#the holiday pretense
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The holiday pretense -2-
Summary: Namjoon has never been a fan of the holidays. In fact, he could list more things that sucked about âThe most wonderful time of the yearâ, than things that brought him joy. Yet, beneath his cynicism, a flicker of hope appeared this year, as the faint scent of homesickness hung in the air. Unfortunately, thereâs one tiny little thing that keeps him from calling home- his lack of a girlfriend. But fear not; this holiday season, Namjoonâs smart mouth gets him in a situation where he has no choice but to approach you- his longtime friend and roommate- with an unexpected request. Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: fake-dating, idiots in love, friends to lovers/roommates to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff. Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings: every single trope in the book; but with a twist. Dialogue heavy. OC is really bad at lying, they are absolute idiots. like, there is no way about it. pure idiots. anddd⊠I didnât write in literal years so yeah, this is gonna be fun. Yes. It is a warning. Smut warnings: to be added~ Word count: Chapter 2-9k Credits: this was literally one of those âif no one is going to write this, I willâ because there are not enough friends-to-lovers Namjoon fics out there. And none (that I know of) where the main character feels bad for lying to his family when pretending to date him. This work would not have been possible without the very kind and patient @callmenoona25, who not only helped me beta-read but also served as a guiding light during those moments when I wanted to rage-delete everything. Thank you for all your help! (and please keep helping me coz idk what Iâd do without your constant encouragement) Author's note: Weâre already in December. Damn⊠Enjoy. Merry Christmas. part 1: here
Namjoon peered down at your sleeping form, his tired eyes tracing the soft, quirky murmurs that drifted from your lips as you burrowed deeper into his chest. What started as a faint whimper blossomed into a quiet, endearing snore, drawing a gentle smile from him.
He hadnât planned to wake this early, but sleep had eluded him for the fast few hours. These quiet pre-dawn moments usually brought him peaceâa hushed pause before the day took over. Today, however, his mind was restless, skimming over scattered thoughts until it inevitably circled back to you.
You looked like a dream. The soft morning light seeped through the curtains, bathing you in a warm, golden glow even as you nestled deeper into his body. He couldnât tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the delicate lines of your face. His eyes lingered on the gentle curve of your lipsâthe same lips heâd kissed just hours beforeâŠ
Lost in his thoughts, he didnât realize how intently he was staring, until your eyes suddenly fluttered open. Instinct kicked in, startled, you both reacted at the same time, and you jumped up just as he tried to lean back. The both of you groaning in unison as you cradle your forehead, which had slammed painfully against his chin.
âWhat the hell are you doing?â you cry, urgency quickly replacing the sleepiness in your voice.
âYou were snoring. Iâm sorry,â Namjoon defended, rubbing the spot where you collided.
âI donât snore!â you glare up at him, eyes finally focusing enough to see the blood gushing from his nose. âOh my god, Iâm so sorry!â You leaned over him to grab a napkin from the bedside table. But still half asleep, the hand youâd placed between his legs couldnât support your weight, and you crashed right onto his belly, eliciting a loud âoofâ as he fell back on his pillow.
âIâm sorry,â you repeated, your face smushed against him as you struggle to grab a napkin. In your frantic attempt, you knocked the tissue box off the table, sending tissues whirling to the ground.
âJust- ow!â He winced when you pressed the napkin to his nose, confusion evident on his face. He clearly hadnât expected blood or to be in such a vulnerable position so early in the morning.
âIâm sorry,â you say for the third time, slightly loosening your grip on his face.
âStop apologizing,â he mumbled âItâs my fault too.â Namjoon took the tissue from your hands and pressed it harder against his nose trying to suppress the stinging sensation.
You lingered there for a moment, captivated by the tissue grazing his lips, until the warmth of his skin under your cheek snapped you out of it. His shirt had ridden up in the altercation, baring a sliver of his toned stomach, now conveniently pressed against your face.
As if sensing your awareness, Namjoon furrowed his brows and gave you a quizzical look, prompting you to sit upright, the blanket trailing behind you like a cape.
âYes, it is! Whatâs wrong with you?â You scolded. âDo you always stare at people when you sleep next to them?â
âI wasnât staring!â Namjoonâs head shot up; his voice defensive but laced with amusement. âYou were snoring.â
âI donât snore!â you shot back, despite having no evidence to support your claim. You struggled to untangle yourself from the blanket, nearly tripping in your haste to escape. The bathroom door closed with an accidental slam behind you, leaving you momentarily alone with your spiralling thoughts.
Leaning over the sink, you splashed cold water on your face, the chill biting at your skin and grounding youâif only for a moment. Yet your heart refused to cooperate, its erratic rhythm spiking again when you heard the faint shuffling from the bedroom, followed by a soft, frustrated âDamn it.â
You glanced at your reflection in the mirror, meeting your own wide-eyed, dishevelled stare. Tangled hair perfectly framing your flushed cheeks, the hoodie youâd borrowed from Namjoon sitting askew on your shoulders and remnants of sleep clinging stubbornly to your face.
Charming. Just the image you wanted to project.
Then, your gaze drifted to the mint toothpaste sitting on the counter, and a fresh wave of emotions washed over you. It hit you all at onceâHis lips pressed to yours, the warmth of his breath against your skin, and the look heâd given you after.
 The way he looked at youâŠlike he was searching for something. Or maybe you were imagining it. God, you hoped you were imagining it.
You gripped the edge of the sink, leaning into it as embarrassment burned its way down your spine.
But deep beneath the flurry of second-guessing and distress, you manage to find a crumb of courage while quietly going through the motions.
Taking a shaky breath, you pushed yourself upright and finished the small, familiar task of brushing your teeth. As you twisted the faucet shut, you stole one last glance at your reflection, your eyes searching for reassurance.
With resolve that felt both flimsy and monumental, you stepped back into the bedroom, bracing yourself for whatever came next.
Namjoon was still lying on the bed, a new tissue pressed against his nose. He looked up as you enter, and an unexpected flicker of self-consciousness crept in, making you hyper-aware of every step you took.
 âAre you okay?â You asked, attempting a softer tone.
âYeah,â he mumbled, lowering the napkin to inspect the bright red spot there. âJust a bit of a love tap, you know?â
âDonât make it weird,â you shoot back, but the words only made him laugh softly, easing some of the tension in your chest.
You grab a clean tissue and lean in closer to inspect the damage. "I'm really sorry," you say, perching on the edge of the bed. You take the napkin from his hands with little resistance and replace it with your own. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
"It's okay," he replies, his voice soft. "But next time, maybe warm me about the snoring.â
"I donât snore!" you exclaimed, the defensiveness in your tone spiking and earning another heartfelt laugh from him.
âOkay, fine. You donât,â he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. But just as you were about to relax, he added under his breath, âNext time, Iâll record you.â
You narrowed your eyes and considered actually pinching his nose.
âYouâre impossible.â
Namjoon only grinned, dimples deepening, as you carefully pulled the tissue away to dab the remains of the nosebleed. The softness of your touch seemed to quiet him; his teasing replaced by something warmer. There was a tenderness in the way you focused on his injury, small lines of worry forming on your forehead. He wanted to laugh, seeing as you dealt with more dramatic injuries in the past, yet he didnât want to disturb you as you carefully touched his cheek with your free hand. The warmth of your palm contrasting sharply with the chill of the morning air.
As if you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, you look up, meeting his eyes.
âYouâre blushing again.â
âShut up.â You muttered, your cheeks heating further as you refocused on his nose, cleaning the surrounding area as if he were made of porcelain. You kept your attention on the injury, desperate to ignore the proximityâand the gentle warmth of his breath against your skin and the inexplicable tightness in your chest.
âThere,â you finally murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, breaking the stillness as you placed the tissue aside. âAll better.â To diffuse the tension, you gave his cheek a light pinch before standing up to tidy the room.
Turning your back to him, you busied yourself with cleaning, scooping up the crumpled tissues littering the bedside table. But Namjoonâs eyes never left you. He watched the way you moved, the way your hair caught the light, and the way you scrunched your nose in irritation when you realized how much of a mess youâd made earlier.
When you bent down to retrieve a stray napkin from under the bed, you caught him staring again. This time, a soft laugh escaped him when he realized heâd been caught red-handed.
Before he could say anything, you grabbed the discarded blanket and tossed it at him.
 âSo, whatâs the plan for today?â you asked quickly, moving toward your suitcase and fumbling with the zipper, your voice a little too casual.
âIâm taking you to a bakery,â his voice was muffled as he poked his head out from under the covers. âAnd my dad asked us to pick up a Christmas tree.â
Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of a Christmas tree. Even though the holiday spirit felt far away in this moment, a surge of excitement stirred in your chest. âA Christmas tree?â You echoed, trying to mask the intrigue in your voice with an air of nonchalance.
âYeah,â he replied, running a hand through his messy hair. âI thought we could decorate it together tonight.â
âYou hate decorating the tree.â
âTrue,â he chuckled, âbut Iâd rather suffer through it with you than alone. Besides, my parents have some ornaments that I think youâll like.â
You paused, makeup bag in hand, feeling his words settle over you. In the two years youâd lived together, Namjoon had never once shown a shred of enthusiasm when it came to decorating the apartment. He was more the type to lounge on the couch with a book or a video game while you tangled yourself in string lights and sparkling baubles, only for him to chime in at the end with a âYou missed a spotâ. Still, he always helped place the star on top âmostly because you couldnât reach it, and he was taller.
âYouâre volunteering for your own torture?â You glanced over your shoulder, eyebrow raised, just as he swung his legs off the bed and stretched his arms high above his head.
Your breath hitched at the sight of him leaning back, his shirt lifting just enough to reveal the muscles flexing underneath. The morning sunlight steamed through the window, contouring his skin with an irresistible golden hue.
Quickly you turned back to your makeup bag, rummaging unnecessarily for a lipstick as warmth crept up your neck and onto your cheeks
âMy mom will force us either way.â He declared, the faint defeat in his tone punctuated by a dramatic sigh ash he strolled towards the bathroom.
You let out a small laugh at his resignation, but it got caught in your throat when he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, tossing in onto the bed.
Your gaze betrayed you for half a second, flickering toward him before you could stop yourself. The lean lines of his back, the soft stretch of his shoulders, the way his skin gleamed faintly in the lightâeverything you werenât supposed to notice left an imprint far too vivid in your mind.
Heart pounding, you forced your eyes back to your bag, gripping it as though it were a lifeline. But it was too late. You were certain heâd seen your reaction.
âSee something you like?â His teasing voice reached you just as he disappeared into the bathroom.
Your face flamed, and you whipped around, glaring at the now-closed door. âYouâre impossible!â You called out, loud enough for him to hear over the sound of the running water.
~~~~
The aroma of freshly brewed tea greeted you as you stepped out of the room, mingling with the faint hum of life coming from the kitchen. The soft click of the bathroom door shutting behind Namjoon grounded you, though your thoughts still spun wildly. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to regain composure, but the sound of running shower only stirred your imagination furtherâsteam rising, droplets tracing the contours of his bare skin. Heat crept up your neck, and you shook your head sharply, chastising yourself. Get it together.
In a desperate attempt to regain control after the completely unfair sight of your sun-kissed, shirtless friend, you decided a little distance might actually do you some good. Grabbing the first cozy sweater and pair of jeans within reach, you tugged them on and practically bolted out of the room.
Heâs your friend, you reminded yourself firmly, though the mantra did little to steady the pounding heart in your chest.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Kim and Minhi were seated at the dining table, morning sunlight streaming through the large windows. The golden light bathed the cozy space, catching on the delicate wisps of steam curling up from their teacups.
âGood morning, my dear,â Mrs. Kim greeted warmly, lifting her head to meet your gaze. âDid you sleep well?â
You smiled, pushing away any lingering thoughts from earlier, and took a seat at the table. âYes, thank you,â you replied, carefully avoiding any mention of what had just transpired.
âIs Namjoon taking you out?â Minhi asked, her bright eyes sparkling with curiosity over her teacup. You could almost swear there was a hint of a smirk forming on her lips.
You confirmed with a shy nod, but a new wave of heat crept up your spine, igniting your ears as if someone had turned up the thermostat.
Mrs Kimâs face broke into a broad grin. âDo you want me to whip you up something to eat first? Coffee or tea?â she asked, already rising from her chair.
âNo, no,â you quickly interjected, waving your hands âWeâre leaving in a few minutes. Namjoonâs just getting ready.â
Naked in all his glory in the showerâŠ
You forced your mind back to the present as Mrs. Kimâs kind gaze lingered on you. Smoothing down your sweater, you took a steadying breath, doing your best to appear collected. You really had to pull yourself together.
âIs he taking you to Ajumeoniâs bakery?â Mrs. Kim asked, settling back in her chair with a huff. âAt this rate, heâs paying for her grandkids to go to college.â
âCâmon Mom,â Minhi piped in. âThe strawberry tarts are just-â She closed her eyes and inhaled dramatically, as if savouring the scent of sweet pastries. âTheyâre heavenly, I swear.â
Her enthusiasm was infectious, but Mrs. Kim merely waved her off.
âAlright, alright,â she relented, her own smile softening the mock exasperation in her voice âJust be home in time for dinner.â
âYes, of course,â you nodded dutifully, resolute in your mission to be the perfect pretend-girlfriend today âa supportive friend, and nothing more.
âJacksonâs picking them up after work, mom, donât worry.â Minhi said, her laughter cutting through your spiralling thoughts.
âHe is?â you asked, blinking in surprise but taken in by her contagious laughter.
âDid you think youâd carry the tree in the metro?â Minhi giggled, her gaze flicking to the hallway as hurried footsteps echoed from upstairs.
Moments later, Namjoon appeared, his dimpled smile lighting up the room.
âGood morning!â he called out, running a hand through his freshly styled hair, the effortless charm in his voice matching his appearance. The brown sweater heâd chosen hugged his tall frame perfectly, drawing your attention to the way it accentuated the broad lines of his chest. The golden necklace at his collarbone caught the soft morning light as he bent down to plant a sweet kiss on his motherâs cheek.
Then, his eyes found yours, playful and warm before winking your way. âAre you ready?â
You fought to suppress the blush creeping up your cheeks, admiring him for a fraction too long. The vivid memory of his shirtless body flashed in your mind, and for a moment, words seemed to escape you.
âHey, yeah, Iâm all set,â you finally managed.
Namjoonâs smile just widened, a teasing softness in his eyes as he stepped closer. The scent of his cologne, fresh and warm, mingled with the aroma of tea as he leaned down toward you.
âYou look really good.â Â He said, his voice low and sincere.
All your mental preparations evaporated.
You glanced down at your grey sweater and jeans, disbelief flickering in your mind. Were you two looking at the same thing?
âThanks. You donât look bad yourself.â You replied, attempting a casual tone, despite yourself, but youâre certain your tomato red face gave you away.
Minhi and Mrs. Kim were shamelessly observing, their amusement barely concealed. Minhi raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips, while Mrs. Kim hid her laugh behind her teacup.
âAre you two going to stare at each other all day, or are you leaving?â Minhi nudged, leaning back in her chair with a knowing grin.
Namjoon chuckled, breaking the moment as he pulled back slightly. âWeâre going, weâre going,â he assured, offering his hand to help you up.
As you stood, his palm rested briefly on the small of your back, sending a warmth through you that lingered. He shot his mother a cheeky smile as he led you toward the door.
âDonât wait up,â he added with mock innocence, ushering you down the hall, and earning himself a pinch to the side form you.
~~~
The morning light was bright, yet it did little to chase away the frost in the air. All bundled up in your puffy winter coat, you walked through the bustling neighbourhood streets, the wind nipping at your cheeks as sunlight glinted off fresh snow. Beside you, Namjoon strolled at an easy pace, his tall frame hunched slightly against the cold.
 The shop windows glittered with seasonal displays- strings of lights, shimmering ornaments and snowy landscapes. Every so often, Namjoon would break the silence with a light-hearted comment or snippets from his childhood- stories that warmed you despite the cold.
âLook at that,â he nodded towards a window filled with beautifully wrapped presents underneath a grand Christmas tree. âI used to think those were real. Iâd stare at them for hours, hoping someone would let me take a peek inside.â
You giggle, picturing a younger Namjoon, starry-eyed and full of wonder. âDid you ever get to sneak a peek?â
He shook his head, the soft pink on his cheeks deepening in the cold. âNo way! My mom had a sixth sense for that kind of stuff. She always caught me.â His warm laugh carried over the frosty air, lifting your spirits even as the chill settled in your bones. Without thinking, his hand found, fingers curling gently around yours as he led you down the street.
A little later, he stopped again, his gaze stolen by a snug bookstore with a charming display in the window. The small shop exuded warmth, its large front window showcasing a centrepiece of fake snow, big red bows and a collection of carefully arranged books. His eyes lit up as they landed on a particular title propped up prominently in the centre.
 âWould you mind if we go in?â he asked, nodding towards the book, excitement brightening his face.
You followed his faze, your heart sinking and cheeks flooding with heat the moment you recognized the book. Panic sets in as your mind scrambles for an excuse. It was a book from a Korean author who had recently burst onto the literary scene, earning praise for their intricate storytelling and philosophical metaphors. Naturally, Namjoon had fallen in love with their work, dissecting every layer of meaning in conversations that you secretly loved, but teased him mercilessly for.
You had heard so much about the author, that when you saw the newest release weeks ago, you knew it was the perfect gift for him.
âNo!â you blurted out quickly, voice sharp enough to startle him.
âWhat?â He turned to you, eyebrows lifting in surprise. âWhy not?â
âBecauseâŠâ you hesitated, heat still rising to your cheeks as you struggled to find a good enough reason. But after a few seconds, you sighed in defeat and crossed your arms. âBecause I already got it for you. You canât buy it.â
His expression softened, a big grin spreading across his face as he stepped closer to you. âYou got it for me?â
âYes,â you muttered, averting your eyes as your blush deepened. âSo, you canât ruin the surprise. Keep walking, Kim Namjoon.â
He chuckled, his dimples making a brief but devastating appearance as he gave your arm a playful squeeze, holding you in place. âAlright, Iâll let it go. ButâŠâ He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, âDid you see the decorations?â
You blinked at the sudden shift in the topic and followed his gaze. He was nodding toward the shop entrance, just a little further away, adorned with twinkling fairy lights and festive greenery. Your eyes drifted upward, landing on the small spring of mistletoe dangling above the doorway. Its pale berries glinting like snow in the soft light.
His hands burrowed deeper into the pockets of his coat as he tilted his head toward it, a playful grin spreading across his face. âBetter be careful with that,â he teased, his voice laced with mock seriousness.
You raised an eyebrow, watching the delicate plant sway slightly in the winter breeze. âItâs bad luck not to kiss under it,â Namjoon clarified, watching you with a hint of challenge in his expression.
âSince when are you so superstitious?â you asked, a laugh escaping you as you shook your head in disbelief.
âIâm not,â he admitted with a shrug, though the sheepish grin that tugged at his lips made his intentions clear. âI just like covering all my bases.â
Before you could answer, Namjoon leaned closer, his breath a soft warmth against your skin. His lips brushed your chilled cheek in a quick, fleeting kissâa touch so warm and unexpected it made the cold air around you feel sharper by comparison.
You stood frozen for a moment, your cheek tingling where his lips had been.
Namjoon pulled back, his grin deepening, dimples carving into his cheeks. âThere,â he said lightly, straightening his coat as if nothing had happened. âNo bad luck now.â
 Normally, youâd brush off his antics as harmless teasing meant to get a rise out of you. But this time, it managed to frits your brain. You stare at him, a mixture of indignation and disbelief sparking in your chest. âKim Namjoon, you-â
He raised his hands in mock surrender, already stepping back towards the bakery door heâd been guiding you all along. âDonât blame me, blame the mistletoe,â he quipped, holding the door open for you, the bell above it chiming softly.
Your cheeks still burned as you stepped past him, shooting him a glare that lacked any real heat.
Inside the bakery, the scent of sweet cinnamon and vanilla wrapped around you like a warm embrace. The bell above the door chimed softly again as Namjoon followed, the sound blending seamlessly with the cozy hum of conversation and the occasional clink of porcelain mugs.
The interior was just as inviting as the aroma âa rustic charm, with walls lined with wooden beams and subtle golden accents. Twinkling fairy lights cast a soft glow over the room, illuminating the rows of pastries displayed behind a pristine glass countertop.
Puffed-up croissants sat beside glistening hotteok, their caramelized centres looking absolutely delicious. Spiralled kkwabagi dusted with sugar and candied sweet potatoes. And then there were the cakes â delicate, crowned with fresh berries and swirls of vanilla cream, their perfect edges almost too beautiful to disturb.
Namjoon walked over to the counter, his tall frame leaning slightly as he studied the pastries with an almost childlike delight. The faint flush on his cheeks from the cold only added to his charm, softening his sharp featured and making him just the more endearing.
You couldnât help but watch him, captivated the way his eyes shone with delight. There was something so disarming about his enthusiasm, so pure in its simplicity, that it made the flutter in your chest impossible to ignore.
âWill you let me order for you?â He asked, suddenly interrupting your thoughts.
âYes, of course,â you smile, the slight flutter in your stomach making you laugh softly. As he turned to the counter, his brows furrowed in exaggerated concentration, you couldnât help but admire him anew. Namjoon has always been thoughtful, but this moment felt particularly tender, as though he was putting in the extra effort to make it memorable.
The bakery was alive with the bustle of other patrons, their laughter interlaced with the clinking of kitchen utensils in the back. A barista was busy steaming milk for lattes, while the warmth of the oven diffused toward you, chasing away any lasting chill from outside.
Namjoon finally ordered a selection of absolutely mouth-watering cream filled croffles and piping hot coffee. The lovely old lady at the serving counter lit up when she recognised him, leaning over to pinch his cheeks playfully. She gushed about how tall he had grown and how handsome he was, even calling her husband from the back to see Namjoon after all these years. You giggle softly, enjoying the lively exchange as Namjoon laughed, clearly relishing in the attention while trying to dodge her affectionate teasing. In the end, he walked away with an extra serving of milk bread as a âparting giftâ which he gratefully accepted, beaming as he thanked her.
The table Namjoon chose was tucked in a quiet corner, its window overlooking the bustling streets outside. The festive neighbourhood, framed by twinkling lights and snowy sidewalks, looked like a scene pulled straight from a snow globe. And as you settled into your seat, snowflakes began to drift gently from the sky, only adding to the hallmark-movie charm that seemed to influence the day.
âHere you go,â Namjoon settled the croffle in front of you. It was golden brown, with a crispy exterior that cradled the rich cream filling inside, adorned carefully with gingerbread crumbs â arguably, it was a masterpiece on a plate. He didnât sit down yet, instead turning to fetch the coffee from the cafĂ© counter
âKim Namjoon?â a voice called out, and you looked to see a beautiful girl with big doe eyes shining once she looked at him, her pouted lips curving into a charming smile âIâm Min Iseul, do you remember me?â
Namjoon seemed shocked for a moment, but quickly regained his composure, his smile widening as he replied, "Oh my god, yes, hi! How have you been?"
âYou know,â she smiled âlife in a small town tends to be quiet. But what about you-?â
You watched from the corner of the table, feeling a tightness in your chest as Iseul place a hand on Namjoonâs arm. A frown formed involuntarily on your face as a pit began to settle in your stomach. Their conversation continued, the sound of their voices becoming a distant murmur as you forced your gaze downward, glaring at the croffle on your plate.
It felt horrible to realize that the sudden pang was indeed jealousy âraw and undeniable, it seemed it had taken root in your heart without your consent.
What was happening to you? You had always viewed Namjoon as a friend. You had watched him flirt with countless girls without a second though, yet now, here you were, on the verge of snapping at the mere sight of a pretty girl touching his arm. And of course she was perfect for him. She looked up at him as if he single-handedly hung up the stars, with her perfect hair, perfect smile, and that perfect body that made even the bakery apron look like high fashion.
It wasnât just about Iseul, though. It was about something deeper, something you couldnât quite explain. It was about not wanting to be replaced and a fear that quietly whispered to you that perhaps, you already had been.
As they continued their chat, the world outside quietly transformed. The snow began to blanket the streets in a delicate layer, framing the moment like a quaint, picturesque postcard. Inside, however, it felt like a different story. You picked at the croffle, the rich cream suddenly feeling too sweet compared to the bitter twist in your mood.
Finally, Namjoon returned, coffee in hands, a bright smile still lighting his face. âSorry about that! Iseul and I used to be in the same classes at school,â he said, then paused when he noticed your expression. His brows furrowing in concern.
âIs everything okay?â he asked, his voice gentle as he reached out, taking your hand in his.
You forced a smile, trying to shake off the weight of the moment. âYeah, just⊠itâs nothing.â You lied, tasting the bitterness on your tongue. God, you hated lying.
He studied you for a moment longer, and for a brief second, you swore you saw something shift in his eyes.
âAlright,â he said slowly, a hint of uncertainty lingering. âWell, letâs dig in! You have to try the milk bread. I promise itâs worth it!â
As you took a bite, followed by a big gulp of coffee, you resolved to push away your insecurity, even if only for today. After all, the reality of your friendship was simple: while you may never make his heart flutter like Iseul seemingly did, you could certainly raise his blood pressure.
Namjoon started a new conversation about the last book he read, and you fell into the familiar flow of dialogue as the snowy scene outside continued to unfold. But every now and then, your gaze would drift to the window, catching a glimpse of the town dressed in white. You found yourself wondering if it was possible to be both happy for him, and fearful of losing him, all while managing to still be his friend amidst the chaos of unbidden feelings.
âDo you remember Hoseok?â
You answered Namjoonâs question with a nod, seeing as he pulled you too abruptly from your thoughts. âHeâs the pretty one that stayed over for spring break?â
Namjoon laughed, his eyes gleaming with the unmistakable light that made your heart skip a beat âeven as you fought against it. Usually, his laughter would unravel the tight knots in your chest, but now, it seemed to tighten them further.
You remembered the visit well â Hoseok rolled up all the carpets in your living room, turning it into an impromptu dancing studio. He was kind, like all of Namjoonâs friends, but he also ate all your snacks and took great pleasure in flirting with you every time you ran into each other, much to Namjoonâs discomfort.
âYeah, you two broke my laptop,â you started, but he cut you off.
âAnd I got it fixed!â he countered, defending his clumsy actions, which only made you laugh.
Namjoon chuckled, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. âHe invited us over for a Christmas party tomorrow. Itâs a little get together, if you want to go,â
âDefinitely,â you replied, though your enthusiasm felt forced. The prospect of a party sent a thrill through you, but underlying that was a twinge of uncertainty. Would Iseul be there? Would it be just another night of watching Namjoon flirt with someone else knowing youâre just playing the part of girlfriend?
As you took another bite of the croffle, its sweetness still felt bitter, much like the turmoil in your heart. You wanted to be happy for Namjoon, wanting to fulfil the role you signed up for, but now, beneath your smile, there was a complicated mess of fear and longing. More than ever, you felt like all your walls might come crumbling down.
âAre you sure youâre okay?â Namjoonâs voice cut through your thoughts again, concern lingering beneath his words âYou seem distant.â
 You force a smile, but the ache in your chest screamed at you to be honest, to share your doubts instead of masking it under a façade of indifference.
âYeah, Iâm fine,â another lie. How could you possibly explain the heaviness that sat at the bottom of your stomach, the envy bubbling silently inside of you, the tightness in your throat that made it hard to breath?
Namjoon leaned back, his warm gaze unwavering, clearly unconvinced. But for the rest of the meal, he didnât press further. You both continued to eat in comfortable silence, even as the air thickened with unspoken words.
The snowfall outside intensified, painting the windows with a blur of white by the time you were done, and you feared, once again, that the outfit you had chosen was ill-fitted for the icy weather.
Namjoon picked up a box of strawberry tarts for Minhi on the way out, and as he opened the door for you, you saw Iseul waving at himâa darling wave that ignited a firestorm of nerves deep within you.
In that moment, logic fled your mind. Without thinking, you grabbed Namjoonâs coat collar and pulled him towards you, pressing your lips to his. His eyes widened, a mixture of shock and confusion flickering across his face. The warmth of his body felt so close, yet the distance between you âcreated by your impulsive actions â seemed insurmountable.
You canât believe what you were doing!
Namjoon was frozen for one second, but then he melted into the kiss. His free hand gently cupping your face, as if he were afraid, youâd run if he moved too quickly.
Namjoonâs lips were soft against yours, his warmth seeping through the layers of your clothes and spreading through you like a slow burn. The world outside seemed to blur even more, the cold, the noise of the streets, the snow rushing into the bakery, it all faded into an unimportant backdrop. All that mattered was the feeling of his lips against yours âgentle, hesitant, yet impossibly comforting.
For a moment, you almost didnât regret it.
Then, just as quickly as it started, the kiss ended. Namjoon pulled back slightly, his hand still cupping your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek as if seeking reassurance. His gaze flickered between your eyes, searching for something.
You felt the rush of heat flood your face as reality hit like a ton of bricks. What did you just do? The panic set in, an overwhelming wave crashing against your chest. You tried to swallow it down, but the vulnerability felt raw, exposed.
âI-Iâm,â you stammered, stepping back slightly, your hands trembling as you pushed them into your coat pockets. âMistletoe!â
Namjoon blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion. His hand remained where it was for a moment, as if unsure whether to pull away or reach for you again. The warmth of his fingers against your skin was grounding, but the panic in your chest made it difficult to breath. You could hardly believe what youâd just done, but somehow, you still managed to squeeze out the most absurd explanation you could think of.
âMistletoe,â you repeated, almost too quickly, the word falling past your lips like the snowflakes around you, each syllable hanging in the frigid air like a whispered secret.
His hand dropped to his side, the warmth from his touch slipping away as a flicker of somethingâconcern, confusion, or maybe disappointmentâcrossed his face. It was hard to pinpoint, but whatever it was, it left an uncomfortable weight settling in your stomach.
He blinked, as if trying to make sense of the situation, then glanced at the mistletoe above the door. His expression shifted again, more uncertain now, and for a brief moment, there was a palpable silence between you, the world around you swirling in a soft flurry, but it felt like everything had stopped.
âMistletoe?â he repeated, almost tentative. His eyes didnât meet yours immediately; instead, they lingered on the mistletoe, as if searching for an answer in the small plant.
You nodded, fighting to keep your voice steady, but your throat felt tight, like the words were getting stuck somewhere between your chest and your mouth.
âYeah,â he concluded, âI guess we could always put the blame on the mistletoeâŠâ he said, his voice a little quieter now, as if he was still trying to grasp what had just happened.
You were about to argue further, to say somethingâanythingâthat would ease the tension building between you both, but just then, someone called out from inside the bakery.
âHey! Make up your mind! Are you leaving or staying? Youâre letting snow inside!â The voice was half-joking, but the discomfort in it made the moment all the more awkward.
Caught off guard, you and Namjoon exchanged a glance, and you both quickly moved toward the door, apologizing profusely to the patrons and the owners as you stepped outside.
âSorry, sorry, we didnât mean to make a mess,â Namjoon said, his words coming out rushed as he quickly pulled the door closed behind you, sealing off the chilly gust of wind that had followed you out.
You stood for a moment on the snowy sidewalk, the light of the bakery still visible through the frosted windows. The snowflakes seemed to have grown heavier, each flake falling in delicate patterns, as if trying to make the moment less heavy. But it didnât. The air was cold, the street quiet, and despite the wintery beauty around you, your stomach twisted further and your heart beat erratically. Now it was just you and Namjoon in the silence of the day, both lost in thoughts you wouldnât put into words.
Namjoon shifted slightly beside you, glancing down at the ground before speaking up. His voice hesitant, but there was an underlying softness to it that made your face heat despite the cold.
âSoâŠâ he began, trailing off as if searching for the right words. âNo tongue this time?â
You blinked at him, your heart skipping over a few beats. The cold seemed to freeze in your lungs as you tried to process what he had just said. For a second, you were sure you hadnât heard him correctly. You turned your head slightly, trying to gauge whether he was joking or not, but his expression was unreadable.
âExcuse me?â you asked, your voice coming out in a small, nervous laugh. You couldnât tell if he was trying to lighten the mood or if he was just poking fun at you.
