider.

"Good job," you say gently, your voice full of encouragement. "You said it perfectly."

She beams at the praise, her little giggle filling the space as she snuggles into Jungkook's chest. He scrunches his nose, fingers lightly tickling her sides, drawing more laughter from her tiny frame. The sight is endearing — so much so that it disarms you completely. This isn't the Jungkook you're used to seeing. It's a domestic, almost paternal side of him that pulls at something deep within you, leaving your thoughts to wander places they shouldn't.

You know better, but your mind betrays you. There's something about the way he holds her so effortlessly, the way his smile reaches his eyes, that stirs a warmth low in your tummy. Whatever the reason, the thought of Jungkook as a father, with kids of his own — and worse, the intrusive idea of them being your kids — leaves your face getting all hot.

Still, the thought lingers in the back of your mind, unwanted and insistent. You try to focus on anything else — the hum of conversation in the other room, the clinking of plates — but all you can see is the way Jungkook glances down at her, his love for her so visible it practically glows.

"What's up, bro!" a man exclaims, striding up to Jungkook with an easy grin, pulling him into a tight hug. Jihyun squeals, sandwiched between the two of them.

"Hey," Jungkook greets, patting the man's back with a grin of his own.  

The man’s focus shifts to you, his demeanor softening into something more formal but equally welcoming. His eyes light up with a polite curiosity, and he steps forward, extending a hand. "Hi, I’m Junghyun, Jungkook’s brother."  

You take his hand, matching his smile with one of your own as you introduce yourself. His handshake is firm yet warm, the kind that immediately puts you at ease. There’s a quiet confidence in his manner, one that seems to run in the family.  

“It’s really nice to meet you,” he says, his smile lingering as if he’s sizing you up in the most good-natured way possible.  

“Likewise,” you reply, your voice steady, though there’s a faint flutter of nerves in your chest — meeting Jungkook’s family feels like crossing an invisible threshold.  

Jihyun squirms free from Jungkook's arms, her little body wriggling with determination until she finally escapes his grasp. The moment her feet hit the floor, she reaches for you, her tiny fingers slipping into yours. She tugs at your hand — gently at first, then more insistently — as if she has something very important to show you in the living room.

"Thief!" Jungkook calls after her, feigning offense.

Jihyun only giggles, her mischievous little laugh filling the room like music. She glances back at him with a playful grin before tightening her grip on you and pulling you forward, eager and excited.

She leads you to a cozy spot on the carpet where a toy tea set is laid out, its bright colors inviting. She sits, pointing to the space across from her. As you settle down, your gaze flickers to the woman seated near you. She cradles a baby in her arms, her beauty striking but softened by the warm smile she sends your way.  

“Would you like some tea?” Jihyun asks, her voice carrying the kind of serious charm only a child could muster. She holds up the tiny porcelain teapot with both hands, her expression adorably earnest.  

You play along, grabbing the delicate toy teacup and its matching saucer, holding them forward. “Why yes, I would love some,” you reply, your tone as playful as hers.  

Jihyun’s giggle is pure delight as she mimics pouring tea, her little hands moving with exaggerated precision. You both lift your cups and take pretend sips, the air between you filled with laughter and the sweetness of a make-believe moment.  

The woman beside you watches the scene unfold with a soft chuckle, her baby gurgling quietly in her arms, adding its own tiny contribution to the cheerful atmosphere.

“You’re really great with kids,” she says, her tone sincere and appreciative.  

You glance over, returning her smile with one of your own. “Thank you. I’ve had my fair share of babysitting over the years.” Your gaze flicks to Jihyun, who’s now meticulously arranging plastic pastries on the carpet. “She’s absolutely adorable.”  

“She is,” the woman agrees, a soft laugh escaping her. “Though she can definitely be a handful when she wants to be. But she gets away with it because she’s cute.”  

You chuckle at her playful tone, shifting your gaze to the little one nestled in her arms. “And what about this one?” you ask, nodding toward the baby.  

“Much calmer,” she replies, glancing down at the tiny bundle in her arms with obvious affection. “At least for now. Ask me again when he starts walking — then I might have a different answer.”  

You chuckle, the warmth of the moment settling around you like a cozy blanket. Your gaze drifts to Jihyun, who carefully lifts her teacup to her teddy bear's snout, her tiny hands steady with concentration. The sight tugs at your heart, a soft smile playing on your lips.

"I'm Yeona, Junghyun's wife," the woman says warmly, her smile reaching her eyes as she shifts the baby slightly in her arms.

You return her smile, introducing yourself as Jungkook's girlfriend. The words feel foreign on your tongue, but not entirely unnatural.

"I've known Jungkook since he was a teenager, and I haven't seen him with someone in a long time. I know you're probably tired of hearing this by now, but we're genuinely so happy to have you here."

You tilt your head slightly, a soft warmth spreading through your chest at her sincerity. "Thank you, I'm happy to be here," you reply, your voice gentle but genuine.

The baby in her arms suddenly coos, little arms flailing as his tiny face scrunches up with curiosity. Yeona glances down at him and then back at you. "Do you wanna hold him?"

You blink in surprise. "If it's alright?"

"Of course!" she says, carefully moving to hand him over.

You extend your arms, palms open, as she passes the baby to you. His tiny weight settles against you, warm and soft. He doesn't cry or fuss, his wide, innocent eyes locking onto yours. Instead, he lets out another coo, his small hands curling in the air as if reaching for something unseen.

“Do you want kids?” Yeona asks, her tone casual but curious.  

The question catches you off guard with its directness, especially since you’ve only just met her. Yet, there’s no malice or prying in her voice — just genuine curiosity. It’s a question you realize no one has ever bothered to ask you before. Oddly enough, you appreciate her candor.  

“I do,” you admit, your voice soft but certain.  

“Good,” she replies with a knowing smile. “Because I know he does too.”  

Before you can form a response — before you can explain that you and Jungkook aren’t quite what she thinks you are — Yeona rises gracefully from her spot on the carpet, heading toward the kitchen.  

You exhale, a mix of emotions swirling in your chest. That’s when you feel it: a familiar warmth pressing against your back, a weight that immediately grounds you. A chin rests lightly on your shoulder, and a hand — adorned with tattoos you’d recognize anywhere — reaches forward to gently touch the baby’s nose.  

Just then, the baby in your arms fusses, his tiny hands swatting at Jungkook’s fingers as if to protest the playful intrusion. Jungkook chuckles softly, his breath warm against your ear. You glance back at him, a playful glare in your eyes.  

“Stop it,” you whisper with mock sternness, shifting the baby slightly to soothe him. But Jungkook only grins, clearly enjoying the little moment.  

The thought of leaving this — leaving them — in a few months presses heavy on your chest. This family dynamic, this love and connection, feels so genuine. And yet, deep down, you know your place here isn’t meant to last.

But the warmth of Jungkook’s presence, the ease of the laughter surrounding you, makes it harder to remember that this is all an act. A role you’re playing, despite how genuine it feels. Despite how often they tell you how happy they are to have you here.

The sun goes down, and the Christmas lights strung all around the house cast a soft, warm glow that dances across the walls. Their gentle twinkle feels almost magical, a comforting contrast to the slight edge of tension creeping into the evening. The dinner hour is drawing near, and with it, Misa’s arrival looms closer.  

But despite the weight of anticipation in the air, Jungkook feels a surprising calmness wash over him — much calmer than he had been just days before. Maybe it’s his niece laughing her lungs away, a sweet distraction that tugs his focus away from the knot of worry in his chest. Or maybe it’s watching you, seamlessly blending into his family like you’ve belonged here all along. The sight of you laughing with his sister-in-law in the kitchen stirs something in him he hasn’t felt in a while — something warm, soft, and a little dizzying.  

His gaze follows you as you make your way toward him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. You settle onto the couch next to him, your closeness becomes all too apparent. Your knees are bent, legs resting lightly on his thigh. His arm stretches out along the back of the couch, hovering just behind your shoulders.  

The space between you is minimal — comfortable in a way that feels almost... intimate. It’s the kind of closeness that real couples share, a moment so effortlessly tender it catches him off guard.  

But he isn’t uncomfortable. Far from it. There’s a quiet ease in how natural this feels, and for a moment, he lets himself savor it. This — whatever this is — doesn’t feel like an act at all.

“Warming up quickly, aren’t you?” Jungkook teases, his big, round eyes glinting with amusement, the soft glow of the lights catching on his lip piercings.  

“Well, I’m considered family here, so I kind of have to,” you joke, giggling softly at the way his eyes widen in mock surprise. “No, but seriously,” you continue, your voice lighter now, “everyone is very nice and welcoming.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it here,” he says, his tone softer, sincerity threading through the words.  

“Me too,” you reply with a gentle smile, a warmth blooming in your chest that you try not to overthink.

Your gaze drops to Jihyun, who is engrossed in her dolls on the living room floor. Toys are scattered all around her, but she's focused on the one in her hand, turning it this way and that. You can't help but smile softly, your attention anchored to her every movement.

Jungkook doesn't look away. His eyes remain on you, not the child or the cluttered mess around her, but you. He watches the way your expression softens, the way a small, unspoken tenderness lights up your features as you watch Jihyun.

And for him, that's all there is. The conversations buzzing faintly in the kitchen, the faint tick of the clock on the wall, even the weight of the evening ahead — it all fades away.

But then your focus shifted. Your gaze lifted from Jihyun to the new arrivals at the door, and instinctively, his followed.  

And there she was.  

Misa.  

Her hair is different now. Gone is the bold cherry red that once defined her vibrant, carefree spirit, the color she wore like a crown in high school. Instead, her hair is sleek and black, the deep shade a striking contrast to the one he remembered so well. It gives her an air of elegance, of maturity, but there’s still something undeniably familiar about her — the subtle tilt of her head, the curve of her lips when she smiles.

She looks older, more refined, yet still unmistakably herself, as if time had simply smoothed out the edges of the girl he once knew so intimately. It’s like flipping through the pages of an old, beloved book, only to find that some of the words have changed. There’s nostalgia, yes, but also an overwhelming sense of uncertainty that settles in his chest, heavy and persistent.

That smile. The same one he loved for years. Those eyes, the ones that once held his world in their gaze. Her politeness, her grace — they’re all still there, but it’s as though everything else is different now. The way she moves, the way she carries herself. It’s familiar, yes, but also strangely foreign, like he’s looking at someone he used to know but hasn’t seen in far too long.

It confuses him. He should be excited. But he’s not. Because this isn’t the Misa he remembers. This is someone else entirely — someone he doesn’t know how to reach.

When she approaches, he stands from the couch, his hand instinctively reaching for yours. You take it, the gesture both reassuring and strange, and stand beside him as she makes her way toward them.

"Hi," she says, her voice soft, but with that unmistakable warmth he’s always known.

It’s a simple greeting, but it hits him like a wave. For a moment, he freezes. The words don’t come as easily as they once did. She’s standing there in front of him, and yet, it feels as if there’s an entire ocean between them.

"Hi," he responds, his voice a little breathless, as if his mind has been running a marathon trying to find the right words to say.

“It’s been a while,” she says, her smile warm, genuine.

He chuckles awkwardly, the sound forced but heartfelt. "It has. How’ve you been?"

“I’m doing good,” she replies, nodding slightly, her expression soft but sincere. There's a certain calmness about her now, an ease that shows in her eyes, and it hits him all at once — she’s doing well. Without him. Without ever needing him. "And you?"

He nods, but the smile doesn’t come. It’s a stiff, practiced motion, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Me too."

Her smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a flicker of something in her gaze, something he can’t quite place. It’s fleeting, gone before he can analyze it. Her attention shifts to you then, and for the briefest of moments, he’s left to stand there, caught between the past and the present, unsure of which direction to take.

"Hi, I’m Misa," she says, her tone warmer now as she extends a hand towards you.

You take her hand with your free one, your smile genuine but soft, offering your name as you introduce yourself. Misa’s grip is firm but warm, and she smiles, the edges of her eyes crinkling in a way that reminds you of someone who’s seen the world and learned how to navigate it with grace.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she says sincerely, her voice calm but warm, like a gentle breeze that carries a subtle weight.

“You too,” you smile, matching her warmth.

You take a moment to observe Misa as she stands before you, and it’s hard not to admit she’s undeniably beautiful. The way her features seem to fall into place so effortlessly, how her smile is radiant but reserved, just enough to pull you in without revealing everything. It’s easy to see why Jungkook was so captivated by her in the past.

Now, seeing her in person, it’s like the last piece of the puzzle has fallen into place. The woman behind the stories, behind the name that always seemed to linger in his conversations, now standing right in front of you.

It’s almost surreal, meeting her. There’s a strange satisfaction in finally putting a face to the name that you’ve heard so much about. The realization settles over you like a quiet understanding. She’s beautiful, yes, but there’s something else too — a softness, a strength, an elegance that feels like it has been built over years of lived experience.

“Well, I won’t keep you two,” she says with a smile, her voice warm but carrying a certain finality. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” you and Jungkook reply in unison, the words almost automatic, yet carrying their own weight as she turns to greet the others. Her presence lingers in the air, the faint scent of her perfume still hanging in the space where she stood.

Jungkook’s eyes follow Misa as she greets the others with that same effortless charm. But it’s different now. The girl he once knew, the one who filled his thoughts with reckless dreams and laughter, isn’t here anymore. The girl in front of him is someone else — someone more polished, more refined, and maybe a little bit distant. 

He feels it, that ache in his chest, a tug of something he can’t quite name. It’s like he’s mourning the loss of someone, of a version of Misa that only existed in the past. The way she used to laugh, how she would look at him with eyes full of mischief and warmth. That’s the girl he remembers, the one he never thought he’d lose touch with.

But now, the girl who used to be his best friend, the one he could confide in, is standing just a few feet away from him, and he doesn’t know her anymore. Not really. The way she’s carrying herself, the way her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes when she looks at him — he’s lost that closeness, that ease they once shared. It’s like she's become a stranger wrapped in familiarity.

And it hurts more than he thought it would. He feels it deep in his bones, this shift, this subtle but undeniable change. He thought he was ready for this moment, ready to see her again. But nothing prepares you for the feeling of watching someone you once knew inside and out transform into someone unrecognizable.

Jungkook’s grip on your hand tightens involuntarily, his eyes following Misa as she moves through the room, laughing with the others, her attention elsewhere. His chest feels tight, and the weight of the years spent apart suddenly hits him like a wave. He’s standing here, surrounded by people, but it’s like he’s alone in his own thoughts, trapped in the past he can’t quite shake off.

“You okay?” he hears your voice, soft and gentle. You’re looking at him with concern, and for a moment, it feels like you’re the only thing grounding him in the present.

He swallows, trying to push the tightness in his chest away, but it lingers. “Yeah, just…” He trails off, not sure how to explain it. How do you tell someone that seeing her again feels like losing her all over again? That the version of Misa he’s been holding onto for all these years is gone, and he doesn’t know how to navigate the space between them anymore?

“Just feels… different,” he admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as though saying the words out loud will make them too real. And maybe they already are.

The house grows livelier, the comforting scent of homemade food filling every corner.

Mrs. Jeon and Misa’s mom work side by side in the kitchen, their movements fluid and practiced. They bustle around, chopping, stirring, and laughing at the small jokes they share, not letting anyone near their territory. You, eager to lend a hand, tried multiple times to help, but Mrs. Jeon shooed you away with a gentle but firm hand, her eyes twinkling as she insisted you relax and enjoy yourself. 

Meanwhile, Jungkook, his brother, and their father are deep in conversation. Their voices rise and fall in a rhythm that feels so familiar, punctuated by bursts of laughter that echo through the house. Their father’s laughter is loud and boisterous, full of life, as he catches up with his grown sons — talking about everything from their childhood to what they’d been up to since the last time they’d all been together. It’s a rare moment, one that makes the room feel warm and full of love.

You, in contrast, are seated on the floor, a small toy in one hand as you help Jihyun build an impressive block tower. The little one giggles each time you manage to stack another piece, her tiny hands eager to mimic your movements.

Yeona and Misa sit across the room, talking softly between themselves, their conversation a quiet hum against the liveliness of the house. It’s clear they’re speaking about things you don’t fully understand — topics that feel far more mature than anything you’d normally discuss.

They carry themselves with a kind of quiet confidence, a level of poise you’ve always associated with people who’ve been through more than their fair share of life’s ups and downs. There’s a grace to how they both interact, almost as if they’ve mastered this whole adult thing without breaking a sweat.

You can’t help but feel a little out of place. There’s a maturity about them that you can’t quite match, one that makes you feel like you’re not quite there yet — like you’re still fumbling through things they’ve long since figured out. Their conversation, so natural and poised, makes you wonder how much you have yet to experience, how much you still have to learn before you can carry yourself with the same ease.

It’s not that you think they’re better, but there’s something undeniably different about how they present themselves. You wonder if you’ll ever feel as sure of yourself, as poised as they seem to be, or if you’re just going to keep stumbling along, trying to keep up.

"Auntie," Jihyun calls out, her small voice cutting through the noise in the room. You snap your head around, eyes wide, trying to process what you just heard. Did she really just call you that? The word lingers in the air like it doesn’t belong to you, like it's some unfamiliar title you’re not quite sure you deserve.

You stare at her for a moment, trying to make sense of it. Her innocent gaze is fixed on you, her small hand outstretched in an inviting gesture, as though it’s perfectly natural for her to call you that. She tilts her head slightly, her brown eyes full of trust, as she says it again, "Come with me."

A flicker of surprise crosses your face, but there's a warmth growing in your chest that you can’t ignore. Jihyun’s eager smile tugs at your heartstrings, the innocent way she looks at you, as if you’re exactly who she wanted.

You blink a few times, shaking off the surprise, and let a soft smile slip onto your lips. “Did you just call me Auntie?” you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

She nods enthusiastically, oblivious to the impact of the word, her small face lighting up with joy. “Yes! Come with me, Auntie.”

For a moment, you just stand there, processing her innocent certainty. It’s unexpected, yet there’s something so pure about it. You can’t help but feel a twinge of warmth spreading through you, a connection forming in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Maybe it’s the way she looks at you, or how she’s trusting you in this simple, childlike way.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips. You glance around the room, half-expecting someone to laugh or correct her, but when nothing comes, you realize that, for Jihyun, this just makes sense. 

With a fond smile, you step forward, your heart lighter. “Okay,” you say, taking her small hand in yours, letting her lead you to whatever adventure she has planned.

Her tiny hands wrap around a few of your fingers, tugging you along with her insistent little grip. You let her lead, smiling softly at her enthusiasm as she weaves through the crowd in the living room and drags you toward the kitchen. When you reach the archway that frames the transition between the two spaces, she halts abruptly, turning to you with wide, innocent eyes.

"Stay here," she commands with all the authority a child her size can muster before darting off again.

Confused but amused, you lean against the archway, watching her scurry away. Moments later, she reappears, this time with Jungkook. He's laughing softly, his brow furrowed as he follows her like he doesn't have a choice.

"Nini, what are you doing?" he asks, his voice tinged with playful exasperation.

