#ALSO if you look by her hips you’ll see that she has pockets!! because every lady in a dress deserves pockets | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gukyi · 4 years ago

Text

the art of the rom-com | jjk

summary: FILM395, the art of the rom-com, was supposed to be an easy a with one of your favorite professors, but it’s not. it’s actually a sisyphean torture that comes in the form of fellow film student jeon jungkook, who has no problem responding to every one of your discussion posts about the consumerist ideals underlying every romance movie with his own paragraphs on the beauty of love like the hopeless romantic he is. and when the two of you find yourselves partnered up for your final project, which is to create a short film on rom-coms, jungkook decides to take it upon himself to show you what love is really like.

{enemies to lovers!au, college!au}

pairing: film major!jungkook x film major!reader (female) genre: fluff, comedy, slight angst, this is literally a rom-com in fic form word count: 33k warnings: college alcohol consumption, discussion board posts, emotionally constipated characters, film major shenanigans, blonde jungkook who’s also in a hip hop dance troupe, miscommunication, if you hate rom-coms do not read this fic

a/n: i am so so so excited to share this monster of a jungkook fic (tho let’s be real, 30k is pretty standard for me now ;-;) with you all! this is basically rom-com trash, but it’s my rom-com trash, and i hope you all enjoy!

on a sadder, less exciting note: after this fic i will be taking an extended writing hiatus until at least the beginning of may. my semester is picking up and i unfortunately just don’t currently have any upcoming fics planned for you guys. i hope you understand!! maybe i’ll do a couple of ask games here and there to see if anything piques my interest, but other than that please do not expect major works of writing for a while. love you all!

500 Days of Summer is a movie you all have probably seen before. That being said, I encourage you to respond to this discussion board from a film perspective as opposed to a viewer’s perspective. How did 500 Days of Summer alter the classic narrative of boy-meets-girl? Do you think it was a smart move, on the parts of Webb, Neustadter, and Weber, to do so? Why or why not?

Jeon Jungkook on February 12th at 9:53PM

I thought that the change in the boy-meets-girl narrative that had been popularized by rom-coms of the 1990s definitely contributed to his popularity and its attractiveness towards viewers in general. The film makes it clear that the story does not have a so-called happy ending, but despite that, it still brings into discussion the idea of love and soulmates and true connection. And that’s important, because despite the film’s not-so-happy ending, it makes it a point to emphasize that those things are real. That love is real. I thought it was an excellent move on the parts of the writers and director, because they both broke standards in terms of happy endings in rom-coms and they stayed true to the message at hand.

Y/N Y/L/N on February 12th at 10:29PM

I have to disagree with Jungkook. It’s obvious the movie is not going to have a happy ending because Tom is so obsessed with the version of Summer he has created in his head that he doesn’t even see who the real girl is anymore. It doesn’t have a happy ending not because they weren’t soulmates, or because their love wasn’t right. They break up because what Tom wants and what Summer wants are fundamentally different, and Tom just can’t accept the fact that Summer doesn’t love him the way he wants her to. In a desperate quest to keep her, though, he manifests this version of her and replaces the actual Summer with it, ultimately destroying their relationship. How could viewers ever have faith that Tom would eventually get his happy ending if the only proof of his commitment to relationships they have is him manufacturing a different girl to fall in love with?

When you walk into class, Jeon Jungkook is already there.

He sits in the front row, the seat closest to the door in your puny little classroom, much too small for twenty-students to fit comfortably, let alone watch movies on the pull-down projector screen above the chalkboard. You’re convinced he’s chosen that seat just so he can grin at you whenever you walk in the room, always later than him because apparently, he has nothing better to do with his time than show up to class early and smirk at you when you arrive.

As you shuffle past his seat towards your own—second row, middle of the room, centered with the lecturer’s podium—with your usual scowl drawn neatly across your face, Jungkook says, overly bright and cheery, “Good morning, Y/N.”

The sound of his voice alone is enough to make your nose scrunch up in further disgust. “Shut up,” you grumble back, stuffing yourself into your chair and pulling out your laptop. One row in front of you and five seats to the right, you see Jungkook chuckle.

Glowering, you open up your Notes document for the class and try to avoid staring at Jungkook’s side profile, the way he’s slouching lazily in his seat, and what looks to be a lengthy paragraph on his computer screen, a task that proves to be particularly difficult because he happens to sit in the exact spot you have to look in order to see your professor enter the room. What the hell is he even writing, anyway?

He straightens up the moment she does, cheerful as always as she smiles at everyone. “Good morning, everyone.”

The lot of you respond with halfhearted smiles and waves.

“I can just feel the enthusiasm radiating throughout the room,” she jokes, clenching her fists together in success. At least that gets a couple of you to laugh. “Which is great, because before we get to anything today, we’re gonna talk about the final project.”

You smile to yourself, immediately pulling up the copy of the syllabus you had downloaded to your desktop, scrolling right down to where she had outlined information about the final project in big, bolded letters. There are a lot of reasons you’ve taken this class, not the least of which is the fact that you have had Professor Pollack three times prior to this and she’s loved you in every class, but the final project was definitely one of the major selling points.

Pollack pulls up a more detailed final project document on the projector as she steps out from behind the podium. “As you guys know, your final project is a thirty-to-forty minute short film involving rom-coms. You guys have a lot of freedom, it can be a rom-com, it could be a documentary about rom-coms, anything. It just needs to involve the topic of rom-coms somehow. I know a lot of you have actor friends who would be more than happy to have a star-crossed lovers fling or whatever. Go wild. Just keep it PG-13, because I can’t in good faith have nude bodies of your fellow college students on my screen.”

You snort to yourself. Makes you wonder how many times Pollack has seen sex scenes of college students on her screen before. Too many, probably.

Unintentionally, your eyes drift over to Jungkook. He seems to be working on that hefty paragraph of his, typing something you assume is completely unrelated to the topic at hand and is further proof that Jungkook just doesn’t give a shit about anything involving this class. Whatever. You turn back to Pollack.

“Good projects not only capture the essence of what a rom-com is, but also put their own twist on the story and bring into question the topics we discuss in class, like truthfulness, realistic portrayals of love, and viewer interpretation,” she continues, and with every word you feel heart beat faster in excitement. “I know you’re all excellent filmmakers. That’s why you’ve taken this class. But what I want you to do is get into the nitty-gritty of the makeup of a rom-com and distill it as much as possible. We’ll be watching them all in class during the last week. Yes, Celia?”

You all turn to look at Celia, who sits in the third row, second seat from the left. “This is a partner project, right?”

Well. That’s the one downside. As much as you know that cooperation is an important life skill, you would much rather prefer to produce the entire movie yourself. But you love Pollack and you already know you’re on track to get a good grade in this class, so whatever. You’ll deal.

As long as you can pick your teammate.

“Yes,” Pollack affirms, “and with that excellent segue, I will now announce your partners.”

Shit.

Pollack pulls out a folded piece of paper from her back pocket, like she had just come up with the arrangements on the morning train ride to campus, and begins reading. Slowly, as she ticks off names one by one, everyone begins to turn around, locking eyes with their partners and exchanging guess-it’s-us-two-huh? smiles. Everyone except—

“And lastly, Jungkook and Y/N.”

You freeze in place. You look up at your professor, eyes wide and shocked, because nobody knows better than her how much the two of you have been butting heads this entire semester. But when you meet her eyes and she smiles knowingly, shrugging her shoulders, you know you’re doomed. Hesitantly, almost like you’re scared to find out what happens when you do, you shift your gaze towards where Jungkook sits in the front right corner of the room. Only he’s not just sitting. He’s turned a full one hundred-and-eighty degrees just so he can smirk at you from across the room, a glint in his eye.

Jungkook laughs at your cold-stone, shellshocked reaction. Like he knows how much you’ll hate this, and you know how much he’ll enjoy it.

From here, you actually have a pretty good view of his laptop screen, brightness turned all the way up because he apparently doesn’t care who reads his screen. Or maybe he just likes showing off how much he writes so he can establish dominance over everyone else. Except you, of course. But when you look a little closer, you notice he’s got the class discussion board for the week up on his Chrome window, two paragraphs typed into the text box.

Right above is your response to his comment.

Is that what he was working on? His reply to your reply? Right now? He has the audacity to draft it right here, in front of you, where he knows you can see? He doesn’t even care that you’re blatantly staring at it. In fact, he actually seems to be relishing in it.

You’re so caught off guard by the contents of his computer screen that when you look back up at him on instinct, you catch a wink in your direction.

Your fists tighten by your side.

Class is rather uneventful after the whole partner fiasco, as Pollack transitions into your usual dose of a short lecture on the film and then a class discussion that goes absolutely nowhere because everyone is too concerned with the final project to care. Whatever you talk about, you will be hard pressed to know, because you spend the entire rest of the period scowling at the blank page of your Notes document as you try to formulate a way to convince Pollack to change your partner. Would she accept a dozen doughnuts as a bribe? A box is only ten dollars from Dunkin’.

When Pollack finally shuts her laptop screen and begins her weekly goodbye spiel, you are the first one out of the room. Hastily, you stuff your laptop into your bag, zip it up as best as you can (which means that the tops of your water bottle and umbrella are sticking out, but who cares), and shuffle out the room right as Pollack is bidding you all farewell, just so you don’t have to look at Jungkook’s stupid, smug little grin on the way out.

Faintly, you remember Pollack saying something about getting your partner’s contact information so you can start working, but fuck that. Jungkook knows your name. He can find you. If you must spend the entire semester communicating through Instagram DMs, then so be it. You’ve communicated with men in worse ways. Like through LinkedIn.

There’s a small seating area half a flight down from where your puny little classroom is, a few tables and a bench that wraps around the wall, posters splayed out on the corkboard to the right, staples littering both the board and the floor it rests above. Nobody ever seems to use this, despite the innumerable posters advertising everything from dance troupe shows to financial literacy talks, which makes it the perfect place for you to brood and gather your thoughts. It’s also in the direct opposite direction of the exit. So that’s good.

Taking your anger out on your personal belongings (as opposed to that bitchass smirk on Jungkook’s face), you begin to shove your umbrella and water bottle into the pocket of your backpack, fighting to nestle them amongst your other worldly possessions, like your pencil case and what looks to be a small nest of receipts at the bottom of the back. No wonder it’s so clogged up down there.

If anything gives you a sense of control, it’s cleaning. One by one, you pluck out the receipts from your bag, nose scrunching up as you try to remember every purchase you’ve made in the past three months. Plus, one of these receipts is from when you bought some dryer sheets from CVS, so that means the five inches of actual information are also accompanied by three feet of coupons that expired two weeks ago. Ugh, what a waste.

“Don’t look so angry, you’ll have to get used to seeing this face a lot.”

You look up from where you’ve been inspecting an old receipt from a midnight McDonald’s trip to find Jungkook standing in front of you, backpack hanging loosely on his bomber jacket-clad shoulder and that same stupid grin written all over his same stupid face.

“Can I help you?” You drawl. Great. Now Jungkook can add “saw all her receipts” to the list of embarrassing things he’s caught you doing.

“Can I help you?” Jungkook fires back with a scoff, blonde hair bouncing as he jerks his head flippantly. “Looks like someone needs to take an Accounting class or something.”

“I’m just doing some spring cleaning,” you sneer. It’s February. “What do you want?”

“What, no ‘Hello, partner’? ‘So excited to be working with you this semester’? I’m hurt,” Jungkook says, placing a hand to his heart as he shakes his head disapprovingly. “I thought we had something good, Y/N. Isn’t that why Pollack paired us up?”

You’re pretty sure she just likes watching the world burn.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you chide, knowing that Jungkook already must get enough of a kick out of just seeing the annoyed look on your face.

“Please, like I even need to. You think I don’t notice the way you stare at me during class? I know you must like what you see,” Jungkook flirts, just to be extra irritating.

While he’s stroking his own ego, you tear off a piece of that CVS receipt, one of the expired coupons for Three Dollars Off Any Shampoo or Conditioner, and scribble your number on the back. The rest of the receipts you scoop up and dump in the trash can to your right before you zip up your backpack and hike it over your shoulder.

“Here,” you say gruffly, shoving the paper against his chest as you head towards the stairwell.

“How forward of you, Y/N, you know you could have just asked—”

Pausing right before you turn the corner and head out the door, you turn back to look at Jungkook, already exhausted from having to interact with him for five minutes. “And when you’re done jerking yourself off,” you say pointedly, “text me.”

You storm out the door.

[February 13th, 1:24PM]

Unknown Number: guess who ;)

You: Wow I have NO idea You: Keanu Reeves?

Unknown Number: haha very funny Unknown Number: it’s jungkook

You: Damn shame You: You done jerking off yet

Maybe: Jungkook: what makes you think i’m not doing that right now ;)))

You: You don’t have the coordination to text me and masturbate at the same time You: What do you want

Jungkook: ouch, harsh Jungkook: can’t i just want to talk to my final project partner? :D

[February 13th, 2:17PM]

Jungkook: alright fine Jungkook: just wanna see when you wanna meet up

You: Guess I don’t have a choice do I

Jungkook: unless you wanna facetime

You: Is that an option?

Jungkook: how about friday at 3 Jungkook: in one of the greene gsrs

You: You think you can manage to reserve one of those?

Jungkook: watch me

[February 13th, 2:21PM]

Jungkook: [screenshot sent] Jungkook: done

You: Do you want a gold star for all that hard work you just did? All that manual labor? You: Fine. See you then.

Jungkook: miss you already <3

Y/N Y/L/N on February 12th at 10:29PM

Jeon Jungkook on February 13th at 7:35PM.

You make a good point, Y/N, but I think you missed the whole point of the movie. It’s not about their breakup or the not-so-happy ending or even Tom’s problems. It’s about the journey they go on and what Tom learns in the process. If you watch the trailer then you’d go into the movie knowing they weren’t gonna last. The results of whatever Tom and Summer do to contribute to their eventual breakup should not come as a surprise to the viewer. The whole point of the movie is that they spent five hundred days together and Tom is now recounting those days to anyone who will watch. And you know who’s watching? People who want to hear a story. About love. And loss. And everything in between. Isn’t that the whole reason we watch romance movies anyway?

Sometimes, you wonder if the garishness of Professor Pollack’s shoebox-sized office is the reason not very many students attend her office hours. The walls are lined with movie posters taken from a theater going out of business, the shelves stuffed to the brim with Disney World trinkets and old film memorabilia. She’s installed these thick red velvet curtains along her single window, making the whole room look like some sort of 1950s movie lair.

In a way, you suppose it kind of is.

You hear the taps of her Converse shoes as they come down the hallway and round the corner into the office.

“You know, Y/N, I was surprised to see you signed up for my office hours when I logged in this morning,” Pollack says as she enters the room, handing you the coffee in her right hand as she takes a sip out of the one from her left. Last year, the film department bought a Breville coffee maker with the leftover funds from a movie showing fundraiser and it is, in your humble opinion, the best investment the department has ever made.

“Why? I see you all the time,” you ask, eyebrows raised. You and Professor Pollack are not lacking in social connection. She’s written you a letter of recommendation and she knows your coffee order.

“The very first time we ever spoke outside of class, you sat down at my Starbucks table while I was eating lunch just so you could introduce yourself and ask me about my opinion on the Mamma Mia remake,” she deadpans. “We don’t exactly speak through official forums.”

Well, she’s got you there.

“I know…” you begin, trailing off awkwardly as you take a sip of your coffee. It’s burning hot and scalds your tongue a little, but it’s nice. It’s been cold recently. “But I just thought we could talk… privately.”

Pollack rolls her eyes as she reclines in her chair, back hitting the padding of the chair with a thud. “Goodness, I wonder what you’re here to talk to me about.”

“Okay, please pardon my French, but what the freak, Professor?” You say, because the words have been sitting hot on your tongue ever since you walked into your office and you didn’t think sending an email that looked like:

To: [email protected] From: y/[email protected] Subject: what the freak

Dear Professor Pollack,

What the freak?????????

Cheers, Y/N

would be very professional on your part.

Pollack lets out this honk of a laugh, loud and sudden, shaking her head fondly. “Come on, Y/N. You must have known I would have partnered the two of you up.”

“I was hoping you’d let us choose?” You emphasize.

“And miss out on what very well may be one of the best final projects of the class, produced by my two best students of the semester? Absolutely not,” she says, smiling knowingly at you.

Even her sudden reveal that you happen to be one her best students this semester isn’t enough to soothe your worries and calm your anger. You’re honored, but you have bigger problems. Problems that start with ‘Jeon’ and end with ‘Jungkook’.

Pollack looks at your beaten-down expression and leans forward, placing her coffee cup on the wooden desk in front of her. “Listen, Y/N. You’re an excellent student and one of the most talented filmmakers I’ve seen in a long time. Your discussion posts are detailed, well-written, and thought-provoking. I know that the two of you will make a great project.”

You scoff. “We can’t agree on a single thing.”

“Sometimes that happens in life, and you just have to deal with it,” Pollack says sagely.

“So I can’t change partners?”

“Not unless you’d like to fail the final,” Pollack comments, shrugging. How rude of her to say such a thing, not taking the option to change partners off the table entirely but making it so that if you do, you’ll pretty much be shooting yourself in the foot. Or worse.

You narrow your eyes at her. “That’s low.”

“That’s life,” she corrects.

“Ugh.” You get up out of your seat, taking angry sips of your coffee as you desperately try to think of another way to get out of it. Are doughnuts still an option?

“I have full faith that the both of you will come up with an excellent project,” Pollack says like it’s some sort of consolation as she walks you to the door to her office. Yeah, right. You and Jungkook spend your free time making snide responses to each other’s discussion posts like it’s nobody’s business. You’re probably the only two people at your entire university that care enough to make replies to each other’s replies. Like Tinder from hell. “You shouldn’t be worried, Y/N.”

“I’m not worried,” you say, completely worried. “I just—I don’t know how Jungkook and I will get along.”

Pollack grins to herself. Does she know something you don’t? Is she up to something? She looks at you as you linger in the doorway, feeling utterly helpless after a meeting that accomplished absolutely nothing, and she smiles.

“You’ll find a way.”

Reserving a group study room in the Greene Library and Collection should not be some gymnastics act that involves a warm-up, practice, a routine, and song and dance. In theory, all you have to do is log onto the library’s homepage, navigate to the reservations tab, enter your name and ID number, pick a date and time, and profit.

Of course, the demand for the study rooms does tend to outweigh the supply. There are over ten thousand students at your university. And only twenty rooms.

And still, you have the unfortunate luck of being stuck in one of them for an hour and a half with none other than Jeon Jungkook.

You see him coming into the library at 3PM sharp through the opposite entrance, a little surprised he didn’t show up ten minutes early like he does in class, just so he would have an excuse to complain about having to wait for you. Feeling a little threatened, you pick up the pace so that you can meet his lengthy stride, keeping an eye on his direction so you know which room he’s aiming for.

You arrive at Greene GSR #18 at the exact same time.

“So nice to see you,” Jungkook says, too cheerful, as you reach out to open the door.

“Mmm,” you mumble in response as you enter the room, flinging your backpack onto the floor by your chair with a thud as you take a seat. The faster you start, the faster you can get this over with.

Jungkook, not at all outwardly discouraged by your clear disdain for him, rallies on happily. “So, what were you thinking for the project?” But he doesn’t even let you open your mouth to answer before he says, “Oh, wait, let me guess: a social commentary on the consumerist ideals that underline every modern movie and encourage the pursuit of an empty dream by abandoning concrete career and personal goals in favor of romantic fulfillment.”

You scowl at him, even though that’s exactly what you were thinking of doing. You’re almost positive Pollack’s had enough of seeing college students try to engineer the craziest fake dating scenarios they can imagine just for a class project. Why not do something outside of the box?

“Well, then what do you want to do?” You challenge, already bristling. Like Jungkook has a better idea.

“Maybe something that doesn’t scream ‘killjoy’ as much as you do,” Jungkook retorts easily. He opens his mouth to spit out something else but then rolls his eyes and shrugs, shaking his head. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have even asked.”

“Don’t pin this on me,” you immediately rebuke, pointing at him. “You’re the one who wants to make some sort of generic rom-com for our final project. Besides, I’m pretty sure every idea you even think of will have been done already.”

“Just because something is cliche doesn’t make it bad,” Jungkook says. “I swear, I don’t think you understand what the word cliche even means. A cliche thing, by default, is something that lots of people like. Therefore, it is largely well-received by the general public.”

“Oh, then that must mean that all rom-coms are deserving of a People’s Choice Award then, right?”

Jungkook frowns, getting exasperated. You aren’t much farther off. “I don’t know why you’re being so—so resistant! You know that romantic comedies are supposed to be fun, right?”

“They’re not that fun to me,” you comment snidely.

“That’s because you’re a stick in the mud who takes everything way too seriously,” Jungkook replies like it’s some sort of known fact. “Have you ever even been in a relationship?”

“That’s none of your business,” you tell him firmly. Who does he think he is, going around asking that sort of thing? Especially to you! Like you could care any less about what Jungkook thinks of your love life. Intrusive, much? “Besides, you asking that is exactly my point. Not everything has to be about finding love and searching for your soulmate or whatever bullshit like that. Some people don’t really care that much.”

“You act like wanting to find love and wanting to be successful are mutually exclusive,” Jungkook points out. “You don’t have to abandon all of your life goals just to find love, you know. It doesn’t have to be the most important thing in your life for you to even care about it a little. It’s natural for people to want love.”

“Then I guess I’m just a robot.”

“You sure are acting like one,” Jungkook comments easily. “What, are you about to ask me to pick out all of the pictures with traffic lights?”

“I’m allowed to have my own views on love, just like you,” you say. Isn’t that the whole point of your discussion boards? A forum where you can discuss these sorts of things through an academic lens? A barrier that keeps the two of you from going at each other’s throats when you’re engaging in the class material? It doesn’t take a genius, or even half of one, to know that you and Jungkook can’t seem to agree on anything in your FILM395 class.

Jungkook scoffs. “What do you mean, ‘your own views on love’? As far as I’m aware, your view on love is that you don’t have one! What do you even think love really is?”

You frown at him. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says like it’s obvious. “This project is about filming a short romantic comedy, about people falling in love with each other. How do you expect me to do that if we don’t reach a mutual agreement on what love is?”

You scoff. “There is no way in hell I am going to agree with you on anything concerning love.” Jeon Jungkook still thinks love is all rainbows and sunshine. Cries at the end of Love, Actually even though he’s seen it five times already. Believes in soulmates. Believes there are people out there that were built for each other. He flutters from one person to the next like a butterfly, even though he’s more like a moth drawn to any open flame within a five-mile radius. He’s convinced he’ll find his true love here, in college, just like his parents found each other.

Yeah, right.

“Then what are we supposed to do, huh?” He says with an eyebrow raised. “We have a month to make a movie that’s fifty percent of our grade.”

“The social commentary is still on the table,” you point out. Sure, it’s not at all a romantic comedy, but it’s about them, which Pollack said was totally fine. Besides, she has been teaching you the entire semester, hasn’t she? She should know by now not to expect some cushy lovey-dovey story about two people who were destined to be with each other and can overcome all obstacles with their love.

Deep down, a part of you wonders if that’s why she paired you up with Jungkook. If she’s had enough of the sappy love stories that Jungkook probably wanted to do, didn’t want to see another cynical commentary on capitalism in Hollywood.

“Wow, what a thrilling idea,” Jungkook deadpans. “Please, tell me more.” His voice is lifeless.

“Oh, shut up. It’s not like your idea would be any better. Who would we even get to star in a rom-com we filmed? It’s not like the two of us could do it.”

You regret the words the instant they come out of your mouth. In horror, you watch as they sink into Jungkook’s brain, etching themselves into his mind as a lightbulb turns on, a bright idea popping into his thoughts.

He opens his mouth, but you get there first. “No. Whatever you’re thinking, absolutely not. I am not starring in a rom-com with you.”

That is something you can say with one-hundred percent confidence. Something that you know will never change.

“Just hear me out,” Jungkook pleads, looking a little desperate as he wrings his hands together, aching to spill the bubbling plan that’s been stewing in his head.

You narrow your eyes in suspicion but lean back into your chair, a silent signal for him to continue. It’s not as if you have any better idea.s

“Okay. It’s not a rom-com. It’s a mockumentary,” he says, something that (and you can’t believe you’re saying this) actually piques your interest. Moreso than anything else he’s ever said to you. “You think love is totally manufactured, right? That Hollywood creates the illusion of it to sell to people paying twenty dollars for a movie ticket?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s do that. Let’s prove it’s manufactured.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” It’s not like you can walk into a factory and ask them to make the “love” emotion for you.

“We’ll be the stars.”

He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like it’s your best idea by a long shot, the home run of all home runs, your golden ticket to an A.

You scrunch up your nose, hesitant. “Wait, I don’t know—”

“It’s perfect!” Jungkook exclaims, eyes wide with excitement. “Think about it. It’ll be a mockumentary of a stereotypical rom-com. Except it won’t be this big Hollywood production, it’ll be real life. And it won’t be between two paid actors with years of experience under their belt, it’ll be us.” His eyes are practically bulging out of his head, big brown eyes glinting with excitement.

“So what are we gonna do? Act out our own rom-com in an attempt to see if either one of us will fall in love with the other?” You say, an eyebrow raised.

Jungkook shakes his head. “Not necessarily. It’s a mockumentary, right? So it’s grounded in real life even if it is based upon the stereotypical boy-meets-girl rom-com. It won’t be super scripted or anything. Think of it more like… a chronicle.”

You scoff. “Of what?”

“Of us,” Jungkook says easily. “Of the time we have to spend together to film this damn project anyway. I say that rom-coms are emblematic of the natural human desire for love, and that deep down love is the thing that makes us happy. You say that rom-coms are consumerist propaganda, or whatever it is you think they are—”

“They are, and you can’t change my mind about that,” you interrupt, just for clarity. Can’t have Jungkook thinking he’s going to somehow convince you otherwise.

“—so, with this project, let’s see which one of us is right. If the time we have to spend together, making this mockumentary rom-com, will really change how we feel about each other, or if it won’t.”

How you feel about each other? You almost laugh when Jungkook says it out loud. There’s no room for questioning in your mind when it comes to how you two feel about each other. Two desperate-to-please students with opposite views on the entire structure of a class and three years of experience arguing your points in essays under your belts.

Jungkook believes in destiny, right? Then he must know that the two of you are destined to never get along.

“You should be a car salesman,” you joke. Jungkook’s certainly excellent at pitches.

“So, you in?”

You narrow your eyes, still a little wary of whatever it is Jungkook’s putting down. But it’s not like you have any better ideas. And the sooner you agree on something, the sooner you can get this goddamn project over with and never have to sit in class with Jeon Jungkook ever again.

“Only because this’ll finally prove to you that not everything can be solved by finding love,” you say. It’s about as good of a ‘yes’ as he’s going to get out of you.

Jungkook grins, mischievous as always. There’s certainly something else he’s plotting, you just aren’t sure what. Maybe he’s in cahoots with Pollack. “Or,” he begins, lips curling upwards, “you’ll just fall in love with me.”

You scoff. “Yeah, right.”

“Well, then I guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” He holds out his hand, palm facing up as he waits for your response, that devilish glint that you hate twinkling in his eyes.

As if you’re going to fall in love with Jungkook. For this stupid project? No way. Just because it’s a filmmaking project doesn’t make it any more bearable than your other assignments. It’s a partner project. They are, by their very nature, excruciating. You’ll be surprised if you end this project and you aren’t even more irritated with Jungkook. Does he really think you’ll actually develop some sort of affection for him?

You take his hand on your own, palm pressed against his, and you eye him carefully. Just because Jungkook’s got something up his sleeve doesn’t mean you don’t. Finally, finally, Jungkook will see why love is stupid and manufactured and fake. Why it doesn’t bring people together but instead tears them apart.

Maybe then he’ll leave you and your discussion posts in peace.

You smile up at him.

“I guess we will.”

When Ruby Rhodes is not six feet deep in The Princeton Review’s MCAT test prep book, she can usually be found at the small bakery five blocks west and two blocks north of your little campus, a family-owned place passed down through three generations. It’s her favorite place, and yours, too, because the coffee is delicious and the pastries are even better.

Plus, hardly anyone from your school ever comes here, which means the wifi speed is eons better than the Starbucks inside the main food court.

She’s halfway through a tiramisu and a rerun of The Bachelor from two seasons ago when you sit down across from her.

“Any good?” You ask, pulling out your laptop and squeezing it onto the tiny marble table in between the two of you.

“The food or the show?” Ruby asks over a mouthful of cake.

“Either.”

Ruby swallows down the piece sitting on her tongue before responding. “The tiramisu is delicious, and The Bachelor is eh. I’ve seen this episode three times already.”

“Then why are you watching it again?” You ask, laughing. Does Ruby think something different is going to happen?

“Because we’re in between weeks right now and honestly, The Bachelor is kind of dry this season,” Ruby says with a frown.

“You’ve got some tiramisu on your cheek,” you tell her, pointing to the left side of her face where the bright mascarpone cream sticks out like a sore thumb against her dark skin.

“It’s just so yummy, I can’t help but stick my whole face in it,” Ruby jokes as she wipes her face with the napkin on her lap. The Bachelor rerun plays on in the background, and you can hear the gasps of the women through Ruby’s discarded headphones.

You roll your eyes. “Why do you even watch that show still? You know it’s all crap.”

“Just because you think it’s crap doesn’t mean I do,” Ruby insists, playing out an argument the two of you have had plenty of times over the course of your friendship. “Watching it makes me happy. So I do it.”

“But it’s all fake,” you say, frowning in disapproval. “The couples don’t even stay together in the end anyway.”

“It’s a totally pre-constructed show, but it’s not fake in the moment. And I don’t expect the final couple to stay together.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “Believe me, I’ve seen enough Bachelor seasons to know those odds. I just like watching the ride. It’s cute.”

“You say that about everything.”

“That’s because everything is cute,” Ruby says pointedly. “I like seeing the good in people.”

Ruby’s always been the exact opposite of you in terms of worldviews. The embodiment of a real-life fairy. She puts butterfly clips in her hair and buys herself bouquets of daisies and lilies. She sits in cafes with her headphones in and sketches the people she sees outside the window. She’s studying to be a doctor so she can spend the rest of her life helping others.

And you?

Well, the Oscars have always been a bit of a long shot.

The curiosity eating at you, you pose a question to her. “Hypothetically, if there were to exist a mockumentary on rom-coms and love, would you watch it?”

Ruby pauses for a second as she furrows her brows. Then she shrugs and says, “Only if the two leads fell in love at the end. Why?”

“No reason,” you say, looking away.

There’s no fooling Ruby and her eagle eyes.

“What is it?” She asks, a grin playing at her lips as she looks at you. “Come on, you don’t just ask me shit like that without a reason.”

“It’s for a final project,” you explain succinctly. No need to go into details.

“You’re making a rom-com for a final project?” Ruby sounds about as skeptical as you did when you spoke to Jungkook.

“It’s a mockumentary about rom-coms.”

“But… it’s a rom-com, right? Like, you’re going to be making a rom-com? Where people fall in love?”

Hopefully not.

“Sort of?”

Ruby squints her eyes, trying to process all the information. You’re not surprised that she has to take a moment to think—you are certainly the last person on earth to ever admit to filming a rom-com. But, as you’ve stated, it’s not a rom-com. It’s a mockumentary about them. That distinction is vital.

“Wait, is this for that class with Pollack?” Ruby asks. “I remember you telling me you were taking it. You said this was a partner project, though, right? So who are you working with?”

Curse Ruby and her knack for remembering things. She’ll make a great doctor, that’s for sure, but right now you wish she would just forget things like everybody else.

You sigh. “Jungkook.”

Ruby doesn’t need to think twice about who that is. “Wait, seriously? You’re working with him? Isn’t he the guy that responds to all your discussion posts?”

“Yes,” you say, rubbing your temples with your fingertips. You don’t even like thinking about him, let alone saying his name. The fact that he has to occupy any part of your brain at all gives you a headache.

“Damn, that sucks,” Ruby says, not feeling very sorry for you at all. “So you’re filming a rom-com with him?”

“It’s a mockumentary,” you specify, feeling yourself getting irritated. “It is fake.”

“Just like my shows, huh?” Ruby muses to herself, too analytical for her own good.

“Listen, you don’t need to fall in love to make a mockumentary about it,” you say, refusing to consider any sort of alternative.

“Don’t you?”

You sneer. “Just shut up and eat your tiramisu.”

Ruby lets out a laugh at that, this wonderful mix between a wheeze and a honk that makes you smile every time you hear it, even if it’s at your own expense. Ruby decides she’s had enough of mentally torturing you with the thought of feeling anything but extreme distaste towards Jungkook and goes back to her show, letting you brood in peace.

You don’t need to fall in love to make a film about it. Just like you don’t need to be a masterchef to film Gordon Ramsey screaming at someone who undercooked chicken. You’re a filmmaker. You can make a film out of anything. Including love. Even if it is with someone like Jungkook.

Can’t you?

Jeon Jungkook may be a disillusioned college student in love with the idea of love itself, but at least he’s not too shabby of a filmmaker.

Funnily enough, it actually sort of surprises you that you’ve never encountered each other before. Especially considering you’re in the same major program at your school, a program that only accepts about fifty students per year at most. You suppose that in whatever general program classes you had to take in freshman and sophomore year you just never crossed paths. Plus, he’s a filmmaking concentration and you’re doing screenwriting, so it’s very possible that you would have just never spoken had the two of you not registered for the same semester of FILM395.

Huh. Imagine that. A life without him.

Sort of makes you wish you had put this class off for one more semester.

As the two of you kickstart your project, you both immediately agree that you need a third person’s help. You and Jungkook can do plenty, but you are only two people. And there’s nothing in the final project guidelines that says you can’t enlist other people to partake in the production. But you don’t need help with the filming and editing. You need help with the interviews.

“Is this bedsheet good enough?” Kim Taehyung, a senior in the film program, asks as he’s Command-stripping a queen-sized black bedsheet to an empty wall in the living room of his tiny one-bedroom apartment.

“As long as it fits into the frame,” Jungkook responds from where he’s standing behind the camera, set up on a tripod to capture a specific angle. “You’re not going to be in the shot anyway. You’ll just be asking the questions.”

“Good, because I look really ugly right now,” Taehyung says with a grin. You roll your eyes. Taehyung must know he always looks good. Even you can’t deny him of that.

“This is ridiculous,” you say, seated on the singular couch in his apartment. You’re leaning on your elbow as you watch Taehyung fiddle with the bedsheet and Jungkook futz with the camera, the two of them repositioning themselves over and over again until everything’s perfect. “What are you even gonna ask us?”

“I came up with some… preliminary questions,” Taehyung says suggestively. “But I haven’t told either of you what they are so that your reactions can be more genuine.”

“Great,” you deadpan.

“Wow, someone’s excited,” Jungkook comments snidely.

“I know we agreed on periodic interviews for the sake of the mockumentary but I don’t know why we have to be so… so serious about them,” you say with a frown.

“We have to promise to be honest with what we say, alright? Like, actually honest. This sets a guideline for the rest of our relationship,” Jungkook says like it’s no big deal. Like the foundation of your relationship isn’t the fact that the two of you have been engaged in discussion-board war ever since the semester began.

“Our ‘relationship’?” You say with a scoff.

“Do you promise?” Jungkook says.

You roll your eyes. “Yes, I promise.” Whatever. “What do you even think is going to happen between us in the next few weeks?”

Jungkook smirks. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

You don’t like the sound of that.

Over the next ten minutes, Taehyung gets the sheet attached to his wall and pulls over two stools from his kitchen counters, old-timey wooden ones he got from a thrift store for five dollars a pop, one for him and one for the poor soul who has to be interviewed. You’ve agreed to do them separately but Taehyung’s apartment is only so big and you are only three people, which means that whoever isn’t being interviewed still has to be behind the camera, listening to the other person.

Makes you sort of nervous about whatever’s stewing up inside Jungkook’s mind. Wonder what the hell it is he’s plotting up there.

Once everything is settled, Taehyung looks at the two of you as he asks who’s going first.

You turn to Jungkook, who’s already grinning. “Ladies first.”

For someone who has spent their whole life watching and making movies, being in front of the camera feels weirdly uncomfortable to you. You’re so used to being behind it instead, directing others as they move around the frame, telling them how to feel and how to act and what to say, that having the spotlight shone on you is like picking through your thoughts with a fine-toothed comb.

You adjust awkwardly in the bar stool seat as Jungkook stands behind the camera, twisting the lens until he gives you the thumbs-up. Quite frankly, it doesn’t make you feel any better.

“You ready?” Taehyung asks as he takes a seat opposite you, just out of frame.

“Well, we’ve gotta start somewhere, right?”

“That’s the spirit. Alright, Jungkook, start whenever you’re good.”

“Okay,” Jungkook chirps up. “Three, two, one—” He points to the both of you.

“So, Y/N,” Taehyung begins, his voice suddenly much clearer. He sounds sort of like a news anchor. It’s oddly fitting. “Are you excited to begin the filming for this?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” You muse.

“That didn’t answer my question,” Taehyung points out. Good thing the camera can’t see the way his eyebrows raise.