âI mean,â he continued, scratching the back of his neck, âif weâre going to blame it all on the mistletoeâŠâ He trailed off, his tone playful but laced with a hint of something deeper, a flicker of curiosity behind his words.
Thatâs when you caught it. That familiar teasing glint in his eyes, the expression he had whenever he managed to make you fluster, and you huffed out in indignation, your breath transforming into a small cloud.
You crossed your arms, trying to gather your composure as you glared at him. The cold air biting at your skin, but the warmth of your embarrassment was far more overwhelming.
âOh, so now itâs my fault?â you shot back, your voice teasing but with a hint of defensiveness, as if you were trying to cover up how much his words had affected you. You couldnât help it. The playful look in his eyes had a way of making your pulse pick up, and it didnât help that every word he said seemed to sink deeper into the awkwardness of the situation.
Namjoon raised his hands in mock surrender, the grin on his face only growing wider âNo, no! Iâm not saying itâs your fault,â he said quickly, trying to reassure you, though the amusement in his voice didnât quite match his words. âJustâyâknow, I thought we were sticking with the mistletoe excuse. But, uh, itâs all on you now. You started it.â
âMe? Iââ You opened your mouth, searching for a retort, but your brain was still scrambling to catch up with everything. Nothing coherent came to mind, and his look wasnât helping in the slightest. âYou kissed me first!â you blurted, the words tumbling out before you could stop yourself.
Namjoon arched an eyebrow, his smile turning smug. âYeah, on the cheek,â he countered, giving a little shrug as if that settled the matter entirely. He tilted his head slightly, an eyebrow raised as if he was waiting for your response, but when none came, the smugness in his expression only grew. For a moment, you considered whether it was worth the effort to argue with him. But then, his look softened, just enough for you to notice the shift in his expression âsomething that made your heart pick up again.
You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The absurdity of the situationâthe way it had spiralled from a jealous outburst into whatever this wasâleft you feeling strangely vulnerable. His presence, so close beside you in the cold, seemed to magnify everything.
âFine.â You finally muttered, crossing your arms tighter and shifting your weight from one foot to the other, almost chasing the cold away.
Namjoonâs dimples deepened; the teasing look in his eyes returning full force. âFine?â he repeated, his tone dripping with amusement. âIs that you admitting defeat, or are you too cold to keep arguing?â
He collected your hand in his free one, leading you down the street towards the Christmas market.
You gave him a fleeting glare, narrowing your eyes. âNeither,â you shot back, though the warmth in your cheeks betrayed the confidence you were trying to project. âI just donât see the point in arguing with someone who twists everything to suit their narrative.â
Namjoonâs heartfelt laughter made any of the lingering tension dissipate, his expression taking on a look of sheer mock offence. âTwisting everything? Me?â He shook his head, his expression turning playfully solemn. âIâm just stating facts here. Youâre the one who escalated things. I was perfectly content with a friendly mistletoe kiss. No drama. No tongue.â
Your eyes widened, and your jaw dropped at his audacity. âI did not escalateâoh my god, would you stop saying that?â you hissed, your voice low but filled with exasperation.
âHey, you wonât see me complaining,â he replied smoothly, his voice softening just enough to send your thoughts spiralling. âBut I never pegged you for the jealous type.â
âGah! Youâre insufferable!â
Namjoonâs grin grew as he watched you fume, his fingers tightening around your hand, as he led you down the snowy streets with easy confidence. The twinkling lights of the stalls cast a soft glow over the scene, the cold air whipped around you, but somehow, the heat between you kept the chill at bay, even if your cheeks were flushed from both the cold and the heated banter.
âJealous? Whoâs jealous?â you scoffed, trying to sound unaffected, but the way your beet-red face betrayed you. âIâm not jealous. Iâm justâŠâ you trailed off, realising you had absolutely no excuse lined up. The last part came out quieter than you meant, your voice showing more vulnerability than you were comfortable with, and you quickly buried your face in your scarf.
Namjoon tilted his head slightly, his smile not quite fading, but the glimmer of something more thoughtful flickering in his eyes. He slowed his pace, just enough to match yours, the quiet hum of the market and the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet filling the space between you.
"Youâre just... what?" he prompted gently, his voice laced with curiosity and that familiar edge.
âJust acting like a good fake girlfriend would.â You concluded, trying to keep your tone casual, but you felt your stomach churn slightly as you lied, like you were trying to brush off something that had begun to feel a lot more real than you expected.
Namjoonâs expression shifted â just a little. His face softened as he thought it over, then he gave you a playful nudge with his shoulder, his voice light as he responded, âAh, I see. Well, Iâll admit, youâre pretty good at it.â
His tone made your heart settle a bit, but you couldn't shake the underlying tension that had suddenly crept in. You hadnât meant to sound so serious, and yet there was something in his eyes now that made you second-guess everything. He gave a small chuckle, the kind that felt like distanceâjust enough to make you realize he wasnât leaning in any closer, but not pulling away either.
He let go of your hand for a moment, running it through his hair, then casually reached for it again, as if nothing had changed.
âWell, as long as Iâm the good fake boyfriend, weâre golden.â
You nodded, still completely flustered, but grateful for the shift back to something a little more familiar. He wasnât pressing anymore. He wasnât trying to read your true intentions. He was just⊠being Namjoon, your friend, your roommate, the guy who could make you laugh and leave you absolutely wrecked emotionally.
The rest of the walk was quieter, but not in an uncomfortable type of way. He kept walking besides you, hands stuffed in his pockets, occasionally throwing out a random comment or nudging you along with him as you made your way through the busy market and to the small Christmas tree lodge.
You two picked a tree without much debate. The scent of pine and oranges filled the air as you threaded through the festive area, the twinkling lights surrounding you. Namjoonâs presence besides you was oddly comfortingâlike an anchor in the whirlwind of noise and flashing lights. As you both made your way to the tree lot, he casually pointed out the skinniest, most scrawny-looking trees, joking about how much heâd like to buy one just to see his motherâs reaction.
You couldnât help but giggle at his commentary, the tension from earlier completely forgotten. The awkwardness in the air had faded, at least for the moment, and you were thankful for it, seeing as you didnât need more things to overthink tonight.
After a bit of back-and-forth, you both finally settled on a treeâa little taller than you both had anticipated, but perfectly symmetrical, with just the right amount of fullness.
The rest of the day went by in a blur. You two stopped to grab lunch at a modest-looking food stall, the inviting scent of fishcakes winning Namjoon over. You both enjoyed the warmth of the food as the wind continued to bite at your cheeks, the steam rising from your cups offering the briefest respite from the cold.
You tried mulled wine for the first timeâwarmed, spiced, with a tangy sweetness, but most importantly, warmâand to your surprise, you liked it.
The two of you wandered a bit more, chatting idly and laughing at each otherâs jokes, not caring much for the crowds around you.
And before you knew it, Jackson had pulled up in his car to take you both home. The drive was quick and quiet, with the warm glow from the streetlights casting soft shadows across the interior of the car. Namjoon leaned back against his seat, looking content, while you sat in the front, trying not to overthink everything that had happened in the last few hours.
Namjoon teasing you about ogling his naked chest felt like it happened an eternity ago.
And now, here you were, getting ready for bed again.
The tree got decorated under Minhiâs careful supervision, looking more like a Pinterest masterpiece than a simple holiday decoration when she was done with it, and Namjoon, to his credit, managed to break only one bauble during the whole process.
The evening wound down quietly after the tree was finished. Minhi insisted on taking a dozen photos of her work, including some with the whole group in front of the tree. Jackson wrapped an arm around her shoulder, grinning like heâd won the lottery, while Minhi tried (and failed) to strike a serious pose before dissolving into laughter in his arms.
You stood off to the side, trying to figure out what to do with your hands, but Namjoon made the decision for you. He tugged you closer, wrapping his arms around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The flash went off, capturing the moment forever, but you couldnât seem to focus on anything beyond the warmth of his body and the quiet weight of his laughter in your ear. It felt so unguarded, so easy, that for a fleeting moment, you could almost forget it was just pretend.
Later, Minhi pulled a mistletoe plant from her bag with an exaggerated flourish, announcing it was tradition. She delighted in the awkward reaction it drew from both you and Namjoon, who immediately avoided eye contact with each other, mumbling something about ârespecting personal space.â But Minhi didnât press too hard, instead planting a sweet kiss on Jacksonâs cheek that had him grinning like a fool in love.
After that, their parents got home, dinner was served, and you finally got your turn taking care of the dishes.
You quietly tiptoed your way to the bed, shivering slightly once you felt the coldness of the room, but careful not to make a sound. Your nighttime routine had taken longer than usual, and you were doing your best to avoid waking Namjoon, who fell asleep while waiting for you. The room was dark except for the faint glow of the little reading lamp he left on for you, casting a soft shadow across the space.
Slipping under the covers, you turned off the light and shifted, trying to find a comfortable spot. But before you could settle, Namjoon stirred, and with almost no time to react, he turned around and wrapped an arm around you.
Your breath caught as he pulled you close, his chest warm against your back, his movements unhurried and natural, as if this was something he did all the time. You felt him bury his head into your hair, his voice low and groggy as he murmured, âItâs cold. Donât stay so far away.â
The weight of his arm was grounding, but your heart was anything but steady. You lay there stiffly for a moment, your mind racing again. But his breathing slowed, steady and even, and the warmth of his presence started to seep into your bones, melting the tension little by little.
You didnât move or speak, afraid to break whatever spell had been cast over the moment. Instead, you let yourself slowly relax into his chest, his arm tightening slightly as if he could sense your shift.
The cold, the overthinking, the lingering awkwardnessâit all faded, replaced by the quiet sound of his breath and the calm rhythm of his heartbeat against your back.
You were absolutely hopeless.
#namjoon x reader#namjoon x you#bts smut#namjoon imagine#namjoon scenarios#namjoon smut#bts x fem!reader#bts x reader#bts x y/n#bts x you#the holiday pretense
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#i have some very conflicted feelings this holiday season#having a really tough time of it#writing#my writing#Iâll be seeing my family for the first time in two years and itâs extremely complicated#and I donât know how to feel#part of me wants to tell them that Iâm nonbinary and that I chose a new name#but part of me is scared#even though Iâm an adult and they hold literally zero power over me#thereâs a part of me that wants to protect this aspect#but how long do I deny this part of myself just to keep up pretenses#and for what#I bought a book about explaining nonbinary to family members and I still donât know if Iâm giving it to them#Leo rambles
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took a few pictures of me going to my cousin's place
no pictures at all (myself or scenery stuff) going back to my place
#if that doesn't say a lot of things about me and how i love and cherish my cousins so damn much then i dont know what will. have i mentioned#i don't really like taking pictures of myself? so yes indeed that says a lot of stuff. doesnt matter that im now decorated w bed bug bites#i also cried when we got home because that nice little bubble has been shattered. like it would be nice yk for us as a family to function#like that because apparently we can manage that dynamic so what's so hard about keeping that dynamic when no one else is around.#like why should it just be a pretense - a façade. why can't it be our reality.#because the world is fucked up that's why. they keep telling me they never care much for the holidays lol me too parents me too#i hate how this keeps on happening every single year like somebody get me out of this fucking loop#tia disgruntled
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.Ëâ¶Ë. motherhood and matrimony ă»â„ă» wrapped in love .Ëâ¶Ë.
êšïž pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader
êš series summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoruâs father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.
êš chapter summary. christmas morning at the gojo estate has always been a display of elegant grandeurâbut this year, the true magic is found in the quiet, heartfelt moments shared with you. for satoru, itâs a holiday that finally feels like home.
êšïž warnings/tags. pure tooth rotting fluff. satoru being the best step dad. lots of domesticity. it does get a bit suggestive at times.
êš words: 12.6k
êš a/n. this is a part of my series motherhood and matrimony, however it can also be read as a fluffy holiday oneshot (you'll probably appreciate some of the references more if you've read the series though!) this entire ch is written from satoru's perspective! also, for those that have read the series, i would definitely read this after ch 7 âĄ
êš taglist: closed (ao3)
⏠playlist êš series masterlist êš
side ch // wrapped in love
Christmas had always been a spectacle at the Gojo estate. Extravagant decorations that seemed to glisten with the weight of their price tags, a towering tree so grand it nearly grazed the vaulted ceilings, and a meticulously curated guest list for the Gojoâs annual holiday gala.
Business, wrapped in tinselâtopped with a bow.
Yes, for Satoru Gojo, Christmas always felt cold. Not the kind of cold that nipped at your nose or made you long for a crackling fireplaceâit was the emptiness of grandeur.
Growing up in the Gojo estate, Christmas wasnât a celebration; it was a stage. Takemi Gojo orchestrated the performance with precision, weaving an illusion of family warmth while the frigid reality of their relationship sat heavy within the corners of the mansion.
Twinkling lights adorned every surface, crystal ornaments shimmered under the treeâs glow, and tables overflowed with feasts meant to impress, not to savor.
His father had called it tradition. Satoru had called it lonely.
And from a young age, Satoru had learned that gifts were currency, not sentimentâthe meaning of the season buried beneath layers of duty and pretense.
But this year⊠something was different.
Satoru lounges on the couch, long legs sprawled out as he watches you and Haru at the tree. You crouch low, holding an ornament in your hand, gently guiding Haru as she reaches up to find the perfect spot.
Her giggles fill the room like the sound of bells, bright and contagious, and she claps her tiny hands when the ornament finally stays.
Turning to her, your smile and the warmth in your expression is enough to melt something in Satoruâs chest.
Itâs a feeling he canât quite nameâforeign, yet achingly familiar. Like standing outside during the first snowfallâthe cold biting at your cheeks, but the beauty of it stealing your breath.
For the first time, Christmas doesnât feel like an obligation. It feels like⊠home.
But it isnât the decorations, nor the estateâs grandeurâitâs you. Itâs Haru. Itâs the way youâve taken this cold, hollow place and filled it with laughter, warmth, and life. Itâs the way youâve turned this house into a homeâa home he doesnât want to leave.
âWhat do you think, Satoru?â
He blinks, glancing up at youâyour voice pulling him out of his reverie. You were holding up two ornaments, one red and one blue, with a quirked brow and a soft smile.
Haru, meanwhile, was standing on her tippy toes, trying to reach the highest branch she could manage.
âOh, uh⊠hmm?â
You roll your eyes with mock exasperation, shaking the ornaments for emphasis.
âRed or blue? We canât have both; itâll clash. Focus, Gojo.â
His lips twitch into a lazy grin as he leans back, folding his arms behind his head.
âOh, definitely blue,â he says with a teasing lilt. âIt matches my vibe better. Donâtcha think?â
You snort, rolling your eyes with a grinâmuttering something about his egoâand as you turn back to Haru, Satoru takes the opportunity to watch you again.
The sight of youâyour hair falling loose over your shoulders, the way your smile makes even your oversized sweater seem elegantâIt isnât just the room you light up. Itâs him.
âGifts are just another transaction, Satoru. A display of wealth and power.â
His fatherâs voice lingers in his mind, sharp and cold as ever. But youâyouâve shown him a different kind of wealth. One that canât be bought, or wrapped in shiny paper.
And for the first time, he feels it. Not the chill of the season, but⊠the warmth of belonging.
But with that warmth comes something elseâsomething heâs not used to.
Panic.
Christmas is just days away, and for the life of him, he has no idea what to give you.
Heâs Satoru Gojo. He could buy you anything. Diamonds. Designer clothes. Hell, an entire island, if he felt like it. Money has never been an obstacleâitâs always been a solution.
But when it comes to you, every option feels⊠wrong.
Youâwho sighs in exasperation at the estateâs staff, grumbling about how youâre perfectly capable of pouring your own glass of water, thank you very much.
Youâwho pokes at the extravagant feasts from world-class chefs, saying they could feed an entire village, yet they still couldnât make your favorite comfort food the way you liked it.
Youâwho wrinkles your nose at his pretentious lifestyle, rolling your eyes every time he casually mentions the price of something without even realizing.
A necklace dripping in diamonds? Youâd probably say it was heavy to wear. A vacation to a private island? Youâd tell him youâd rather spend the time with Haru in the backyard, making snow angels.
A car? A house? Exquisite art? Fuck, a horse?
None of it feels enough.
He groans quietly, running a hand through his hair, cursing himself under his breath.
When did this happen? When did he get so comfortable letting his guard down around you, so at ease that now, sitting in his own home, he feels utterly vulnerable? Utterly lost?
And worse, he knows you can probably sense it.
âSatoru.â
Your voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, drawing his attention back to you.
Standing a few feet away, the soft glow from the Christmas tree casts a gentle light on your featuresâa slight furrow to your brow as you tilt your head, holding a new ornament in your hand.
âAre⊠you okay? You look like youâre plotting something.â
He straightens instantly, schooling his features into an easy grin, but itâs a little too late for thatâyouâre watching him too closely, as if trying to unravel the puzzle in his head.
âMe? Plotting? Never.â He leans back, resting an arm across the top of the couch. âJust wondering if we need a bigger tree. This oneâs lookinâ a little small.â
Your eyes narrow suspiciously, and for a moment, he wonders if you can see straight through him.
You always do.
âSatoru,â you deadpan, and fuckâhe knows heâs lost. âThis tree is ten feet tall.â
He shrugs, as though youâve just proven his point.
âYeah⊠but like⊠wouldnât fifteen feet look better? Thatâd be a real statement.â
Your groan comes with a roll of your eyes, but itâs paired with the grin he was hoping for.
âSure, letâs just knock down the ceiling while weâre at it. Maybe put the Empire State Building in here for good measure.â
He chuckles, relieved by your sarcasm, and for a moment, his deflection worksâyou turn away, back to the tree. He watches you carefully loop another ornament onto a branch while Haru tugs at your sweater, babbling about a penguin ornament.
But as soon as your attention has shifted, itâs backâthat gnawing uncertainty, that quiet panic clawing at the edges of his mind.
Good lord, when did this get so hard?
Heâs Satoru Gojo. He can charm his way through anything, pull the strings of the worldâs most powerful people, and yet heâs paralyzed by the thought of picking out a gift for you.
The longer he thinks about it, the worse it gets. You deserve something perfectâsomething thoughtful. But what does perfect even look like?
What do you give someone who doesnât want anything money can buy? How does he give you a gift that carries the weight of what youâve given him?
âSantaâs gonna like our tree, right, Mama?â
Haruâs voice rings up like a bright chime, tugging him back to the roomâto reality.
He watches as you glance down, and a soft smile blooms across your lips as you tuck a loose strand of hair behind Haruâs ear. That lookâthe one you reserve for her, the kind that could thaw glaciersâhits him squarely in the chest.
âHeâll love it, sweetheart.â
Your voice is as light and sure as the snow falling gently outside the frosted windows, and Haru grins, pivoting to Satoru now.
ââtoru!â her face lights up like the tree behind her, âSantaâs coming! Heâs gonna bring presents, and cookies, and he loves hot cocoa!â
Raising a brow, Satoru slouches further back into the couch with that practiced easeâmasking the chaos still whirling behind his nonchalant façade.
âHot cocoa, huh? With marshmallows?â
Haru nods so hard, her little curls bounce and her entire being vibrates with conviction.
âHe loves marshmallows! And cookies. And maybe waffles too.â
Satoru huffs out a soft laugh, his smile easing.
âThatâs a pretty sweet deal for Santa,â he murmurs.
With all the grace of a puppy on ice, Haru scrambles up onto the couch cushion beside him, wiggling her way into place. Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, though itâs far from quiet.
âMama makes the best hot cocoa. We should have some.â
The confidence in her tone makes him snort quietly, and he raises a browâplaying along.
âThe best, huh? Mmm.. I dunno. Thatâs a pretty big claim, kid.â
âItâs true!â she insists.
And then thereâs your laughterâsoft, light, and entirely unguarded as it floats from behind him. Itâs a sound heâs learned to treasure, one heâd bottle up if he could, a warmth that sinks beneath his skin and quiets everything else.
He swears itâs one of his favorite sounds.
âYou know what? Thatâs a good idea,â you say, ruffling Haruâs hair as you step behind the couch.
But then, you pause beside him, leaning down to press the faintest kiss to his templeâa feather-light touch, and it strikes him like a match catching fire, warmth unfurling from that single point of contact.
Oh, how he loves the touch of your lips.
âIâm gonna grab some hot chocolateâwith marshmallows, of course,â your hand brushes briefly through his hair before pulling away. âWatch Haru real quick, yeah?â
Tilting his head back to look at you, he swallows down the tightness in his chest, masking it all with another lazy smirkâbecause he doesnât know how to show you just how much that tenderness means to him. How much he loves when you touch him like that, so unthinking, like itâs natural.
And for Satoru, masking it is second natureâit always has been.
âYeah, yeah⊠Iâve got it covered,â he waves you off with a dramatic flick of his hand.
You roll your eyes with an affectionate huff, and he lets himself watch you for a moment longer as you disappear into the kitchen, your humming trailing softly behind you like a ribbon that tethers him to you.
And then, silence.
The moment the door swings shut, he lets out a slow, quiet exhale, the tension uncoiling from his shoulders as if heâs been holding himself together for too long.
He slumps back against the couch, his head tipping against the cushion, feeling the ghost of your touch where your fingers had been in his hair. With a sigh, he runs a hand through the same spot, smoothing the strands down absently as if he can capture whatâs already gone.
Itâs ridiculous how much youâve undone him. How a single kiss, a fleeting touch, can dismantle the person heâs spent so long pretending to be.
Because in those fleeting moments, when itâs just him and the lingering warmth of you, Satoru Gojoâthe man who never lets his mask slipârealizes just how tightly wound heâs become. Just how much of himself heâs spent trying to hold it all together when, in moments like that, you make it so damn easy for him to fall apart.
He closes his eyes for just a breath, letting himself feel itâthe calm, the weight of it all, the way his heart stirs.
But thenâ
A sudden rustling sound shatters the quiet, pulling him sharply from his thoughts. One eye cracks open, blinking lazily as he scans the room.
His gaze lands on Haru, and the breath leaves his chest in a sigh thatâs somewhere between disbelief and resignation.
There she isâsomehow, in the span of secondsâteetering precariously on the armrest of the couch, her tiny arms outstretched like sheâs on a tightrope, her face scrunched in determination.
Satoru stares at her for a beat, utterly disheveled and utterly defeated. His head tilts lazily to the side as he watches her.
âOi,â he drawls, dragging a hand down his face with a groan thatâs more exasperation than anything. âMunchkin. What do you think youâre doing?â
Haru doesnât even flinch. She grins, wide and triumphant, wobbling dangerously like a baby deer.
âIâm tall, âtoru!â
He blinks at her, deadpan, before letting his hand fall limply to his lap.
âYeah? Well, youâre also gonna fall on your face.â
âNu-uh!â she insists, wiggling her feet against the cushion for emphasis.
âKidâŠâ He straightens with a reluctant sigh, reaching out with one hand, just in case she topples over. âYouâre gonna get me in trouble. You do realize your momâll murder me if she catches you pulling stunts like this, right?â
Haru gigglesâloud, unbothered, entirely unfazed.
âItâs okay. Iâm good!â she declares proudly, as if sheâs just conquered Mount Everest.
âYou sure about that?â Satoru raises a brow, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrays him. âBecause⊠youâre about two seconds away from face-planting into the tree. And Iâll tell ya right nowâSantaâs not gonna bring you anything if you wreck his setup.â
Haru freezes, her expression suddenly serious.
âHe wonât?â
Satoru shrugs, as casual as ever, though thereâs a sly gleam in his eye.
âNope. Santaâs big on the whole naughty or nice thing, you know? Pretty sure âtree-destroyerâ lands you on the naughty list.â
Haruâs jaw drops like heâs just shattered her entire world.
âBut Iâm nice!â
âYeah, wellâŠâ he sighs dramatically, âYouâre not exactly convincing me right now, short stack.â
She gaspsâa flurry of tiny limbs as she clambers down from the armrest in a dramatic tumble onto the cushions.
âIâm nice!â she insists again, louder this time, as if sheer volume might make it more convincing.
Satoru huffs out a laugh, ruffling her hair in an act of surrender.
âYeah, yeah⊠crisis averted, princess. Youâre nice. Iâll put in a good word for you with the big guy. Just⊠no more stunts, kay? Santaâs watching.â
She squints at him suspiciously, like sheâs testing the limits of his authority over Santa Claus, before finally settling back with a small huff.
But then, Haru shifts entirely to look at himâher brows pinching together, her tiny face suddenly serious.
The shift catches him off guardâhow a two-year-old can go from giggling chaos to this kind of weighty focus will always baffle him.
ââtoru.â
He quirks a brow, leaning an elbow against the back of the couch.
ââŠyeah?â
âYou hafta tell Santa to get Mama something.â
The words catch him off guard. His grin falters just a fraction as he blinks, straightening a little to study her tiny, earnest face.
How the hell does this kid always seem to know exactly whatâs on his mind?
âOh yeah? Something for your mom, huh?â
Haru nods solemnly, as if sheâs just handed him the most important mission of his life.
âMhmm. Santa forgot last year.â
At that, his heart stumbles, the smile fading from his face.
âW-What? He⊠forgot?â
âUh-huh.â Haru props herself on her elbows, swinging her feet idly against the couch. âMama didnât get a present.â
The simplicity of her words hits him like a punch to the gut. Innocent and unassuming, but full of a truth she doesnât fully understand.
Satoru doesnât respond right away, his mind suddenly swirling.
That unsettles him. The fact that no one thought to bring you anything at all?
Youâwho pours so much of yourself into others, who has brought a warmth into his life he didnât think he deservedâspent last Christmas with nothing?
No gifts. No family. No one?
He hates the thought. He knows it shouldnât surprise him though... youâve never asked for anything, and itâs not hard to fill in the blanks.
You donât talk much about your familyâhe knows thereâs distance there, silence where there should be connectionâand Naoya, well⊠he was never part of the picture. But still, the realization knocks something loose in Satoru, a quiet ache settling into the spaces he didnât know could hurt.
âItâs no fair, âtoru. Mamaâs nice too!â
Satoru swallows hard, dragging a hand through his hair as he forces a smile back onto his face.
âYeah⊠youâre right, kidâŠâ he murmurs quietly. âYour momâs on the very top of the nice list.â
Haru beams, her hands clasping together like sheâs already imagining the magic of Christmas morning.
âTell Santa, âkay? Mama needs something really nice.â
The simplicity of her words hits him like a sledgehammer.
Something really nice.
As if itâs that easy, as if fixing the pieces of your world can be done with one perfect gift. But to Haru, it is that easy. Because to her, Santa fixes things.
And for the first time in his life, Satoru Gojo feels the weight of expectationânot from a boardroom, or a title, or the world that demands he be untouchableâbut from a tiny girl who trusts him implicitly to fix the one thing heâs been so afraid to get right.
Fucking hell. Now heâs back to square one. What the hell is he going to get you?
He leans back into the couch, one arm draped lazily along the back, but his mind is already turningâthe gears clicking into place.
âSomething⊠nice, huh?â he says softly, more to himself than to her.
Haru beams, her little legs kicking against the cushion again as she settles back, satisfied that her request has been heard.
âYup!â
Satoru tilts his head toward her, studying her with a thoughtful squint. Kids always seem to know the answers to things grown-ups canât figure out. Sheâs managed to pry into his thoughts with frightening accuracy already, so maybeâjust maybeâsheâs his best shot at figuring this out.
After all, who knows you better than Haru?
âWellâŠâ he says after a beat, angling a glance toward her, âwhat do you think Santa should bring your mom then?â
Haru gaspsâlike this is the most important question sheâs ever been askedâand sits up straight, her little face lighting up.
âMe?â
âYeah, you.â He flicks her nose lightly, earning a squeak and a giggle. âYou know your mom better than anyone, right? So⊠what do you think she wants for Christmas?â
Haruâs brows furrow as she thinks very hard, her tiny hands tapping against her chin for emphasis. Â Satoru watches her expectantly, the smallest spark of hope flickering to life in his chest.
âWellâŠâ she starts slowly, drawing the word out as though sheâs stalling for time. âMama likes cookies.â
Satoru blinks. âUh⊠cookies?â
âUh-huh.â She nods solemnly, as if this is the most serious answer in the world. âChocolate cookies. With milk. I like them too.â
Ah⊠right. To Haru, the solution is simpleâbecause to a two-year-old, happiness is simple. And for a moment, Satoru envies her for it.
Satoru exhales sharply through his nose, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he humors her.
âOf course you do, princess. Alright. Noted. So Santaâs supposed to bring your mom cookies. What else?â
Haruâs face lights up as another thought strikes her, and she bounces slightly in place.
âOh! A teddy bear!â
âA teddy bear?â Satoru quirks a brow, half-amused, half-resigned.
âYeah!â Haru stretches her arms out as wide as theyâll go, as if trying to contain the sheer size of her vision. âA big one. Pink! Really fluffy. Mama can hug it.â
He chuckles, shaking his head. So much for getting a serious answer out of her.
âOkay... so cookies and a big pink bear⊠anything else?â
Haru pauses again, tapping her chin with her finger like sheâs pondering the great mysteries of the cosmos. Thenâher eyes go wide, and she gasps, louder this time.
âA pony!â
Satoru stares at her, deadpan. âReally? A pony.â
âUh-huh!â Haru nods emphatically, little curls bouncing with enthusiasm. âPink! With sparkles.â
âA⊠sparkly pink pony?â
âYes!â She beams, practically vibrating with excitement. âMama can ride it. I can ride it too. Andâand we can give it cookies!â
That does it.
A sharp bark of laughter escapes him before he can stop it, his shoulders shaking as he slumps back against the couch.
With a deep groan, he drags a hand down his face like sheâs aged him ten years in two minutes.
Heâs getting nowhere.
âKid⊠youâre killing me here. Cookies, a teddy bear, and a pony? Youâre just listing stuff you want.â
Haru puffs out her cheeks, crossing her arms in protest.
âNuh-uh! Mama likes ponies. And cookies. And bears.â
Satoru sighs again, tilting his head back against the couch with an exaggerated groan.
This kid.
Her world is so simpleâso bright and innocent. Cookies, teddy bears, and ponies.
Haru doesnât overthink it. She doesnât make it complicated. To her, happiness is just thatâsimple.
And maybe⊠thatâs what he needs to remember.
Theyâre terrible suggestions, but sheâs right about one thing: you deserve something really nice. Something that makes you smileâsomething that feels as bright and simple and warm as Haruâs world.
And if Santa wonât fix it, then damnit, he will.
âEverything okay in here?â
Your voice calls out lightly, followed by the soft clink of mugs. The moment Satoru hears you; he straightens a little, his casual mask snapping back into place.
Stepping in, a tray balances carefully in your hands, three steaming mugs of hot chocolate wobbling precariously as you nudge the door shut with your hip.
The smell hits the room before you doâsweet, rich cocoa laced with the sugary promise of marshmallowsâand Satoru thinks that it might as well be magic, with how Haru perks up.
âMama!â she bounces on her knees so enthusiastically; Satoru thinks itâs a miracle the couch doesnât catapult her into orbit. âYay!! Hot cocoa!â
âMhmm. Hot chocolate delivery!â you announce proudly, lowering the tray onto the coffee table with a dramatic flourish and a smile of pure satisfaction. âMarshmallows included, as requested.â
The soft glow of the Christmas tree dances in your eyes as you kneel in front of Haru, carefully handing her a small mug.
âTwo hands, Haru. Itâs hot, okay?â
Haru nods solemnly, as if youâve just bestowed upon her the Holy Grail itself. Her little fingers curl reverently around the mug, and she murmurs softly, ââkay.â
Rising, you hand Satoru his mug next, and he clears his throatâmumbling a quiet âthanks.â When you settle on the couch beside him, he doesnât miss the way your shoulder brushes against hisâyour own mug cradled in your hands.
For a moment, itâs calm. The Christmas lights flicker across the room like soft, lazy stars, the cocoa steaming faintly in the air, and Satoru almost lets himself believe this is pure perfection.
But then you ask it.
âAnd what were you two talking about?â you peer between the two of them with a teasing smile. âI heard lots of giggling.â
Satoru freezes, his mug halfway to his mouth. Heâs ready to spin some ridiculous excuseâheâs a master at bullshit, after allâbut before he can get the words out, Haru beats him to it.