She doesn't answer, not until she's positioned him squarely in front of you. Then, she takes a step back, clapping her little hands together as though presenting her masterpiece.

"Mistletoe!" she exclaims triumphantly, pointing above you.

Your jaw drops, eyes immediately darting upward. Sure enough, hanging from the archway is a small sprig of mistletoe, placed there at some point in the evening's festivities.

Jungkook chuckles, his laughter low and rumbling. "You sneaky little-" He reaches out to grab her, but she squeals and darts away, her giggles echoing through the house. She runs straight to her grandfather, climbing onto his lap.

Jungkook's dad grins, his hand resting protectively on her head as she peeks out. "It's tradition, guys," he says with a laugh, his tone light and teasing.

"Come on, this isn't appropriate," Jungkook protests, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears are slightly pink, though he keeps his composure.

"Since when were you so shy?" Junghyun teases, his tone light and playful as he watches the scene unfold. There's a mischievous glint in his eyes, clearly amused by his daughter's antics and Jungkook's uncharacteristic hesitation.

"Hyung," Jungkook mutters, his jaw tightening as he throws his brother a sharp look. But it only fuels Junghyun's grin.

"She's just trying to spread some Christmas spirit," Junghyun continues, feigning innocence but failing to hide his amusement.

Jungkook is respecting your boundary, you know he is. He remembers what you said — no kissing.

But standing here, with his eyes flickering to yours, the laughter of his family around you, and the weight of his presence so close, the rule you set suddenly feels... unnecessary.

Your gaze drops to his lips, just for a second, and you realize the thought doesn't terrify you like it did before. Kissing him wouldn't be bad. In fact, it feels like the only thing that would make sense in this moment.

Jungkook clears his throat, his voice quieter when he speaks. "We don't have to-"

But before he can finish, you take a step closer, your arms instinctively finding their way around his neck. His words falter, replaced by a breath caught in his throat, as your lips press softly against his.

The living room erupts instantly — dramatic whoops and cheers filling the air. Jihyun squeals in delight, clapping her hands as if she's just orchestrated the most important moment of the year. Her giggles echo above the noise, the proud little culprit reveling in her success.

Jungkook freezes for the briefest of moments, his body tensing under your touch, as if unsure whether to let himself lean into this. But then, slowly, he softens, melting into the kiss. His lips are soft, warmer than you expected, and there's a gentle hesitance in the way he responds — like he's carefully toeing the line, wary of your boundaries but still allowing himself to savor the moment.

The world seems to narrow to just the two of you, the noise of the room fading into a distant hum. His hand slides to your waist, a light but steady anchor, as if he's holding himself back just a little.

You're the first to pull away, a sudden awareness creeping in as the cheers and playful jeers of the room remind you just how many people witnessed that moment. A kiss like that, even if innocent enough, feels a little too bold in front of his entire family. No one really wants to see their son or brother making out with their significant other.

Jungkook looks at you, his lips pink and slightly swollen, cheeks flushed with heat, and his dark eyes still locked on you like you'd just turned his entire world upside down. The intensity of his gaze sends a wave of warmth through you, but you brush it off with a soft laugh, breaking the tension as you glance toward Jihyun.

"You're a little drama starter, aren't you?" you tease, scrunching your nose playfully at her.

Jihyun, as proud of herself as ever, lets out a delighted squeal and climbs off her grandfather's lap, running away from you before you can reach her. You laugh, chasing after her for a moment, her giggles filling the room as she darts behind her dad for safety.

Jungkook stays where he is, still rooted in place, dazed and a little shell-shocked. He watches as you effortlessly transition from teasing his niece to chatting easily with his family, your warmth radiating in a way that fills the room. You blend in so naturally, as though you've been a part of his world forever.

And that's when it hits him — how easily you've warmed up to everyone, how seamlessly you've become a part of his family's dynamic. He can't help the soft smile tugging at his lips as he watches you, his heart full but uneasy, knowing moments like these are only temporary.

Then his eyes flicker to the reason why you're here. Misa sits quietly on the couch, her posture relaxed as she watches the scene unfold with a faint smile on her lips. Her gaze follows you as you playfully chase after Jihyun, your laughter filling the room. The sight of you, so at ease, so vibrant, draws everyone's attention — even hers.

For a moment, Jungkook feels a twinge of something familiar, something that once drove him to the edges of heartbreak. Seeing Misa here, so poised and serene, was supposed to reignite the ache, the longing for what he once had.

But it doesn’t. And he’s beginning to realize why.

The rest of the night flowed smoothly, a seamless blend of good food, warm laughter, and light-hearted conversations that filled the Jeon household.

Dinner was amazing, every dish perfectly cooked thanks to Mrs. Jeon and Misa’s mom. You sat next to Jungkook at the table, his arm brushing against yours occasionally, a quiet reassurance of his presence. Jihyun had insisted on sitting on your other side, her boundless energy keeping you entertained throughout the meal as she chattered away about everything and nothing.  

But like all good things, the evening eventually wound down. Plates were cleared, leftovers were packed, and the gentle hum of conversation turned into goodbyes. Tomorrow, you and Jungkook would be leaving, heading back to your lives where the pretense of being a couple wouldn’t follow.  

You crouched down to hug Jihyun for as long as you could, her small arms clutching you tightly. The thought of this being the only family event you’d attend, knowing you wouldn’t see her anymore, stung in a way you hadn’t anticipated. She burrowed into your embrace, her sleepy form warm and soft against you.  

Her dad gently took her from your arms, whispering for her to give you one last goodbye. Jihyun’s tiny voice murmured a goodbye before she rested her head on her father’s shoulder, her eyes already fluttering shut.  

You watched as their car pulled out of the driveway, the taillights fading into the darkness. A frown crept onto your face as a quiet sigh escaped your lips. Jungkook’s hand moved to your back, his touch steady and comforting, rubbing slow circles to ease the weight of your thoughts.  

A familiar voice broke the moment. “It was nice meeting you again, truly,” Misa said, stepping closer.  

You turned to her, offering a polite smile. “You too.”  

Her gaze shifted to Jungkook, a subtle hesitation flickering in her expression before she spoke. “Can I talk to you for a second?”  

Jungkook’s eyes immediately darted to you, as if seeking your approval or reassurance.  

“Take him,” you said lightly, flashing a small smile in Misa’s direction before meeting his gaze. “I’ll be upstairs.”  

As you disappeared into the house, the door clicked shut behind you, leaving Jungkook and Misa alone on the porch.  

The silence between them stretched uncomfortably, broken only by the rhythmic chirping of crickets. Jungkook shoved his hands into his coat pockets, his breath clouding in the chilly night air. Across from him, Misa crossed her arms, pulling her coat tighter around herself in a futile attempt to ward off the cold.  

“I knew this would be awkward, but I feel like… I owe you a conversation. After everything,” Misa starts, her voice tentative, as if she’s unsure whether she’s even allowed to say this.

Jungkook lets out a humorless laugh, his breath fogging in the cold air. “You didn’t think to do this… oh, I don’t know – nine years ago?”  

His tone is laced with sarcasm, but the hurt cuts through it unmistakably. Misa flinches at his words, and for a fleeting moment, guilt flashes across her face, making her look smaller than she usually does.  

“I loved you, Jungkook…” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “But we were so young. It was bound to happen.”  

“No, it wouldn’t have!” Jungkook snaps, his frustration bubbling over. “If you really loved me, you would’ve made it work!”  

Misa’s eyes glisten under the porch light, and her voice trembles as she responds, “You think I wanted to leave you? I couldn’t stop crying for years, Jungkook! But I was seventeen, and I was terrified! Walking away was the best thing for both of us!”  

“It destroyed me, Misa!” he fires back, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “You didn’t do what was best for us. You were just selfish.”  

“Selfish?” she retorts, her voice rising as she takes a step closer. “Jungkook… we were kids! We lived miles apart. How would that have worked? You think it was easy for me to make that choice? It wasn’t ideal for me either, but it was what would’ve made the most sense.”  

Jungkook shakes his head, his hands balled into fists in his pockets. He lowers his gaze to his shoes, his voice softening into a near whisper. “We could’ve made it work…”  

“I’m sorry,” Misa says, her tone laden with sincerity. “I really am.”  

For a moment, silence falls between them, the kind that feels both heavy and oddly freeing. Jungkook finally lifts his eyes to meet hers, searching her face for something he isn’t sure he’ll find.  

“Are you happy?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.  

Misa's lips curve into a small smile, one tinged with both pride and nostalgia. "I am. I recently finished my last year of med school," she says, her voice soft but steady. "It was... tough, but I did it." She pauses, as if letting herself truly feel the weight of her accomplishment before adding, "And... I'm engaged now, so yeah, I am really happy."

Jungkook smiles — a genuine, heartfelt smile that reaches his eyes, yet beneath it lingers something else, something quieter. A twinge of jealousy, not because he believes it should have been him, but because she has moved on while he remains tethered to the past. But despite it all, he is truly happy for her.

"That's amazing," he says, his voice genuine, though slightly hushed. "I'm... I'm proud of you."

“Thank you,” she says, her tone soft. “How about you?”  

His mind races through everything he’s endured since Misa left — the heartbreak, the years of questioning, and now, the realization that he’s no longer the person who once pined for her. “I don’t know…” he finally mutters, his voice distant.  

Misa tilts her head slightly, studying him. “Is she not making you happy?” she asks softly, referring to you.  

There’s no point in lying anymore.

His response is immediate, but it comes with a shake of his head. “We aren’t together.”  

Misa’s eyebrows raise in genuine surprise. “Really?” She crosses her arms, the disbelief clear in her voice. “Could’ve fooled me.”  

Jungkook exhales sharply, almost laughing at the absurdity of the situation. "I brought her here because I knew you would be here."

The weight of his confession lingers in the cold night air, his words a reluctant admission of vulnerability. Misa tilts her head slightly, her expression softening as the meaning behind his actions clicks into place.

"Well," she says, pulling her hand from her coat pocket with a subtle flourish, revealing the diamond ring on her finger, "I hate to break it to you, but it didn't work."

Jungkook chuckles under his breath, shaking his head at himself, at the situation, at how ridiculous it all feels now. Misa laughs with him, the tension breaking like the first crack of sunlight after a long storm.  

“She did warn me. I guess I should’ve known better,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.  

“Yeah, probably,” she teases lightly, her smile softening as she looks at him. “But hey… at least you tried.”  

Jungkook nods slowly, his gaze lingering on the door as a faint smile graces his lips. “Yeah… being with her didn’t seem all that bad, though,” he murmurs, more to himself than to Misa.  

Misa smiles knowingly, crossing her arms as she tilts her head. “Go for it,” she says softly. “You deserve happiness too, Jungkook.”  

He lets out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I just… I don’t want to ruin things between us. What if it’s too much, too fast? What if it’s not what she wants?”  

Misa raises an eyebrow, her tone light but firm. “Well, if rejection is what you’re scared of, I’ll tell you right now — that kiss was anything but friendly.”  

Jungkook chuckles nervously, his cheeks warming as he shakes his head. “You think so?”  

“I know so,” she replies confidently, her smile turning teasing. “Trust me, Jungkook. If you’re even half as obvious with her as you were with me, she knows. And honestly? She probably feels the same.”  

Her words hang in the air, filling him with equal parts hope and doubt. Jungkook glances at her, taking in the sincerity in her expression. For a moment, neither of them says anything, the quiet sounds of the night settling around them. Then, Misa steps forward and wraps her arms around him.  

He returns the embrace, his hands resting lightly on her back. “Thanks, Misa,” he says, his voice muffled against her shoulder.  

She pulls back just enough to look at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t need my thanks,” she replies softly, her tone carrying the warmth of an old friend. Then, with a playful smirk, she adds, “Just don’t mess it up.”  

He huffs a quiet laugh, the corners of his mouth lifting. “I’ll try not to.”  

And then, with one last glance at him, Misa steps away. The sound of her heels clicking against the pavement echoes softly in the quiet night as she climbs into her car. The engine hums to life, and within moments, she's driving off into the darkness, her taillights disappearing down the street.

Jungkook exhales, watching as his breath dissipates into the cold night air. The weight he had carried for so long — the lingering feelings of the past, the questions left unanswered — fades, piece by piece. Misa's departure isn't a loss; it's a quiet closing of a door that had been left ajar for far too long.  

He turns back toward the house, the warm glow from the windows beckoning him inside. Jungkook steps through the door, closing it behind him, ready to run toward whatever comes next.

You were upstairs, unwinding from the day. Just as you were about to head to the shower, Jungkook makes his way into the room, closing the door behind him.

"How was it?" you ask, sitting on the edge of the bed, your gaze flicking toward him as he closes the door behind him.

"Good," he says simply, but his tone is distant, as though his mind is somewhere else.

Your brows knit together. "You sure?"

He doesn't answer immediately, his jaw working as if he's chewing over his next words. Finally, he speaks, but it's not what you expected. "Why did you do it?"

You blink, confused. "Do what?"

"Kiss me," he says, his voice steady.

You chuckle softly, trying to lighten the mood. "Everyone was watching us, Kook. And Misa. It would've been obvious if we didn't kiss."

He shakes his head, taking a step closer. "You didn't do it because of Misa, did you?" he says, his tone firm.

You tilt your head, looking up at him, and a small smile curves on your lips. It's playful, teasing, and it's enough to make his heart stutter. That smile tells him everything he needs to know, but still, you say it anyway. "It was just a kiss."

He narrows his eyes slightly, his lips twitching into a smirk. "You said no kissing," he reminds you, leaning in just enough to make the air between you crackle with tension.

"Well, I changed my mind," you reply, your voice light, though there's a hint of something more in it.

"Because?" he presses, tilting his head slightly, his smirk widening as he waits for your answer.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. "Because it was easier than explaining why we weren't kissing under the mistletoe."

"Hmm," he hums, unconvinced, taking a step closer. He's so close now that you have to tilt your head further to meet his gaze. "That's the story you're going with?"

"That's the truth," you say, holding his gaze, though your lips betray you with a small, mischievous smile.

His tongue runs across his bottom lip as he chuckles softly. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

"I've nothing to lie about," you say, your voice steady, though the spark in your eyes betrays your composure.

"Yeah?" he asks, his tone low, challenging, as he steps even closer.

You nod, humming softly, your confidence unwavering.

And then, without warning, he crashes his lips onto yours. The kiss is sudden, stealing the breath right out of your lungs, catching you completely off guard. His hand rests behind your neck, pulling you into him.

For a moment, you freeze, your mind racing to process what just happened, but then instinct takes over. Your hands find his chest, gripping his shirt to steady yourself as you melt into the kiss. His lips are warm, insistent but not rough, like he's been waiting for this moment and isn't about to let it slip away.

When he finally pulls back, he's slightly breathless, his dark eyes locked on yours, a smirk tugging at the corners of his swollen lips. "There's no mistletoe. What's your excuse this time, huh?"

You narrow your eyes at him, your breath uneven as you glare at his teasing grin. "Just shut the fuck up already," you snap, grabbing his face with both hands and crashing your lips onto his again.

He barely has time to react, but when he does, his hands grip your waist, pulling you even closer. He smiles into the kiss, that cocky, boyish grin you've come to know so well. It only spurs you on, your fingers tangling in his hair as the kiss deepens, all the tension, teasing, and unspoken words melting away into something neither of you could deny anymore.

"God, you're bossy," he mumbles, his tone playful but laced with something much deeper.

"And you talk too much," you retort, your voice muffled as you kiss him again, determined to shut him up properly this time.

“Do I?” he asks, his voice a low, husky almost-moan against your lips.  

You hum in response, your breath hitching as his fingers trace a featherlight path down your spine. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, searching, teasing.  

“Yeah?” he asks again, tilting his head, that signature smirk tugging at his lips — the kind that tells you he’s up to no good.  

“Yes, Jungkook,” you breathe, the impatience laced in your voice only making his smirk widen.  

His fingers move to the buckle of your belt, unlooping the strap with agonizing slowness, his knuckles grazing the bare skin of your stomach as he works the metal free. The sound of it sliding through the loops is deliberate, a slow tease, a promise.  

“I should really stop talking then, shouldn’t I?” he murmurs, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your parted lips.  

“Yeah, you should,” you say with a knowing smile, rolling your hips forward slightly, urging him on.  

His fingers move with purpose now, popping open the button of your jeans before dragging the zipper down. His hands, warm and firm, press against your hips as he kneels slightly, hooking his fingers into the waistband and peeling the denim down your legs. The fabric pools at your ankles, leaving you in your underwear, the cool air against your skin a stark contrast to the heat radiating between you. 

Jungkook’s grip on your hips tightens as he pulls you effortlessly to the edge of the bed. A soft giggle escapes you, a playful attempt at resistance as you nudge him with your foot, but he catches your ankle with ease. His thumb traces over your skin, a slow, deliberate motion before he dips his head, pressing a featherlight kiss to your ankle.  

The warmth of his lips trails up your calf, each kiss slower than the last. His hands glide along your legs, fingers pressing into your thighs as he moves higher, his breath hot against your skin. A shiver runs through you, anticipation building with every unhurried touch.  

Pausing at the inside of your thigh, he lets his lips linger, the heat of his breath sending a ripple of want through your body. His fingers hook beneath the waistband of your underwear, dragging the fabric down inch by inch, his eyes fixed on you the entire time. The room feels smaller, the space between you charged, heavy with something unspoken but undeniably felt.  

He takes his time, savoring every inch of exposed skin, as if committing the moment to memory. Your body hums under his touch, muscles tensing in expectation. His hands, his lips — every movement feels intentional, like he’s unraveling you piece by piece, without a single word spoken between you.

He leans back in, his lips grazing your skin as he presses another lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh, the warmth of his breath ghosting over you and making your muscles tense in anticipation. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you firmly in place as his mouth finally descends, lips parting to taste you without hesitation. 

The first brush of his lips against your clit is teasing, and when he seals them around the sensitive bundle of nerves, the contrast of heat and the chill of his lip piercings sends a sharp jolt through you. A strangled gasp escapes, your back arching instinctively as pleasure pulses through you.

Your fingers weave into his hair, brushing the strands back to get a better view of him. His brows are furrowed in deep concentration, like a man savoring his favorite meal, every movement of his tongue precise, every suck deliberate. His grip on your thighs tightens as if he’s anchoring himself to you, determined to keep you right where he wants you.  

Your thumb traces over the scar on his cheek, a gentle contrast to the heat pooling in your core. “Much better,” you tease, your voice barely above a breath, though the playful lilt doesn’t go unnoticed.  

At that, his gaze flickers up to meet yours, dark and laced with something dangerous. His eyes lower in a silent warning — one you barely have time to process before he hums deeply against your clit, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure straight through you. Your body jolts, fingers tightening in his hair, but he doesn’t let up. If anything, he redoubles his efforts, dragging you even deeper into the fire.

You push your hips further into his face, desperation guiding your movements, and he welcomes it — welcomes you. His mouth works you over with relentless hunger, tongue flicking and curling, lips sealing around your clit with dizzying precision. His nose presses into you, dragging against your cunt with each movement, and you know he probably can't breathe.