“I suppose that there are worse things I could be doing,” you reason, which is about as good of an answer as Taehyung’s going to get. What was he expecting you to say? That you were thrilled to be filming this not-a-rom-com with your class nemesis? That you couldn’t wait to see what would happen?

“Loving the enthusiasm,” Taehyung jokes. You wonder what your classmates will think when they watch this back, hearing this unidentified deep male voice ask you and Jungkook questions about your relationship. “Let me ask you this: what’s your current relationship with Jungkook?”

“Uh…” you begin, nervous. Behind the camera, Jungkook has that same stupid, shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. You sneer. “It’s… it’s professional.”

“Can you explain what you mean by that?”

“I mean we’re classmates. That’s the relationship.”

“That’s it?” You can hear the skepticism in Taehyung’s voice, almost like he’s egging you on to say something more.

“We’ve had some personal disagreements on topics discussed in class. But yes, we’re just classmates,” you elaborate slightly. It’s not as if anyone needs reminding of that, anyway. They all see your discussion board posts.

“And how do you expect that relationship to change over the course of this project?”

“I don’t think it’ll change at all.” It’s the easiest answer so far. Requires no energy nor brain power for you to think about it.

Taehyung nods his head in intrigue. “And why’s that?”

“Because this is a project for a class, not a life lesson.”

“Who says it can’t be both?”

You frown. “Whose side are you on?”

Five feet away, Jungkook laughs.

Taehyung chuckles. “Alright, moving on. What do you expect from Jungkook over the next few weeks as you start working on building your relationship?”

“I hope he becomes less unbearable,” you say, though you suppose that’s more of a general life goal than one that’s project-specific. But it would be nice if he became a little more… palatable. Just so you don’t have to feel the urge to sock him in the face every time you speak to each other.

“‘Less unbearable’, excellent,” Taehyung repeats. “Anything else?”

“Well,” you say with a shrug, not sure what else to say. What do you want from Jungkook? Obviously the two of you are about to embark on your own rom-com adventure, no doubt most of it his doing, but it’s hard to imagine that he himself (or you, for that matter) will change. If anything, the rom-com setting will just exacerbate the worst parts of both your personalities. Like some sort of curse. “I guess I just hope that the project goes smoothly.”

“I hope that it does, too,” Taehyung says with a smile. “Okay, last question.” Thank God. This interview couldn’t have been more than five minutes, but it feels like an eternity to you. “Do you think you and Jungkook will fall in love at the end of this?”

“No.” You don’t leave any room for hesitation. “I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“We’re very different people with very different interests,” you explain succinctly. You’re sure Taehyung will grasp that once Jungkook has his turn and answers all the same questions. “He can try his hardest, but some things are just meant to stay the way they are.”

“Okay, thank you, Y/N, that’s all. I hope you found our conversation illuminating,” Taehyung says, his cue for the camera to stop rolling. You and Taehyung both turn to Jungkook, waiting for his signal, letting out a sigh when Jungkook gives you a thumbs-up.

“Thank fuck,” you say, hopping off of the barstool happily. You head towards the camera, ready to kick Jungkook off of it, because it’s your turn to stand behind it with an annoying look on your face as you react to every stupid thing Jungkook says. You find that you’re actually sort of looking forward to it. Being behind the camera is where you feel most at home. Making faces at Jungkook is just a bonus.

Jungkook’s still grinning that same goddamn grin when you approach him, making you narrow your eyes.

“‘He can try his hardest’?” Jungkook teases, voice all high-pitched to mimic yours. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“Ah yes, my mission in life,” you retort easily. Maybe goading him on isn’t the best course of action, but you’re so confident that you won’t change your mind you find yourself actually anticipating his efforts. “Think you have what it takes?”

“Believe me, I do,” Jungkook says with a devilish glint in his eyes.

You roll your eyes and kick him off the camera with a shove, pushing him towards Taehyung as he waits diligently on that chair of his.

“So, Jungkook, same questions,” Taehyung says as Jungkook gets ready in his seat, fixing the blonde strands of hair that curl around the side of his face, framing his cheeks.

“What? That’s no fair, he got to think about all his answers,” you exclaim, positively indignant.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Jungkook says, voice sickly smooth, honey falling off his lips. “I’ve actually been thinking about the two of us for a long time.”

You pretend to throw up on Taehyung’s hardwood floor.

As Taehyung promised, he asks Jungkook the same questions. And, as predicted, his answers about as far away from yours as the sun is from Pluto:

“Are you excited to begin the filming for this?”

Jungkook grins. “Yes, definitely. I actually took this class after hearing from a friend that the final project was a lot of fun.”

Taehyung beams. That friend was him. No wonder he was so happy to sign onto helping the two of you.

“And how would you describe your current relationship with Y/N?”

“We’re soon-to-be-lovers.”

“How forward of you.”

“Isn’t that my job?”

You have to stop yourself from bursting out into laughter behind the camera and ruining the interview. At least he’s not hiding anything. You’ll give him that.

“So I suppose you expect the two of you to fall in love over the course of the project?”

“Yes, that’s going to happen.”

“And you seem pretty confident when you say that.”

Jungkook smirks as he turns to the camera. Or, more accurately, you. “Confidence is attractive.”

You shake your head back at him.

The rest of the interview falls pretty much into the same vein as the first few questions. Jungkook is so brazenly determined and hopeful and optimistic it actually pains you in a way, watching him make all of these promises both to you and himself that this project is going to turn out the way he hopes it does. His answers remind you of his discussion board posts, always looking on the bright side of every movie you watch, always finding the silver lining, the light at the end of the tunnel. A movie could be total Hollywood crap, filled with cheating scandals and misunderstandings and betrayals, and Jungkook could still find beauty in it.

It’s strange.

For the sake of you not actually throwing up in Taehyung’s lovely apartment, you tune out the majority of the middle of the conversation, having zero desire to listen to Jungkook wax poetic about your non-existent relationship like he’s saying his wedding vows. Only when Taehyung finally remarks that they’re on the last question do you finally come to again, ready to turn the camera off as soon as Jungkook finishes his answer.

“Jungkook, do you think you and Y/N will fall in love at the end of this?”

“I do.” Wow, what a shocker. “I do, because I hope that by the end of this Y/N will have opened her eyes to the beauty of love, and will find joy in the feeling as something that makes her feel happy and warm. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure the things we do together are meaningful. And even if we don’t last, I hope that her memories of us together will be ones she can look back upon fondly and be grateful for.”

You purse your lips together. If only it were that easy.

“Alright, cut,” you say, voice distant as Jungkook thanks Taehyung for his time and hops off the bar stool. “Thanks, Tae.”

“Anytime, you guys,” Taehyung says with a grin.

Jungkook comes over to where you’re standing, possibly to grab his camera and tripod but most definitely to rub his obnoxious personality all up in your face.

“You really think you’re gonna get me to fall in love with you, huh?” You muse, an eyebrow raised as you look up at him. “Just so you can prove a point?”

“Believe it or not, Y/N, but I actually think that all people deserve the chance to experience love and that happens to include you, as well,” Jungkook responds easily.

The words put a sour taste in your mouth. “You think I deserve it, huh?”

Jungkook nods, face solemn as he looks at you, gazing into your eyes with those big brown ones of his own. It makes you feel something unfamiliar. Like he’s reading right through your chest, into your heart. You don’t like it. “Everyone deserves love.”

“You guys are coming back, right? So I can leave the sheet up?” Taehyung interrupts after he’s moved both of his bar stools back to his kitchen counter.

“Yeah, we’ll be back,” Jungkook answers quickly. “Thanks for setting everything up, by the way.”

“Of course. Plus, this is a good background for my nudes,” Taehyung says casually, like he’s mentioning what he’s having for dinner. “Looking forward to seeing you guys again.”

“Us, too,” Jungkook says. “Ready to go?”

“Only because it means I don’t have to see you anymore,” you retort pointedly, grabbing your backpack from where it sits on his couch as you head towards the door.

“Just you wait, Y/N,” Jungkook says as you leave Taehyung’s building, one of those old-timey Victorian houses that was converted into a whole bunch of apartments. “You’re gonna see that I’m right.”

“Really? About what?”

“About us,” Jungkook says. You come to the stoplight, where Jungkook keeps going straight and you turn right.

“Us?”

Jungkook grins as you turn in the direction of your own apartment. And, just as the light turns green, he says, “Just you wait. We’re gonna fall in love, you and me.”

If he says so.

“Hey! Y/N!”

You whip your head around at the sound of your name just as you’re opening the door to your local Starbucks, wondering who the hell is calling out to you at nine-thirty in the morning on a Wednesday.

As it turns out, you don’t have to wonder too much, because the moment your eyes adjust to the blinding sunlight coming from the east side of campus you see Jungkook hurtling towards you, heavy black boots stomping down on the pavement as he rushes to catch up with you.

“Can I help you?” You ask, thoroughly unimpressed, as you pull open the door, looking at Jungkook heaving beside you as he holds the door open for himself.

“Just glad I caught you,” Jungkook gasps out between breaths. “Figured this might make a good scene for the movie.”

“It’s a mockumentary,” you remind him easily, getting in the line.

“Whatever,” Jungkook says. “What do you normally get here? I don’t really go to Starbucks often.”

“Whatever will give me the most caffeine for the least amount of money,” you retort.

“How efficient,” Jungkook comments.

“You know that’s how I like to be,” you tell him with a pointed look.

Jungkook mumbles his acknowledgement as he fumbles around in his backpack, fishing through the large pocket until he whips out his Canon, holding it out in front of him like he’s a dad about to film an embarrassing shot of his child. You look down at the camera just as he pans up to you, a confused frown written across your features. Jungkook laughs.

“Do you really need to do that here?”

“I’m not even filming,” Jungkook says with a smile, like he just pulled his camera out so he could look at your unimpressed face through a different lens. “Look, you’re up.”

You turn around to find that the woman ahead of you in line has just moved towards the pick-up side of the counter, so you shimmy over towards the barista, ready to get this over with so you can dart out of the Starbucks as soon as possible.

“Just a grande Americano, please,” you request simply, fingers grasping for the wallet inside your coat pocket.

“Me too,” Jungkook chirps up from behind you. The closeness of his voice makes you jump, and suddenly you become keenly cognizant of how he’s practically pressed up next to you as he leans over towards the counter. You catch a glimpse of the debit card in his hand. “Here.”

“You don’t have to pay for me, it’s fine,” you quickly say, holding out your own card to the barista.

“No, it’s okay, I want to. Here.” Jungkook pushes your hand away as he tries to stuff his card into the reader.

“No, I won’t let you. I’m a big girl, I can pay for my own coffee,” you rebuke, feeling yourself growing oddly defensive.

Jungkook sighs from behind you. “Oh, come on, you can’t let me do one nice thing for you?”

“Will one of you please pay, you’re holding up the line,” the barista asks in a desperate tone, clearly too overworked and too underpaid to be dealing with two bratty college students like yourselves.

Jungkook manages to shove his card into the reader before you get the chance to do it yourself, pushing you to the side as he verifies all of his information and takes his receipt. Next to him, you seethe to yourself, feeling a personal loss even though you just got your coffee paid for. It’s not about the money. It’s about your pride. Never in your life have you wanted to so badly pay for an overpriced Starbucks coffee.

You and Jungkook mosey over to the other side of the counter, waiting for your identical drinks to be made as you try and calculate how much longer you have to stand in the same room and breathe the same air as Jungkook. Seeing him in class, on your discussion board posts, and for your arranged final project meetings apparently isn’t enough, so now he has to invade your personal life, too.

“What are you doing?” You huff out angrily, turning to Jungkook even as he holds his camera out in front of him, filming the Starbucks.

“Recording our first meeting, obviously,” Jungkook says like it’s some kind of no-brainer. Like you were in on that from the moment he called your name out on the street.

“What do you mean, ‘our first meeting’?” You scrunch up your nose in confusion. “We’ve known each other since the semester started.”

“I know, but…” Jungkook trails off unhelpfully, but you pick up what he’s putting down regardless. Right. This is supposed to be a mockumentary rom-com. And rom-coms always start with an introduction.

The barista behind the counter calls out Jungkook’s name as he places two same-sized cups down at the pick-up station. The cup is burning hot, even with the little cardboard holder wrapped around it like a leg warmer, so you immediately move over to the station up against the wall with all of the sugar packets and napkins and little green splash sticks. Jungkook joins you without question, whether it be due to the fact that he doesn’t come here very often or because he just wants to keep invading your space, you couldn’t say. Grabbing one of the wooden sticks, you tug the plastic lid off of the cup and give the coffee a swirl. Watching you, Jungkook takes the lid off of his as well.

“Are you just going to copy everything I do?” You deadpan.

“Not everything…” Jungkook trails off suspiciously, looking down into his coffee like the two of them are conspiring something.

“What are you talki—”

Without warning, Jungkook slams half of his body into you, and without a lid or one of those little green sticks, the coffee sploshes over the side of his cup and drenches the front of your exposed hoodie, hot liquid burning through the fabric of the hoodie and the t-shirt you have on underneath. You watch in horror as Jungkook plays it off like an accident, feet fumbling around on the hardwood floor like he had just tripped. But he didn’t just trip. He dumped half of his Americano onto the both of your fronts.

“Jungkook!” You say instantly, resisting the urge to scream because you’re in a public place but feeling your skin go as hot as the coffee against your torso as you look up at him, fuming.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I’m such a klutz,” Jungkook says, somehow able to regain his balance, hold his coffee cup, and film the whole adventure all at the same time. “That was totally my fault, let me help you with that.”

The camera is from his perspective, which you suppose is about as real as it gets for something grounded in reality like a mockumentary, but in this position he’s able to make conversation with his eyes, big brown ones wide as he tries to signify what exactly he means when he purposely spills coffee all over the two of you.

You get it. You’ve seen enough rom-coms to know why he just did what he did, but you still find your mouth agape as you stare up at him, smoldering and angry and a little shocked he would dare be so bold, especially in the middle of a Starbucks coffee shop.

“For God’s sake,” you say with an exhausted sigh despite it not even being ten in the morning yet. Unable to form any other comprehensible words, you settle for just pulling out napkins from the dispenser and dabbing the front of your hoodie as Jungkook looks at you apologetically. You can’t even tell if he’s truly sorry or just putting on another one of his shows.

“I feel so bad,” Jungkook says, and you calm yourself down enough to nod. At least he isn’t blatantly laughing. “Can I pay for dry cleaning?”

“You’re really gonna offer to pay for my dry cleaning?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

“It was my fault,” Jungkook admits. Now that you can agree on.

You shake your head. “It’s okay. It’s just an old hoodie, it’s no big deal.”

“I’m still sorry,” Jungkook insists, and the more he says it the more you actually find yourself starting to believe him. Even if he did just spill coffee all over you. “Here, let me give you my jacket—”

“That’s not necessary,” you say as he shrugs off his backpack and begins to remove the bulky denim jacket he’s wearing, fabric worn and soft from years of use. “Seriously, it’s okay, it’s just a hoodie.”

“Yeah, but now you have coffee all over your clothes and you probably have class soon, right?” He says, an apologetic smile lacing his lips. He tugs off his jacket and holds it out towards you.

“Jungkook, I’m fine, alright? I appreciate your concern, though,” you assure him. You throw away the last of the coffee-stained napkins in your hands and reach down for your backpack, which you had taken off your shoulders somewhere in the chaos.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, almost as if he was expecting resistance, and leans over you anyway. His arms extend outwards as he wraps his enormous denim jacket over your shoulders, the fabric draping loosely over your body. The damn thing was big on him, so on you it practically eats you up. You stand there, silent, as Jungkook adjusts the jacket on your torso, pulling underneath the hood of your sweatshirt as he makes sure it’s snug across your figure.

“There,” Jungkook says.

“Thanks,” you say, a half grin playing on your lips. The gesture makes you wonder if Jungkook really was planning on giving up his jacket this early in the morning for the sake of your movie. “That’s nice of you.”

“I hope it makes up for the fact that you smell like coffee now,” Jungkook says, a hand coming up to rub at the nape of his neck.

“I appreciate it,” you say.

“I have class, too, so I have to go,” Jungkook says, hoisting his backpack on his shoulders as he tucks his camera away. “I’m sorry again! See you around?”

Like you even have a choice.

“Yeah, see you around,” you say as Jungkook darts off just as quickly as he arrived, rushing out the door before you have the chance to change your mind and give him his jacket back.

When he leaves you, you find yourself at a loss for words. You stand there, lips pursed, coffee cold, as the weight of his jacket rests heavy on your shoulders.

It smells like him.

You should have known he would do something like this. Spill coffee all over the two of you, offer you his jacket, dash off like Cinderella at midnight. Like the opening of the world’s worst rom-com. The start of what is no doubt going to be the most unbearable final project you have ever done.

Plus, the other thing it’s ensured is a second meeting. How else is he going to get his jacket back?

And you know what the worst part is?

This is only the beginning.

This time after FILM395 ends lecture for the day, it’s your turn to catch Jungkook lounging around after class.

He’s lingering around the outside of the building, scrolling through his phone, a heavy leather jacket resting over a flannel that goes down to his knees and a baseball cap sitting firmly on his tuft of blonde hair. He’s obviously not paying attention to any of his surroundings whatsoever, because he doesn’t even notice you exiting out of the door he’s standing by until you say his name.

“Jungkook,” you say, arriving in front of him.

“Wha—oh, hi,” Jungkook says, jumping at the suddenness of it all.

“Here,” you say, holding out his oversized denim jacket in between the two of you. “Thanks for letting me borrow it.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were going to give it back so soon,” Jungkook says, looking a little surprised and… is he touched?

“I was going to give it to you a couple days ago but I thought I should give it a wash first,” you admit to him.

Instinctively, Jungkook brings the jacket up to his nose to sniff it. “Smells like lavender.”

“Yeah, it’s my detergent. Hope you don’t mind. It’s a little wrinkled—I let it air dry since I was worried it might shrink in the dryer.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook says, a genuine smile lacing itself across his features. It’s not one you see too often, and definitely not the kind of smile he usually flashes in your direction. Those are all so obnoxious, so full of himself. This one’s different. It’s appreciative. Kinder. Softer. In a lot of ways. “I was thinking, if you don’t have class now, do you wanna grab some coffee?”

You narrow your eyes. “Only if you promise not to spill it on me this time.”

Jungkook laughs, throwing his head back. “Okay, I got it. I won’t spill it on you.”

“Promise?” You prompt.

“Promise.”

The walk to Starbucks this time is in relative silence, but neither of you seems to mind it very much. You aren’t dashing to catch up with each other and heaving snarky comments as you catch your breath. Jungkook even notices you shiver in the cool March breeze and wraps his jacket around you again anyway, although this time you make a mental note to make sure he doesn’t leave without it. Even though a lavender scent wafts off of the denim, it still smells a little bit like him. That boyish sort of aroma. You don’t think any detergent would ever be able to get rid of that.

You and Jungkook both get americanos again because you’re predictable and creatures of habit, and Jungkook actually seems to quite like them. He pays and you don’t spend two minutes standing in front of the barista fighting over it. Jungkook seems so determined to pay the extra four dollars for your drink that you aren’t sure if it’s really worth arguing over it for the sake of pride anymore. What you and Jungkook put into making this project a success is what you’re going to get out of it.

He picks one of the longer tables in the back of the study space, empty because it’s just after the lunchtime rush and most people have classes now, sets up the camera at one end, and you sit down at the other.

“So,” you begin, not sure where to start because your coffee is too hot to take a sip from it.

“So,” Jungkook echoes.

Silence.

You purse your lips in that awkward, I-don’t-know-what-to-say kind of way. “What do you want to do?”

Jungkook grins. “This is the part where we get to know each other.”

“We already know each other.” You frown.

“Do we?” Jungkook poses, an eyebrow raised. “I mean, yeah, I guess we aren’t strangers, but I don’t know anything about you. Other than you’re a film major in a rom-com class who hates rom-coms.”

“I don’t hate rom-coms,” you object. “I just think it’s important to look at them from a critical lens.”

“Okay, whatever,” Jungkook says, shrugging you off. “The point is that we don’t know anything else about each other. Like, what’s your favorite color, for example?”

“Purple.” It’s an easy answer. You wore purple princess dresses when you were five, painted your bedroom lilac when you were ten, and still make sure to keep a purple highlighter in your pencil case now. “What’s yours?”

“Red,” Jungkook responds.

“Cool,” you say, effectively ending the rest of the conversation.

Jungkook, sensing that same awkward silence, suggests something. “How about you ask me something now? We can go back and forth.”

You shrug. It’s not like you have anything better to do. “Alright.” You think for a moment, but then you have the perfect question. “Why film?”

Jungkook was clearly not expecting something so loaded, because his brows furrow, knitting themselves together as he begins to figure out a good enough answer. “Hmm,” he says, lost deep in thought. “I suppose the standard answer would be that I’ve always been interested in it, but I think I chose film because I want to be able to have the gift to tell other people’s stories. Being a filmmaker doesn’t just mean you stand behind a camera. It means you immerse yourself in the lives of other people to create something new. And… I don’t know. I guess I really like doing that.”

You nod.

For once, you understand him. Understand why he chose to major in film, why he chose to be in this tiny little program. Because there is so much out there, so much that you will never know, people you will never meet and things you will never see. And it’s a filmmaker’s job to make them turn into things you will see, people you will meet. Who knows the world better than the people who study it? The people who have devoted their lives to learning all its secrets?

“What about you?”

“Same as you,” you tell him. “Film is an art but it’s more than that to me. It’s a new way to look at the world. It’s several new ways to look at the world, depending on what kind of film you want to create and what kind of story you want to tell. I think it’s important to show people that all of the things they see in the media every day are not always reality. And that real people deserve to have their stories told, too. I don’t know. That’s what I think.”

Jungkook grins, a twinkle in his eyes. “Real people like us?”

“This project is different,” you insist.

“I don’t think it is,” Jungkook says. “You said it yourself, we’re making this because it’s important to show people that the Hollywood entertainment they consume is not reality. This is. This is reality.”

You frown, kicking yourself in the shin because what was supposed to be a harmless conversation has now turned into an opportunity for Jungkook to try and convince you that you will, in fact, fall in love with him. You’ve dug your own grave and Jungkook was the one who handed you the shovel.

“You’re not giving up, are you?” You say, shaking your head, flabbergasted. “Reality is the fact that this project is not going to make me fall in love with you. Nothing is.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Jungkook warns. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“You mean like spilling burning hot coffee all over me?” You ask, an eyebrow raised, a grudge still held.

“We had to start somewhere,” Jungkook defends. “And you seemed to understand what I was doing pretty quickly.”

“It’s not the worst thing someone’s done to me,” you concede, only slightly. “Besides, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but throwing hot coffee all over me is not really a good way to start off your plan to get me to fall in love with you.”

Jungkook smiles. “All in due time, Y/N. All in due time.”

“I can’t believe Pollack actually paired us up together,” you say with a sigh. “You know she did it on purpose.”

“Of course she did.” It’s not really a surprise to either of you.

“I met with her right after she announced our partners,” you tell him, “she said it was because she wanted to see what kind of project we would come up with. How we would address our… differing views on love.” That’s one way of putting it. A rather nice way, if you do say so yourself.

“Speaking of which,” Jungkook says, something suddenly flashing through his mind, “what do you really think about love? You know, other than it’s unrealistic and ruins people’s lives.”

“You make me sound like Ebeneezer Scrooge.” You frown at him.

“I’m serious,” insists Jungkook. “Why are you so pessimistic about it? Have you ever been in love? Have you had bad experiences? You couldn’t have just developed this worldview over time.”

You scowl, feeling yourself getting defensive. “Well, maybe I did. Maybe that’s just what I think. Why do you care?”

“Because people don’t just hate love for no reason,” Jungkook exclaims. “Come on, there must be something.”

Your body stiffens. Who is he to be asking you this sort of shit? Why does he care so much? It’s not like it will have any effect on the outcome of your project. Not like you explaining yourself will change the way either of you look at the world.

“What’s it to you?” You challenge. “Why do you love love so much? Have you ever fallen in love? Do you think it’s suddenly going to solve all of your problems?”

“I love it because I think it brings people real joy,” Jungkook answers simply. “It makes people happy and it’s beautiful. I love love and I’m not ashamed to say that out loud. I believe in it. I believe in love, and in destiny, and in soulmates. I want that. I think everyone deserves it.”

You scoff to yourself. “You believe in soulmates?”

“I think we all have our people out there.” Jungkook nods. “Don’t you?”

You roll your eyes, arms crossed over your chest. This conversation has gone nowhere, and Jungkook looks as equally dissatisfied as you do.

“I think love can make us do stupid things,” you tell him succinctly, if a little jaded. No need to say anything else. Your explanation is right there. “We’re just different, I guess. You and I.”

Jungkook blinks at you, eyes wide and a little desperate. Your conversation has remained stagnant and there’s almost nothing left to say.

Almost.

“Don’t you ever want to fall in love?” He asks, like it’s a last-ditch effort to get you to believe.

You freeze. Let the words sink in for a moment. Before you push them out the door and toss them into the garbage. Just thinking about it gives you a headache. Puts a sour taste in your mouth.

Quickly, you push yourself out of your chair and stand up, grabbing your coffee with one hand and your backpack with the other. “I have to go, sorry. I just remembered I’m meeting up with a friend to help her with a photography shoot,” you fumble out quickly, the legs of the chair screeching as you scoot them across the hardwood floor. “Oh, here’s your jacket, too. Thanks for giving it to me again. I’ll see you in class.”

You whip around and head towards the exit, and only when you’re outside of the Starbucks and passing by the window do you dare look back. Do you dare let your gaze drift back to Jungkook, who is sitting there like he still doesn’t understand you. Still can’t.

You and Jungkook are final project partners and maybe, if you’re pushing it, acquaintances-slash-friends. But there are just some things better kept to yourself.

We’re reaching the halfway point in this semester and, as you all know, I don’t do midterms. That said, I still want you to reflect on what you’ve learned, discovered, and thought about thus far in this class. What portrayal of love did you find the most realistic? The least? How have they changed the way you think about love, both from a personal and a film perspective?

Y/N Y/N on March 3rd at 6:08PM

Purely from a film perspective, I really did enjoy watching Juno. It was funny and raunchy and just the right amount of vulnerable. It certainly felt the most real. So far, no film in this class has topped it for me. 500 Days of Summer, on the other hand, was in my opinion extremely unsatisfying and left no positive impression. The ending was a bore and Tom had absolutely no spine. It was a shame, because the direction and production was actually quite good.

I guess I’m starting to realize how real love is not pretty. It can make people just as sad as it can make them happy. Why don’t we show the sad sides of love, too? The sides where your room is covered with a pile of clothes because you can’t bring yourself to do the laundry? Where you cannot cook a meal because it reminds you of a breakup? Rom-coms are, obviously, not the most realistic. But why are there not more films that do cover what’s real? How can we love love if all we know is a lie?

Jeon Jungkook on March 3rd at 11:13PM

Of course, I thought The Big Sick did an excellent job of their portrayal of love, adult life, and the problems that plague us all in the twenty-first century. It was also just as emotional and touched on concepts of race, illness, and being in your twenties and having no idea what direction your life is going in. The Princess Bride, on the other hand, as much as I love it, I do think created a more circumstantial kind of love. Westley and Buttercup mostly fall in love because of their situations. But it remains a classic nonetheless.

I’m satisfied with the way the film industry has produced rom-coms and handles love. The beauty of it is that love is different for every person who goes through it. It can bring the greatest joy and the most painful sorrow. We do not just figure out what love is by what we see on film. We see it in our real lives, in our parents, in our friends, in couples in coffee shops and cars and on sidewalks. We can love love because we want that joy for ourselves. Because we know that true love will be worth any heartbreak we endure. Is it not impossible for the portrayals of love in these rom-coms to not be real? The way everyone experiences it is different. The only way you can know what real love is, and what it is not, is if you fall in love yourself.

Early on in your project development, you and Jungkook exchanged class schedules to optimize your productivity and skip over that stupid, terrible part of partner projects where you’re just going back and forth trying to pick a time that works for the both of you until you eventually settle on something ridiculous like eleven o’clock at night outside of the McDonald’s two blocks off of campus.

It’s been working very well. Neither of you have adventurous-enough friends to invite you out on spontaneous picnics and restaurant dates that fuck with your pre-scheduled meeting times, and Jungkook already seems to have mastered the art of screaming your name when he catches you on the sidewalk so that you can film something.

In fact, you’re actually beginning to wonder why you haven’t done this with all of your long-term partner projects. Send each other your schedules so that you can settle on a time in advance. No muss, no fuss.

You and Jungkook are supposed to meet up again tonight, after the two of you are finished with all of your classes, to discuss what scenes you should be filming next. Edited down, you’ve already got about ten minutes worth of footage, but it’s mid-March and the project is due at the end of April. So you need to get this show on the road.

The door slams shut behind you as you exit the business building, your film industry class having just ended a minute ago. You’ve got an hour to kill before your next class, just enough time to dash to the food court in the center of campus and grab something from the Japanese place in the back corner. You might even have time to browse the shelves in the bookstore if you’re fast enough.

You round the corner to the main pathway through campus when a voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

It’s not Jungkook. Instead, in the middle of the walkway are the Eighth Notes, one of the fifteen-thousand (you don’t know for sure, but if you had to estimate) acapella groups on campus. They’ve got mic stands and a table set up and everything. Maybe they’re promoting an upcoming show…?

You almost breeze right by when one of them, the one in the middle of the group, points right at you, a lopsided grin lacing his features. You aren’t one to normally stop in the middle of a crowded footpath, but when, one after another, all six of the boys start pointing at you, you have no choice.

“You’d be like Heaven to touch…”

“I wanna hold you so much…”

“At long last, love has arrived…”

“And I thank God I’m alive…”

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

Their voices are smooth like honey, warm and deep, romancing you through their mics as each one of them suddenly manifests a rose from behind them. Around you, people are starting to stare, gawking at you as they walk by. There’s even a small crowd starting to gather, and you swear you can see some people filming on their phones. The fact that this is happening in the busiest ten minutes of the day, as half the student body is walking from one class to another, isn’t helping. At all.

The rest of them singing in the background, each one steps out from behind the set of microphones to hand you the rose, smiling their classic, old-timey smiles like those old jazz singers from the 1960s, until you’ve got half a dozen in your hands as they continue to sing.

“But if you feel like I feel…”

“Please let me know that it’s real…”

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

And then, suddenly, all of them are shutting their traps and turning to the left, looking down the pathway as the song begins again, but from one-hundred feet away.

“I love you, baby, and if it’s quite alright, I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night…”

Your mouth drops. At the other end of the walkway is Jungkook, one of those wireless microphones in his hand, grinning as he saunters down the path like a prince at a ball, voice sweet and thick as the words dance off of his lips.

“I love you, baby, trust in me when I say…”

Your eyes lock from opposite ends of the path, Jungkook stepping closer with every beat the Eighth Notes gives him. It sort of feels like your impending doom and a wedding proposal, all at once. By now a rather substantial audience has gathered, lining the walkway with their phones out, filming Jungkook as he waltzes past them, occasionally turning to capture your gobsmacked expression.

Every step that Jungkook takes makes your heart race something fierce, cheeks warming in embarrassment, trapped in your least favorite thing in the entire world: a public serenade. You can’t really do anything except look at him in shock, feeling his steady gaze resting firmly on your figure, looking right at you. Into you.

“Oh, pretty baby, don’t bring me down, I pray…”

Oh, pretty baby, now that I’ve found you, stay…”

Jungkook, on the other hand, is clearly relishing in this. In the spotlight. In the music. Or maybe just in the fact that you’re on the receiving end of his over-the-top advances. His grin is wide as he takes those last few steps, microphone gripped neatly in his hand, the lyrics warm and weighty as they tumble from his lips.

“And let me love you, baby…”

One final step and he’s right in front of you, staring into your eyes, letting himself bask in the look on your face. He produces a rose himself—cherry red, like his favorite color—and holds it out in between the two of you. In the background, the Eighth Notes go quiet, leaving Jungkook on his own for the final line.

“Let me love you…”

The words drift above your heads, disappearing into the sky as he lingers on them, on that last note, beaming down at you. He looks at you, so hopeful, so happy, so endeared, and what else can you do? What else, besides taking the rose from his hand and smiling back up at him? Who are you to deny him of that?

The crowd around you cheers when you do, applauding both Jungkook and the Eighth Notes, with whom he is apparently in cahoots, before they all decide that they ought to get on with their day and head to class. No doubt you’ll be on several dozen Instagram stories by nightfall.

Only after everyone has dispersed do you notice Taehyung, who must have been here since the beginning, because he’s just turning off the camera dangling from his neck. Of course Jungkook got him to film. Other than your project, what else would this be for?

“Is that the best you can do, Jungkook?” You smirk up at him, only saying this because you can’t have him knowing that you actually kind of enjoyed it.

“You’re still here, aren’t you?” Jungkook responds easily. “Thought I would do something spontaneous.”

“And now you’ve taken up ten minutes of my lunch,” you say, shaking your head to yourself. “How spontaneous, indeed.”

“How was that, Jungkook?”

Behind the two of you, the Eighth Notes are packing up, clearly more than happy to have aided Jungkook on his quest for so-called love and getting to promote their group in the process.

“Great, thank you so much, Jimin,” Jungkook says to the one in the middle, the very first one to sing when you walked out of the door.

“Anytime, dude. Glad we could help,” Jimin responds. He waves hi to Taehyung, too, as they store their microphones and go on their way.

Jungkook bids them goodbye as they head down the path, smiling at all of them before he turns back to you, notices the distant, faraway look in your eyes as you twirl the rose between your fingers, press it to your nose to pick up its scent.

“You gotta admit, I’m a pretty good singer, eh?” Jungkook says with a nudge to your shoulder.

“You’re alright.”

Jungkook laughs to himself. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get a big head,” you warn.

“Think I’ll have to sing for you more, now, hmm? Since you liked it so much?” He suggests, eyebrows wiggling.

You roll your eyes. “Only if you can get Jimin and the Eighth Notes to back you up, again. Then maybe I’ll allow it.”

Jungkook grins. He’s far past the point of being deterred by your deadpan comments. If anything, they only encourage him more. But you, for obvious reasons, cannot give in. At least, not yet, anyway.

“Okay, go eat your lunch,” he says, nodding as you begin to part ways. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

You smile. “Okay. See you.”

“See you, too.”

The moment you get back to your apartment you put all seven roses in an old vase filled with water. They brighten up your bedroom instantly, soft scent freshening up the air. And when you go to bed that night, it is to Jungkook’s sweet, delicate voice, like walking on clouds, like satin and silk, that you fall asleep.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Jungkook greets like always, smiling at you as you walk in the door for FILM395.

“Good morning, Jungkook,” you say in response.

Then, you take a seat right next to him.

It’s an act that clearly catches everyone off guard, if the bewildered looks of your fellow classmates and Jungkook’s confused expression are anything to go by. Even Pollack, when she walks through the door, gets a bit of a shock, eyes widening when she sees the two of you seated next to each other.

You suppose all the fuss is understandable. After all, you both sort of hate each other.

Other than the sudden change in seating arrangement, however, the rest of the class goes off without much issue. Pollack lectures for an hour before you move into discussion, at which point it becomes a class participation free-for-all, with you and Jungkook almost definitely in the lead. Just because you’re now sitting next to each other doesn’t mean either of you are suddenly going to stop raising your hands to rebuke each other’s points. Some things never change.

Sitting next to Jungkook is not as bad as you thought it would be. For one, he is, for the most part, a rather diligent student. Other than his occasional flicks to his email, an essay he’s working on, or your discussion board, he mostly sits and takes notes and doesn’t do anything else. That, you can at least give him credit for. And even though your elbows almost always nearly crash into each other’s when you’re raising your hands to respond to a point Pollack’s made, discussion isn’t so bad either.

One of the perks of sitting directly beside each other is that whenever he says something stupid, or saccharine, or just overly unrealistic, you don’t have to just roll your eyes from the back of the classroom while you wait to be called on. You also get to kick his foot with your own, nudge your elbow into his side. And he does the same to you. You and Jungkook are like those neighbors in sitcoms that spend all their free time shouting at each other from opposite windows. Just because your seats have gotten closer doesn’t mean your viewpoints have.

A notification pops up on your laptop.

[March 17th, 11:05AM]

Jungkook: wanna meet at the tables outside after class?

You look over at Jungkook with a frown.

You: Why are you texting me? We’re sitting right next to each other

Jungkook: because we’re in class obvs Jungkook: dont wanna be disruptive

You: Since when has that ever stopped you before?

Jungkook: haha very funny Jungkook: tables sound good?

You: Only since you asked so nicely :)

Jungkook: thoughtful as always i see

After class, you and Jungkook both hang around, waiting for each other to pack up your belongings so you can walk to the tables together. Everyone else seems to sense this weird, uncomfortable tension in the room, because they all book it out of the door much faster than either of you do. You’re almost convinced Jungkook purposely takes extra time to zip his backpack, just because.

The tables are, as per usual, empty. But you don’t have a pile of receipts to spread out, this time. You and Jungkook take a seat at one of them as you pull out your laptops, ready to outline the rest of the project.