âWe were talking about presents!â Haru announces proudly.
Fuck. That tiny traitor.
Satoru schools his expression, plastering on his best lazy grin as if Haru hasnât just sold him out for free. He doesnât need you catching on to the fact that heâs been silently losing his mind trying to figure out what to get you for Christmas.
You arch a brow, amused as you blow lightly on your cocoa.
âPresents, huh? What about presents?â
Haru doesnât even hesitate. She launches into her list like a kid on a mission.
âMama, âtoru is gonna tell Santa we need cookies. And a big pink bear. And a pony!â
Satoru lets out a breath he didnât realize he was holding, relaxing fractionally against the cushions. Of course. The kidâs list is nonsenseâpure, two-year-old chaosâand sheâs so earnest about it that youâll never suspect Satoru was fishing for information.
Heâs safe.
âUh-huh,â you hum, nodding indulgently as you sip your drink. âSounds like quite the Christmas list, sweetheart. Anything else?â
Satoru almost smiles into his mug. Itâs ridiculous how close he was to panickingâthereâs no need.
But as Haru stops, her face scrunches in concentration before it lights up again. She looks straight at you, eyes wide and earnest, as she adds brightly:
âAnd I want a little brother!â
Oh, shit.
Satoru chokesâactually chokesâmid-sip, sputtering and coughing like heâs forgotten how to drink liquid. You donât fare much better, nearly inhaling your cocoa as your head jerks up, eyes wide as saucers.
âAâwhat?â you croak.
Satoruâs shoulders shake, one arm flung over his face as he tries to muffle his laughter. Itâs no useâhis wheezing breaths betray him, and he canât help but grin through his coughs.
âHaru, kidââ
âA little brother!â Haru repeats, utterly unfazed by the chaos sheâs unleashed. Her tiny hands still cradle her mug, looking up at you with innocent conviction. âSanta can bring one. Like how he brings the toys.â
Satoru peeks out from behind his hand, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as his laughter tumbles out in unfiltered bursts.
Oh, this is gold. Pure gold.
You whip your head toward him so fast he thinks you might pull something. Your cheeks are flushedâwhether from the cocoa or mortification, heâs not sureâand your glare could cut steel. It would have him worried for his life if it werenât so damn funny.
âSatoru Gojo, what did you say to her?â
âMe?!â he splutters, desperately trying to get his composure back. He throws his hands up in mock innocence, laughter shaking in his shoulders. âHey, donât look at me! Thatâs all her!â
Haru blinks at the two of you, her expression perfectly innocent.
âSanta brings presents, right? So he can bring a brother. A nice one. And heâll ride the pony with me.â
Your hand flies to your face, pinching the bridge of your nose as you shake your head, biting back the laughter threatening to spill out.
âHaru⊠sweetheart, thatâs⊠not how it works.â
âWhy not?â she asks, and itâs like she genuinely canât fathom why Santa wouldnât pull through on such a reasonable request.
Satoru, finally breathing normally again, leans forward with his elbows on his kneesâthe smirk on his face nothing short of diabolical.
âYeah, Mama,â he drawls, dripping with mischief. âWhy not?â
Your glare sharpens as you turn toward him. âDo not encourage her.â
âHey,â heâs utterly unrepentant as he leans back lazily, one arm draped over the back of the couch. âIâm just sayingâif Santaâs listening, we wouldnât want Haru to be disappointed, right?â Tilting his head, he smirks at you. âLooks like Santaâs got his work cut out for him this year.â
You groan, burying your face in your hands as Satoru lets his laughter spill out again, unbothered and thoroughly entertained.
Meanwhile, Haru hums to herself, swinging her legs and sipping her hot chocolate contentedly.
âItâs okay, Mama,â she assures you with a confident nod. âSantaâs magic. He can do it.â
êš
The past few days had been a blur of snow, laughter, and tiny hands tugging Satoru in every direction.
If someone had told Satoru Gojo that heâd spend his holiday season wrangling a two-year-old in the snow and actually enjoying himself, he wouldâve laughed them out of the room. But here he was, standing knee-deep in the white fluff while Haru shrieked with glee, launching another snowball his way.
âTake this, âToru!â she cried.
The kidâs aim was absolute trash, her snowballs missing him by a mile, but the way she shrieked with delight when Satoru âpretendedâ to get hitâwell, it made it impossible for him not to play along.
âKid, youâre ruthless,â heâd groaned dramatically after she tackled him into the snow for the third time.
And then there was you. Youâstanding off to the side like some winter painting coming to lifeâwarm coffee in hand, wearing that smug smile he couldnât decide if he wanted to kiss or wipe clean with a snowball.
He swore youâd been the one to tip Haru off about aiming for his knees. Traitor.
The snow had been Haruâs personal playgroundâand, by extension, his. For days now, his life had been an endless stream of winter chaos: sledding trips that left his muscles aching (Haruâs favorite phrase seemed to be âOne more time!â).
Oh, and inside the Gojo estate? More chaos, pure and simple.
Haruâs Christmas cookie baking turned into an all-out war zoneâflour dusting the countertops, chocolate chips mysteriously vanishing before they made it into the dough (a crime Satoru was not-so-secretly guilty of), and Haru wearing more icing than sheâd used.
Still, the chaos didnât bother him. He was struck, again and again, by the realization that thisâthis messy, chaotic, perfect lifeâwas because of you.
And the high-end galas youâd been forced to attend as the faces of the Gojo Corporationâthe press, the flashing lights, the constant conversationsâall of it felt easier with you beside him.
And you? Well⊠you carried yourself with a poise that Satoru was genuinely impressed with. But beneath that, he could tell that these past few weeks had taken a toll on you.
You were exhausted.
The late nights catching up on work, the charity events, the endless holiday prepâyou hid it well, but Satoru noticed the way your shoulders slumped when you thought no one was looking. The way you sighed as you kicked off your heels by the door.
And it bothered him more than he cared to admit.
It wasnât just the exhaustion, though. It was this look in your eyesâsomething wistful, like you were watching all the joy and chaos around you, but holding yourself at a distance.
Satoru didnât like that. Not one bit.
And still, despite everything, he hadnât figured out what the hell to get you for Christmas.
The frustration simmered under his skin, gnawing at him whenever he thought about it. You deserved something perfectâsomething that would remind you how much you were loved. But every time he thought he had it, every idea felt wrong.
Too extravagant, too impersonal, too damn meaningless.
And now, tonight, as he sits at the kitchen table pretending to sip his hot chocolate (while sneaking glances at you sorting through Christmas cards), the idea struck him like a light bulb flickering on.
If he couldnât figure out the gift just yet, there was one thing he could do.
He could give you a moment. Just one night to breatheâto feel cared for.
Leaning back in his chair, his legs stretch out underneath the table as he watches youâthat little furrow of concentration in your brow. You arenât even faintly aware of how tired you look, or notice when his voice breaks the quiet silence.
âHey.â
You hum absently, still focused.
âTomorrow night, donât make any plans.â
Your gaze lifts, brows raising slightly as suspicion flickers across your face.
âOkay⊠why?â
âMmm⊠âcause Iâm kidnapping you,â he teases, folding his arms behind his head. âJust dress warm. Itâs a surprise.â
That earns him a proper lookâyou eyeing him skeptically, your lips twitching like you were already fighting back a smile.
Bingo. Thatâs the look he lives for.
êš
The night air is crisp, biting at his cheeks in a way thatâs sharp but oddly pleasant, like winter itself is showing off. Snowflakes drift lazily from the dark sky, glowing gold as they pass through the light of the estateâs lanterns, and the world is blanketed in that perfect kind of quietâsoft, still, almost fragile. A nice kind of quiet.
Itâd be perfect, really, if not for the sound of your increasingly dramatic sighs cutting through it.
Satoru tugs his scarf higher around his neck, not because heâs coldâhe never seems to feel the coldâbut because heâs trying to hide the grin pulling at his lips. He glances over his shoulder to find you trudging through the snow like a grumpy little marshmallow, bundled so thoroughly in your coat and scarf that you look like youâre about to tip over.
âYouâre gonna freeze to death if you keep trudging like that,â he calls easily over the snow, making no effort to hide the amusement in his tone.
âI wouldnât have to trudge if youâd slow down, Gojo,â you snap back, and your exasperation is muffled slightly by the scarf wrapped around your face. âNot everyone has legs like a damn giraffe.â
The laugh he lets out is rich and unbothered, a puff of white against the dark sky. Deliberately, he slows his steps to a near-comical saunter, his boots sinking into the snow with every exaggerated step.
âBetter, princess?â
âBarelyâŠâ You catch up, though you donât look particularly grateful about it. âI swear, if you keep dragging me through the Arctic tundraââ
âOh, come on,â he interrupts, stopping in his tracks. His grin is pure mischief, bright even in the dark. âWhereâs your holiday spirit?â
âIt died about twenty feet ago,â you mutter, shoulders hunching as you try to burrow deeper into your coat.
He holds out his hand to you with a dramatic flourish, fingers wiggling like heâs offering you salvation itself.
âHere,â his sighs affectionately. âBefore you collapse and I have to carry you.â
You stare at his hand for a long moment, clearly torn between taking it and smacking it away. The tension only makes his grin widen.
âCâmon now⊠youâll bruise my ego if you say no.â
With a sigh that sounds like a thousand reluctant decisions being made at once, you slip your gloved hand into his. Itâs small and warm, even through the layers, and Satoruâs grin falters for just a second when he feels your fingers curl around his.
Did he just get butterflies? Thatâs dangerous. Heâs gotta keep it together.
âAtta girlâŠâ he says softly, a bit too softly for his own comfort. But he covers it up with a gentle tug, pulling you closer as the two of you trudge forward.
The path winds through the trees, the branches drooping under layers of snow. Some of them stretch over the walkway, woven with twinkling lights, so it feels like youâre walking through some kind of enchanted tunnel.
Itâs the kind of thing that could make anyone believe in magic, and Satoru would probably be soaking it all in⊠if he wasnât so preoccupied with watching you out of the corner of his eye.
Your nose is pink, your cheeks dusted with color from the cold, and thereâs a light in your eyes that makes something stir in his chest. He tugs his scarf a little higher, like thatâll help somehow.
Then, just ahead, golden light spills onto the snow. A sleigh comes into view, and Satoru slows his steps as you round the corner and see it.
Itâs impressive, even he has to admit. The carriage looks straight out of some over-the-top fairytale, polished black and draped with garlands of evergreenâdusted in fresh snow. Strings of soft golden lights wind along the edges, glowing warmly in the dark.
The horses, two massive creatures with sleek dark coats, stand tall and still, their breath misting in the air. Tiny bells dangle from their bridles, giving a soft jingle every time they shift.
Itâs almost too picturesque, like something out of one of those cheesy Christmas movies Satoru always pretends to hate.
He doesnât look at the sleigh, though. He looks at you.
Your eyes go wide, your mouth parting slightly in surprise, and for a moment, youâre so still he wonders if the cold finally got to you. The snowflakes catch in your hair, the glow of the lights reflecting in your wide-eyed expression, and there it is againâthat quiet spark that makes his chest tighten.
âWell?â he breaks the silence with a quiet murmur. âWas it⊠worth the trek through the Arctic tundra?â
You blink, dragging your gaze away from the sleigh to look at him. Thereâs something different in your expression nowâsofter, quieter.
âYou did all this?â
He shrugs, slipping his free hand into his coat pocket and forcing a grin onto his face.
âWhat can I say? Iâm a man of many talents.â
âRidiculousâŠâ you murmur, shaking your head with a faint smile, but thereâs no edge to your words. Just that quiet disbelief, like youâre still trying to figure him out.
He gestures to the sleigh with an exaggerated sweep of his hand.
âWell? You gonna stand there and let the snow bury you, or are you getting in?â
The driver steps aside with a polite nod, and Satoruâs already moving to help youâsteadying you as you step up into the sleigh, his hand lingering at your waist.
When you settle into the plush seat with a quiet exhale, Satoruâs brain takes a quick pause to tell himself that heâs absolutely screwed.
Because if Satoru thought walking through the snow with your hand in his was dangerous, this is a death blow.
But he still climbs in beside you, moments laterâtugging the blanket over your laps as the sleigh jolts softly forward.
The bells chime faintly as the horsesâ hooves crunch against the snow. They carry you both down the path, allowing the forest to melt away completely as the sleigh crests a small hill, and suddenly, the town comes into viewâa world awash in color and magic.
Lights shimmer from every surfaceâwoven through trees, strung like ribbons between lamp posts, wrapped snug around shopfronts as though the entire place has been dipped in starlight.
Shop windows gleam with warmth, framed by wreaths and garlands dusted with frost, while displays of tiny trains, glowing reindeer, and spinning nutcrackers turn slowly behind the glass.
As the sleigh turns fully onto the main street, Satoru glances at you, and predictably, youâre completely mesmerized.
He knows, because youâve gone completely still beside himâyour breath visible in the cold as you take it all inâand he doesnât even bother to look at the lights anymore, not when youâre staring at them like youâve stumbled into a dream.
That glow in your expressionâsoft and openâthatâs what mesmerizes him. And the reflection of the lights in your wide eyes gives him the urge to bottle this momentâkeep it tucked in his coat pocket forever, so he can pull it out and look at it whenever the world gets too loud.
The bells from the horses chime softly, blending seamlessly with the hum of life aheadâchildren laughing, carols echoing, the soft crunch of fresh snow.
But Satoru canât focus on any of that.
Snowflakes have caught in your hair, little flecks of white like frost spun from the lights above. Your lips, soft and faintly parted, are far too close to his line of sight, and his gaze catches there for longer than it should.
Satoruâs brain is short-circuiting.
Heâs never been good at this. Restraint. Holding back. Not when it comes to things he wants, things he cravesâand God, does he crave your lips so badly.
You shift slightly, burrowing deeper into his side with a soft hum of contentment that nearly knocks the wind out of him.
âBeautiful, isnât it?â you murmur suddenly, as soft as the snow.
He clears his throat lightly, tipping his head back in a lazy attempt at distractionâtrying to focus on literally anything else.
âYeah⊠not bad,â his voice carries the faintest edge of smugness. âBet youâre glad I dragged you out here now.â
You hum softly, a little laugh under your breath.
âYeah⊠guess Iâll give you this one.â
But as you shift slightly again, your head tilts, and your gaze lingers on something ahead.
In the square below, a father spins his daughter in his arms as she shrieks with laughterâbright red mittens flailing in the air. The mother stands beside then with a warm soft smile, brushing the snowflakes gently out of the little girlâs hair as she settles still.
Itâs simpleâa fleeting moment of joyâbut Satoru notices the way your expression changes. The glow in your eyes dim, just slightly, fading into something distant, something far away.
He doesnât like it.
Itâs not the first time heâs seen that look either. Itâs lingered in your eyes at odd moments during the month when you think he isnât watching.
âHey⊠you okay?â
The question snaps you from whatever memory youâve fallen into. You blink quickly, turning to him with a smile that doesnât quite reach your eyes.
âWhat? Oh⊠yeah. Iâm fine.â
Itâs a lie. A bad one.
Satoru knows it instantly because your voice wavers, just slightly, and your hands fidget under the blanket like theyâre looking for something to hold onto.
He doesnât push right away. Satoru isnât great at handling fragile thingsâheâs all big, teasing words and careless confidenceâbut seeing this?
Youâretreating into yourself, suddenly quiet? Yeah⊠it never really sits right with him.
âYou knowâŠâ he starts carefully, voice softening as he watches you, âyouâve already heard all about my old man. But you⊠you donât really talk about your family much. What was Christmas like for you growing up?â
The words settle like snow between youâsoft, quiet, but heavy. You stiffen slightly.
Fuck. Maybe heâs said too much. Regret flickers in the back of his mind. Heâs half-expecting you to deflect.
You hesitate, staring at the lights again as though theyâll save you from answering, and for the first time, Satoru curses those damn Christmas lights. They feel like theyâre pulling you away from him.
But then you sigh, and the sound makes something twist low in his chest. Itâs too careful. Too practiced.
âMmm⊠thereâs not much to talk about,â you admit quietly. âMy parents werenât exactly⊠involved, so Christmas wasnât really a thing for us.â
Satoru doesnât say anything right away. He just watches you carefully, like heâs waiting. He knows thereâs more, and heâs careful not to push, not yet.
âI used to watch all the Christmas movies, though,â a faint wistful smile tugs at your lips. âThe ones where families sat by the fire⊠wrapping gifts and baking cookies, singing carols together. It felt⊠magical. Safe. Like they belonged there.â
The smile slips slightly, and Satoru sees the moment the words shiftâwhen they stop being a memory and start being something else entirely.
âButâŠâ your voice dips to a whisper, âHonestly it was like watching through a window. I felt like a spectator. Always outside looking in.â
There it is.
The words hit him square in the chest, sharp and unrelenting, and Satoru hates it. Hates how small you sound when you say it, like you donât realize how wrong it is for someone like youâyouâto feel that way. It makes his jaw tighten, his fingers twitching faintly under the blanket.
âThatâs not fair,â he blurts out, faster than he means to. The sharp edge in his voice surprises even him, but he doesnât care. âI hate it. Itâs not right. You shouldnât have had to feel like that.â
Your head turns slightly, your eyes flicking back to him, startled.
âSatoruââ
âItâs not fair,â he repeats, reining it in slightly this time. He shakes his head, turning to look at you fully now. âAnd you know what? Itâs not like that now. Youâve done the exact opposite.â
You blink again, your brows furrowing faintly.
âWhat do you mean?â
The surprise on your face makes him huff a quiet laugh. He canât believe you donât see it.
âCâmon now sweetheart⊠I mean, look at Haru.â
Your expression softens at the mention of her, and Satoru feels that familiar twist in his chestâthis inexplicable warmth thatâs only grown stronger since you and Haru came crashing into his life.
âSheâs a happy kid,â he says simply, like itâs the most obvious thing in the world. âYouâve made her a happy kid. Kind of a little terror sometimesâdefinitely gets that from youâbut happy nonetheless.â
You roll your eyes faintly, but thereâs a tug at the corner of your mouth that you canât quite hide.
âSeriously,â he continues, a smirk teasing at his lips now. âThat kid lights up at the dumbest stuffâlike that ornament she found with the penguin in a Santa hat. Youâd think she struck gold. She made me stare at that thing for ten minutes straight.â
You groan, pressing a gloved hand to your face, but thereâs a small laugh behind it now.
âShe did the same to me.â
Satoru chuckles, low and easy, though his expression softens as he looks at you.
âBecause to her, it is magic. You made that happen. You gave her something real, something sheâll hold onto forever. The kind of magic you didnât have.â
You open your mouth like you want to say something but canât quite get there yet, and he leans in closer.
âAnd itâs not just herâŠâ he murmurs hesitantly. âYouâve done that for me too.â
His blue eyes fix on yours with a quiet vulnerability, and your brows furrow faintly as you stare at him.
âWhat? Really?â
For a moment, Satoru freezes.
Vulnerability isnât something heâs good atâit doesnât come naturally to him; heâs always kept people at armâs length. But somehow, around you, it slips out easier than he expects. Like youâve managed to dismantle his walls one smile, one moment at a time.
Around you, he doesnât have to try so hard. And itâs fucking terrifying.
His throat tightens, but he shrugs, playing it off like itâs nothingâeven though he knows itâs everything.
âLook⊠I used to sit in these massive rooms my dad filled with people. All the decorations, all the noiseâhe made sure it looked perfect. Trees the size of small buildings, tables stacked with enough food to feed an army.â
Satoru pauses, his blue gaze flickering to the snow-dusted path ahead before settling back on you.
âBut⊠none of it mattered. Iâd sit there, surrounded by hundreds of people, and still felt so damn alone. Like I wasnât really there, yâknow?â
Your face softens, and he feels it againâthat warmth that only seems to exist when youâre looking at him like this, like you can see straight through him. You always do.
âBut now?â he exhales, breath curling into the cold air like smokeâhis eyes meeting yours fully. âChristmas feels⊠different. Doesnât feel so empty anymore.â
ââŠyeah?â
âYupâŠâ he shakes off the tension with a sigh, and smugly adds, âYouâve officially ruined Christmas for me, sweetheart. Thanks a lot. Canât have it any other way now.â
Your laughter comes quietly, and God, thereâs that sound that he loves again. Your gloved hand finds his underneath the blanket.
âWellâŠâ your fingers curl around his. âThanks to you, I finally donât feel like a spectator anymore⊠âcause youâre in my life.â
Shit.
Satoru swears his heart trips over itself. For a guy who never feels the cold, heâs never felt this warm.
The sleigh jolts suddenly, rolling over a bump in the snow, and the movement sends you swaying against him with a soft gasp.
Youâre so closeâclose enough that he can see the faint blush on your cheeks, the soft part of your lips as you glance up at him.
Your gaze flickersâjust onceâdown to his mouth.
Thatâs it.
He leans in, his hand slipping out from under the blanket to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly along your skin as he kisses you.
The first press of his lips against yours is careful, tentative, but then you sigh softly, tilting your head slightly, and Satoruâs restraint snaps like a wire pulled too tight.
The kiss deepens, slow but deliberate, as Satoru tilts your face up to meet him properly. His other hand finds your waist, the curve of it fitting perfectly under his palm as he pulls you closerâcloser, because he needs you like he needs to breathe.
He swears heâs losing his mind.
You respond just as eagerly, your fingers curling into the front of his coat, and Satoru groans softly against your mouthâequal parts relief and desperation.
Heâs screwed. Utterly, completely screwed.
Because now that heâs kissed you, he doesnât know how the hell heâs supposed to stop. All he can think aboutâall he wantsâis to pull you into his lap right here on this stupid sleigh and kiss you until the world stops spinning.
His mind betrays him, flooding with images he has no business thinking about right now. Your legs straddling his hips, your coat slipping off one shoulder, coaxing sounds from you that heâs dying to hearâfuck heâs losing himself completely.
He wants to take youâaway from the prying world, away from everyoneâsomewhere thatâs just the two of youâhome.
When he finally pulls back, itâs only because even Satoru Gojo canât survive without air forever. But he doesnât go far. His forehead rests gently against yours and his thumb brushes softly along your jaw.
The corner of your mouth curves faintly and your eyes linger on himâjust enough to make his heart skip like itâs forgotten how to work.
Itâs torture. Absolute, pure, devastating torture.
His thumb drifts lower along your jaw, reverently tracing the soft line of it. He could stay here forever, just like thisâyour breath mixing with his in the cold air, your lips pink and kiss-bruised from him.
God, youâve never looked more beautiful. He wants more.
Shifting slightly, his breath fans across your lips as he murmurs, âYouâre so perfect⊠youâre making this really hard for me, yâknow that?â
Blinking up at him, your lips tug into a soft, teasing smile. âOh?â you murmur, breathlessly. âAnd what exactly am I making hard, Satoru?â
His breath hitches. Shit. Youâre going to be the death of him. He chuckles softlyâstrained and fraying like his self-control.
âCareful, sweetheart. Keep asking questions like that, and I might just take you home right now.â
Tilting your head, your voice lowersâa quiet challenge.
ââŠwhy donât you, then?â
God, what the fuck are you doing to him?
For a moment, he wants to say screw it. Forget the stupid sleigh, the town, his plans. Forget the world and take you straight to bed where he doesnât have to hold back anymore.
Take her. Have her all to yourself.
But then your wide, daring eyes lock onto his, and it hits himâyouâre playing himâyouâre winning. And Satoru Gojo does not lose.
With a slow, shaky breath, he pulls back just slightly. The smirk curling at his lips is lazy, practicedâmasking the fact that heâs literally about five seconds from falling apart.
âMmm⊠tempting,â he drawls, brushing the pad of his gloved thumb against your bottom lip. âBut Iâm not that easy to break, sweetheart. Besides, weâve got more to explore.â
Your eyes narrow faintly, suspicion flickering beneath the teasing curve of your lips.
âYouâre unbelievableâŠâ
âMm, you say that now,â he sighs, âBut youâll thank me later.â
You scoff quietly, rolling your eyes as you lean back just an inch.
âMore to explore, huh?â
âYeah.â His grin widens, lazy and lopsided. âAnd if youâre good, I might even let you hold my hand the whole time.â
êš
âYouâre going to rot your teeth, you know,â you say, watching as Satoru unwraps yet another snickerdoodle cookieâhis fifth, by your count.
âExcuse you.â He pauses dramatically, holding the cookie up like itâs a priceless artifact. âIâm single-handedly funding this poor vendorâs retirement. Call me generous.â
You snort into your hot chocolate.
âMore like youâre single-handedly making sure they run out of stock before dinner.â
âYou say that like itâs a bad thing.â He takes a slow, deliberate, obnoxiously loud bite, eyes locked on you the whole time. âIâm boosting the economy, sweetheart.â
âYouâre boosting your dentistâs next paycheck, honey.â
Satoru groans, tossing his head back like youâve just deeply insulted his honor.
âYou wouldnât understand. You donât appreciate the artistry of sweets like I do.â
âOh, I appreciate them,â you retort smugly, tugging him away by his coat sleeve before he can eye the next vendorâs table. âI just donât inhale sugar like Iâm storing it for winter.â
âAmateur,â Satoru quips, biting into the cookie with dramatic flair. âYouâll learn.â
âYeah yeah⊠Iâm cutting you off before you go into a sugar coma.â
âCutting me off?â He presses a hand to his chest like youâve insulted his entire existence. âSweetheart, you wouldnât dare.â
âOh, I would,â You grin victoriously, striding ahead of him through the snow-dappled streets.
âCold. Heartless. A tyrant, really.â Satoruâs voice follows dramatically as he trudges after you, shoving the final bite into his mouth with zero shame. âThis is abuse, I tell you.â
âYouâll live.â
âBarely.â
The two of you wander together through the town, your shoulders brushing every so often as you pass small stalls and shops.
The shop windows glow faintly, wreaths and garlands framing every corner, and the air smells of roasted chestnuts and warm cinnamon.
You stop suddenly ahead of him, your steps faltering as your gaze locks onto the massive Christmas tree at the center of the square.
Satoru follows your gaze, and the thing is ridiculousâexactly the kind of over-the-top nonsense Satoruâs father would brag about back in the day. Towering, glittering, competing with the stars like it thinks it has a chance.
But for once, Satoru doesnât care about the ridiculousness. He only cares about you.
You stand perfectly still, staring up at the tree with something quiet and awed in your expression, like youâve forgotten the rest of the world exists.
The golden lights catch in your eyes, snowflakes drifting lazily into your hair, and the faintest pink lingers across your cheeks from the cold. Youâre glowingâand maybe itâs the lights, or maybe itâs just you.
You look perfect. You look his.
Thereâs that urge againâcapturing this moment, bottling in up, keeping it for himself.
The feeling is so sudden, and before he can second-guess it, his hand slips into his coat pocket, pulling out his phone.
The shutter clicks.
Your head whips around instantly, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
âDid you just take a picture of me?â
Satoru freezes, phone still half-raised, trying to look as nonchalant as a man caught red-handed can. âNope.â
Your eyes narrow further, shifting on your feet. âSatoru.â
âI was⊠texting someone,â he says weakly, his grin betraying him.
âTexting who?â you press, eyebrow arching.
âSanta,â he deadpans. âTelling him youâre being mean to me. Again.â
The flat look you give him is priceless. âGood lord. Youâre impossible.â
Satoru grins triumphantly, twirling the phone between his fingers like a magician showing off a trick. âFine, fine. You caught me. I couldnât help it. You looked cute.â
The faint flush of your cheeks deepens slightlyâprobably the cold, he tells himself, but heâll take it anyway.
âLet me see it.â
âNot a chance.â
Your glare sharpens, and Satoru swears youâre plotting his demise. âSatoru. Hand it over.â
He snorts, immediately shoving the phone into his coat pocket. âYouâre cute when youâre bossy, you know that?â
You step closer, determination lighting your expression. âI will fight you.â
âYou wanna wrestle me in the middle of town?â Satoru raises a smug brow, delighting in the way youâre glaring up at him. âWith kids around? Heartless, sweetheart. Absolutely heartless.â
Before you try to snatch his phone from his coat pocket, he moves fasterâhis arm looping lazily around your waist, tugging you into his side with practiced ease.
The suddenness knocks you off balance for a moment, and you let out a soft, startled laugh. Satoru canât help but grin, using the moment to pull you even closer.
âAlright, alrightâŠâ he murmurs, pulling out his phone. âHere. Letâs take one together. Our first real photo togetherâno work, no press. Just you and me.â
You blink, your eyes flickering up to meet his, the faintest surprise crossing your face. âReally?â
âYeah.â He shrugs like itâs nothing, though the warmth in his voice gives him away. âGotta document the occasion. Might be the only proof I have that you tolerate me. Câmon, lean in.â
You roll your eyes, though thereâs no hiding your smile as you let him pull you closer. He adjusts the camera, keeping his arm secure around you.
âAlright,â he says, angling the phone just right. âSay âGojo Satoruâs the love of my life.ââ
You snort, laughing as you nudge him. âIâm not saying that.â
âMmm⊠Iâll wait.â
Your laughter bursts through the square, bright and unrestrained, just as the shutter clicks. Before you can recover, Satoru leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as he steals another shotâyour laughter caught mid-breath.
âHey!â you yelp, pulling back to glare at him, but youâre still smiling.
Satoru grins down at the photo as he flips the screen to show you. âLook at that. Photographic evidence that you adore me.â
You gape at him, incredulous. âAdore you?â
âYep.â He winks, tucking his phone back into his pocket before you can swipe it, catching your hand instead. âCaptured for infinity. Youâre welcome.â
Your grip tightens on instinct, and you open your mouth to argue, but Satoru beats you to it.
âCâmon,â he swings your hand lightly as he starts pulling you forward again. âThe candy stall up ahead has fudge.â
êš
The two of you wander back through the streets, hand in hand as the shops blur by in warm, golden streaks of light.
Satoru doesnât mind wanderingâespecially when it means you tugging him along by the hand, pausing every so often to peer into window displays. Itâs cute, he thinks, the way you light up at the smallest things.
But then you stop abruptly in front of one shop in particular.
Itâs so sudden that Satoru nearly keeps walking, your hand tugging him gently to a halt. When he glances over, he follows your gaze straight to the window of an antique shop tucked snug between two cafes.
And there it is. The locket.
It rests beneath a glass dome, perched on velvet as though itâs worth more than the shop itself. The silver surface gleams faintly under the soft, golden light, delicate and timeless, and engraved across the front is an infinity symbolâcurved and flowing endlessly into itself.
Satoru tilts his head slightly, his brows lifting in quiet curiosity as he watches you stare at itâas if that locket holds the entire universe within it.
âSee something you like?â he murmurs, looping his arms around your waist and pulling you gently into his chest.
He feels the way you relax into him almost immediately, your hands curling lightly around his forearms.
âInfinityâŠâ you whisper.
He hums, burying his face into the curve of your neck, nuzzling there like heâs trying to steal the warmth of you.
âHmm?â
You donât answer right away, your gaze still locked on the locket. Satoru takes the opportunity to press a lazy kiss against the soft skin of your neck, his lips curving into a grin when he feels you shiver slightly beneath him.
âWhatâs got you so lost in there, huh?â he teases.
âHmm? OhâŠâ You blink, your cheeks tinged faintly pink as you glance back at him. âI was just thinking about what you said. About infinity.â
He raises a brow now, a slow grin spreading across his face as he straightens just enough to nudge his chin toward the locket.
âYeah? You been pondering the mysteries of the universe without me?â
You turn slightly in his arms, your gaze lifting to meet his, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you.
âWell,â you begin, smiling faintly, âIâve been thinking⊠youâre⊠well, youâre kind of like infinity, arenât you?â
Satoru blinks, his grin faltering for a split second.
âMe?â
âYeah⊠youâre always moving, always bigger than life, like thereâs no end to who you are. You donât stopâdonât ever really slow down. Youâre... limitless.â
For once, Satoruâs brain stalls. Completely. Heâs torn between a smug She thinks about me like that? and the sudden ache in his chest that he doesnât know what to do with.
He sees the way youâre looking at himâsoft, honest, like youâre laying something fragile and important at his feetâand it hits him harder than anything heâs prepared for.
Satoru tightens his hold on you, pulling you closer as though thatâll somehow ground him.