But Jungkook doesn't give a fuck.

If anything, he buries himself deeper, groaning as he drowns in you, hands gripping your thighs like he never wants to leave. He's proud, eager, insatiable — wholly unbothered by the thought of suffocating between your legs. If this is how he dies, he'll do it happily.

You throw your head back, biting down on your lip to stifle the moans threatening to spill from your mouth. The pleasure is overwhelming, your body trembling beneath his relentless tongue, but you can't risk being loud — not with Jungkook's parents somewhere in the house.

The walls are thin, far too thin, and the last thing you need is for them to hear what's happening behind this closed door. Your gasps come out shaky, uneven, each one catching in your throat as you fight to stay quiet. But Jungkook isn't making it easy. He hums against you again, the vibrations shooting through your core, and when your fingers tighten in his hair, he only doubles down, eating you like he doesn't care if you get caught.

Despite Jungkook's reckless determination to die between your thighs, his body betrays him. He suddenly pulls away, chest heaving as he gulps in deep, heavy breaths. His face glistens with your slick, flushed from the lack of air and the heat of the moment. His ears burn red, lips swollen and glossy, eyes dark with raw hunger. But he doesn't waste a second — he leans back in, stealing one more kiss from your throbbing core before standing.

His hands go straight to his belt, fumbling in his urgency, fingers nearly trembling as he rips it off. His pants and boxers are shoved down in one swift motion, and his cock springs free — thick, flushed, the pretty pink tip leaking evidence of his arousal. It stands tall, curved slightly, twitching as he wraps a firm hand around the base.

A groan of relief slips from his lips as he strokes himself, his head tipping back for a moment before his gaze locks onto you again, hungry and unashamed.

"That hard from eating some pussy?" you tease, smirking as you watch him.

Jungkook lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as his grip tightens around his cock. "You should be honored. I nearly nutted in my fucking pants doing that." He steps closer, lips curling into a smirk of his own. "Take your shirt off."

You smirk, tilting your head slightly. "You first."

Jungkook huffs out a playful scoff, rolling his eyes, but he listens. With one swift motion, he reaches behind his back, gripping the fabric of his sweater before yanking it over his head and tossing it aside. His toned chest and arms flex with the movement, muscles rippling beneath his inked skin. The sight alone makes your stomach clench with anticipation.

But what really gets you is the way he immediately wraps his hand around his cock again, resuming his slow, deliberate strokes. He's getting harder, impossibly so, the veins along his shaft becoming more pronounced. His eyes stay locked on you, dark and hooded, drinking in every inch of your body like he's imagining all the ways he's about to ruin you.

"Your turn," he murmurs, voice thick with desire.

You take your time, dragging out the moment as you lift your sweater over your head, letting it drop to the floor. The cool air prickles against your skin, your bare shoulders exposed, but your bra still remains, teasing him just enough.

Jungkook's jaw flexes. His thumb swipes over the tip of his cock, spreading the precum leaking from his slit, but his patience is thinning.

"All of it," he commands, voice firm. There's no room for argument.

You reach behind your back, fingers deftly working the clasp of your bra. The moment it unhooks, the straps slip from your shoulders, the fabric going slack against your skin. With a slow, deliberate motion, you pull it off completely and let it drop to the floor, joining the rest of your discarded clothes.

Jungkook's breath stutters. His strokes slow for a moment as his eyes drink you in, dark and full of heat, pupils blown wide with unfiltered desire. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, jaw tightening as he exhales sharply through his nose.

Feeling like a third wheel between Jungkook and his cock, you slip off the bed and onto your knees before him. His brows furrow slightly when you wrap your fingers around his wrist, guiding his hand away from his aching length. His cock twitches in the cool air, glistening with precum, and you don’t hesitate — leaning in, you drag your tongue slowly from the thick base of his shaft up to his flushed, leaking tip.  

A sharp breath escapes him, his chest rising and falling in anticipation. He lets you take control for a moment, but then, instead of letting you simply pull his wrist away, his fingers slide down to lace with yours, gripping your hand in a silent, desperate plea. Your lips part, taking him in, your tongue swirling over the sensitive head before pressing flat against the underside. 

“Fuck… gonna- make me fucking cum already, baby,” he groans, voice thick with pleasure, his grip tightening around your hand.  

But just as he teeters on the edge, you pull off with a wet pop, a teasing glint in your eyes as you look up at him. His cock twitches in protest, a string of spit connecting your lips to his flushed tip.  

“Want you to fuck me,” you murmur, voice laced with need.  

Jungkook exhales a shaky breath, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “Yeah?”  

You nod, biting your lip, heat simmering between you.  

His jaw flexes as his eyes darken. “God, you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about fucking you.” His grip on your hand tightens briefly before he lets go. “Get on the bed, baby.”  

Your heart pounds as you stand, climbing onto the mattress, anticipation thrumming through your veins. He doesn’t waste a second — his lips crash against yours, the force of his kiss sending you toppling onto the bed. His body presses flush against yours, a delicious heat radiating between you as he deepens the kiss.

Jungkook pulls away from the kiss, breathless, his forehead nearly touching yours as he looks down between your bodies. His hand wraps around his cock, stroking himself slowly, teasingly, as if grounding himself in the moment. But then, he stills.  

“Fuck, I don’t have a condom, baby,” he murmurs, voice tight with frustration.  

You reach up, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over the flushed heat of his skin. “It’s fine,”  

His dark eyes flicker up to meet yours, searching. “You still sure?”  

You groan, your patience hanging by a thread. “Jungkook, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m never talking to you again.”  

He chuckles, before finally giving in. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you open as he guides himself forward, the thick, swollen head of his cock pressing against your sopping entrance. He teases you first, dragging the tip through your slick folds, spreading your arousal before finally pushing in with a slow, deliberate thrust.  

A sharp gasp rips from your throat as he stretches you open, inch by inch, your walls clenching around him as they struggle to accommodate his sheer size. The delicious burn of fullness has your back arching, your thighs trembling around his waist as he buries himself deeper. Your nails bite into the inked skin of his shoulder, desperate for something to ground you.  

“Gosh, you’re so big,” you moan, voice breaking as pleasure swirls in your stomach.  

Jungkook groans, his head dropping for a moment before he lifts it, watching the way your body takes him in. His jaw clenches, restraint evident in the way his fingers tighten on your thighs.  

“You can take it,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. “I know you can.”  

He presses in further, inch by inch, until he bottoms out, the head of his cock nudging deep inside you. A deep, guttural moan escapes him as he stills, giving you a moment to adjust, his thumbs stroking over your skin in a silent praise.

"Okay, you can move," you whisper, your breath shaky with anticipation, giving him the green light.  

Without hesitation, Jungkook pulls back, the thick head of his cock dragging slowly out of you, the wetness between your bodies creating a squelchy sound that fills the room. He pauses for a breath, then pushes back in, the pressure of his thick shaft sliding into you with a deep, satisfying thrust.  

Your body trembles with each movement, the slickness between you amplifying the sound of him sinking into you, the heat building in your core as his rhythm deepens. His hands grip your thighs tighter, the tension in his muscles visible as he focuses on every inch of you, filling you completely with each stroke.  

He leans down, capturing your lips in a desperate, hungry kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours as his fingers dig into your hips. His lips trail lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, along the sensitive column of your throat, until he reaches your collarbone. He latches on, sucking at the delicate skin, leaving a mark that he knows will be there in the morning.

His thrusts grow quicker, rougher, his grip on your waist tightening as he pounds into you. The bedframe slams against the wall with each movement, the rhythmic banging growing louder, impossible to ignore.

"Fuck," Jungkook grits out, a mix of pleasure and panic flickering across his face. You feel too good — too warm, too tight, too perfect — but reality crashes in. His parents are near, and the thought of them hearing what's happening in the bed he used to sleep in as a kid sends a chill down his spine. Without hesitation, he pulls out, breathing heavily as he grabs your hand. His dark eyes flicker with urgency as he tugs you up. "Get up,"

Confused, you obey nonetheless, your legs still shaky as Jungkook leads you across the room. He drops down onto the chair by his desk, spreading his legs slightly, his dark, impatient gaze locking onto yours. He holds his hands out, palms open, a silent command.

"Come here," he murmurs, guiding you with a tilt of his head.

You hesitate, glancing between him and the chair. "You serious?"

Jungkook huffs, his jaw ticking. "You want my parents to know we're fucking in here?" His fingers flex, beckoning you closer. "Hurry up, babe. A few more bounces, and I got you."

You sigh, but the heat in his eyes makes it impossible to say no. Stepping between his legs, you plant your hands on his broad shoulders for support before straddling him.

His hands immediately find your lower back, one strong arm keeping you steady while the other wraps around the base of his cock, guiding himself against your entrance.

A shudder runs through you as you sink down onto him, inch by inch, until you're seated fully in his lap, his cock buried deep inside you. His grip tightens around your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he takes control, lifting you slightly before helping you bounce on him.

The familiar coil of pleasure tightens in your stomach, overriding everything else — the growing cramp in your leg, the sharp pressure of your knees pressing into the hard wooden chair. None of it matters. All you can focus on is chasing your high, the way his cock fills you so perfectly, the delicious friction driving you closer and closer to the edge.

But Jungkook's attention is elsewhere. His eyes are locked on your tits, mesmerized by the way they bounce with every movement. His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he leans in, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. A sharp gasp escapes you as he sucks greedily, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. His hands slide up your back, pressing you closer, desperate to feel as much of you as possible.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging at the dark strands, while your other hand grips his shoulder for support. His groan vibrates against your skin, sending a shiver straight through you. The heat between you is unbearable, all — consuming, and you know neither of you will last much longer.

Jungkook's hands roam lower, squeezing your ass before delivering a sharp slap that makes you jolt. He grips both cheeks, spreading them apart as he helps you move, guiding you up and down on his cock with a firm, steady hold.

His own breaths are ragged, his restraint hanging by a thread as he watches you unravel above him.

"Fuck- M'gonna cum!" you whine, your voice breaking, the desperation in your tone making his cock twitch inside you. The pleasure is too much, too overwhelming, and you can't contain your volume.

Jungkook reacts instantly, his mouth leaving your tit as his hand flies up to cover your mouth, muffling your cries before they can slip past the walls. You moan helplessly against his palm as your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clenching around his cock in tight, pulsing waves. Jungkook groans, his brows furrowing as he feels you squeeze around him, the sensation almost pushing him over the edge.

"Keep going for me, yeah?" he rasps, his voice thick with need as his fingers dig into the fat of your ass. He thrusts up to meet your movements, the rhythm growing more desperate, more frantic.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut as you hum against his palm, your muffled moans vibrating against his skin. The way he fills you, stretches you, has your entire body trembling.

"Yeah, make me cum, baby," he groans, his head falling back against the chair, jaw clenched tight as he teeters on the edge.

His hand slides from your mouth to your hip, his grip tightening, fingers digging into your skin as he takes control. He guides you faster, his thrusts growing more desperate, more erratic, chasing that final, dizzying high.

Your walls flutter around him, the sensation pushing him closer, pulling him under. His breathing turns ragged, his muscles tensing beneath you as pleasure coils tight in his core.

"Fuck- just like that," he grits out, his hips snapping up to meet yours in a final, desperate push.

A few more bounces, and he breaks, a deep but quiet groan spilling from his lips as he comes, his release shooting hot and deep inside you. His hands squeeze your waist, holding you down against him as he rides out his high, every pulse of pleasure leaving him breathless.

You push his damp hair back from his sweaty forehead, your fingers combing through the strands with gentle care. His chest rises and falls beneath you, still heaving from the intensity of it all.

Leaning down, you press a soft kiss to his lips, slow and lingering, a big difference to the desperation from moments ago. Jungkook hums against your mouth, his hands sliding up your back, holding you close as he melts into the kiss.

When you pull away, his eyes flutter open, laced with exhaustion and something softer — something tender. A lazy smile tugs at his lips as he exhales a satisfied sigh.

"All this over some mistletoe," he teases, his voice still slightly breathless.

"The drama," you drawl, rolling your eyes playfully as you tease him back.

Jungkook chuckles, the sound deep and warm, vibrating against your skin. His arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His lips brush against your damp skin, pressing a lazy, lingering kiss there.

His cock softens inside you, but neither of you move just yet. The heat of the moment has faded, replaced by something quieter, something softer. 

“Oh!” Jungkook suddenly exclaims, his eyes lighting up as if he’s just remembered something. “I got you something.”  

You shift off of him, settling on the edge of the bed as he moves to one of the drawers. His movements are purposeful but unhurried, fingers sifting through its contents before he retrieves a long, slender gift box. He turns, extending it toward you with an expectant look.  

“You didn’t have to,” you murmur, meeting his gaze as you hesitantly take the box from his hands.  

“Just open it,” he insists, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.  

With a soft breath, you lift the lid, and your heart stutters. There, nestled inside, is your necklace — whole again. The delicate chain, once broken, gleams under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, looking as flawless as the day it was first given to you.  

Your breath catches, fingers hovering over the pendant before carefully picking it up. “Kook…” you whisper, eyes lifting to his.

“I know how much it meant to you, so I got it fixed this morning,” Jungkook says softly, his voice laced with warmth. “Merry Christmas, baby.”  

Your chest tightens, emotion welling up as you blink back the tears threatening to spill. His thoughtfulness, the effort he put into something so personal to you — it means more than words can express.  

A watery smile spreads across your lips as you rise to your feet, wrapping your arms around his neck. You kiss him, a soft press of your lips against his. Then again. And once more, lingering just a little longer this time.  

You were glad you came. Even if the initial plan to make Misa jealous had failed, it didn’t matter anymore. Because, in this moment, with Jungkook, this might just be the best Christmas of your life.

© voyter 2025, all rights reserved.

[deerlysacred]

🍲 yellow fever & pinkie pie { dean winchester x witch fem!reader }

𐂂 𝄢 { you're taking care of dean, he's been scared of tiniest things because of a ghost sickness, while sam and bobby works to kill that ghost, they have to kill it as soon as possible since this sickness is known to lead to a heart attack that would kill dean.}

𖣂 𝄢 established relationship & fluff {s4 e6}

‼️ 𝄢 i do not own supernatural or any of its characters; all rights belong to their respective creators. this is purely a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only, with no intention of profit.

You arrived back at the motel, leaving Sam and Bobby to deal with this ghost Luther problem, because let's face it, someone needed to babysit Dean before he jumped out of a window over a dust bunny because of this ghost sickness.

The second you stepped inside, you heard a high-pitched yelp and saw Dean standing on the bed, brandishing a motel lamp like it was excalibur. His wide, panic-stricken emerald eyes found you, and he exhaled like he just saw an angel descend from the heavens.

Not Castiel, though. Castiel makes him uncomfortable for… reasons.

"Y/N!" he sighed, dropping the lamp. "Thank God. You're back. I was just—uh—checking for… uh, ghosts and stuff…"

You glanced at the floor. A sock. He screamed at a sock.

In his defense, it was a very threatening sock. Looked like it hadn't been washed since '98. But still.

You raised an eyebrow, but decided to let it go. "Okay, Dean. Sure." You walked past him towards the tiny motel kitchen to put the grocery bags on the counter.

You looked at Dean again, who was back to surfing through the channels. He was gripping the blankets up to his chest, eyes darting around like the walls were gonna close in on him.

Poor thing.

"You hanging in there?" you asked, soft but teasing.

Dean scoffed. "Oh yeah, just peachy, Y/N. Love having my whole nervous system on fire." He scratched his arm for the hundredth time. "You sure Sam and Bobby got this?"

"Positive." You placed a bag from the diner on the table. "Got you something, by the way."

Dean's head snapped to attention like a dog hearing the word 'treat'. "Is that—?"

"Pie."

His eyes misted over like he was a kid and you just told him he was finally getting a game console for Christmas.

"Not yet, though. You can eat it after you eat your soup. No sweets before feeding you properly. I thought soup would be the safest choice since Sam said the healthier you eat, the better in this process. Just bear with me until you get free from this sickness — even if it means eating veggies. Which— I know! is a torture for you."

You smiled to yourself when you heard him complain but still accept it, and turned back to focus on making the soup, fingers grazing the crinkling plastic before pulling out the ingredients one by one. A can of chicken broth, a bundle of fresh parsley, carrots, onion and garlic. You rolled up your sleeves, pushing your hair behind your ears as you reached for the knife.

The first cut into the onion sent an immediate sting through your eyes, the smell crisp and sharp. As you worked, slicing through the layers with careful precision, Dean groaned dramatically from the bed.

"You know," he said, voice hoarse from too much panicked yelling earlier, "this whole nurturing thing you do? It's unnatural."

You didn't look up, chopping the onion into uniform little squares. "Feeding my sick boyfriend is unnatural?"

The knife in your hand hesitated over the onion, its papery skin crackling under your grip. You weren't stalling —well, maybe a little— but something about cooking for Dean in this moment felt oddly… adult. Which was ridiculous, because you were an adult. Technically. Legally. And yet, standing here in this dingy motel kitchen, dicing vegetables like someone who had their life together, felt… weirdly comforting, yet different.

"Yeah, 'cause I'm the one who's supposed to be taking care of you." His voice was muffled, probably because he had pulled the blanket halfway over his face in some half-hearted attempt to hide from reality, embarrassed. "Instead, I'm over here in full damsel mode, while you make me soup like a… like a wholesome 1950s housewife."

You scoffed, swiping the onions and garlic pieces into the pan, to the melted butter. "I'd be a pretty awful housewife. Witches don't exactly thrive in suburbia."

Dean grumbled something under his breath, then turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling. A beat passed. Then—

"…So, you don't think you'd be good at it?"

"Good at what?" You tossed in the carrots, their color bright against the golden broth.

"You know. The whole—" He made a vague circling gesture. "Domestic thing. Housewife-y stuff."

Oh.

Your hands hesitated, fingers tightening around the wooden spoon. The question felt heavier than it should have, like an old doubt creeping back.

"I don't know… I don't think I could handle it."

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and suddenly, the air felt a little heavier. You focused on the simmering broth, stirring absently. Dean propped himself up on one elbow, giving you a skeptical look. "Why not?"

You hesitated. "Because… I don't know." You stirred the soup, watching the vegetables bob in the broth. "I love taking care of people. And I like doing this. But I dont think I'd be the perfect wife type. I'd get distracted with my own things and forget to clean. I'd forget which bills are due… Like… I don't even feel like an adult at most days. I just feel like an overgrown child in adult clothes, trying to mimic other people who seem to have it all together. I struggle with the easiest and most ridiculous things on a regular basis. I forget what day it is all the time. I still have to remind myself to drink water some days. I can't even commit to a consistent sleep schedule." You sighed, setting the knife down for a moment. "I can make soup, sure, but can I handle, like… taxes? Mortgage payments? Children? That's a whole other level of responsibility, and I still feel like I'm barely holding my own life together. The idea of people depending on me all the time kinda freaks me out."

Dean tilted his head. "I depend on you all the time."