“We should probably meet with Taehyung a couple more times, too,” you suggest as you begin to brainstorm.

“Sounds good,” Jungkook agrees. “But we can’t meet at night on weekdays anymore. My dance group’s show is coming up and we have practice then.”

You stop typing and turn to him. “I didn’t know you were in a dance group.”

Jungkook shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “I don’t really talk about it that much.”

“You should.”

He looks up at you at that, eyes wide as he faces you.

“I don’t know, it seems like something you should be passionate about,” you say. In the same way that you promote the Film Club to every freshman you know, force all your friends to mark that they’re Interested in your event pages on Facebook. Jungkook should want to tell everyone about his dance group. Doesn’t he love it? Isn’t he proud to be in it?

Jungkook doesn’t look like he knows what to say to that. So he doesn’t say anything at all.

“We can meet on weekends too,” you say, adjusting to his new change of schedule easily. “This project isn’t as all-consuming as I thought it would be.”

“You mean I’m not as all-consuming as you thought I would be,” Jungkook corrects.

You shake your head. “No, you are.” He laughs. “But yeah, on weekends is fine. You know my schedule. What else should we do, besides talk to Taehyung?”

It’s like a lightbulb goes off above Jungkook’s head. “Let’s go on a date.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “No.”

“What do you mean, “no”? It’s the natural progression of our relationship! It’s the next step in the rom-com! We have to,” Jungkook insists.

“First of all, it’s a mockumentary, not a rom-com,” you say with a sigh, finding yourself having to correct him rather frequently. “Secondly, we are not in a relationship. I am not dating you and you are not dating me.”

“Okay, but at this point in rom-coms the two leads would definitely go on a date,” Jungkook says, punctuating every word for emphasis. “What’s the harm? It’s not like you’re committing yourself to a future with me.”

“Thank God,” you mutter.

“Oh, shut up. You probably haven’t been on a date in years, anyway. Why not spend a night out?”

You frown at that. “Who cares if I have or have not been on a date?” Why does Jungkook care so much about the history of your love life? He’s always saying stuff like this, always telling you things as if you’ve never been in a relationship at all, don’t know left from right, black from white. Who is he to be making those assumptions?

“Please, Y/N,” Jungkook begs, looking desperate. “Just one evening. And then if it really goes terribly and you end up hating me again, then we don’t have to do another one.”

You sigh, shoulders slumping. Well, what else are you going to do? You don’t have any other ideas. And you’ve already spent so much time with Jungkook this semester, what’s another evening? Just something else to cross off of your list of things to film. Maybe you can get him to take a cute photo of you to post on social media.

“Fine,” you concede. “One date. And I still hate you, by the way.”

Jungkook clearly does not believe you. “Really? You still hate me? I’m sure you do.”

“Okay, I don’t hate you. But still,” you relent again. Perhaps you’re just being oddly soft today. Too lenient for your own good.

Jungkook grins, cheeks little round circles as his lips curve up. “I know you like me. You just can’t admit it to yourself, can you? Can’t take that blow to your dignity.”

“Don’t think so highly of yourself,” you chide.

“Who knows?” Jungkook tacks on, just to be extra annoying. “Maybe you’re actually starting to fall in love with me.”

You scoff. “You wish.”

“Well, are you?”

Jungkook doesn’t ask the question the same way he’s asked all of the other ones. Doesn’t say it with a shit-eating grin on his face or that glint in his eyes. He’s asking because he’s curious. Curious if what he’s been doing has been working. Curious if this project is really accomplishing anything at all.

Funnily enough, you find yourself wondering the exact same thing.

Silent, you pausing for a moment to think, chewing on the inside of your lip. Jungkook’s looking back at you, lips curled upwards as he waits for a response. Ugh, you’ll just have to give it up. What else can you say? “I guess…” you begin, hesitating.

You aren’t sure why you’re so scared to respond. Maybe you’re just worried that things will change if you say something. If you tell him the truth.

But it’s just Jungkook. He’s sitting in front of you patiently, waiting for your answer. What could happen?

You confess. “I guess you’re not so bad after all.”

Even though this is not the first time you’ve ever been out on a “date” (you’re using that word tentatively), picking out what to wear isn’t any easier than the last time.

“Is black too, you know, sexy?”

Ruby shrugs on the other end of the video call. Her phone is propped up on her desk as she works on something on her laptop, glancing over every now and then whenever you prompt her to respond. “Well, that depends. Do you wanna fuck?”

“No.”

“Then it might be too sexy,” Ruby says easily. “What are you even doing? I thought you didn’t go out on dates.”

“It’s not a date,” you insist, although you’re not exactly sure which of the two of you you’re trying to convince.

“You’re asking me what kind of sexy dress to wear for a night out with a guy. It’s a date,” Ruby reminds you, economical as always. “Who are you even going out with, anyway? You just called and asked me to pick between two dresses I have literally never seen you wear before.”

“That’s because I don’t go out on dates, which this is not,” you tell her, even expending the energy to stare into the camera to hammer your point home. “And it’s with Jungkook.”

Ruby shuts her laptop at that. You can hear the sound of her keyboard clacking as the lid hits them. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Do I need to remind you that this is not a date and therefore, you don’t need to be acting like I just told you I’m getting married.” You frown at her. “It’s just for our movie. Jungkook wants me to dress nicely, though.”

“Wear that nice summer dress you have,” Ruby instructs instead, shooing away the two much sexier options you’re currently holding in your hands. “Just put tights on underneath if you’re cold.”

“This one?” You ask, shuffling through your closet until you produce the gingham dress, plaid a pale yellow that matches gold jewelry rather well.

“Yes, that one. I like that one,” Ruby says with a nod. “You look good in it.”

“I don’t know, I feel like it’s not appropriate.” You hesitate. It’s a cute dress, sure, but it seems too… casual. Too everyday. Jungkook’s taking you out to dinner, and no doubt he’s got something else planned for the rest of the evening.

“I mean, you did say you had no plans on fucking him tonight,” Ruby reminds you coarsely.

“I have no plans on fucking him at all,” you reiterate. “This is not a date. It is for our movie.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ruby brushes you off with a wave of her hand. “Wear whatever you want, but I like your yellow dress the most. It looks really nice on you. And if it’s not a date, then neither you nor Jungkook should care.”

“Ruby—”

“I gotta go. Enjoy your not-date!”

She hangs up.

You end up wearing the yellow dress. Jungkook knocks on your apartment door just as you’re closing the clasp to your necklace, a gold choker your mother had gifted you for a birthday a couple of years ago. It’s nothing much. You grab a jacket on your way to answer the door, wrapping it around your figure as you twist the knob.

On the other side is Jungkook, all decked out in black jeans and a clean-cut leather jacket, the black ensemble striking against his warm-toned skin and bleached, blonde hair. You hate to admit it, but he actually does look rather good. For Jeon Jungkook.

“Hi—whoa,” Jungkook says, doing a little whistle when he sees you, eyes bulging out of their sockets.

You chuckle. “‘Whoa’ yourself.”

“You, uh…” Jungkook stammers slightly, a hand coming up to rub at the nape of his neck. The movement lifts his arm up just enough for you to see the line of his waist, the seamlessness of his body. He’s always been rather fit. “You look nice.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” you chide, stepping outside and pulling the door shut behind you. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”

“Cleaned up just for you.” He grins.

You press a hand to your heart dramatically. “I’m touched.” You begin walking down the hallway of your small apartment building, feeling your hands brushing by your sides due to how skinny the corridor is. At least, that’s what you assume.

“Where are we going?” You ask as Jungkook opens the door to the passenger side of his car for you.

He winks, that same gleam in his eye. He grins something wicked. “Don’t you remember?” He asks. “It’s a secret.”

The secret turns out to be a small Italian restaurant on an off-road in the center of town, a family joint with those plaid red tablecloths and dark wooden chairs. You’d never heard of the place before tonight, but Jungkook insists that it’s delicious and says it has a four-and-a-half star rating on Yelp, which is obviously gospel when it comes to restaurants. It’s so empty that he even has room to prop up the camera a couple of tables away to get that wide-angle shot of the both of you, two souls in a tiny little restaurant, enjoying a night out on the town. You’re sure that by the time production and post-production rolls around you’ll edit out most of your dialogue, but you like the idea of keeping in snippets of the audio, overlaying the scene with a soft instrumental.

From a director’s point of view, of course. No other reason to romanticize your night with him.

It’s nice. Objectively, it’s definitely one of the more exciting things you’ve done in a while, even if it’s just a dinner out in town, away from campus. It’s new. Adventurous. Jungkook convinces you to try his vodka shrimp linguine and you offer up some of your truffle-flavored gnocchi, which he devours happily. One thing you do learn is that no matter how much time passes, no matter how much food is on his plate, Jungkook eats and eats and eats. He never seems to fill up. This is one of those restaurants that pile your bowls high with pasta, give you at least three servings, send you home with to-go packages that will last you for days, and he still somehow manages to eat every last bite. He even has some of your leftovers.

Jungkook pays because he insists and says that you shouldn’t fight on camera, which you have no choice but to agree to. However, you do look him up on Venmo and send him twenty dollars to cover your half of the bill, because the idea of him paying for you doesn’t sit right with you. It was fine with the coffee, a small token of repayment after spilling it all over you, but dinner just feels like too much. Like he’s carrying most of the weight and you aren’t shouldering enough. Like he’s putting in all of the effort and you are just bandwagoning off of him.

And partnerships aren’t supposed to be like that. Jungkook isn’t supposed to do all of the work. You aren’t supposed to do nothing. You and Jungkook may not agree on much but you both know that you are equals. That what you put in is what you get out.

It’s a lesson you think you learned too late, but you won’t make those mistakes again. You’ll get it right this time.

“That was nice,” Jungkook says after the dinner. You’re walking through the park just across the street now, the sun having set and the streetlamps illuminating your path. The city has strung up lights along the trees, draped them over the branches like stars, like snowflakes. It’s picturesque.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Thanks for taking me.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“How did you discover that place?” You ask, just out of curiosity. It’s not exactly the kind of restaurant that would be front and center on Google.

“I went out on a date in freshman year there,” Jungkook admits, lips pursed awkwardly. “Yeah.”

“Did it at least go well?” You ask, trying to be hopeful.

“If it did, do you think I’d still be here doing this with you?” Jungkook poses, an eyebrow raised.

You chuckle to yourself. “You don’t mean that. I’m sure you’ll find your person.”

“You actually believe in that stuff now?” Jungkook asks you, skeptical.

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “You do. I don’t wanna ruin it for you. Your person’s out there somewhere.”

“How do you know I haven’t already found my person?”

You stop in the middle of the path, feet coming to a halt on the pavement. Jungkook looks at you and you look back at him, letting his question sink into your skin, etch itself into your thoughts. He’s asking you because he wants to know. He looks so genuine, so patient, like he’s trying to find an answer somewhere in your eyes but you can’t give him one.

“Wouldn’t you be able to tell when you did?”

Jungkook sighs. “I don’t know if it always works like that.”

You smile, soft and small. Musing, you say, “well, when you figure it out, let me know.”

“Do you think you’ve found your person?” Jungkook asks you.

“You know I don’t think about love like that,” you remind him.

“Well, how do you think about it?”

You gaze up at him once more, that same soft smile playing on your lips. Who is he to be asking you these questions, you wonder to yourself. What would the point be in answering him? It’s better if you just both moved on. Especially since stuff like this has no relevance to your project.

“I don’t really think about love at all,” you say curtly.

“I wish you did,” admits Jungkook.

The look in your eyes is distant. “Yeah.” You wish you did, too.

“How about we do a couple of quick shots, right here?” Jungkook suggests, pulling out the camera. “Just here, the lighting’s nice.” He jogs back a couple of feet, lining himself up with where you stand, kneeling on the pavement with the camera held up to his eye.

“What do you want me to do?” You call to him, feeling like a fish out of water in front of the lens, thumbs twiddling.

“Just smile,” Jungkook requests simply. “Say hi to me.”

Sounds easy enough. Under the twinkling lights of the trees, in the haze of their warm yellow glow, you wave to Jungkook, smiling happily. You aren’t exactly sure what the purpose of these shots are, but you suppose you could always use some artistic frames in your movie. Grinning, you keep your eyes trained on him, on the way you can see him smiling back at you even from behind the camera. His eyes are covered, you can’t see those, but you hope they’re smiling too.

“Okay, my turn,” you say when a little too much time has passed, when it’s just past the point of filming for the sake of a movie and more for the sake of something else. “Get over here.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you idiot.” You scurry over to Jungkook, taking the camera from his hands and pushing in in the general direction of where you were just standing. Situating yourself, you kneel right where Jungkook was, bringing the camera to your eyes.

Through the lens, you can see the entire width of the pathway, the grass that borders it, the lights decorating the branches of the trees, and Jungkook, front and center. He looks like he has no idea what he’s doing there, waiting awkwardly as he gazes around, eyes drifting everywhere but exactly where you need them: you. He looks good like this, looks much taller, much more romantic. Like a real movie star. Like a model. His clothes make him blend in with the darkness of the night but his eyes are still shimmering, golden flecks twinkling, even from all the way over here.

You have to admit it. He’s beautiful.

“Smile,” you say, pressing film.

Jungkook grins your way.

Afterwards, you give him his camera back and continue walking, turning the corner as you reach the edge of the park, ready to circle around the perimeter.

“How about we hold hands, too?”

“Excuse you?” You say, an eyebrow raised.

“Come on, just for a second,” Jungkook pleads. “For the artistry. I’ll film us holding hands like all those Los Angeles boys do in YouTube vlogs.”

You look at him suspiciously. Is he sure it’s just for the artistry? “What a great example.”

“Please? Promise I always put hand cream on,” Jungkook asks, bottom lip turned outwards.

It’s getting harder and harder to say no to him.

“Fine,” you cave rather easily this time around. “Just for a minute.”

“Excellent.”

Jungkook lifts the camera up to his eye with his right hand as he holds out his left, palm facing the sky as he waits for you to rest your own in his. You narrow your eyes to the camera before your gaze drifts downwards to his open hand, almost like you’re afraid it’s going to jump out and bite at you if you get any closer. But it won’t, because it’s a hand. And it won’t, because it’s just Jungkook.

The first thing you realize when your fingers intertwine with his is how big his hands are. They are massive. His left one dwarfs your own, wrapping around it securely, enveloping it like a king-sized comforter. The second thing you realize is how soft they are (he must not have been lying about the hand cream). The third thing you realize is the way they send sparks up and down your body, send tingles through your skin, shocks through your veins. You seize up a little bit at the feeling before your body finds it in itself to relax, letting the sensation wash over you like a wave from the ocean.

It’s new.

It’s strange.

You haven’t felt that way in a long time. Felt those sparks, those jolts of energy. Like lightning has struck.

Jungkook moves so that your hands are held out in front of you, making sure to adjust the lens just so he can get the exact right angle, but all you can focus on is the way your fingers interlock, the way your hand settles into his.

You wonder what that means.

The moment Jungkook lowers the camera you pull your hand away, overwhelmed and scared and shocked all at once. Like you’re afraid that if you reach out to him again, your whole body will freeze in place, shake like the wind.

Jungkook looks at you, concern lacing his features. “You alright?” He asks, genuine and worried.

You shake your head, willing those thoughts away. “I’m fine, I’m fine. You get the shot?”

“Yeah, I did,” Jungkook says.

“And how do they look?” You ask because you can’t help yourself. Because you just have to know.

Jungkook pauses, not sure how to respond. He chews on his lips like he’s running through all the possible answers, trying to figure out which one is right. You almost think he’s not going to reply at all, but then he smiles, and he says this:

“Magical.”

It feels weird for you to be arriving at Kim Taehyung’s door without Jungkook by your side. Doesn’t sit right in your stomach.

Of course, Taehyung is as hospitable as always, welcoming you inside with his signature warm grin as he sets up the bar stools by the bedsheet, which you assume he will just not take down until your project’s over. Hopefully he’s getting use out of it otherwise, shooting nudes or whatever it is he said he would do.

“Thanks for having me,” you say, resting your backpack against the foot of his couch as you set up the tripod, arranging it in just the right spot. It’s not Jungkook’s fancy camera that you’ve got with you, just your own from a couple years ago, but it’ll get the job done. You couldn’t ask Jungkook to borrow his, anyway. You’d pass away before he found out you did this.

“We might not use this footage,” you warn in advance. “I just figured it’s safer to film everything just in case.”

“Why wouldn’t you use it?” Taehyung asks, genuinely curious.

“Because I don’t know if this conversation will really have a point,” you say nervously, fingers fidgeting with the settings until everything’s just right.

“I’m sure it’ll be important,” Taehyung assures you. You’re not so confident. “Ready to get started?”

“Yes, everything’s all set up,” you say, concentrating on your breathing as you make your way to the stool. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Why are you so worried?

“So, Y/N, how are you feeling right now?” Taehyung begins.

You sigh. “Confused.”

“And why is that?”

“I… I don’t really know what direction I’m going in anymore for this project,” you say, letting yourself be candid and honest because it’s just Taehyung, and because you may not even use this footage, and because Jungkook’s not here. He doesn’t know you’ve asked Taehyung to do this for you. He doesn’t need to.

“And is this because of Jungkook?”

“Yes.” Another easy answer.

“How are you feeling about him?”

“I’m…” you don’t know where to begin. “I’m not sure. I just know that something’s changed.”

“Your feelings have changed?” Taehyung isn’t reacting, just asking questions in response to your answers and pretending that everything is normal, that this is just another interview.

“I guess they have,” you admit. Even just saying that feels like a weight off your chest. A small one, five pounds out of a thousand. But it’s a difference. “I… don’t really know how I feel about him anymore.”

“In a good or bad way?”

Taehyung told you he would ask tough questions, but you don’t know if you can answer these anymore.

“I don’t know,” you say, feeling yourself growing desperate with impatience. “I don’t feel the same things about him that I used to. He’s different to me now.”

“Do you think he’s changed?”

“Something has.”

“Have you considered the possibility that maybe you’ve changed, too?”

You frown, caught off-guard by his question. No, you haven’t. You haven’t thought about that at all. Why would you? Your stance is the same. Your opinions on love haven’t changed. And neither have your convictions about this project, about the way it will end.

“No,” you say, nose scrunched up.

“Well, I’m no expert, but I think there might be something between the two of you that wasn’t there before,” Taehyung says, nodding. “I think that the ways the two of you have changed have brought you together.”

“I don’t know about that…” You trail off. You can feel yourself growing hesitant again, pulling back from saying too much because you’ve never been a very good speaker. Because you’ve always preferred being behind the camera to being in front of it.

“Don’t you think you should tell him how you feel?”

You scoff. At least that’s got an easy answer. A no-brainer. “No,” you say matter-of-factly, obvious because it is, stern because telling him was never an option anyway. Why else does Taehyung think you’re here without him? “Jungkook said he would get me to fall in love with him and I told him I would never. How could I ever let him think he was actually winning?”

Taehyung sighs.

You haven’t seen Jungkook since your class on Wednesday. Granted, it’s only Saturday, but it feels like it’s been a weirdly long time. Like you’re so used to him barging into your life on the daily that there’s something off about even going three days without seeing him. Maybe it’s just because you’re nearing the beginning of April and your project is finally picking up steam. Between the two of you, you almost definitely have more than two hour’s worth of footage, but the hard part will be paring it down and turning it into a forty-five minute documentary. No doubt you and Jungkook will be spending a lot of time together the week before it’s due.

Just out of curiosity, you text him. Because you have no idea what he’s been getting up to.

[March 28th, 1:05PM]

You: Hey, do you think we need to get together sometime this weekend?

Jungkook: i don’t think i can Jungkook: it’s my dance group’s show this weekend

You: Really? You: You didn’t tell me

Jungkook: been too busy

You: What time is your show tonight?

Jungkook: 7pm

You: Sounds good, I’ll be there

Jungkook: oh Jungkook: you don’t have to

You: I want to You: I’ll see you there!

That night, you drop by the grocery store beforehand to pick up a bouquet of flowers. You haven’t been a performing arts show for years now, especially not one where you actually know the people performing, but flowers are customary. Or so you’ve heard.

You don’t know a single soul who has plans on seeing Jungkook’s dance group either, but the theater is a ten-minute walk away from campus and you’re happy to make the trek alone, especially because you know you’ll find someone you know soon enough. Sometimes it’s nice to walk by yourself, letting the streetlamps above your head illuminate your path, a faceless figure passing by others. It brings peace. And it gives you time to sift through your thoughts, organize them into neat little piles and brush away all of the dust.

Admittedly, you are not much of a connoisseur of the performing arts. You aren’t even much of a consumer. In another universe, under different circumstances, you wouldn’t blink twice if you heard that one of the dance groups on campus was having their show. But this is not another universe, and these are not different circumstances.

Jungkook will be there. He is taking something he’s worked tirelessly on and presenting it to the world. Now that you think about it, it’s actually a lot like film. And if Jungkook has devoted so much time, put so much energy into this performance, what kind of person would you be if you didn’t go and watch his creation?

You pick a seat in the far back corner, the venue so cozy that even despite being the furthest away you’ve still got an excellent view, sit down, and wait for it to begin.

[March 28th, 6:58PM]

Jungkook: hey are you here?

You: I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?

Jungkook: always such a tease

You roll your eyes at that, turning your phone off and stowing it away in your pocket. Two minutes later, the lights dim.

The moment Jungkook steps out onto the stage, you recognize him instantly. He’s wearing all black again, but it’s not the same skinny jeans and leather jacket he had on when he took you out to dinner. It’s a loose long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants that hang low on his hips, highlighting the blondeness of his hair, the red in his lips. He’s one of at least a dozen people on stage but he’s the only one you focus on, the only one who your eyes follow. Booming throughout the theater is a Drake song, the beat thick and low, but it’s background noise when compared to the way he moves, the way he twists and turns his body on stage, angles sharp and crisp.

The whole song goes by so quickly that by the time you find it in yourself to blink the stage is already darkening as they move onto the next song, switching out the performers and changing the spotlight colors to a sultry red. Jungkook disappears for this one, vanishing behind the curtains and forcing you to pay attention to the performance as a whole instead of just him. But you have to hand it to his group: they’re excellent. You’ve been missing out.

Jungkook returns with the next song, having had just enough time to change into an all-white ensemble. He’s easy to spot even with that ridiculous bucket hat on, blonde hair bouncing with every step he takes, every jerk of his body. You can see it all the way from where you sit, see the way he loses himself in the music, lets the rhythm radiate through his blood, lets his heart match the beat that booms through the speakers. This, all of it, the music, the dancing, the energy—it’s all his. It belongs to him. Jungkook may love film but he is passionate about this. It is something that must bring him all the joy in the world.

The next hour and a half goes by quickly, the songs jumping from one to another to another, Jungkook dashing on and off stage, each time returning in a different getup than the one prior. Makes you wonder just how many clothes he has. But before you know it the final song is playing and every one, every single member is on stage, jumping and cheering and celebrating a job well done. And they should, because they deserve to.

When the lights in the theater come on, nobody leaves. Instead, everyone rushes towards the stage to say hello to everybody, congratulate them on their performance and take pictures with their friends. That’s why everyone else is here, isn’t it? Because the people they care about performed tonight.

Isn’t that why you’re here, too?

Jungkook has plenty of other friends already wrapping their arms around him, giving him high-fives and pats on the back, but you’ve got a bouquet of assorted flowers in your hands and you have no plans on bringing them home. So you squeeze your way through the crowd, push yourself in between bodies, and you shout,

“Jungkook!”

Jungkook looks up instantly at the call of his name, the round shape of his lips curving upwards into a smile when he sees you.

“Hey, you made it!” He exclaims happily. He’s so pumped on the adrenaline that he pulls you into a hug without either of you even realizing it, wrapping his arms around your torso and squeezing you tight for a few moments before the two of you remember just exactly who you both are. Quickly, you pull away, chuckling awkwardly. Jungkook scratches at the back of his head. “Thanks for, uh—thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” you say happily. “You were amazing.”

“What can I say, I’m a man of many talents,” Jungkook schmoozes, annoying as always.

You scoff slightly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Here, I brought this for you. It’s traditional, right?” You hold out the bouquet in front of you, pink plastic wrapping crunched up from where your fingers gripped the stems.

“Wow, thank you,” Jungkook says, in awe as he takes the flowers from you, pressing his face into the petals instinctively. “No one’s ever gotten me flowers before.”

“Really?” You say, genuinely surprised at his admission. He’s never been given flowers before? Not even for a performance? You didn’t know that, either. “Then I’m glad to be the first.”

“You know you didn’t have to do that,” Jungkook says, though he looks grateful nonetheless.

You shrug, acting casual. “Aren’t we supposed to be falling in love, or something?”

He grins.

“Did you guys film this? Maybe we could incorporate it into the movie,” you suggest, thinking it might be interesting to add in glimpses into your normal lives, into the things you do when you aren’t trying to one-up each other.

Jungkook shakes his head. “We did, but I don’t think we need to add it in.”

“Why not?” It seems like a perfect addition.

Jungkook pulls out a single flower from the bouquet, a pale yellow daisy, and hands it to you. You smile your thanks, twirling the stem in between your fingers.

“I don’t know,” he says, looking oddly soft, cheeks turning cherry red. He looks at you and it makes your heart flutter, quickens the drum of your chest. “I just think I’d like to keep this moment to ourselves.”

You suppose he’s got a point. You don’t think you’ll forget this night, either.

The bouquet you gave him sits on Jeon Jungkook’s bedroom windowsill, bathing in the afternoon sun. Taehyung gave him some plant food the morning after you came to his performance, a little bottle that he can spritz into the water whenever the flowers look a little droopy. Jungkook adds some every day, determined to keep them alive for as long as possible. He also makes sure he’s got a rather heavy book or two, something he can use to press one of them when they’ve all shriveled up.

It was really nice of you to come to his show, he thinks to himself. Jungkook can’t remember the last time someone outside of his group of close friends went to see him perform, not any of his past dates or even that one girl he was seeing semi-seriously for a couple months last year until she told him she wasn’t interested in him anymore. You’re the first one who’s made the effort, who’s told him that you would come and kept that promise. The flowers are just a happy reminder.

As a celebration for completing their last show, Jungkook and some of the other juniors in his dance crew decide to go out the following weekend, determined to waste away their Saturday nights at a bar just off of campus where they can take as many shots of as many different types of alcohols as they want. The place even has soju, which makes Jungkook’s heart happy.

Despite the temptation to drink until his brain is empty, however, Jungkook holds off. He’s got a lot of work tomorrow, most of it consisting of editing the footage you have for the project, and doesn’t really feel like staring at a computer for eight hours straight with a headache. So he limits himself. For the most part.

“Who was that girl that came to the show?” One of his friends, Andrew, asks as he downs another shot of what is undoubtedly vodka, if the smell is anything to go by. “With the flowers?”

“Is she your girlfriend?” Jesse pipes up, red in the face from the alcohol in his system. He’s always been one to turn into a tomato after drinking.

Jungkook chuckles awkwardly, shaking his head when the bartender offers him another shot glass full of soju. “No,” he says, forcing a laugh. “Just a friend.”

“I don’t know, you guys looked pretty close to me,” Andrew points out, like it wasn’t already obvious enough that Jungkook is head over heels for you.

“She and I are working on a film project together,” Jungkook explains, though that does absolutely nothing to convince his friends of your completely platonic relationship.

“Sounds fun,” Jesse says, swallowing another shot and wincing. “It was nice of her to bring you flowers. My girlfriend didn’t do that.”

“Shut up, your girlfriend is studying abroad in Paris right now,” Andrew says, giving Jesse a good-natured shove. “I’m gonna tell her you said that.”

“What, please don’t—”

“She’s not my girlfriend, guys,” Jungkook repeats himself, feeling his cheeks heat up the longer the conversation drags on. He chalks it up to the soju in his system and the fact that it feels like a sauna in here. “Seriously, we’re just friends. People can be friends and bring each other flowers.”

Jesse pumps his fist in the air. “Yeah!” He rounds on Andrew. “Where are my flowers, hey Andrew?”

The two of them start bickering as Jungkook laughs, shaking his head fondly. At least he’s not drunk, so he can remember nights like these, ones where he’s drinking with his stupid idiot friends, celebrating a show well done.

Jungkook stays at the bar until eleven that night before he makes the executive decision to go home and sleep, because as much as he would like to party until three in the morning, he’s got a pile of work that’s telling him to be a real adult. So he bids his friends goodbye and begins to make the trek back to his apartment, passing by the row of frat houses on his way.

Even though he’s out on the sidewalk, Jungkook can feel the ground rumble from the music, every frat on the block joining together to make some booming, bass monster. From here he can see the flashing blue and purple lights in the windows, see the brothers standing on the steps of each house and turning away whoever they deem unfit to enter.

In a weird way, it makes Jungkook nostalgic. Reminiscent of when he was a freshman, when he would group up with all of the people in his hall and parade around the frat row on Saturday nights like they owned the place, getting drunk on shitty tequila and jumping until they sweat out their body fluids. He remembers those nights in flashes, bits and pieces that make up his memory of freshman year as a whole. Remembers kissing other girls, other girls kissing him. Remembers the way he would lock lips with them for a second and then forget about it by the next day.

Jungkook wonders why he ever thought he would meet his soulmate at a frat party.

He’s just passing the last frat house now, nodding to the guy on the step when they accidentally meet eyes, when he hears you call his name.

“Jungkook!”

He whips around to see you on the other side of the road, waving at him excitedly while your friends all laugh, sending smiles Jungkook’s way.

Jungkook isn’t exactly sure what the protocol is for a scenario like this, so he does what he thinks is right and waves back.

“Come over here!” You shout at him, loosely gesturing for him to join your group. Jungkook is hesitant, not sure if that’s necessarily the best course of action because even from here he can tell that you’re drunk, leaning over to one side and giggling at nothing. But even if he isn’t sure what will happen he can’t help but fall into the way you’re beaming at him, waving excitedly because you saw him on the street and you wanted to say hello.

He’s never been able to resist you.

“Hey, what are you doing out here?” He says as he jogs over, greeting the rest of your friends with a patient smile.

“Went out with my friends,” you say. Jungkook can smell the alcohol on your lips. “And then I saw you, which made me happy!”

You stumble over nothing, shoes skipping as they drag along the pavement, and before any of your friends can react Jungkook is reaching his arms out, catching you before you fall flat on your face. Your hands press against his torso as he lifts you back to your feet, and all Jungkook can do is pray that you can’t hear the way his heart races, beat drumming in his ears. You giggle in his hold, disoriented but not at all uneasy, looking up at him as your eyes sparkle in the glow of the streetlamps.

“Thanks,” you manage to cough out.

“Sure,” Jungkook says, breathless. He stands you up and tries to let you go, but you keep your hands tight around his wrists. “I think we need to get you home.”

“Can you come with me?” You ask innocently, eyes wide.

“Y/N…” One of your friends says, voice hesitant. She places a hand on your shoulder, looking concerned. Jungkook doesn’t take any offense to it, he doesn’t know your friends well and imagines that they would much prefer being the ones to drop you back at your place.

You shrug her off. “No, it’s okay, Ruby,” you assure your friend, hand inching down Jungkook’s wrist until it rests firmly within his palm. “I’ll go with him.”

Ruby eyes Jungkook suspiciously and her gaze is so intense that it actually makes him doubt his ability to walk you home for a moment. But you seem intent on walking with him, and the sooner you go home the better, so Ruby relents and lifts her hand from your shoulder. “Alright, if you want to.” She keeps her eyes trained on Jungkook. “Text me when you’re back.”

“I will, I will,” you say, brushing her off and waving her away. “Let’s go, Jungkook. I’m sleepy.”

“Okay, come on,” he says. You smile happily at your friends as you say goodbye, cheerful and drunk and tired, all at once, and you begin to walk towards your apartment.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you tell him, positively filter-less.

“I’m glad I’m here, too,” Jungkook assures you. “What did you have to drink tonight?”

“Not sure,” you admit happily. “Just a lot.”

“I can tell.” Jungkook nods. “Were you at a frat party?”

“Several,” you correct him. “They weren’t that fun but at least the drinks were free.”

“Why were you at a frat party if you don’t like them?” Jungkook asks you, nose scrunched up. You certainly aren’t the kind of person to hide your distaste for things. That is something that Jungkook is intimately familiar with.

You shrug. “It’s the cheapest place to get drunk.”

“Why did you want to get drunk?” This is seeming more and more out-of-character for you. Going to a place you despise, taking shots until you can’t walk straight, meandering around campus with Jungkook. All of these are things Jungkook could never in a million years picture you doing out of free will.

Well, all of them except maybe the last one. You did come to his dance show, after all.

You sigh. It’s thick and heavy and Jungkook has a feeling you won’t want to divulge any more. “I just wanted to forget.”

But the curiosity is eating at him.

“Forget what?”

Your grip on his hand tightens. Jungkook fully expects you to dodge the question like you’ve dodged all of the ones prior, say something else to change the topic so you can sweep this discussion under the rug like all of the other ones you’ve had. But you don’t.

Instead, you say, “You wanna know why I don’t love love the way you do?”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Jungkook quickly assures you.

“I had better options than this place,” you say, voice hollow and empty. “There were better universities that accepted me. Ones with higher-ranked film programs and bigger scholarships. I could have gone to any one of them and been just as happy. Maybe more.”

“But you didn’t,” Jungkook clarifies.

“My ex-boyfriend goes to school ten minutes away from here,” you say, words that are most certainly news to Jungkook. You had a boyfriend? “He and I dated all throughout high school. I thought I was gonna marry him.”

The words sound so sad. It sounds like they don’t even belong to you. Like you’re recalling the memories of a different person, someone you’ve killed and buried, someone you were certain you would never have to face again. Yourself. Your past self.

“And then he broke up with me at the beginning of last year and it was too late to transfer out.” Your words are slurred and garbled, like all you want is to get over with saying them in the first place. It’s not a dramatic revelation. It’s not something you’re crying about, sobbing into Jungkook’s chest as you remember, miserable, a time where you were once happy. You just sound lifeless.

Jungkook blinks at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue. It doesn’t feel right for him to speak up. Not when you’ve just revealed to him something so personal, so drunk that you probably won’t even remember saying anything when you wake up tomorrow morning.

What is he supposed to do with this knowledge? What is he supposed to say? To do? It’s not like Jungkook can change your past. It’s not even as if he can change the near future. Your project is almost finished—the semester is almost over. And then you will return to the time where you never even knew each other.

“You can say something,” you tell him.

“What do you want me to say?” Jungkook says.

“Something to make me feel better, because now I’m sad,” you request simply. “Seeing you made me happy.”

“Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut and smile, then,” he muses to himself.

“No, please keep talking,” you plead, leaning into his body with your bottom lip puffed out, eyes big and round and desperate. “Listening to you gets me to stop thinking about this stuff.”

Hearing that, Jungkook says the first thing that comes to mind. And that is, “You don’t have to think about that stuff anymore at all.”

“Hmm?” You murmur into his chest. Jungkook sees your apartment building up ahead. Just another block or so.

“Well, that was your old love story,” he begins tentatively. Jungkook’s almost fully sober by now but he feels like he won’t ever get another opportunity to say this, and maybe whatever soju is left in his system is enough to get him through this conversation. Enough for him to muster up the confidence to tell you what he’s been wanting to tell you for a while now.

Even if you forget it by tomorrow. He knows this is his only chance.

“And it didn’t have a happy ending, but that’s okay. Because ours will.”

You’re just coming up to your apartment complex, the rusted gold doors of the entrance sticking out against the beige of the building and the sidewalk, shimmering in the light of the streetlamps. You pause right outside, taking cover underneath the red awning above your heads. Looking up at him, you blink expectantly.

“How do I know you mean that?” You ask.

He almost does it.

Jungkook doesn’t really know what washes over him in that moment, what takes his heart and mind prisoner for a split second, grip tight and unforgiving. But he’s staring straight into your watery eyes, glossy and glimmery and glowing, lost in the way you press your lips together, the way you gaze up at him and wait for him to tell you what he’s always wanted to say, and he almost does it. His hands press at your sides, holding you close, like he’s afraid that if he lets you go you’ll vanish without another trace and this night will all have been for naught.

But he doesn’t.

He doesn’t for a lot of reasons. You’re drunk. When you wake up tomorrow, you will not remember this conversation. But Jungkook will. And if he does it, if he kisses you, if he presses his lips to yours it will be burned into his thoughts, carved into his heart, and you will be none the wiser. Jungkook can’t do that to himself. And he can’t do that to you, either. He will never take advantage of your company. He never has.

“Because,” Jungkook says instead, having hesitated for far too long. “I promise you.”

It’s good enough for him.

He tucks you into bed at 12:17AM that night, feet padding along your hardwood floor so he doesn’t wake up your neighbors, guiding you to your bedroom and reminding you to text Ruby that you made it home safely. Jungkook’s never gotten a very good look at your place, and even now it’s hard to make out most things without the main ceiling lights on, but he doesn’t really want to snoop. Even though you invited him in, he still feels like he’s intruding. You’ve always been so private. There were a lot of things said tonight that Jungkook is going to have to reckon with.