âYou really think that?â A softness creeps into his voice. âThat I remind you of infinity?â
You nod slowly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his coat. Your gaze drops for a moment before lifting again, steady this time.
âYeah⊠because no matter what... youâll always protect me. Youâll always be here, wonât you? Like infinity. Always.â
Satoruâs breath catches. For once, he doesnât have a clever comeback. He doesnât have anything except this overwhelming, all-consuming feeling swelling in his chest.
He dips his head, brushing his lips softly against your forehead. Itâs the only answer he has.
âMhmm,â he murmurs quietly. âAlways.â
For a moment, he lingers there, his forehead pressed to yours, your breath mingling in the cold. Then, with a small grin tugging at his lips, he pulls back slightly, arms still secure around you.
âCâmon,â he sighs affectionately. âThereâs still fudge with my name on it.â
You let out a soft laugh, your hand slipping back into his as he tugs you gently forward. But as you fall into step beside him, Satoruâs gaze drifts back to the shop window, to the locket resting beneath the glass.
Infinity, huh?
The faintest smile plays on his lips as he squeezes your hand lightly. He finally knows what heâs getting you for Christmas.
êš
For Satoru, Christmas morning felt⊠surreal.
The Gojo estate, usually silent and polished like a showroom, had transformed into something far more, filled with a warmthâHaruâs delighted squeals echoing down the halls, filling the empty spaces with pure, unfiltered joy.
âMama! âToru! Wake up! Hurry, hurry!â
Her voice carries like a one-person parade, punctuated by the rapid thump of her tiny feet sprinting towards the tree, and Satoru groans into his pillowâdragging a hand over his face as if that would erase the early hour.
The sun wasnât even properly up yet, and here he was, reluctantly dragged from the cocoon of his bed by the infectious energy of a two-year-old.
He shuffled down the hall in his pajama pants and hoodie, stifling a yawn as he dragged a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.
Rounding the corner, he caught sight of Haruâa blur of bedhead and reindeer pajamas, arms flailing as she skidded to a halt in front of the Christmas tree. Her tiny hands clapped together as her wide eyes took in the mountain of carefully wrapped presents beneath it, glittering under the soft glow of twinkling lights.
âMama! âToru! Look! Presents!!â she squeals, bouncing on her toes, so full of excitement that Satoru half-expects her to rocket straight into the air.
He leans lazily against the doorframe, watching her with an amused grin. This kid⊠she was like a wound-up toy, running purely on joy and Christmas spirit. It tugged at something in himâa place he didnât even realize had been empty until now.
âHow does she have this much energy so early in the morning?â he mutters, glancing over his shoulder just as you appeared behind him.
You looked impossibly cozyâwrapped in your pajamas, your hair tousled from sleep. In your hands were two steaming mugs of coffee, one of which you handed to him without a word.
âSheâs almost three,â you say simply, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. âAnd itâs Christmas. Welcome to parenthood. This is her prime time.â
âPrime time for chaos,â he quips, taking a careful sip of his coffee.
He shoots Haru a mock-suspicious glance as she darts around the treeâtiny hands hovering over the presents like sheâs trying to decide where to start.
âYou sure Santa didnât slip her a double espresso in her stocking?â
Your laugh is quiet and warm, the kind that made the corners of his mouth tug upward instinctively, and he couldnât help but think how ridiculously domestic this all feltâHaru bouncing by the tree, you standing beside him with that soft, sleepy glow.
It was almost unsettling how much he liked it⊠how much he cherished it.
His gaze shifts back to Haru, who was now crouched in front of the tree, examining the tags on the presents like a tiny detectiveâa kind of joy so radiant it made something tighten in Satoruâs chest.
It hit him thenâhere he was, watching Haruâs eyes light up with the same wonder he never got to feel growing up. His Christmases had always been all flash and no magic. Gilded parties, perfectly wrapped gifts that lacked thought, and a cold sort of extravagance that filled rooms but never hearts.
But this?
This was different. Seeing Haruâs excitement now felt like reclaiming something he didnât even know heâd lost.
âMama! âToru!â Haruâs voice snaps him out of his thoughts as she holds up a box triumphantly. âLook! Look! For me!â
âMan, Santa really outdid himself this year,â Satoru drawls, stretching an arms over his head as he plops onto the couch beside you.
He made a show of sipping his coffee like he hadnât been the one painstakingly arranging the presents under the tree just hours earlier.
Youâd handed him ribbons to tie, smirking as he fumbled with the tape, and rolled your eyes as he huffed about how âunnecessarily complicatedâ wrapping paper was.
And then thereâd been the cookies and hot chocolate Haru had left out for Santa, which he devoured with exaggerated flair. Youâd caught him red-handed, crumbs still on his face, and he grinned sheepishly, muttering something about how Santa worked hard and deserved a snack.
It had been... nice. Warm. Like stepping into a life he always thought was meant for other people, not him.
But Haru?
She didnât care about Satoruâs epiphanies. She was too busy shredding wrapping paper like her life depended on it.
The morning quickly descended into a delightful chaosâa whirlwind of torn ribbons, squeals of delight, and an ever-growing pile of toys. Haru didnât just open her gifts; she paraded each one around the room like a prized trophy.
A dollhouse, a pink fluffy stuffed bear (that was for you, right?), and a set of art supplies. Every present came with an enthusiastic âMama, look!â, making you laugh while Satoru grinned like an idiot.
And his attention⊠well, it kept drifting back to you.
The way you tucked your legs beneath yourself on the couch, leaning slightly into his shoulder as you sipped your coffee. The way your eyes softened whenever Haru ran to you, clutching another giftâher excitement bubbling over.
The way the light from the tree caught in your hair, making you look like you belonged in this moment⊠more than anything else ever had.
âMama, look!â Haru gasps yet again, holding up a small box wrapped in gold paper. âSanta didnât forget you!â
You blink, momentarily startled, as she thrusts the box into your hands before darting back to the treeâalready rummaging for her next gift with boundless energy. Your gaze, however, shifts toward Satoru, narrowing with playful suspicion.
âOh really?â you arch an eyebrow, grinning.
Satoru scratches the back of his head, feigning nonchalance even as a smug grin begins to tug at the corners of his mouth.
âDonât look at me,â he shrugs. âThatâs between you and Santa. Guyâs always been a softie for you.â
Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention to the package, peeling back the carefully wrapped paper to reveal a small rosewood box.
The craftsmanship immediately catches your eyeâwith rich, dark wood, smooth to the touch. Two turtle doves are etched with breathtaking detail across the lidâwings entwined in a delicate dance of devotion. As you trace the design with your fingertips, the doves seem to almost flutter underneathâa stunning work of art.
And as you lift the lid, your breath hitches.
Nestled inside is the platinum heart-shaped locket, glinting under the soft glow of the Christmas tree. Encircling the heart is a delicate band of diamonds, each stone catching light like tiny frozen stars. And there, at the center of the locketâs face, is that infinity emblem you know so wellâetched with graceful precision.
Your breath catchesâyour chest tightening as you carefully lift the locket from its velvet cradle. The weight of it is delicate yet grounding in your palm.
âSatoruâŠâ you murmur in awe.
Beside you, he nudges your shoulder gentlyâhis grin softening into something quieter, something more vulnerable.
âOpen it.â
With careful fingers, you undo the clasp, and the locket falls open, revealing the secret it holds.
On one side was the photo heâd snapped of the two of you in the town squareâyou laughing, your cheeks pink from the cold, while he pressed a kiss to your cheek with that obnoxiously smug grin.
On the other side was another photoâone you hadnât even known heâd takenâa candid shot of you and Haru in the kitchen, flour dusting your nose as you helped her decorate cookies.
Your smiles were radiant, unguarded, and completely at ease.
For a moment, you just stare, your lips parting slightly as you tried to form words. Satoru leans closer, his hand brushing lightly over your shoulder.
âYou said⊠infinity reminded you of me,â he says quietly. âSo⊠I thought maybe this could remind you of us.â
Your eyes lift to meet his, shimmering with an emotion so raw and overwhelming it makes him hold his breath. Then, without a word, you reach up, cup his face with both hands, and kiss him.
Itâs soft, deliberate, and unhurriedâthe kind of kiss that makes him feel like maybe the universe doesnât have to be so vast and infinite. Not when it can be filled with moments like this.
Before he can fully bask in the moment, Haruâs delighted squeal cuts through the air like a firework.
âMama! Look! A big one!â
Satoru turns to see her tiny hands tugging at a large, carefully wrapped box partially hidden behind the tree. She tries to drag it forward, but honestly the box is way bigger than her.
You laugh softly, already stepping up from your seat to guide her hands away.
âOh⊠that oneâs not for you, sweetheart. Itâs for Satoru.â
Satoru blinks, caught off guard. For him?
He doesnât even have time to process it before Haruâs face twists into the most dramatic pout heâs ever seenâcomplete with trembling lips and misty eyes. She crosses her arms like sheâs about to stage a sit-in protest right then and there.
âWhat? No fair!â
Satoru chuckles, setting his coffee mug aside as he pushes himself up from the couch with an exaggerated groan.
âAlright, alright,â he ruffles Haruâs hair as he crouches beside her. âHow about this? You help me open it, and Iâll share whateverâs inside. Deal?â
Haruâs pout vanishes like snow in the sun, replaced by a radiant grin as she nods enthusiastically.
âOkay!â
With Haru leading the charge, they attack the wrapping paper like a two-person wrecking crew. Satoru makes a big show of struggling with the ribbon, grunting and pretending to pull with all his strength. Haru giggles at his theatrics, and finally, the last shred of paper falls away.
As the box opens, Satoru stills.
Inside is a telescopeâsleek and polished to perfection. His hand trails over the smooth surface, and suddenly he was eight years old again, lying on his back in the garden with a telescope propped on the grass, mapping constellations under a vast, endless sky.
But then, his eyes widen as his fingers brush across something etched on its side. Engraved with precision, is the constellation Lyraâthe harp.
Satoru knows enough about stars to understand its meaning. Lyra represents love, devotion, and music. Itâs the constellation of Orpheus and Eurydiceâa love story as infinite as the stars themselves.
For a long moment, all he can do is stare, his thumb brushing lightly over the engraving as if to ground himself. He doesnât even realize heâs holding his breath until your voice pulls him back.
âYou recognize it?â you ask softly.
He glances up at you, the grin on his face softening into something quieter, something real.
âMhmm... Itâs Lyra.â
You step closer, the faintest hint of nerves in the way you tug at the hem of your pajama sleeve.
âI thought⊠I thought youâd like an upgradeâŠâ you say shyly, âYou love the stars, and I thought you deserved something that made you feel⊠closer to them.â
Satoruâs throat tightens, and he canât speak right away, but before he even has the chance to, Haru tugs at his sleeve impatiently, breaking the moment.
âWhat is it? What is it?â she demands, eyes wide with curiosity.
Satoru lets out a breathless laugh, pulling her onto his lap as he turns the telescope slightly so she can see.
âThis, my little star, is how we can see the sky up close. The stars, the moon, even planets if weâre lucky.â
Her eyes widen. âThe stars? I wanna see the stars âtoru!â
âOkay, princess. Tonight, Iâll show you the whole sky.â
âYay!!â Haru gleams, bouncing on his lap.
Satoru chuckles, steadying her with one arm, but as Haru chatters away, his gaze drifts back to you.
Youâre standing quietly a few steps away, watching the scene unfold with that soft, knowing smile that always makes his heart trip over itself. The glow of the Christmas tree casts a faint halo around you, and for a moment, Satoru wonders how he ever existed without thisâwithout you.
Wordlessly, he tilts his head, beckoning you closer. When you step forward, his free arm slips around your waist, pulling you gently down to sit next to him.
He doesnât say anything at first. Instead, he leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then finally your lipsâslow, unhurried, and laced with everything he canât quite put into words.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours.
âThank you,â he whispers.
Itâs not just for the telescope. Itâs for this moment, for this morning, for you. Your fingers trail softly over his cheek, and he swears youâre glowing.
âMerry Christmas, SatoruâŠâ you murmur quietly.
âMerry Christmas⊠sweetheart.â
Thereâs a warmth in your eyes that feels like home, and for the first time in his life, he understands what it means to be content.
Thisâthis moment, this family, this loveâitâs everything. Itâs infinite.
And as the three of you sit there, bathed in the glow of the Christmas tree, Satoru realizes something heâs never dared to believe.
He finally belongs.
a/n. i got in my feels writing this. as someone who struggles around the holidays, this was real cathartic to write. hope you guys have an incredible holiday season with the ones you loveâthanks for reading, sending hugs! âĄ
taglist:
@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @acowboykisser @mikyapixie @rosso-seta
@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie
@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana
@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher
@ichikanu @artist1936 @christiancj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7
@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys @k1ttybean
@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer @elliesndg
@maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy
@valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff
@saccharine-nectarine @illianasa @pinksaiyans @gojoslefttoenail
#gojo satoru x reader#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru#jjk#jjk fanfic#satoru x reader#gojo x reader#satoru fluff#gojo satoru fluff#satoru gojo#motherhood and matrimony#mhm#satoru x you#satoru gojo x you#satoru gojo x reader#jjk x reader#gojo jjk#jjk series#jjk au#satoru smut
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Far Too Gone for a Tuesday
summary: maybe you like jealous leah
warnings: jealousy obvs, some steamy stuff but nothing graphic
a/n: all thanks to this request !
word count: 1.4k
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The evening air bubbles with the hum of laughter and conversation, lights casting a warm glow across the garden where you stand, half-listening to someone drone on about their latest holiday. Youâre at one of those events, the kind you attend out of obligation more than desire.
A sprawling affair hosted by someone with too much money and too little sense. The atmosphere is as bloated and gaudy as the host's ego, with silk-draped tables groaning under the weight of excessive floral arrangements and waitstaff circulating with trays of canapés so pretentious you can hardly even pronounce the ingredients.
Leahâs somewhere nearby, you know that much. You spotted her a few minutes ago, deep in conversation with a couple of her teammates. Your eyes flick over to her now and then, a subconscious tether that keeps pulling you back.
The sight of her, standing tall and confident, is a small comfort in the swirl of pretension and forced smiles. Sheâs laughing at something, her head tilted back slightly, the elegant line of her throat catching the light. Itâs a beautiful sight, and you wish you were over there with her instead of enduring the banal chatter of your current company.
â-and the water was just so blue, you wouldnât believe it,â the man in front of you says, leaning in closer. Too close. You can smell the faint trace of whiskey on his breath, mingling with a cologne thatâs a bit too strong. His eyes are on you, intent, and thereâs a smirk playing on his lips that makes your skin crawl.
Heâs the type of man who thinks his wealth and status entitle him to anything, or anyone, he desires. His gaze is an inventory, cataloging parts of you as if youâre a commodity. Something he can pursue.
You laugh, a little too brightly, taking a half-step back. âSounds amazing,â you say, hoping the conversation will fizzle out soon. But he doesnât take the hint. His smirk widens, mistaking your politeness for interest.
âYou know,â he says, lowering his voice, âI could take you there sometime. Show you the sights.â His hand hovers near your arm, fingers itching to close the gap, to claim territory he assumes is up for grabs. Thereâs a calculated sleaze in his tone, the kind that comes from too many years of getting what he wants.
You glance around, looking for an escape. And thatâs when you see her. Leahâs eyes are on you, and thereâs a hardness there that makes your breath catch. Sheâs seen the whole thing, and sheâs not pleased. The muscles in her jaw are tight, and her posture has shifted, less casual now, coiled and ready.
Before you can react, sheâs striding over, her movements purposeful and confident. The man is still talking, oblivious to the storm heading his way. Leahâs presence is practically a force field as she steps into the space between you and the man with a possessiveness thatâs both protective and territorial.
âHey,â Leah says, her voice cool but with an edge sharp enough to cut. She slides an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. Her touch is possessive, grounding. âEverything alright here?â Her eyes never leave the manâs face, daring him to challenge her claim.
The man blinks, taken aback. He looks between the two of you, a frown forming. âYeah, we were just talking.â His bravado falters in the face of Leahâs unyielding stare.
Leahâs smile doesnât reach her eyes. âWere you?â she asks, her tone leaving no room for doubt about what she thinks of that. âBecause it looked like you were doing more than just talking.â Her fingers press into your side, a silent reassurance and a clear signal of ownership.
Thereâs a moment of tense silence, and you can almost feel the heat of Leahâs anger radiating off her. The man finally seems to get the message, raising his hands in embarrassed surrender. âNo harm meant,â he mutters before slinking away, his earlier confidence thoroughly deflated.
Leahâs arm stays around you, her grip firm. âLetâs get out of here,â she says, her voice softening only for you. You nod, relieved, and let her lead you through the crowd. As you walk away, you feel the weight of her possessiveness, a comforting anchor in the midst of the eveningâs shallow frivolities.
The drive home is quiet, the air thick with unspoken tension. Leahâs fingers drum against the steering wheel, her jaw set. Her knuckles are white, gripping the wheel as if itâs the only thing keeping her from blowing her top. The dim glow of passing street lights illuminates her face in fleeting intervals, casting ridged shadows that highlight the building fire in her eyes.
You glance at her, a hefty combination of guilt and gratitude swirling in your chest. You didnât ask for the attention, but you canât deny that part of you is glad for Leahâs reaction. Itâs a reminder of the intensity of her feelings for you, a silent declaration of how fiercely she cares.
Outside, the city slips by, a blur of lights and dark shapes. Inside the car, the silence is almost oppressive, filled with the things neither of you are saying. Leahâs jaw ticks, a muscle jumping in the tightness of her clenched teeth. Her eyes remain fixed on the road, but you can feel the storm brewing beneath her calm exterior. You reach out, a tentative touch on her arm, and she softens, just a fraction, a silent acknowledgment of your presence.
As soon as youâre inside, the door barely clicks shut before Leahâs on you, her hands cupping your face, her lips crashing onto yours with a desperate hunger. Itâs a kiss thatâs both an apology and a reminder, an outlet for the emotions sheâs been holding back. You kiss back, matching her pace, your hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, needing to feel her against you.
âMine,â she mutters against your lips, and itâs not a question. Itâs a declaration, a statement of fact that brooks no argument. You nod, breathless, feeling the possessiveness in the way she touches you, the way she consumes you. Her kisses trail down your neck, teeth grazing your skin, marking you in a way that sends shivers down your spine. Itâs primal, instinctual, a need to brand you as hers.
She pulls back, just enough to look into your eyes, her own dark with desire and something more primal. âYouâre mine,â she repeats, her voice a low growl. You nod again, unable to form words, lost in the heat of her gaze. Thereâs a fierceness there, a raw intensity that both thrills and terrifies you.
The night becomes a blur of sensations, Leahâs hands and lips everywhere, a constant reminder of her claim on you. Sheâs relentless, her jealousy fueling a passion that leaves you breathless and wanting more. Every touch, every kiss is a promise, a reaffirmation of what you mean to her. Her hands are possessive, her touch demanding, and you respond in kind, giving yourself over to her completely.
She presses you against the wall, then a door, then the mattress. Her hands sliding under your shirt, fingertips skimming over your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You arch into her touch, needing more, needing her. Her lips find yours again, and itâs a clash of teeth and tongues, a desperate strife over authority that she wins effortlessly.
When itâs over, you lie tangled together, your bodies slick with sweat, your breathing heavy. Leahâs arms are around you, holding you close, as if sheâs afraid to let go. You nestle into her, feeling the steady beat of her heart beneath your cheek. Itâs a soothing rhythm, a reminder that sheâs here, that sheâs yours.
âSorry,â she murmurs, her voice rough with emotion. âI just⊠I couldnât stand seeing him all over you like that.â Thereâs vulnerability in her words, a raw honesty that makes your heart ache.
You lift your head to meet her eyes, your fingers tracing the line of her jaw. âDonât be sorry,â you say softly. âIâm yours, Leah. Only yours.â You mean it, every word, and you hope she can see the truth in your eyes.
She nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. âGood,â she says, pulling you even closer. âBecause Iâm never letting you go.â Thereâs a promise in her words, a vow that you know sheâll keep.
And you believe her.
#leah williamson#leah williamson x reader#awfc#awfc x reader#engwnt#engwnt x reader#woso#woso x reader#woso imagine
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never to keep | heeseung
summary: heeseung was always a natural scene stealer, capturing the hearts and attention of those around him. it seemed predestined that he'd pursue a life that would take him beyond the cosmos and leave behind the constellations he once treasured. it's too bad that you were one of them.
warnings: angst and typos, probably.
word count: 8.6K (shorter than previous works, forgive me)
notes: ahahah. this is a therapy piece ... currently dealing with similar themes of a friend prioritizing work and people who don't care for her over people who do, and i feel veryyy conflicted as of late. i, like yn, am not a plaything. why not turn it into a fic. anyway, enjoy and happy reading! x
masterlist + taglist
*â§ïœ„ïŸâââââââââââ *â§ïœ„ïŸ
If you love someone, they will always come back to you.Â
Thereâs no logic in love, only strong emotions that make people disregard all they know to chase the feeling of reckless abandon. Love is a wildcard that can catch even the most self-protective person off guard. Youâve read it in stories from childhood fairytales to watching strangers fall in love in your favorite books and television shows growing up. You believe the people who kiss on the screen must surely find an ounce of love, even if only for a brief moment.Â
Itâs no surprise that youâve come to love Heeseung the way you do. To love him is to know him, even if heâs too tired to see you on the weekends or too occupied to sit next to you at the lunch period because of his days training to become an idol. What you know at this point in your life is that love is unconditional; supporting your best friend to pursue a dream heâs talked about since he could speak feels right.Â
To love somebody doesnât necessarily mean to devote oneself to the fullest extent, but somehow you feel as though this way of thinking never quite aligned with how youâve come to love. Heeseungâs parents are a surrogate for your own, especially when itâs just you and your mother in the small, two bedroom apartment that sits on the edge of town and away from the city. They tuck you in at night during holidays and other special occasions when youâve become too tired to drive back to your home.Â
Minjun, Heeseungâs younger sister by four years, warmed up to you quicker than anyone had expected. The fierce girl had a protective streak over her brother once he grew into his height and learned that winking at pretty girls could get them to do whatever he asked of them within reason. Minjun doesnât recall when she met you for the first time because she was likely too young to remember, but her sweet nature towards you speaks louder than you couldâve ever anticipated.Â
Growing up with a single parent as an only child provides enough time to befriend loneliness. There are days spent idly in the apartment waiting for someone to keep you company, often wishing that the house was filled with people to keep the void full and lively. But now, because of the Lee family and how close youâve become to their two children, it seems as if the idea of a central family is closer than you think.Â
Heeseung didnât expect for you to become a prominent fixture in his life when the two of you were partnered for a science project at the ripe age of thirteen. Heâd experienced a growth spurt and acne for the first time simultaneously, growing insecure in himself with every day that passed by. Heeseung hadnât anticipated you sitting with his family at the dinner table five years later, listening to a mundane story about his motherâs workday at a boring corporate-level position Heeseung doesnât bother to remember.Â
He never thought youâd be cooking with his father in the kitchen upon returning home from his training practices, talking about the art of seasoning as the meal preparations come to a finish. He doesnât remember when you started coming over without the pretense of coming to see him either. Heeseung surely does not anticipate Minjun waiting for your arrival by the front windows just to insist on being the first person who welcomes you into their home.Â
Naturally, Minjun becomes a recognizable face in your life because of how often she spends time with you and Heeseung. The young girl sets up her homework as the two of you begin yours, her schoolbooks significantly lighter than yours but you make conversation anyhow.Â
âI think she likes you because you donât treat her like sheâs thirteen,â Heeseung says as he dries the dishes from dinner as you scrub them clean. âShe hates it when people baby her.âÂ
âSometimes I think I need to watch how I talk to Minjun.â
âNo, you donât. Minjun likes that you talk to her like a friend.â
âThatâs what she is, no? A friend?â
âMore than me?â
You flick water towards Heeseung. âYes, if you keep teasing me.âÂ
âSeriously, though. Thanks for being nice to her. She complains that sheâs the youngest out of everybody all the time.â
âI used to be like that.â You close the tap water and hand the last dish to Heeseung. âI hated being at the kids table when everybody else got to be an adult. Minjunâs at the age where sheâs aware of it.âÂ
âGod, we sound like her parents, or something.â
You bite back a smile.Â
Caring for Heeseung is arguably the easiest thing youâve ever done. He makes it simple when you receive a text from him hours before you wake up and just before you go to bed despite his busy schedule. You wonder at all how he manages to fit you into his life with all of his dreams and responsibilities, but Heeseung always tells you itâs because thereâs room for you.Â
Being so close to his family helps internalize the fact that you are a permanent fixture in his life. Mrs. Lee drops off baked goods on Saturday mornings most times because she knows your mother likes to eat a sweet treat with her bitter coffee. Mr. Lee goes out of his way to fix faulty ceiling fans or kitchen drains when he has the time to spare your income. Minjun gives you drawings from her art classes that sit on your refrigerator. Integrating their life within yours feels natural.Â
Heeseung has always been somebody youâve looked up to, poised for success after deciding he loved singing enough to make a career out of it. The eight-year-old boy who loved to choreograph dance numbers to famous songs carries this humble beginning when he talks about what life might look like for him when heâs crossed the threshold that separates his life from now.Â
It seemed as though Heeseungâs dream of becoming an idol never seemed too far out of reach, even if he had his moments where he felt like giving up. Things always worked out for him in ways nobody could explain, like moving to a new city because of his motherâs job and making friends within an hour of transferring to a new middle school. Or the time when heâd auditioned to train under a management company and hadnât heard back from them for weeksâHeeseung prepared to stop giving himself false hope for his future as an idol until the fateful email sat at the top of his inbox, welcoming him to the company.Â
Life was always easier on Heeseung than it was for everybody else.Â
You donât see him much between classes because heâs on a special path created for people who are like him. People who are destined to debut as an idol are given certain exemptions to ensure quality education while having enough time to train in all areas of performance art. It took a while for Heeseung to get used to his new life and the new routine set in place for him but you were always there to remind him that this is what he wants more than anything in the world. All of the stress and frustration that comes with change, no matter how brutal or unnerving, will be worth it when he sees his dream to the end.Â
Youâre a young adult at this point in your life but it feels like youâve aged beyond your peers because of circumstance. Spending time at the Lee residence when your momâs at work or visiting her friends prevents you from feeling as lonely as you do in between four white walls that barely feel like home without someone else in it. Growing up quicker than your peers feels like something expected of you. Oftentimes, you wish you could maintain childlike innocence as Heeseung does, dreaming so big and far that everything seems like a possibility if you dreamed hard enough.Â
Watching him dance and hearing him sing feels like a reminder that thereâs more to life than what you know. Your best friend is your confidant and the person you see yourself in the most. The boys and girls who befriend him because of his good looks and potential stardom donât matter much to either of you when the promise of lifelong friendship looms in the future. You canât imagine Heeseung not being in it.Â
Mr. and Mrs. Lee sit at the dining table over a cup of post-dinner coffee while Minjun scrolls through her phone by the couch with a Netflix show youâve never heard of on the television. Their soft murmurs have become a familiar background noise. You sit next to Minjun and peer over her shoulder.Â
âI like these shoes a lot,â she tells you as she turns the phone for you to see. âAll the girls in my grade are wearing these.âÂ
âDo you like them because you like them or because everyone else does?âÂ
She frowns. âWhatâs wrong with liking what other people like?âÂ
âNothing, but if youâre going to buy flats just for them to sit in the back of your closet, that doesnât seem like a good reason to have them.âÂ
Minjun has approached the age youâre all too familiar with. When you turned thirteen, the impending doom of fitting in hit you like a truck when you realized all of the girls in your grade had expensive clothes while you wore hand-me-downs from your cousins. Your backpack, which you had been using for three years because the straps werenât broken, felt like a burden to carry when everybody else had pretty satchels. You felt juvenile in your too-worn sneakers and the two pairs of jeans you had sitting in your closet. But you were thirteen and your mother made enough money to make ends meet and put dinner on the table. Clothing and new school materials didnât matter compared to eating before bed.Â
Part of this insecurity has always followed you throughout childhood, especially when you were old enough to be aware of the fact that you were one of the few people in your grade who didnât have a nuclear family. The kinds of families youâd see on the television didnât exist in real life because while these programs taught its audiences the value of a good, stable home life, youâd been watching them alone while you waited for your mother to come home from work. There would be no dinner at the table with both of your parents because you knew there would be just her.
Watching Minjun grow up with two parents who dote on her feels bittersweet. It feels like watching a version of what could have been if only your father had chosen to stay in the picture instead of abandoning his family for a promising career in entertainment. Minjunâs petulance often reminds you that you were not privileged enough to have this kind of grace because of how rapidly your circumstances forced you to grow up faster than your peers did.Â
Thereâs a small part of you that envies her life when you think about what yours could have been if he had stayed. Maybe you wouldnât have had to watch your mother slave away at odd jobs to keep the lights on before finding a good, stable job after years of searching. Maybe you wouldnât have felt so lonely in your adolescence because heâd take you to ice cream after school. Maybe the hollowness that remains inside of you would have been filled with joy and laughter on the holidays.Â
âYouâre right,â Minjun sighs, pulling you out of your thoughts. âSeri told me my outfit wouldâve looked prettier if I wore these.âÂ
âPeople should keep their opinions to themselves.âÂ
Minjun nods. âAgreed.âÂ
Heeseung emerges from the kitchen a moment later and sits next to you on the couch. The dip in the cushion and his thigh being pressed against yours isnât a new phenomenon, but the heat that creeps up your neck canât be helped when he looks like a model from the corner of your eye. You swallow until your mouth feels dry to keep both Lee siblings from asking why you look like youâre about to explode.Â
Itâs easy to fall in love with Heeseung. All of the girls fawn over him already, a promising sign that Heeseung will likely be just fine when he debuts as an idol. Heâs always been good with people and speaks in a way that makes people root for his success even if it was unintentional to begin with. Heâs charming in a way that seems humble. Heeseung has a skill for making you feel like you are the only person in the room when he talks to you. Youâre sure itâs why people feel drawn to him and why everybody loves being around Heeseung so much. Youâd be lying if you said you didnât feel the same way.Â
Sometimes, you grow envious of how easy it is for Heeseung to get people to like him. Career prospects aside, itâs almost as if he can convince anyone heâs somebody worth being friends with. Cashiers love him because he doesnât make small talk awkward. Heâs not afraid to talk to strangers and strike up a conversation with somebody while waiting for his coffee order. Heeseung is bashful enough to come across as sincere and it seems to reel people in.Â
He inspires you in ways that you canât fathom but simultaneously reminds you that youâve got no future or prospect. Itâs unfair to compare yourself to your best friend, but being in such close proximity where people praise him next to you are constant reminders that your life hasnât begun and you donât know if it ever will. Your life feels stagnant compared to his exciting one. While Heeseung spends his days and nights perfecting his dance techniques and vocal skills, you sit in your room and wonder what life would be like if you could touch the moon.Â
There are days where you wish you could be as suave and charming as he can be. You feel awkward around people you donât know and limit yourself to new experiences when it feels too intimidating. Youâre not somebody whoâs confident enough to start a conversation, let alone with somebody you arenât familiar with. Where Heeseung excels in the socializing department, you find yourself playing catch-up every time you see him befriend yet another person you arenât familiar with. Itâs a wonder how you two became as close as you are.