You froze for half a second before keep stirring the soup, trying not to let that sink in too deep. You poured a splash of heavy cream into the pot, watching it swirl into the broth like a tiny storm. "Yeah, but that's different. That's us."

"Uh-huh." He shifted, wincing. "And what exactly do you think a housewife does?"

"Be perfect?" you guessed. "Know all the right things? Handle everything without panicking?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh, so like Bobby."

"Shut up! You'll make me burn the soup. Just… don't distract me with these topics." You laughed, shaking your head as you decreased the heat. You reached for the celery, chopping it into small pieces before tossing it into the pot with a satisfying plop, finally with a flick of your wrist, you sprinkled in a generous pinch of salt and pepper, giving the pot a quick stir. Then you wiped your hands on a paper towel, surveying your handiwork. The soup was coming along, a slow-simmering concoction of broth, vegetables, and herbs. A warm, homey scent curled through the air. You put the pan lid on, accidentally dropping the lid on the pan loudly before you fixed it.

Dean flinched against the unexpected loud noise that was heard.

You turned to him. "Did you just—?"

"I didn't flinch." he said quickly, hugging the pillow.

You raised an eyebrow. "Dean, it's just a sound."

"Yeah, well, it was loud."

You hid your grin and started to tidy the dishes, letting him keep his dignity, or what was left of it at least. It was quiet for a moment, just the sound of bubbling broth and whatever dumb reality show Dean had landed on. You figured he'd be fine for at least thirty seconds.

And then—

"GAH!"

You whirled around to find Dean half-off the bed, eyes huge, you nearly dropped the spoon you were about to wash. "Dean?!"

"What? What is it?" you asked, heart pounding.

Dean lifted a shaking hand and pointed at the TV. "Oh my God. Y/N. That was—" He swallowed thickly, visibly trembling. "That was so messed up."

You squinted at the screen.

It was My Little Pony.

…You've gotta be kidding me.

"…Dean."

"They stared at me, Y/N," he whispered. "With those big, dead eyes."

You blinked. "The… ponies?"

"Yes, the ponies!" His voice was an octave higher than normal. "That pink one was too happy, like… Like, she seemed… nuts—happy. That was scary…"

You pressed your lips together, exhaling through your nose. "Dean. It's a children's cartoon."

"I don't care if it is a cartoon at the first glance, that is a psychological horror show!" He rubbed his arms like he was cold. "No way kids watch that and come out normal."

Ouch. Rude much? Patience, Y/N. Not a great time to argue about one of your favorite childhood cartoons.

You sighed and turned back to your tidying. "Just… pick something else."

A few moments of silence.

Then:

"OH, HELL NO!"

Your head snapped up just in time to see Dean fling the remote across the room. It bounced off the wall and landed with a thud on the carpet.

You gaped at him. "Dean! What now?"

He was breathing hard, practically pressed against the headboard. "A COMMERCIAL CAME ON."

You waited… He didn't elaborate?

"…A commercial for what, exactly?"

Dean shook his head, traumatized. "Headache pills.”

You stared. "You're scared of pills now?"

"They were listing side effects, Y/N." His voice was hushed like he was revealing a terrible secret. "Side effects."

You bit your bottom lip to not laugh and leaned against the counter. "Dean, side effects are on, like, every medication—"

"ONE OF THEM WAS DEATH, Y/N! AND I TOOK ONE EARLIER!"

You sighed, rubbing your temple. "Dean, I promise you are not going to die from headache pills."

"YOU CAN'T PROVE THAT."

And that was it. You couldn't hold it in anymore. You burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the motel room like it had no business being that loud. Dean just stared at you, wide-eyed and offended.

"You think this is funny?" he hissed, like you just personally betrayed him. "This is life or death, Y/N!"

You snorted, trying to reign it in, but the sheer absurdity of the situation had a chokehold on you. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry,it's just… Dean, you're literally the guy who laughs in the face of actual death. Ghosts, demons, werewolves— you name it. But today, a sock, a cartoon pony, and a bottle of pills are your mortal enemies."

Dean glared, but it was hard to take seriously when his hair was sticking up like he just wrestled with the blanket and lost. "Hey, those ponies were unnatural. And don't even get me started on side effects. Internal bleeding, Y/N. Internal. Bleeding."

You chuckled, grabbing a bowl from the counter and ladling some of the soup into it. "Here. Eat this before you spiral into thinking the spoon's out to get you too."

He eyed the bowl like it might explode but took it anyway. You plopped down on the edge of the bed, watching him blow on the soup carefully.

"See? Not so bad, right?" you teased, nudging his leg with your foot.

Dean took a cautious sip, then sighed like you just handed him the elixir of life. "Okay, I'll admit… This is freakin' good." He shot you a sideways glance. "Suspiciously good. You sure you didn't put anything weird in it?"

You placed a hand over your heart and spoke with a fake offended voice. "Wow. Accusing your loving girlfriend of poisoning you. That's rich."

Dean pointed his spoon at you. "Hey, I've seen Hansel and Gretel, okay? Witches making suspiciously good food? Classic setup."

You rolled your eyes, scooting back against the headboard. "Right, because if I wanted to fatten you up and eat you, I totally would've waited two years into our relationship to do it."

Dean took another sip, visibly relaxing with every bite. "Could be a long con."

You smirked. "If I wanted to kill you, Dean, trust me, I wouldn't use soup."

Dean paused, spoon hovering in mid-air, before he slowly turned his head to squint at you. "…That was an unsettling thing to say."

You batted your eyelashes innocently. "Was it?"

Dean huffed, and scooped up another spoonful, chewing.

He talked after seemingly getting lost in thoughts for a while. "Y'know… If you really don't think you'd be good at the whole domestic thing, you should know— being perfect at it ain't the point."

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone and topic. "What do you mean?"

Dean shrugged, keeping his eyes on the soup. "I mean, you don't have to be some apron-wearing, 'dinner's ready when you walk through the door, honey' type for that whole 'apple pie life' to work. You already take care of people, Y/N. Not just with food, but… with the way you are." He gestured vaguely, wiping his lips with a napkin. "You make things feel… safe."

Your chest tightened at that.

Dean cleared his throat. "And, I mean, hell, if we're talking responsibilities? You think I keep track of bills? Babe, that's Sam. If it were up to me, we'd be in jail for tax fraud or something."

That earned a laugh from you. "Yeah, I believe that. And thanks for saying those, but still…"

"But nothing," he cut in. "You care, Y/N. You give a damn. And you fight for it. That's what matters. The rest? That's just details."

You gulped and looked at him as your heart did a ridiculous little flip. "You make it sound so simple."

Dean shrugged. "'Cause it is. You and me? We've handled worse than taxes."

You snorted, finally looking up at him. "That is… an accurate point."

"Damn right it is." His smirk softened, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your hip. "So stop freaking out. You're doin' just fine." He pulled you to his side and kissed your forehead. Your brain short-circuited for a second at the casual intimacy of it all. But as you stared at him—his usual confidence, the way he looked at you like he knew you better than you knew yourself— you felt some of the weight on your shoulders lift, you hummed and nodded. Wanting to believe him.

Dean finished the last of his soup with a satisfied hum, setting the empty bowl on the nightstand. He still looked like hell —fidgety, tired eyes darting toward every shadow like they held inevitable traps— but hey, at least he wasn't actively jumping stupid things. That was something.

You reached over and tugged the blankets up around him. "See? A full stomach makes everything better."

Dean exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. "Yeah, well… I'm still dying, so."

You gave him a flat look. "You're not dying."

"You don't know that." he muttered, shifting under the covers, eyes flicking towards the TV away from you.

You sighed, setting the remote out of his reach. "Sam and Bobby are handling it. They're gonna find the ghost, and you'll be fine."

Dean didn’t respond right away. His fingers curled into the fabric of the blanket, his jaw tight. You knew this kind of quiet. It wasn't just the sickness messing with him— it was the vulnerability. The kind he hated. The kind that made him feel small. And maybe even the memories that haunted him from back in Hell. Yeah. Dean was stubborn, insisting that he doesn't remember anything from Hell but you had your doubts rightfully — because of the regular nightmares he woke up from in the middle of the night and the unexplainable, gloomy look of him in general. But you didn't push him to admit it, not yet. And you weren't going to do it now, absolutely. Not when he was a heart attack away from the tiniest death.

Without thinking much, you scooted closer, wrapping an arm around him. His body tensed for half a second before he melted against you, burying his face into your chest with a heavy sigh.

"Everything's gonna be okay…" you murmured, resting your chin on top of his head.

Dean huffed a quiet breath, his eyes slipping shut. "Hope so. Kinda tired of being a little bitch."

You smirked, curling into him. "Kinda? Babe, I love you, but today was tragic."

Dean let out a low groan, burying his face in your chest. "Ugh. Never living this down, am I?"

"Not a chance." You grinned, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Sam's gonna be the easy part. Beware of your girl. I'm never gonna let go of your Pinkie-Pie-Phobia."

Dean stiffened in your arms, pulling back just enough to squint at you. "The hell is a Pinkie Pie?"

You grinned. "The pink pony you were terrified of."

Dean blinked, then recoiled like you just slapped him with the word. "You're tellin' me that thing— that creepy, serial-killer-smiling thing— has a name?"

"Oh, they all have names."

"Jesus Christ." He rubbed a hand down his face, looking like he aged ten more years. "Of course, they do."

You bit back another laugh, deciding to push your luck. "Pinkie Pie's actually really sweet. She's good to her friends, throws a lot of parties—"

"I don't care! What if she's got hobbies? That doesn't make her less terrifying." he said, voice hoarse but full of indignation, "also that little demon horse does not deserve the 'Pie' title."

You blinked at him, then let out a wheezy laugh. "Wait— what?"

"You heard me! Pie is warm. Pie is good. That thing? That thing is a menace. She ain't worthy of the name."

You clamped a hand over your mouth to keep from wheezing. "Dean, oh my God."

"I’m serious, Y/N!" He huffed and clung to you tighter. "That thing looks like it was made in a lab specifically to drive people insane. Don't trust her. Nobody's that happy all the time without something sinister going on."

You were crying now. Actually crying. "Dean Winchester, you absolute menace. You're literally beefing with a cartoon pony."

Dean scoffed. "Damn right I am. And I'm winning."

Before you could inform him that no, he was absolutely not winning against a fictional pink horse, his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

You unlocked the screen and, and behold, Sam's name lit up in a new text.

Sammy : Ghost's toast. You're good, stop being a wuss now 👍🏻

Sammy : Bobby says you owe him beer

Sammy : Y/N, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid while readjusting to normal life

You smirked, nudging Dean. "You're free. No more ghost sickness. Your dignity, however, is long gone."

Dean perked up immediately. "Wait— seriously?!" He snatched the phone, scanning the message like he expected you to be lying. His whole body sagged in relief. "Oh, thank God."

"See? Told you everything would be okay." You leaned back against the pillows, stretching with a satisfied sigh.

Dean pushed himself up and —before you could react— hooked his arms under your legs and back, effortlessly scooping you up into his arms bridal style.

"DEAN!" you squeaked, instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders. "What are you—"

"Getting you off your feet," he said simply, carrying you towards the kitchen with steady strides. "You've been fussin' over me all day, and it's my turn to take care of you now."

You blinked up at him, momentarily surprised by the sheer effortlessness of it all. "But I—"

"Nope," he interrupted, giving you a playful squeeze. "You became the mother-hen enough. Now it's time to sit your pretty ass down and enjoy some pie."

Before you could argue, he set you down onto the kitchen counter gently, his hands lingering on your waist. His fingers drummed playfully against your sides. "There. Now, stay."

You squinted at him. "Did you just command me like a dog?"

"Yup." He turned toward the pie, grabbing two forks.

He handed you a fork and plucked a generous bite of pie for himself, moaning dramatically the second it hit his tongue.

"Oh, baby, that's the good stuff." he groaned, swaying slightly like he'd just been spiritually enlightened. "You're an angel, y'know that?"

…

Your fingers stilled on his arm.

"Did you just… Did you just call me an angel?"

Dean squinted. "Yeah? And?"

Your smirk grew. "You hate angels."

Dean groaned, throwing his head back. "Aw, c'mon, Y/N, don't start—"

"You literally go on rants about how much you can't stand them," you continued, grinning now. "You've called them dicks in trench coats, winged bastards, self-righteous flying monkeys— need I go on?"

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, his fingers dragging down to his jaw like he could physically pull the embarrassment off his skin. "Okay," he grumbled, "that was a figure of speech."

You leaned in, resting your chin on your hand, all faux innocence. "So what you're saying is… I'm a figure of speech angel?"

Dean's eyes narrowed, but the twitch of his lips betrayed him. "You know what, smartass?" He reached over to the nightstand and snatched the half-eaten slice of pie, wielding it like a weapon. "You're gonna eat this and shut it."

Your eyes widened. "Dean—"

But it was too late. He was already shoving a forkful of pie, and before you could dodge, it was in your mouth, sweet and warm and way too good to argue against.

You glared at him, cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk, and he laughed heartly.

"Mmph!" you tried to protest, but your mouth was too full of pie.

Dean grinned all dimples. "What's that, sweetheart? Can't hear you over the sound of deliciousness."

You chewed quickly, swallowing the absurdly large bite with a dramatic gulp. "You're the worst."

"Yeah?" Dean's eyes gleamed mischievously, and before you could blink, he leaned in, lips crashing against yours in a very messy, very pie-flavored kiss. His lips were warm and soft, but the kiss was anything but gentle— sticky and sweet from the pie. You could taste the sugary filling on his tongue, the buttery crust lingering between you as he deepened the kiss, tilting his head to slot his mouth perfectly against yours. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left to breathe, not that you needed air when he was kissing you like that. You tangled your fingers in his hair, nails grazing his scalp enough to make him groan, the sound making your heart stutter. When he finally pulled back, both of you breathless and grinning like idiots, his thumb brushed a stray smear of saliva and filling from the corner of your mouth, and without breaking eye contact, he licked it off his thumb with a wink that made your knees weak.

Damn him.

[someonegoood]

THE CORPORATE EQUATION drabble #4 ✫ jeon jungkook

CONTAINS: corporate!au, ceo!jk, headofhr!reader, grumpy x sunshine, slow burn, accidental vulnerability, mutual pining, emotionally unavailable jk, bickering turned bonding, fluff & angst :)

NOTE: this will be a mini series. thanks so much for reading!! this work is not revised and english is not my first language :)

miiini taglist @haru-jiminn @parapiop7 @radcustoms @minniejim @jeonzll @vantelover1306 @bgfdcvbnjk @mar-lo-pap @lmaothv @jksusawife @thatgirliehan @rayyrayy10 <3

my main masterlist! ❀ the corporate equation masterlist!

❀ drabble four: dinner words

The restaurant you choosed was quiet, tucked away from the usual bustle of the city. It wasn’t extravagant, but it had a certain charm—warm lighting, soft music, and a refined yet comfortable atmosphere. You glanced around, taking it all in as you sat across from him, your fingers skimming over the crisp white tablecloth.

“You actually agreed to this,” you said, a teasing lilt to your voice as you picked up the menu.

Jungkook, who had been nursing his glass of whiskey, sighed. “I didn’t agree. I was forced.”

You laughed. “Right. Because taking a break is such a horrible fate.”

He shot you a look, but there was no real bite to it. The weight of the office, of responsibilities, of unspoken frustrations—none of it seemed to press quite as hard here.

A waiter passed by, setting a delicate vase with white lilies in the center of your table. Your face lit up instantly.

“I love white lilies,” you murmured, reaching out to touch one of the petals. “They’re my favorite flowers.”

Jungkook’s gaze flickered from the flowers to you, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, just hummed in acknowledgment before taking another sip of his drink. You didn’t press him.

Dinner was… surprisingly easy. Conversation flowed, and though Jungkook was still as guarded as ever, there were moments where his walls cracked—just enough for you to catch glimpses of something softer underneath. He listened when you spoke about your family, your ambitions.

He even let out a quiet chuckle when you recounted an embarrassing story about Soojin and Minho from the office Christmas party last year.

“You actually laugh,” you said, mock-surprised.

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

The meal stretched on longer than either of you had planned, but neither of you seemed eager to leave. It wasn’t until the waiter cleared the last of your plates that the spell was broken. Jungkook checked his watch, sighing.

“We should—”

Then, a voice interrupted.

“Well, isn’t this unexpected?”

You turned toward the source, your stomach twisting at the sight of the woman standing a few feet away. Shw wa the same woman you had seen at the airport: stunning, poised, with long, dark hair and an expression that carried the weight of history. Her eyes flickered between you and Jungkook, amusement and something else—something unreadable—playing at the edges of her lips.

“Yuna,” Jungkook said, his voice carefully neutral.

So this was her.

His ex.

The atmosphere shifted instantly, the warmth from moments ago cooling into something more distant. Jungkook’s shoulders tensed, his jaw tightening just slightly. And though you knew better than to let it show, your fingers curled subtly around the edge of your napkin.

“Mind if I join?” Yuna asked, tilting her head ever so slightly.

Jungkook hesitated. And just like that, whatever fragile moment had been built between you and him began to splinter.

Yuna didn’t wait for permission. She slid into the empty chair beside Jungkook, crossing her legs effortlessly, her gaze flicking to you with thinly veiled curiosity. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” she said, her voice smooth as silk.

Jungkook remained quiet, but his fingers curled slightly around his glass, knuckles turning white. You watched the subtle tension in his posture, the way he didn’t quite meet her eyes when she touched his bicep with her perfect and delicate hand.

“Surprised to see you here,” she continued, stirring her wine glass absentmindedly before glancing at you. “And… who might you be?”

You opened your mouth, but Jungkook beat you to it. “She’s my—” He stopped. Paused. Searching for the right words.

Yuna’s lips curled at the hesitation. “Ah,” she hummed, as if she already knew the answer.

You swallowed, pushing your chair back slightly. “I should get going.”

Jungkook’s head snapped toward you. “Wait—”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted, offering a tight-lipped smile. “It’s late anyway.”

He looked torn for a moment, but Yuna’s presence loomed between you like an unspoken history you didn’t belong to. You could see it in the way she studied him, how she knew exactly where to poke and prod.

You didn’t want to stay and watch it unfold.

Jungkook started to stand, but you shook your head, forcing a lightness into your tone that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Enjoy your night.”

And with that, you turned and walked out, the weight of something unspoken settling heavily in your chest. Jungkook didn’t follow. You didn’t expect him to.

The night air was cool against your skin as you stepped outside, but it did nothing to quiet the sudden storm swirling inside you. And just like that, your heart was broken into pieces. Again.

Falling in love with your boss wasn't great.

previous / next

[elliewrites77]

Yapper!Gojo Modern AU

Yapper!Gojo who's best friend is the least talkative person he knows, even more so than Geto. Even after weeks of sharing a class, it was a full month of being classmates before he heard her voice.

Yapper!Gojo who doesn't pressure you to talk. He does plenty talking for the both of you, and somehow knows that you don't mind. A big part of your friendship is the fact that their is an unspoken connection, and you both tend to understand each other naturally. He talks, you listen, and you both enjoy the dynamic.