Once you’re curled up beneath your sheets, eyes drooping, Jungkooks turns off the light on your nightstand and nearly, just about nearly, presses his lips to your forehead. He manages to avoid doing that, too.

Instead, he pulls up your duvet and heads towards the main room, making a beeline for your front door. But before he can leave the room, he hears you mumble out his name.

“Jungkook?” You call, voice groggy.

“Yeah?” He looks back at you from where he stands in your door frame, one hand on the knob, ready to pull it closed.

You smile, eyes fluttering. “Thank you,” you say.

Jungkook grins.

The next morning you wake up with a pounding headache and three missed calls from Ruby, which undoubtedly means that something positively terrible happened last night. Unfortunately, you have no idea what happened at all last night, good or terrible, so whatever Ruby has to say will be news to you.

Rubbing your eyes as you wrack your brain in the hopes of figuring out how you even ended up back at your apartment (when you swear you told Ruby you would stay at hers), you press on Ruby’s contact and call her.

“Y/N? Hello? Are you there?” Ruby answers on the first ring.

“I’m here,” you mumble out, words jumped and barely intelligible. You wince as your eyes adjust to the harsh blue light of your phone screen, squinting as you look at the time.

Shit, it’s 11:43AM and you’re meeting Jungkook for coffee at noon.

“Good, I called you three times last night after you texted,” Ruby wastes no time diving into her interrogation.

“Why?” You ask, scrambling out of bed with your phone pressed between your shoulder and your ear. Your head throbs so you quickly take some Ibuprofen, splash your face with water, and start looking for something clean you can put on.

“Because texting me ‘home’ is not enough!” Ruby exclaims. “Jungkook walked you home last night, I wanted to make sure you were tucked in bed and feeling alright.”

You frown. You don’t remember that. Granted, you don’t remember a lot of things, but you can’t recall Jungkook walking you back. You saw him last night? You didn’t even know. Scratching your head, a part of you vaguely pictures him standing in your apartment in the dark, resting against the door frame to your bedroom in the warm yellow light of the lamp on your nightstand. Can just barely see him tucking you into bed, placing the sheets over your figure and making you text Ruby that you’re home. You thought you were just imagining it at the time, but it must have happened anyway.

“Jungkook walked me home?”

“Yeah, you insisted,” Ruby says. “You probably don’t remember, though.”

“No,” you say dumbly.

“Well, I appreciate you texting me that you were home but I would have preferred something more explanatory,” scolds Ruby. “I thought maybe Jungkook was gonna do something.”

“Oh my goodness, no,” you immediately interject, pulling on your shoes and stuffing your laptop into your backpack. Just the thought of Jungkook doing something like that sends your stomach for a whirl. “He would never do that. I trust him.”

“I mean, I see that now,” Ruby points out. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” you promise. “Everything’s good.”

“Alright, if you say so,” Ruby says, still sounding a bit like an overprotective mother. You love her, though. You know she just wants the best for you. “Take it easy today, okay? You had a lot to drink last night.”

“I will,” you assure her. “I’m just on my way to meet up with Jungkook now. Getting coffee.”

“Make sure to eat, too,” Ruby reminds you. “And tell Jungkook that I said thanks for walking you home.”

“Anything else, Mom?”

You can practically see Ruby frowning on the other end. “Oh, shut up. I’ll see you, okay?”

She bids you goodbye just as you’re dashing out the door, your usual stride quickening so you make it to the cafe in time, not wanting to keep Jungkook waiting. You make it there in a record five minutes, pulling open the door frantically just as the clock strikes noon.

Jungkook’s already there, of course, sitting by a little round table in the corner of the room with two americanos on the table. He waves when he sees you standing by the entrance, and the mere sight of him makes you smile, shoulders relaxing.

“Hey,” you greet, a little out of breath as you settle into the chair across from him.

“Hey,” Jungkook says back. “How are you feeling?”

“My head is killing me, but other than that I’m alright,” you admit, taking a sip of the drink. It’s piping hot but just the right amount of scalding, warming your insides after a night of filling them with pure poison.

“Good.” He grins. “It’s nice to see your face.”

“Oh, yeah, speaking of which,” you say while still on the topic, “did you walk me home last night? I can’t remember.”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, I bumped into you and your friends while I was on my way back from a bar.”

You wince. The fact that you don’t even remember that happening tells you enough. “I was super drunk, wasn’t I?”

Jungkook, nice as always, says, “I’ve seen worse.” It only makes you feel the slightest bit better.

“Hope I didn’t say anything embarrassing,” you say, knowing you have a tendency to lose your filter almost entirely when you get wasted, letting any sort of mental reasoning fly out the door the moment you down another shot. And the thought of having told Jungkook something deeply humiliating or personal, or even him witnessing something stupid, makes you feel weirdly exposed.

Jungkook freezes for a split second, almost like he’s buffering, like he’s about to say something but it’s just taking him an extra step to get the words out of his mouth. Then he takes a quick sip of his americano and shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. You were just very drunk. And clingy.”

“I’m so sorry you had to deal with that,” you apologize. You can’t imagine the hell you must have put Jungkook through last night.

Jungkook laughs. “It’s okay. I’m glad we got you home safe.”

“Me, too.” You nod. You send a grateful smile his way. “Thanks for walking me, by the way. I really appreciate it. Ruby says thanks, too.”

“Anytime,” Jungkook says. It doesn’t sound like something that people say just to say it. The way that people say ‘anytime’ just so they can be friendly and amicable. He says it and he means it, says it genuinely and honestly, like it’s a real promise that he’s making. That he would be happy to walk you home again. No matter the hour. No matter how drunk you are. No matter what he’s doing.

And that means a lot to you.

“We should probably wrap up filming soon, huh?” You say, getting onto the topic at hand. Of course, the project is the whole reason you’re even talking to each other in the first place. “It’s due in three weeks.”

“Yeah, I was thinking of another outing? And maybe one more thing with Taehyung?” Jungkook suggests.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “‘Another outing’, Jungkook? What exactly do you have in mind?”

He grins.

This time, Jungkook is the one with the flowers.

When you open your front door they’re the first thing you see, an enormous bouquet of an assortment of spring flowers in a variety of colors—pinks and purples and oranges and yellows—gripped neatly in Jungkook’s hand. They stick out against his otherwise rather formal attire, a simple black dress shirt and jeans, nice shoes that compliment his figure. Black truly is the world’s most slimming color, and Jungkook is no exception. He looks good.

“For you, m’lady,” Jungkook says dramatically as he holds out the bouquet in front of him.

“How thoughtful of you,” you muse to yourself, grinning. You take the flowers and press your whole face into them, breathing in the fresh scent. “The one I gave you wasn’t nearly this big.”

“Go big or go home,” Jungkook teases. “You look nice, by the way.”

“You always sound so surprised when you say that,” you comment snidely, shaking your head as you grab your bag from the shelf next to your door. “What are we doing tonight, Jeon? Gonna keep it a secret from me like last time?”

“That depends,” Jungkook says knowingly. “Do you like secrets?”

“You should know what I like by now,” you remark.

“Then prepare to be wowed.” He grins, taking your hand in his as he pulls you out the door.

The restaurant you go to this time does not require a ten minute drive to the center of town. Instead, it’s a five minute walk from campus and actually happens to be a place you’ve been to before. It’s a busy little thing on a Friday night, waiters bustling about with trays in their hands, people laughing and smiling under the dim light of the chandeliers. You’ve only been here once, long ago, for a club dinner paid for by the finance chair, and for good reason. It’s not the kind of place cheap college students looking to get the most food for the least amount of money go to.

“Isn’t this a bit out of budget for our rom-com?” You ask as the host seats you at your table, a little booth in the middle of the restaurant, lanterns resting on the corners of the seats.

“I thought this was a mockumentary,” Jungkook jokes.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, resisting the smile that fights its way across your face. Trust you to make that sort of blunder in front of him. “I mean it, though. This place is expensive.”

“It’s manageable,” Jungkook promises. “I’ve been saving up. Plus, I thought you deserved a nice night out.”

“How generous of you.”

“Oh, come on, I know you’re excited,” he narrows his eyes at you. “You don’t have to act like a stone-cold robot anymore.”

“Well…” you suppose enough is enough. Jungkook can see right through you anyway, so there’s no point in keeping up this indifferent facade of yours. “Only because you’re treating me so nicely.”

“Just please don’t order the steak,” he requests simply.

You laugh. “No problem. Maybe we could just share a couple of appetizers?”

Jungkook likes the sound of that.

Luckily, this is not one of those restaurants where the appetizers cost an arm and a leg and are the size of your pinky finger. You and Jungkook split three different ones, happy to scoop out portions for each of you and indulge in them together.

Dinner dates—of which this is only sort of one—are always awkward because you spend half of the time shoving food into your mouth, but you and Jungkook don’t seem to mind the silence at all. Only, Jungkook does look sort of like he’s holding back.

“Is this enough food for you?” You ask him halfway through, distantly remembering how he absolutely devoured a whole plate of pasta last time and still having enough room in his stomach to finish yours.

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks over a mouthful of vegetables.

“You ate so much at the Italian place, I just want to make sure you aren’t still hungry,” you point out.

“Oh.” Jungkook pauses, swallowing down the bite in his mouth. “No, I’m okay. Thanks for thinking of me, though.”

“Yeah, of course,” you say. You hesitate for a moment, not sure if you should say anything else. But what the hell, right? It’s Jungkook. It’s Jungkook and he walked you home when you were drunk, he gave you flowers, he let you borrow his jacket. And you feel as though you must return the favor. “Anytime.”

He smiles.

Despite the pure ecstasy you both experience when eating delicious food, Jungkook makes sure not to waste this time and grabs a few frames of you eating with his camera. He always seems to have that with him whenever he’s with you, hanging around his neck or stuffed into his backpack or crammed into his pants pocket. Sort of makes you wonder just how much footage the two of you have of each other.

He insists on paying but you send him some money anyway, just because letting him shoulder the burden of a place as expensive (for college students, at least) as this just doesn’t sit right with you. Whenever he receives the Venmo notification on his phone, Jungkook frowns and says that he’ll send that money back to you, but he never does and you can tell that he really does appreciate it.

You don’t think you have any plans on stopping that for a while.

The only downside of going to this restaurant is that there is no gorgeous, light-strung park in the vicinity the two of you can wander around. Just your campus, which you have no doubt walked a thousand times over, and the streets surrounding it, which you have memorized like the back of your hand.

It almost makes you think that Jungkook is just going to drop you back off at your place and the night will end there, but you know better than to expect something like that from Jungkook. Instead, as you’re walking, you point out the cafe that you and Ruby always go to, see that it’s closing in half-an-hour, and Jungkook decides then and there that it’s your next destination.

“You’ve never been here before?” You ask when you walk inside, eyes immediately drifting to the display of pastries beside the register.

“I’m not normally on this side of campus,” Jungkook admits. “You’re the only reason I’m ever here.”

“Then hopefully after finding this place, you’ll have two reasons,” you say cheerfully. The baristas behind the counter know you on a first-name basis, are happy to help you out even though they’ve no doubt been working long hours and are ready to close up shop and go home.

You split a tiramisu and sit at that same corner table you and Ruby always pick, empty now that it’s so late at night. Other than the employees, you and Jungkook are the only ones in here, a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the restaurant, filled to the brim with people, the smell of cooked food wafting through the air.

The tiramisu isn't as fresh as it would be bright and early in the morning, but you suppose that that just means you and Jungkook will have to come back. Besides, Jungkook obviously does not seem to mind, scarfing it down ruthlessly. You’re in and out just as they close up shop, the employees bidding you goodbye like old friends, sending you on your way. There’s not really much else either of you have planned for tonight, and Jungkook isn’t coming up with any new ideas as he checks his phone. Instead, you just begin to head back to your apartment, all wrapped up in each other. You place your hand in his own and feel yourself relax when he squeezes, a silent little reminder that he’s still here, and that so are you.

Funnily enough, holding hands feels natural to you at this point.

“Tonight was fun,” you comment, breaking the quiet.

“Yeah, glad we could do this,” Jungkook agrees. “Makes me kind of sad to know that this thing is almost over.”

“What, the project?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Yeah. And the class. And the semester. It’s kind of scary. We’ll be seniors next year.”

You chuckle. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I still have no idea what I’m going to do after we graduate.”

“You don’t have to know everything,” Jungkook reassures you. “As long as you’re happy with what you have now.”

“Are you?” You inquire, looking up to meet his eyes.

Jungkook beams down at you. “I am.”

The walk from the cafe to your apartment is short, just under five minutes, but it feels like it takes you an hour, footsteps slow and languid, like neither of you want the night to end. You hit every red light, round every corner, drawing out the evening for as long as you can. Unfortunately, there is only so much you can do on a five-minute walk, and before you know it, you’re home.

“This is me,” you say, stopping outside the gold doors of your apartment complex. “Thanks again for tonight.”

“Anytime,” Jungkook says, a common thread in your conversations.

“Really?” You ask, skeptical. “Our project’s almost over.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to stop doing this,” Jungkook says.

You narrow your eyes. “What are you implying, huh, Jungkook?”

“This.”

Before you know it, he’s wrapping one hand around your waist and pulling you in close to him, your palms splayed out against his broad, toned chest, pressing his lips to yours. You gasp a little into the feeling, somewhat shocked he would dare be so bold even after all this time, but find yourself sinking into the touch. He tastes like coffee and cream, like peppermint from his chapstick, like the wine you shared tonight. You cave into the way he holds you, hands wrapped around your body, palms pressed firmly against your figure. He holds you like he’s afraid to let go, like he’s trying to remind himself that you’re real and here and that you are kissing him back, like he’ll forget once the moment ends.

But he need not worry about that.

When you part, you don’t even bother wiping off the stupid smile on your face, kiss-drunk and filled with glee. It’s been a long time since you felt this way. And Jungkook makes you feel things you don’t even think you can explain.

“How bold of you,” you comment, noses touching, barely an inch away from each other.

“I figured I’d shoot my shot,” Jungkook says. He shrugs, pretending to be casual, but you can see the way he’s grinning, beaming, down at you.

“You scored,” you remind him.

“How observant of you,” teases Jungkook in return. You pout a little at his playful mockery, heart fond. “Think we can do it again?”

“Hmm, I would tone down the ego first,” you say, already leaning back in to press your lips against his.

“Never.” He smiles wickedly.

It’s a quicker kiss this time, a short peck against his cherry red mouth, but it still makes your heart beat something terribly fierce.

“See you soon?” You ask when you finally pull away, knowing that as much as you’d like to, you can’t just stand out here kissing each other forever.

Jungkook nods, cheeks pink and warm to the touch. He looks so sleek in his formal black outfit, crisp button-down and slacks, hair all styled, but the way he’s grinning at you makes him look so young, so sublimely happy. It’s nice.

“Anytime.”

“There’s my favorite couple!” Taehyung greets excitedly when he swings open the door to his apartment to reveal you and Jungkook standing on the other side.

“What’s it to you?” You comment snidely as he lets you inside, the black sheet still taped up along his wall. It looks a little more wrinkled than when you last saw it.

“Oh, nothing,” Taehyung singsongs. He definitely knows a lot more than he cares to tell either you or Jungkook, but whatever. The project’s almost over and he’s almost finished with university entirely. “You guys are just cute together, that’s all.”

“Like you even know the half of it.” You tell him with a roll of your eyes.

Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows. “Ooh, do tell.” He grins that greasy, comic-book-villain grin of his as he starts moving his bar stools back to where the sheet lines his cream-colored wall.

“Isn’t that the whole point of this?” Jungkook poses, making you laugh from where you’re seated on the couch, watching Jungkook set up his tripod in exactly the place he wants it. You smile at him as you recline against Taehyung’s poor old leather couch, so worn-down from use that the back cushions fold in when you press against them, and Jungkook peers out from behind the camera to blow you a kiss.

You send him one back without even needing to think.

Taehyung misses the whole scene, but no doubt he’ll be putting two and two together pretty soon. You and Jungkook agreed that for the last interview you would be questioned together, long before Jungkook actually managed to romance you off your feet, and there’s not a doubt in your mind that the two of you being interviewed side-by-side will make things much more interesting.

Nevertheless, Jungkook sets up the camera and sends a thumbs-up your way when he’s ready, Taehyung sitting on the bar stool just outside of the frame with a couple of index cards in his hand.

“Let’s do this,” you say, hauling yourself onto the seat. Jungkook does the same shortly after, scooching onto the one next to you as you stare at Taehyung, waiting for him to start.

“Looking forward to this one?” Taehyung asks knowingly.

You shrug nonchalantly. “Just a little.”

“Excellent. Shall we begin?”

You and Jungkook nod.

“Alright. Well, this is presumably the last thing the two of you will be filming for your project. How are you feeling about it?”

“It turned out better than I thought it would,” you admit. It will come as a shock to no one that you did not have very high hopes for this project when it was first assigned.

“Of course it did, I’m your partner,” Jungkook teases, poking you in your side. “Would you ever doubt me?”

“Always,” you say.

Taehyung chuckles. “Sounds like it’s been good so far. Did you enjoy filming it?”

You nod. “Yeah, it was actually kind of fun. Except for when Jungkook spilled coffee all over me, that was not cool.” You turn to face Jungkook directly, and all he does when you say his name is wink and point at you.

“It was for the rom-com, I don’t know what you expected,” Jungkook said. “I gave you my jacket, too.”

“How gentlemanly.”

Taehyung chuckles, warm and low. “I’m sure Jungkook learned his lesson,” he muses. “What was your favorite thing to film?”

Not when I randomly texted you five minutes before I showed up at your door to make you ask me questions about how I feel, you think to yourself. Jungkook still doesn’t know, but you think you’ll put it into the movie just for the hell of it, so he’ll find out then. Find out that you were grappling with your feelings for him long before you ever let on.

“The serenade was a blast, a special shoutout to the Eighth Notes for doing that for me,” Jungkook says immediately. Obviously that is at the top of his list. “Plus, I just like seeing Y/N all flustered.”

“Shut up, you’re so annoying,” you chide. “I guess the serenade was kind of cute. I liked going out together, though. On our not-date.”

Jungkook objects to that instantly. “It was a date, Y/N!”

You look back at him, equally as scandalized as he. “Whose turn is it to talk?”

“Mine, actually,” Taehyung interjects. “Did you like going out together?”

You sigh a little, wondering if you’re really about to turn into a softie in front of a camera for a movie to be shown to your twenty classmates and professor. “Yeah,” you say, real and true because that’s what you agreed on, you and Jungkook. To be candid. To be honest. To say how you felt. Really. “It was really nice. I hadn’t gone out with someone like that in a long time.”

“And were you happy because of the project, or because of Jungkook?”

“Well,” you begin, not exactly sure where to start. “I guess, it’s like… you know, I didn’t even know Jungkook before this project. I mean, I knew who he was, he would always respond to my discussion board posts and object to everything I said in class. But I didn’t know him as a person. But as we worked on this project together, planning and filming and editing, I started to. And we did so many things together. And I guess I just really enjoyed the time we did spend as a pair.”

“Would you say the same, Jungkook?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says easily. “That’s what I wanted. To get to know Y/N, to spend time with her. I was glad we had this project. Otherwise, we might never have done something like this.”

“You both seem very happy.”

“I think we are. This project was actually sort of a blessing in disguise. I know him a lot better, now,” you say. “I’m glad that I do. He makes me smile, and laugh, and I always feel happy when he’s around. I don’t know. He did it, somehow.”

“Jungkook?”

“It wasn’t just me. Y/N and I did this together. We made this. This project. Us. It wasn’t just her, or just me. It’s ours.” Jungkook grins.

“Are you glad you did this project?”

Of course. It was fun, and I liked filming it, and I feel like I got something really important out of it. I know it’s just a short rom-com mockumentary, but it really feels like there was a happy ending, you know? A happily ever after.”

“You seem really certain about that.”

“Well,” Jungkook says with a little scoff, “what else would you call it?”

“As you can see, obviously Y/N fell head over heels in love with me thanks to this wonderful project—”

“Why are you always so full of yourself—?”

“Hey, you’re ruining the voiceover! As I said, as you can see, Y/N fell head over heels in love with me, but that wasn’t just because of my dashing good looks and amazing singing skills.”

“The ends of your hair look like hay—”

“It was because we were honest with each other, and because we spent meaningful moments together, and because we kept our hearts open. And I guess that’s the truth of it all, isn’t it? Love, romance, relationships? If you close yourself off, you’ll never get to experience them. But if you take every opportunity with an open mind, then you never know what might happen. Like falling in love with your discussion board nemesis.”

“Who, me?”

“Just let me finish, come on. There’s like one paragraph left. I know this was a mockumentary, not a scripted rom-com with professional actors and screenwriters and a whole team of editors. But that was the whole point. To make it real. And to make it between two people who aren’t just characters on a screen. We’re real people, and this happened to us. And it makes us happy. And it can happen to you, too. I think we all learn something every time we watch a new movie. Whether it be about loss, or promises, or other people. This time, we learned about love. Real love. How it can be rocky and strange and come straight out of left field. But also how happy endings aren’t just for movies and fairytales. We all deserve them. And Y/N and I found our own.”

“Are you gonna say it?”

“And so… they lived happily ever after.”

You look up at the screen, expecting to see the credits roll, but instead it’s a shot of the two of you kissing outside of your apartment building, a shot of you wrapping your arms around him as you press your lips to his. It lasts for only a few seconds, but you find yourself entranced in the moment, shocked that Jungkook somehow managed to capture it on film. He didn’t even have his camera with him that night.

Pollack turns on the lights in your classroom as your fellow classmates applaud, all of them looking genuinely pleased that your rom-com had such a wonderful ending. Pollack herself looks rather proud, nodding to herself as she smiles at the two of you.

“You filmed us kissing?” You hiss to Jungkook as your classmates clap, hoping the sound of it will drown out your conversation.

“I got Taehyung to,” Jungkook whispers back. “Why?”

“I just… I thought that night was just for us.”

“The rest of it is. But I thought the kiss would be a cute way to end it. You know, happy ending and everything.”

Alright, if Jungkook insists. You nod, tensing up slightly. You hadn’t even noticed Taehyung down the street, standing behind some utility pole with the camera raised to his eye. Had Jungkook texted him in secret? Asked him to meet you outside of your apartment? Was he planning on kissing you from the very beginning?

You shake your head, willing away the thoughts as Pollack commends the two of you for a job well done. Jungkook and you stand at the front of the room for a few more seconds, getting stared down by your fellow classmates while Pollack speaks. The period ends just as she finishes up, the minutes changing the moment she closes her mouth. Within a minute or so, the whole class has emptied out, some of them congratulating you and Jungkook on the way out.

“I’ll meet you outside, okay?” Jungkook says, eyes bright and filled with that same wonder he’s always got.

“Yeah,” you say distantly, nodding to him as he disappears out the door.

“You did an excellent job, Y/N,” Pollack praises, and it goes right to your head, if you’re being honest. “It was brilliant.”

“Thanks,” you say, suddenly rather shy. “That means a lot.”

“Don’t tell anyone else this,” she says, voice quiet, “but I was secretly hoping the two of you would fall in love.”

“Pollack!”

She laughs. “What? I thought you’d make a cute couple. And you do, so clearly it all worked out anyway.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s against the code of conduct,” you say, even though you know you can’t be too mad at her. After all, you wouldn’t have Jungkook if it weren’t for her.

“Y/N, I’m tenured. I don’t care.”

“Wait…” you pause, eyes narrowing, “how many of your students have you set up with each other?”

Pollack grins. “I never reveal my secrets.”

Your mouth drops open.

She chuckles, shooing you out the door. “Go on, go be with your boyfriend. You can tell him you both get A pluses for your project. It was excellent. One of the best I’ve seen in a very long time.”

“Thanks, Pollack,” you say, smiling gratefully. “You’re the best.”

She points at you proudly as you head out the door. “So are you.”

Jungkook is waiting by the tables where you always sit, half a flight down from your classroom. He’s leaning against the edge of them as he scrolls mindlessly through his phone, so engrossed in the Instagram explore page that he doesn’t see you walk up.

“Guess what,” you say, getting all up in his face, just because you can.

“What,” Jungkook says, an eyebrow raised.

“We got an A plus on our project!” You exclaim happily, cheering. Jungkook laughs at your exuberant reaction, watches as you jump around, clapping loudly.

“Hell yeah, we did that!” Jungkook holds his hand up for a high five, one you gladly take. Your palms smack together and the sound reverberates around the hallway.

“You know, you and I—” you begin, placing your palms on his cheeks as you pull yourself in for a kiss, “we make a pretty good team.”

“Only because you’re so good at editing,” Jungkook says. You’re both not too bad, if you do say so yourself, but since Jungkook did so much of the filming you thought it would be better if you carried more of the weight when it came to post-production.

“Says you,” you tease, pressing your lips to his button nose. “The happy ending thing was a nice touch, I liked it. Makes me feel like I’m in a fairy tale.”

“I’m glad,” Jungkook says with a chuckle, admiring the way you beam at him. “You know, I was really worried that you might think we didn’t have a happy ending after all, especially after everything.”

“What do you mean?” You look at him curiously.

“Well, I just really wanted to make sure that we had a happy ending, because you’ve been through so much.”

You pause in place, eyebrows furrowing as you look up at him. Been through so much? Does Jungkook know something you don’t? Wait, no, did you… did you tell him—?

“You knew?” You ask, the realization piercing you like an arrow. “All this time, and you never said anything?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen.

“How long have you known?”

He winces. “Since I walked you home when you were drunk. You told me.”

You did?

Shit.

“And you didn’t think that maybe you should have told me that you knew? Especially when I asked you if I had said anything embarrassing?” You cry out, indignant. “What, were you just planning on never telling me?”

“I was going to, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to know that you had admitted all those things to me,” Jungkook admits, growing desperate. “They were really personal things, I thought you might react badly.”

“Oh, so you just decided to keep it a secret instead? Look how well that worked out.”

“What was I supposed to do, Y/N? I know you would have been upset.”

“Tell me!” You exclaim. “I asked you if I had said something embarrassing that night and you said I hadn’t. And I believed you. Better to have known then than now!”

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says.

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t just tell me. Didn’t we say we would be honest with each other? But instead, you just let me assume that all of the nice things you did for me were because you actually cared, and not because you felt bad for me?”

“I don’t feel bad for you!” Jungkook shouts. “I mean, I do, but that’s not why I took you out on dates and gave you flowers and held your hand. I do care about you.”

“Oh, so filming us kissing was just because you actually cared, too, right?”

“I don’t know why you’re so hung up about that,” Jungkook points out.

“Because I thought it was a private moment,” you remind him. “You hadn’t filmed anything the whole night. I thought we were just going out on a date like two people who cared about each other did. Us kissing was personal. But you texted Taehyung and told him to show up with his camera anyway, right? Because you were planning on kissing me from the very beginning. Because you knew, Jungkook. You knew and you had absolutely no intention of telling me.”

“Y/N, wait, I didn’t do those things just because I pitied you,” Jungkook says, reaching out for your hand.

You pull away. “You didn’t? Then why did you film us kissing, then?”

“Because…” he flounders. You aren’t at all surprised. “Because—”

“Enough, Jungkook. I get it,” you stop him, shaking your head. “Everything we’ve done since that first date we had, when we went to the Italian place, everything since then—it was all played up. Because you felt bad for me. I had a shitty experience with love and you wanted to make me feel better. Whatever.”

“Y/N, it wasn’t like that,” Jungkook chases after you as you begin to walk down the stairs, towards the exit. “I didn’t pity you. I still don’t. I did those things because I care about you, and I wanted you to be happy.”

“Well, you got what you wanted,” you say, arms crossed over your shoulders as you push your way out the door. “I was so happy when I was with you.”

“Wait, Y/N—”

“Bye, Jungkook.”

The door slams shut behind you.

“How many finals do you still have left? You finished your movie, right?”

Ruby is stirring herself a cup of earl grey tea as she sits down on the couch next to you, where you’re very obviously sulking as you scroll through the Feel Good Rom-Coms category on Netflix.

“I just have a couple essays and a presentation,” you mumble out. “You?”

“Ugh, I still have all of my final exams to take,” Ruby tells you with a thick, heavy sigh. Clearly, she doesn't feel like talking about them now. Or at all. “The life of a biology major.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wants to be a doctor, not me,” you remind her crudely. “You better know your shit, or I’m never taking my kids to your practice.”

“Rude,” Ruby says. “There goes my family and friends discount offer.”

You laugh to yourself, a small smile inching its way across your lips. Ruby’s always known how to brighten your day, even when you feel like absolute shit.

“What are we watching, hmm? I’m cool with anything.”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, flicking through all of the rom-com options and feeling very unhappy with all of them. “I feel like you’ve seen all of these.”

“Yeah,” Ruby says. “Whenever I’m not studying, I’m watching Netflix or The Bachelor.”

You nod. Maybe you’ll just settle on some old NCIS reruns and call it a night.

“Oh!” Ruby exclaims suddenly, a lightbulb going off above her head. “How about we watch your movie? The rom-com you did with Jungkook! I haven’t seen it yet.”

“I don’t know…” You begin, the mere thought putting a bad taste in your mouth. For obvious reasons.

“Come on, please? I really want to see it, you were so excited about it,” Ruby begs, getting all antsy as she climbs all over you, literally pulling your arm to get you to cave in. “It’s short, too, isn’t it? Like forty-five minutes long? We can watch whatever you want afterwards. Please.”

You huff out a breath. If it were up to you, you would move that film onto a flash drive and toss it into a dumpster on fire. But it’s not just up to you. Ruby has been asking you about it since the day you told her you were filming it, and now all she wants to do is see the final result. And it’s only forty-five minutes long. What’s that when compared to the rest of your life?

“Fine,” you relent, not wanting to fight about it any longer. “Let me get my computer.”

Ruby cheers.

You bring your laptop over to your coffee table, turning off the ceiling lights as Ruby tucks herself underneath a blanket, hands warmed by her steaming cup of tea. You pull up the movie file and, taking a deep breath, press play.

It opens with your first interview with Taehyung, a muted, royalty-free lo-fi hip-hop song playing in the background. You had edited it so that it would jump back and forth between your answer and Jungkook’s, highlighting the contrast between the two of you. It was mostly for comedic purposes, just because seeing you deadpan about how love doesn’t exist and then quickly switching to Jungkook wax poetic about it is amusing, but watching it now just makes you want to curl into yourself.

You should have known that this would have never worked out. Should have kept that same jaded attitude. You let your guard down for one second and look at what’s happened to you.

The next scene that Jungkook shows is, of course, the moment he spills burning hot coffee all over you in the middle of the Starbucks, comedically panning up to your positively-flabbergasted face just to add to the shock factor. Next to you, Ruby laughs at the mishap, obviously amused by the fact that the two of you are now drenched in coffee and scrambling to clean up the mess. You try to focus your energy on how peeved you were at Jungkook after he did that, but get distracted the moment he films himself wrapping his denim jacket around you, placing it over your shoulders and making sure it’s just right.

He didn’t have to do that, and the two of you both knew it. But still, he sent you off your class all bundled up in a jacket that smelled like him, smelled of that boyish aroma that you couldn’t get rid of, even when you put it in the wash with your lavender detergent. All of Jungkook’s clothes smelt like that no matter how much cologne he put on, always smelt woody and thick. It would consume you, that scent, a cloud surrounding your figure whenever you were near him.

The movie keeps playing, and you keep thinking about how much of a fool you must look like in it now, all giggles and smiles as Jungkook sings Frankie Valli to you while he hands you a rose, that same sly little smile dotting his features. Hearing the song again makes you feel like you’re choking, like something’s smothering you, and you’re not sure what it is until you realize that it’s the sound of Jungkook’s voice.

You haven’t heard him sing since he serenaded you.

Then it’s your first date, the one Ruby told you to wear the yellow dress to (“Hey, I told you you looked amazing in it! Wow!” Ruby exclaims when she sees you). You remember when you edited this, putting the clips together of you eating at the restaurant, wandering around the park, posing underneath the trees, holding hands. You were smiling so hard your cheeks hurt while you were editing, grinning from ear to ear at all of the things the two of you did together. They were so picturesque, those scenes, so perfectly shot, so romantici—t did a fine job of convincing you that it was all real.

You even put in the little clip of you and Taehyung talking. A mistake, now that you look back on it, of course. It was so vulnerable, so real, so candid and honest like you said you would be, and now it’s all blown up in your face. You must have looked like such an idiot to Jungkook when he saw this scene for the first time in class. You remember the wide-eyed look on his face when it popped up. Like he couldn’t even believe you had done this in the first place.

Scoffing, you shake your head. You either.

The rest of it you can hardly bear to watch. Just a wrap-up of your relationship, a compilation of all of the small moments you shared when you didn’t realize that Jungkook was filming, when you dared whip out your camera to shoot for a second or two. Little clips that jump from scene to scene, shots of you laughing and eating and skipping along campus as you held hands. It’s hard to reconcile the fact that it’s all over.

You don’t even listen to the final interview, not bothering to pay attention to what you or Jungkook have to say when you were there, when you can recall every word he’s ever spoken to you at the drop of a hat.

The truth is, you were always a goner for him.

And look how well that played out.

By the time the kissing scene comes up once more, you’re ready to set your whole laptop alight.

The screen turns black as it ends, fading away into nothingness, the instrumental slowly disappearing alongside the image. You shut your laptop when it’s all over, a little too angry for your own good, but you wrestle the scowl off your face as you take a drink of water from the glass sitting on the table.

“Wow,” Ruby says, speechless. She blinks at your closed laptop.

“Did you like it?”

“I—I don’t even know what to say,” Ruby says, which is a first. “It was amazing, Y/N. Seriously. Gorgeous. Like, cinematographically? Stunning. The shit on Netflix isn’t even as good as that.”

Even if you did have to sit through your stupid movie one more time, the compliments make you feel a bit better. “Thanks,” you murmur.

Ruby nods enthusiastically. “It was incredible. I’m just—I’m in awe. You and Jungkook have a gift, dude. It was seriously one of the best things I’ve watched in a really long time. And, like, not even in a cheesy, yucky rom-com kind of way. It was so… so genuine. So real. Wow.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“You’ll have to tell Jungkook, too,” Ruby says. “He did really well.”

“Yeah, he’s a great actor,” you say, a little too bitterly for your own good.

“What do you mean?” Ruby raises an eyebrow your way. “I didn’t think he was acting at all. It looked pretty real to me.”

You frown. “It did?”

“I mean, yeah,” Ruby says with an honest nod. “I mean, you did tell me it was a mockumentary and not just a run-of-the-mill rom-com. So wasn’t everything supposed to be real, anyway?”

“Yes…” you trail off, unsure of the direction of this conversation.

“Well, if you ask me,” Ruby says, all matter-of-factly, “I’d say he definitely fell in love with you.”

Something rushes through you. Something warm and bright and full of energy.

Hope.

Even though you have finished one of your finals early, finals week is still just as much of a slog as it always is. Three essays and two presentations deep, you aren’t finished any of them and the due dates are slowly creeping up on you, ready to pounce the moment the clock strikes twelve.

Eh, it could be worse. You could be Ruby and have six timed, proctored final exams on biology, anatomy, and chemistry. So you suppose you can’t complain too much.

Finals week sees you all holed up in your apartment like always, but more so this semester than any previous ones because you don’t feel like going to the library and risking seeing Jungkook there. Or anywhere, really. Since you presented on the last day of classes, you haven’t spoken since, and hopefully you can keep that streak going forever. You had made it until this semester without ever crossing paths despite being in the same major, so hopefully that luck will follow you.

It’s almost midnight when you finally decide to call it quits for the night, having at least gotten mostly through two of your essays (just have to edit and proofread!) and worked on about half of your two presentations. Sighing, you get up from your couch and stretch, feeling your bones crack from sitting in the same place for hours on end.

You lean over to the floor lamp by the edge of the couch, ready to flick it off and head to bed, when you hear something outside.

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

You freeze.

The voice is soft and mellow, a little muted because it’s making its way through your wooden door before it reaches your ears, but it is unrecognizable. Even without the acoustics of the Eighth Notes, you know who’s on the other side.

“You’d be like Heaven to touch…”

“I wanna hold you so much…”

“At long last, love has arrived…”

“And I thank God I’m alive…”

Unable to resist, you wander to your front door, basking in the sound of him, in the way the notes float through the air as if on clouds, dancing along the walls as they sink into your brain. He sounds so sweet, voice warm like tea on a cold night, just singing his song on this empty, lonely night. But it’s not just his song, is it?

It’s yours, too.

You pull open the door.

“You’re just too good to be true,” Jungkook sings, a honeyed melody that calms the waves of your stormy heart, “can’t take my eyes off of you…”

But just because he’s here, serenading you once more, doesn’t mean he’s going to get it any easier from you. You fight to keep the smile off your face, pressing your lips together as you narrow your eyes at him.

“I love you, baby, and if it’s quite alright, I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night…”

“I love you, baby, trust in me when I say…”

He meets your eyes with his own, and they aren’t glinting in the way they normally do, the way that they do when he knows he’s doing something to grind your gears, when he’s got a trick up his sleep. They gleam like pearls as the dim glow of your apartment lights up his figure, warm yellow mixing with the caramel in his irises.