Meeting him had been by chance. You knew him from friends of friends and saw him in the hallways between class periods but never had a reason to talk to him until the two of you were partnered for a class project. The newfound partnership felt oddly comfortable from the minute Heeseung introduced himself to you with that same charming smile everyone knows him to have. His wit and humor brewed the perfect potion for you to feel like caring for him as deeply as you do would become inevitable. It wasnât a bet on if you would fall for him as hard as you did, but when.Â
Youâre inclined to believe you keep it hidden well. Heeseung is far too oblivious most times to see you as anything other than his best friend. Youâve treated him like a friend far longer than youâve liked him romantically, so acting as if you donât have feelings for him is easy when you remind yourself that having him in your life would be better than the alternative. Still, you have moments where you yearn to hold his hand and kiss him before he leaves for practice.Â
âDo you want to come to the next showcase this weekend?â Heeseung asks, nudging your side with his elbow. You pry your attention away from Minjunâs phone to look at him. âItâs gonna be a small one in the company theater. Thereâs going to be a bunch of important people in the industry. Allegedly.âÂ
âOf course Iâll come, Heeseung. This is you weâre talking about. I wouldnât miss it for the world.âÂ
The smile he gives you is blinding.Â
âI really appreciate you supporting me, you know that? I donât say it often, but I should. Thank you for always supporting me.âÂ
Your heart bursts.Â
âI wouldnât be your best friend if I didnât do at least that,â you tell him.Â
âMy parents and Minjun are gonna be there too so you wonât be alone.â He smiles at you like he knew you were worried about who to sit with, let alone if thereâs going to be important people that could determine Heeseungâs career.Â
âThanks,â you mumble, an overwhelming feeling of shyness overtaking you. âItâs silly that you have to look out for me all the time.âÂ
âNo, not silly,â he says immediately, pushing his head to your shoulder. You donât imagine this position is very comfortable for him, but Heeseung seems keen on staying in this position. âWeâre kids, Y/N. You donât need to have your life together. Iâll always look out for you and walk you through it if thatâs what you need.âÂ
You sigh. âYou know, one day, youâre going to become so famous that youâll inevitably be too busy for me.â
Heeseung shakes his head. âNo I wonât. Who checks up on me every day after practice? Who do I come to when I need to cry? Who do I invite to my home when Iâm not even here?â
âTechnically, your parents invite me over when youâre not here.âÂ
Heeseung pinches your thigh. âIâm serious, Y/N. Youâre not getting rid of me. Itâs like, scientifically impossible to separate the two of us.âÂ
âThanks, Hee.â You feel him nod against you before he lifts his head from your shoulder. âI just feel like I get in my own head sometimes. You know what you want to do for the rest of your life and I barely know what I want for breakfast tomorrow.âÂ
âWe donât always have to figure it out. I know saying that feels like bullshit because Iâm training to become an idol but Iâm serious. There are so many people we know who donât know what theyâre doing with their lives.âÂ
âIt feels like my life could very well be over.â
âYouâre being dramatic.âÂ
You make a face at him. âI know.âÂ
âYouâll find something for you, okay? Youâre barely an adult anyway. You still have college and all of that shit to figure it out.âÂ
âYouâre right.âÂ
âAs always.âÂ
âDonât push it, Heeseung.â
*â§ïœ„ïŸâââââââââââ *â§ïœ„ïŸ
Mr. and Mrs. Lee drive you to the showcase. They pick you up and the four of you have a quick dinner before heading over to the companyâs theater and you feel somewhat like an important industry person when youâre given a badge with âVIPâ on it to signify that youâre part of the family and friends entourage. You see a group of people with clipboards and pens at the ready, dressed like theyâve just come from important meetings that determine the futures of each trainee. Perhaps thatâs who they are. Some of these well-dressed individuals have younger people standing beside them, presumably assistants or something as such.Â
It feels very formal and youâre wondering if the long skirt and long sleeve top youâre wearing is too childish. Everybody who looks important seems to be donning suits or dresses that make them look like they stepped out of a drama show. It doesnât matter how many times you remind yourself that youâre young and not here to mingle with corporate executives. You still feel like the floor should swallow you whole and spit you out with a new wardrobe that matches everyone elseâs.Â
Heeseungâs parents chat with a few people they recognize and leave you and Minjun to fend for yourselves (or, rather, it feels that way). The young girl beside you hooks her arm with yours when youâve been quiet for a moment too long and starts to lead you down the aisles.Â
âEveryone in here looks so stuffy,â she whispers. âPeople working in entertainment should look like theyâre having fun.âÂ
âI feel a little silly in this skirt,â you admit.
âYou look great,â Minjun tells you as she bumps your hip with hers. âMy mom made me wear this stupid dress that I can barely breathe in.âÂ
âI happen to think you look very cute, Minnie.âÂ
âBut I donât want to look cute,â she whines quietly. âI want to look like an adult.âÂ
âYeah, well you can look like an adult when you are one. For now, just be happy that somebody finds you cute enough to do things for you.âÂ
Minjun wants to argue but doesnât. In the time that sheâs known you, there hasnât been a reason for her to distrust anything you say to her because youâve never had a reason to lie. Itâs why sheâs likely to listen to you over her own brother, a fact that Heeseung holds a mild grudge over.Â
âI guess youâre right. I canât even drive. I need people to drive me places.âÂ
You stifle a laugh. âYeah, driving can be a pain sometimes. Enjoy your youth while you have it, okay?â Minjun rolls her eyes in a way that lets you know sheâs joking. Being outwardly affectionate doesnât seem to run in the Lee sibling genes, but youâd like to think you know them well enough to tell when theyâre being genuine.
âYeah, yeah. Whatever you say.âÂ
You try to tell yourself that, too. When everybody finds their seats and when the showcase begins, youâre in awe of how many talented people there are in the room when you hear their incredible vocal abilities and make performing in front of a crowd look easy. Itâs easy to spot Heeseung when heâs dancing with a group of people youâve never seen before. He always looks as if heâs floating on air, moving his body in ways you canât fathom and he makes learning difficult choreography seem like a walk in the park. Youâve heard him sing before but not to this extent. The steady tone he delivers when he dances amazes you beyond comprehension and Minjun would later swear that she saw stars in your eyes when you watched her brother perform like this for the first time.Â
What Heeseung neglected to tell you was that he secured a solo spot after months of impressing his coaches. He performs one of his favorite songs and moves across the stage like he was always meant to be dancing on it. From here, Heeseung looks like a celestial being with the lights cascading down his body. You hold your breath the entire time he sings on that stage and clap the loudest when everybody gives him a standing ovation. You peek to the side to see the same, stuffy executives nodding after his performance and write down things on their clipboards that you can only hope are praises and nothing but.Â
Heeseungâs parents make their way to the front of the stage when the house lights turn on. They talk to people you donât recognize and you find yourself following them instead of looking like an awkward mess, as everybody else has chosen to stand from their seats and greet the performers that have come out from backstage.Â
Your best friend looks magnificent with his makeup and the outfit he last performed in. He looks like a real idol in this light and pride swells within your chest when people applaud him for his incredible performance before he reaches you. His smile turns bigger when he sees you and Minjun approaching him behind his parents and makes his way to engulf you in a hug.Â
âYouâre here,â he breathes.Â
âIâd always said Iâd be here for you, didnât I?â
âI think this was the most important showcase of my life.âÂ
It would be hard to ignore Heeseungâs arm wrapped around your waist like heâs done it a thousand times before. Itâs true that the two of you arenât strangers to physical touch, but he never lingers on you like he is now. Still, you chalk it up to overflowing happiness and you can sense that Heeseung is genuinely pleased with himself. He isnât pretending that he performed well like he does when he avoids going home after practice in lieu of spending time with you in your motherâs apartment.Â
âYouâre fucking incredible,â Minjun praises.Â
âLanguage,â Heeseung chides, removing his arm from your waist to pinch her cheek. âThank you for coming too. Where are eomma and appa?âÂ
Minjun points to where they are. âI think they were waiting for you to come out and started talking to the coaches.âÂ
âWe should make our way there.âÂ
âYou should,â you tell him, pushing Heeesung towards his parents. âIâll be here when youâre done.âÂ
âNonsense.â Heeseung shakes his head and grabs your wrist as best as he can with multiple bodies trying to squeeze past the three of you.Â
When Heeseung pulls you away, youâre sure to grab onto Minjunâs hand so she doesnât get lost in a sea of people either. Mr. and Mrs. Lee beam when they see their son approaching and Heeseung drops your wrist in favor of being smothered with affection by his parents. You can tell he feels embarrassed to be doted on in front of his peers because of how his ears are turning red, but you sit back and laugh with Minjun when she points it out loud.Â
You let them talk and watch as people clad in business attire approach Heeseung and his parents. You're not sure if Heeseung knows them or not but he smiles and shakes their hands, going so far as to bow to their assistants as well. He talks to them like heâs been in this business for decades, making people laugh and remaining as humble as ever when people praise his performance skill. Youâre not sure how Heeseung handles all of this attention and praise at the same time, or even what it must feel like to be talented enough to have people approach you.Â
As you observe everybody else, itâs clear that Heeseung is the star of tonightâs showcase. The other performers did a fantastic job as well, but something about your best friend draws executives to him, and youâre sure everyone who hasnât spoken to Heeseung is waiting for their turn. It feels exhausting to watch people socialize. You can only guess how exhausted Heeseung might be.Â
Minjun joins her parents a little while later at their request, leaving you alone for the time being. You pull your phone out and text your mom that youâre still at the showcase and will let her know when Mr. and Mrs. Lee drive you back to the apartment. You use this as an excuse to look busy, replying to a few friends that you didnât have time to respond to before coming to the showcase. But those conversations are dry and leave you without a distraction.Â
âY/N, come here!âÂ
Heeseung calls your name and your head snaps to where heâs standing. He beckons you over with a wave and you awkwardly waddle to where heâs standing. His family arenât with him and you wonder just how long youâve been looking at your phone for.Â
âThis is my best friend, Y/N,â Heeseung says as he pulls you closer to him. âY/N, meet Kim Namjoon. Heâs the president and founder of Big Hit.â
âItâs lovely to meet you.â The bow is almost automatic and youâre sure to put on a good first impression to help any reputation Heeseung has with Namjoon. You bow at an angle thatâs deeper than a common greeting but just shy of ninety-degrees.Â
Namjoon returns in kind. âNice to meet you, Y/N. Heeseungâs a talented one, isnât he?âÂ
âHeâs the best at what he does,â you say earnestly. âIâve never seen anybody work as hard as him in my entire life. Pardon if Iâm overstepping, but I think Big Hit is incredibly lucky to have him.âÂ
He laughs at your politeness. âI feel the same. Itâs not every day you come across someone whoâs skilled at, well, everything.âÂ
âYou know, when Heeseung and I were younger, we had this ongoing joke that he could master anything on the first try. I think itâs what makes him special, you know?â
âGuys, please donât talk about me like Iâm not here,â Heeseung whines. His cheeks are red but both you and Namjoon laugh in good fun.
âThereâs a reason why I chose Heeseung to be tonightâs soloist,â Namjoon informs. âThis showcase is meant for people in the industry and if Iâm being honest with you, I think youâll be getting good remakes on your review.âÂ
Heeseung beams. âWowâŠI donât know what to say.â
âHe says âthank you,ââ you answer for him. âI canât imagine what training must be like but I do know that all of it has paid off. Thank you for giving Heeseung a chance to prove himself.âÂ
Thereâs a glint in Namjoonâs eye.Â
âHave you ever considered working in publicity?â Namjoon asks you.Â
âNo, why do you ask?â
âI think youâd have a real talent for it.â Namjoon says it in a way that feels too casual for a showcase, especially if heâs the one in charge of the company Heeseung is training under. âYou speak well for Heeseung.âÂ
âOhâŠthank you.âÂ
He turns to Heeseung and claps him on the back. âThereâs more to being an idol than training and performing. You need people who know you and know the business. Itâs important to make your career thrive because you can be the most talented person in the world, but if you donât have the right people around you, none of that will matter.âÂ
Heeseung nods. âY/Nâs always been my champion.âÂ
âI can see.â Namjoon smiles at you. âEntertainment is not for the faint of heart and thereâs more to it than being photographed. You need to be in the right places at the right time and know the right people who can get you there. Thatâs what publicity does for you. Y/Nâs already doing it and sheâs not working in entertainment yet.âÂ
Somehow, his words feel comforting. âI havenât thought about what I want to do with my life but that seems like something I could do.âÂ
âItâs important work. Heeseung can perform the shit out of his solo but it doesnât mean anything if he has nowhere to perform it.âÂ
Namjoon smiles at the both of you before his name is being called from behind him.Â
âGreat job on your solo, Heeseung.â He turns to you. âIt was nice to meet you, Y/N.â He bows once more to the both of you before departing.Â
âI feel like Iâm buzzing,â Heeseung says as he puts an arm loosely around you. âIt was like I was the only person in the room when I was performing, you know? The dance with the other guys was amazing and all of that but I feel like I was on another level when it was just me up there.âÂ
âYou were incredible, Hee. I mean that. I donât know a single person more talented than you.âÂ
Heeseung smiles down at you.Â
âYou know, it means a lot that you come to see me. Sometimes I wonder if people talk to me because they know Iâm training to become an idol but you never make me feel like that. It feels natural and genuine. So, I guess what Iâm trying to say is, thanks.âÂ
You push him away from you, a giddy smile tugging on the edge of your lips. Heeseung is affectionate but less so in his vocabulary, choosing to tease you because itâs his way of letting you know he cares for you. Hearing him be so open and vulnerable tugs at your heartstrings and it makes you feel like you could achieve anything.Â
âIâll always be here for you, remember? You canât get rid of me that easily.â
*â§ïœ„ïŸâââââââââââ *â§ïœ„ïŸ
Heeseungâs life changes for the better after the night of the showcase when Namjoon tells him heâs secured a debut spot underneath their brand new label, Belift. Happiness flows within the Lee household and youâre nearly in tears when you realize all your best friend has worked for has finally paid off.Â
But with it comes uncertainty and your fears are slowly becoming a reality when Heeseung stops talking to you as frequently as he used to.Â
It comes with the job and youâre more than aware of how much Heeseung has on his plate between preparing for his debut and trying to fit in with the industry. You canât imagine what life must be like for him now that his dream is just a few weeks away of becoming a reality but part of you wonders if itâs too difficult for him to keep you hanging on a leash.Â
He calls his parents and Minjun as often as he gets. You know because Minjun swings by your motherâs apartment with Mrs. Lee on Saturday mornings to drop off baked goods, updating you on the latest sheâs heard from her older brother. You try your best to quell your jealousy because theyâre his family after all, but part of you feels like you have a right to call yourself his family too after all he said to you during the night of the showcase and all youâve done for him.Â
Youâre sure Mr. and Mrs. Lee can sense it too. Heeseung no longer lives at home, having moved into his own dorm in the heart of Seoul, thirty minutes from you. You arenât a stranger to their household without his presence but youâve gradually stopped coming by unless Minjun calls you from Mrs. Leeâs phone to ask you to hang out.Â
Texts and calls slowly diminish with his new line of work. You went from hearing from him every day to every other day, to nothing at all.
Seeing the blue delivered messages without any indication that heâs acknowledged you, makes you feel like a second priority. But you donât know if you get the right to feel like this when you know how busy he is and the weight of his debut. Heeseungâs got one shot to make a good first impression and the last thing you want is to distract him from achieving his childhood dream of being a successful idol.Â
Still, the silence stings.
*â§ïœ„ïŸâââââââââââ *â§ïœ„ïŸ
Heeseung knows youâre waiting on him and ignores the pit in the bottom of his stomach that tells him to text you back.Â
His new life has changed in ways he couldnât fathom. When Namjoon told him the news about his debut and all of the details surrounding it, Heeseung felt as if the weight of the world was no longer a burden for him to carry, and that all he has ever wanted would eventually come to fruition. His new friends, namely the three guys around his age who have trained to become musicians, are people he gets along with more than he thought he would. Heeseungâs newfound excitement about the next chapter of his life takes him to new heights and he finds himself spending more time with Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon as they prepare for the debut showcase.Â
Heeseung knows youâre waiting for him back at home but itâs so hard to focus on you when heâs wrapped up in his new life. Making time to see you is hard enough as it is and he knows youâre as patient as can be. In the years heâs been friends with you, Heeseung knows that your resilience knows no bounds and all that youâve experienced in your lifetime has built the strong-willed, confident person he knows you to be.Â
But his new life gets him caught up in the feeling of the present success. The three guys have known each other far longer than Heeseung has known them, only greeting each other in passing since all four of them were training in different areas of performance art. It wasnât until they were living together that Heeseung started befriending them beyond practice and rehearsals. Jakeâs the one who includes Heeseung the most on group outings or spending time playing video games in the living room. His entire life heâs been alone or with just you, seldom having a group of guys who just gets him.Â
Heeseung tucks away the nagging feeling in the back of his head when he and Jay are preparing a meal for the four of them when he sees a text from you.Â
hey hee, are you busy right now? itâs been a while since we hung out and i thought it would be nice to go get boba, or something. my treat !! <3
He shoves his phone in his back pocket before Jay can notice him staring at the screen. The message goes unanswered for the rest of the night as he basks in the company of his friends-slash-coworkers, the thought of getting boba with you far removed from his mind. Playing video games and getting to know the people heâll likely be working with for the foreseeable future takes precedent. Itâs what Heeseung keeps telling himself.Â
After a while, the guilt no longer eats him alive. Youâre busy focusing on graduating and preparing to attend university in the fall while heâs made his debut with his newfound best friends. Itâs no surprise to anyone that Heeseungâs fanbase grows at a nearly alarming rate after he makes his debut. He grows popular with each day that passes and it feels like Heeseung has become the face of the newest generation overnight.Â
Heâll wonder what youâre up to from time to time and let you know how heâs doing. Heeseung first sends a text to apologize, lying about not seeing your text sooner and that heâd love to get boba with you when he has the time. You tell him not to worry because you know heâs busy. He texts you pictures of his first performance and scenic pictures of the cities he visits because of his travel and promotion schedule. You update him on the end of the school year and how your mother is dealing with you moving away for college.Â
The texts become sparse as the two of you resume your separate lives and Heeseung doesnât realize that you donât text him until the day of your graduationâthe day that he was supposed to graduate if he hadnât deferred to the trainee programâwishing him well and that youâre thinking of him. You send a video of yourself pulling your tassel over the graduation cap and he feels nothing for the lost time when heâs on his way to promote his first album overseas.
Itâs for my career, he tells himself when he realizes how much time has passed since he thought of you. Iâm doing whatâs best for me and everybody else needs to get used to it.
It isnât until Heeseung is permitted a few days off that he comes home per his parentsâ request. He doesnât tell them that heâs a bit homesick even though his dorm is a thirty minute drive, but it feels oceans away when his days are packed from morning until night. He tells his parents about his travels and what kinds of food heâs been eating when heâs overseas. Heeseung gifts Minjun all of the trinkets and souvenirs he bought from his time promoting his album, and what his future holds for him when he returns to his life as an idol. Mr. and Mrs. Lee applaud their sonâs hard work, yet they canât help but feel like thereâs a piece of a puzzle missing because you arenât here to celebrate with them.Â
You make a visit at Minjunâs request. When you arrive, youâre stunned to learn that Heeseung is back at home and only has the evening until he needs to return to work. Heeseung can see the disappointment that festers in your eyes and the way your shoulder droops as you smile at him for his familyâs sake, although he knows itâs false bravado because your grin doesnât quite reach your eyes.
 He leads you upstairs to his bedroom when Mr. Lee insists that the two of you spend some time together after not having seen each other in ages. It feels awkward to be in his childhood bedroom with the door just slightly ajar at this moment, but it isnât anything completely new.
What is new, however, is seeing that youâve dyed your hair a different color and that youâve gotten your ears pierced.
âYou look good,â he says, lifting his hand to toy with the end of your hair. âIt matches your skin tone nicely.âÂ
âThanks.âÂ
âDid you do it recently? It looks fresh.âÂ
You donât note that Heeseung also has a different hair color than his natural jet black.Â
âTwo weeks ago. My cousin did it for me.âÂ
He nods. âNice. It looks good. I see that youâre wearing necklaces too.âÂ
âYeah. I decided it was time to stop being a child and get it over with.â
âYou know, you donât have to do things if you donât want to.â You throw a pointed look at Heeseung and itâs an expression heâs unfamiliar with.Â
âI know. But I like earrings and thatâs why I wanted to get them pierced.âÂ
Heeseung wipes his hand on his pants at the awkward tension in the room. He knows heâs to blame. His schedule and priorities have pulled him away from you and the life heâs built prior to debuting, but can anyone blame him? Can anyone blame him for not being able to balance his life when heâs been given the keys to a new empire?Â
âWell, it was nice seeing you.â You throw a cheap smile in his direction and motion to open the door until Heeseung grabs your wrist, causing you to turn around.Â
âYouâre leaving?âÂ
âYeah,â you nod. âYou have an early day tomorrow.âÂ
Heeseung sharks his head. âItâs fine. I donât have to be back in Seoul until ten anyway. Iâve missed you and I want to spend time with you before I absolutely have to fall asleep.âÂ
You scoff. âThatâs real funny, Heeseung. You missed me but all of my texts and calls go unanswered.â
He frowns. âYou know that Iâm busy most days.âÂ
âAnd nights?âÂ
âIâm with the guys back at the dorm.âÂ
You poke your cheek with your tongue.Â
âSee, I would know all of this if you bothered to talk to me at all but it sees that your new life is treating you just fine.âÂ
You make another move to leave his room but he closes the door, startling you with the loud noise. He apologizes quietly and uses his body to block you from leaving for the time being.Â
âIâm sorry, Iâve just been so busy between promotion and rehearsal that itâs hard to keep track of who I keep up with and who I donât.âÂ
âYouâre talking to me like Iâve never seen you cry before,â you say with a disappointed sigh. âYou act like Iâm somebody you once knew in a past life.âÂ
âNot true. Youâre my best friend.âÂ
âBest friends would bother to talk to each other. You know that, right? I donât exist just so you can pick and choose when you need somebody to talk to. It makes me feel like you donât actually care about me, Heeseung. It makes me feel like youâve ever cared about our friendship unless you needed a shoulder to cry on and I was the first person who would listen to you.â
âThatâs not true. Iâm just busy.â
âI get that, I really do. But itâs been months, Heeseung. I know that I canât have your attention all the time and I know I canât see you as often as I did. But would it kill you to let me know youâre alive? The only time I hear about you is when other people talk about you or when I see you on billboards. That doesnât feel like a friendship to me.â
His fists ball at his side and his frustration surfaces. Heeseung is frustrated at everyoneâhimself for being unable to say ânoâ to his new friends, you for expecting so much of him, and his company for keeping him as busy as he is. But he doesnât know how to communicate that, not when youâre standing in front of him, looking like heâs the villain in your life when he feels like heâs not.Â
âWell thatâs life, Y/N,â Heeseung settles. âSometimes we need to learn when to prioritize things over others.âÂ
You laugh humorlessly. âIs that the hill youâre going to die on? Youâre too busy to send a simple text back or let me know that youâre, I donât know, okay?â
âYou canât be a priority all the time.â
âI know that. Iâm not asking you to drop everything for me just because I called you. Iâm asking you to treat me like somebody you care about, Heeseung. Is that too much to ask?âÂ
The anger Heeseung feels within him feels misplaced, but your inability to hear him about makes him even angrier. Itâs unfair for you to demand such things of him when heâs pursuing everything heâs ever dreamed of.
âYes, it is too much to ask,â Heeseung bites back. âYou donât understand the gravity of what I do for a living and itâs hard to appreciate it when youâre breathing down my neck. God, when did you become such a clingy person, Y/N? The world doesnât revolve around you and I donât owe you shit just because you canât handle that Iâm busier than you are.âÂ
âYouâre kidding me, right?âÂ
âIâm being dead serious.â Heeseung steps away from the door. âYou of all people know how badly I want this and now itâs like youâre not letting me enjoy what Iâve worked for. What kind of friend does that make you?âÂ
The words tumble out of his mouth before he can catch them. His need to be the victim in an uncertain period of his life causes him to misdirect his frustration with adapting to his new life and the proof is written all over your face.Â
âY/N, I didnât meanââ
âDonât,â you say sharply. âJust donât.â
Frozen, Heeseung watches you open his door with such force that it nearly slams into him. Heâs quick on his feet to follow you downstairs where he sees his family looking perplexed when youâve opened the front door without saying goodbye.Â
âY/N, I didnât mean it!â Heesueng yells when youâve crossed the threshold of his household. âPlease come back inside.â
âYou made it very clear that I have no place in your new life. Congratulations, I hope youâre happy.âÂ
You walk away while the deep feelings of disappointment and uncertainty settles in Heeseungâs chest. He walks back inside and closes the door behind him to see Minjun and his parents in a deep stupor, trying to make sense of the scene that has just unfolded before them.Â
âWhat happened?â Mrs. Lee asks.Â
âY/N and IâŠâ his voice cracks. âI donât think weâre friends anymore.âÂ
The room is silent, save for the ticking of the wall clock.Â
âMaybe itâs for the best,â Minjun says without a smile.Â
Heeseung wants to tell her that sheâs wrong and whatever conversation they mustâve heard was a product of two friends having their first serious argument. Heeseungâs own frustrations towards his new life is something he doesnât talk about often because heâs worked so hard to become the person he is, and it would be ungrateful to complain about what he has yearned for his entire life. It bottled up so much that hearing you accuse him of being a poor friend caused him to unravel and say things he doesnât mean.Â
Mrs. Lee beats him to speaking.
âDonât say that, Minjun.âÂ
The young girl remains quiet and refuses to meet Heeseungâs eye.
*â§ïœ„ïŸâââââââââââ *â§ïœ„ïŸ
In the few years that follow, you resist rolling your eyes when you see Heeseungâs face in magazine ads and billboards across the city. Life takes you to university where you spend the next four years deciding on the rest of your life before you settle on something everybody said youâd be good at.Â
Graduation approaches far sooner than youâd like and it becomes bittersweet when you see the Lee family, sans Heeseung, in the stadium next to your mom, who are all equally shedding tears as your name is called. Heeseung being absent feels hollow, like another reminder that people choose to leave your life without a momentâs notice but for the sake of keeping up appearances, you smile at the camera when you accept your diploma.Â
Itâs not a surprise to you when you find yourself working in entertainment like Kim Namjoon said you could all those years ago.Â
A job is a job, but he was right when he told you this would be something youâd excel at. Day in and day out, your responsibilities differ as you begin working at Hybe, formerly Big Hit, to manage the profiles and public appearances of idols and other public figures alike.Â
Heeseung doesnât hear from you much. His parents update him on your coursework and send him photos of you at graduation. He cries every so often when he feels the urge to call you and tell you about his day, but doesnât know whether he has the right to do that anymore. The years in his position has taught him what true life balance is, especially with the media and paparazzi taking an interest in his personal life.Â
It feels so exhausting to have nobody you can depend on. These days, itâs just him and the three boys he met at the beginning of his career. Heeseungâs popularity has grown so much that he canât tell up from down. It drowns him in a way he never anticipated and the politics of fame and the industry wasnât something he accounted for when he began dreaming about a career in the performance space.Â
Perhaps itâs why he spends his days feeling listless, like heâs got no real potential after achieving his dream. He knows his managers worry for his health and that the other trainees in the building can sense something has been off for a while. Maybe itâs why he roams the halls with headphones on to drown out the noise thatâs become his everyday life, with talks of meetings and promotions and everything Heeseung wishes to get away from, if for only one day.
When Heeseung bumps into somebody on his way out of the company elevator, his first instinct is to lean down to collect the papers that have fallen haphazardly on the floor. He pushes his headphones until they rest around his neck and stands to hand them back to the person he bumped into. Only, he feels his body freeze when he sees who it is.Â
Like Heeseung has always believed, if you really love someone, they will always come back to you.Â
âY/N?â
*â§ïœ„ïŸâââââââââââ *â§ïœ„ïŸÂ
potential part two ft. the rest of enha ⊠this was a therapy piece lol
*â§ïœ„ïŸâââââââââââ *â§ïœ„ïŸÂ
taglist: @enha-stars @karinasbaby @baevsxii @lillotus17 @syzavxy @mrmld @nikilvrfvr @luvyev @notevenheretbh1 @wvnkoi @seungiesgf @kgneptun @judeduartewannabe @iheartjayke @wonsbubble @ilyjxdz @foggysfrog @oddracha @haechansbbg @tobiosbbyghorl @ryunjin0 @sharksandminhos @jungwoneez @alex-is-sleeping @minjaexvz @woninluv @engeneeee-168 @friendlyuser57 @moony-mari @trdhgg @sleepyhoon @sunghoonsgfreal @i02hoonz @riksaes @021894s @zeeloveshee @jwnghyuns @vhuteryh @cloudiesblog @awsome209 @fleurixzs @xiaoderrrr @marshwatz @aeripark0703 @bambangan @papichulomacy .
apologies to all tumblr wouldn't tag. :)
#lee heeseung x reader#enhypen x reader#heeseung x reader#heeseung imagines#enhypen imagines#enhypen au#enhypen angst#heeseung#my writing#never to keep
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okay so as a federal worker, i tell you this not to make you panic but to give you time to do what you need to do:
it's the holiday season. in addition to the federal holidays, federal workers build up leave throughout the year. the longer you've been with the federal government, the more leave you accumulate. this time of year, many federal workers will be taking their "use or lose" leave, aka the leave they've accumulated that's over the 240 hour cap you can carry into the next calendar year.
that means if you have any renewals or want to apply to anything that requires the federal government, DO IT NOW. many departments are already understaffed but this time of year? yeah, skeleton crews are the norm.
please be patient. you can check in every week or two to see where your stuff is but please be patient. many of us are going to be working our butts off in the next three months to ensure your stuff gets done. but we're only human. if you have an agency number, calling is often better than emailing. yes, even if you have to wait on the line for a while.
notaries can be extremely backed up. if you have an appointment which requires a notary's signature, make sure that you have every single thing ready the second you walk in. you don't want to have to come back.
understand that the ship of state turns slowly. we do have a lot of mechanisms in place to keep things from falling apart completely HOWEVER this time the Executive Leadership is directly coming at us with the intention of fully dismantling certain departments. chief on their list that i've seen is the department of education. if you have a special needs child in a special ed program or are one yourself, check to see who's funding the program (feds, state, local, etc) and plan accordingly. if the feds pull out their money, you need to know who's handling the gap and what happens if it can't be filled. that goes for other programs like housing.
if the republicans control the house, senate, and white house, expect them to defund everything you care about. the only spending i can see them increasing is the department of defense and border patrol. everything else? huge budget crunch. if you think the government is slow now, is unresponsive now, oh boy, just you wait. this will send a shock wave through the economy - the feds are huge spenders in many areas (sometimes the only thing keeping places afloat). much of the government is too big and unwieldy to dismantle all at once (particularly the pieces entwined with big business) but that doesn't mean they can't launch giant holes into the things they really hate. plan accordingly.
the fda director will try to ban sending abortion pills in the mail. plan accordingly. does this step on the usps' toes? yes. do they care? nope, republicans have been trying to privatize them for years. plan accordingly.
if you want to know the baseline fuckery you'll be expected to deal with, the department of veterans' affairs was shadow run by marvel executives for two years last time. i'm not joking. the white house is going to bypass any pretense of confirming executive leadership by making every single one of them "acting director of such and such." those don't require congressional approval.
if you're a dreamer and you've applied for some kind of federal relief, i would advise you to be extremely careful. your information is in a federal database and the republicans want to round up everyone of latino descent. they've already confirmed that they want to deport whole families irrespective of citizenship to "stop family separation."
stay calm and plan accordingly.
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What I Wouldn't Do
This fanfiction is a Valentine's Day exchange gift for the lovely @henderdads. Cass, Eddie absolutely hates Valentine's Day, but for Steve? Well. He's willing to make an exception. Have an amazing Valentine's Day, you deserve it so much!!
Sometimes, it is difficult to reconcile several different truths in our lives.Â
Eddie currently has this dilemma.Â
Truth A: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munsonâs boyfriend, allegedly loves sappy romantic things, Valentine's Day included.
Truth B: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington's boyfriend, feels like if the world ever has to end, it should do so on February 14th, for this is the worst day of all days, the day of heart-shaped chocolate that tastes like crap, couples exchanging sweet words and bodily fluids, sometimes even semi-publicly, and don't even get him started about that horrible romantic music.Â
After swearing on the Munson doctrine he wonât sell his soul to consumerism for anything and anyone but Steve, Eddie Munson decides to ignore Truth B. Steve Harrington deserves the best Valentine's day in the history of this idiotic holiday and Eddie has a hunch, a massive, Everest-sized hunch, that in all of his previous Valentine's days, Steve was always the one to do all the work. His beautiful and brave people-pleasing boyfriend.Â
Then Eddie realizes another very uncomfortable truth. He has no idea how to celebrate Valentineâs Day. He spent the twenty one-ish years of his existence avoiding the holiday, so now he has to do some research.Â
He starts small. When they walk together in the Hawkins center, careful not to touch or hold hands because Hawkins still remains a backward hellhole, he notes what Steve looks at. If his eyes linger on a certain flower for a few seconds, he makes a mental note. A mental note means in Eddie's case that he repeats the name of the flower ad nauseum, quickly excuses himself and scribbles it onto his forearm not to forget. He even buys a permanent marker for this. He can't forget anything, not when it's important for Steve.