Yapper!Gojo who knows when you're uncomfortable or overwhelmed without you even needing to say anything. Maybe it's because you're always on his mind or his attention is always on you, but somehow, he just knows.

Yapper!Gojo who doesn't hide his affection for you. Sure, he doesn't come right out and say "i'm in love with you", because he does have a secret fear of being rejected by you, but he loves calling you pet names, loves physical touch like holding your hand, and stuff that some would say are obvious signs of feelings. and you always reciprocate, maybe not to the same extent, but still.

Yapper!Gojo who only shuts up when he insists on joining you in the campus library to study (you're studying, he..isn't). He knows how important finals are to you, but won't stand to not see you all week, so he invites himself to your study session. You barely acknowledge his presence in the small room, but you both know you are happy he is there with you.

Yapper!Gojo who finally plans to tell you his feelings after finals are over. You both have one semester left before graduating, and since he doesn't know where life will take you guys after college (though he intends to keep you in his life) he figures it's better to do it sooner rather than later. So he devises this elaborate plan, even forcing Suguru, Shoko, and Nanami to help him (all of which said he should just tell you without anything 'big').

Yapper!Gojo who almost has a panic attack when the day finally comes. Finals were over, and Christmas break was the best time to do it. So while you thought you two were just going out for a "friend-date" to a nice resturant Satoru wanted to try, he was panicking thinking about everything that could go wrong afterwards.

Yapper!Gojo who is suspiciously quiet throughout dinner. Not entirely silent, he could never be, but still. It was strange. So strange that you were more talkative, though most of what you said consisted of asking him if he was okay multiple times.

Yapper!Gojo who can't help but admire how beautiful you look on the way from the restaurant. He had asked if you'd mind one more stop, a surprise. So as you sat next to him, he stole multiple glances. Eventually, something about being so close to you made his anxiety calm.

Yapper!Gojo who covers your eyes when you arrive to the spot, helping you out of the car carefully. He guides you to the spot, taking a deep breath before he uncovers your eyes and allow you to adjust.

Yapper!Gojo who watches impatiently as you blink, your eyes flitting around the area. For the first time ever, he is anxious at your silence. He can't read it, and it worries him.

Quiet!reader who looks around at the University quad. There was a specific area that had a small gazebo and a few trees, a nice little patch that Gojo and you called "your spot". it had been the place where you first spoke to him. It was the place you guys always went to relax, to talk, to destress when everywhere else got too much. and now, it was lit up with fairy lights throughout the gazebo, a hammock connecting two trees, and a small blanket laid out on the ground with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and two pillows laid on top.

Yapper!Gojo who stays silent as he waits for you to process it. Once you look at him, though, he gulps and moves closer, swiping the flowers up as he moves. He holds them out to you.

"I know this is unexpected, but I just finally wanted to tell you that I'm in love with you. And I know you don't like big, extravagant stuff, but I really need this to be perfect and still show just how much I feel for you." He slightly rambles, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in nerves.

Yapper!Gojo who is silenced by the feeling of your lips on his. His eyes flutter closed as he kisses back, the fireworks between you exploding in his chest. And even though you don't say it, he knows instantly you've felt the same,

Yapper!Gojo who reluctantly lets you pull back after a long, loving kiss. but he doesn't regret it when you whisper the four words he had been longing to hear.

"I love you too."

Quiet!reader who may not talk much, and may be able to leave things unsaid with Satoru, but will never hesitate to tell him exactly how she feels about him.

------

not proofread

[flwrkid14]

I was reading the two posts about Tim's Christmas list, and just thought of the Bat Family noticing how happy Tim is.

Maybe Damian sees the new brushes and asks why Tim has Stephanie's things?

"Oh no, those aren't her's. They're mine. Danny got them for me cause they were on my list. I've needed a new set for a few years, but I only remember when I'm on a mission and needs to use them. Isn't he so sweet? And he got me really good quality ones, too!"

Or Jason mocking Tim for finally getting new hoodies. And instead of huffing or quipping back, Tim just brightens. Smiling in a way Jason's never seen.

"Danny got them for me! They're so soft. There's some of my favorite gifts from him! It's honestly nice to have new clothes that aren't formal. I'm so happy he read my list." And kinda just bounces away.

Maybe Bruce asking if Tim finally got new cups for his office?

"Danny's so sweet, isn't he? He found my list for Christmas and decided to get me a few mugs and thermoses. It's great I don't have to worry about accidentally cutting my mouth open again." 😊

Or Stephanie (who was injured on patrol and Tim's Nest, with apartment on top, was the closest place she could get to.) commenting on the fact that Tim has a lot of blankets, pillows, and plushies.

"Danny got them for me for Christmas I love how soft and warm everything is. He even found a plushie of a sleeping ghost! It's weighted, has a heating feature, and is made of glow in the dark fabric. Matter of fact, almost all the plushies and blankets he got me were weighted! Just like I had written on my list. They make me feel so loved. After all, he wants me to feel warm and safe, what's more considerate than that?"

Cass looks for Tim, knowing he's staying in the manor overnight because of a gala the next day. She hears music coming from the bathroom, but the light isn't on. So she goes in to turn it off, just in case Tim accidentally left it on. Only to see that there is a light on. A music box made to look like a record player spinning a vinyl, projecting blue light to look like you were underwater. Tim was in the bathtub, with the music box on the rim.

After the kerfuffle of them realizing Cass walked in on Tim taking a bath, and Tim getting dressed quickly, Cassandra asks him where he got it? It's cute and sounds really nice.

"Oh, it's a gift from Danny. He gave me it for Christmas. He knows I like cute things like that. And it's nice to listen to. He even got me this cat eared fluffy hairband for when I do my skincare or makeup! So cute, right?" 🥰

And slowly, all of them realize they never got Tim what he wanted. They try to justify it by saying he put tech on the list, but they look back through past lists and realize Tim changed his list because no one ever got him what he put on the list.

omg, I love your take on my posts! Your writing is so good! And you're absolutely right—the batfamily realizing their oversight and coming to terms with is such an interesting angle to explore! I like the way you went about it, especially all the times Tim kept mentioning the items were from his list!!

That said, I also wanted to address something that a lot of people were frustrated about when reading my original post.. many were upset with the family for not reading Tim’s list, wondering if they lost it or ignored it on purpose. I realize I didn’t provide enough context on my post for how the list actually functions!

The christmas lists in the batfamily aren’t necessarily meant to be followed to the letter—they’re more of a reference in case someone doesn’t know what to get. For example, Damian’s interests are pretty well known (art supplies, things for his animals, weapons), so most of the family can buy him something without needing to check his list. But for someone like Alfred or Bruce, where their preferences might be harder to pin down, the list serves as a guide.

With Tim, the family assumes they already know what he likes. They don’t think they need to check his list because, in their minds, they already understand him. So they keep giving him things they know he uses—cameras, electronics, hard drives—without realizing he already has more than enough. It’s not necessarily neglectful; it’s just a blind spot.

Danny, on the other hand, actually looks at the list. Not only because he wants to get Tim the best gifts possible, but because he lives with him. He sees what Tim already has in abundance and what he’s been meaning to get for himself but keeps putting off. That’s why his gifts are so thoughtful—he pays attention in a way the others don’t.

I hope this explanation helps clarify things for those who were confused or frustrated!!

[ogwintersmind]

Cringe.

Katsuki hates PDA. He thinks that you and him being the only ones who know of your relationship is enough.

It's not that he's embarrassed of you or anything, he just thinks being all smoochy smooch in public is embarrassing and should only be done in the comfort of your shared home without all of the prying eyes.

When you're In public Nell make sure to walk close to you and hold open doors, but he absolutely will not kiss, hug, or hold your hand. No way.

The two of you are currently standing In a large crowd of people who are also waiting for the Christmas tree lighting to start (I love writing christmas/winter pics idk sorry lol ..).

Katsuki rolls his eyes at your excitement over something as stupid as a "dumb being lit.") his eyes looking around at the large crowd of people. He hates being around too many people in one place and it made him slightly uncomfortable, but he wasn't going to say anything about it I not wanting to ruin your fun for something so trivial.

Katsuki shoves his hands into the pockets of his winter coat.

"How long until this damn tree lights up? I'm freezing my ass Of.” he says In an annoyed tone. You rolled your eyes at his constant complaints "it should be starting In a few minuets, stop complaining.”

He let out another dramatic huff/groan "great. you said that an hour ago.”

Time passes and there's finally 5 seconds until the lights on the tree are turned on for the first time.

You grab his hand and count down with the rest of the crowd.

4..

3..

2..

1!!

You grab his face and plant a big wet one on his lips.

His initial reaction was to pull away and scold you for the sudden public display of affection you know he hates so much.. But he lets it slide this time and places his hands on your waist, deepening the kiss before pulling away to look at you.

"Cringe.”

He says that one simple word before planting another quick kiss on your lips and interwining your fingers together.

Hi friends! Not sure if i executed this story the proper way I wanted to but I hope you enjoyed!

Thank you for reading - XO winter.

Not proofread

[dameronology]

recovery (bucky barnes)

summary: bucky's life has gone to shit. there's only one person who can help. (x)

warnings: this is kinda raw?? and mentions of drinking!! plus swearing.

thank you to @retrosabers for listening to my waffling as i wrote this

enjoy!!

jazz xx

Read, 11:32PM. 

Bucky Barnes missed the days when you didn’t know if someone had read your message. 

He’d never had that problem when pigeon mail was a thing. 

Now, he knew that you’d seen his message. He knew that you had read his lovelorn paragraph and chosen to ignore it. Even worse, you could have just swiped on the message and not taken in a word at all. If this had been the old days, he could have told himself that your lack of response because it had got lost in the mail, or delivered to someone else, or was just taking a while to get there. Now, thanks to Mark Zuckerberg, he knew exactly what happened. And when. And how. 

That was six weeks ago, and Bucky wasn’t entirely sure he had moved from his mattress since he’d seen those two blue ticks. It didn’t feel like six weeks. That was a long time. There were days when his phone ran out of charge purely because he was staring at your profile picture for so long. You’d changed it now, from one of you and him, to a selfie you took with Steve and Sam at last year’s Christmas Party. It had been cropped every so slightly to remove Bucky from the picture. You could still see the edge of the jaw, but nobody would have known he was there, save for him. 

That left a heavy feeling on his chest. Not just cropping him out the picture, but out of your entire fucking life. Even with his face removed from the picture, Bucky still remembered that night - kissing you at midnight, telling you he loved you at midnight, keeping a strong arm wrapped around your waist the entire time. If he squeezed his eyes shut long enough, he could pretend you were still there. But, he would open them again a few minutes later and realise you were actually just a pile of pillows with eyeliner stains on them.

(He was experimenting with his style post-break up). 

The worst part of it all was that Bucky knew it was his fault. It was his choice to get bad again; his choice to ignore all the warning signs and instead, dive head first back into his old ways. You’d begged and cried and bartered - left the numbers of therapists on the fridge and self helplines on his laptop - and still, he’d not only gone down a slippery slope, but he’d chosen to throw himself. Now, he was at the bottom. You’d peered over the edge for a little while but soon enough, you had no choice but to walk away. 

“Buck!”

There was a thump on the apartment door, but Bucky didn’t answer.

“Bucky, I know you’re in there,” Steve continued. 

“I don’t wanna talk!” Bucky yelled back. 

True to form, Steve Rogers never listened - the door came crashing down a few seconds later, the super soldier landing in an ungraceful pile on top of it. Fucking brilliant, Bucky thought. 

“What part of I don’t want to talk is hard for you to understand?”

Steve let out a sigh, looking at his best friend. Bucky was strewn across the sofa, six or seven empty bottles of Jack Daniels littered on the coffee and table and an eighth in his hand. The whole place smelt like a fucking bar. It was clear that he hadn’t cleaned since you’d left, or maybe even showered. Bucky’s stubble was forming a beard now and his hair was unkempt. Steve hadn’t seen him looking that tired and messy since his first days out of Hydra. 

“Buck, you’re a mess,” Steve said.

“I made my bed, now I’m lying in it.”

“Actually, you’re on the sofa,” he quipped, but his goofy tone soon dropped. “C’mon, buddy. This has been going on for too long.”

Bucky groaned. “I don’t know what else to do. I lost the only one good thing in my life-”

“- and whose fault was that?” Steve cut him off. 

“What?”

“Whose fault was that?” he repeated himself. “I’m not tryna be mean, Buck, but you pushed them away, remember? They tried, and you refused the help.”

“Did you come over here to help me to feel better, or to make me feel worse?” Bucky snapped.

“Man, I came over here to check you were alive,” Steve replied. “Because no one is sure these days.”

“Just leave me be, Steve.”

—

Bucky rotted in peace undisturbed for a few more days. 

That was until Saturday, when there was a violent knock on his (now repaired, post-Steve) door. He lifted his head from the pillow like a confused puppy, pausing for a moment. He glanced at the time - who would be knocking at 11:32PM on a Saturday night. Did people not have hobbies?

“Pizza!”

“I didn’t order pizza!” Bucky called back. “You have the wrong address.”

“You’re J. Barnes, no?”

“Wrong address, buddy! Go away!”

Another second passed, and before Bucky could even blink, his front door came crashing down again. Seriously, why the fuck did people keep doing that? 

He was about to lose his absolute shit, but instead Bucky froze when he saw you. Apparently it was snowing outside, cos there were a few flecks caught in the front of your hair and on your jacket - his actually, that you’d stolen years ago - and boots. And, to be fair, you were also holding a pizza. 

“I said pizza,” you announced yourself. “Also, Steve sent me to help get your head out your ass.”

“W-what?” Bucky stuttered. “You’re back? You came back-”

 “ - I never left, Bucky,” you cut him off. “I just needed to take some time. I couldn’t sit here and watch you throw yourself back into oblivion, which you have done a very good job of, by the way.”

There was a brief pause before you spoke again. 

“You look like shit and smell like a distillery, by the way.”

Bucky grimaced. “Yeah.”

“Let me help you…please?”

You opened your arms and in a second, he’d fallen forward and let you envelope him completely. You had always planned on coming back, but you’d had to deal with yourself first; Steve calling had been your sign, though. If he couldn’t help Bucky, then things really were dire. And, without sounding twisted, you’d hoped that actually up and leaving like you’d promised would be a wake up call for Bucky.

It had been. He just needed a kick up the ass - and that’s why you were here.

Bucky nor you spoke for a while after that.

He didn’t say a word as you sat on the edge of the bathtub, rinsing shampoo into his hair, although he did let out a little laugh when you used the bubbles to fashion his hair into one long spike. There was a quiet stay still whenever he tried to move when a razor was near his face, or scissors near his hair, but within the hour, you had Bucky looking like Bucky and less like The Winter Soldier. He looked tired still, of course, but this was the first baby step.

“Do you hate me?”

The question caught you off guard. You were sitting on the end of the bed whilst Bucky was drying himself off with a towel; you’d seen his butt enough times, so leaving the room didn’t feel necessary. It did hurt your heart a little to see that he’d lost weight, though, 

You shook your head. “Buck, I could never hate you, and I didn’t stop loving you either.”

His eyes lit up for the first time in weeks. “Really?”

“Are you stupid, Barnes? Of course I didn’t stop,” you shot back. “Like I said, I just couldn’t stand around watching you do that to yourself. I’m sorry for leaving, I really am, but I just wanted you to get better. I still do.”

Bucky took a seat beside you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’ll try. I promise. I’ll call one of Stark’s therapists in the morning, and I’ll go for a run, and-”

“- Buck, don’t push yourself,” you cut him off. “Baby steps, okay? And I’m there for every one of them.”

tags: @adelinesmedia

[biancadoes1]

If this is how Luke treats his girlfriend, they why do we want him for Nic? Our queen deserves better!

We saw the love and respect that they have for each other, but her 'just' friend interview followed by the Boss event debacle seems very strange, not on his grid and nothing from her?

He said in one of the BTS 'Im an actor, that's what I do', well if he is more interested in having countless holidays, parading arm candy, and seeking modelling rather than acting jobs, then Nic is doing the right thing by being a friend and 'just' that. Narrow escape if you ask me.

Let me rip you a new asshole, anon.

First off, grown woman Nicola Coughlan is going to decide what’s best for her and what she deserves. She’s her own person. We can want things for her, sure, but ultimately it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme.

Also, what does the just friend interview and the Boss event do to make you question or even link their mutual love and respect they have for each other? No matter what you believe is happening here, the love and respect we had the opportunity to see between them hasn’t changed. This tells me you think Luke is picking at her or some shit which is stupid af.

And thank you for showing your hurt feelings by reducing Luke to a vapid asshole frat boy that he’s been characterized as heavily since June. I thought it had lightened up a bit after his People SMA spread and interview but here we fucking go again.

Answer me this:

1. How many holidays equals countless? Because we saw maybe two or three trips after he worked and traveled and did press for six months? And if he took more, how do we know that wasn’t for work? You don’t.

2. Parading arm candy? When have you seen arm candy paraded? Antonia at GQ? Work event. Rory’s bday? A friend trip. Is she on his IG stories? Is she on his grid? Seems like he’s never planned to post her. I don’t call that parading either when he’s unknowingly part of a picture posted by friends.

3. Modeling jobs? People SMA is always a photo shoot. Are you referring to that or those pap pictures (that I believe were planned)? Are you forgetting he was filming a movie in Rome around Christmas time? So wtf are you talking about no acting jobs???

You sound like a hurt bitch. I can’t stand hurt bitches too because they like to come up and start saying shit like this when their own insecurities feel like they’re taking a hit.

And because you’re a hurt bitch all the sudden Nicola has made a ‘narrow escape’. Meanwhile your ass was probably up in the notes rooting him on when he was quiet everywhere.

Stop projecting yourself on to this woman. It’s not cute and you look weird.