“Oh, pretty baby, don’t bring me down, I pray…”

Oh, pretty baby, now that I’ve found you, stay…”

“And let me love you, baby…”

From behind him, Jungkook brings out a single red rose, twirling it between his fingers as he holds it out to you.

“Let me love you…” He trails off there, voice delicate as vanishes into the chilly night air, disappearing between the two of you.

You can’t help but take the flower from his hand. What else are you supposed to do?

“So?” Jungkook asks, hopeful.

“Don’t think you can just show up at my apartment and woo me back by singing to me,” you chide, even though he definitely can.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says simply, because there really is nothing else to say. “I should have told you.”

“I watched our rom-com again,” you tell him. “I should have believed you when you said you cared about me.”

“I always did,” Jungkook says. “I just wanted you to know that love was real, and that it was there for you.”

“I should have known,” you agree. You look up at Jungkook through lidded eyes, musing to yourself. “You know what I learned?”

Jungkook tilts his head in curiosity. “What?”

“That love isn’t a feeling. It’s a person,” you explain, sighing pleasantly. “Love comes to us through the things we share with other people. That’s what it is.” Your thumbs twiddle in front of you, the pads of your fingers rubbing at the stem of the rose.

He takes a single step forward, reaching out to take your hand in his own. “And are you pleased with who you’ve found?”

You roll your eyes. “Just shut up and kiss me already, you idiot.”

Jungkook obliges without a second thought.

There is no one to film you this time, no project to work on. There is only you, and there is only him. And there is only a lifetime that the two of you share, a story that you have told together, piece by piece, frame by frame. Your movie didn’t end once you finished editing. Nor did it end the moment the screen went black in Pollack’s class. It wasn’t even over when you watched it a second time with Ruby.

No, it continues on. Forever and ever, so long as you are with him. There will always be something new to capture, to burn into a disk so you’ll have it for eternity.

He pulls you in for a kiss and it’s not the end of the film. It’s the beginning of a brand new part, a new installment in the series that is your life with him. That is the relationship you have created together. His lips aren’t the fireworks as the credits roll. They are the scene where the two characters meet for the very first time and know that they were meant to be. The scene that sets all of the other ones in motion. That is who Jungkook is. That is what you are sharing, right now.

A brand new frame.

When you part, you press your forehead against his, soft blonde locks framing his face as they tickle your face, dancing along the skin of your cheeks.

“You called it a rom-com,” Jungkook points out randomly, just remembering now.

“Well, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know…” Jungkook says, pretending to think about it as he rocks on the back of his feet. “Did it have a happy ending?”

You bring your lips to his once more, arms wrapped around his neck as you clasp the rose between your fingers. You make a mental note to press it later. Something else to remember him by. Something other than your movie.

Jungkook pulls you into him once more, hands resting firmly on your waist, letting his body press against yours as you stand there in the muted light of your apartment’s living room, letting the cool spring breeze wash over you. You smile against his lips, feeling your heart race when he grins back.

“Yes,” you declare proudly.

And so, they lived happily ever after.

↳ thanks for reading! don’t forget to let me know if you enjoyed it!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #jungkook college au #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #w: the art of the rom com #dudes this fic is so long my keyboard is lagging HAHAHA

4K notes · View notes

shurisneakers · 4 years ago

Text

harmless (ix)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, sex jokes, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, anxiety

Word count: 3.9k

A/N: a lot of requests came in last week, so cool and thank you for sending them in!! i’ll try my best to write them if they weren’t originally what i had planned for this series bc they’re so cute kfjdghdf. also hey shoutout to @i-reblog-fics-i-like for suggesting the backstory thing!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Additional Scene || Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Hot single in your area! 😈 Find your solemate!

Somehow it bypasses Bucky’s spam folder and is in his primary email. SHIELD tech is too advanced to let fake mails like this reach him and this doesn’t make sense. Unless it was one of the stupid dating websites he signed up for.

Leaving aside the obvious typo in the subject, he clicks on it, hoping it doesn’t unleash a virus onto his computer.

He’s instead greeted with a poorly Photoshopped picture of you at a bar with a martini in your hand. He doesn’t have to look too hard to see that the martini is, in fact, an emoji. Off to a terrible start already.

Right beside it is an even worse image, an imitation of an early Internet chat box.

Harbinger of Doom just sent you a message!

Come to the empty lot near lair. Bring goggles. 😩💦

Decline/Accept

He wants to strangle you.

______

“Why did you curse my eyes so early in the morning?” He spots you at the top of the lair, speaking loudly so that it hopefully reached you.

“What?” you yell back down instead. “If you’re saying something, I can’t hear you.”

He rolls his eyes. He pulls his phone from his pocket and presses on your contact.

He watches the look of confusion morph into one of slight surprise when you reach into your pocket and pull out your call.

“Don’t ever send an image like that to me again,” he says directly.

“If that one image is too much for you, how will we ever make our sex tape?”

His mouth opens and shuts like goddamn fish.

He can hear your laughter even without the phone.

“First of all- stop laughing- first of all, a sex tape is never going to happen. Second of all, I have a debriefing to go to, we need to make this quick.”

He holds up a finger when he sees you begin to say something. By the look of trouble painted all over your face, he knows it’s going to be a dumb innuendo.

“Thirdly, why are you standing there?”

“I watched The Last Airbender,” you say once your cackling dies down.

“I like that show.” He did. Peter sometimes watched it when he came over and Bucky more often than not joined in.

“I know, you told me.”

Oh.

“Okay, what now?”

“Put your goggles on.” You take one step towards the ledge.

“What are you doing?” The goggles don’t do anything to shield him from the sun, considering that they’re not tinted. Maybe he could invest in those.

You send him a smile, taking a step further. His walk towards the building turns into a jog, then a sprint when you’re basically standing on the edge.

You spread your arms out like Jesus Christ himself before flinging yourself off the building. His stomach drops.

His phone falls to the ground, discarded to the side as he sprints to break your landing.

It never comes.

Instead, a gust of wind smacks him in the face, forcing him a few steps backwards.

“I am now an air bender.” your eyes shone. “Kind of.”

Just like that, the show was ruined.

He wipes the dust on from his glasses that he now understands why you made him wear. Considerate, for a person who nearly just gave him a heart attack.

“Why.” It’s not even a question, just a statement.

“You know how the Tower has a giant ‘A’ on the side?”

He stares at you.

“I‘m gonna spray paint ‘asshole’ on the side of it.”

Pepper would not like that.

“That’s not even evil.”

“Yeah, but it’d annoy your super friends,” You do a flip midair, testing out the repulsors that were tied around your palms, “and I’m the voice of the people.”

You’re too high for him to reach. He doesn’t have his tools, or anything useful on him considering that he never had to use them before. He couldn’t even launch himself at you from the side of the building because you’d just move out of the way. He could jump really high but it would just have the same consequence.

He could talk and keep you distracted but that worked once, it wouldn’t again. At least not for long.

Fuck, he really had only one option.

He leaves you to do your somersaults and turns, walking over to where he dropped his phone. It’s an upgrade from the brick he was using a while ago, but not a high end Stark model. A smartphone, but barely.

He sighs, punching in the number and holding it up to his ear.

“Who are you calling?” you yell from above him.

“Go back to your shitty aerobics,” he yells back.

You pause for a second. “Was that a fucking pun, James Bar-”

The dial tone ends when someone picks up. He diverts his attention back to the call.

“Hey man, I-

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish.”

“It’s probably something stupid,” Sam doesn’t even sound annoyed, just uninterested.

“I need your wings.”

“I was right. Bye.”

It was a long shot anyway.

“Fuckin’ hold on a second.” He sees you disintegrate a concrete block by having it drop from the air. “You come here and fix this, then. She’s air bending now.”

“...like Avatar?” Sam unsurprisingly got the reference.

Peter’s interests were usually shared by everyone in the Tower, just because they had to compensate for the teasing he had to endure. It led to a lot of geeky documentaries and occasional musicals. Bucky wouldn’t be caught dead humming songs from Thoroughly Modern Millie under his breath.

“Yeah.”

“You want me to come and fight your girlfriend,” he says slowly.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Bucky urges, “and yes, I need help. Can’t exactly reach her when she’s twenty feet above me.”

“We have a briefing in 30 minutes. Why did you even go there today?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that. Just looks up at you smacking one of the repulsors against your thigh when it sputters for a second. It’s tradition.

“Well?” Bucky ignores his question.

“Fine,” Sam’s voice is distant for a second as he agrees. “Clint’s asking if he can come too.”

“Fuck no.” One of them was more than enough and Sam was way better at negotiation.

He hears a faint profanity from who he assumed was Clint before the call cuts.

He takes a seat on the ground and waits.

“You’re not going to make any effort to stop me?” You have your arms pressed to your side, palms pointed downwards to keep you afloat.

“I could just throw things at you again.” He makes a mention towards the small pebbles.

“I will fuck you up if you even try,” you warn. He lifts his arms in surrender. “So that’s it. You’re just going to sit there.”

“To be honest, I couldn’t care less if you painted the building,” he says with the least amount of interest he could muster, not that that was very hard.

“Do you not like your team?”

“I do.” He isn’t lying. “But they’re little shits.”

“I can draw a couple of dicks on their window, no problem,” you say offhandedly.

He looks up at you through his fingers. “That won’t be required.”

Although it was appreciated.

“Cool, so then I’m gonna go.” You make a mention of the utility belt on your waist. He looks at the many spray cans that decorate it.

“What colour are you going with?” he interrupts quickly. Fuckin’ Sam. What was the point of wings if he couldn’t get here in 2 minutes?

“Red, probably.” You look down. “I got purple and white just in case.”

“Building’s dark, red is good.”

“You really don’t care, do you?” You lower yourself down to the ground, a few feet ahead of him. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” For fucks’ sake, Sam. “You really don’t like superheroes, do you?”

“I don’t have anything against them.”

“Then why do you do this every week?”

This was wading into personal territory and he did not like it.

“Well.” Your eyebrows knit together. “Because I want to. It’s fun.”

“No other reason?”

“Do I need to have another reason?” You push your palm downwards, sending you back up into the air. “Can’t I just be evil because I want to?”

“Sure,” he says. He’s heard worse reasons. “Why not?”

“Besides, if you think I don’t like superheroes then you should meet Jake.”

“Who’s Jake?” He hadn’t ever heard you mention him before because he’d remember if you had.

“My roommate.”

“I didn’t see him when I came over.”

“That’s because we’re not conjoined at the hip.” It takes you a second to stabilise. “Besides, he grabbed the water while I got the bracelet but he refused to come say hi.”

Bucky looked down at his wrist. It was still there. He found himself fidgeting with it more often than not.

“He hates superheroes?”

“He has a valid reason.” Your eyes widen in worry when your head suddenly dips.

“What is it?” He knows the height at which you’re at isn’t very dangerous but if need be, he’s close by.

“Come find out.” Your eyes shone mischievously. “But yeah, no reason for me to be evil.”

“Not even a tragic backstory?”

“None. But if you want it, I can give you one, Barnes.” You test the waters, seeing how long you can lie horizontally. “Can’t promise you’ll like it though.”

“Try me.” He has time to kill. He’s a good listener.

“Well, it all started with my family- a troop of gorillas.” You flip over to lie on your back. “They practically raised me, they did. Until my gorilla mother died and I was all but consumed by grief and-”

“Your mother was a gorilla?” He entertains the notion.

“Or was it my father?” you ask thoughtfully. “I don’t know, I don’t remember. Anyway, I met a-”

“Just to clarify, none of this is real, right?” he interjects.

You stare at him. He stares at you.

“Bucky, that’s the plot of Tarzan,” you say slowly, “or at least whatever I remember of it... which I’m beginning to realise isn’t much.”

“Just clarifying.” He leans back again.

“Anyway so then when my mother, the deer-”

“Gorilla.”

“Whatever. Was killed, I escaped to some place-”

“Where?”

“Somewhere. And I stayed with these seven men-”

“Why seven?” He actually remembers watching this movie with his sister when it came out. An early memory, a bit faded. He remembers how long he saved up for the ticket.

“Because character development. And then I realised the reason my life was so weird was because there was a rat controlling me by pulling on my hair-”

“What the fuc-”

“If you ask any more questions, I’m going to stop.”

Bucky blinks at you. “So that’s your backstory.”

“Raw and uncut, baby.”

“Just to get this straight, your mother, the gorilla deer-”

“Witch.”

“Huh?”

“She was a witch who stole my hair.”

“Wha-”

He’s interrupted by the giant shadow cast by something that flies overhead.

Fucking finally.

He doesn’t even have to look up. Sam does a small glide to the ground, landing gracefully beside him.

Bucky finds you speechless but straightened up from your earlier posture.

“Buck,” Sam greets him.

“Sam,” he says in return, getting up from his place.

A grin spreads across your face. “Mr. Sam Wilson. No way.”

“You’re Y/N, I’m assuming?” Sam offers, posture relaxed. He clearly wasn’t here to fight.

“The one and only.” You tear your eyes away from Sam to glare at Bucky. “Barnes, if you had told me we were expecting guests, I would have dressed better.”

Bucky furrows his eyebrows in suspicion at you. You’d dress up for Sam.

You dressed up like a suburban tourist dad for him. He was feeling the offence incoming.

“Can’t count on him to be useful in any situation.” Alright, he did not call Sam just to have the both of you team up against him.

“Normally I’d agree with you but he did just invite you here, so...” you trail off, looking at Sam expectantly.

What the shit.

Sam smirks. Bucky switches rapidly back and forth between the both of you.

“I see why Buck keeps coming back every week.” It doesn’t take long for him to catch on, enlisting a feeling of triumph from you.

“I can’t see why he doesn’t just stay at home everyday if this is the view.” You gesture to him.

This is not what Bucky wanted.

“Okay,” Bucky interrupts, “what is going on here?”

“Pure chemistry, I’d say.” You’re half tempted to bite your lip to seal the deal.

“I agree.” Sam just nods, completely and utterly serious.

You think that you’ll give him a gift basket just for playing along despite meeting you for the first time at that moment.

“Get a room.” Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Maybe we will.” You tap your finger against your lip in thought. “How do you feel about Indian food, Sam?”

“Very positively.”

Bucky grits his teeth. “If you’re not planning to spray paint the Tower, can you just hand over the repulsers so we can go home for the day?”

You let out a small tsk in disapproval. “See what I have to deal with?”

“Can’t imagine how you do it every weekend,” Sam says dryly, not wasting a second in replying.

“Hello?” Bucky waves his arm around. “She’s the villain here.”

“Your face is the villain here.” You tear your eyes away from Sam only to glare at him. “He won’t even wear a cape. Why am I the only one who brings their A-Game every week?”

“Sam just get the damn-”

“You should wear a cape, man.” Bucky’s absolutely sure that even Sam knows it’s a ridiculous idea.

“I’m not wearing a fuckin’ cape,” he grumbles.

“What are your thoughts on swords, then?” Your finger finds a place under your chin in deep contemplation. “You’d look great with a sword.”

Bucky buries his face in his palms. “Sam, for the love of God.”

“Okay, alright.” Sam finally gives in with a small chuckle. He runs a few steps to get a small head start before launching himself into the air, whizzing past your levitating figure. He does a neat little flip midair before matching your height.

Showoff.

“How difficult are you gonna make this, Wilson?” you ask, a smirk on your face.

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky exhales, looking at the both of you through his goggles.

“What’s your play here?” Sam calls out loudly.

“Was gonna spray paint ‘asshole’ on the side of the Tower.”

“After the ‘A’?”

“After the ‘A’,” you confirm.

“Now that’s too small,” Sam tutted. “You gotta think bigger. Paint the whole Tower.”

“Sam!” Bucky looks horrified.

“Hmm.” You look like you’re considering it. “Don’t have enough paint for that though.”

“You’re an evil genius, right?” Sam casts a small glance at Bucky. “At least that’s what he tells me.”

“You talk about me?” You grin at the disgruntled man on the ground.

“I don’t,” he mutters, shaking his head. A lie.

“Yeah, so build something,” Sam points out. “Get some more paint. I’ll even tell you the best vantage points to spill it.”

“No, he won’t,” Bucky shouts from below.

“He’s just cranky because he didn’t get his prune juice this morning, ignore him,” Sam dismisses him.

Prune juice? He was a young 100, not ancient.

“What’s your favourite colour, Falcon?”

“I like red.”

As annoyed as Bucky is right now, he stores that away in his memory for later. He also knows Sam loves seafood and a good pair of shoes.

“A couple of gallons of red paint it is, then.” You lower yourself to the ground, Sam slowly follows suit until he lands beside Bucky.

“You know we can’t let you go without taking those, right?” Bucky tilts his head towards your invention.

You narrow your eyes at him. He doesn’t budge.

“I’ll tell ya what,” Sam pipes in instead. “I’ll keep them until you finish getting the paint and once you’re done, we’ll make an evening out of vandalising the Tower.”

Bucky may not enjoy his company all that much but he admires Sam’s diplomacy. Of course, you would never make it this easy while reasoning with him.

“That a promise, Mr. Wilson?” You raise your eyebrow at him questioningly but are already in the process of removing the things from your hand.

“Wouldn’t ever lie to you, doll.” He holds up his hand in a mock swear.

You walk towards Bucky and him, rotating your wrists to get rid of the soreness. “Bold claim for a man who met me ten minutes ago.”

“Feels like it’s been longer.” He sends you a wink and you can’t stop the laugh the escapes from you finally.

Bucky holds his hand out for the gadgets. You shrink away from him with a click of your tongue.

“Technically, he takes this round.” You send a nod towards Sam, dropping off the repulsors into his hand. “So he gets it.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“You gonna keep ‘em safe?” you ask Sam, this time a little more earnestly.

“Guard it with my life,” he says seriously, pressing his lips together in a line to avoid smiling.

“You’re both ridiculous,” Bucky cuts in.

“You’re going to be late.” Sam tucks the devices into his pocket safely. “You know how Steve gets when people walk in on his speeches. Do you even have a ride?”

“Got the motorcycle.”

“See you there.” Sam nods.

“Save me a place,” Bucky says to him.

“No.” He doesn’t even hesitate. “Y/N. It was a pleasure.”

“Still holding you to that evening, Sam.” You send him a smile.

“I’m countin’ on it.” He gives you a small three finger salute before taking off, leaving you staring after his retracting figure.

When the dust settles, Bucky awkwardly clears his throat. “Right. So that was that.”

“Dude,” you let out an exhale. “he’s so hot.”

He murmurs something unintelligible. It vaguely sounds like a series of threats but mostly a list of complaints.

“Don’t you have a meeting to get to?” You turn your attention back to him.

“Yeah.”

“Aren’t you going to be late?” You glance at the clock on your phone.

“I’ll just tell them I was on a mission.” Well, sort of. “Besides, what are they gonna do? Kick me out?”

“Fair enough.” You shrug. “Have a safe ride back.”

From what he knows of you and Sam, the both of you were kidding around. But he could never be too sure. He can’t even ask if you were serious about the entire thing because it’s none of his business.

Were the implications of having his mortal nemesis and other mortal nemesis date important enough to overrule that?

“Are you planning to skip your meeting, or?” you ask when he remains freezes in his spot, eyes glazed over like he’s thinking about something. “Because if you are, I know this great Thai place-”

“Don’t do that again,” he says instead, shaking his head to jolt him out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“Flinging yourself off roofs like that.”

“Why?” Because it scared the hell out of him, for one.

“Just don’t.”

“Oh please, like you’ve never done dangerous shit like that before.” You narrow your eyes at him, reading his face. “Are you telling me you care about me?”

“No.” His nose twitches. “Just don’t throw yourself off buildings when I’m around.”

“What about when you’re not?”

“As long as I’m not there to witness it.” He shrugs, spinning on his heel to leave. Technically he preferred if you didn’t do things like that at all.

“Fine. I’ll just have my clone try out all the dangerous stuff for me.”

He stops in his tracks. “You have a clone?”

“Well,” You squint, “no. But I’m working on it.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Bye Y/N.”

“You know, it sounds an awful lot like you’re saying we’re friends.” Your whole demeanour changes and he already knows what’s coming.

“I never said that,” he argues vehemently. “All I said was that I can’t have your murder on my hands.”

“Thus implying that we’re friends. In a fucked up, enemies kind of way.” You positively beam at him. “Aw, Barnes, that’s adorable.”

Adorable? Adorable?

“I hate you.”

“I love you, too, bestie,” you gush, dumb grin on your face. “I’ll make us friendship rings next time. What are your thoughts on matching tattoos?”

He wants to cry.

______

By the time Sam walks into the meeting room, the session’s already begun. He shoots an apologetic look to a monologuing Steve before taking his place at the nearest chair available.

Something sharp pokes his thigh. His wings are off and in the backpack beside him, but then he remembers your little inventions that were still in his pocket.

He tries not to make much of a noise while he pulls them out, giving them a look over to make sure they’re not broken.

“Watcha got there, Big Bird?” Tony asks lowly from beside him.

“Something that Barnes’ enemy made.” Sam holds it up slightly.

“The one he’s been rendezvousing around town with every weekend?”

“That’s her.” He’s about to put it in his backpack when Tony stops him.

“Pass that here for a second.” He recognises it immediately for what it is, interest piqued.

Sam hands one of them over while he puts the other back in the bag. It’s a metallic circle, not bigger than Tony’s palm, with a thick leather strap to tie it around your palm.

“She made this?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Sam mentions towards Bucky who silently slips into the conference room, standing in the corner near the potted plant since there were no more chairs left.

“The balance has gotta be off on this thing,” he mutters to himself, wholly ignoring the brooding man standing in the corner like a Christmas tree.

“She seemed to be manoeuvring it fine,” Sam catches the eye of a lower ranking agent who makes the mistake of glaring at him for talking while the meeting was going on. A few seconds later the agent hastily looks away and doesn’t turn around for the rest of the hour.

“Could be better.” He uses a much more intricate model for his suits, although this isn’t even half-bad for a homemade version. “Do you know how long she took to make this?”

“Buck says she comes up with a new one every week, so I’m guessing that long.”

It had a few glitches but it was incredibly refined for a week’s worth of work.

“Interesting.” He gives it a quick overlook before handing it back to Sam who drops it into the bag.

He casts a swift glance at Bucky, noting how he wasn’t even paying attention to the meeting but rather to whatever he had tied around his metal wrist, fidgeting with it with his thumb.

Tony has an idea.

And that was generally bad news.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

1K notes · View notes

scuttling · 3 years ago

Text

Head Over Feet - Chapter 3

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Spencer Reid/Female Reader (Unrequited) Word Count: 4,597 Chapters: 3/? WIP (I think 4 but you know me!) Tags: 18+, NSFW, Unrequited love, Protected sex, Oral sex, Vaginal fingering, Rough sex, Friends with benefits, Praise kink, Daddy kink Summary: Falling in love with one of your two closest friends was never something you planned; it only makes sense that falling in love with the other would also come as a complete surprise. *Inspired by/in collaboration with @ssamorganhotchner. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Link to AO3 or read chapter 3 below! You make it to Aaron’s just a couple minutes after he does; he’s removed his jacket, shoes, and gun, and his collar is unbuttoned, tie loosened but not untied. You wrap your fingers in it the moment you see him, work open the knot, and he leans in to kiss you, guides you fully inside so he can close the door behind you.

You pull his tie off, unbutton his shirt, unclasp his belt, kissing all the while—deep, eager, breathless kisses; when you have no choice but to pull back for air, you’re both panting, fingers still working to get you out of your clothes.

“How was your day? Good?” he asks, chest heaving as he pulls your sweater over your head, and you nod, wet your lips.

“Good, yeah. Yours?” He nods too.

“Good.”

“That’s good.” You surge up for a kiss, unbutton his pants and untuck his shirt, pull it off and drop it onto the floor. His hands find your waist and he maneuvers you through the living room, toward the sofa; you pause, press a hand against it, lift your leg to unzip one boot, then the other, and kick them off and under the coffee table.

He guides you to his bedroom—you’re walking backward, and it’s almost as if he drags you, his hands holding you tightly, long legs leading the way. You trip, tip-toe your way there, know he’d never let you stumble or fall, and when you stop at the foot of the bed you reach down, pull down his zipper, push his pants to the floor. He takes your face in his hands, meets you for a hot, messy kiss, and then you pull his undershirt over his head, quickly wiggle out of your jeans.

“You are so gorgeous,” he breathes, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck and pulling you in for another deep, wet kiss. He tilts his head the other way, nose against your cheek, tongue in your mouth, gripping you hard, and you moan into the kiss; you’re a little surprised at how that simple gesture, the hand on the nape of your neck, makes you feel wild and out of control. “Hmm. Do you like that?” he asks softly in your ear, squeezing his fingers, and you lick your lips, nod.

“Yeah. You can be a little rough; I like rough.” He pulls back to make eye contact, holds your gaze for a moment, and then unhooks your bra with the hand not on your neck, guides it off. Still looking into your eyes—your breath comes quick from arousal, not exertion—he slides your panties down, and then he moves both hands to your ass, lifts you up, and deposits you on the bed; you’re sitting up, but he pushes your arms so you’ll lay flat, holds you there a moment, and you moan again. Jesus.

“Can I eat your pussy?” he asks, low, leaning in to mouth at your throat, and you grip his shoulders, gasping softly when he nips at your neck.

“Fuck. Yes.” He pulls you closer to the edge of the bed, kneels on the ground, and opens your thighs with strong hands, licks over you slowly with a flat tongue. “Mmm. Oh my god.”

Broad swipes turn to targeted slips of tongue between your lips, quick flicks over your clit, and when he presses closer you run your hand fondly over his head, grip his hair roughly at the roots. He groans against your skin, sucks hard at your clit, and brings his hands up to squeeze your breasts, and you can’t help rocking up against his face, whining and moaning and begging for release.

“Please, Aaron. I want to come for you.” He looks up at you, gliding his mouth over your soaked folds, and takes back a hand, slides one finger inside you and then curls his tongue around it. “Oh, yes, please. Yes.” Another thick finger pushes in, presses up, pumps quickly, and you tense, arch off the bed, a string of whimpers falling from your lips as you come.

“So good, sweetheart,” he breathes, and he lifts you and guides you up the bed, so your head rests against the pillows. Your chest is heaving, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, and he lays on top of you, moves his mouth to yours, gets you to open it for a soft, wet kiss. “Suck my fingers, baby.” He presses them into your mouth, and you hold his hand, suck them hard and messy until he pulls them out, kisses you again. “I’m going to get a condom, I’ll be right back. Just a second.” You nod, let your head fall lazily back against the pillows, and he comes back, pushes his boxers down, and climbs over you.

“Let me?” He hands you the packet, watches you carefully tear it open, slip it over him, and you run your hands along his body, lean up for kisses until he guides you back and opens your legs wider with his knees.

The second he’s inside you, you both grab at each other, your hands on his back and one of his on your face while the other presses against the bed for support. He fucks harder, faster than the first time, and you eagerly match his pace, slide your hands down to dig your fingertips into his ass.

“Oh, fuck. Aaron,” you pant, and he brushes his fingers over your lips, then moves that hand to the bed as well, so he can press deeper. You hitch your legs up high, squeeze them against his hips, hold on to his ass as he fills you so completely it’s almost too much. “Yeah, fuck me. Oh, god.”

“Yeah, just like that. There’s my good girl.” You whimper, and he pounds his hips against yours, lowers himself down to his elbows and slips an arm behind your shoulders, holds you close like an embrace, kisses you breathless.

It doesn’t take long for you to come, not with his body pressed to yours, his mouth on yours, his cock so thick and so deep inside you; you mumble his name, Aaron and Hotch like your brain can’t keep up, and then he comes too, brings a hand to your cheek and just stares into your eyes while he frantically thrusts, then slows, then stops.

You sigh, bring your hands up, one on his wrist where he cradles your face, the other brushing through his hair; he shifts off of you, to the side, but you just hold each other for a moment, catching your breath, kissing softly.

Eventually he leaves to dispose of the condom, comes back and pulls you against his chest; you slip your legs between his, run your hand up and down his arm.

“So what did he do?” he asks after a couple of minutes, his voice a little rough, and you tilt your head to look up at him.

“What?” He doesn’t make eye contact.

“What did Reid do? To get you so worked up?” You feel a hot rush of shame, press your cheek against his chest because you can’t bear to look at him.

“He said he loves her. That he’s waiting for the right moment to tell her.” He hums, just a thoughtful sound, no judgement, and you shift up, rest a hand on his cheek so he’ll look at you. Your own idiocy aside, he needs to see you say this. “But I thought about you all day. I couldn’t get you out of my mind, and that had nothing to do with him—nothing.” He looks you over like he can’t decide if you’re just saying it, or if it’s true, and you brush your lips softly over his, put as much feeling as you can into the gentle touch.

He closes his eyes, exhales, brings you close for another series of tender kisses, then punctuates them with a press of lips to your forehead.

“What do you want for dinner?” he asks, and then he smiles softly, and you kiss him again and dangle over the edge of the bed, grab your phone out of your pocket, and cuddle close to look over some menus.

You opt for Lebanese, eat way too much baba ganoush, and lay your head on his lap and read while he watches the news. About a month later, you wake up at Aaron’s after yet another night spent in his bed—your twelfth consecutive night together at one of your apartments. You leave early, head home to shower and change, only grumbling a little about how you won’t have time to stop for coffee; when you get to the office, there’s a coffee cup with a stopper in it sitting on your desk, and you smile, pluck the stopper out and take a sip. It’s a perfect latte, still piping hot, and it makes your chest warm in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature.

“Secret admirer?” JJ asks, walking down from her office. “I saw it there when I came in but didn’t see who left it.”

“It was just Hotch,” you say, but just Hotch doesn’t really mean what it used to. He’s been your friend for a while, that’s not a secret, even though your friends with benefits thing kind of is—you don’t actively hide anything from anyone, but neither of you have felt the need to clue anyone in—but you can feel yourself becoming a little more… possessive, of him. It’s ridiculous: just because you’re sleeping with him doesn’t mean he’s yours, or that he owes you anything, you know that, but you’re more aware than ever of when someone pays a little too much attention to him.

It’s painfully obvious when you are in Charlotte later that week, working out of the FBI field office there; it’s your second day on the case, and one of the agents assisting you flirts with him in the breakroom. Openly.

“The coffee here is horrible,” she begins, standing next to him at the coffee maker as he waits for a fresh pot. You came in for a refill too, but he beat you to it, and then she showed up and squirmed her way in between you as if you weren’t literally in the middle of a conversation. “If you want, I can take you to my favorite cafe across the street. They grind the beans every half hour, so it’s always very fresh.” She’s turned toward Aaron, can’t see you, so you roll your eyes; he catches it, tries to hide a smile, but the agent thinks it’s for her. “Is that a yes, Agent Hotchner?” She lays a hand on his arm, but he clears his throat and he takes a half step back, politely and effectively removing it.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m spoken for.” The woman turns to look at you—she’s clearly unhappy about being turned down, more so since you’re standing just inches away—and you smile your polite, fake, public servant smile until she takes the hint and leaves the break room. You move closer to Aaron like you were before she arrived, your arms crossed in irritation, and he pours you a cup of coffee, hands it to you, leans in to whisper in your ear. “Play nice, kitty.”

His words send heat throughout your body, and when he pulls back you just stare at him for a second. If you weren’t so exposed, you’d put down the coffee, grab him by his tie, and kiss him until you’re both stupid, but there are agents walking back and forth past the windows, the open door, so all you can do is look at him. You make it count, make sure to tell him with your eyes that you cannot wait to get him to get him naked; it must be effective, because he wets his lips, flicks his gaze over your body. It’s only when someone clears their throat in the doorway that you look away from each other, and even then it takes a moment.

“Hey you two,” Emily says, hands on the doorframe. “We’ve got a witness that just came forward, Morgan’s going to take him into interrogation now. You probably want to come see this.” Naturally, the witness only further complicates your investigation; you’re all glad your killer takes his time choosing a new victim, because it buys you a little more time, and you have a solid profile by the next morning. You split up to canvass the neighborhoods, to go door to door asking if anyone knows a man who fits your profile—you’re partnered with Spencer, who seems more anxious than usual, and that’s kind of saying something.

“Are you doing alright?” you ask him as you walk up to a red brick house, knock on the front door. He presses his lips together, nods, hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, I’m good. Are you?” You look over at him, raise an eyebrow, and he rocks a little on his heels. “You’ve cancelled the last couple of movie nights; we haven’t spoken much.” You knock on the door again, but there’s still no answer.

“I’ve been busy; you’ve been busy too, you know how it is.” You gesture to the next house, pull out your phone to jot down this house number so you don’t forget it and head down the sidewalk. “How are things with Chelsea?” He hums noncommittally, and you shove him lightly with your shoulder. “Come on, it’s okay. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.” It hasn’t been exactly easy, the last month—hearing how close the two of them have grown, how he told her he loves her and she said it back, how he has a drawer at her apartment—but it’s been easier. (Aaron doesn’t have a drawer at yours, you think absently, hasn’t asked for one, but you figure that’s by design; it’s a good reminder of what your relationship is, and isn’t.)

“They’re good. She gets a little frustrated when I’m gone for a while, when I have to cancel plans.”

“Most people are like that; they don’t live the life, so they don’t really get it. That’s normal,” you assure him. You’re a little surprised that it comes so easily, just like it would have before your big confession. He takes the lead this time, opens the screen door of a light blue bungalow and knocks three times.

“Is that how your… boyfriend is?” You bring your hand up to your face like a visor, peer in through the small windows on either side of the door, avoid eye contact.

“He understands,” is all you say. It’s too complicated to try to explain your relationship with Aaron, and you’re both comfortable with how it is now, not exactly secret but not exactly public; you don’t want to jeopardize it any way. “And she might, too, eventually. Just give it time.” You pull back, smile softly. “Looks like no one’s home. Why did we decide to canvass at one o’clock on a Wednesday?” Spencer shrugs.

“Because Hotch said.”

“Oh, that’s right. I’m going to text that dummy; you drive.” You hand him the keys, slide into your seat and buckle up, then tug your phone out of your pocket.

Canvassing was a bust—no one’s home. Whose bright idea was that again?

Excuse me? You grin, look out the window so Spencer won’t see it.

I think you may be getting past your prime. Time for a younger man to take your place?

You better watch your mouth, baby.

Or what, daddy?

You send it before you even realize what you said; it just sort of came out. The next several minutes pass by agonizingly slowly, and you’re about to send a panicked text, either backtracking or trying to play it off as a joke, when he replies.

You’ll just have to wait and see. Come back to the office. I’ll give you new instructions.

On the way.

Good girl. You almost whimper. He knows how those words affect you—torrential downpour in your panties—and he knows you’re in the car with Spencer. He’s playing a very naughty game, one you desperately want to participate in. You start to type...

“What did he say?” ...and then you drop your phone on your foot, turn to Spencer with a questioning frown.

“Hmm?”

“What did Hotch say? When you told him we didn’t have any luck.” You reach down to pick up your phone, and your seat belt tightens, restricting your movement. You huff, sit back in your seat.

“Uh. He said to head back to the office and he’d figure out something for us to do.” Spencer nods, and you blow out a breath, lean your head against the headrest and close your eyes.

Thankfully, the ride back to the office is short, and the two of you head for the room the team is set up in. Aaron stands when you enter, gives you a brief once over, and then rattles off new details the other groups have learned, gives you new assignments. Spencer leaves to meet up with JJ and Derek, but you hang back when Aaron softly says your name.

“Your text,” he begins carefully, and you take a deep breath. “What you called me. Is it okay if we continue that?”

“Yeah, it’s okay with me; more than. Is it okay with you?” He nods, moves a little closer; he glances up, like he’s looking toward the door behind you, then slides his hand to cover the back of your neck, squeezes it.

“It’s okay with me; more than. Be careful,” he murmurs, and then he releases you and you swallow hard, get back to your assignments.

The unsub is tracked, cornered, captured by nightfall, and you fly home despite the late hour. Everyone grumbles on the flight, about wanting to sleep in their own beds, or take a hot shower with better water pressure, but all you can think of is taking off Aaron’s clothes, maybe getting on your knees for him.

When you get back to the parking garage, you head for your car, but Aaron stops you with a hand on your arm. “Just come with me,” he says—he’s not asking, and you’re not about to argue. If anyone finds it strange that you leave with him, they don’t mention it, don’t even throw you a second glance.

You try to behave on the drive back to your place, but it’s so difficult. You squeeze his thighs when he comes to a stop at traffic lights, loosen his tie, run your fingers through his hair; he is just as turned on as you are, which is saying something, considering you’ve been nearly constantly horny since he called you kitty yesterday. He parks in your designated spot, turns off the car, and you release your seat belt, all but pounce on him. You push your hand past the open collar of his shirt, kiss his throat, curl your tongue around his ear, and he puts his hands on your face, kisses your mouth hard, then pulls you back.

“Inside; I need to fuck you.”

Yeah, you’re not going to argue with that either.