When Steve asks about the scribbles, he claims it's for the next campaign. He even draws a sword and a shield next to the notes to avoid suspicion.
He asks many questions, most of them under the pretense of helping Gareth with his dates. "I swear, Steve, when he's lovestruck, he gets completely stupid. Not stupid stupid, Gareth's smart, but he can't hold rhythm and we need him to hold it, he's our drummer! So save this suffering aspiring rockstar and tell me, what do you think is the best type of chocolate? Milk chocolate? Okay, and is that like, universal? Did your previous dates like it? I see, a majority then! Sooo...are you a part of that majority?"Â
Very smooth.Â
See, Eddie doesn't give a flying demobat about chocolate types, he's more into hard candy. He doesn't like cut flowers, they die anyways because you cut them, how is that fair to that flower, huh? To die for being pretty? And of course, he hates the whole EXPECTATION of Valentine's Day.Â
But the more he asks, the more he finds out, he doesn't see it as participating in the mindless machinery of lovestruck idiots. Instead, he sees the flush on Steve's cheeks when he talks about dark chocolate with dried raspberries and how his parents once brought it back from dad's trade conference, how it was love at first taste. He scratches out the idea for a bouquet of flowers when Steve mentions heâs always hated them because the flowers are so beautiful and vibrant, but theyâre cut for an obligation in their prime. âIt sounds stupid when I say it,â he chuckles, âbut I want them to live until theyâre ugly and withered, you know? Theyâre worth way more than their looks.â
Eddie could kiss him right there and then. And he does.Â
He brings it all together, prepares all of Steveâs favorites with a silly twist because itâs Eddie, and Eddie lives for silly things. It really needs to be his favorites because Steve once admitted to him that most people with the exception of Robin and Dustin donât really know what he likes, they just assume. And Steve is happy that people even thought about him, he thanks them and treasures those things that donât mean anything to him. To Steve, being thought about is enough.Â
Well, not to Eddie Munson.Â
He asks Steve not to plan anything for their Valentine's Day. Or more precisely, he asks him to stay free and available and not worry his beautifully hairy head. He knows that if he didn't say this, Steve would have gone above and beyond for him, he would have likely taken Eddie to a concert with music so loud heâd get a migraine, but heâd suffer through it. So Eddie has to stop that from happening.
On the actual day, Eddie prepares everything. He sends Gareth ("You owe me so much for this. SO MUCH, MUNSON. I actually wanted to watch this tonight!") to rent Steve's favorite movie and goes himself to get access to the Hawkins High withâŠalmost completely legal means, just a little bit of bribing here, some promises for a lengthy D&D campaign there, and of course lots and lots of nougat.Â
He gathers everything in his van, waits for the kids and the janitor to get out and then starts setting the scene.Â
There are two more incompatible truths that Eddie Munson grapples with:Â
Truth A: Eddie Munson fucking HATES the Hawkins High. He wants it to burn down in flames, with only the theater room staying intact.Â
Truth B: Steve Harrington sometimes wistfully mentions how he wishes he could have dated Eddie Munson in high school. How theyâd share lunches, trade secret kisses in the hallways. He wishes himself and the world had been different.Â
And so Eddie Munson grits his teeth, walks those cursed hallways he only managed to escape a few months back and counts on Robin Buckley to deliver his invitation with flair. âExtra points if you get him a trumpet solo, Buckley!âÂ
Robin apparently delivers because only half an hour after the expected invite, as he is smoking his fifth cigarette - donât blame the guy, heâs nervous! Heâs got a big date! - Steve arrives with a smile thatâs equally excited and nervous. He keeps running his fingers through his hair and overall looks just biteable.Â
Steve walks up to him and brushes his fingers against Eddieâs wrist, discreetly as they have established. Itâs their own version of a kiss. âI thought you hated Valentineâs Day?â he asks and he looks so apologetic that Eddie promises to base all villains in his new campaign on all the people who ever made Steve feel he wanted too much.Â
Eddie glances around, deems it safe and pulls Steve into an actual kiss. "It might be Valentine's day for you, Steve. For me, it's the "Steve Harrington Appreciation Day." He winks at Steve and relishes in the slight blush that has crept into his cheeks. âThe name is already registered and all. No changes possible or accepted. Follow me, big boy.âÂ
Steve laughs when he sees a set cafeteria table with something that brings back so many memories. How did Eddie get two portions of school lunch?! The man has to be magical, he decides. They eat together, chat about their day, and then Eddie decides feeding each other is off the table because theyâre giggling so much he almost stabbed Steve with the fork.Â
They walk the hallways together, hand in hand, and Eddie sometimes turns around, sticks his tongue out at an imaginary girl and sneers âback off! Heâs mine!â.Â
Steve turns after Eddie and nods. âWhat he said,â he whispers and squeezes Eddieâs waist.Â
Eddie then hands Steve a sports bag he stashed in the changing rooms and winks at him. âWhat are you waiting for, Harrington? We have some balls to toss! Baskets to score. That.â And before Steve has a chance to protest, he gets his own bag and starts changing into those awfully familiar PE shorts in all their green and white glory.Â
Steve just watches him, mouth hanging open. âNow I get why I never saw you in these,â he mumbles as he also starts changing. âI would have realized Iâm bi like, at that moment.âÂ
But Eddie just laughs and pulls his hair into a loose bun. âOh, Steve. You have no idea what those shorts on you did to the little closeted me. The thoughts they gave me.â
âLucky for you, baby,â says Steve and pulls Eddie to his feet, âthis time youâre allowed - and strongly encouraged - to both watch AND touch.â Then he cocks his head to the side and adds: âWell. If you score at least one point.âÂ
Eddie tries. Fails. Tries again, even with Steve helping him. Eventually, they settle for a quick game of tic-tac-toe which Eddie wins and happily squeezes Steveâs butt.Â
Their final destination is the only class they ever shared, history. All desks are empty, except for one - the middle one in the second row, where Steve used to sit. Thereâs dark chocolate with dried raspberries, Steveâs favorite, and a pot of flowers. Yellow, another favorite.Â
âThe lady in the flower shop said they should live, like, really long,â shrugs Eddie and moves the chair for Steve so he can sit down. âI forgot their name the second I got them, but Buckley knows and she was asked to deliver a booklet with how to care for them.âÂ
Steve drags him down to his level and kisses Eddie, deep and long. Heâs either crying or laughing into the kiss, maybe both. âI donât know what to say,â he whispers into Eddieâs cheek. âAll of thisâŠis right. Itâs me. You remembered.âÂ
âEhâŠkinda. Tried to.â Eddie gives up and lets himself be seated on Steveâs lap. âActually, I had a smallâŠcheat sheet. Let me show you.â
Steve watches as Eddie takes off his bracelet and watch and sets both on the desk. He gasps as he sees a coiling pattern around Eddieâs wrist, something that looks like a dotted or scratched tattoo all around, but thatâs not it. Because then Eddie moves his wrist closer and he can read all the words on Eddieâs skin.Â
DARK CHOCOLATE WITH RASPBERRIES
NO CUT FLOWERS! YELLOW IS GOOD
COFFEE WITH ONE DROP OF MILK
NO ICE IN DRINKS - TRIGGERS MIGRAINES
BELTS AND SHOELACES - GOOD GIFTS TO WEAR
FREDDIE MERCURY
GOOD OLD FASHIONED LOVER BOY
NO KETCHUP!Â
STRAWBERRY ICE CREAM
These and so much more. All of Steveâs favorites, all what made him feel like himself, forever preserved in Eddieâs skin.Â
He buries his head in Eddieâs shoulder and holds him so tight Eddie has trouble breathing, but then he decides that oxygen is overrated. âYouâre so crazy,â sobs Steve into his shoulder.Â
Eddie laughs again into the quiet of their former school. âI know.â
âAnd I love you so much.âÂ
He kisses Steveâs forehead. âI know. And I love you too. Thatâs why I had to do this, you know. Because even when Iâm old and ugly, just like these flowers will be one day, when Iâm senile and can hardly remember my own name, I will look at my hand and Iâll know all that is important.âÂ
Steve holds him even tighter if thatâs possible, but maybe oxygen is needed just a little. Eddie gently kisses Steveâs head again and whispers: âWeâre not done yet, love. Can you let me go so I can play us a movie? Something nice.âÂ
The arms crushing him loosen their hold and Steve briefly turns away to wipe at his eyes. âSure. Sorry, I justâŠthis is new for me. But good. So good.âÂ
âYou deserve the good. All of it.â Eddie means it. And if seeing Steve appreciated as he should have been all of his life is redeemed by something as mundane as ignoring some truths about himself? Eddie is ready and willing.Â
As he puts Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom into the VHS player, he realizes something terrifying - heâs actually LOOKING FORWARD TO THE NEXT VALENTINEâS DAY.Â
Oh well. Time to adjust the Munson doctrine. After all, it might become a Munson-Harrington doctrine one day, so it deserves some revision.
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Drop the mask (drop your clothes)
Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 10 & the 12 Days of Christmas bonus card of the @steddiebingo
Prompts: Shopping & Daddy Kink
Rated: E
Tags: Modern AU; Rockstar Eddie; Nepo baby Steve; Bratty Steve; Fake relationship; Sexually explicit language; Sexual tension; Dry humping; Groping; Degradation kink; Daddy kink
Notes: Set in the same universe as this one
âStevie, honey,â Eddie croons. âWhich would your dad prefer? I like the charcoal one, but maybe it's a bit loud for his taste? Help me out here, I want my first Christmas present for him to be perfect.âÂ
The curtain of the changing room whips open, revealing a glowering Steve. Eddieâs mouth goes dry, because God fucking damnit. Eddie loathes suits and ties on himself - always felt like being forced into a straightjacket on the rare occasions that he had to squeeze into one - and thinks that most other men look frankly ridiculous in them, but Steve? Steve sure knows how to pull them off. Speaking of pulling things off, Eddie would like to tear the damn thing off him with his teeth. He files that thought for later as Steve strides towards him, eyes blazing. For a second, Eddie thinks he's gonna make a scene in the middle of this ridiculously high-priced men's outfitters, and his heart jumps in giddy anticipation. But the employees have all gone silent and are gawking at them, and thereâs still a flock of paparazzi waiting outside with their cameras, trying to get a decent shot through the clothes racks. Steveâs mouth snaps shut again. The bitchy scowl melts into a saccharine smile.
âDon't be silly,â he says, swaying closer into Eddieâs space and taking the tie from his hands. His next words are a low murmur against the shell of Eddieâs ear. âThere's no way you're spending Christmas with us and you know it.âÂ
Of course Eddie knows. Hell, he never even expected their little farce of a relationship to last this long. But Senator Harrington's poll results are skyrocketing, and people are ripping Eddieâs new album off the shelves, and the PR people thought it would be a good idea to continue this into the new year. Take walks in the snow, do winter sports together, go Christmas shopping - all conveniently in front of the cameras.Â
Not like Eddie minds. On the contrary, heâs come to find that he rather enjoys it. Not the fake flirting and the pet names and putting up with the pack of reporters trailing them at every step, no. What fills him with a perverse glee is pushing Steveâs buttons, testing how far he can go before that smooth, icy facade shatters into a million sharp-edged shards. What does it matter if he cuts himself. It's well worth it if he gets to see Steve without the mask for a short while.Â
âShame,â he purrs, reaching out under the pretense of straightening Steve's tie, reveling in the choked-out little gasp he gets when his fingers settle against that long throat. He wonders if the marks and bruises he left there are fading already. Maybe he ought to touch up on them. âYou'll be awfully bored over the holidays, won't you? I mean, if you'll have to put up with Daddy calling you a whore and a slut, you should at least get some decent cock for your trouble.âÂ
Steve's smile goes a little less sweet, a little more sharp.Â
âAw, and you think I need you for that? Don't give yourself too much credit, Munson.â
They trade a look. Eddieâs eyes flick towards the back exit of the store.
âCan you ring up the suit, please?â Steve asks the employee standing nearest to them. âI'll leave it on, thank you.âÂ
*
They crash into the wall of the alley with a force that has Eddie seeing stars. Steve doesnât leave him any time to catch his breath, crowding him against the wall and shoving his tongue past his teeth with a greedy moan. Eddie lets him have his way for a second or two, just enough to lull him into a false sense of control, before he grabs him by the lapels of the new suit to haul him around and switch their positions. Steveâs eyes are glassy with arousal, lips pink and full from their kiss, parted around a wordless gasp.Â
âLook at you,â Eddie whispers, leaning in to press the words right against Steveâs throat, grinning when he feels the racing heartbeat under his teeth. One of his hands reaches down, finding the shape of Steveâs straining cock through the expensive fabric of his pants. Steve shudders and bucks in his hold, rolling his hips forward to seek friction. âLook at how greedy you are for it. You can deny it all you want, baby, but at the end of the day? Youâre desperate for my cock, and we both know it.âÂ
âShut up,â Steve rasps, grinding himself into Eddieâs hand. His fingers fist into Eddieâs hair, yanking him down to keep his mouth on his neck. Eddie laughs, biting down on the fading bruise just below the line of Steveâs slipping collar.Â
âIâve been wondering,â he says. âDâyou think your father knows? You think heâd let this continue if he knew how much youâre actually enjoying this? How every single one of these little outings ends with you riding my cock until you scream? How the only one youâve been calling daddy lately is-â
Steve makes a raw, wrecked sound that's somewhere between rage and lust, crushing their lips together for another bruising kiss.Â
âGod, you're annoying,â he pants against Eddieâs mouth, hands finding the zipper of his pants. âHow about you stop talking about fucking me and actually-âÂ
âLook, there they are!âÂ
They flinch apart, disheveled and breathing heavily, to see the first paparazzi sprint around the corner.Â
âAw, shit,â Eddie swears. A quick sweep of the alley reveals a wire fence at its end, with a dumpster just low enough to climb in front of it. âWanna ditch these fine people? I know a guy who has a club nearby, I'm sure he'd let us hide there.âÂ
Steveâs shocked expression morphs into a wicked little grin and Eddieâs heart kicks in his chest.Â
âI'd love that,â Steve says, and takes his offered hand. âC'mon, let's get outta here.âÂ
More holiday drabbles
My Steddie Bingo fills
#steddie#steve x eddie#steve harrington x eddie munson#steddie fanfic#steddie brainrot#fanfiction writer#fanfiction#fanfic#my writing#steddie holiday drabbles#hype's holiday drabbles 2024#steddiebingo12daysofchristmas#hype's steddie bingo
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slippery when icy. â
mpost
synopsis: when bratty figure skater jennie takes center stage at your luxury resortâs christmas ice show, she pushes the limits of your icy patience. tension builds and heated encounters blur the line between rivalry and desire, turning the cold holiday nights into something dangerously seductive.
featuring: ice skater!jennie kim x resort owner!reader
status: coming this christmas!
content: figure skating au, enemies-to-lovers, smut.
warnings: mature rating, teasing, bickering, each chapters will have their individual warnings, men and minors dni.
part of the ânaughty decemberâ event!
â
ă
€ă
€chapter one: skating on thin ice. ă
€ă
€â€» releases on 22 december
jennie, a wealthy and rebellious figure skater, is hired to perform at a high-end christmas ice show hosted by an icy and impeccably composed owner of a luxury winter resort. from the moment they meet, your cool demeanor clashes with jennieâs bratty attitude, sparking a tense power dynamic.
â
ă
€ă
€chapter two: cold hands, hot intentions. ă
€ă
€â€» releases on 25 december
after a steamy office encounter, jennie pushes boundaries on and off the ice, reveling in your reactions. while staying composed in public, you begin orchestrating opportunities to isolate jennie, finding her brattiness equal parts infuriating and intoxicating.
â
ă
€ă
€chapter three: the ice beneath us. ă
€ă
€â€» releases on 28 december
with the ice showâs final performance over, jennie plans to leave the resort, smugly satisfied with how much sheâs gotten under your skin. but you're unwilling to let the bratty skater leave without making her submission absolute, and so you invite jennie to a private chalet under the pretense of a celebratory dinner.
authors note: welcome to my first event series! i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i will. the chapters will drop at 1 pm gmt on the dates mentioned, so stay tuned :) questions and tweaks are welcome! congrats to whoever submitted this award-worthy idea <3
#blackpink#jennie#kim jennie#blackpink jennie#blackpink imagines#blackpink scenarios#blackpink fanfiction#jennie blackpink#blackpink smut#jennie smut#kpop smut#female reader#gxg smut#jennie kim#jennie x reader#kim jennie x reader#useraeri
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Happy holidays! If you're still doing these types of asks, how would the ROs react to bumping into MC under the mistletoe while in the crush phase?
Happy Holidays!!!
Rook: He's rolling his eyes and laughing it off. There is no force which would make him take that kiss, and even if there are others joking/teasing him about it, he just shrugs them off. "If you want to kiss someone, just go for it. It's such a goofy tradition." (He says, ignoring the heavy irony of the statement or the feelings he's avoiding.)
Beck: He isn't shy about it. When he glances up and back to you, there is a question in his gaze asking for permission. When you give it, there isn't any hesitation. His hand on your face, guiding you to him, his lips warm against yours. It lasts only a moment, but the genuine feelings wrapped around it traps the two of you in your own little world, and any onlookers comments at bay.
Rhea: She eyes it almost clinically, likely wondering who's the culprit for putting such a thing up in the first place. She's quick to apologize, saying to ignore it. You don't need to do anything you don't want to do, especially under such pretenses. (If you're bold enough to say you want to, she'll let you, though. Trying to keep herself together as she lets you get close).
Zoe: They would run from embarrassment LMAO and apologize immediately after. They've never been affectionate with anyone, and showing affection like that for the first time in public is somehow mortifying. They endlessly apologize, and hope no one made fun of you for their actions. It was just an automatic reaction
Lars: He has the most dry look on his face as his eyes flicker up before going back to you. He doesn't look like he wants to do it, but he doesn't look like he hates the idea either. If anything, he waits for how you'll act (but only for like a minute because it wants to get this over with).
???: They have no idea the significance of such a thing, but when you explain it, you find yourself kissed before you can even finish. It's quick, so quick you would have doubted it happened at all if they didn't still linger just a fraction closer from where they usually do, "Just like this, right?"
#em answers#ch: rook#ch: beck#ch: rhea#ch: zoe#ch: lars#ch: ???#December and November have been unreasonable but I am somehow still here lmaO#also I feel like every ask is just Beck going 'how about we get out of the crush phase' faklsdjflj
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The holiday pretense- Chapter 1
Summary: Namjoon has never been a fan of the holidays. In fact, he could list more things that sucked about âThe most wonderful time of the yearâ, than things that brought him joy. Yet, beneath his cynicism, a flicker of hope appeared this year, as the faint scent of homesickness hung in the air.
Unfortunately, thereâs one tiny little thing that keeps him from calling home- his lack of a girlfriend.
But fear not; this holiday season, Namjoonâs smart mouth gets him in a situation where he has no choice but to approach you- his longtime friend and roommate- with an unexpected request.
Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: fake-dating, friends to lovers/roommates to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff. Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings: every single trope in the book; but with a twist. Dialogue heavy. OC is really bad at lying, anddd⊠I didnât write in literal years so yeah, this is gonna be fun. And I know I am literally that meme rn, the: summer is over-skips straight to Christmas. But do you have any idea just how slow I write? Yes. It is a warning. Smut warnings: to be added~ Word count: Chapter 1-9k Credits: this was literally one of those âif no one is going to write this, I willâ because there are not enough friends-to-lovers Namjoon fics out there. And none (that I know of) where the main character feels bad for lying to his family when pretending to date him. This work would not have been possible without the very kind and patient @callmenoona25, who not only helped me beta-read but also served as a guiding light during those moments when I wanted to rage-delete everything. Thank you for all your help! (and please keep helping me coz idk what Iâd do without your constant encouragement) Author's note: again, I didn't write in 8-ish years, so this is very very scary. Add in a dash of 'English is not my first language' and you get whatever this is. enjoy. Merry Christmas. part 2: here
Ah winter, the most wonderful time of the year.
The season when the air is crisp, and the city gets blanketed in thick, white snowfall. When the satisfying sound of crunching snow accompanies every step and every word transforms into nothing more than a puff of steam dancing through the chilly air.
When Mariah Careyâs voice echoes in literally every store for an obnoxious 24/7, as if she has some kind of personal vendetta against silenceâŠ
When the heating bill increases by 37%, and it takes an extra 15 minutes for the heater to kick in and for the hot water to grace the showerhead. Ergo, Namjoon now has to wake up half an hour early if he wants to take a shower and not freeze half to death during the day, because the landlord was adamant that there was nothing to be done about the situation.
But it wasnât all bad.
Sure, Namjoon was never one to possess the so-called Christmas spirit. In fact, he was known to be a bit of a grinch among his friends.
Jin, in particular, enjoyed telling anyone who would listen about their first Christmas at college, when Namjoon adamantly refused to help him decorate the tree after begrudgingly lugging it to their shared apartment.
And most years Namjoonâs lack of enthusiasm for the season was palpable. While his friends reveled in the cheerful atmosphere, he somehow managed to remain detached and aloof, his grinch-like demeanor becoming a defining characteristic, much to the amusement of his companions.
However, there were still aspects of the holiday that Namjoon couldnât help but secretly enjoy. The food, for instance, was undeniably good. Although the movies were mediocre and the music overplayed, he still found himself humming along to Winter Wonderland whenever it played. And the energetic buzz that seized his friends was no doubt contagious;
This year, before he could even process it, he was dubbed designated fairy-light fixer, the judge of the ugly sweater contest (solely because he had the audacity to show up wearing a black hoodie) and somehow promised Jungkook to help him pick up gifts for his mom, his cousin, and girlfriend.
And now, with the holidays looming just around the corner, and the entire city buzzing with chatter about family feasts, romantic rendezvous, and the art of gift-giving, Namjoon couldn't help but feel a little pang of longing. It had been a solid two years since he last set foot in his hometown, and the melancholic urge to return home seemed like the only logical response to it all.
Or maybe he just needed a vacationâŠ
But there was just one thing that kept Namjoon, a logical being, from making that phone call home.
He knew that part of the reason behind his motherâs question was for organizational purposes, yet he couldnât help but notice the mischievous twinkle in her voice each time she sweetly asked:
âAnd are you coming alone?â
Few things managed to irk him as much that specific question in that specific context. And even with countless nights analyzing the emotions it stirred within him, Namjoon found himself very stupidly replying with:
âUhm, no actually-â despite being painfully single, and fully aware of it.
Following that, the hope of regaining any sensible thought was gone as a chorus of ecstatic comments erupted form his motherâs end of the phone. With a hurried, âCanât wait to see you, yeah, love you too,â he was left in the suffocating silence of his bedroom, with a new predicament he needed to solve.
Now, letâs not forget, Namjoon is no ordinary man. He possesses a brain that could rival Einsteinâs, and he knows all too well that he could simply call back and clarify that his plus one is as real as Santa Claus.
But Namjoon doesnât half-ass anything. He full-asses it.
That and showing up alone would undoubtedly result in his momâs attempts to play matchmaker. And if he were to show up alone, after lying about it, well, he might as well prepare for an arranged marriage.
Namjoon sighed as he looked at his phone. He couldnât understand why his mother had this new found obsession with his relationship status. Especially after she witnessed just how bad his last one ended. Now sure, he may have taken the whole âhealing-eraâ to a bit of an extreme, seeing as he had no relationship, no situationship and no inclination to entertain any romantic thoughts whatsoever. But this was getting ridiculous. Lying to his own mother?
Perhaps he could ask his assistant to pretend to be his girlfriend for the week? No, that wouldnât work. She mentioned she was hosting the Christmas dinner this year. And it would involve more explanations to HR than itâs worthâŠ
And he couldnât overlook the fact that her fiancĂ© would most certainly not be amused by that idea.
Just as he was about give up and plunge into another rabbit hole of despair, the solution to his problem came accompanied by the familiar sound of glass smashing in the kitchen.
You.
You would be perfect.
Most people already assumed you two were dating, seeing how seamlessly you fit yourself into his life after moving in.
And last he checked you couldnât make it home because of some pesky law-jargon issues that required your presence at the office. And changing your flight to a few days later cost you an arm and a leg, while changing it to January was completely free.
And last he checked; you were just as chronically single as he was. (He knew because your last date was so disastrous that he had to abandon his gaming night and rescue you from the restaurant). Â
Another crash in the kitchen summoned him back into action. Swiftly snatching his hoodie from the designated clothes chair and making his way to you, detouring only to retrieve the medical kit from the bathroom.
He was quick to spot you, still clad in your work attire, crouched besides the counter, diligently sweeping the stray glass shards of what used to be an ugly mug. His eyes involuntarily wondering towards your ass, once again marveling at how flawlessly you wore that office skirt before snapping himself out of it.
âAnd I believe that evens out the score, seeing as I only broke a plate, and you killed two mugs this seasonâ he declares, ensuring you werenât bleeding before abandoning the first aid kit on the counter to fetch the trusty vacuum cleaner.
It was standard procedure by now.
âYou also managed to break the microwave, so the title remains yours,â you grumble as you rose to your feet, a smile unconsciously tugging at your lips when you caught sight of his charming dimpled face. âHey there.â
âHello,â he replied, giving you a swift once-over in case he missed any hidden hemorrhages âwhat happened?â
âIt just jumped out of the cupboard when I opened it,â you gestured towards the dust pan, as if to prove the cup suddenly acquired acrobatic skills before its untimely demise, causing him to break into a grin âIâll get you a new one.â
âNo worries, it was a gift form an ex, and it was hideous anyway.â
As he vacuumed the area, you disposed of the glass, making sure it wouldnât slice through the trash bag like last time.
Once the kitchen was safe again, you returned to your previous task, grabbing a new cup and casually turning your back to him.
" Do you want to try an unreasonably expensive hot chocolate with me?" you playfully suggested, catching his eye as he noticed the purple tin on the counter, adorned with a big red bow, alongside a very generic Christmas card.
"Secret Santa?" he inquired back, picking up the card, already aware of the answer to your question.
Unconsciously, he began mentally listing reasons why you would make a good fake girlfriend. Topping the list was your uncanny ability to understand him without lengthy explanations. And it was all quite digestible, wasn't it? Two long-time friends and roommates, thrown together by chance, suddenly discovering hidden feelings for each other?
All his friends seemed to have unanimously agreed that the two of you would make a splendid pair, back when you met, when his roommate, Jin, started dating your roommate, Myeong.
 On their inaugural date, Myeong, in a fit of paranoia, asked you to tag along, in case her potential lover turned out to be a serial killer. And Jin, ever the considerate soul, felt compelled to invite Namjoon, not only to spare you the agony of being the third wheel, but also in the hope of pulling Namjoon out of his dating slump. Not that you would ever notice, as you were knee-deep in exam session, sleep deprived and buried in a mountain of law books.
Poor Namjoon somehow ended up carrying the weight of being third and fourth wheel simultaneously.
But you eventually made up for it, once your exams were over and had a proper 18 hours of sleep.
In no time you wiggled your way into his heart, transforming those awkward double dates into enjoyable hangouts. Youâd spend countless hours discussing everything from books to the latest plot twists in popular dramas, to sharing dreams, fears and hopes.
As Myeong and Jinâs relationship blossomed, they gradually faded into the background of your outings, until they were eventually excluded all together. And neither of you seemed to mind, as you found it easier to focus on your conversations without their constant chatter.
That and they couldnât be quiet in movie theatres like decent human beings.
It was during one of these outings that Namjoon realized just how alluring he found you. The way your eyes lit up when you laughed at one of his jokes made his heart race. Your sharp mind and wit were a match made in heaven for him. And your ability to render him speechless was both infuriating and exhilarating.
But Namjoon also knew that you were deeply committed to your studies, and he didn't want to do anything to distract you from your goals. So, he held back, admiring you from a distance and hoping that someday things might be different.
And as time passed, and he graduated, he came to terms with the fact that you two would never be more than casual friends.
Little did he know that the universe had its own wicked sense of humor. When fate decided to play its sly hand and leave you virtually homeless, because your respective roommates decided to take the next step in their relationship and move in together.
It was only logical, then, for the two of you to shack up as well. After all, you were friends, both neat freaks, and most of all, desperately in need of a roommate.
âThe roommate switchâ, as Jimin so eloquently put it.
And thus began the most wonderful living arrangement Namjoon ever experienced. Not that he would never tell Jin that.
Suddenly, his bathroom cabinet resembled a Bath and Body works store, and your pink pots and pans had taken over his kitchen. But he wouldnât mind, seeing that the cooking interdiction was extended, once Jin started recounting all the times Namjoon almost turned their previous apartment into a bonfire during your housewarming bash.
However, you never scolded him for his butterfingers because, truth be told, you had your own healthy dose of clumsiness, (the cup chilling in the trash an indisputable witness to it).
It was quite refreshing to find someone who shared his knack for dropping things.
And he made up for all the free meals by taking care of the dishes. He even went above and beyond by meticulously following the odd care instructions for your fancy pots.
And the rest of your household chores fell into perfect harmony.
 He willingly handled all the ironing, including your own, simply because you couldnât be bothered. In return, you would dutifully clean the lint tray in the dryer, even when it was his turn to do the laundry, because he found it absolutely disgusting, and you couldnât resist the opportunity to gross him out.
It suddenly dawned on him why all his friends were convinced that you two were together. He was smitten with you, after all.
But again, time has worked its magic! His infatuation had been long departed, so he could proceed with his plan and not let it affect your friendship in any way, shape or form!
âYou know, I never quite understood the purpose of Secret Santa,â you confessed, pulling him out of his thoughts. âI mean, sure, it makes sense in a small group where you can actually get to know the person and buy them something nice. But in a corporate setting, where youâre thrown together with people from different departments, it makes absolutely no sense!â you spoke with passion, even stirring the milk a little harder, causing an impish smile to dance across his face.
âBecause you end up with situations like this, where creepy Greg from the watercooler suddenly feels the need to win my graces and splurge on stupidly expensive hot chocolate.â
Namjoon was familiar with your HR endeavors involving Greg, especially after he hit on one of your colleagues.
âDo you want to know how much this monstrosity costs?â you asked, trying to contain your amusement at the sheer absurdity of it all. Pouring the cocoa into the milk and placing the mugs in front of him, you couldnât help but grin.
âSurprise me,â Namjoon took a sip, which he regretted because he choked once you answered,
âSixty dollars!â
âThatâs absolutely ridiculousâ he coughed, once he regained control of his lungs.
The hot chocolate was nice, but nowhere close to justifying the hefty price tag. For all he knew, it could have been dollar store cocoa. But your contagious laugh made it all worthwhile, and he couldnât help but think that maybe Greg deserved to lose his Christmas bonus on overpriced cocoa that you both would mock.
âTastes like cardboardâ you concluded after a mouthful, âmaybe it was meant for that hideous mug your ex gave you,â you teased, earning a puzzled look. âThis has horrible taste,â you tack on, noticing his raised eyebrow âjust like your exes.â
âIâm not sure if I should be offended by that,â he replied, feigning offense.
âWell, they did break up with you, so clearly their taste is questionable,â You ruffled his hair as you walked past him, your cocoa abandoned on the table.
This wasnât uncommon in your friendship. Afterall, you were his biggest supporter, as he was yours. But now, with the odd favor he was about to ask you; he couldnât help but ponder your words for longer than usual. Until he heard the door to your room close and he realized he was left alone in the kitchen.
âAny updates on that flight of yours?â he asked, shooting a glance towards your door. Perhaps the universe would take pity on him and spare him the embarrassment he was dreading.
âStill in January!â you hollered back, your voice muffled by the commotion in your room.
âAh, cool, coolâŠâ he muttered under his breath, more to psych himself up and gather the courage needed to go over and make a complete fool of himself. Â
âAre you still planning on heading home?â your voice was barely audible amidst the movement, so he walked over and propped himself against your door to keep the conversation going.