[stxrsniolo]

ㅤִㅤㅤ ݁ ꉂ a little light in the darkness ᴖ ֽ ㅤᷭ

ㅤ﹙ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ﹚ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤaegan is typingㅤ˺⠀⠀gather round, for what you're about to read is as soft as a feather's touch: it's fluff, my lovelies, where hearts swell and smiles are sure to bloom. enjoy the warmth.

notes: i knew some of my babies here were having a rough few days and the stress, sadness, anxiety and frustration can feel overwhelming, so i made this for y'all. remember that i love you all so much.

the bond between y/n and the triplets was something special, a friendship that had woven itself deeply into the fabric of their lives, already feeling like more than friends; they were family by choice, each bringing something unique to the group. but lately, y/n had been a bit like a dimming lightbulb, her usual glow replaced by a shadow of sadness.

she'd been more about her thoughts than her usual chatter, her days spent writing, often being too hard on herself, and the triplets couldn't help but notice the quiet where her laughter used to echo, and they knew it was time for a rescue mission. back at their place, the air was thick with concern. "i miss y/n's giggle," chris pouted, his usual grin dimmed. "she's definitely in her feels," nick said, his voice soft, his eyes showing his worry. matt, always the empathetic one, suggested, "how about we go cheer her up? make today all about her?"

the idea was met with enthusiastic nods; they decided to hit the shops first, aiming to collect all the things that could possibly sprinkle some joy back into y/n's life. in the car, the energy was like a mini-party. "last time we did this, we ended up with more toys for ourselves than for y/n," chris laughed, navigating through traffic. "yeah, but this time, operation cheer-up is serious," nick declared, tapping away at his phone for ideas. "we're getting her the good stuff."

from the back, matt added, "don't forget those gummy bears, they're her happy button." at the store, they split up like a well-oiled machine: chris, the snack master, dove into the aisles with enthusiasm. "look at these! they've got mango and chili gummies!" he announced, his eyes wide with excitement. nick, the artist of the group, found the perfect set of pens and a sketchbook. "this'll give her something new to pour her heart into," he mused, adding them to their haul. he then grabbed a tiny rainbow flag pin. "for a little extra color and love." matt, the thoughtful one, picked out a small cat plushie, knowing it would wrap y/n in comfort. "this might just make her day," he said with a small smile. the drive to y/n's was like a rolling comedy show, with chris dj-ing, filling the car with feel-good tunes that had them all singing at the top of their lungs. "y/n's gonna flip for this," chris said, bopping to the beat. "but we gotta be sensitive," nick reminded, his voice a balance to their fun. "she might need some quiet time." matt nodded. "we'll go with the flow; if she needs calm, we'll be calm."

when they arrived, y/n answered the door looking like she hadn't laughed in days, but her eyes lit up like christmas lights at the sight of her friends and their bags of cheer. "what's all this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper but filled with gratitude. "operation cheer up y/n, at your service!" chris declared, dumping snacks on her table like he was revealing treasure. nick handed her the sketchbook with a flourish. "for all your creative vibes," he said, his eyes sparkling with affection. matt, with his gentle touch, took her hand. "we missed you, y/n, so we're here to remind you that you're not alone." they made her living room into a little party zone, with snacks, laughter, and stories. chris did his best impersonation of a dance move he'd seen online, making y/n laugh so hard she snorted. nick shared tales from his adventures at pride events, his stories like little sparks of joy. and matt, just being there, his presence like a warm hug as he played with her hair softly. as the night went on, they shared more than just laughs; they shared hearts.

y/n opened up, and they listened, each brother offering his unique brand of comfort - nick with his supportive stance, chris with his boundless optimism, and matt with his comforting ability of understanding people. "i'm sorry for being a bit of a ghost lately," she said, her voice catching. "no sorries needed, y/n. we're here because we love ya," matt reassured her, his words like a balm.

🐦‍⬛ ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤ whisper ㅤ˺ᅟ⠀ i appreciate the love shown through reposts, but let me be clear: my tales are not to be copied or adapted without a whisper to me first. my words are my treasure, and i guard them jealously.

my murder of crows: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @blushsturns

in case that you desire to be tagged in future works, here's the taglist...

[andy-15-07]

Under the Mexican Sun

request sent by @lloydmustache:Pedro x reader, dating for almost a year. They're spending their first Christmas in Mexico with their friends, keeping their relationship as private as possible; yet they get spotted by a few fans once one of their friends posted on Instagram how cheesey Pedro is around her.

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 964 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

A/N:Hi, I know this fic is a bit late and I apologize but the request was sent recently, I hope you like it

The warm, salty breeze of the Mexican coastline greeted you as you stepped off the plane, your hand instinctively finding Pedro’s. Almost a year of dating, and this was your first Christmas together—a milestone you both cherished, even if you were trying to keep it under wraps.

“You sure they won’t post anything?” you teased, glancing at Pedro as he pulled his cap lower over his eyes, trying to stay incognito.

“I’ll bribe them with tequila if I have to,” he chuckled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “But seriously, they know the drill.”

Your friends had been sworn to secrecy. The plan was simple: a low-key holiday with close friends, no paparazzi, no public declarations. But you both knew that secrecy and Pedro didn’t always mix well.

The rented beach house was everything you could have hoped for—spacious, with large windows that let in the golden light of the setting sun. The sound of waves crashing nearby became the perfect soundtrack to your holiday escape.

“This place is perfect,” you sighed, dropping your bags and stretching out on the couch.

Pedro flopped down beside you, pulling you into his arms. “Almost as perfect as you,” he murmured against your hair, making you laugh.

The days blended into a beautiful, sun-soaked rhythm. Mornings were spent lounging in hammocks, afternoons exploring local markets, and evenings filled with laughter, music, and just the right amount of tequila. Pedro was effortlessly charming, his usual wit and warmth amplified by the relaxed atmosphere.

But it was the little things that gave him away. The way his eyes followed you when you weren’t looking, the soft touches that lingered longer than they should have if you were "just friends." Your friends noticed, of course—how could they not?

One evening, as you sat around a bonfire on the beach, your friend Maria snapped a candid photo. You were leaning into Pedro, both of you laughing at something he’d whispered in your ear. It was innocent enough, or so you thought.

“Don’t post that,” Pedro warned, pointing a playful finger at Maria.

“Relax, it’s just for us,” she grinned, but the mischievous glint in her eyes said otherwise.

The next morning, you woke to your phone buzzing incessantly. Groggy, you reached over Pedro to grab it, your heart sinking as you saw the flood of notifications.

“Babe,” you whispered, nudging him awake. “I think we’ve been outed.”

Pedro groaned, rolling over to squint at your screen. There it was—Maria’s Instagram story. A quick, blurry video of Pedro wrapping his arms around you, nuzzling into your neck as you laughed. The caption read: When Pedro Pascal turns into a total cheeseball around her.

“Maria,” Pedro muttered, sitting up and raking a hand through his hair. “She’s buying all the drinks tonight.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as the anxiety bubbled in your chest. “It’s kind of cute, though. Look at all these comments… they love us.”

“They love you,” he corrected, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Guess there’s no hiding now.”

Later that day, as you strolled through a local market, you felt the first pair of eyes on you. Then another. Whispers followed, and soon enough, a brave fan approached.

“Pedro? Oh my God, can we get a picture?”

Pedro glanced at you, his expression softening. “Only if she’s in it too,” he said, pulling you closer.

The floodgates opened after that. Photos, autographs, and well-wishes from fans who were more excited about your relationship than you could have imagined. And while it wasn’t the private holiday you’d planned, it was perfect in its own way.

That night, back at the beach house, Pedro pulled you onto the balcony, the ocean shimmering under the moonlight.

“I know this isn’t how we planned it,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours, “but I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Me neither,” you smiled, your heart full.

And as he kissed you, the world faded away—just you, Pedro, and the love that no amount of secrecy could hide.

The next morning, you and Pedro decided to embrace the newfound attention with humor. Over breakfast, Maria sheepishly slid into her seat, avoiding Pedro’s mock stern gaze.

“So,” he began, dramatically clearing his throat, “about that Instagram story...”

Maria raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! I’ll admit it—I couldn’t resist. You two were just too cute.”

“You’re lucky we love you,” you teased, nudging her playfully.

“Drinks are on me tonight,” she promised, grinning. “Consider it an early Christmas gift.”

That evening, your group ventured out to a local beachfront bar. The atmosphere was lively, filled with music, laughter, and the rhythmic crashing of waves. Pedro kept his arm around you, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your shoulder, a silent declaration of his affection.

As the night wore on, more fans approached—each interaction was met with Pedro’s signature charm and warmth. He introduced you with pride, never shying away from showing how much you meant to him.

“You know,” he whispered in your ear as you danced under the stars, “I think I like being your public boyfriend.”

You laughed, resting your head against his chest. “Good, because I’m not letting you go.”

The final night of your trip arrived too quickly. As you packed, Pedro pulled you aside, his eyes serious but filled with love.

“This year with you has been the best of my life,” he said softly, cupping your face in his hands. “I can’t wait to see what’s next for us.”

“Me neither,” you whispered, your heart swelling with emotion.

As you boarded the plane back home, hand in hand, you knew that no matter where life took you—whether in the spotlight or in quiet, stolen moments—you and Pedro were in it together, for all the Christmases to come.

[marauder-misprint]

hii! could you please write a remus x reader angst, (the ending being good or bad is up to you :D) where the reader has a werewolf phobia due to past experiences? and after a lesson which involved the werewolf topic, reader says some hurtful words, obviously not on purpouse, but remus gets distanced / upset and later reader finds out why??

Did I just have a bad day or is the angst so good that I brought myself to tears writing it? You tell me.

Thank you for the request ❤︎

Werewolf prejudice

Remus Lupin x reader

3k words

cw: angst, Dead Sibling, angst, no happy ending

One of the things you had in common with your friend group was how you didn’t talk about your past or your homelife all that often. James was the most open about his, being that he came from a loving and safe home, a home that he said was open to all of them. Peter, Marlene and Mary all had similar stories, a decent enough family that they didn’t despise going back to over breaks. The rest avoided the topic. From what you knew, Remus moved around a lot as a child so nowhere really felt like home except for Hogwarts, Sirius loathed his family to the point of running away and taking the Potters up on their offer to be his new family, and Lily loved her family but her sister had gained a distaste for her. 

Your parents were intense. So intense to the point where Hogwarts was the only place where you felt free and able to relax. You knew your parents meant well, but it was a lot. They put all of their expectations on you, and you could only try your best to graze them. After all, you were trying to live up to the aspirations they had for your older brother. Your older brother who was buried six feet deep. 

In all honesty, you didn’t remember the night all that well. A therapist said your body was repressing the horrid memories as a coping mechanism. They had said it was probably for the better. But because the memory was fragmented in your mind, no one would risk casting Obliviate on you. What you did know is that a werewolf had killed your brother when he was eight years old, you witnessed it and were scratched but managed to survive. And so, you hated any and all conversations about siblings, your childhood, your scars and werewolves. 

“You with us?” Marlene asked as she threw a piece of candy at you from where she sat on the couch in front of the fireplace in the common room. 

You blinked, looking around the room. You were sitting on the floor among your friends. 

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “I’m with you.”

“So… how was your Christmas?” Mary asked, holding up her hands to catch a candy that Marlene was sending her way.

“It was fine. Nothing too special,” you said uninterested. 

It was fine. It wasn’t special. It was a lot of your parents nagging you about grades and applications to internships that you had no desire to partake in. The actual holiday was lackluster. There was the usual family meal and exchanging of gifts. You received a quill, shoes and some chocolate. It wasn’t anything to brag about, not when James had come back with a new broom and Sirius had several new vinyls that he was going to play on repeat until they all knew the words. 

“Ugh, boring,” Marlene groaned. “Why doesn’t anyone do anything fun over break?”

“We went to a-” James started to say before Lily cut him off. 

“A professional quidditch match and got to meet some of the players, we know.”

“No need to be jealous, Evans. You could’ve come with, you know,” James said, smirking at her. 

“I’m good,” she said firmly.

“Was fun though,” Remus said, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Shame the rest of you couldn’t come.” 

When Remus looked your way, you gave him a sad smile. You had received the invite, but your parents wouldn’t allow you to go, especially not when it was four boys going and no other girls. You argued that James’ parents would be there and if they let you go, maybe the other girls’ parents would let them go. No luck. So the boys got to meet famous players and you got to hear about it. 

“Rem, rest of your break good?” Mary asked.

He nodded with a hum. It was typical of him to not go into detail. 

“My sister came back from France! Was good to see her,” Peter said. 

You leaned back against the armchair Mary was sitting in, letting your eyes close. You listened to Peter recall the adventures his older sister had working for Beauxbaton. He noted that her French was getting so much better, although he said he couldn’t really be a judge of that being he didn’t speak it himself. 

“I can be the judge of that. Next time you write her, tell her I say bonjour,” Sirius said slyly. 

“You will not be flirting with my sister through my letters!” Peter gasped, causing the group to laugh. 

The peace that being with your friends brought you took over your senses. It was refreshing. Soon enough, one by one, your friends turned in for bed. You took Marlene’s spot on the couch after she left, putting you next to Remus. He moved his arm, which had been resting on the back on the couch, to be around your shoulder. As if it were second nature, you leaned into his side with a deep breath. 

Yes, it really had been a shame that you weren’t able to go to the quidditch match.

“So your break was fine?” he asked in a low voice when it was just the two of you left of your group. 

You sighed loudly as you gazed into the dying fire. 

“Grilled about grades, denied seeing my friends and best present were shoes,” you said dryly. “Yours?”

“Quidditch was definitely the highlight of it,” he said, sounding just as disappointed in his break as you did. 

“Wish I could’ve gone,” you grumbled, making Remus give your shoulder a gentle squeeze. 

“Me too,” he whispered.

Then you fell into a comfortable silence. You listened to the crackling of the embers and Remus’ steady breathing. You don’t know when your friendship with him started to feel like there might be a chance for something more. It was moments like this that heightened that feeling - his arm around you fueling the warmth inside your chest. The two of you had exchanged gifts before leaving on break and broke down into uncontrollable fits of laughter when you realized you bought each other the same book, saying ‘I heard it was good.’ (It was good. You wrote each other about every chapter.)

Remus nudged you awake. The fire was reduced to barely glowing coals and the entire common room had emptied out. 

“I think it’s time for bed, love,” he said.

You groaned but nodded, helping him up off the couch once you had stood up yourself. You bid each other goodnight before heading to your respective dorms. 

---

The professors wasted no time in getting back into the swing of things. You felt like you didn’t get to hang out with your friends as much as you wanted to with the piles of homework the professors assigned. You saw the most of Lily and Remus as they would join you in the library for hours on end. At least Professor Grimiski, your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, took the first week to review some of the spells you learned in the fall term. 

“Now that we’ve finished the fall review, we will be moving into a deep dive about werewolves,” he told the class. 

You shifted uncomfortably next to Lily, unable to Remus slouch in his chair as he braced for the worst. Werewolves had been discussed in your previous years and you had managed to suffer through those lessons. You had a few nightmares after those lessons, but you were able to push through it. 

“Let’s see what you remember. Can anyone tell me some defining characteristics?” 

“Murderous, bloodthirsty, horrid,” you listed off under your breath.

“What was that? Please speak up,” Professor Grimiski instructed. 

“Sorry, professor. I was just saying that they are murderous, bloodthirsty, horrid creatures,” you said loudly. 

Your comment received mixed reactions from the classroom. Several students agreed with you. James, Sirius and Peter voiced loud objections as Remus shrunk further into his chair. Of all the people in the classroom who might have said something like that, he wasn’t expecting it to be you. 

“I see. Um, those aren’t the characteristics I was looking for…” the professor said, speaking slowly and scanning the room. “Snape, do you know-”

“They have a shorter snout, more human-like eyes and a tufted tail,” Sirius interrupted aggressively, sounding annoyed. 

“Ah, Mr. Black! There we go! Ten points to Gryffindor.” 

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, leaning back in your chair. Your expression was cold and unmoving for the rest of the lesson. You were only able to semi-pay attention. What you could remember of that night was on repeat in your mind. The night you lost your brother. The night your leg got the deep scars. The night you became an only child with the burden of living up to what he could never do. 

The moment Professor Grimiski dismissed the class, you stalked out of the room and disappeared into a bathroom. You needed to be alone for a little bit before you could tolerate another lesson. As you paced around the bathroom, you felt your breathing speed up. Fuck. You needed to be calming down, not getting more worked up. You splashed water onto your face and tried to take deep breaths. 

When you were composed again, you went to Transfiguration. You stood awkwardly off to the side of the room when you saw Remus sitting with James, deep in a whispered conversation. Usually you sat with Remus during Transfiguration. After a moment, you took an open seat next to Emmeline Vance. She gave you a kind smile. 

It was like that for the rest of the day. Remus sat next to James, Sirius or Peter in every class, even the ones he usually sat next to you. That left you sitting with new people and throwing off your groove. None of the boys would make eye contact with you. Even at lunch, they turned away from you. You were suddenly iced out without any inclination as to why. 

“Remus, Lil and I are headed to the library. You coming?” you asked in the common room after dinner. 

“No,” he said.

You swore that the armchair he was in was about to swallow him whole with how he was sitting in it. You doubted it was comfortable. The walk to the library with Lily was quiet. Both of you felt like something was up with Remus but neither was going to say anything. It was like each knew the other didn’t have the answer. 

After a few days of similar behavior from the Marauders, they returned to their usual seating habits. You were able to sit with Remus again, but it wasn’t the same as it was. He was far more quiet, more distant than before. He didn’t chuckle at any of your quiet jokes. He didn’t respond to any notes you slid his way. James, Sirius and Peter still seemed minorly upset with you, but at least they weren’t giving you the silent treatment anymore. 

Still, the silence from Remus was driving you crazy. How could you have gone from maybe almost something to not even friends? His behavior affected you more than the lessons on werewolves. Each lesson left you feeling tense and the more in depth Professor Grimiski got, the harder it was to breathe in the classroom. Remus, on the other hand, left you feeling empty and scared. You walked on eggshells around him, not wanting to upset him any more than you already had. 

In essence, it was a very rough start to the semester. 

Lily, Marlene and Mary all urged you to talk to Remus. You all knew him to be fairly level headed, at least out of the Marauders. He was reasonable. If you just asked, they were sure he would tell you what was wrong. 

You just had to wait for the right time. It had to be when he was alone and lately, it felt like he always had one of the boys glued to his side when classes weren’t in session. You figured your best bet was Saturday. James had quidditch practice and Sirius managed to get detention already. The girls said that they would rope Peter into a Wizards’ Chess tournament if they had to, which they did. Remus and Peter had walked into the common room together. Remus headed up to their dorm when the girls summoned Peter over with a prize for the first place that they knew he couldn’t turn down. 

It was your chance. You slipped up the boys’ stairs and knocked on the door to Remus’ dorm. 

“Wormtail, you don’t have to knock for your dorm, Merlin,” his voice called out. 

You opened the door tentatively. Remus froze where he stood. He was in the middle of putting on a sweater. You stared at each other, neither moving nor speaking.

You cleared your throat after a few beats. “Can I come in?” 

“It’s just me in here,” he said coldly.

“I… I know,” you said, entering and closing the door behind you. As you stepped further into the room, you fidgeted with your fingers. “I was hoping we could talk.”

He finished pulling on his sweater and crossed his arms defensively over his chest. He was on guard. 

“About?” 

“What did I do?” you asked, your voice cracking and tears immediately threatening to fall. “What did I do to upset you?” 

He took a sharp breath. He hadn’t expected you to sound so broken. He swallowed thickly in an attempt to keep himself steady. In that moment, he hated the effects you had on him. 

“I-” he started to say before needing to take another breath. “I didn’t expect you to be so prejudiced.” 

Confusion immediately appeared on your face.

“What do you mean? Prejudiced?”

“Yes. Erm, about werewolves.” He pressed his lips together as he watched you chew on the inside of your lips. 

“You shut me out because of what I said about werewolves?” you asked incredulously. 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. 

“Yes.” 

“Wh-why?”

“Not all werewolves are… that,” he said, his voice dripping with disgust as he finished his statement. 