You get out of the car, try to help him with your bags, though he won’t let you; you fumble with the keys in the locks, you’re that turned on, but once you get upstairs, get the door to your apartment open, you’re both desperate again, pulling each other’s clothing off, kissing rough and deep. Shoes, socks, pants, and underwear are the first things to go, quickly removed, leaving you in a t-shirt and bra; you take Aaron’s dress shirt off, get him down to just the undershirt, but when you work your hands up his body he kisses you breathless, takes a step back.

“Stay there, right there; just like that,” he rasps, and you don’t move, just wait for him to walk to your bedroom, grab a condom, stand in front of you again. He says nothing, just looks you over, your heaving chest, wide eyes, spit slicked lips, and he rolls the condom on, walks you back against the wall; you gasp when you’re pressed against it, and he leans in, kisses your neck, nips at your jaw.

You moan softly, tip your head so he can reach more of your throat; one of his big hands comes down to rest on your pussy, rubbing easily, and then he pushes two fingers inside like it’s nothing. You’re already ready, so ready, and you wrap a hand around the back of his head, scratch over his scalp, whimper while he pumps his fingers a few more times before withdrawing them.

He wipes his fingers on his shirt, gets his hands under your thighs, and boosts you up, back against the wall, legs on either side of his waist. “Aaron, fuck,” you gasp, pushing up his shirt and wrapping your arms around his back, and he presses inside you, leans in for a messy, eager kiss and groans against your mouth.

“Hold on tight, kitten; I’m going to be rough,” he pants, lips hovering over yours, and you grip him, digging in with your nails. They aren’t long, or very sharp, but he loves when they scrape down his back as he fucks you into the mattress; you can’t imagine this will be any different. “That’s it; just let me use you, okay?”

“Okay, daddy,” you breathe, and he starts thrusting, pinning you up against the wall. You can feel his muscles flex beneath your hands, and he kisses and bites at your throat as his hips pump against yours; it’s almost overwhelming, and you’d close your eyes if he didn’t look so incredibly sexy, determined, slamming his cock into you, banging your body against the wall. “Oh, fuck.”

“Take it all like a good girl, like daddy’s good girl,” he says, eyes on yours, and he lifts one of your legs, swings it over his forearm so you’re spread further, so he can pound deeper inside you. All you can do is clutch him, try your best to bounce into his thrusts, and moan, and when he comes you move a hand to his hair, grab it roughly, grind down against him. “Oh, that’s it. God.” He tips his head back, exhales long and slow, and you lick your lips, keep moving until he tells you to stop.

He sets you on your feet, pulls out carefully and throws the condom in the trash, then crowds you up against the wall, wraps his hand around the back of your neck, kisses you deep and dirty and messy, lots of tongue and the occasional rough press of his teeth against your bottom lip. He pulls back, looks down at you, squeezes your neck, and you whimper.

“Daddy?”

“What is it?” You squirm a little; there’s no way he forgot, didn’t realize you didn’t get off. He’s always been very attentive, very good at making sure you’re satisfied. You wet your lips.

“I want to come.” He hums, takes his other hand and rubs it over your pussy, and you buck forward, whimper again.

“Can you think of a better way to ask for that, baby?” You move your hands over his back again, beneath his shirt, look up at him with soft, sensitive eyes.

“Can I please come, please?” It takes a moment, but he nods, moves his fingers to your clit and rubs them quickly, so quickly it’s dizzying. You moan, cling to him, and he leans close, presses his forehead to yours, looks down at you while he takes you apart with just his fingertips. “Oh, yes. Oh, fuck.”

“You like that, kitten? Then come for me.” You want to, so badly, you murmur it into the space between your mouths; when you finally climax, you whine, hold on to him, nearly go weak in the knees, and he lifts you up again and carries you to the bedroom, lays you gently back on the bed.

He moves toward you, and you curl yourself around him, hold him close; you wind up on your sides, one of your legs between his and the other slung over his waist, and he murmurs praise into your ear, pretty and perfect and so sweet and good. You pull his shirt over his head, and he removes yours, your bra, and you just lay there and hold each other, kiss, content.

Kissing turns to nibbling your throat again, and you wrap an arm around his shoulders, press a hand against his chest, moan softly while he mouths at your sensitive skin. Your hips move, you can’t help it, and then he’s hard against you, and you all but beg him to push inside.

“We’re good, I’m good,” you breathe, because you didn’t think to grab a condom and you don’t want to separate now, not when the moment is so thick and heavy and sultry, when you are well and truly wrapped up in each other. “I’m haven’t had sex with anyone else; have you?”

“No, it's just you. It’s just you.” He weaves a hand into your hair, pulls you closer for deep, slow kisses, and presses into you; his free hand resets on your hip, splays across it, broad and warm, and you rock together, kissing and panting, your hands moving over skin, clinging desperately to each other in a way that is so different but just as passionate as before.

“Aaron.” He pulls back, looks at you, squeezes your thigh, and says your name; he repeats it while you come, and you repeat his as he kisses your throat, hugs you close, and eventually spills inside you.

“You’re so incredible,” he says with a soft kiss, and you pull him closer, hug him tightly with your whole body, kiss his hair.

“You’re perfect. Addicting,” you say with a soft laugh, and he smiles, catches your mouth in a kiss.

You don’t want to separate any more than you did before, but you have to use the bathroom, and you could both use some water, so you get cleaned up together and then you stay in the bathroom while he heads for the kitchen. You throw on your robe, meet him out there, drink the better part of his glass of water; a knock on the door startles you both, and he walks over to where his clothes lay on the floor, pulls on his boxers.

“Who could that be this late?” he asks, and you shrug; you certainly weren’t expecting anyone at this hour, and definitely not with Aaron here. You walk toward the door, look out the peephole, take a deep breath and turn back to face him.

“It’s Spencer.”

“I’ll go in the bedroom,” he says, and you frown, but nod, give him one more kiss before he goes. You unlock the door and swing it open slightly, take in Spencer’s disheveled appearance, his teary eyes.

“Hey, what’s going on? It’s late.” He sighs, runs a hand through his hair.

“Chelsea broke up with me. We were supposed to go to a gallery opening for her friend tonight, and I missed it because we got back so late. She was upset, and we both said things, and she broke it off.” He moves forward, and you take a step back, which brings you both inside the apartment. He swallows, leans in and wraps his arms around you. “I didn’t know where else to go.” Taglist 🤍: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream @unicornprancing

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x female reader

176 notes · View notes

kurokoros · 5 years ago

Text

liar liar | bakugou katsuki

Rated: M

Words: 9.4K

Pairing: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader

Summary: Of all the things he’s experienced working as a Pro Hero, Bakugou never expected his dick getting too big to ever be a problem, let alone one in his top ten.

Bakugou is hit with a strange quirk. You reap the benefits.

AN: This fic is 50% crack and 50% raunchy smut. I have zero explanations for this. Also big thanks to @lady-bakuhoe for ranting with me once about the fandoms weird level of hatred towards Bakugou, thus inspiring me to write something for him. I’m so sorry it was this.

Warnings: smut, language, oral sex (m receiving), dom/sub undertones, rough sex, degradation, spanking, choking, inappropriate use of quirks

***

Of all the things he’s experienced working as a Pro Hero, Bakugou never expected his dick getting too big to ever be a problem, let alone one in his top ten.

Kirishima glances at him out of the corner of his eye as they step into Bakugou’s office, red eyes narrowing in concern as he sees Bakugou’s gritted teeth and clenched fists. “Are you sure you’re okay, bro?” he asks, a little hesitant.

“I’m fine,” Bakugou practically snarls between his teeth. Fuck. The tingling sensation starts in his gut, heat spreading through his limbs, and he nearly swears aloud as the sensation shifts to his dick, his boxer-briefs getting uncomfortably tighter. Shit, he’s probably up to at least another inch by now. Thank god his pants are baggy.

Unfortunately, Kirishima isn’t so easily convinced. Brows furrowing, he looks Bakugou over slowly, searching for any lasting effects from their earlier scuffle with a few low rank villains. “You’ve been acting kind of… strange,” he settles on after an awkward beat of silence, “since you got hit by that quirk. You know, you probably should have gone to a—”

“I said I’m—” Bakugou cuts himself off as that tingle comes back. “I’ll be fine,” he corrects himself. The tingle goes away, and he almost groans in relief as his dick returns to its normal size. “Drop it, Kirishima.”

Kirishima holds his hands up in front of him, placating his huffy friend. “Okay, okay. I get it.” He backs off, still eyeing Bakugou warily as he pulls his phone from his pocket. He glances at the time. “Look, man, I gotta go. I have a date in twenty, and she’s gonna kill me if I’m late again.” His smile is apologetic, but exhausted.

“Whatever.” Bakugou tosses off one of his gauntlets, letting it clatter against the floor noisily. Breathing slowly through his nose, he peels off his mask as well, setting it down on his desk. It’s fine. Everything is fine. He can handle this. It’s just a really fucking annoying quirk that’ll probably go away on it’s own by the end of the day.

Another tingle stirs in his gut, and then his underwear tightens again.

Fuck. He can’t even lie to himself.

Just as casually as before, Kirishima says, “Yeah, and since I figured you shouldn’t be alone, I called you a babysitter,” as he types out a quick text on his phone. If that wasn’t bad enough, Kirishima calls out your name in a sing-song voice.

Bakugou drops his other gauntlet on his foot and whirls around. “You what?” he hisses, only half because of the pain. The sound of your name definitely doesn’t cause his heart to do something stupid like flutter in his chest. And his pants definitely don’t get snug around his crotch as he blatantly lies to himself. “Kirishima, what the fuck? Why would you call her?”

Taken aback by the outburst, Kirishima puts his phone away and shrugs. “I figured she’d make you feel better.”

“I don’t fucking want her here,” Bakugou tells him. Nothing happens in his pants. Like the bullshit quirk affecting his dick can’t decide if that’s a lie or not. Hell, Bakugou isn’t really sure either. Sure, he likes having you around, even if he’d never admit it. He likes seeing your pretty smile as you come flouncing into his office wearing one of those little skirts that make him want to bend you over his desk and—

He squeezes his eyes shut, banishing the thought before it can go any further and his pants grow any tighter from non-quirk related reasons.

On the other hand, you’re quite possibly the last person he ever wants to see him like this. Too bad the universe seems intent on fucking him over today.

“Nice to see you too, Bakugou.”

The sound of your voice hits him like a lightning strike, still sweet despite the sarcastic inflection of your tone. Bolts of electricity shoot up his spine. In his chest, his heart pounds viciously against his ribs, and Bakugou’s shoulders tense as every one of his senses suddenly becomes a tune to you. Even from across the room, the scent of your perfume tickles at his nose—something floral or fruity that he doesn’t recognize, but it’s heavy and enticing and he tries not to shiver as it wraps around him.

He doesn’t dare turn to look at you as you take a step further into his office, determinedly staring at the wall and hoping you’ll leave with Kirishima. Yeah, un-fucking-likely.

When his silence persists, you roll your eyes and turn to Kirishima instead, the pinched expression on your face relaxing into a pleasant smile when you meet the eyes of the more friendly half of the duo. “Thanks for calling, Kiri,” you say, smoothing out your skirt.

A wide grin is the response you get. “Of course,” Kirishima says, stretching out and linking his fingers behind his head. “Figured he’d listen to you over anyone else.” He ignores the glare Bakugou sends his way, his lips twitching in amusement at the stark silence coming from the explosive blond.

You scoff. “Hardly, but I’ll try.” Casting a glance at Bakugou, you’re a little glad he seems intent on ignoring you, because it gives you the perfect opportunity to give him a slow once-over—for injuries, of course. He looks fine to you, a few superficial scrapes and bruises, but nothing severe enough for Kirishima to call you.

The tension in his shoulders is the first thing you notice. Bakugou is awkwardly hunched over himself in a way that isn’t like him at all. Usually, the Pro Hero exudes confidence that would border on cockiness if he didn’t have the skills to back it up, but right now he just looks... uncomfortable. What little of his face you can see is pinched, but not in annoyance; it’s more like pain, you realize, but then his expression melts into one of relief and you’re left baffled once again.

Before you can think too hard about it, your gaze wanders lower and you’re promptly distracted by his bare arms.

Kirishima clears his throat when you stare at Bakugou’s biceps a little too long.

“What happened anyway?” you ask, turning back to Kirishima. Your face feels warm, and by the way he grins you can tell he notices your faint blush. “You didn’t say much on the phone.”

He sobers a little as you bring the conversation back to the other Hero. The humor bleeds from his eyes, his shoulders drooping. “Yeah, sorry about that,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t have much time. We ran into a couple of villains on patrol. One of them caught Bakubro off guard and he got hit with their quirk. Wouldn’t let anyone check him out after.” He shrugs halfheartedly, looking at you apologetically. “You know how he gets.”

Don’t you ever. You’ve never met someone as stubborn as Bakugou before in your life. He can be a real pain in the ass when he wants, and you can’t blame Kirishima for his best friend being a dumbass.

You prop your hands on your hips, eyes narrowing in on Bakugou again. “How long has he been sulking?” you ask just loud enough for Bakugou to hear you.

Ruby eyes pin you with a heavy glower that would probably make anyone else piss themselves. Bakugou’s lip pulls back in a snarl, his teeth bared, and you ignore the pleasant tingle that shoots down your spine. “I’m not fucking sulking!” he snaps at you, making your eyes roll.

“Sure you aren’t.” Before he can start arguing with you, you turn back to Kirishima. “What do we know about this quirk?”

“Nothing. Cops are questioning the guy now, but he’s not talking.” Kirishima gestures to Bakugou with his thumb. “And Ground Zero here keeps saying he’s fine.”

Across the room, Bakugou grumbles to himself under his breath, noticeably displeased with your lack of attention, but like hell he’s going to say anything about it. Jealousy is a bitter taste in the back of his mouth, and for once he can’t even pretend that’s not what it is as his glare shifts to Kirishima. Fuck, he wants you to look at him again. Pay attention to him.

The honesty is surprising to him, but he keeps his mouth shut and definitely doesn’t pout as you and Kirishima continue to chat like he isn’t even there. When it becomes clear that you aren’t going to end the conversation immediately, Bakugou huffs and turns around, glaring as he leans back against his desk, watching the two of you. His gaze skips right over Kirishima and lands on you, and he swallows back a frustrated groan when he finally gets a good look at you.

Fuck, you look good today. Unable to help himself, he’s absolutely shameless as he stares at your legs, your short skirt and high heels making them look even longer than usual. Bakugou grits his teeth as his mind drifts to those legs wrapping around his hips and yanking him closer. For once, he allows the thought to linger, lost in his own head.

“I see,” you murmur as your conversation with Kirishima comes to a close. With your lips pursed in thought, your gaze shifts back to Bakugou, only to find him already staring right back at you, watching you intently. Your pulse jumps under his piercing gaze, and it takes everything in you to break eye contact with him and smile at Kirishima instead. “I’ll take care of it. Have fun on your date, Kiri.”

Kirishima shoots you a megawatt smile and a thumbs up.“Will do! Good luck with this guy!” He pays no attention to Bakugou’s grumbling as he heads out the door, closing it quietly behind him, leaving you and Bakugou alone together in an office far away from other people.

Yeah, this should be fun.

You twist on your heels so that you’re facing Bakugou directly. Trying for a charming smile, you prop your hands on your hips. He glares at you and crosses his arms over his chest, clearly not planning on cooperating. And boy does it give you an excellent view of his muscled forearms, all tanned skin and silver scars from years of hero work. You wet your lips, suddenly thirsty.

“Okay, Ground Zero,” you start, giddily noticing the way he puffs up at your use of his hero name, “are you going to tell me what’s wrong or do we have to do this the hard way?” Your voice lowers at the end, coming out as a husky whisper.

Bakugou’s throat bobs with a harsh swallow, and he grits his teeth against the pleasant warmth that curls in his chest. “Piss off,” he bites out, a low and dangerous edge to his voice that you easily ignore.

If you hadn’t known him for years, maybe it would be intimidating, but despite his gruff attitude and biting tone, you know he would never lay a hand on you. “Come on, Bakugou,” you try again, taking a step towards him as a small pout forms on your lips. “Please tell me? I just want to help and make you feel better.”

The breathy whine you let out paired with you wanting to make him feel better does absolutely nothing to help the situation going on in his pants.

His gaze slides to the side, avoiding your eyes as he tells you to “Just go home,” because he doesn’t want to see the disappointment there.

But you don’t back down. You can be just as stubborn as him when you want to be, and there’s no way in hell you’re leaving just so he can cling to his manly pride, or whatever it is he’s worried about. Clearly, asking nicely isn’t going to work. Honestly, you’d be more surprised if it did. “Hard way it is.”

Bakugou’s eyes widen, and his head snaps towards you just in time for you to launch yourself at him. It’s a bit difficult, between your skirt and heels, but you catch him off guard, and that helps. He tries to twist away at the last second, leaving you to cling to his back, limbs wrapping around him tightly. A surprised grunt escapes his at your sudden weight on him, but he doesn’t even stumble, letting you curl your body around him in a one-sided hug.

“Get off me, loser,” he growls at you, glaring at you over his shoulder. Despite his irritation, Bakugou makes no move to shake you off. In fact, one of his big hands latches onto your leg when you start to slip, allowing you to shift yourself for a better grip. He lets go of you just as quickly, standing stock still in the middle of the room while glaring at everything that isn’t you.

Your fingers dig into his shoulder where you’re grabbing him. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong!”

This time, he does try to shake you off, and you squeal as your grip starts to slip. “I’m fine!” he snaps at you, only to wince a second later.

Ever the opportunist, you don’t think twice before hooking your leg around him and going for his knees. Bakugou swears as he loses his balance, and somehow you manage to knock him to the floor using a grappling move that he taught you. He ends up rolling in time to land on his back, cushioning your fall aa your knees press against the floor on either side of his hips, straddling him as you pin him with a firm look. Long fingers grasp at your upper thighs, his thumbs grazing the hem of your skirt, and he lets you go just as quickly, as if you’ve burned him

Bakugou looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, but, again, he makes no move to shove you away, though he definitely could.

“Oh, yeah, clearly you’re just fine,” you reply, sarcasm laid on thick. Your hands are pressed against his chest for balance as you regain your bearings, and you can feel the angry breath he takes. Bakugou is warm and solid beneath you, hips pressed snug against yours. It feels way too good, but that’s not what you need to be thinking about at this moment. “Now stop acting like a baby and tell me what’s going on.”

Looking up at you, Bakugou sighs when your fierce look doesn’t relent. He mutters something under his breath that’s too low for you to make out clearly, then grimaces. “It’s nothing,” he tells you again, a harsh edge to his voice.

You pin him with a glare. “You got hit by a strange quirk, Bakugou,” you tell him slowly, contempt dripping from every word. “That’s not nothing.” The crack in your voice on the last word is what makes him drop the sour look on his face. You wince, fingers curling tighter around his shirt, like that might keep you grounded. All the fear you felt when Kirishima called you earlier comes surging back through you, and it feels like a blow to the ribs. You stare at his chest as you continue, the words bubbling up and out before you can stop them. “I know you. You’re too damn prideful to go see a doctor and admit something is wron—and that scares me sometimes, you know? One day you could get really hurt.” Slowly, you force your eyes up, meeting his stare with your own tentative one. “Please, just tell me what’s wrong. For me?”

Bakugou’s expression softens nearly an imperceptible amount. His glare smooths out. “Fuck,” he growls under his breath, trying to ignore the violent tug on his heartstrings that comes with that pleading look in your eyes. He’s always been a sucker for you, and you damn well know it too.

But he’s not going to give in this time.

The tingle that goes straight to his crotch proves him very wrong.

You freeze above him, body locking up as something big and hard presses against your inner thigh. “Katsuki,” you say, forcing yourself not to react aside from the widening of your eyes. “Is that your…”

“Yeah,” he replies, jaw clenched. His tone is nothing short of mocking when he tacks on, “You’re sitting on my cock, sweetheart.”

Well, shit. You blink at him owlishly, mouth opening and closing soundlessly as you try to think of literally anything to say in this situation that isn’t stupid, crass, or a blatant change of subject. It’s surprisingly hard to think with his bulge pressed up against your leg like this, and you blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “Are you turned on right now?” you ask incredulously, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I swear to God, Katsuki, I’m trying to be serious here, and you—”

He cuts you off. “I’m not fucking hard.” A pair of big, rough hands latch onto your thighs to keep you from squirming over his lap. “But if you keep moving around like that, I will be.”

“You liar.” A gasp sticks in your throat as he tightens his grip on your legs. By this point, you’re pretty sure you’re blushing, but honestly, you can’t find it in you to care when you are, in fact, basically sitting on his lap. Besides, Bakugou doesn’t look that much better. “If you were that big while soft, I’m pretty sure I would have noticed by now.”

Well that catches his attention. A smug smile stretches across his face. All teeth. “You spend a lot of time looking at it, angel?” Oh, this time he’s definitely mocking you. The palms of his hands slide up your thighs until his fingertips graze the hem of your skirt where it’s hiked partway up your legs, revealing a few tantalizing inches of your bare skin.

“Oh, no, you aren’t changing the subject,” you snap at him, sitting up a little straighter. “Why the hell is your dick so big, and what the fuck is going on?”

Your questions echo awkwardly through the otherwise silent room. For a tense moment, Bakugou just glares up at you. One of his eyes twitches slightly, his lips turned down in a grimace. You don’t relent, glaring right back at him. Eventually, one of you is going to have to give in, and it’s sure as shit not going to be you this time.

“Fuck.” He squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head back against the floor. His fingers bite into your thighs when you shift on top of him, leaning a little closer. “It’s that dumbass villain’s quirk,” he sneers, baring his teeth in a snarl as he opens his eyes again. There’s nothing that could possibly prepare you for what he says next. “When I lie my cock gets bigger.”

You almost laugh. Almost. The deathly serious look in his eyes is the only thing that keeps you from bursting into a fit of giggles. And you believe him. You probably wouldn’t if you weren’t currently straddling his lap and sitting on his abnormally large cock. But, yeah. Sure. His dick gets bigger when he lies, and somehow that makes perfect sense.

“What, like some kind of kinky lie detector?” You almost suggest Pinocchio, but you doubt he’d take that well at all.

Predictably, he makes a face at your comparison. “Sure. Whatever.”

Again, neither of you say anything, letting an awkward silence develop between you. While Bakugou just looks all around uncomfortable with the situation, your brow is pinched in thought. Honestly, this quirk seems like some bullshit. You can’t imagine what benefit anyone would get out of making someone’s dick grow when they lie, aside from the exact situation you’re currently in. You almost feel worse for the poor sap stuck with such a bizarre quirk than the Pro Hero currently lying between your legs.

A full body shiver runs through you, and every nerve suddenly becomes highly aware of the man beneath you. Every breath he takes moves his chest beneath your hands, and you can feel the rapid beating of his heart beneath your palm. The tips of his fingers ghost against your thighs, not quite touching you, like he isn’t sure what to do with his hands anymore. And, suddenly, all you can think about are those hands grabbing you by the hips and grinding you down against him.

Unbeknownst to you, similar thoughts are wreaking havoc on Bakugou. From where you’re sitting on top of him, he has a perfect view of your legs and chest, and every time you shift, the movement goes straight to his cock. He almost hisses between his teeth as your thighs tighten around his hips, which only presses the growing bulge in his pants harder against you. His fingers twitch against your legs. It would be so easy for him to roll the two of you over, pin you beneath him, and show you exactly what you do to him. Fuck you senseless until you—

“What are you thinking right now?”

The question is like a hard slap across the face. His eyes snap from the apex of your legs to your face, caught red-handed. There’s no way for him to get out of this one without his dick giving him away or an actual slap across the face. He chooses his traitor dick. “That I want you to get the fuck off me.”

You look entirely unimpressed when his dick moves between your legs, growing larger in seconds. “Liar,” you deadpan. You drum your fingers against his chest, unintentionally matching the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Tell me the truth and maybe I’ll move.” Nevermind that he could definitely throw you across the room one handed if he really wanted to. Frankly, you’re a little surprised he hasn’t already, given your current situation.

Not that you want to move right now. You’re quite comfortable where you are.

Bakugou’s tongue swipes across his bottom lip. Those ruby eyes drag down your body slowly, shamelessly drinking in the sight of you sitting on top of him. An unexpected lick of run runs along your spine; your breath catches. “You look really fucking sexy right now,” he tells you, and his hands grab your thighs again.

It takes a second for you to register his confession, though you can’t say you’re that surprised. “Huh. Never pegged you as a guy who wanted someone on top.” You can work with that.

His brow furrows. “You know, you’re taking this surprisingly well.”

“I work in quirk registration for the police,” you remind him, shrugging. “This isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve come across.” Honestly, you aren’t even sure it makes the top ten, but you keep that to yourself. You get the feeling he’d take that as some kind of challenge, and you don’t need that kind of stress in your life. “How long has it been like this?”

A shrug. “Shit, I don’t know.” Bakugou shifts beneath you, craning his neck to look at the clock on the wall. “Thirty minutes, maybe. Why?”

“Effects from quirks like this typically only last an hour or two,” you explain. “Maybe twenty-four hours at most, depending on how much training the user has.” Your head cocks to the side as you give him an entirely unsubtle once-over. “It sounds like he didn’t give you and Kirishima much trouble though. I’d put your... little problem at an hour and a half maximum. You should be fine.”

There’s a wicked look in his eyes. “Nothing little about it, babe.” His palms slide up your legs, rucking up your skirt even higher on his way to grab your hips. “Hour left, huh?” A low hum rumbles through his chest. “I can work with that.”

You freeze. “Katsuki, what are you—”

“Look,” he cuts you off with an irritated sigh, “I’ve liked you for a long time, so if you want to fuck right now, that’s fine with me.” Heartbreaking honesty shines in his eyes, only partially masked by a layer of annoyance and boredom, like he doesn’t care either way. The way his fingers dig into your hips tells a different story.

Your eyes widen at his crass confession, your lips parting as you stare down at Bakugou in shock. “Are you…” you hesitate, swallowing down the sudden lump in your throat as your fingers curl against his shirt. “Are you serious?”

Bakugou glares at you, but his faint blush gives him away. “You’re the one sitting on my magic cock, you tell me.”

You sit there for a good minute, just staring at him, mouth opening and closing soundlessly as you try to think of any kind of response. Eventually, you settle on, “That is, by far, the worst declaration of love I’ve ever heard.”

If you thought he was glaring before, it has nothing on the look he levels you with now. “Who fucking said anything about loving you, dumbass?” he snaps, huffing, cheeks turning an even darker shade of pink. “Like hell I do!” He grits his teeth as his dick tingles.

“Yeah, well, your magic cock reveals your deceit,” you mock him. “You’re such an emotionally stunted pain in the ass, Katsuki!”

He opens his mouth—probably to start yelling about something—but you lurch forward and meet his mouth in a fierce kiss before he can say anything. He grunts in surprise and squeeze your hips, but kisses you back eagerly, immediately tilting his chin for a better angle. The hands that were on your hips don’t hesitate to move. One slides up your back to fist in your hair, pulling you closer as the other drops to your ass. A hard grope makes you gasp against his lips, your fingers clenching tighter in the front of his hero suit.

Before things can get too heavy, too fast, you pull back, leaving just an inch of space between your lips. He doesn’t let you go much further. “I like you, too,” you whisper against him. He stiffens as your fingers touch his bare chest where his hero suit doesn’t cover him.

His heart is pounding just as quickly as yours, and he’d never admit it, but he swears your little confession does something funny to his chest. All of it does. The heat of your breath. The gentle weight of your body on top of his. Something about you makes him feel inexplicably soft, and he wants to hate that feeling, but he still can’t lie to himself without his cock growing two sizes. And if he’s going to stuff you full of his cock, he wants it to be all him.

At least at first.

With the hand still tangled in your hair, Bakugou yanks you back down. Your lips mold against his perfectly, the space left between you nonexistent. When he kisses you it’s all teeth and tongue, and your lips part readily beneath his demanding touch. He makes a low sound of approval in the back of his throat, slotting his lips harder against yours. Using the hand cupping the back of your head, he adjusts you above him, tilting your chin until he finds a position he likes.

The dominating way he touches you makes you keen, and your quiet whimper is smothered by his tongue delving into your mouth to taste you. Your legs tremble on either side of his hips as the hand on your ass gropes you again. By now, your skirt is hiked halfway up your waist, and if anyone were to walk in they’d get a perfect view of your ass and the damp spot forming between your thighs.

You arch into his touch at the thought, moaning as his teeth tug at your lip.

By the time you pull away, you both have kiss-swollen lips.

When Bakugou recalls what you called him a moment ago, he chuckles, deep and throaty, and it sends a thrilled shiver up your spine. “I’ll show you a real pain in the ass later, sweetheart,” he promises, squeezing your ass cheek for good measure. The squeeze is followed by a sharp slap, and you lurch forward, a startled squeal slipping out of your mouth.

You glare down at him. Well, you try to. It’s a little hard to pretend to be mad at him when his hand comes up to rub the spot where he smacked you, which only presses your hips closer to his growing bulge. Your tone is dry when you say, “I’m sure you will.” And then, because he’s already propositioned you and has his hand on your ass, you grind yourself against his dick.

“Shit,” he grunts, grabbing your hips. His fingers bite into your skin, twitching like he doesn’t know if he wants to still you or shove you down on his cock. A slow exhale hisses through his teeth. “You tryin’ to be a cock tease?”

The satisfaction that bubbles up in you only feeds the damp heat between your legs. He’s hardly touched you, but you can already feel yourself getting wet just from the thought of him filling you. You brace yourself against him, palms pressed flat against his chest. “You want me to stop?” Purposefully fluttering your eyelashes at him, you slowly work your hand lower, fingers grazing over lean muscle until you stop at his waist, pressing down on his belt.

As your eyes start to follow the path of your hand, Bakugou reaches out and grabs your chin. A warning squeeze makes you mewl expectantly. “Keep talking, baby, and I'll put that mouth to better use.” The pad of his thumb traces your bottom lip. Before he can let go, you tilt your head into his touch, teeth barely grazing his finger as you nip at him. “Such a little brat,” he sneers.

You’re thrown off balance when he sits up. His abdominal muscles flex against your stomach as he crushes you against his chest, and your hands fly to his shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto. Bakugou kisses you again, lips hungry and demanding as they press against yours, and you give him complete control. He tilts your chin, pulls your hair, bites your lips, and every touch makes you feel hazy and warm.

Anticipation churns in your stomach. Your hands slide over his shoulders, looping around his neck. He grunts when your wrist brushes against the side of his neck, and when you card your fingers through his hair and tug, he lets out a sound that goes right to your core.

The hand on your ass gives you another sharp spank. The motion jerks your hips against his, and you grind down against the hard cock rubbing your inner thigh. His fingers knead your ass and the back of your thigh, groping and squeezing and helping your hips along as you rock languidly over his lap. Each roll of your hips has his cock dragging across your damp panties, the head kissing your clit through the layers of your clothes. You shudder, lost in the feeling.

You’re only half aware of him moving, not noticing until the hand that was in your hair slips beneath your shirt to palm your breast. An appreciative squeeze has you arching into him, hips stuttering against his. Bakugou nips at your bottom lip hard enough to make you whimper, and when he pulls away you’re sure it’s swollen and flushed from his treatment.

But he doesn’t leave you for long. You’re barely given a moment to breathe before his mouth is on your jaw, your cheek, your chin. Bakugou trails heated, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, only stopping when he finds a spot that has you lurching against him, a pretty little moan falling from your mouth. He laves attention to that spot, right over your racing pulse. Teeth dig into your sensitive neck, and your breath catches in your throat as he begins to suck, intent on leaving a mark. You don’t stop him as he works a hickey just below your jaw, eyes fluttering shut at the onslaught of sensation.

Before leaving that spot, he drags his tongue across your neck to soothe the bruise he’s left behind.

Desire curls in your chest as a thought comes to mind, and you’re too slow to stop it from spilling out. “I wanna touch you,” you choke out as his mouth trails lower. Bakugou pauses, lips hovering just shy of your throat. The heat of his breath fans your damp skin, sending little pinpricks of electricity all the way to where your hips are grinding against his. You swallow, one hand fisting in the back of his shirt as his thumb brushes against the lacy cup of your bra.

“Already are, baby,” he says, partly muffled by your neck as he ghosts his lips against you. “Grinding against my cock like a little slut. Gonna get yourself off for me just like that?” He’s hiding a smirk. It’s clear what you want by the way your hips roll against his faster, grinding down harder as teasing touches turn desperate, but he wants to hear you say it. He wants you begging for his cock before he fucks you.

He ruts against you, alternating between squeezing your breast and ass.

“Bakugou!” You try to sound reprimanding, but his name comes out as a breathy whine. There’s no way for you to get your hand on him with the way he has you pressed flush against his chest. And he’s definitely not going to make things easy for you.

As if he knows what you’re thinking, the man beneath you laughs. “You want it that bad, you better take it yourself, sweetheart.”

Huffing, you try to put some space between your hips, but his grip is firm. Bakugou swats your ass when you try to move, and you whimper as it forces your hips harder against his. You try a second time, and he pinches your nipple through the flimsy cup of your bra. Your head falls back with a moan, giving him greater access to your throat, and he smirks as he bites down on your soft skin.

Fine. You can play this game, too.

With a sharp grind of your hips, you rub your clit against him just right. Your back arches. Your thighs tense around his hips. “Ground Zero,” comes out as a needy whine against his ear. You feel him tense beneath you, his grip faltering for just a second. That’s all you need.

The momentary distraction is all you need to slide back on his thighs, putting just enough space between your hips to grab his belt and grind the heel of your hand against the massive bulge straining against his pants. Even through his pants you can feel how thick and long he is, and your pussy clenches at the thought of him fucking you senseless.

He grunts as you palm him, squeezing gently as you trace the outline of his cock. His mouth leaves your neck with a wet pop. “Shit,” Bakugou murmurs. Soft strands of his spiky hair tickle the side of your neck as he rests his head against you, reveling in the feel of your light touches.

Your fingers brush against the back of his neck, your palm grinding against him when his hips rock forward. Strong muscles flex beneath your thighs. Bakugou’s throat bobs with a harsh swallow.

Unable to stop yourself, you duck your head, pressing your lips against the side of his neck. It’s hard to find an angle with the bracers around his neck, and your attention turns to the front of his throat instead. Bakugou groans as you kiss him, lovebites and lipstick stains left in the wake of your mouth. He lets you kiss and nip your way down to his collarbone.

Thank god for the low cut of his shirt, you think, biting down on his chest hard enough to leave a mark. At the same time, your fingers grasp at his belt, nearly snapping the buckle in your hurry to get your hand on him. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re aware of him saying something—calling you needy or naughty, you aren’t sure which—but you don’t care as you finally get your hand in his pants and grab his dick.

“You’re so big,” you murmur, eyes widening. The tips of your fingers don’t touch as you wrap your hand around his cock, stroking him languidly from base to tip. You can’t get a good look at him from your position, but you can feel every ridge and vein of his shaft, and you bite your lip at the sheer girth of him. “Is this from the quirk?” you ask him, swirling your thumb over the tip before dragging your hand back down, giving him a firm squeeze. You lean back a little, wanting to look at him, but Bakugou lurches forward to get his mouth on you again.

He groans against your ear, pressing a harsh kiss against the side of your jaw. “All me, babe,” he tells you, smug. For once, you really can’t blame him for being cocky. “Fuck, that feels good.”

The way your soft hand slides against his shaft wrecks havoc on his brain, and Bakugou presses another heated kiss to your neck to smother a loud moan. He’s already painfully sensitive from having you hump his lap, and your tentative touch only makes him harder. And that damn quirk didn’t help at all. After over a half hour of that bullshit cock tease, he’s just aching to bury himself in your dripping pussy.

Your thumb traces the thick vein on the side of his cock, pressing against it gently before twisting your hand. The sudden change in angle and the way you squeeze him have a low sound tearing from his chest, and then your hand is being yanked out of his pants. Bakugou’s fingers clench around your wrist in a vice grip, and you wince at the mild sting.

“Get up,” he demands, nearly growling. His fingers are digging into your ass hard enough to leave faint bruises, but you don’t care. When you hesitate, he releases you only to slap the back of your thigh. “Now.”

You pussy clenches at the pain that quickly dissolves into pleasure. “What’s wrong, Katsuki,” you can’t help but tease, hoping to get a reaction out of him, “afraid you’ll cum too fast?”

He doesn’t spank you again, though his palm does press against your reddening ass cheek in a way that speaks of a warning. “Don’t make me tell you again, baby.”

It takes another second before you shift off his lap, your legs quivering as you stand. You almost consider ignoring the command. Almost. But it doesn’t take much for you to decide you’d rather see what he has planned for you.

Your thighs rub together as Bakugou rises from the floor in one fluid motion, years of training making him silent, almost catlike. He reaches for you as soon as he’s standing, towering over you, an imposing figure. The scattering of small marks on his throat makes you grin, but the smile is wiped from your face as he grabs your chin roughly between his fingers and forces you to meet his eyes.

Ruby red and blown wide with lust, the look in his sharp gaze makes your breathing hitch. A wet crackling sound leaves your mouth as your lips part for him. His thumb grazes your bottom lip. “Such a dirty fucking mouth,” he growls.