âYeah, thatâs the plan.â He replied absentmindedly massaging the back of his neck.
Not unless he can find a girlfriend for the week. âHey,â he continued, his voice devoid of any moisture, âcan I ask you a favor?â
The door swung open, almost causing him to stumble, to reveal you, wearing pajama bottoms and a black tank top, clutching one of his sweaters.
âDepends.â You answered flatly. âMind if I borrow this?â you gestured towards the sweater, awaiting his nod of approval before slipping it on and sauntering past him to claim your usual spot on the couch. With your feet cozily tucked under the cushion, you scrolled through your phone, probably looking up another horrible movie youâd force him to watch. Oblivious to the fact that you ticked off another item on his mental checklist: looking damn good in his clothes.
âOkayâ he took a deep breath and settled down beside you, his posture impeccable and his gaze fixed on the blank tv screen. You glanced over intrigued by his sudden shift in behavior.
âThis is going to be weird, and you can tell me to fuck off any moment this makes you uncomfortable. And I promise Iâll never bring it up again, and we can pretend this never happened,â he stumbled over his words, a stark contrast to his usually calmed and composed demeanor.
Your mind raced, conjuring up the worst-case scenarios as you slowly set aside your phone, captivated by every word leaving his mouth. Â Â
Was he about to kick you out?
That only seemed to aggravate whatever Namjoon was on, as he continued to mumble, insisting that you didnât have to agree to it if you didnât want to. Which didnât make any sense, because if he was going to kick you out, he should at least have the balls to tell you straight forward.
You gently collected his hands, causing him to halt abruptly. His wide eyes finally locked with yours as you softly uttered âJust tell me.â You peered up at him, bracing yourself for the worst, and completely unprepared for what was to follow.
âWill you please do me a solid and pretend to be my girlfriend for a week?â he stammered, unable to maintain eye contact, his voice fading into a whisper towards the end.
âWhat?â
âI might have told my mom Iâm in a relationship, and now I desperately need a stand-in girlfriend for the next few daysâ he confessed sheepishly, quickly adding, âBut seriously, if youâre uncomfortable with this, just say the word and we can erase this whole conversation from existence.â
âOh my goodness, Namjoon,â you breathed out in relief, a laugh escaping your lips as you rested your head on his lap, leaving him even more perplexed. âI thought you were kicking me out.â
âWhat?â he chuckled, watching you raise a few seconds later, rubbing your eyes before fixing your gaze on him, contemplating his request.
âHow can you be so brilliant and so dumb at the same time? Just call your mom backâŠâ
âNo, you donât get it. I canât do that. If I do, sheâll set me up with the neighborâs daughter againâ Namjoon explained, clearly not in the right mindset to entertain that idea again.
âYou want me to lie to your mother?â you asked incredulously.
âPlease donât phrase it like that.â he covered his face, deflating completely besides you.
âThis is essentially what you are asking me to do... I donât know how that makes me feel. Your mom, by the way, is an absolute sweetheartâŠâ you trailed off, observing him intently as he brushed away the hair in his eyes.
You didnât get to know her too well, but the last time she visited she made sure to stock up your whole fridge with homecooked meals. And to top it off, she even baked cookies especially for you once Namjoon mentioned he had a new roommate.
The discussion, however, took a bit of an unexpected turn when she realized the roommate was you. A girl and not another frat guy. But she quickly developed a fondness for you. Or at least, thatâs what you believed when she gave you the tightest hug goodbye.
âI know. Itâs a stupid idea.â He muttered, rubbing his face a bit harder than necessary. Then he locked eyes with you and continued. âI am well aware of how dumb this is. And that is exactly why I need you there with me.â His statement left you dumbfounded, completely unable to find any words. âI just want to go home and relish in the fact that I am there without constantly worrying about being single.â he took a shaky breath before continuing,
 âI canât comprehend why my mom is so fixated on this matter.â He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. âI just need someone to navigate this absurdity with me for the holidays, and then we never mention it again.âÂ
His little speech left you stunned, and before you knew it, you were actually considering his proposal.
 Your Christmas plan was already ruined, and agreeing would mean that you would not be confined to your couch, enduring cheesy Hallmark movies and crying alone on Christmas eve.
Moreover, you were convinced that you had moved on from the little crush you had on him back when you met. Refusing still to admit that youâve always had a soft spot for the gentle giant that slowly became a staple in your life, and that spending the holidays with him would be the best scenario that could ever happen.
But could you make it through this without getting your heart trampled and your friendship going up in smoke? As these thoughts started to swirl in your mind, your eyes began to wander aimlessly. From his eyes to his chiseled cheekbones and strong jawline, down to his neck and collarbone, and finally to his impressively muscular chest that seemed to only have grown since he started attending the gym religiously with Jungkook. And not to mention those arms that give the most incredible bear hugs. It was strange to allow yourself to notice his physicality in such detail, as if you had been willfully blind to his newfound buffness until now.
âForget it, Iâm sorry I asked,â he said, sensing your hesitation and preparing to end his suffering. But you stopped him in his tracks.
âIf we are going to do this, we need a plan.â His eyes light up, color returning to his cheeks, before he squeezed you in a tight embrace âand just so you know, you owe me,â you laughed once he released you.
âYes, yes, of course, whatever you want.â
âYou take out the trash for a month,â he was too quick to nod âand I want you to take me to that bakery you and Jin always rave about.â
âAjumeoniâs bakery?â he smiled at your request. That was the bakery Namjoon visited with his sister every Friday as a child, and every other day with Jin, on their way to school, because the milk bread was to die for. âOf course. Itâs already part of the commute, so consider it done.â
âGood. We have a deal then,â you extended your hand as if sealing a business agreement, instead of setting yourselves up for a disaster. He reciprocated with a firm shake, and you swiftly retrieved your notepad from the coffee table. âSo, whatâs the plan?â
âWell, letâs establish a few key details about us. We need to become well-acquainted with each otherâs personal preferences, so it doesnât come across like we are just⊠pretendingâ he looked over at you as you scribbled.
âI mean, itâs a digestible story already. Two oblivious roommates, suddenly realizing they have feelings for one another after living together for years.â You mused, only to be met with his response.
âAnd once this is all over, we can simply tell everyone that we figured out we were better off as friends than lovers,â he pondered aloud.
âRight,â you replied, looking up from your notebook âHow long have we been dating?â
âAnywhere from three to six monthsâ he promptly answered and you jot it down before firing off your next question.
âAnd why havenât we told any of our friends and family?â
âTo avoid the inevitable âI knew it!â and because we like the trill of keeping a secret.â
âFair enough,â you chuckled âSo, how did we get together?â
âYou finally realized how charming I am and just couldnât contain yourself?â he flashed a cheeky smile and you playfully deflect by giving his chest a gentle push.
âHow about your birthday party?â you offered âWe were both buzzed enough to share a kiss and then you confessed?â
âWhy do I confess?â he whined, peering over at your notebook page where you already wrote down your version of events.
âBecause Iâm shy about that kind of stuffâ you mumble, burying your face in the cozy confines of his sweater, avoiding any potential eye contact.
 âThatâs adorable,â
âShut up.â You chuckle âAlright, is there anything I should know about you?â
âIâm not a big fan of PDA, especially when weâre out and about, so donât expect me to be all over you.â He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. âBut since weâre going home and pretending to be a couple, what level of affection are you comfortable with?â
âWell, Iâm comfortable with you,â you cleared your throat, that bit of information being more truthful than intended âwe can hold hands, and do normal couple stuff.â
âHow do you feel about kissing?â
âWell, yeah, sure,â you responded nonchalantly, eyes fixating on the notepad in your hands.
A mischievous grin played on his lips as he teased, âGood, because I happen to be quite fond of leaving hickeys.â That broke you out of your little spiral, rolling your eyes at his poor attempt.
As if you werenât already aware of this tidbit from his past conquests during your college days, before you two became roommates.
âYou do know this is all pretend, right?â you retorted, refusing to take the bait.
âOh, but baby, weâve got to make it feel real,â he insisted, his tone dripping with charm. However, it did nothing to sway your logical approach to it.
âRight, âbabyââ -you said it as if it was a legal term, âany preferences for pet names?â
Your serious charade did little to detour him. âJust promise me that our interactions wonât be like Jin and Myeongâs.â He smiles, eyes twinkling with mischief. âAnd surprise me, Iâll be putty in your hands.â
âSo, you are not set on honorifics. I can call you Oppa if you want,â little did you know, your innocent suggestion struck a hidden chord within him. A new kink that needed further assessment later on, preferably after this week was over.
âThat wonât be necessary,â he said, clearing his throat and reclining against the couch. âAnything I should know about you?â
You pondered his question for a few seconds, allowing a sly smile to play your lips. âI donât like feet.â
âNo duh!â he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief, before regaining his composure. With a meticulous air, he went over all the details once more. âAh, you need a new background on your phone.â
 Swiftly, he snatched your phone form the coffee table, catching you off guard, and planted a quick kiss on your cheek before snapping a selfie. âPerfect,â he declared, a proud smile spreading across his face as he set the picture as your home screen and background, leaving you to gather your frenzied thoughts.
âBut wait, you also need a new photo,â You retorted, only to find him already one step ahead, pulling out his phone from his pajama bottoms and scrolling through his camera roll.
âDone.â He announced, turning his phone towards you to reveal the horrendous picture he had chosen as his own home screen.Â
 A candid shot he took during your last year at college, on one of those late-night noodles runs to the local shop next to the library. You were draped in an oversized hoodie, greedily slurping a mouthful of noodles. With eyes blissfully shut, you savored every bite, as it was your first meal of that day, completely oblivious to his hidden photography skills.
It wasnât until you accidentally stumbled upon your caller ID that you saw it and naturally, grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him, demanding an immediate change. But he stood his ground, claiming it was his favorite photo of you.
Claim proven yet again as now it was Namjoonâs home screen.
âI hate that photo.â
âI know.â He gave a smile, before safely tucking his phone back in his pocket, and rose to his feet, stretching leisurely. âI think we are good to go, girlfriend,â he said it in such a way that sent a swarm of butterflies fluttering in your stomach. âIâll go book our train tickets, and you better start packing soon,â he playfully pointed at you, before gracefully disappearing into his room to retrieve his laptop.
âOh, wait, I need to get a present for your mom!â
~~~
Before the train even arrived in the station, the sky was threatening to unleash upon you. The air filled with delicate snowflakes, determined to bury you, Namjoon, and your luggage. But it was yesterdayâs conversation that still lingered in the atmosphere, weighing heavy on both your minds.
The darkness of the night had given you both time to process what was about to unfold. Your only anchor on reality being Namjoonâs surprisingly warm hand clasping your freezing one, and tucking it away in his warm coat pocket.
And the fact that he looked like he just strolled out of the latest winter Vogue edition for men didnât help. While you attempted to make a lasting impression, donning a cream knitted dress, black stockings and boots, topped off with a cream coat, that was far too flimsy for the weather, Namjoon effortlessly sported a navy-blue hoodie, snug jeans and a stylish black trench coat, and even a matching beanie that made his hair look absolutely flawless.
But beyond his impeccable fashion sense, he also proved to be quite the gentleman. Not that you ever doubted it, but now he seemed determined to showcase his chivalry. He wouldnât even let you lock the door to your own apartment. It was a miracle he allowed you to carry the bottle of Chardonnay you insisted on getting his family, despite his protests that it wasn't necessary. You slightly regretted it now, seeing as your other hand was enduring the elements, instead of being intertwined with his.
âYou have snow in your hair,â you pointed out, stating the obvious with the brilliance of a water-is-wet revelation.
âAs do you.â he looked up from his phone, where he was engrossed in checking the trainâs schedule for any potential delays. âAnd your lips are blue.â with a swift motion, he untangled his scarf and gently draped it around your freezing form. Something he had done many a time before, anytime he saw you slightly cold, but never before had you considered this gesture to be more than your friend looking out for you.
But today, things were different. Today you were pretending to be his girlfriend.
The sudden surge of warmth that enveloped you left you wondering if it was due to all your blood rushing to your cheeks or his scarf possessing some sort of magical heating abilities.
âIt says here that the snow storm shouldnât intervene with the scheduling, so the train will be here in a few minutes.â He looked up again, a cheerful grin appearing across his features as he caught sight of your pink face. âAw youâre blushing again,â
âShut up.â you retorted with the quick-wittedness of a third-grader.
âIf I would have known it was this easy to make you flush, I would have made my fictional moves much sooner.â His voice did that thing again, where it went slightly deeper and, only the look in his eyes ticking you off to his teasing.
Your only response was to nervously nibble on your lip. Again, the realization that you are about to deceive not only his mother, but his entire family nestle in your chest, squeezing at your heart like a snake wrapped around it.
âNamjoon, Iâm not sure about this.â you confessed, pulling the scarf closer to your face. It was a bit late to be getting cold feet, but this was your last opportunity to speak your mind before embarking on this little ordeal. âI donât think I can pull this off.â
âCome on now, arenât you an intern at a law firm?â he raised a playful eyebrow, attempting to ease the tension, but you only glared at him.
âI canât lie.â You stated firmly âIâm the absolute worse at it. That is why I always find alternative ways of convey the truth. Thatâs what lawyers do. We donât resort to lies.â
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," he quickly apologized, before falling silent for a few seconds to ponder a solution. "Okay, listen. You donât have to say anything."
"What do you mean?" you looked up at him, a hint of skepticism in your voice.
"I can take care of all the relationship talk, and I wonât say anything unless prompted.â he replied, trying to inject a touch of wit into his response. âAfterall, you are just my friend that just happens to be a girl.â He playfully wiggled his eyebrows at you âAnd I want you to spend Christmas with me and my family instead of being alone at home.â Namjoon gave you a sincere smile, and you couldnât help but smile back, feeling the grip on your heart slightly loosen.
âOkay,â you gave a small nod âThank you Joon.â
The nickname slipped by unnoticed, but you noticed the way Namjoon reacted, rekindling your burning cheeks.
âSo, no Oppa?â
When your train arrived, Namjoon swiftly took charge, effortlessly carrying all the bags to your seats, settling in comfortably for the four-hour journey ahead.
He had come prepared, armed with at least three books to keep himself entertained, while you had grand plans of getting a head start on your work, perhaps even sneaking in a personal lecture and a quick power nap. However, much to your surprise, the allure of a nap quickly surpassed all other ambitions, your head found a cozy resting place on Namjoonâs shoulder, and you drifted off into a blissful slumber for the remainder of the journey. A sleepless night imagining what it would be like pretending to date your roommate could do that to you.
Only stirring awake when you were less than a few minutes away, because Namjoon was constantly shifting in his seat, half of his body numb from your weight on him.
âOh hey,â he whispered, swiftly stretching his legs as soon as you moved off him. âI just spoke to Minhi, she said sheâd come pick us up from the train station,â
âOh, thatâs nice.â you yawned, rubbing away any remnants of sleep from your eyes âYou could have told me to move, you know.â
âYes, but you looked so peaceful. It felt almost wrong to disturb you.â He grinned, fully aware that he also indulged in a little nap, using your head as a pillow just half an hour ago.
âShut up,â you whispered, poking his thigh and retrieving your makeup bag to quickly fix your face before the train pulled up in the station.
The frigid air pierced through your very bones, sending an instant shiver cascading down your spine as you stepped into the snow filled air. You pull your coat tighter around yourself, trying to ward off the cold as you looked around for Minhi, seeing as Namjoon was on luggage duty again.
However, before you could spot her, Minhiâs voice sliced through the chilly air,
âKim Namjoon, you have got to be kidding me.â
Namjoonâs little sister, all bundled up in a thick winter coat had fixed you two with a piercing stare, her hands on her hips in a classic display of sibling disapproval.Â
Namjoonâs wonky smile did nothing to deter her piercing gaze, or calm any of your fraying nerves. âItâs good to see you too?â
You feel your heart drop as Minhi's gaze shifts from her brother to you, her expression a mix of confusion and suspicion. Your worst fears are confirmed - she's figured you out and you havenât even been off the train for 5 minutes. Now Namjoon will be married off to some rich middle-aged woman and you'll never be able to look him in the eye again.
 You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you look away, silently praying that the snow beneath your boots doesnât melt into a puddle while she stares.
But then, unexpectedly, Minhi starts to laugh. At first, it's a quiet chuckle, but soon it grows into a full-blown laugh. She laughs so hard that she has to hold her stomach, and at the end she wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye.
âYou two are perfect for each other,â she says still chuckling âFine, Iâll play along. How did you two end up together?â
âGot drunk one night.â Namjoon casually replied, rubbing the back of his neck before wrapping his arm around you, âTurns out all I had to do was say something, because she was all over me the next second.âÂ
Minhi raised her eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. âRight,â She hugged Namjoon tightly, and then turned to you, surprising you with a warm embrace. She muttered something about Namjoon never confessing his feelings in your coat, but you were too busy drowning in a whirlwind of confusion and relief to register it.
âWe'll talk more later about how inappropriate this is." She added cheerfully, beckoning you to follow her towards her little yellow jeep, bright against the snowy backdrop.
You look back at Namjoon just in time to catch him winking in your direction and giving you a thumbs-up that sent your heart whirling in your chest.
 The car ride was over faster than you would have wanted. Minhi navigated the snow-laden road while she and Namjoon chatted away about mundane topicsâwork, rent, the best coffee in town. You sank deeper into the backseat, overwhelmed and lost in your thoughts. Because What the hell was that and If this was how you were kicking things off you might as well turn around now. Was it just fear of ruining the friendship or was an old crush budding again? The way he âclaimedâ you in front of Minhi clearly ignited something in your chest that was not appropriate for friends or roommates or roommate-friends pretending to be dating.
As if sensing your turmoil from the front, Namjoon caught your eyes, giving you a gentle, reassuring smile before the car came to a halt. He gallantly opened the door for you, his hand grasping yours and squeezing it tightly. Â
 âI got you, baby,â he says, teasingly, but the poorly-timed joke earns him an immediate glare and an elbow to the ribs. Â
âOh, come on. They are lovely people.â Minhi interrupts before Namjoon can retaliate, âYou shouldâve seen the way mom was dancing around the kitchen once she heard Namjoon was bringing someone over.â
You just blink at her, your breath misting in the air as you unconsciously step closer to Namjoon, giving him a small nod of support. His presence radiates warmth, his fingers tightening around yours as you walked towards the small house that looms in front of you. Minhi ambles ahead, dropping her bag near the entrance, while you could practically feel Namjoon vibrating with excitement.
âSomeoneâs in troubleâ She whispers dramatically, letting you both into the warmth of the household, where laughter and the mouthwatering scent of home-cooked food intertwine. You follow her into the kitchen and you see the older couple husting about, half-focused on a pot bubbling over the stove and half on each other.
âMom! Dad! Look who Iâve brought!â she announces, and the couple turned, smiles blooming as they spotted you and Namjoon.
For a fleeting moment, you felt exposed. Like an exhibit at a museum, thrust into the spotlight. Your breath hitched as Namjoon gently nudged you forward, a gesture both comforting and terrifying, but steeling yourself, you bravely stepped ahead, bowing as a sign of respect.
âI knew it!â The affectionate glow sweeping across Mrs. Kim face relaxed your nerves considerably, âIâm so glad you could make it!â her eyes sparkled with genuine delight, and you suddenly realized that Namjoon inherited his dimples from her. But the thought was quickly squeezed out of you as she enveloped you in that bone-crushing hug.
Namjoonâs father, a tall elderly man with kind eyes, patted him on the back. His approval apparent, before he turned his attention to you, âWelcome to our home,â he said warmly.
âIâm honored to be here.â You managed to respond, your voice quacking slightly but laced with sincerity. You heard Minhi groaning in the background but did your best to ignore her exaggerations and focus only on Namjoonâs parents, as you exchanged the required pleasantries.
âDinner is almost ready,â Mrs. Kim said, bustling around the kitchen with effortless grace. The contrast between her elegant movements and Namjoonâs clumsy demeanour in the kitchen made you smile inwardly âI hope youâre hungry.â
âYes, we didnât get a chance to eat today,â Namjoon added quickly, casually leaning against the counter and stealing a taste from the simmering pot.
âIâll call you over once itâs done. Go show our guest to your room until then,â Mrs. Kim commanded, expertly shooing him away from the stove and passing plates to Minhi.
âMy room?â Namjoon echoed, his eyes widening as if the concept had floored him.
âYes, dear. I know we are old-fashioned, but we are not under any illusions that you two donât already share a room.â Mrs. Kim replied, stirring the bubbling pot without sparing him a glance.
Minhi shot you a look that was equal parts amusement and something you couldnât quite placeâsympathy, perhaps? Or pity?
âYes- No. I just thought that it would be more appropriate to let her have the guest room,â Namjoon articulated, his voice half-hearted in its conviction.
Mrs. Kim merely cooed, waved away his protests with a flick of the wrist. âMinhi and Jackson are staying in the guest room. You can have your room.â
âCome on, Namjoon. You always make everything so complicated,â Minhi chimed in, her voice laced with mischief. âJust accept it. You guys will have an entire night to sort things out, right?â
âRight.â he grumbled, shooting her a glare that softened as he turned his gaze back to you âLetâs get you settled in,â he gestured for you to follow him.
The moment you step into Namjoon's room, a charged silence enveloped you- like the kind that proceeds a brewing storm. The room was exactly as you imagined, a blend of cooler minimalist décor and hints of his personal touch, a few pieces of art and pictures hung up on the wall, all whispering tales of youth, friendship and moments you yearned to know more about.
But all those sweet memories fade into the background as the reality settled in: there was only one bed.
âSo, let me get this straight,â you began, the awkwardness hanging heavily in the air âYou thought about everything, including phone wallpapers, but forgot you only have one bed in your room?â
âNo, of course not.â He lied, that endearing grin spreading across his face. âI just thought it would be polite to let you have the bed⊠since youâre my guest.â He seemed genuinely proud of the excuse, but that pride melted when you teased,
âBefore or after you plan for the guest room fell through?â
âAfter.â He admitted at last, glancing away, as if the walls held all the explanations he could not muster.
âDonât tell me you planned on sleeping on the floor too,â for a brief moment the ridiculous image of him curled up on the hardwood floor, blankets draped haphazardly around him pops into your mind, and you couldnât help but giggle.
âNo.â He smiles, âI knew youâd take pity on my lower back,â his dimples deepened and you playfully rolled your eyes at him.
âVery strategic Mr. Kim,â you laugh, walking further into the room and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. The playful banter creating a familiar atmosphere, dissolving any lingering tension. A part of you almost couldn't believe you were in Namjoonâs personal space, taking your sweet time admiring the various little parts of him decorating the room, while another part was acutely aware of his gaze on you, observing you as if he were trying to read your thoughts.
He stepped closer, his expression sincere, drawing you in gently as he took your hands in his. âAre you sure?â The tentative nature of his voice hinted at a deeper questionâhe was about to add an âI was only jokingââbut you quickly shushed him.
âYes, of course.â
There were a few past occurrences where the two of you ended up falling asleep together on the couch, limbs tangled under the fuzzy throw blanket, with a movie playing in the background. Without fail, one of you would wake up in the morning to find the other wrapped around them, as the night was chilly and body heat was a rare luxury. Most of the time it was Namjoon that dozed off first, his head lolling in an awkward position until you gently nudged him into a more comfortable posture, knowing heâd whine about neck and/or shoulder pain come morning time if you didnât. But his lug of a body was always warm, so you didnât mind snuggling closer to him when it mattered.
This was more of the same. Just in a bed.
You swallow drily, eyes flickering away for a quick second, âI told you, Iâm comfortable with you.â
âCome on, lovebirds!â Minhiâs voice rang through the door, breaking the spell. âDinnerâs ready!â
You shared a hurried glance, perspectives shifting as the familiar nervousness rushed back to you.
âReady?â he asked, his smile spreading across his face, deepening the dimples in his cheeks as he tugged you up to your feet. You nodded, suddenly buoyed by a sense of belonging.
To your surprise, dinner goes by without a hitch. You may have gone a little overboard on the kimchi, but it wasnât anything you wouldnât recover from. However, the warmth of Namjoonâs hand resting softly on your thigh might etch itself into your memory for all time.
Halfway through the meal, Jackson showed up, and you got to observe with amusement as Minhi transformed in his presence, her demeanor shifting from the laid-back hostess to a giddy schoolgirl. The way she playfully nudged Jackson, her eyes sparkling each time she teased him, be it about his late arrival or some inside joke, was a refreshing sight. And you couldnât help but snicker each time Mrs. Kim would chastise them, before dotting lovingly on anything you and Namjoon did together.
As the lively conversation flowed around you, you leaned into Namjoonâs warmth. It felt easy, and so right to nestle beside him, to let your fingers brush against his with familiarity, each touch igniting tiny sparks. You stole a glance at him, watching as he engaged wholeheartedly in the conversation, his contagious laughter filling the room.
After dinner, you offered to help Mrs. Kim clear up the table, even if it was to get a second to clear your thoughts, but to your surprise, Mr. Kim placed a soft hand on your shoulder, smiling, as he gently guided you back to your seat.
âYouâve done enough, dear,â he said, his tone warm and reassuring âWe appreciate your help, but tonight is for you and Namjoon to enjoy.â He gave you a kind nod, and you felt your cheeks warm.
âYeah, there will be dishes tomorrow too,â Minhi interrupted, getting a heartfelt laughter from her father before he left the room, to join his wife in the kitchen.
You shared a sheepish glance with Namjoon, who watched the exchange with an amused smile. His eyes twinkling in the soft light of the dining room, and you felt your heart pick-up the pace in your chest again. You really needed to get away, perhaps splash some cold water on your face. But just as you felt the urge to excuse yourself, you overheard Jackson's whispered confusion.
âWait, so theyâre not actually dating?â His voice was muted, and laced with confusion as he looked between you and Namjoon, his eyes wide with bewilderment.
âKyung Min!â Namjoon called Minhi by her full name, which made her owlishly blink up at him.
âWhat? He asked how long you two have been dating for,â she defended.
âAnd you couldnât just say three months, like a normal person?â Namjoon shot back, half laughing, half exasperated and watched as her brows knitted.
âNo! He deserves to know.â She persisted, glaring at her brother, and you felt the heat crawl up your neck, trying desperately to remain inconspicuous under Jacksonâs incredulous stare.
âSo how exactly does this work?â Jackson asked, stopping the siblings from their bickering âIs it like friends with benefits or-?â just when you thought it couldnât get any more awkward, the sip of water you took ended up going down the wrong way, making you choke and sputter.
âNo! itâs nothing like that.â You stammered, trying to form a coherent thought, but all you could manage was a mangled mess of words.
âNo babe, they donât even kiss,â Minhi added, placing her hand over his as if she were breaking some bad news.
But Namjoon reacted with the prove-your-sibling-wrong part of the brain, making you stare at him in disbelief.
âNot that itâs any of your business, but we do.â Â
And your pulse picked up again when you saw him leaning in, the implication clear in your mind. You steeled yourself, closing your eyes. But to your astonishment, he didnât press his lips against yours as you had envisioned. Instead, they grazed the curve of your cheek, followed by a loud, exaggerated kiss.
âIâm confused.â Jackson mumbled, looking over at Minhi as she rolled her eyes.
âYouâre not the only one.â
~~~
Why didnât he just kiss you?
The thought still lingered stubbornly at the edge of consciousness, even as the icy water from the shower jolted you into the present. You fumbled with the knobs, trying to figure out the right temperature, but your mind was elsewhere.
That scene kept on replaying on a constant loop in your head, each time leaving you just as stumped.
What stopped him?
You talked about this- he brought it up! And you agreed, so what was the hold-up? Was he really so uninterested that the mere thought of kissing you sent him into retreat mode?
Frustration bubbled up alongside the steam, and you invertedly cringed at the image of his nervous smile that still haunted you, his eyes darting away. Scrubbing harder at your skin, you wish the shame and embarrassment would simply wash away with the suds.
And the absurdity of getting worked over your friend not kissing you was not lost on you, but at least if he had gone for it, you might have been able to push that nagging question aside ~What would it be like to kiss Namjoon? Â
His lips looked so soft, like they were meant for more than just talkingâŠ
You violently shook that thought away, and with a resigned sigh, you turned the water back to cold in an attempt to wash away your sins. Friends donât kiss!
And he clearly wasnât interested, so the sooner you silence these thoughts, the sooner you could go back to being normal. Just four more days of pretending to be his girlfriend. You could manage that. And after, you promised yourself youâd lock yourself in your room and avoid human interaction for rest of your miserable life.
As the water continued its relentless pour, you felt your fingertips start to wrinkle, a reminder that perhaps it was time to step out of this session of self-pity. With one last shudder, you turned the water off, determined to face the world- if only for a little while longer.
When you stepped out of the bathroom, the soft glow of a lamp illuminated the room. Namjoon was already tucked into bed, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he quietly looked over the pages of a book. Only, in reality he hadnât been able to absorb a single word in the past fifteen minutes, his gaze lost in a world of his own.
Silently, you made your way to your side, wrapping yourself in the blanket and turning your back to him. A slight shiver coursed through you as you felt the warmth envelop you, the little tremor alerting Namjoon to your presence.
âWhy are you so cold?â he asked softly, shifting slightly closer to you.
Your heart thudded at the caring tone, and for a moment, all the questions crowd your mind again.
Instead of answering, you huffed in frustration and turned to face him.
âWhy didnât you kiss me?â the words blurted out before you could stop them, surprising you both with their boldness, but your face flushed when you met his gaze.
Namjoonâs eyes widened, and he froze, the book forgotten on his lap. âI-I donât know.â He stuttered, his hand running though his tousled hair, the soft strands falling back in place but not hiding the flush creeping up his neck. You watched the muscles in his jaw tense, eyes averted again in a way that tightened your stomach.
âIt wouldâve convinced Minhi sooner,â your added, your words hanging heavy in the air. Namjoon chuckled awkwardly, running that same hand down his face.
âYou want me to kiss you?â
You hesitated, the corners of your mind fanatically searching for a safe answer
âIâm just saying it wouldâve made things easier,â you deflected, avoiding his question much like he had done moments before.
He studied you for a moment, gears visibly turning in his mind before his lips curved into a small, daring smile. âBecause I can kiss you if you want.â
Your breath caught in your throat, surprised by the sudden shift in tension.
âNow?â you breathed.
âWhy not?â he shrugged âWeâre both clearly anxious about it, so why not just get it over with?â
Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, lost for words, staring up at him. All the courage from before evaporating into thin air. You quickly searched his features, seeking the playful glint, the laughter behind his eyes, but instead, his eyes just flickered from yours to your lips.
âDo you want to kiss me?â you finally found the words, and his eyes snapped back to your own.
âI think it would make things easier going forward,â he replied, his voice low and earnest.
A heavy silence settled between you, stretching like an elastic ready to snap at any moment, as snowflakes continued to drift outside, dressing the world in white.
You took a deep breath, âFine.â Ultimately you mumbled, sitting up against the headboard and turning to face him.
âAre you sure?â, The way he phrased it made your stomach flop, as if he were validating a choice that seemed both reckless and somehow still challenged you.
âYes, now stop talking and just-â The words were lost as the space between you disappeared. But now you knew; his lips were soft, warm and tentative against yours. It felt wonderful, and sent tingles shooting through your veins while your heart tried erratically to catch up. He hesitated for a heartbeat- less than a fraction of a second- before he leaned further in, deepening the kiss, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek. And you soften against him, all the tension melting away. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping lightly as if anchoring yourself amidst the storm of emotions that released once you tasted his mint toothpaste.
When he finally pulled back, both of you gasping for breath, the world resumed its muted noised- the quiet hum of the heater, the faint sound of voices downstairs, Namjoonâs breath against your lips. You could hardly meet his eyes, until you heard the first thing that left his lips.
âI just kissed you.â
Your eyebrow arched, blinking at him as if waiting for the punchline that never came.
âI know. I- was there too.â You replied, a little smile creeping on your face despite the rapid thump of your heart. Namjoon laughed softly; his cheeks still tinged with a shade of pink. âYouâre a good kisser.â You added after a few beats of silence, before chewing on your lip, and unintentionally drawing his attention back to them.