“But they are,” you said, your voice warbling. “They are horrible, horrible beasts. They are capable of ruining lives.”

“I know what they’re capable of,” Remus said. 

“Do you? Because if you did, I don’t think you’d be so sympathetic towards them.” You took your own deep breath, exhaling loudly. “Did you know that I’m not an only child? I had a brother. Until one killed him.” Your voice hitched and you felt the tears begin to stream down your face. “It almost killed me.” 

You lifted your skirt enough to show the deep scars on your leg. 

“Oh,” Remus breathed, taking a step back despite raising his arm to reach out to you. “Oh.” 

You nodded. “Oh is right.” 

“Oh gods… you’re going to hate me,” he said in a quiet voice to himself. He chuckled but it sounded eerily similar to a sob. “You’re going to hate me.” 

“Why am I going to hate you?” you asked in a voice just as quiet. 

He ran a hand through his hair, turning to sit on his bed. 

“I think you should sit down.” 

You gave him a quizzical look, but listened, sitting down on Sirius’ bed across from him. 

“I’m… I’m a werewolf.”

You stared at him. You were certain you didn’t hear him right. There was no way that your favorite person, the scarred boy sitting across from you whose arms made you feel like everything was okay in the world, was the same kind of creature as the one who doomed you to a life of never being enough for your parents.

“What?” you gasped after what felt like an entire minute.

“I’m a werewolf,” he repeated. “Please, please don’t hate me.” 

“But… you can’t be,” you said, shaking your head. “No. You’re… you’re you! You can’t be a monster… You’re…”

“I’m a werewolf.” 

“Remus,” you whispered. “Oh, Remus…” 

“Please, even if you hate me now, please don’t tell anyone. Some of the teachers know. And Sirius, Peter, James. But that’s it. I can't… I can’t have this getting out.” 

Your features softened as you took in the worry on Remus’ face. 

“How long… how long have you been a… a…” You can’t bring yourself to call Remus a werewolf. It doesn’t feel real. It can’t be real.

“Since I was young. That’s, uh, that’s why I don’t talk about my childhood. It’s why we moved ‘round so much. I’m a risk. To everyone.” 

You nodded, not knowing what to say. You just looked at Remus and let your thoughts try to come to terms with it. 

“I… I don’t think I can hate you,” you said after a while. “Oh, Remus…” You paused. “What do you do… every… erm, full moon? How dangerous are you?” 

“I leave the grounds. I’m contained. Dumbledore made it so I could come to Hogwarts and not actively endanger anyone,” he explained. 

You nodded. You were full of conflicted feelings. You know you can’t hate Remus, but you don’t know how you can be around him when he’s a werewolf, not with your family. 

“I… I don’t hate you. And… I won’t say anything,” you said slowly. “But I need time. I… I don’t know if I can be friends with you.”

You stood up, wiping away the tears that stained your face. You left Remus sitting on his bed alone in his dorm. As much as it killed you to walk away, you knew you had to. At least for now. You had to figure out if you could separate the werewolf who ruined your family from the werewolf you sat next to in class. You didn’t know if you had the ability to accept the possibility of a good werewolf, although you did know that if there ever was a good werewolf, it would be in the form of Remus. 

[petriwriting]

Like the movies - Theodore Nott X Reader

Summary: Ex lovers meet again and rekindle the romance they once had.

Fluff, Older!Theo, Post graduation 

A/N: this is based on a cheesy hallmark christmas movie I watched a while ago. this fic will be fluffy, but also kind of cheesy so be warned. No mentions of book canon events (like the battle at Hogwarts) Italics are flashbacks or letters. 

The busy streets murmured with chatter and the sounds of footsteps. It was like any other day, It was the midday rush. Witches and wizards scurried past you to get their afternoon coffees and quick to-go lunches in between their snobby ministry jobs, men in nice suits and colorful ties and women in heels. The perfect setting for the busy city. The rough cobblestone streets threatened your ankles with every step, but you were used to them so much that you could walk quickly in a rhythm with them. You exhaled a soft pillow of air from your lungs, watching it sail away in the cold air. It was a bit windy, with an unexpected chill. Your fingertips felt cold so you buried them into your coat pockets seeking warmth, decidedly finding refuge from the chatter of the street in a small coffee shop. The warmth immediately embraced you and it was a sweet relief. You recognized the scent of fresh bread and pastries, standing in line to order yourself a hot tea to beat the cold, maybe a croissant if they had one.

The usual crowd was there, people for business meetings, mothers grabbing a quick bite, and servers busing tables and wiping down surfaces. As you wandered up, you noticed something. A tall man stood in front of you with a beanie, you couldn't quite read the menu from behind him. He stood next to a blonde woman who held onto his arm. His cologne... you knew that scent. You couldn't possibly miss it. It was Theodore Nott. He had turned around, as if on cue, to meet your eyes, surprised to see it was really you. He smiled softly, although at first his mouth was agape for a short moment in shock. You looked even better than you did when he had seen you at school last. 

In that moment, all the memories flooded the both of you. Soft touches, running your fingers through his soft hair, The candlelight anniversary you spent in the astronomy tower, kissing on the Hogwarts express to make up for lost time after not seeing each other over the summer, skinny dipping in the black lake, sneaking around the corridors at night. It felt like reliving a romantic novel, nostalgic and sweet like candy. it was starting to make you wonder why you had ever broken up in the first place. But then you remembered the harsh reality in front of you. He was clearly with a woman, maybe his girlfriend, or his wife. You had no clue. He had moved on from you, that was that. Despite all these emotions, you were honest with yourself. It was still good to see him after all this time. 

"Hi." he said gently. "Hi," you replied. The woman by his arm looked confused "Teds, who is this?" she asked. Ted. you knew he hated when people called him ted. "This... This is Y/N." he said. "A friend from school." He said. you smiled. "It's good to see you!" you chimed. The woman put herself between the two of you, "I'm Mel, Ted's fiance." She said with a quirky smile. She did not seem bothered by you, but she was curious, and it was clear you must have been a soft spot for you based on what she had said next. "I recognize you," she said, tilting her head. "You are in that picture on our wall, all dressed up in quidditch gear." You know which picture she is referring to, because you have a copy of the same photograph. It makes you elated to know he still has your picture up on the wall after all this time. "Well it's good to finally meet you," she smiled sweetly. "I studied in America but I love seeing what school life was like for Hogwarts alumni." The woman said, her blonde curls bounced when she turned her head towards theo. "Maybe we could get a coffee together sometimes? I didn't know you were in town." He said. You nodded. You never really left. "That would be nice, you know where to find me," you chuckled softly. "Aww, it'll be like a reunion!" Mel chirped. The couple in front of you turned and ordered their drinks, and you did the same right after them. Once your drink was ready, an herbal tea, you rushed out the door to get some air.

You were in slight disbelief, but you had heard from a professor once that love would find its way back to you if it was meant to be.

. . . . . .

Nostalgia had hit you the next day, you woke up and stayed in bed for a while, turning over every memory in your mind from your school days that seemed so far away yet just like they had happened yesterday at the same time. You crawled over the edge of your bed, grabbing a small shoe box. you sat up and slowly opened the cardboard lid to reveal a gathering of photographs and trinkets. You saw the same photograph Mel had mentioned seeing you in, your thumb running over the glossy surface of the photograph lightly. Then, another photograph, you remembered Pansy Parkinson had taken the picture and said with a big smile "Cheers to the handsome couple!", in which Theo was sat down and you had your arms around him from behind, you smiled at the camera while he had his eyes on you with a smirk. Another photo was a group class photo, all your classmates and friends. Another photo was you and Theo the night of the yule ball, dressed in your nicest robes and Theo with a bowtie to match your dress, you were hugging his side tightly while his arm was around you. The nostalgic ache returned in your stomach as you felt a longing for your lost days. There was Theo's old Slytherin class ring he had given you as a promise ring, the shiny silver and emerald gem held up nicely over the years. And there was a beaded friendship bracelet from your best friend in there. It was full of fond memories, and a tender feeling overwhelmed you until your fingers had led you to a small, thick envelope full of parchment. 

It was a letter, enchanted by the smell of rose. It had slightly smeared, navy ink in messy handwriting on it. The nostalgic feeling became a bit too overwhelming, so you had to take a deep breath as you contemplated tossing the letter back in the box and never opening it again, or reading the sentiments it contained. you decided on the later, slowly unfolding the parchment with a crinkle sound, greeted by familiar messy cursive penmanship. 

Y/N, I can't wait to see you again. I have some news. My father is taking me to Italy after graduation. I would love to take you with me. He says he has an opportunity lined up for me to work there. He said he wants me to attend college there, like he and my grandfather have done. There's so many beautiful things there to see, and I want to have you by my side for all of it. I've missed you so much this summer, each one feels like an eternity without you.  I have my mothers ring, I want you to have it and wear it when I see you again.  I want to marry you, and wake up next to you every day. I want to start a life together.  I cannot wait until we can start our lives together officially. I love you. so much.  We will catch up when I see you again in the coming weeks.          - With love, your teddy.

After reading the letter, tears welled in your eyes, and you would have cried for an hour if it weren't for your responsibilities calling you. It ached to know he had moved on, that he had found someone else. You felt like you had just been left behind, and it pained you to know that under different circumstances, maybe, you would have married him and gone with him on his travels. But the thought of Mel wearing his mothers ring just did not sit right with you, and it was hard to be truly happy for them. You wanted whatever was best for him, even now. 

. . . . . .

Weeks had passed, and Theodore had contemplated dialing you, or sending you an owl. But he didn't, because truthfully he wasn't sure what to say without sounding desperate. He sat in his home office, it was a late evening. He had a small flat with Mel, he could hear her stirring around the place getting ready for bed. He would never tell you, but they had been arguing a lot lately. He had gotten engaged to Mel in the spring, to please her parents who wanted her to be married very soon. He had only been with her for a whole one year now. It felt rushed, and They both wondered if the feelings of doubt were normal or an intuitive sign that maybe it wasn't right after all. Mel was gravely offended and upset that Theodore had purchased a ring to propose to her, rather than giving her his mothers wedding ring that had been passed down and in his family for many generations. And in turn, Theo was upset that Mel was selfish, only ever wanting to do things she took pleasure in, not truly listening to him. 

He exhaled, and tapped his quill against the blank page. No words could come out. He thought comfort from old friends would be kind. He had already written Draco recently, who was expecting a baby with Astoria Greengrass, his now wife. His life seemed to fall into place perfectly after school. It didn't seem fair. He even checked up on some of his other buddies from those days. Nothing seemed to give a truly nostalgic happiness quite like seeing you that day had. He still knew how you liked your coffee, your favorite song, hoping it hadn't changed. He felt slightly empty in his day to day life. But he had no idea you were still in town until he had run into you.

"Ted!" Mel called. He hated when she would yell, rather than just walking over to where he was. "Yes?" Theo called. He sighed. Mel popped her head into his office. "Have you seen my watch? the gold one, I can't find it anywhere." Theo looked at her, empty handed and he truthfully had not the slightest clue where it could be. "No idea." He said flatly. "Is everything ok?" she asked him suspiciously. "yes." Theo had said. "Just tired." He said. "Oh... well don't be up too late, you'll have to see me off in the morning." She said, and then went back to looking for her watch. She had been packing. Right. Theodore had remembered Mel was going to be out of town for the next two weeks, going back to America for her school reunion. He had forgotten, but he didn't want to admit to her it was going to be nice to be alone for a bit, he could reflect and figure out his loneliness. 

The next morning, Theo woke up at 11:30am. He had slept in. Mel was going to be furious. she must have been already on the train by now, at least a hundred miles away. He sighed in discouragement, writing her an owl immediately to apologize to her. She would be very upset when she got back home, and Theo would probably never hear the end of it from her, but it wasn't like it was a 6 month cruise across the world, it was only 2 short weeks. She should be fine, or at least he used that to reassure himself. He kept thinking of you whenever his mind wandered, especially when he was reminded of his school days. He remembered how sweet you were, and how you were his very first love. 

He spent the morning finding you in a phone book Mel had purchased, with almost everyone who lived locally. His fingers gently skimmed over the ink that said your name and address. After some time, he contemplated his decision to go see you, finally deciding that he would. Theo made himself a quick breakfast, dressed and headed out the door.

When he arrived at your flat, he knew you would likely have been spending the day in bed, sleepy. That's always how you spent sundays when you were younger. His feet carried him to the door, but he could not bring himself to knock at first. He hesitated, toying with the idea of just leaving, but there was a part of him that was still fond of you that kept his feet locked in place at your door. He gently knocked on the door, hearing you shuffling about inside for a few minutes before you answered. 

You gasped when you saw him. "Theo," you exclaimed happily. He was right, you were wearing pajamas and a robe over top. "Please come in." you said. "I'm happy you came to see me." you said. "Me too," he admitted. "How is Mel doing, where is she this morning?" you asked hesitantly. "She's out of town, actually." he said, sounding slightly saddened. 

"Oh. Well hopefully you won't be alone too long." you offered. "Would you like some tea?" Theo nodded, hoping you still remembered he liked a bit of honey, and one sugar cube to chew on while it cooled. It was a ritual of his. you closed the door once he entered, and walked over to the kitchen to put on some hot water in the kettle. 

"I'm glad you're here," you said. "really." you said gently. "Please have a seat." you offered, Theo sat at your kitchen island and everything suddenly felt strange, like things were just right where they were always meant to be. "I just wanted to catch up, see what you were up to," he said. "And sorry if you had plans today I could just leave if it's too much trouble-" You cut him off, "No-no. I'm fine. I enjoy your company." you said softly. 

"So what have you been up to? I hear you're getting married soon?" you asked fake excitedly. 

"Yes, about that..." he trailed off. You looked at him and frowned. "Is everything ok with Mel?" you asked him somewhat concerned. "Oh, yes yes, of course." he lied. "I ... was actually going to ask if you still had my mothers ring." You wanted to burst into tears, but maintained a cool and mature demeanor, something you were never good at. Your heart had dropped right out of your chest and into your lower stomach, smelling and causing a slight nausea. "oh, Yes I believe I still do... It's probably somewhere with my old things from school, I could find it for you."

"That would be great," he said. "Mel seems like a kind girl, erm. How did you guys meet?" You stammered, there was a bit of awkward tension  now. 

"My Father was mates with hers when they were younger, He introduced us." Theo explained. one thing you knew about him was that he did not have the best relationship with his father. "That sounds nice. I'm glad you have someone." you said gently. 

"Are you seeing anyone?" He asked you, quite blunt. "Oh, erm, no,-no. I'm not." you said. 

"Oh," Theo said. "Any guy would be lucky to have you. I'm surprised."

"Thanks. Just haven't found the right person I guess." you said softly, with an exhale the kettle began its drawn out whistle and you grabbed two saucers and two cups for the tea, dropping a bit of sugar in yours and putting a few sugar cubes onto Theo's plate, you sat it down on the counter and returned to the cabinet to grab some honey and a spoon for him. He smiled to himself as he watched you. You hadn't changed that much, still the same version of yourself that he had fallen in love with all those years ago. 

"Anyway, The ring," you said stiffening up. "I'll have to look through my old things but I'm positive it's here somewhere. I know it's an old family heirloom, so I didn't ever throw it away." 

you said, holding the cup of tea to warm your hands. "Are you proposing to Mel?" you asked. 

"Well, I already did. My father mentioned that damn ring and she was upset that I bought one since I didn't have it at the time." he sighed heavily. "I'm sorry to hear that."  you replied. "I can look for it now." you set your mug down, and scurried off towards your bedroom. Theo chuckled to himself as he watched you. 

You searched your closet first, then drawers, and cabinets. anywhere in your bedroom that you could have stashed it away. You kept it on a chain, until the day you would be ready to wear it on your finger again, but when that time never came seeing it made you sad. 

Theodore approached with his mug, his boots alarming you to his every step, He leaned in the doorway and sipped his tea. "You don't have to find it today." he said gently, trying to ease your frantic searching. He felt bad about it, knowing it might ache for you the way it did for him. 

"I think, It's in here, just- wait," you said, tossing around your things to find it in your closet. While you were distracted, Theodore sat at the end of your bed, seeing the small box "Memories" written on it in your handwriting. He didn't want to snoop, but it was already open. He couldn't help but peek at the contents. He set his mug of tea on your bedside table and grabbed one of the photographs, It was the picture of you with your arms around him. He took a moment, wanting to cry for those good days when you were both happy, but not wanting to embarrass himself. He had to shake the fluttery feeling off, and remind himself that he was engaged, and the wedding venue was picked out, and his fiance's family had already started planning things. 

He longed for you, for your touch, your scent, your gentle voice all of you. But he couldn't tell you. He found himself staring at the photo, his thumb gently tracing over it. he smiled. 

His silence had caught your attention when you had fallen short trying to find the ring. You turned around and flushed pink. "So sorry," you said, knowing he had already seen the photos and letters he had written you as a young man. You quickly grabbed the box, and turned to stash it away when you had tripped over a sock on your floor, the photos wisped over the floor, his scarf falling out and unrolling itself, and you were both startled by the "Cling" sound of something falling onto your wooden floors. "I found it!" you exclaimed, collecting yourself to your feet, it was a silver plated ring with ornate detailing on it and a polished diamond in the center. You had kept it around a chain to wear around your neck when you missed him after the break up...

You held it out to Theo in your hand with a sigh. His fingers grazed your hand as he picked it up and held it between his fingers. "Thanks," he said.

. . . . . .

Just before graduation, you found yourself lying on the soft bed of grass by the black lake, with theo by your side. One arm was behind his head acting as a pillow, and the other was in his jumper pocket fiddling with his mothers ring. You had gotten his letter, you knew he wanted to, but you had no idea what would come next.

"I love you." he said, sincerely and simply. "I love you." You replied quickly. He sighed, sitting up after a moment. "Teddy?" you cooed, seeing he was distraught. "Y/N," he exhaled softly, you felt your stomach sink down and your body melted into the earth's touch, you were nervous. He was acting strangely. "My father has arranged for me to leave. He insists that I go on my own." he said. he sounded weak, like a wounded animal. "I know I already promised this to you," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the shiny ring that was once his mothers.

"But I want you to keep this until I come back."  you looked at him, your glassy eyes looked like they could cry any second, and it shattered his heart.  you leaned forward and kissed him passionately, his soft lips colliding with yours. 

.   .   .

After graduation, Theo had seemingly disappeared, He didn't owl you or try to contact you at all, and it hurt tremendously. Finally, after asking around and searching for him for days, you had his mothers ring around your neck on a chain, going to the last resort. You walked up to the Nott manor slowly, anxiety rising in your chest you forced your breath to steady. You had to convince yourself he wasn't kidnapped, hurt or worse. You walked up the brick steps and placed a stern knock on the door. 