You stumble a little as he starts walking you backwards, not touching you aside from the firm grip he has on your jaw. You go willingly, eyes on his. Excitement has your stomach flipping, a nervous flutter in your belly, and you gasp when your back hits the side of his desk, the cold wood pressing against your skin where he’s tugged at the hem of your shirt.

Bakugou’s thumb delves past your lips, dipping into your wet mouth, and your lips wrap around him greedily. Sucking gently, your teeth press against his skin possessively, tongue laving attention to his thick digit. With his free hand, Bakugou grabs the front of your plain blouse and yanks it open, careful not to rip any of the buttons. You let your shirt fall to the floor, wriggling a little as it sticks around your elbows. He reaches up to palm your breast, humming in approval once he sees your pretty bra.

“Get on your knees, baby,” he tells you, pulling his thumb from your mouth and smearing your spit across your lips, watching them glisten. “I want to see your mouth on my cock.”

You do as you’re told, practically shaking with anticipation as you drop to your knees for him. Now that you’ve gotten a feel for his cock, you’re desperate to have him inside you. Your mouth. Your pussy. It doesn’t matter which. Any thoughts of playing coy or being a brat disappear into the back of your mind as he pins you with a harsh stare. Bakugou pets your hair, threading the soft strands through his fingers to hold you still.

You bite your lip as his free hand drops to his waist, Bakugou shoving his pants and boxers down just low enough for his cock to spring free. The size makes you swallow. He’s bigger than you thought. Thicker. And you remember how your hand couldn’t wrap all the way around him. Your thighs clench, rubbing together as a dull ache builds between your legs.

He doesn’t waste his time. Shifting forward, he palms himself, lazily stroking his cock with his own fingers, just out of your reach. When you try to lean forward, he pulls your hair, forcing you back again. “Such a little slut,” he murmurs, allowing the head of his cock to press against your wet lips, his hips slowly rocking back and forth. Your tongue flicks out to taste him, and he groans. “There you go,” he says, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from your face before he starts pushing his cock into your mouth.

You immediately close your lips around him, bobbing your head forward as much as his tight grip will let you. Bakugou feeds you his cock, sliding into your wet mouth slowly as you start to suck, letting you adjust to just how fucking thick he really is. His girth has your jaw stretched wide, forcing you to breathe slowly through your nose. You glance up at him.

“That’s it, angel,” he groans as you bob your head again, “suck my cock.” His hips rock forward in a shallow thrust; his eyes lock on your lips, stretched obscenely around his length. Wet trails of saliva stick to his cock as you pull back to swirl your tongue around the head.

Whimpering around him, you suck harder, swallowing around him, anything that might pull another filthy moan from his mouth. Your hands grab his thighs for balance, your fingers digging into his legs as you try to pull him closer.

You’re rewarded with a low moan rumbling from his chest. Bakugou’s eyes slip shut for a second, his head tilting back in raw pleasure. “Figures you'd be a perfect little cock sucker,” he says under his breath, almost too low for you to hear him. “I bet you want me to fuck your face, huh, baby?”

You settle for moaning instead of nodding, watching him through your eyelashes as he pants above you.

“Fuck.” A long, hissing exhale escapes through his teeth, and his hand tightens in your hair just a little bit as he watches you work his cock. You look so fucking pretty with your mouth wrapped around him, your lips slick with saliva as you take him deeper into your mouth. There are tears beading at the corners of your eyes. “Fuck,” he says again, “you feel so good.” He grunts. “How long have you been thinkin’ about sucking my cock, babe?”

You flush under his gaze, unable to answer with your mouth full of his dick, but the answer must be clear as day on your face. You don’t know what it is he’s thinking about, but you swear his cock gets bigger in your mouth, that strange quirk making him thicker so that you’re nearly choking on him.

Bakugou holds your head still as he starts to rock his hips; he moves slowly at first, his thrusts shallow and even, but he quickly picks up speed when you whine around his cock. It isn’t long before he’s fucking your mouth, thrusts as rough as you’d expect from someone like him. His cockhead brushes against the back of your throat, his hips stuttering as he holds you like that, your lips pressed nearly against the base of his cock.

Somehow, you manage to keep your eyes on him. You force your throat to relax and swallow around him. His eyes almost roll back at the sensation, but he keeps his ruby gaze locked on you, watching how well you take him. He can only imagine how good you’re going to take his cock, too. He speeds up again, groaning as the pressure in his gut starts to build.

His cock pulls from your mouth with a wet sound, and you cough, sucking in greedy mouthfuls of air. Bakugou drags you off the floor, and your startled gasp is cut off by his hand wrapping around your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, unfortunately, just holds his palm there. The next thing you know, you’re being shoved against the nearest wall, your cheek pressed to the chilly surface as Bakugou all but rips off your skirt, leaving you in just your underwear and shoes.

The fabric pools on the floor in a crumpled heap, and Bakugou kicks it aside in order to spread your legs from behind. You brace your hands against the wall, ass out, and he’s on you in a second.

Teasing is thrown out the window as he finally—finally—touches you. One of his hands reaches around you to grope your chest, palming your breast roughly before shoving the cup of your bra aside to tweak and pinch your nipple. You’re a panting, whining mess by the time he gets his hand between your legs. Two thick fingers drag over the crotch of your panties, and he actually laughs when he feels how wet you are. “Shit, you get that horny just from sucking my cock?”

Blearily, you nod, pressing your pussy closer to his hand. Bakugou shoves your panties to the side, fingers skimming through your wetness before rolling over your clit. You nearly sob at how good it feels to have him touch you. It’s like his hands were meant to please you, big and rough, his calloused fingers providing the perfect amount of friction. Each precise stroke of his fingers feeds the knot in your belly, keeping you right on the edge of coming undone.

“You’re gonna feel so fucking good on my cock,” he tells you removing his fingers from your clit to squeeze your ass. His cock quickly replaces his hand between your thighs, his thick length rubbing against your slick pussy, the head bumping against your clit with every stroke. Bakugou lets go of your breast; his hand slaps against the wall beside your head for balance. “Pretty cunt squeezing around me. That what you want?”

“Please. Oh, please,” you mumble. Anything to get him inside you. It almost hurts how turned on you are right now. From the corner of your eye, you see him reach for the hem of his shirt, about to pull it off. “Don’t!”

Bakugou goes absolutely still at your sharp cry. The only movement is his eyes snapping up to meet yours, flooded with concern as he checks to see if he’s hurting you.

But you whimper, trying to shove yourself back on his cock. “Don’t take it off,” you clarify breathlessly, legs quivering with the effort of holding yourself up.

The concern bleeds from his eyes, and they’re taken over by something dark and hungry instead as he realizes what you mean. He thrusts his cock between your thighs, your slick covering his cock as it drips from you. Your eyes flutter as he pressed against your clit again. “Don’t take what off?” He wants to hear you say it.

And you’re so painfully aroused that the words come spilling out of your mouth before you can stop him. “Your costume,” you choke out around a loud moan. “I want you to fuck me while you’re wearing your costume.” That’s one dirty little fantasy you’ve had for a while, maybe ever since you met him. The thought of him fucking you while he’s still in costume is almost too much, but god do you want it badly.

“That so?” he drawls. His hand drops from his shirt back to your ass cheek, groping you before spreading you from behind. He takes a step back, ignoring your whine, and whistles when he gets a good look at your dripping slit. Bakugou tugs your hips back, forcing your back to arch for him. “What a naughty little slut. You got a thing for heroes, baby?”

Just you, you think, but all you can do is moan his name. “Bakugou.”

You cry out as he slaps your ass. “No, no, no,” he repremends. “That's not what you call me.”

“Katsuki, please,” you manage to whine around a harsh swallow.

He spanks you again. “Come on, angel, you know what to say.” It takes a second for it to click, but when it does you blush. “Fuck, look how wet you are.” He chuckles as he looks at your glistening thighs. Another love tap lands on your reddening ass. “You like it when I spank you?”

“Yes,” you mewl.

He spreads your legs open wider. “Yes, what?”

You take a deep, shuddering breath, cheek pressed against the wall in front of you. “Yes, Ground Zero.” Your tongue runs across your bottom lip. “Sir,” you tack on.

“Good girl.”

There’s no warning as he adjusts himself behind you, cock slamming into you hard enough to steal your breath. There’s no resistance, you're so wet. You pussy clenches around him, your walls sucking him in deeper. That’s all it takes for an orgasm to rip through you, the knot in your belly snapping so fast that all you can do is let out a silent scream as you slump forward against the wall.

Bakugou is equal parts shocked and amused as you try to milk his cock, and he grits his teeth as his dick twitches inside of you, almost pulling him over with you. “Fuck,” he laughs. “You cum just from me filling you up?” You whimper and nod. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight.”

He presses you closer to the wall, and his arm slips beneath your knee, lifting your leg and holding you open. Your thigh burns from the stretch. His cock drags along your walls slowly before, only the tip left inside before he thrusts back into you, reaching deeper.

He picks up a steady pace, slamming into you over and over. You’re already so sensitive from your first orgasm, and little gasps and whines keep falling from your mouth with every brutal thrust as Bakugou finds your sweet spot, hitting it perfectly as he pounds you. He’s thick and hard inside you, even bigger than he was in your mouth, and your eyes widen when you realize he’s doing it on purpose. “How big can you get?” you gasp, moaning as his cock expands inside you, filling you up completely.

“As big as you fucking want me,” he snarls back, fucking you faster, hiking your leg up higher.

All you can do is hold on and take it.

You don’t know how much time passes, the only sounds are your heavy breathing and his harsh panting against your ear. Sweat drips down your back where he’s sliding over you, and his fingers bite into your thigh as he almost loses his grip. “You know whose office is on the other side of this wall?” he asks suddenly. “Answer me, baby!” A particularly harsh thrust follows the demand.

“No, Sir,” you pant.

“Fucking Deku.” He grits his teeth as that now familiar tingle goes right to his cock, but you don’t seem to notice the lie. “You think he’s in there right now? His desk is right on the other side.” You pussy squeezes around him, and Bakugou moans against the side of your neck. “I bet he can hear you in here panting like a whore as I fuck your slutty little cunt.”

Your back arches into him, the revelation reigniting the fire he lit inside you. That knot comes back, just as tight as before, and you tremble as you realize he’s going to make you cum again. “Ground Zero,” you whine.

He lets go of your thigh, but keeps your knee hooked around his elbow. His hand snakes around your hips to rub your clit, and you jerk against him. “He’s got some new intern, too. Some little high school brat.” A high-pitched, needy sound falls from your mouth. “Fuck, you sound so pretty when you moan my name.” He rolls your clit harder between his fingers, and the heat rolling from him is so sweltering that it’s hard to breathe. “Shit, you’re gonna be filling this kid’s fantasies for weeks. He’s probably gettin’ off to you right now.” His cock gets bigger inside you; his hips grind against you harder. “But your pussy’s mine, angel. Got that?”

You nod, delirious.

And, fuck, he just doesn’t stop talking. “You gonna cum?” he asks, fingers moving faster over your clit. “Gonna cum from thinking about Deku and his intern listening to me fuck you?” You shudder and gasp, shoving yourself back on his cock in a weak attempt to match his brutal pace. “That’s it, baby, cum on my fat cock. Let everyone know who’s making you feel so good. I wanna hear you scream so fucking loud that everyone in this goddamn building knows my name.”

Bakugou pinches your clit. Your eyes slam shut, body locking up as he throws you into another powerful climax. “Katsuki!” you shriek, his name ripping from your throat in a raw scream.

This time, he doesn’t hold himself back. A series of harsh thrusts drag out your orgasm until you’re sobbing, a few tears slipping out and rolling down your cheeks. His cock twitches, swelling, and he shoves inside of you as deep as he can go before cumming inside you, his thick seed filling you up and dripping down your thigh.

He doesn’t pull out, leaning his head against your shoulder as you both try and catch your breath. Bliss washes over you as he kisses your neck, mumbling a string of garbled praises against your ear.

You blush when something he said hits you full force, finally able to process it now that he’s not fucking you senseless. “Midoriya,” you gasp, trying to crane your head around to look at him.

Bakugou presses more of his weight against your back, slowly lowering your leg back to the floor. His hands grasp your hips when your legs threaten to collapse beneath you. “Bastards office is on the other wall,” he says, calming you down. “‘Sides, it’s his day off.”

Relief floods through you. “You have absolutely no filter, do you?”

He shrugs, kissing across your cheek. “I don’t see you complainin’.”

You laugh a little breathlessly. “You made me cum twice,” you remind him. “I don’t give a shit what you were saying.” You shift in his embrace, wincing as his cock moves inside you. Fuck, you’re sensitive.

He stills you. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asks. When he sees your obviously confused look, he gives you a shallow thrust, his cock still hard inside you. “Oh, angel, we’ve still got thirty minutes, right? We’re just getting started.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnhabookclub #mha #bnha #bnha smut

8K notes · View notes

hannahshattuck · 3 years ago

Text

Captain Firefighter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, slight graphic description of injury, car accident

Steve Rogers Masterlist Main Masterlist

BEEP BEEP BEEP. BEEP BEEP BEEP.

You groaned as you slapped your hand around the nightstand trying to find your phone with the alarm going off. When you finally found it, you grabbed it and opened one eye to turn it off. You checked the time and realized you should get up to make sure you weren’t late on your first day at your new job. With a groan, you slowly sat up and noticed you were naked and had a pounding headache.

“Great. Hungover on the first day.” You mumbled as you rubbed your temples.

A groan behind you caught your attention. “God. I’m not drinking ever again.”

You looked over your shoulder and saw a blond man laying on his back rubbing his hands over his face. The blankets sat at his hips which put his built torso on display. His chest looked like a good place to rest your head and it seemed like his abs had abs. You quickly found your underwear on the floor and a navy blue tee shirt and put them on. You stood facing him and tried to smile even though it felt like a construction crew was in your skull.

“Um, hi.” You said.

The man brought his hands from his face and laid them on his chest. “Hi.”

The two of you awkwardly stared at each other and you hoped you were smiling more than grimacing. The man sat up, keeping the sheet covering him and stood looking for most likely his underwear. He found black boxer briefs and put them on without moving the sheet which was impressive to say the least.

Once he got them on, he dropped the sheet on the bed and found what seemed to be his jeans. He pulled them on and looked up at you and chuckled.

“I need my shirt.” He smirked.

You looked down. “Oh..” You found one of your sweatshirts in your dresser, along with shorts, and started towards the bathroom connected to your bedroom. “I’m just gonna…” You trailed off pointing to the bathroom.

He smiled, “Alright.”

You ducked into the bathroom and quickly locked the door. “Oh god.” You whispered to yourself. You quickly changed out of his shirt and into your clothes.

You left the bathroom and saw him sitting on the edge in your bed on his phone. You cleared your throat.

“Uh, here you go.” You held his shirt out to him. He stood up and it was then when you realized how tall he was. You were eye level with his chest and had to title your head up to look in his eyes that were a very bright blue.

He took his shirt and put it on without breaking eye contact. “Thanks.”

“Mhm.” You hummed.

“I don’t remember a lot from last night but I do know you said you start a new job today so good luck on that and I hope you don’t feel too bad today.” He bent down and kissed your cheek. You felt your face heat up.

“I-I’ll walk you out.” You walked out your bedroom and led the way to the front door of your apartment. The living wasn’t a mess so that told you the two of you went straight to your room. You unlocked the front door and opened it to let him out. “I, uh, hope you have a good day.”

He smiled before he walked out the door, “You too.”

You closed the door and leaned your forehead against the cool wood. “Fuck me.”

--------------------

You pulled up into an empty parking spot and grabbed your backpack with all your stuff once you parked. Looking towards the fire station, you saw both big garage doors open and saw your soon to be coworkers messing around or cleaning or working out. You swung your backpack over one shoulder and started walking toward the station.

“Hey! It’s the newbie!” You turned your head in the direction of the voice and saw a dark skin man waving at you. “Hi! I’m Sam.”

“Hi.” You waved back.

“Wilson, keep mopping. It’s your fault there’s whip cream everywhere.” A red head woman said as she walked over to you. “Hi, I’m Natasha.” She held out her hand.

“Y/N.” You said, shaking her hand. “Do I want to know why he’s mopping up whip cream?” You chuckled.

Natasha playful rolled her eyes, “In between last night calls the boys were pulling pranks.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Ah. That makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Natasha laughed. “They’re lucky it was our captain’s day off last night. Otherwise he would have laid into them and made them clean every nook and cranny of this place.”

“Is your captain here?” You fiddled with the strap of your backpack.

Natasha shook her head. “Not yet. He texted me earlier saying he was gonna be running late. Apparently had a good night if you know what I mean.” She wiggled her eyebrows playfully which caused you to chuckle. “Let’s get you settled before he arrives.”

She led you to the lockers, where you filled yours, and gave a quick run down of where everything is before leading you to the ambulance. You found out that Natasha is one of the paramedics they have and you two would be partners.

“Okay, so here’s how everything is organized. We do share the ambulance with other shifts but we all got together and figured out where to put everything. If you figure out that a certain supply would be easier to grab in a different spot just send a quick text in the group chat we have for all the paramedics and EMTs. Oh! Speaking of which, let me get your number so I can add you.” Natasha pulled out her phone from her pocket and you gave her your number. “Most of the time we’re like a high school chat with the amount of memes we send.”

You chuckled knowing exactly what she meant. She continued to show you around the ambulance and then started to introduce you to the other firefighters. You already met Sam when you walked in and he seemed to be done with mopping the whipped cream. Then met James Barnes; who goes by Bucky because there’s two named James but it’s also a childhood nicknamed that stayed, Clint Barton; whose Golden Retriever named Lucky is the station dog and loves pizza apparently, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff; who are twins and moved to the States when they were kids, James Rhodes; who goes by Rhodey and is the other James, and then was told that Carol Danvers, Maria Hill, Peter Parker, Scott Lang and Hope Van Dyne you would meet another time due to them being off.

“Sorry I’m late!” A voice boomed throughout the station. You turned in the direction of said voice and your breath got caught in your throat.

“Shit.” You mumbled under your breath.

“I know right.” Natasha smirked. “I’m kidding. One thing you’ll quickly see is how we all tease each other.”

You awkwardly chuckled, “Oh okay.”

He noticed you standing with Natasha and you saw his face pale before he schooled his features and walked over to you. He was now wearing the same uniform everyone else was and it was fitting him perfectly just like the jeans and tee he put on this morning when he left your apartment.

“Hi there. You must be the new EMT we were sent.” He placed his hands in the pockets of his pants and stood there exuding authority.

“Uh, yeah.” You tried to smile hoping it was an actual smile.

“Steve. Or Captain Rogers. Or Rogers. Or Cap like everyone else seems to call me.” He chuckled as he held his hand out for you to shake.

“Y/N.” You said as you shook his hand while your brain so helpfully supplied an image of those hands around your waist.

“Let’s head to my office before we get a call. There’s some housekeeping things I want you to know.”

You hummed an acknowledgement and followed him to his office trying to keep your gaze in the middle of his back or the floor so as to not focus on his behind that was contained by the uniform pants. Steve opened the door and motioned for you to walk through the doorway.

“You can have a seat in one of those chairs if you’d like.”

You quickly walked over to the chairs in front of his desk and sat down. He sat in the rolling chair on the other side and leaned back in the chair studying you. Instead of meeting his gaze, you looked down at your pants picking off pieces of invisible lint.

“Well,” Steve cleared his throat and leaned forward to place his forearms on his desk with his fingers interlocked with each other. “I will say that this is not how I expected this shift to go.”

You chuckled, still staring at your pants. “You and me both.”

“I don’t want to make this uncomfortable for you and I can work it out to where we won’t be on the same shift. But, I do want you to be here because I’ve seen your scores for all the tests and they’re phenomenal.” Steve said.

“Thanks,” You mumbled with a slight heat in your cheeks. “And you don’t have to change anything. I’ll admit it might be weird the first couple days but I’ll be fine.” You gain the courage to look at him and saw his ocean blue eyes watching you.

“Not to make this any more awkward than it kinda is but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I left your place.” Now it was Steve’s turn to blush. “I promise I’m not trying to come onto you but, uh, I just needed to say that.” He looked down at his desk and fiddled with his thumbs.”

“Well if it’s any consolation I haven't stopped thinking about you either.” You smiled.

Steve opened his mouth to say something but then the bell rang signaling that there was a call. “Well, let’s start your first shift.”

You two stood up from your seats and Steve opened the door for you to go first. You gave him a smile as you thanked him.

“Let’s do that.” You chuckled and took off towards the ambulance with Natasha.

--------------------

It’s been a few months since your first day and the team has felt more like a family every day. Natasha has felt like a sister to you, Sam has gotten a run for his money when you’ve played pranks and your relationship with Steve has gotten…...closer. You ended up telling Natasha that you slept with him and she couldn’t help but laugh. When you asked why she was laughing she said, “Well, I don’t blame you. He is a nice snack.” You couldn’t disagree with her on that. Steve and you talked about how you two wouldn’t let that night affect you two working together but neither of you could ignore that there were feelings for the other.

“Hey Y/N!! Can you call Lucky over? He keeps trying to drink the soapy water!” Clint yells across the firehouse where he, Bucky, Sam, and Rhodey were trying to was one of the trucks.

“Yeah. No problem. Lucky! C’mere!” You whistled. The Golden Retriever came bounding over to you and jumped into your arms licking you all over your face. You giggled as you gently pushed him away to go over to his toys and grabbed a tug rope.

As you were playing with Lucky and wearing him out, the alarm that signaled a call sounded. Dispatch said an ambulance was needed for a car accident. It was always difficult to tell how bad car accidents are until you get there. You and Wanda, who you found out was another EMT, were on shift and ran to the ambulance to head to where the accident was. The accident was at an intersection that always had a lot of accidents whether it be minor or major.

When you and Wanda arrived, there were already two ambulances there which told the two of you how bad it was. There were at least six cars involved. One was wrapped around a tree, two looked like they collided head on, and the three rear ended each other. There looked to be people out of some cars but your biggest worry was the one wrapped around the tree. You asked one of the other EMTs if any of them checked on the patient of the car around the tree and they said they got there a few seconds before you and Wanda.

You yelled for Wanda to grab the bags while you ran over to check on whoever it was in the car. Your breath got caught in your throat as you saw it was Steve in the driver’s seat. He was unconscious, slumped over the steering wheel. You gently leaned him back so you could check his front for injuries. Steve had a cut above his eyebrow causing blood to trickle down his face, his left arm was broken which also had the bone poking through the skin, the steering wheel dashboard trapped his legs which caused you to not assess the injuries there.

“Oh my god.” Wanda gasped when she saw who it was.

“Wanda,” You turned to look at her. “I know it’s Steve but we treat him like every other person we’ve treated before. Okay?”

She swallowed and nodded her head. Wanda pulled out a cervical collar and handed it to you so you can place it around Steve’s neck to prevent any hidden injuries from getting worse. You called over your shoulder to have Wanda get the spine board. She nodded and ran to the ambulance. A groan pulled your attention back to the man in the banged up vehicle.

“Steve? Hey big guy. Can you open your eyes for me?” You gently coaxed.

“Wha-? Y/N? What are you doin here?” His speech was slurred but you couldn’t tell if it was because he was regaining consciousness or if the cut on his head was more than just a cut.

“You got in a car accident. Do you know what happened?” You asked as you placed the collar around his neck.

Steve scrunched his face trying to think. “I-I can’t remember.” He started to panic. “Why can’t I remember?”

“Steve, you need to calm down.” You grabbed his wrists so he wouldn’t hurt himself. “Right now I need to check over your injuries.” You heard footsteps behind you and saw the spine board placed next to you. Wanda started getting stuff out of the bag to bandage the cut on Steve’s head.

The two of you started to assess what you could see but you knew the steering wheel dashboard needed to get moved. You stood up and turned to see if there were any firefighters who could help and saw Sam, Bucky, Clint, and Rhodey all running over to you. They looked over your shoulder and saw it was Steve.

“What do you need?” Sam asked.

“His legs are trapped so we need to get those out.”

“Alright. Guys, let’s get the equipment to help.” The men took off back to the fire engine and you turned your attention back to Steve.

“Hey. I’m going to ask you some questions, okay?” You asked Steve. He mumbled a ‘yes’ and you started asking questions which would assess his mental status. You heard many pairs of footsteps running back over to you and saw Sam out the corner of your eye. You, Sam, and the rest of your team who were there, worked together to get Steve out from being trapped in the car. Once his legs were free, you all placed him on the spine board while Clint and Wanda went to get the gurney.

“Everything hurts.” Steve groaned in pain.

“I know, honey.” Unintentionally letting the pet name slip out. “I’m gonna get you some meds for that.” You got everything to get an IV in his arm to distribute pain meds. Wanda and Clint came back with the gurney and everyone loaded him up on the gurney, then into the ambulance, and Wanda jumped in the driver seat and started heading to the hospital.

“Y/N.” Steve whispered. “I’m glad that you were there.”

You smiled and grabbed his hand. “Well I’m glad that you’re alright for the most part.”

“You called me ‘honey’.”

“Eh. Pet names like that slip from me at times. Sorry if it was unprofessional.”

He gently shook his head as best he could with the collar on. “No, I actually liked it.”

You could see a sense of determination in his eyes. “How ‘bout we focus on you getting better before we talk about possibly dating and what that means for our jobs.”

Steve’s jaw dropped. “How’d you know?”

“Steve. Honey.” You winked at him. “It’s my job to check for even the smallest facial expressions in order to see how much pain someone is in.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

You shook your head chuckling, checking over his injuries you could see to make sure none have gotten worse.

Wanda pulled into the ambulance bay of the hospital where three nurses met you and helped you roll Steve into the hospital. He went to surgery for his arm and to make sure there were know serious internal injuries. You were there by his bedside in recovery when he woke up. The two of you would figure out logistics with the budding relationship at a later date but knew you couldn’t wait too long.

Steve mumbled as he was coming out of the anesthesia. He opened his eyes a bit and saw you sitting there. “Hi.” He closed his eyes with a smile on his face.

You smiled. “Hi. How you feeling?”

Steve mumbled incoherently which caused you to chuckle.

“Alright.” You grabbed his right hand, being careful of the IV line, in both of yours. “You get more rest.” Steve mumbled more as you placed a kiss on his knuckles.

Tags: @patzammit @bobbydearest @katiew1973 @rocketrhap3000 @harrysthiccthighss @justamarvelfan14 @this-kitten-is-smitten

#steve rogers x reader #firefighter!Steve #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers angst #hannahshattuck writings

167 notes · View notes

diamond-coral · 3 years ago

Text

The Heist- Part Two

Steve x Reader Chapter Summary: Steve sees you working at a club. Now Steve wants you...and he’ll have you.

Series Warnings: dark, rape/non-con, kidnapping, stripper themes, swearing, crime

Chapter Warnings: male masturbation, swearing, stripper themes, kidnapping, crime, mild violence, threats of rape/non-con, creepy crazy stevo

Steve had begrudgingly went to the strip club with Bucky and Sam because, as Sam said, ‘Modern women are somethin’ else compared to the 1940’s.’. Bucky was much more enthusiastic to see how much things had changed as a once been ladies’ man from the 40’s even if it meant having to go with Sam who bickered with him every five minutes. And while Bucky’s enthusiasm remained as they entered the club, the blaring music, flashing lights, and women in skimpy outfits had Steve remaining unimpressed.

Until he saw you.

You weren’t on the stage but rather talking to a coworker in the back of the room, a tray of drinks in one hand and a smile on your face that could light up a room. An honest, genuine smile that stood out in a room filled with nothing but empty sultry smiles given by dancers. Your coworker said something, and you threw your head back and let out a laugh that Steve could’ve sworn he had heard ringing all the way across the club over the blaring music.

You were perfect.

While you were still scantily clad in nothing but a light pink shimmery sheer top that showed your bra perfectly cupping your breasts, a pair of barely their black shorts, and black heels that had his eyes dragging up and down your legs, your demeanor and posture was more relaxed, and that’s what he loved. You weren’t sticking your tits out in front of you or pushing your ass back, but were rather slouched a little, eyes shimmering with excitement as you talked. What Steve saw of you was raw and authentic, and he loved it.

Sam’s voice interrupted Steve from his daydreaming, and Steve shot him a look of irritation causing Sam to raise his hands in defense.

“Woah there loverboy,” Sam chuckled. “I was just gonna suggest, you should ask for a dance from that girl you’re ogling over.”

“And before you go over and court her with your righteousness and whisk her away to waltz like prince charming, he means a lapdance, punk,” Bucky says while taking a sip of his drink.

“I- I was’t ogling,” Steve sputtered, but let out a sigh of defeat at Sam’s raised eyebrow. “I’m not gonna ask for a lapdance. Besides, she seems to be just waiting tables. I wouldn’t wanna interrupt-”

“You’re hopeless,” Sam teased as he brought his fingers to his mouth to let out a shrill cab whistle. You turned, and Sam caught your attention, beckoning you over with two fingers.

“Hiya fellas,” you said, and Steve frowned a little at the sultry voice you put on. “What can I help you with?”

“Just another round of drinks, sugar. Oh- and-” Sam leaned to whisper something in your ear and Steve noticed your eyes widening a little before your gaze snapped to him, a small smile on your painted lips.

“Of course,” you responded to Sam. “I’ll be back with your drinks shortly.”

As you turned to leave, Steve frowned at Sam. “What did you tell her,” he asked.

“Oh nothing much. Just mentioned that THE Captain America was looking for a little bit of fun tonight.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a groan. “Sam you dumbass.”

“Hey, he’s doing more about it than you,” Bucky interjected. “Sometimes it’s just sad watching you when you just sit and do - oh shit here she’s comes.”

“Alright, and I’ve got another round of drinks,” you said cheerfully while distributing the glasses. “And you, Mr. Rogers…” You sat on one of Steve’s thick thighs while placing your hands on the collar of his button up shirt and smoothing it down. “You’re friend told me you’re lookin’ for something… special tonight?”

Steve’s throat was dry and he was sure you could feel his heart practically beating out of his chest. “Oh well...I um-I.”

“What Mr. Womanizer would like to say is that he accepts your offer,” Sam offered, and Steve shot him what was probably the one-hundredth dirty look of the night.

“Well then.” You got off his lap and tugged on his arm. “I’d be happy to oblige.”

________________________________________________________________

Half an hour later, Steve returned a mess. The first few buttons of button up were undone, his hair was tousled, his cheeks flushed, and his heart hadn’t stopped racing.

“Good time?” Bucky inquired with a smirk.

Steve could barely form any words other than ‘where’s Sam’ to which Bucky pointed to the crowd of sweaty dancing bodies where Sam was shamelessly grinding on some woman.

“Oh God, I need a drink.” Steve fixed his hair with one hand while the other dipped into his pocket to retrieve a flask of Asgardian liquor Thor had given him.

“Was she that good?”

“Well yes, but it wasn’t just the dance. It was her,” Steve answered while burying his face in his hands. He felt like the scrawny kid from Brooklyn again. Completely flustered as he chased after a girl totally out of his league. “I don’t know Buck, she’s just-she’s just perfect.”

“Stevie, look around you. Every woman here is practically perfect. And they’re goddesses. That girl is just a girl.”

“No it’s just- you don’t understand. She’s just…” Steve let out an exasperated sigh and Bucky’s eyes softened.

“Wow you really like her don’t ya?” Steve just nodded in reply. “Well what if we came back again when she’s working?”

“No that wouldn’t work,” Steve said. “But...I think I have an idea.”

“And am I involved in this idea at all?”

“Maybe.” Steve laughed at his friend who groaned.

Steve then continued to explain his plan. He pointed out the coworker you had been friendly with when he first saw you, and asked Bucky to get some information out of her since he was the less recognizable out of the two. Steve needed to see you again. Not just that...he needed you. You were just so perfect for him, and Steve knew that the moment he laid eyes on you. The genuineness of your smile and laugh, just the way you were so authentic amidst your surroundings just showed you didn’t really belong in this environment or even this time period of imitation and phonies. But you belonged with him. And he’d preserve that authenticity.

Bucky just simply nodded, and at first Steve was nervous that his best friend was going to call him crazy, but after a bit, Bucky got up and snatched Steve’s flask while flashing him a grin.

“Bout time we got you a girl, huh pal?”

Steve sighed in relief, and as Bucky trotted off, he went to find Sam.

Steve explained to Sam that he was gonna go home while Bucky worked some “wingman magic” and Sam started letting out fits of laughter at how THE Captain America was ‘down bad’.

Finally, after Sam had finally calmed down, he wished him goodbye and headed home.

He had some things to take care of.

________________________________________________________________

As Steve guided his hand up and down his shaft, all he could think about was you.

Your tits, your ass that had ground on his crotch at the club, your red lips around he imagined on his cock. You’d probably use your skilled hands as well, not being able to fit his entire member into your mouth.

Steve’s thoughts didn’t stop there.

He thought about how your hips moved while in the private dance room. He thought about how although you were undeniably sexy, you were also so kind to him, once in a while asking if everything was okay and if he wanted anything else from you. He thought about how you simply smiled and let out your angelic laugh as Steve fumbled and stuttered, simply putting your hands over his and telling him everything was okay and he could sit back and relax, not having to take charge after a long day of commanding people. The light pink color of your lingerie was so beautifully innocent as your body moved lewdly in contrast. And he loved it.

Steve came with a shout to the image ingrained in his mind.

________________________________________________________________

A few minutes after Steve had cleaned up and taken a much needed cold shower, he received a call from Bucky.

“You’re right,” Bucky’s voice spoke through the phone. “Two drops of that Asgardian shit and she was completely mentally clocked out. Told me everything about your girl.”

As Bucky told Steve your name, Steve tried it out on his tongue for himself.

“Also told me a little bit of a little side job they got goin on. Your girl’s a bit of a criminal, Stevie. Sure you still want her?”

“I’m sure she has her reasons.”

“Well you’re right in that actually. According to...Bella-yeah I think that’s her name-,” Bucky recounted. “They steal from people to pay for rent and art school. And I just so happened to tell her about some skeevy old timer government worker who happened to be loaded from scamming low income taxpayers. Who also happens to live at your address.”

“Wait, you want her to rob me?!” Steve exclaimed.

“Will you just let me finish?” Bucky took Steve’s silence as an opportunity to continue. “I told Bella no one would be home while your girl does the job, but obviously you’ll be home so she can’t get away. She’s literally coming to you on a silver platter pal. Could it get any better than that?”

Steve took a moment to consider the situation before replying. “You’re right. Thanks pal. I really owe you one.”

Bucky chuckled. “Well I got one hell of a blow job so I’ll say we’re almost even. Anyway, she’ll be comin in a week, so that’ll give you plenty of time to prepare.”

_______________________________________________________________

You awoke slowly to sunlight streaming through your apartment window, your bed feeling more comfortable than usual, and a warm arm wrapped around your-

What the hell?

Your body thrashed as you jolted awake and flung yourself away from the body next to you in the bed that very much wasn’t yours in the apartment that was always not yours. Steve Rogers just sat up on his elbows and gave a groggy smile at your frazzled state.

“Mornin’ sweetheart.”

You recalled your memory, trying to see if this was some sort of drunken hookup, and it all came back to you. The heist, him coming home early.

“Didn’t mother ever tell you stealing is wrong?” were the words he had said before he had grabbed your hair in an iron grip and smashed your head on the near coffee table. Everything was black after that.

“Oh my God...you,” you began to back away from him.

“I what, sweetheart?” he mused. “Last time I checked, this is my apartment, and you were the one breaking and entering.”

You scrambled backwards off the bed, but just as you were about to reach the bedroom door, something cold and hard pulled against your ankle causing you to topple face first onto his carpet. Turning your head, you observed a metal cuff secured around your ankle with a chain leading back to the foot of the bed.

Steve used the time you took panicking and hyperventilating to get out of bed and leisurely stretch his arms as if this was a normal occurrence. He approached you cautiously as if you were a wild animal and bent down to softly cup your face with a large hand.

“It’s okay, doll, I didn’t hurt you. Just let you sleep a bit before I caught you up to speed today.”

“Did- did you…,” you sniffled at the thought of what that man could’ve done to you while you slept.

“No. God no!” You nerves calmed a little bit as you were reassured that America’s hero was still the gentlemanly golden boy you met at the club. That was before he tilted your chin to meet his sinister gaze. “I wanted our first time to be while you were awake.”

Your heart dropped. This man was crazy.

You began to frantically yank at the chain on your ankle and your breathing became shorter.

“Hey. Hey! Stop it!” he urged before grabbing both of your hands and holding them in a steel grip. “Listen. I know this is all..new...but you need me. And I need you. When I saw you at the club, you were just so perfect. You’re not like those other women. You don’t belong there. You don’t belong in this life. I can take care of you. I will take care of you.” A tear slipped from your eye at his words but he just brushed it away with his thumb and continued. “You just don’t understand yet. When I saw you, I just knew you were meant for me. You’re perfect, doll.”

All you did was stare at him in disbelief and mutter, “You’re crazy.”

He went to soothe you again and brush a lock of hair away from your face, but you thrashed and said it louder.

“You’re crazy, you’re fucking crazy!”

“Doll, you don’t understand. I love you. And you’ll love me. I promise just give it some time and-”

“No you’re deranged. You’re FUCKING DELIRIOUS!!” you screech as your hand shot out and slapped him across the cheek.