âYou too,â He gave a curt nod, remembering he has a book on his lap and fumbling to bookmark and put it away.
Another moment of silence followed once he settled back, and your eyes desperately scanned the walls for something, anything to say.
âThis isnât weird, is it?â you settled on the worst option, slightly cringing.
âNo!â he answered louder than he anticipated, slightly shocking you which in return startled him. âI mean-â he let out an exasperated breath, âFriends kiss all the time.â
He didnât believe it. And neither did you. But you still nodded in agreement.
#namjoon x reader#namjoon x you#namjoon x oc#namjoon smut#bts smut#namjoon imagine#namjoon scenarios#knj x reader#bts x reader#bts x y/n#bts x you#bts x fem!reader#namjoon x y/n#the holiday pretense
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â six geese a-laying
regulus black x reader â
1.2k words
twelve days of nico-mas masterlist
The flickering candlelight cast soft shadows across the grand hall, where laughter and clinking glasses mingled in the air. The Black familyâs holiday gala was in full swing, a symphony of aristocratic gowns, tuxedos, and the faint scent of expensive perfumes.
You'd had been dragged here, as usual, by your mother, who had insisted that it was time for you to meet the sixth suitor of the week. Six, in seven days. A tiring cycle of forced conversations, meaningless compliments, and carefully curated gestures meant to see who would eventually be deemed âworthy.â It was tedious and exhausting. You could already feel the tension creeping in as she eyed the young man your mother had ushered you towards while she looked for her scheduled suitor.
His name was Edmund, a tall, blonde, handsome young wizard from a prominent family, who seemed more concerned with inspecting his reflection in the silverware than actually holding a conversation. But you weren't about to spend another minute pretending you cared about his fake smiles and rehearsed lines.
You turned away, offering Edmund the briefest of smiles before excusing herself. You caught your motherâs eyes shoot daggers at you, but you merely arched an eyebrow and began to walk away. It wasnât long before your feet carried you into another part of the room where you could at least escape the cycle of arranged marriages and endless suitors. You made her way to a corner by the grand fireplace, the warmth of the crackling fire a welcome contrast to the icy politeness of the gala.
There, was someone who seemed just as out of place as you felt. A young man, dark-haired and wearing a tailored black suit that made him look effortlessly regal. He leaned against the marble mantel, seemingly uninterested in the glittering crowd around him.
Without any words, your eyes met. A knowing glance passed between you, the kind that only those who are tired of the pretense can share.
âYou look like youâd rather be anywhere else,â You remarked, her lips curling into a half-smile.
The manâs eyes gleamed with amusement, and he pushed himself off the mantel, walking closer. He glanced over his shoulder, as if ensuring no one was watching them too closely. âI was just thinking the same thing,â he said, his voice low and smooth, with a faint smirk tugging at his lips. âI take it youâre not enjoying the suitor parade either.â
A scoff escaped you. âIâm on my sixth for the week. Itâs only a matter of time before Iâm expected to start knitting wedding scarves.â
He raised an eyebrow. âSixth? Are you collecting them like chocolate frog cards?â
âApparently,â You replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. âI think Iâm supposed to pick one of them before Christmas, but I canât even remember their names. Iâm only here for the hors d'oeuvres.â
The man let out a quiet laugh, a genuine sound in the midst of the stiff formality of the party. âWell, Iâd say weâre in the same boat. My mother has been parading me in front of one potential bride after another. They all seem to think Iâm looking for some idealistic⊠whatâs the word? Princess? Itâs all absurd.â
Your eyes narrowed, intrigued. âAh, so youâre a prince in disguise?â
The man chuckled, but there was a trace of bitterness in his tone. âNot exactly. But my family does have certain expectations for me. You know how it isâbloodlines, alliances, family connections.â He looked at you pointedly. âArranged marriages and all that.â
Your lips twisted with distaste. âExactly. Itâs all so lovely and romantic, isnât it?â
âI canât think of anything less romantic,â he said dryly. âIâd much prefer to choose for myself. But who am I to argue with centuries of tradition?â
You looked him over again, suddenly curious. There was something about himâan intensity in his eyes, an air of rebellion that mirrored your own, though less overt. His posture, too, was relaxed but commanding in a way that suggested he didnât belong here. Not in the way others did.
âAre you even sure this is your scene?â you asked, head tilting slightly. âThis whole âhigh societyâ act doesnât really seem like your thing.â
He smirked again, but there was a hint of something darker in his expression. âYouâd be surprised,â he replied. âBut letâs just say I donât have much of a choice. And as for this sceneââ He gestured to the extravagant party around them. âItâs certainly a spectacle. I much prefer people who are honest. At least with those types, you can tell when theyâre lying.â
You laughed, a brief but real sound. âI canât imagine anyone here being honest about anything. Especially not their feelings.â
âOr their intentions,â he added. âIâd wager most people are here for appearances. Itâs exhausting.â
They both fell silent for a moment, both of them standing at the edge of the room, looking out at the people who had come for reasons that seemed foreign and far too polished. The contrast was almost too stark to bear.
Then, just as he was about to say something more, a voice broke the silence. âRegulus, darling!â
The both of you turned to see his mother approaching, a pleased look on her face. Her expression softened just slightly as she caught sight of them, clearly happy with what sheâd found.
âThere you are. Iâm so glad you two have finally had the chance to meet properly.â
Your own mother joined the conversation with a tight smile. âYes, dear, Iâm so glad you two have hit it off.â Her voice was as saccharine as ever, and you couldnât help but notice how your motherâs eyes flicked from you to Regulus, as if already counting the success of this match in her mind.
You turned your head back to him, raising an eyebrow. âSo, youâre the one,â your tone playful but soft, trying to hide the sudden mix of surprise and something elseâsomething you couldnât quite name.
Regulus smiled knowingly, his eyes alight with amusement and something deeper. âIt seems so. I hope you're not too disappointed.â
Your lips twitched into a sly smile. âI canât say Iâve been entirely miserable.â
Regulusâ lips curved into a full smile, the kind that felt both reassuring and a little thrilling. âThen I look forward to... this.â
You felt a soft laugh bubble up from you chest, and for the first time all evening, you felt something lighter than the weight of family expectations and rigid tradition. Perhaps this wouldnât be so bad after all. You had a feeling Regulus was exactly the kind of suitor who understood that some thingsâlike expectations, or forced connectionsâdidnât have to be so serious.
With a small, shared moment of quiet understanding, they both raised their glasses in a subtle toast to the evening ahead. Whatever this arrangement was, it didnât seem half as awful when shared with someone who might just be as intrigued by it all as you were.
And for the first time in a long while, you both felt a bit more hopeful that maybe, things might not turn out exactly as plannedâbut that might be exactly what made it worth it.
â taglist â„ïž
@willowlovestheweasleys
#twelve days of nico mas#marauders era#regulus black#regulus x reader#regulus black x reader#regulus arcturus black
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Break Me Down - Part 11
Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader
Summary: Youâre a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk â leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcherâs team.
Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of themâŠ
đ Break Me Down Masterlist
AN: Happy Father's Day and early Juneteenth! In honor of the holiday weekend, here's an early chapter update. đ
Word Count: 4,000 Tags/Warnings: Violence and peril, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff
Part 11: The Lionâs Den
âWhere is she?â Ben asked, once he and Frank were loaded in the car.Â
Loco and his team had to stay behind as their distraction for escape. If they werenât slaughtered, theyâd be taken into custody.Â
Ben knew he couldâve wasted all of them, Butcher, his team, the CIA, but the nuclear power in his chest had refused to cooperateâŠ
Anyway, Black Noir hadnât been there. So it was all the more useless to stick around. The real plan was with you, and he was very surprised that youâd stuck to itâŠbut maybe he shouldnât have been.
âShe was brought to the Tower,â Frank informed him.
Ben smirked. âGood. But pretty fucking stupid of Stan to stick around there when he knew Iâd be coming.â
He looked over and noticed Frankâs frown as he drove.Â
âUnless heâs not at the Tower,â Frank said.Â
Benâs smirk fell. Why would that prick take her there ifâŠ
âWe have to be open to the possibility that his Chief of Security is taking the matter of his daughter into his own hands,â Frank said. âOr sheâs improvising.â
Ben frowned.Â
That didnât change when they arrived at the Tower, and attempted to use the entrance through the back garage to avoid attention. But it didnât matter.Â
The entire squad of Vought security, included what looked like some added muscle (hopped up on what smelled like V24), met them when they reached the lobby of the building. Now that the Seven had been disbanded, there was no pretense of âgood guys vs. bad guys.â It was just defense and siege.Â
And in front of them all was Black Noir.Â
âThere you are,â Ben said, but the other supe didnât even tilt his head in greeting. He was a still statue, an attack dog given a single mission.Â
When Noir surged forward, Ben ran to meet him. It was a clash of blade to shield, fist to fist, grappling and reflexes that only Compound V could endow. The match tore through the lobby, then up the large staircase as Ben continued to fight his way up to Stanâs office.Â
Frank was already on his way up to you, but it would take him time with Vought security crawling all over them. He was good, and temporarily a supe, but he was still just one man.Â
Meanwhile, Ben and Noirâs fight spilled into the upper floors, through walls and offices and screaming employees trying to get out of their way.Â
Once they reached near the floor below Stanâs office, Ben got an arm around Black Noirâs neck, and with his free hand tried to unmask him. He wanted to know for sure what lied underneath it, if it was actually the Noir he knew. Or if it was something else entirely.
But Noir twisted with superior reflexes and flipped Ben hard over his shoulder. In the process, he ripped off Benâs helmet. His brown hair hung over his brows as he pushed to his feet, deliberately taking his time.
When he turned, Noir was standing there with the helmet crunched in his hand. Rolling his neck, Ben prepared to jump back into the fight, but a new sound reached his ears.Â
He heard you on the floor above. And you were fighting someoneâŠ
Ben pressed a finger to the comm in his ear.Â
âFrank, you got eyes on her?â
V24 had endowed the man with x-ray vision. A moment later, Frank patched through while he struggled and fought.
âShe needs help,â he said gravely.
Ben took his hand off the comm, gritting his teeth. Black Noir was still waiting on him, attuned to Benâs every move as the other supe brandished one of his blades.
Shit, Ben thought. He needed to end this.Â
Right fucking now.Â
That resolve helped him take a deep breath, then summon the energy inside him. He focused with the aim of blasting a clean stream of power at Black Noir; not enough to take out the whole building, but enough to take out just him.
His insides felt molten when the power collected, and finally released at his target.
Noir covered himself at the last moment with a piece of fallen debris (a half-crumbled wall), but it only created a small buffer. The force of the blast itself pushed him down the hall and through the side of the building.
Meanwhile, you were holding your ownâŠbut you were also getting beat to hell.Â
You were battered, with blood dribbling down the corner of your mouth from a particularly bad hit.Â
You were still standing though.Â
âYouâve gotten soft,â Jon remarked. Heâd broken a sweat, had some bruises, and was panting for breath just like you. But he was more in control as he swatted a well-aimed, yet ultimately weak fist as your strength waned. He used his own to smack you down again.Â
âI gave you time to come around, and this is what you did with it,â he said, shaking his head. âDisappointing.âÂ
When you tried to stand on shaking legs, he kicked you in the dead center of your chest. You felt your ribs crack as you fell back into the glass coffee table.Â
You gasped for breath, turning onto your side as glass pricked at your back, your sides, your arm. You coughed, wincing at the agony of knife-like pain near your lungs. Blood flecked from your mouth onto your arm, and for a moment, you stared at it in a daze.
But then Jon was above you. You tried to swipe at his face, but he bat your hand away, his brows furrowed angrily. He turned you back onto your back and wrapped a hand around your neck. Your eyes flew wide with panic.Â
He squeezed with enough pressure that it wouldnât crush your windpipe, but it was sure to knock you out eventually. You slapped and clawed at his hand, but he only shushed you.Â
âWhat you need now is what youâve always needed. A firm hand,â he said. âBut Iâm going to help you. I promise, I will.â
The fight drained out of you as it became impossible to breathe, and harder still to block out his words from entering your brain.Â
But then, the vice around your throat was gone. Oxygen poured back into your lungs as you gasped, then coughed again when your fractured ribs protested.Â
Your eyelids fluttered open in time to see your father thrown hard into the far wall. You heard the sick crack and breaking of bone as he landed.
Still, you struggled to breathe.Â
Tears leaked from your eyes when you looked up and found Ben. His helmet was missing, and he wore a furious, steely frown. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out except for more coughing, and more blood.
To your surprise, he tucked his shield on his back and bent down to scoop you up into his arms.Â
You cringed, uttering an agonized sound when he tried to move you.Â
Ben hesitated. Looking down at you, some of his anger drained. He made a slower ascent as he straightened to his full height.Â
And without a word, he carried you out of the room and down the ruined hallway. All the while, you stared at the side of his face. His jaw was still clenched, his brows knitted, his eyes set dead ahead.Â
You wondered why he had to wait for moments like this to show you who he truly was.Â
âWhat are you, some kind of hero?â you managed to quip, offering a small smile.Â
Ben glanced down at you, and gradually smirked. âSomething like that.âÂ
When his foot slipped on a piece of debris, he righted himself quick. But the jerking movement jostled you, eliciting another pained whimper. Your hand gripped at his chest, digging into the grooves of his suit.
âHold on,â he murmured. His lips briefly pressed to the crown of your head. âWeâre getting the fuck outta here.â
Your eyes closed at the tender touch, and a few more tears spilled down your cheeks.
âHeâŠknew,â you managed to say. âKnew I was lying.â
âI know,â said Ben. âI shouldâve fucking known better.â
You marveled at that near apology. Your lips trembled as you rested your head against his chest. You just couldnât help it anymore.
âWas my idea,â you admitted.
âYeah, well, evidently not all your ideas are aces,â he said.Â
You couldâve gotten angry, but you saw the way he moved with care, trying not to slip again for your sake. You tried at a smile.Â
âGuess not,â you said, though you bit your lip at the pain that seemed to radiate through your entire body. Ben seemed to notice.Â
âJust relax,â he said, a deep rumble. But there was a soothing note to it, you thought. Or maybe, you just liked the sound of his voice.Â
Then silence fell between the two of you, both comfortable and tense as Ben focused on potential threats in his surroundings.Â
All the while, you continued to rest your eyes. Instead of your pain, you tried to concentrate on his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek.
âItâs about fucking time,â you eventually heard Ben grouse.Â
You opened your eyes and were relieved to see Frank exiting the stairwell to meet you and Ben. His face and black tactical gear were splattered with blood, but he looked fine, more or less. His gaze roamed over you with his usual stoicism, but you thought you saw a glint of concern.  Â
âI take it Stan Edgar isnât here,â said Frank.Â
âYou could fucking say that,â Ben snarked. âLetâs just get the hell out of here.â
âSir.â Frank saw something ahead, behind you. Ben turned to find Black Noir silently standing in the middle of the hall, with a large, suspicious-looking gun in his hands.
Without taking his eyes off Noir, Ben gestured to Frank. He came up beside you, and Ben passed you into Frankâs arms.
âGet her out of here,â Ben ordered. With a nod, Frank carried you back the way he came, towards the staircase. You tried to peer over his shoulder.
âHe shouldnât face Noir alone,â you said, even though every breath was a challenge with the sharp pain in your chest.Â
âHeâll meet us after,â Frank told you. But as soon as he started down the stairs, a fresh team of Vought security and police came to meet you.
Meanwhile, Ben stared down the hall at his opponent. Black Noir activated the strange gun, which lit up with a blue energy.Â
âYou can bring out any kind of fancy artillery you want, but itâs not going to stop me from killing you,â Ben taunted.
Noir remained silent, of course, but he aimed the gun and fired. It shot a potent, crystal blue beam of energy that ate through Benâs shield, and eventually hit him in the chest before he could finish revving up his own power. The blast from the gun, it wasnât hot.Â
It was ice cold. So frigid that it extinguished the heat that had been building in his chest, but it wasnât diffusing his power completelyâŠit just made it even harder to control.Â
And the resulting backlash was overwhelming.
Ben woke slowly, like wading through molasses. Usually his mind was sharp, even when he woke from a booze-induced coma. Now he felt groggy, and it was hard to focus or even force his body to sit up on the hard cot he was laying on.
Glancing down, he realized heâd been changed out of his suit. He was dressed in a plain gray shirt and matching pants, no shoes. He knew a prison outfit when he saw one, just as he now knew where he was: a white padded cell.Â
Fuck.
At least it was better than a frigid coffinâŠbut in his mind, not by much.
He slid his legs over and managed to push up onto his feet.Â
Whyâs it so fucking misty in here? he thought, waving his hand through the smokey air. And why was he so tired?
He soon got his answer when he realized who stood at the large window at the front of his cell.Â
Stan Edgar.Â
The man himself, dressed in a well-tailored navy suit, was watching him with crossed arms.Â
âWe did hope you would remain on sabbatical,â said Stan. âBut I had a feeling you would return, and come directly to us.â
Stan gestured to the large cell. âThis was our contingency plan.â
Ben made his way, with difficulty, closer to Stan, who pointed at the air vents above that were pumping in a gas of some kind.
âA light mist of Novichok,â Stan explained. âEnough to keep you docile.â
âAnd if Iâm not?â Ben asked. His voice was edged with grit, and the promise of retribution.Â
âWe can up the dose, put you to sleep indefinitely,â Stan replied. âBut you have my attention. What would you like to discuss?âÂ
âThe conversation I planned on having wasâŠa little different,â Ben said darkly. âBut first, letâs start with what you used to clone Black Noir.â
âI suppose thereâs no real harm in telling you,â Stan said. Even his voice was grating on Benâs ears, the smug prick.Â
âWe kept some of Homelanderâs blood as an insurance policy. But, weâve learned from our mistakes.â
âRight,â Ben scoffed. âHowâs that?â
âThis Noir is not a carbon copy, but nor is he a megalomaniac. Heâs under our control,â Stan said.
âUntil he isnât,â Ben snarked. If he thought about it, that was something you would say. Maybe your penchant for smart-ass remarks had gotten into his head.
âAnd that new gun?â he asked. âDonât tell me your little lab rats put that together just for me.â
Stanâs lips made a wry turn.Â
âIt was a breakthrough project. Temporarily destabilizes the energy you generate when you charge up like a Power Puff Girl.â Stan thought for a moment, then inclined his head. âA reference, I realize, which may be lost on you.â
âSo whatâs the play here?â Ben said. He was getting impatient. âYou know, when I break out, things arenât gonna be pretty.âÂ
Stan didnât seem bothered by the clear threat.Â
âIn the meantime,â he said, âyou wonât be alone.âÂ
Stan stepped back and revealed the cell right across the hall. Through the window, Ben could see you, lying unconscious on a shitty cot in similar gray pajamas. His brows crunched as he narrowed his eyes, trying to peer in closer. You looked like youâd been bandaged up, at least.
âYou also managed to put my Chief of Security in Intensive Care, but his daughter should be fineâŠif a bit worse for wear,â Stan informed him.Â
Ben glared back, his lips curling. Sloppy of him. He shouldâve made sure that bastard was dead.Â
âThatâs cute, considering heâs the demented fuck who beat her to hell,â Ben said.Â
Stan rose a solitary brow. âAnd at whose behest did she enter the lionâs den?â Â
Ben had nothing to say to that.
You woke with a pained groan before your eyes even opened. Your body felt like a walking welt.Â
Your brain pounded like bongo drums, your chest felt tender with every infinitesimal movement, but you realized that youâd been seen to medically, at least. Your head was bandaged, and you felt that the blood had been wiped from your face and arms.
You looked up and found, with a sigh, that you were indeed in a cell. But you softened when you found Ben through the large glass window, in a cell of his own. He was sitting on his bed, arms crossed, with his back against the wall. His eyes found yours, and his lips twitched.
âHey, sweetheart.â
He sounded off. Tired, you thought. And you noticed a steady mist being piped into his room.Â
Shit. Novichok, you surmised with a frown.
âYou okay?â you asked.Â
Ben chuckled a little. âYouâre the one who looks like hell.â
âWhy, thank you,â you replied wryly.
There was a pitcher and a cup of water on a tray, a small paper cup of what you assumed were painkillers, and an ice pack next to you on the cot.Â
You hesitated on the pills, but in light of your incredible pain, you had no choice. You took the pills, drank the water, and grabbed the ice pack, pressing it against your sternum. You sat up all the way with a slow gait and a pained groan.
âGo slow,â he warned. âBet youâre missing that Temp. V right about now.â
You rolled your eyes at him.Â
âHowâd you get caught?â he asked.
That succeeded in dimming your mood. You explained that Frank had been forced to set you on your feet when you were confronted by more security and a police squad.Â
The man had been a one-man weapon; hopped up on V24 as he was, he managed to fight his way down to the garage, where you slowly, painfully crept down there.
You and Frank had almost reached his car, but you held him back. You were stubborn about waiting on Ben, even considered going back for him.
That was when the shot rang out, hitting Frank point blank in the chest.Â
Before you could even bend to help him, you were taken, dragged back into the building, and knocked out before you could take your captorâs gun.Â
You tried in vain to wipe away fresh tears while you retold the story.Â
Bottom line: Frankâs death was your fault. Though while he frowned in disappointment, Ben didnât seem to hold it against you.
âGood on ya, Frank,â Ben murmured. âYou went down fucking swinginâ.â
âWhat about you? What happened with Black Noir?â you asked after a moment. Sniffling, you met Benâs eyes.
He eventually told you about the strange gun Vought had commissioned just for him. And the more you listened, the deeper your frown became. It sounded impossible.
âMakes you wonder what else theyâve been cooking up in that lab,â you muttered.Â
âOther than Noir?â Ben quipped. He told you about that too.Â
âWe can figure this out,â you said. âIf nothing else, my team, the CIA, theyâre looking for both of usâŠif for different reasons.â
Ben scoffed at that. âA silver lining there. Make no mistake, weâre getting the fuck out of here. JustâŠneed a minute to think.âÂ
But he was starting to wane. It was taking all his energy to concentrate on your voice, to even keep his eyes open. The steady stream of gas being pumped into his cell made it damn near impossible, and it was frustrating beyond belief.Â
Because if he fell asleep now, there was no telling when heâd wake up. And fuck if Ben would ever admit to the panic he felt welling up into his chest.
âAaah, fuck!â he growled, pounding a fist against the wall.
You noticed, biting your lip in concernâŠuntil an idea made you smile. It was something you used to do to distract your sister when she was little.Â
âWhy are colds bad criminals?â you asked.Â
Ben just blinked at you. âWhat?â
He asked not because he understood what you were doing, but because he was genuinely confused.
âBecause theyâre easy to catch,â you said, making a drumming motion with your hands. âBuddum-ch.â
Your neighbor just stared back at you, unimpressed.
âOkay, not a fan of that one. Let me seeâŠokay,â you raised a finger. âWhat does a baby computer call its father?â
Benâs eyes narrowed, like he couldnât tell if you were serious.
âData!â you said, biting your lip at an embarrassed smile. It curved Benâs lips, but he was stubborn.
âWhy was 6 afraid of 7?â you asked.Â
âJesus Christ, enoughâŠâ he muttered.Â
âBecause 7âs a dick, thatâs why,â you said. And your straight face lasted for all of three seconds before you ended up giggling. It hurt your bruised body, but it lightened you to see the reluctant smile tug its way onto Benâs face.Â
âAll right,â he said at last. He briefly closed his eyes, trying to remember a joke heâd heard Loco tell. âHow do you make a pool table laugh?â
You smiled. âHow?â
âTickle its balls,â Ben said. Your answering snort deepened his smile into a smirk.Â
âPlaying bridge is just like sex,â you said. Ben shook his head. His grandmother used to play fucking bridge. Â
But regardless, he took the bait.
âHowâs that?â
âIf you donât have a good partner, you better have a good hand,â you said with a smirk.Â
Ben made a sound of amusement, though it wasnât quite a laugh. You traded these back and forth, each trying to make the other crack with progressively dirtier jokes (though you suspected Ben was just trying to disgust you).Â
You considered yourself the winner when Ben finally chortled a deep, belly laugh that showed his charming smile.Â
It made you smile in return.Â
Ben rested a hand on his chest, but when his mirth died down, he realized just how tired he was. Still, he wasnât ready to let go of this. His connection with you tethered him to reality, even if reality sucked dick right now.
His gaze met yours. âWhy donât you sing something, crooner?âÂ
You bit your lip once again. âLike what?âÂ
Benâs eyes closed.
âYou know the one,â he said. A softer smile graced your lips, though he couldnât see it.Â
âYouâre getting sentimental in your old age,â you teased. He chuckled.Â
âJust sing, for fuckâs sake.âÂ
His brows were knitted, like he was trying all he could to stay awake. You took pity on him.
âIf I didnât care, more than words can sayâŠâ you began to sing softly. âIf I didnât careâŠwould I feel this way?â
Every extended note was painful, but it was worth it to see his face relax. Â
Stan Edgarâs lips pursed, and he set down his cell phone on his desk. Victoria was screening his calls.
Disappointing, he thought, but not unexpected. He surveyed the cleanup crew wiping up debris, glass, and blood from the lounge area with a dispassionate gaze.Â
This was going to take a while.
So after drumming his fingers on the mahogany surface, Stan decided to push up from his desk and head downstairs via the elevator. It took him all the way down to Level 0, the home of one of Voughtâs most secure R&D labs.Â
There his most trusted scientist, Dr. Tonya Baker, was at the helm with her team at work on various projects. Most of which were not sanctioned by the government.Â
Stan folded his hands behind his back and reached her side, and she set down a beaker filled with a green, buzzing liquid.Â
âGood afternoon, sir,â she greeted.Â
âTonya, you know what Iâm about to ask,â he said. She bobbed her head and turned to face him in her rolling desk chair.Â
âWeâre still working on solutions. Without his cooperation, safely extracting Soldier Boyâs DNA is a tricky thing,â she said.Â
âYou donât say?â Stan said dryly. âWhat are our options?â
âWell, needles will only break, as you know,â said Dr. Baker. âThe scientists in Russia found that only Soldier Boy is strong enough to break his own skin.â
âAnd I doubt heâll open a vein for us,â Stan said, âeven if we threaten to put him to sleep.âÂ
He didnât even think leveraging with the girl would aid, more than complicate their goals. While it was something to consider, Stan would rather find the path of least resistance here. Soldier Boy wasâŠvolatile at best.Â
âHow much of Homelanderâs blood remains?â he asked.Â
âNone,â the doctor replied. âWe used the last of it to clone Black Noir. And a hair sample is not enough to create additional subjectsâŠat the very least, a urine sample. Even Dr. Vogelbaum managed that.â
Stan sent her shrewd look. If only he still had Dr. Vogelbaum in his employ. If only the man were still alive.
What a waste of a talented, resourceful man.
âThat will be a problem,â Stan said.Â
âNot necessarily.â Dr. Baker adjusted a monitor screen at her desk. It displayed the feed from Soldier Boyâs cell.Â
She pointed to the toilet in the corner of the cell. Then she called over one of her assistants.
âTell Maintenance to cut the water, and then a section of the pipes.â
AN: Okay. đ
I know I'm gonna get some mixed reviews on this one (Let me know what you thought!).
But despite the teaser, I think you'll enjoy where the story's headed next...
Next Time:
They wheeled in what looked like a large metal casket. You had only seen one of these in pictures, but it had to be a cryochamber.
A doctor in her mid-fifties accompanied them, giving directions on how to safely enter Benâs cell. Your eyes widened.
âWhat the hell are you doing?â you shouted.
Panic trilled down your spine as the guards fitted themselves with special suits and gas masks. The doctor turned toward you as the guards led you out of your cell and into the hall.
âYouâre being transported,â she informed you.
Keep Reading: PART 12
Soldier Boy Masterlist
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#The Lion's Den#soldier boy#the boys#soldier boy/ben#soldier boy x female reader#soldier boy x reader#soldier boy x you#the boys season 3#soldier boy/ben x reader#the boys au#enemies to lovers#frenemies to lovers#private investigator!reader#the boys amazon#soldier boy smut#break me down#Part 11#zepskies writes
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To the folks who is responding to my silly little poll about how y'all are progressing on projects during this holiday crunch with "I don't make gifts anymore because they are not appreciated", I am so very sorry y'all have had that experience.
I sometimes think we all have.
I no longer paint, because as a teen I spent months on a painting for my sperm donor in yet another attempt to bring out of him the father I always wanted. He promptly began criticizing everything that was wrong. Heartbroken, I took it back on the pretense I was going to "fix" it. Years later, after I finally ended my relationship with him; I burned it in a ritual as a final break from him.
I never painted a picture again. Rarely drew.
Having someone not appreciate your gift or are pointedly indifferent to it will shatter your soul.
To all y'all who have experienced this, I am so very sorry. I give to you my sincerest love and deepest hope that none of us experience that ever again.
Also, I am so proud of y'all for protecting yourselves! It is not worth the pain and anger to go through that shit again. I know some of y'all have that deep-rooted guilt because you have heard "but <insert excuse>" your whole fucking life until it just sits inside you giving your internal bully ammo to hit you with. (Especially true when it comes to family.) Let me assure y'all, it's bullshit and it eventually goes away.
To those who are planning to give handmade gifts, may each and every onr bring the kind of joy that sets your soul alight.
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Venus in the 4th house
đŠVenus in the 4th house: A Sanctuary for Love and HarmonyđŠ
Venus in the 4th house is a placement that brings a deep sense of love and beauty into the sphere of home and family. It's like having a warm, cozy blanket that wraps around the very core of your being, providing comfort and a strong desire for harmony within your private life. With Venus here, home isn't just a place to live; it's a sanctuary, a space where love and aesthetics are intricately woven together to create an environment of peace and tranquility.
Growing up, you might have experienced a home filled with love, art, and a general sense of well-being. Your parents, particularly your mother or the primary caregiver, likely played a significant role in nurturing your sense of beauty and emotional security. There might have been an emphasis on creating a welcoming, beautiful home, with lots of pleasant memories tied to family gatherings, holiday traditions, and shared moments that felt almost magical in their simplicity.
As you carve out your own space, whether it's an apartment, a house, or even just your bedroom, you have a natural talent for making it aesthetically pleasing. You have an eye for design and a knack for creating a harmonious atmosphere. Plants, soft lighting, cozy textiles, and a well thought out color scheme are your go to elements in decorating. Your home reflects your inner self, a place where you feel most at ease and where you can express your true self without any pretenses.
Relationships with family members are generally warm and loving. You have a strong desire to maintain peace and harmony within your family, often acting as the mediator or the one who brings people together. Conflicts in the family can be particularly distressing for you, as they disrupt your sense of security. Youâre naturally inclined to smooth things over, preferring to avoid confrontations and seeking to resolve issues with kindness and understanding.
Emotionally, you crave stability and a sense of belonging. Having a secure, loving home base is essential for your well-being. You thrive in environments where you feel safe and cherished, and you go to great lengths to create such an environment for yourself and your loved ones. This placement can also indicate a love for entertaining at home, inviting friends and family over to share in your cozy, beautiful space. You find joy in hosting dinners, small gatherings, and intimate get-togethers, where you can share your love and hospitality.
Venus in the 4th house can influence your emotional patterns and how you express love. You might find that your way of showing affection is deeply tied to providing comfort and care. You express love through nurturing, creating a warm environment, and making sure that those you care about feel at home and at ease. There's a softness to your emotional expression, a gentleness that others find comforting and reassuring.
In romantic relationships, this placement can make you seek partners who value home and family as much as you do. You might be drawn to those who appreciate a beautiful, harmonious living space and who share your desire for emotional security. Your ideal partner is someone who can create a peaceful home life with you, where both of you can retreat from the world and recharge in each other's company. However, itâs important to be mindful of the tendency to idealize your home life or your family relationships. Sometimes, you might overlook issues or sweep problems under the rug in your desire to maintain harmony. Learning to address conflicts directly, while still maintaining your natural grace and diplomacy, can help you create even stronger, more resilient bonds with those you love.
This placement highlights your innate ability to make any space feel like home, your talent for nurturing relationships, and your profound need for a harmonious and loving domestic life.
#astrology#astro notes#astro observations#zodiac#astrology community#astro placements#venus#4th house#Venus 4th house#Venus in the 4th house#venus trough the houses
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