After a while, his father finally answered. He was displeased to see you. "My boy doesn't want to see you," he said. "You should just go home." he snapped at you, his tone was rude. "Where is Theodore- Is he okay?" you asked, he was tempted to shut the door in your face but he humored you. "Theodore is doing fine. But he Does Not want to see you anymore." he said again, this time louder and more aggressive. "And that doesn't belong to you." he said, reaching for the ring around your neck. You stepped back and tucked it into your shirt. "Tell me where he is." you insisted. "Absolutely not. We don't need filth like you in our bloodline.. My boy can do better." He snarled and slammed the door, click, he locked it. 

Your eyes welled with tears as you ran off from his street, breathing so heavily you were hyperventilating. You were left so confused, and hurt. Theo wouldn't possibly do that to you, he'd tell you right?

.   .   .

The night Theodore left, he was at the Nott manor gathering his things and packing. His father stood in the doorway, ready to diffuse the situation if heaven-forbid he decided to run away. "Where is Y/N?" Theo asked, he was still wearing his slytherin sweater despite no longer being a student technically. The thick wool brought him comfort. "I have to see her before I go anywhere." Theodore stood up to his father, ready for conflict. 

"She's gone." He snapped. "She said she doesn't want to see you. and she made off with your mothers ring, probably selling it for cash.." he muttered. "She wouldn't do that. You are a filthy liar." he snapped through gritted teeth. "Tell me where she is or I won't go." Theodore's father laughed in his face, "You're going boy, even if we have to restrain you." 

Before Theodore could lunge at his father, he had disarmed him and some of his fathers cronies had appeared to restrain Theo, and stun him. He put up quite the fight before he was finally defeated. 

. . . . . .

In the coming two weeks, you had made it a habit to see Theodore nearly everyday, falling back into the old familiar friendship you both missed. You went shopping together, he had even made you dinner, and assembled your new dresser for you, yes- you could have used magic to do it, but where is the fun in that?

It felt like domestic bliss, but it had to end. Tomorrow morning, Mel would be back in town and your lives would have to go back to how they were before you had each other in them. Not that you couldn't stay friends, but Mel seemed pushy and you didn't want to pry. You fell back in love within those two weeks of keeping each other company, you were thankful that he came into your life when he had. It was a dull aching love.

You found yourselves sitting on the rooftop patio of your building, overlooking the nice view of the sunset. Theo had pulled up a chair next to yours, closer. You had both of your cups of cocoa, and Theo was smoking a cigarette, a habit he had long forgotten after school, especially because Mel said she hated them, and that they smelled gross. You were never particularly fond of the smell, but it was homely to you because Theo had smoked during his school days. 

He sighed and took a long drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke that slowly disappeared into the air. you turned to him. "So," He said, breaking the silence. "I'm going to leave Mel," he said. You were quite shocked by this, though part of you was not surprised, they didn't seem entirely happy together. 

"Why?" you asked curiously. "She seems sweet, and you have a whole life together planned, why give up now?"

Theo was silent for a while, thoughtfully taking a hit and then a sip. "Because," he began, his words trailing out like puzzle pieces being strung together, until it all finally made sense to you. 

"To be truthful, I don't want to marry her. I don't think I ever did. The only person I ever really wanted to marry... was you. After I left, I wrote to you nearly every day, even after I realized you weren't receiving any of my letters, I still did it because it was comforting. That's why I never asked for the ring back, until I thought about giving it to her, but I think I did that because my father wanted me to. And I've learned to not care what he thinks so much." He said, his voice was soothing, like honey upon your ears. " I don't care what he says, I don't think anything could keep me from you." He says with a desperate exhale, putting out his cigarette. "Teddy?" you said gently. "What are we going to do?" 

"I don't know, but we'll figure it out. and I'm sorry for all the lost years. I want to make it up to you. however I can." He had matured so much as a person, and you saw now that he had blossomed from a boy into a man in those 5 years. You stayed quiet, and smiled softly, his hand grabbed yours, you were now close enough together that you could rest your head on his shoulder as the sunset's warm glow slowly became overwhelmed by darkness. 

. . . . . .

The next morning, it was a rainy and lazy day. you rolled out of bed to the knock on your door. Sheepishly and hesitantly, you wandered across the floor, wondering when the rain had even started. You opened the door, gasping when you were met with a sopping wet Theodore. You smiled, happy to see him again. He breathed heavily as if he had run right to you, dripping water on your door mat. "Mel left me. It's over." he said, with an exasperated breath. You looked concerned for him, knowing that breakups weren't ever pleasant for anyone involved. "Can I kiss you?" he asked. You did not utter a word, instead you kissed him deeply, making up for lost time, Ignoring his wet hair dripping onto your face, It felt like an explosion having his arms wrapped around you again, tasting him, smelling his musky cologne again, feeling the touch of his embrace. He spun you around and you pulled back and smiled. 

"Take it inside you damn kids!" the old woman who lived next door to you muttered before bringing her groceries inside her apartment. you both couldn't help but laugh and smile at each other. 

"Come in, I think you need a shower." you said gently running your fingers through his wet hair. 

"One more thing," He said, reaching into his pockets, grabbing his mothers ring that was still on your silver chain from the last time you wore it. "This belongs to you. I shouldn't have asked for it back." Now inside, you smiled again and kissed him once more, It was the start of a rekindling of an old flame, officially now of course. You both couldn't possibly feel more in love than you did in that moment. 

[disappearinginq]

I'm calling this Febuwhump Day 3 prompt fulfillment (read: I need validation) because it was, conveniently, written yesterday. Prompt: Pinned Down.

It's long, so it's going underneath the cut:

“What is that?” River pushed himself further away from the man, eyeing the hypodermic in Frank’s hand, but there was nowhere to go. Not with his hands cuffed behind him, looped around the headboard of the bed frame, or his feet bound together with thick rounds of duct tape.

Frank sat down on the frame next to him, almost gentle in his movements, his face solemn and somewhat wistful, and he reached a hand over to pat River’s thigh, and for a disturbing moment, Frank seemed almost human.

Except for the part where he still had a needle in his hand, staring at it in a way that made River’s heart rate spike, the sudden wave of nausea threatening making him swallow convulsively.

When he was first dropped at his granddad’s house, Rose had a dog, Errol, an ancient terrier mix who much preferred a childless household, his quiet days filled with napping in the sun on his favorite spot on the carpet or making the rounds through Rose’s gardens - more out of habit than chasing vermin. But River had never been allowed a pet before. Isobel hardly wanted him around, never mind an extra mouth that couldn’t be left alone to figure out a cereal box while she was gone for hours or days at a time. He adored the cranky animal, enduring several nips to fingers to be able to stroke the wiry hair, even when prudence said he should leave Errol well enough alone. He liked to think he eventually appealed to Errol’s better half by sneaking him scraps from the table despite multiple warnings from his grandparents, and eventually, he and the dog were rarely apart. It wasn’t like Rose or David knew anyone with young children, or perhaps they did, and didn’t want to explain how River came to be dumped in the garden like a stray animal, so Errol was the only one around for River to play with. Even if that play was mostly reading in the garden under the shade of the trees while Errol stretched out beside him on his back, feet in the air, snoring loud enough to scare away birds.

But Errol was already old by the time River showed up. They had exactly one summer and three months together until two days before Christmas, Rose called the vet because Errol couldn’t stand anymore, and would only lay on his pillow near the fire, shaking and whining from pain.

Rose stayed with Errol while David ushered River upstairs, perhaps more to do with giving Rose a chance to say goodbye to her companion of 16 years, than sparing River the harsh realities of death and dying.

The last thing River saw before his granddad gently pushed him out of view of the parlor was the vet holding up a hypodermic that looks suspiciously like the one in Frank’s, and his expression was disturbingly similar to David’s when he’d sat with River on his bed, explaining as best he could that what they were doing for Errol was for the best, a kindness and a mercy borne from love for the old dog. He’d patted River’s leg ruefully, and sat with him in silence while River cried for the only friend he had.

River did not like the parallels.

“You are making this very difficult, son,” Frank sighed. “Pups are easier to train - that’s why you get them when they’re young. Once they’re eight months, a year - you have to break them down, start from scratch. Get rid of all the bad habits they’ve picked up before they came to you.”

River didn’t think it wise to point out what a load of shit that was, and more importantly, he was not a dog he was a person, not when Frank was still staring at the needle in his hand like maybe, maybe he wouldn’t have to use it.

“I should’ve come for you earlier. I see that now. If I’d known Isobel was going to dump you anyways, I would’ve just picked you up from your grandfather’s before he could really get his hooks into you. You and I - we could’ve made a real difference. I’ve been unreasonable, expecting too much of you too soon. I see that now. I’m not too big a man to admit my mistakes. But I am willing to try and correct them. You have potential. So much potential. But you’ve too many bad habits getting in your way. Habits that need to be broken.”

River twisted his hands against the cuffs, feeling the scabbed over skin break and bleed anew as he quietly tried to pull the unyielding metal over bone and tendon.

Frank sniffed, and clapped a hand on River’s knee, at first like someone might clap someone on the back in congratulations, but then his grip tightened, fingers digging painfully into already bruised skin in warning that River had better stop fidgeting while Frank was talking to him, or this almost civil conversation was going to get much worse, very quickly.

“But what defines a man, son, is how he learns from his mistakes. How he takes his weaknesses and makes them his strengths. Understand?”

River shook his head. “You don’t have to do this.”

“No, I do. I do, son. Because you’ve made me,” Frank said, turning to face River, offering a small smile that held no warmth. “Don’t worry. It’ll just put you to sleep.”

That was what the vet told Errol.

“You don’t have to do this, Frank - you don’t…” River shoved himself as far back as he could manage, but it was useless. He could go nowhere.

Frank’s hand came up, vicious and quick and slammed River’s head back into the wall before shoving him violently against the bedsprings, Frank’s meaty hand pressing down on the side of River’s face with such brutal force River could feel the metal biting in his other cheek even as his vision reeled from the blow.

“I don’t want to go to sleep!” It was embarrassing, to have to beg, to be a fully grown man with MI5 training, pinned down like some kind of animal, but River didn’t care. He could feel his heart threatening to beat out of his chest, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t budge, not with Frank’s weight pressing down on him, the awkward angle he forced River’s neck into feeling like at any moment, it would snap. “Don’t do this, Frank - sir - Dad,” he said the word in desperation, without thought, grasping at straws for anything that would keep his own father from putting him down like a misbehaving pet.

The needle sunk into his neck, and River closed his eyes, maybe in denial but mostly so that Frank couldn’t see the tears as whatever was in the hypodermic was injected, freezing cold but somehow burning all the way, and River knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, he wasn’t getting out of this.

Patrice stood in the corner, eyes cast down, arms folded across his chest, as unmoving as a statue, his warning that River had no idea what Frank was capable of echoing in his head.

River expected Frank to leave once he’d injected the drug, but he didn’t, and that was worse. He didn’t let up his bruising grip until River felt his muscles start to relax, and his vision swam dangerously. His heartbeat slowed, his breathing became shallow, his stomach rolling violently. When Frank finally lifted his hand, River tried to turn his head, but he couldn’t move, even as the metal dug painfully into his cheek and he could feel blood starting to well in the shallow cuts.

Frank’s hand came down, and River couldn’t flinch away from the expected slap, but instead, Frank’s hand brushed his hair away from his face, running a calloused thumb across River’s dampened cheek as River fought against the encroaching darkness, terrified that if he closed his eyes, he would never open them again.

He was going to die here.

“There’s a good boy,” Frank soothed, shushing him gently. “Good boy.”

River had never considered how much he hated that phrase. Hated it to his very bones, and felt a surge of rage so strong it momentarily beat back the black tide of unconsciousness that was dragging him down, and stupidly, foolishly, thought of the Slow Horses, and a voice that sounded suspiciously like Lamb warned him not to comply in advance.

It took every ounce of will that remained for him to force out the words, “They’ll find me.”

“He will look for you,” Frank agreed, his voice echoing distantly, “endlessly. But he’ll never find you. You’ll just be another ghost to haunt him.”

And River knew no more.

[the-most-humble-blog]

Damien Leone Said Terrifier Is Just Entertainment, and the Woke Brigade Shit Themselves

Shut Up, Snowflakes, It’s Just a Killer Clown With a Hacksaw

Damien Leone, the evil genius behind Terrifier and the creator of Art the Clown—aka your sleep paralysis demon with a hacksaw—just set off a firestorm of outrage. Why? Because he had the audacity to say his franchise is, get this: “pure entertainment.”

That’s right, he didn’t kick a puppy, drop an f-bomb on live TV, or piss in someone’s oat milk latte. He simply said his batshit horror movies about a clown murdering people in horrifying ways aren’t political.

Cue the woke mob collectively losing their shit.

What Did Leone Actually Say?

Here’s the “controversial” bombshell:

“Terrifier is NOT in any way shape or form a political franchise. I fell in love with horror as a form of pure entertainment, and those are the films I like to make.”

That’s it. That’s the whole scandal. But because the internet is the internet, snowflakes read this and went, “Wait, what? No politics? HOW DARE YOU!”

Seriously, you’d think he told them Art the Clown was running for Congress.

The Woke Outrage Olympics

Let’s dive into the bullshit:

🔹 “Saying it’s not political IS political!” 👉 No, Karen, saying “my horror movie is just for fun” isn’t political. It’s called entertainment, and not everything needs to be a goddamn manifesto.

🔹 “Horror has always been political!” 👉 Sure, some horror is. Night of the Living Dead tackled racism. Get Out dunked on white liberals. But you know what else horror is? Watching people get hacked to pieces for no reason other than it’s fun as fuck.

🔹 “Art the Clown’s violence against women is misogyny!” 👉 Oh, piss off. Art the Clown kills everyone with the same level of brutal creativity. If anything, he’s the most progressive clown out there—an equal-opportunity murderer.

The Hypocrisy is Hilarious

Let’s get real for a second. These same woke assholes who are crying about Leone’s “lack of political depth” are the ones gleefully cheering when Art saws someone in half from the crotch up.

You don’t get to celebrate excessive gore and mutilation and then act like a Terrifier movie owes you a TED Talk on systemic oppression.

You can’t root for a clown eating someone’s face and then clutch your pearls because the director doesn’t want to wade into your political dumpster fire.

Pick a lane, you whiny hypocrites.

Why Woke Twitter Really Hates This

Here’s the actual reason the woke mob is so pissed: Leone didn’t pick a side. He refused to plant his flag in their never-ending culture war.

In 2025, saying “I don’t want my movie to be political” is basically code for, “I just committed a hate crime in the eyes of the woke police.”

One particularly brain-dead Twitter user screeched:

“If you’re not explicitly supporting marginalized voices, you’re complicit!”

What the fuck does that even mean? He makes slasher movies, not campaign ads. Get over yourselves.

Let’s Talk About the Feminists (and Their Fragile Feelings)

Oh boy, you knew the feminists would crawl out of their Twitter caves for this one. They’re out here crying that Art the Clown’s brutality toward women is some kind of secret anti-feminist agenda.

Here’s a reality check:

Art the Clown doesn’t discriminate. He’ll kill men, women, dogs, probably your goldfish.

He’s not pushing an agenda. He’s pushing a hacksaw through someone’s chest.

And to the feminists whining about “violence against women” in a slasher movie: What the fuck did you expect? Did you think Terrifier 2 was a Hallmark Christmas special? You signed up for blood, guts, and horrifying deaths, not a gender studies seminar.

Final Thoughts: Get Over Yourselves, You Sensitive Morons

Damien Leone is out here delivering some of the most batshit insane horror we’ve seen in decades. If you’re mad that he doesn’t want to turn Terrifier into a soapbox for your personal grievances, maybe you should stick to the Disney+ safe zone.

Not every horror movie needs to hold up a mirror to society’s sins. Sometimes, it’s just about a psychotic clown wrecking people’s lives in creative ways. And that’s perfectly fine.

So, to all the woke liberals, feminists, and crybabies clutching their pearls over this: Shut the fuck up, grab some popcorn, and let Art the Clown do his thing.

Tired of sensitive morons ruining your fun? Follow The Most Humble Blog for unapologetic takes and ruthless truths about everything from horror movies to the woke bullshit plaguing society. You’re welcome.

[lukeynewtssimp]

“Luke has no idea what he is doing. He needs a new team.” -🤡

Let’s address the angry people who think they know what is best for Luke 🙄

If people bothered to actually listen to what Luke has said in all his interviews and the different podcasts he’s been on, half of the crazy rumours about him would be dead and you’d actually realise that everything he is doing right now is true to himself and true to what he’s told us he wanted. A couple of examples:

“Luke is not doing enough, he needs more followers. He needs to get brand deals, etc.” - WRONG! He is actually doing everything he needs to do to live the life that HE wants, not the one YOU want for him. He told us so many times how his ideal life is a quiet one, where he can live in a small Italian town and just travel for work when necessary to do things he actually is passionate about and loves. He told us too how he really loves that he still can go to his local coffee shop or barber shop and not be bothered by anyone and just be treated like any other normal person. And he’s doing just that right now. He has a non-famous girlfriend with whom he can go out freely without feeling a million eyes on them. He’s only attending the events that he actually wants to attend without bothering with gaining popularity because, if you are actually talented, which he is, and you’ve got a good agent, you’ll get the projects that you actually want. He’s not living his life to please us. Would I personally love to see him engage with us more on socials? Absolutely, but that would be selfish of me. He does not need to do anything more than what he is doing to get where he wants and he knows that. Oh and btw pretty much nothing that he does is “calculated” or has some type of agenda behind it.

“Luke is engaged to Antonia and proposed to her on Christmas day!” - WRONG! He’s actually said out loud in the Still Watching - Bridgerton Podcast in June that he does not want marriage any time soon. He was talking about Colin and Pen’s marriage and he literally said “no thank you!”

[trafficshippingtournament]

OKAY SMALLIDARITY FANS BUCKLE UP I AM ABOUT TO DUMP A BUNCH OF EXAMOLES ON YOU

-on Oli's most recent Christmas stream, there is a comment to the effect of "I saw Lizzie and the drummer (Joel) look at each other I bet they're going to fall in love and get married and play minecraft together" to which the wonderful Oli Orionsound replied and said "nah I think he's in love with that Jimmy guy"

-a weird innuendo in Wild Life that sounded also a lot like threatening to cannibalize each other. It's so insane

-LITERALLY ALL OF ESMP2. THEY HAD A CHILD. COME ON

-Jimmy has said: 1) he has a crush on Joel 2) has confused his love to Joel on stream 3) said he was the mod/owner of a Joel simp server and would send Lizzie the link

-HAVE YOU NOT SEEN THE VIDEO TUBBYTARCHIA MADE ON YT????? ITS A COMPILATION OF THEIR MANY MOMENTS OF FLIRTING OR JUST BEING WEIRD ABOUT EAFH OTHER. ITS JUST UNDER AN HOUR

-they call each other babe

-Joel was going to sacrifice himself for Jimmy in Limited Life. Jimmy basically only recognizes Joel's attempted sacrifice

-Look at them talking to each other in impossible minecraft. "My big strong handsome man". Jimmy getting some kinda vampire crap and immediately trying to bite Joel

I shall send more when I think of it. PLEASE SMALLIDARITY I NEED YOU GUYS TO WIN

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