The room went dead silent. You froze, and so did he. You had just slapped Steve Rogers across the face. You slapped the pure muscle mass six foot super soldier and called him delirious, and he looked hurt. His face was painted with a heartbroken look of regret, disbelief, and sorrow. But not from the slap. It’s like your words had hit him like a ten-ton truck, and for a second you saw doubt flicker across his eyes as if realizing that everything he imagined was in his head. And in that doubt was your hope. Your hope that this man would come to his senses and let you go.

“Steve...please, you have to realize this is wrong,” you said softly as he gave you a broken look. In that look you saw the scrawny kid from Brooklyn in the 1940s who only knew rejection, and your heart broke just a little bit. “What you’re feeling...it isn’t love.”

All of a sudden his demeanor changed. Any doubt in his eyes was wiped away in a nanosecond and replaced by a fierce look of determination. His face contorted into a snarl as he yanked you up with him by your hair and spun you around to press your front against the well.

“You dumb bitch,” he growled into your ear. “You think you don't need me when you’re a pathetic thief who whores herself out every night.”

You writhed in his hold but he just gripped your hair harder and let out a breathy laugh.

“You know...for someone like you to stoop so low as to work at that club...it makes me think. You wanna be treated like a whore?” he seethed. “Fine. I’ll treat you like a whore.”

a/n: don’t worry I don’t think working at a strip club is “low” at all. just some classic sexist bs from our good old 1940′s fav

#dark!fic #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #steve rogers x reader

205 notes · View notes

sergeantbuckybarnes · 4 years ago

Text

serendipity // bucky barnes

PART TWO

Summary: You end up stuck in 1942 without a way to come back, but when you meet the young and charming version of Bucky Barnes, do you really want to go back to the present?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: mentions of cheating, reader is a bitch, sad bucky, angst, fluff, lack of ‘40s knowledge

A/N: As always, please remember English is not my first language. Also, thanks to @coffee-books-music for proofreading this!

divider by @firefly-graphics

previous part | series masterlist | main masterlist

Red. Everything went red. Your vision blurred as a flame curled in the pit of your stomach. You enter the building with a firm step, walking through the hallways, anger building inside you, trying to take over the sadness you didn’t want to feel. Your phone vibrated in the pocket of your jeans, you reach for it only to see the name of your sister on the screen. Memories weighed down on you, but you would not allow yourself to break down anymore. Instead, your heart turned ice cold and slunk into the shadows as your brain took complete control. You screamed in frustration and threw the phone against the nearest wall. How dare she call you? You took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

“Are you okay?” a voice called from behind you. You turned to face a man you had never seen before. He was tall, with long dark hair for his shoulders and piercing steel-blue eyes. His face changed once he saw you, going from worried to shocked.

“Y/N?” he asked cautiously, his voice was so soft, with a hidden hope you didn’t catch on.

“Do I know you?” you asked, not really caring for him, but getting annoyed for how he was looking at you.

“Is it really you?” he asked again, not believing what his eyes were seeing. Maybe so much brainwashing had really messed with him.

“Look dude, it’s really not a good time,” you wanted to leave, but he grabbed your arm, not forcefully, but with enough force for you not to have the chance to leave. You yanked your arm from his grasp and realized that where his left arm was supposed to be, there was, instead, a metal arm. Who the fuck was this guy?

“Don’t touch me,” you rebuked. Waves of fury rolled off you as the blood rose to your cheeks. The term anger barely even touched the tip of the volcano that you so clearly were in that moment.

He took a step back, not wanting to upset you even more, but he could not help himself, he needed to know if it was really you. He wished it was really you.

“Y/N, Bucky? What’s going on here?” the voice of Steve Rogers flooded your ears, and you let out a sigh of relief.

“Ask your friend,” you said before giving a not-so-friendly glare to the guy before picking the pieces of your phone and making your way to your room, leaving the men behind you.

You groaned in frustration against the pillow. You were such a bitch when you met him. There were times when your brain fries up. It was no excuse you know; you owned your behavior. It was like a trigger flicked inside you. Your emotions turned cold, fearful, anxious... You back away, flee or strike out at someone. Those are the moments where you’re not proud of who you are. You fail to be the warrior you were always told you were born to be. Instead, you show the frightened child within, damaged and afraid, the one still hiding from the monsters under the bed. You knew these are things you have to work on. You had spent so much time caring for others, pouring out love without measure, yet never receiving it in return. So like a stupid child, you hold out for love.

Now you understand why Bucky acted so weird around you that day in the compound. He remembered you. He remembered you from that night in the dance hall. But… how could he? It hadn’t happened yet. Well, technically yes, but at the same time, no.

“What are you thinking about?” Wanda pulled out from your thoughts, you turned your head to look at her.

“Nothing,” you lied.

“Y/N, we’ve known each other for a long time, I can tell when you’re lying.”

After a few minutes in silence you finally speak up, “I was thinking about the first day I met Bucky,” the tone of your voice betraying you.

“Y/N, you just find out your fiancé cheated on you with your sister. It’s normal you acted the way you did. You were angry.”

“And what about the other times?” you sat up and faced your best friend. “I had been nothing but mean to him.”

That morning you woke up later than usual so when you entered the kitchen, the breakfast was long gone. You groaned, you really needed a coffee.

“Sorry kiddo,” Tony patted your back before leaving the room. Sam and Steve made their way to the gym. Wanda and Nat were chatting on the counter, and the new guy was standing a few steps away from them looking at you. Again.

“Do you have some problem with me?” you asked annoyed, alarming the girls of your presence. They turned to look at you. “You are always staring at me.”

“S-sorry,” he muttered, tearing his gaze away from you. You rolled your eyes and made your way to your friends. “Here,” he offered you a mug of coffee. “It’s still warm.”

You looked at him confused, “You always drink a cup of coffee in the mornings, so when I noticed you weren’t coming anytime soon, I poured one for you in case you would come out later,” Nat and Wanda shared a smile on their faces, melting at how sweet the former winter soldier was being.

Your reaction was very different, though. “I want nothing from you,” and you left the kitchen, leaving the guy with a heartbreaking look on his face, and a shocking one on both of your friends’.

“You can do nothing to change the past, what has happened has happened. But you can change from now on.”

“You think I still have time?”

“You’ll have to try”

You had hurt Bucky so much; you took out all the anger you felt inside you on him. It was unfair. No matter how badly you treated him, he always sent a smile your way, he had been nothing but nice to you. You were a horrible person.

Everyone had their reasons for being how they were. Some people get past their troubles and grow mature, others get stuck in a sort of basic mode of fear and reactions, loving responses becoming absent or portioned out for personal gain. You were the latter type.

This had been the ninth time you checked to see if Wanda was really asleep. You felt like you were sixteen again and you were sneaking out of your house to meet your boyfriend. But you needed to go to the dance hall, needed to see if he would still be there.

You made the pillows form the shape of your body and covered them with the duvet, and you tiptoed out the room.

You walked through the Brooklyn streets one more time, those streets, so familiar but at the same time, so different to you. You spotted the dance hall you were in last night. The night where you met Bucky, and you danced with him…. you kissed him. Immediately, you felt the heat rising to your cheeks when you remembered the feeling of his soft lips on yours. You. brushed your thumb across your lips and a smile crept its way across your face.

You searched through the club, looking for the soldier. What if he wasn’t here tonight? What if he had already met someone else, and he’s dancing with them? You disliked the pit that formed in your stomach when your head was clouded with the thought of Bucky with someone else, holding them the same way that he had held you, showing them that beautiful smile of his….. his lips on someone else’s.

“Looking for someone, doll?” you turned around at the sound of his voice, even though you hastily left last night with no explanation, he didn’t seem mad about it, his face still plastered the same smile.

“H-hi.”

“You’re going shy on me now, doll?” he asked, “What happened the previous night? Never had a dame running away from me so fast,” he joked.

You chuckled lightly, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, no worries,”

The same song that you danced to last night started playing, your eyes caught a few couples starting moving to the music. When you turned to look at Bucky again, he had his head tilted to one side and a hopeful smile playing on his lips.

You stretched out your arm to him, “Shall we?”

He didn’t think twice and took your hand in his. “So, what made you come back?” he asked. His hands were on your hips and your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, just like last night while you swayed to the music.

“I wouldn’t miss the opportunity to dance to our song one more time.” you were feeling pretty bold, and you liked it, and by the grin forming on Bucky’s face, you were sure he liked it too.

“Our song?”

You hummed. “That’s our song. So you can’t dance it with anyone else,” you replied, “Just me.”

He chuckled, “I have no problem with that, doll.”

As you both kept swaying to the music, you leaned towards his body and let your head rest on his chest. You felt the way his heartbeat quickened and smiled, knowing you were the cause for it. All of your thoughts stopped. It was like your heart took over your head when you were with him. You realized that you never felt this way when you were in Jake’s arms.

You wanted a love that was passionate and determined, fire with earth, yet was also a serenity soul that you could dwell in forever. When the song finally ended, you felt his intense gaze on you, and your insecurity took over, “Is everything okay?” you asked looking at him.

“If I kissed you now, would you run away from me again?”

You laughed, and shook your head, “No, not again.”

“Promise? Because my heart wouldn’t be able to handle it again.”

You looked into his blue eyes, and you cursed yourself for not realizing before how beautiful his eyes were… every piece of him was beautiful. He was a masterpiece. You didn’t answer his question, but instead, you stood on your tiptoes and closed the gap between the two of you before he could say anything else.

“I’m telling you, it’s her.” Bucky was losing his nerves to the disbelief of his best friend.

“Buck, it’s been over 80 years, there’s no way it’s her.”

You were the exact same replica of the woman that stole his heart back in 1942 in that dance hall. It was you. He was sure about that. No matter how crazy it would have sounded.

If he and Steve were still here, why couldn’t you be too?

“Alright, then why didn't she recognize you?” Steve wasn’t trying to be mean, he knew his friend really loved that girl since the second she bumped into him. But he also knew that the chances of it being the same person were slim. Maybe you were her granddaughter. But that wasn’t an option Bucky could consider.

“I don’t know,” the soldier didn’t have an explanation for that. Maybe they had brainwashed you the same way they did with him and you forgot about your past… about him? If that was the case, he would try his best to make you remember. “But I will not lose her again.”

He wouldn’t give up on you. Not again.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes one shot #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #bucky barnes #sebastian stan

388 notes · View notes

whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years ago

Text

A Little Outside the Doorway of Your Home (Various Creepypasta X F!Reader)

[Various X F!Reader]

[Warnings: none? Like, children I guess and slight angst.]

[AN: it's like a half fic half scenario thing that I originally intended to be shorter, but here we are.]

You wake in your house to the sound of your little girl running through the hall of your house. As you open your eyes to the ceiling where rays of lights dance through the open air. You can tell she’s padding towards your room - it’s become a daily event.

“Mommy!” She cries out as she bursts your door open, jumping onto the bed with all her might.

“There’s my little princess,” you hum with a small smile, giggling as you scoop her into your arms.

She laughs - it sounds so much like her father - before she situates herself on your sheets. She sits up. “Do you know what today is?” She asks, happiness in her eyes.

You pretend to feign ignorance, “no, I don’t. What’s today?” You question as your face pulls an expression that tells you’re obviously playing.

She rolls her eyes playfully and pushes at you with all her tiny might, “really?” She says in an exaggerated tone.

You break your feigned ignorance and pull your daughter in before peppering her face with kisses. “How could I forget? You’re six years old today!”

That statement isn’t false, you wouldn’t forget her birthday for anything. Her birthday is a place of happiness and sorrow. Happiness, because she’s growing older and experiencing the world and living a life you always wanted her to have, and sorrow, because it was the day you said goodbye to someone you loved.

Every time you looked into her darling eyes, you saw her father’s looking back at you. Every day she grew to be more and more like him; it was undeniable that she was his just as much as she is yours.

“What do you say we make a special birthday breakfast?” You say as you slip out of the sheets before turning back to your bouncing little girl who climbs onto your hip.

“It sounds so good,” she says, nodding faster and wildly than she can even get the words out. “Can I help you make it?”

“Of course,” you reply. “I can’t make a special birthday breakfast without the birthday girl’s assistance,” you giggle, tapping her nose gently as the two of you head down the hallway to the kitchen.

Once there, you set her down and get the things she can do out on the counter top. She’s so tiny that she needs a chair to stand up on just to reach them all. You watch from the corner of your eye as you handle the things you’re not comfortable with her doing just yet. She’s surprisingly efficient, your little one. She has the curiosity and skill that outruns her peers by miles. A part of you says it’s because of her father, but you know it’s because you’ve been raising her. Nurture is greater than nature, after all.

Your little birthday girl gets to stirring the pancake batter after she measures it and you’re cutting up fresh vegetables for an omelets alongside some other things. The kitchen already smells heavenly. When she’s done mixing the batter, you pour it into a heated pan and make them just the way she wants them - with butterscotch chips and chocolate chips. You let her put it on a plate and watch as she carefully cuts some strawberries. Once she’s successfully transferred the delicious pancakes onto her plate (and adorably one for you as well), she goes to the table.

“What do you want to drink?”

“Can I have some tea with honey?”

You smile and wordlessly get to brewing some tea. You decide you’ll have some too, so you decide to use the kettle over the Keurig. As you wait for it to whistle, you get the rest of the breakfast together and place it all at the table for just the two of you.

“It looks good,” you note as your child waits patiently for you.

“It smells good,” she agrees.

The kettle whistles and you find yourself flitting over to its side before procuring two cups. You make her cup of tea just the way she likes it, and finally, you’re able to settle at the table with her.

“Go ahead,” you say as you sit down.

She beams and digs into her food. “Thank you,” she says in a momentary lapse between eating and stuffing her face.

You laugh slightly, “slow down,” you remind her.

She pauses slightly before going back to her fast eating.

You also begin to cut your pancakes and omelets. Once to your satisfaction, you pour some honey into your tea, stir it and bring it to your lips. You’re barely able to get in a few sips before you hear a knock at your door. Your eyebrows raise as you see your little girl setting down her silverware. “No, let me get it. Stay here and finish your food,” you say as you begin to slide out of your seat. “I won’t be too long. You can get your tablet until I’m back. Sound good?”

A large smile curls from her lips as she rushes out of her seat back to her bedroom. You hear her rummaging around her room, and with that, you get up and head to the door to see who it is. As you near your front door, you can’t help but get that sinking feeling in your stomach. You don’t even need to open the door to know who it is. You can feel it in your bones.

Still, as you twist open the doorknob, you feel your heart flutter. You were expecting him, but seeing him in the flesh for the first time in a year has you feeling like you’re meeting him for the first time all over again. He still sets your heart on fire.

Masky - Timothy Wright:

“How’re you doing, sweetheart?” A low male voice asks, a small smile tugging at his lips. There’s bags under his eyes that tell you he hasn’t slept in days but seeing you has his eyes shining with a light that not even the sun can compete with.

“Tim,” you breathe as you catch his eyes. “I’m - I’m well, and you?” You sputter out, stepping out of your house slightly to close your front door behind you. You look over him to see he’s got a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a wrapped present tucked under his other arm. He lets them go gently before taking you into his arms. You wrap around him like a snake, allowing yourself to be swayed by him for a few moments before he lets you go.

“You know how it goes,” he hums in response, moving slightly on your front porch to let you stand beside him. He never says too much of what he does, and to be completely fair, you’re not sure you want to know. All you know is that it’s dangerous, and it’s because of that danger he can’t be close to you or your child.

“You wanna talk?” You ask. It’s more a formality, really. Every time he visits he stays to talk for a few minutes or so. You never see him outside of your baby’s birthday.

“Don’t need to ask me twice,” Tim replies with a breathy chuckle as he takes his seat on the stairs alongside you. “Got these for you.” The brown haired man holds out the pink flowers for you after he’s reached back on the porch to get them. Roses and carnations. They’re beautiful.

“Thank you,” you say as you take the flowers into your arms. “I hope they didn’t cost you too much-”

“It’s nothing,” he waves off. “Would you mind if I uh,” he gestures down to his breast pocket where you’re greeted to the outline of cigarettes.

Normally you’d tell him no, but this time, you let it slide. “Go for it.”

Tim raises his eyebrows but uses his free hand to fish out his pack of cigarettes anyways. He places one in between his lips. “That’s weird,” he says as you on instinct reach into his coat pocket and grab his lighter. “Something wrong?”

You flick it on and light his cigarette for him, watching as he inhales with appreciation. “It’s nothing,” you attempt to wave off.

“I know you better than that,” he says as you drop his lighter back into his tan coat pocket. “Sounds cliche as hell, but you know I’m right.”

You sigh and decide to bite the bullet. “I just, we-” you finger the petals gently and feel their velvety surface. “We could use you around, you know that, right?”

Masky hums as he takes another drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in rings that dissipate the further away from him they go. This isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation with him, and unfortunately, you know it won’t be the last. “I know.”

“That’s never good enough-”

“I’m sorry,” he cuts you off. “In this situation,” he continues. “My hands are bound.”

“Is your boss really that bad?”

Tim’s face pales slightly as you mention his ‘employer.’ That’s not someone you mention lightly. “If it was that simple I’d be with the two of you now.”

You know he’s not lying. Tim has never been one to like like that. “Is that for her?” You ask suddenly, wanting to change the subject.

He nods and places the package on his lap. “It’s nothing special. Just did what I could,” he mumbles.

You place the bouquet on the patio and take the package off his lap and onto yours. “You sure you’re not spoiling her?” You say with a small smile upon feeling its weight. “She’ll be really happy.”

“Good,” he hums back.

A silence falls over the two of you. It feels like there’s so much to say with so little time. You wish he were around more just to speak with him.

“Are you staying in this area long?”

“No,” Tim says with a frown. “Pulled out some stops just to be here today. My partners and I are really off schedule just being here.”

You can’t help but feel a little bad. “It… It means the world to me,” you say quietly, looking at the wrapping paper that surrounds the package.

Tim’s hand moves to your thigh before he squeezes gently. It’s a nonverbal way for him to say how much he cares for you and your little one, regardless of how far the distance is between you two.

He wants to tell you he loves you before a voice comes calling from inside. It’s muffled, but you can hear your little girl calling out for you.

“I should go,” you say sheepishly.

“Sure, sure,” Tim brushes off as he helps you up, picking up the bouquet so you can focus on holding the present. “Give her all my love, yeah?” He always ends the conversation like this.

“Of course,” you reply, hand on the doorknob. “I’ll see you soon?” You ask, knowing it won’t be until next year.

Tim nods, a sad smile on his face as he leans down slightly to kiss your forehead before he nods for you to go inside, carefully resting the bouquet of flowers on top of the present.

You do so, making it fully past the doorway before looking over your shoulder for a man you love who cannot stay, only to see he’s gone.

Hoodie - Brian Thomas:

“It’s been a while, darling,” a voice with a slight southern accent greets, hazel eyes looking at you with such warmth that it rivals the Sahara in summer. “Give me a hug,” he chuckles before being momentarily caught off guard by how hard you slam into his chest.

You giggle quietly into the fabric of his yellow hoodie, not even noticing how his other hand softly closes your front door behind you to ensure the agreement the two of you have. He’s not to see your little girl because she’ll be heartbroken he can’t stay.

Once you finally stop clinging to him, you and Brian take a seat on the front steps, watching the morning sun as it rises over the trees.

“What have you been up to?” You ask.

Brian leans back on the porch slightly to get both a package and a small thing of flowers. “Work. Same as usual, really,” he says as he places both of the things on his lap. “Nothing too exciting. What about you and-”

“We’re good,” you say as he holds out a small bouquet of fresh flowers to you. “Thank you,” you smile, taking them into your hands before smelling them. They’re so sweet.

“How is she doing in school?”

“Top of her class,” you say, beaming with pride. “I know she’s only six, but goodness, she’s so bright.”

“She gets it from you,” Brian compliments. “Six already? They grow so fast,” he says softly in a tone you can only understand as regret.

You frown as you look over the soft petals that dance between your fingertips. “I wish you were around more often to see her.”

Brian pulls a slight face, one that tells you he wants nothing more, but the conversation will be the same as all those before. His work is too dangerous, and while you don’t know anything about it, you know he fears for your safety whenever you mention it. “I want nothing more, and you know that more than anyone,” he begins as his posture visibly changes to something that conveys discomfort. “But I can’t and won’t risk her.”

“What kind of work are you even in?” You attempt to ask. You know he’ll never say.

“It’s a nice try,” Brian chuckles as he ruffles your hair. “Y’know, I’m not supposed to be here today.”

“You’re never supposed to be here,” you reply, only the slightest bite coming into your tone.

“Sure, but,” he glances down to the package that sits on his lap. “We’re way off course just being in this area.”

“Are you now?”

“Yeah,” Brian sighs. “I had to pull a lot of favors with my associates to get out here,” he says as he lightly taps the package. “But it’s worth it to be near the two of you.” He wishes he could see her.

“It’s never enough,” you reply, a passing ‘this is where we’re at’ coming into your tone.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes.

A slight silence falls over the two of you as you feel the breeze pick up. You can’t stay out here for too much longer.

“This is for her,” Brian suddenly says, gesturing to the beautifully wrapped package on his lap. “I think she’ll like it.”

“She likes everything you get for her,” you smile as you take the package gingerly into your hands. “You spoil her.”

“I don’t spoil her enough,” Brian playfully retorts. “One of these days I’m going to get a U-Haul truck of stuff for her.” He’s only half joking and the both of you know that.

You giggle slightly, wanting to continue speaking with him before you hear a muffled voice calling out for you.

“Dang, gotta call this one short,” you say as you begin to stand up.

Brian follows your actions, his brows furrowing slightly as he helps you up. “What a shame,” he agrees half heartedly, his voice turning into something more somber.

You flash him a reassuring smile, but can’t help but feel overwhelmed by how gently he helps you up. “I’ll uh, see you soon, right?” You ask, eyes glimmering with the possibility he’ll be back faster than just next year.

“Sure thing,” he says. It’s a promise you both know he can’t keep. “Give her all my love, please,” he finishes gently as he pushes open the front door for you.

“Of course,” you reply, looking up and into his hazel eyes that show nothing but sorrow.

Brian smiles at you before leaning down to kiss your forehead, and just like that, he’s heading down your stairs and back out of your life until next year.

Eyeless Jack:

“What a sight for sore eye sockets,” the grey skinned man greets with a small smirk pulling onto his lips. He dips down for a moment to deposit both a bouquet of freshly picked sunflowers and a nicely wrapped present on the porch before he leaves his arms open for you.

You smile widely in response, softly close your front door before getting a good look at the man who stole your heart all those years ago. “I’ve missed you so much,” you say as you wrap your arms around his midsection. You take in his scent and revel in it.

“I missed you too,” he says softly, swaying the two of you on the porch. “C’mon, sit with me and talk for a moment.”

You don’t hesitate and take a seat next to him on the steps. “What have you been up to?” You ask, looking longingly at the man you only see once every year.

It’s strange, the way you met Eyeless Jack, and it was mostly an accident. He’d broken into your dorm room and intended to get your roommate but woke you instead. You fought him, he liked that, and the two of you had formed some weird friendship romance. Eventually, that oddity that called itself a relationship blossomed into a child. That’s when things got strange, and odd, and in order to protect her, decided that the best course of action would be him not being around her. It hurt to admit that it was for the best. The both of you wanted normalcy for her.

“Same as I’ve always been,” Eyeless Jack replies as he listens to the sounds of the house. When he’s this close, he can hear his little girl. It’s almost as if he was there by her side. “Travelled around some, but my boss has some tasks for me to do on the opposite end of the country than here.”

You hum slightly in response. “We’re a major detour, aren’t we?”

Eyeless Jack cracks a smile and shakes his head slightly. “I would never consider the two of you detours. You’re the only good things in these parts,” he finishes. “Oh, I also picked these from some farmer’s fields on the way here. Thought it might liven up your house a bit.” He hands you the hand plucked sunflowers.

You chuckle and lightly slap at his shoulder before taking the golden flowers into your hands. “You’re so kind.”

“Right?” He teases slightly in agreement. “How is she?”

“She’s doing great,” you say. “She’s so smart and sociable. We get requests for playdates all the time.” You’re not lying, your little girl really is a social butterfly and she’s so intelligent and inquisitive for her age.

“Is she? She definitely gets it from you,” Eyeless Jack says as he thinks back to his own days as a student. Granted, he can’t remember as far back as childhood, but he can remember what it was like being in love with the world and all she had to offer.

“Y’know the funniest thing?” You begin. “She wants to be a doctor when she grows up.”

If Eyeless Jack had eyes, you knew they’d be lighting up. It’s what he wanted to be before he became whatever he is now.

As he smiles, you suppress the idea of telling him that the eyes your little girl has now are the ones that were stolen from him all those years ago. She’s the spitting image of a human him, and you know his inky black heart would break if he knew. Instead, you let a comfortable silence fall over the two of you before one of you inevitably breaks it.

“Will you be staying around this place for much longer?”

He shakes his head slightly, a small sag coming to his shoulders as he does so. “I’d love to stay longer just to catch up with you, but there’s some things I really, really need to do. Looks like it’s gonna be a while until I pull out all the stops again.”

You frown and rest your head on his shoulder, wanting to say so much to him before you hear a muffled voice calling out for you. You feel heat rush to your cheeks as you stand up, holding the flowers tightly in your hands.

Eyeless Jack mirrors you, holding the present. “Here, before we forget,” he lightly reminds as you fumble with it for a moment. “I gotta spoil her every chance I get,” he lightly jokes.

You giggle and test the present’s weight. “I wish that were more than once a year.”

“I wish to too,” Eyeless Jack says, a slightly forlorn look shading over his face. “I’ll be back before you know it, okay?”

You throw him a look, momentarily hurt at the implication it’ll be another year before you see the man who still awakens butterflies in your stomach. You still want to say so much more to him.

“Give her all of my love,” he says softly before he dips down slightly to press his lips to your forehead.

You close your eyes in content, allowing the feeling to wash over you before it’s gone in a flash. When you open your eyes, he’s gone, and you head back into your house to attend to your daughter.

Jeff the Killer:

“It’s so good to see you again, princess,” a man with an eternal smile carved onto his face beams.

“Jeff,” you breathe out as you look into darling blue eyes. “It’s been forever,” you say as he drops the items in his arms, thankful they’re not fragile before you launch into his grasp.

He closes the door softly behind you before he wraps his arms around you, spinning you there on the porch, a gentle laugh bubbling from his chest as he holds someone who’s given him the world and more. “It’s so nice to hold you again,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck.

You smile and squeeze him tighter, wondering why you can only hold him like this once a year.

Reluctantly, Jeff lets you go and brings you to the stairsteps where the two of you will spend a few moments talking about things that should be held over a conversation that’s more than a few mere minutes.

It really never is enough sometimes.

“What have you been up to?” You ask, barely noticing how he reaches back on the porch to get you some fresh wildflowers he plucked on the way here. You instinctively smell them once they’re in your grasp. They’re beautiful, really.

“What haven’t I been up to?” Jeff lightly jokes as he relaxes on the porch. “I’m sure you’ve seen some of the news articles.”

You pull a slight face, roll your eyes but nod regardless. It reminds you of when you first met him - which was frankly, a mistake on both of your parts. He’d gotten hurt, you were not thinking clearly and took him in, patched him up and he refused to leave. Now, he’s the father of your child. It was decided before you had your sunshine that he wouldn’t be directly a part of her life to ensure no harm would befall her. As Jeff has said he is no stranger to enemies.

He’s worried something bad will befall the two of you everytime he leaves, knowing that his presence is the most dangerous force and the biggest threat to your safety. He stays away as far as he can, and with him now working more closer than ever to the tall man in the woods? He’ll be farther away than ever before.

“You’re so bold, how could I avoid you?” You hum in passing, gently brushing the petals of the wildflowers with your fingertips.

Jeff chuckles slightly. “How’s our little sunshine? She doing well in school?”

“Of course,” you grin. “She’s so smart and soaks up information like a sponge. She’s also kinda athletic, but y’know, she’s only six so there’s so many directions she could go,” you inform. In a way, she reminds you of what you think Jeff would be like as a child. She’s certainly outspoken, but never in a disrespectful way. You know she’s going to grow up to be someone good.

Jeff whistles low before he cracks a grin. “Six already? Sunshine’s gonna be seven before we know it. And then she’s gonna be a teen-”

“Slow down!” You giggle, lightly punching Jeff’s shoulder. “I wanna cherish these moments while I still can.”

“If I wasn’t doing what I do,” Jeff begins as he watches the trees sway with the passing breeze. “I’d be where I belong. With the two of you.”

You sigh and rest your head on his shoulder, feeling your lover’s warmth. “We could make it work now, couldn’t we?”

Jeff shoots you a slight glance to tell you that he knows you know how it’s all going to play out. He doesn’t even need to say it. If he had any faith that the two of you would be safer with him around, he’d be at your side and never leave. But with Jane and his brother in his trail and the Slender Man never letting him breathe plus the cops that get too trigger happy? He refuses to take that risk with his two most important girls in the world. “Princess,” he says softly as he slings his arm over you. “You know the rules to this game.”

You furrow your brows and nod hesitantly, “I do.”

His hand grips your bicep slightly as the two of you spend some time in silence together. There’s so much you both want to say, but neither can bring themself to say it. So for now, silence with someone you love.

“Oh,” Jeff suddenly says. “I brought these things for her,” he says as he gestures to the presents he’s pulling on his lap.

“You’re spoiling her again this year?” You say in a teasing tone as he gestures to the giant basket filled to the brim with stuffed animals. “Of course,” Jeff beams. “I had to. Besides, I heard she’s taken a shine to giraffes.”

“She has,” you say as you look over all the toys and other fun things. “She’ll love it.”

Jeff chuckles. “Good.”

Before you can say anything else, a muffled voice calls for you inside the house. You immediately get up, ready to attend to your daughter and Jeff follows in suit.

Internally, he’s just a bit sad that his moment with you is up, but hearing his daughter’s voice makes his heart sing. He helps you up, ensures you’re able to hold everything he brought and helps you open the door just a crack before the two of you pause.

You look into those blue eyes that set your heart on fire and butterflies in your stomach in motion and smile sadly, trying to reassure him you’ll be okay with him leaving. “Will I see you soon?”

“You know it,” Jeff replies, a promise on his lips that doesn’t reach his eyes. He knows he won’t be back until next year or unless there’s an emergency. He hopes it’s just next year and that no one dear and near to his heart’s life is on the line. “Take care, princess, and give all my love to her,” he says softly as he tilts your head upwards.

“Anything for you,” you whisper as you feel his lips on your forehead, planting a love that only comes once a year.

Jeff chuckles softly before gesturing for you to head inside.

When you turn your back on him to be with your little girl, you feel his presence linger, and then it’s gone.

Slender Man:

Wait, no you didn’t. No the hell you didn’t lol. Mans looks like a Ken Doll below the belt y’aint doing me like this. You go back inside, wondering why you answered a call in which no one made.

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta scenarios #x reader #reader insert #masky #hoodie #jeff the killer #eyeless jack #masky x reader #hoodie x reader #jeff the killer x reader #eyeless jack x reader #marble hornets #tim wright #brian thomas

150 notes · View notes

choerrypuffs · 4 years ago

Text

my best friend wants to be abducted by aliens.

pairing: son of athena!renjun x daughter of aphrodite!reader

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 14.6k (this was supposed to be 5k 😌)

author’s note: hi so here is renjun’s chapter to my 00 line x camp half-blood series (i’m sorry, i know it took forever)! thank you so much for all of the support, and i hope you enjoy 💞

warning: one (1) makeout session

You are currently crouched behind a cluster of bushes, trying to get a glimpse of your targets through binoculars.

Does that sound stalkerish? Perhaps.

Are you actually a stalker? Debatable.

However, no matter how suspicious it looks, your motive is pure—for the most part.

You’re spying on Kang Daniel (son of Hermes) and Park Jihyo (daughter of Apollo), both of whom are at the Archery Range. Jihyo is showing Daniel how to shoot, encasing him with her arms as she nocks the arrow for him. The tips of his ears are so red that they could practically be a flare; you can see how flamboyant they are all the way from your hiding spot.

You start grinning like a maniac, excited that your plan is finally unfolding.

You had noticed how awful Daniel was at archery during a training session a couple weeks ago, and you casually suggested to him that he should ask Jihyo for some lessons. You’ve always known that Daniel has been hopelessly in love with Jihyo since the moment he saw her (it’s a child of Aphrodite thing—you can just sense it), but she’s been oblivious to it this entire time.

Well, until now.

Just as you guessed, sparks flew immediately. You could cut the sexual tension between them with a knife. You give them a couple more passionately-charged archery lessons before they inevitably surrender to their emotions and begin to date—and your predictions are never wrong.

“Another job well done, Y/N,” you mumble proudly to yourself, “Mom would be so proud.”

“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m going to have to ask you to stop loitering by these bushes and stalking those two campers over there, or else I’ll have to report you to the camp director,” a sudden voice from behind you says.

Letting out a loud yelp, you drop your binoculars in surprise and whip your head around to see who it is. You turn so fast that you almost fall backwards into said bushes, quickly using your palms to balance yourself.

“Renjun, you asshole!”

Huang Renjun, your long-time best friend and professional asshole, is standing in front of you. He’s wearing the iconic orange Camp Half-Blood t-shirt with black jeans, his hands tucked inside his pockets. His dark hair is parted to one side, with a single lock of hair falling perfectly into one eye, giving him the I-wake-up-and-my-hair-is-naturally-like-this look (even though it’s most definitely not true). No doubt that he’s the best-looking person in the entire camp, but his brusque personality makes him a rose with thorns. Sharp thorns.

You often wonder how the two of you even became as close as you are. Children of Athena and Aphrodite notoriously clash due to their mothers’ history with each other.

You met Renjun four years ago at Arts and Crafts Center, which is a hotspot for children of Athena. It was your first time at the camp, and you wanted to try making a ceramic (maybe a bowl or vase) to bring back to your family as a souvenir. Of course, you failed miserably and got snickered at by other Athena kids. Renjun, who had been sitting beside you, was the only one who didn’t laugh. He even gruffly gave you some pointers. Grateful, you complimented his painting—a mix of pink, yellow, blue, and purple watercolors that meshed together to resemble a galaxy. In return, he gave it to you.

“It’s not my best work, so you can have it,” he had said nonchalantly.

Even though it was the most beautiful piece of art you’ve ever seen, and it’s remained one of your most prized possessions to this day.

After that incident, you basically attached yourself at the hip with him. He would constantly complain about you following him around, but he also didn’t do anything to stop it. He’s been complaining for four, going on five, years now, yet he’s become your closest friend. Renjun likes act like you’re a pain in the ass (which isn’t untrue), but you know he cares about you. Even if he doesn’t verbalize it, you can tell by his actions; it’s all about the small things with him. Despite being rough around the edges, Huang Renjun is actually just a big softie on the inside.

“—could you stop snooping around like a weirdo?” Renjun asks, cutting your trip down memory lane short.

You rise to your feet, dusting your palms off and glaring at him. “I’m not snooping around like a weirdo. I’m just snooping around on one of my projects, like a good matchmaker.”

“Sure,” he says, rolling his eyes. He leans down and picks up your binoculars, handing them to you.

You take them and hang them around your neck. “Why are you here anyway?”

“Aren’t you the one who asked me to meet you at the Dining Pavilion for lunch?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, sorry! I lost track of time,” you exclaim. “How’d you find me?”

Renjun gives you a pointed look. “Well, seeing as how Daniel and Jihyo are your current quote-unquote project, all I had to do was figure out where they were because I knew you’d be somewhere close.”

You give him a sheepish smile. “You know me so well, Junnie.”

“The hell? Don’t call me that, it’s gross,” he snaps, pretending like he’s about to gag.

“You’re not cute at all,” you huff.

“Neither are you,” he replies.

“You are so rude! You’ll never get a girlfriend with an attitude like that!” You place your hands on your hips.

“I’ll live,” he says, shrugging.

You don’t know much about Renjun’s love life because he refuses to tell you anything; he’s like a stubborn clam that won’t open up. However, he’s made it very clear that he does not want your assistance when it comes to finding romance. Obviously, it hasn’t stopped you from trying, but this is one of the few things you can’t seem to make him give in to.

Yet.

“Whatever,” you sigh. “Let’s go eat.”

The two of you walk to the Dining Pavilion, which is a relatively long walk from the Archery Range, but you make enough conversation that it feels short. When you arrive, you see that they’re serving chicken curry and rice. Your stomach growls embarrassingly loudly when the mouthwatering scent hits you, which prompts Renjun to laugh at you. You give him the middle finger and then turn around to grab a lunch tray. Once you get your food, you two sit at a table in the back.

Before you begin to eat, you notice that your curry has chunks of potatoes and slices of carrots on it—you abhor carrots more than anything in this world. Noticing your disgusted expression, Renjun slides his plate over without even batting an eyelash, so you can pick out the carrot slices and give them to him. It’s a routine thing for the two of you, since you’re an extremely picky eater and he’s not.

After you take out all of the carrots, you begin to devour your food. You’re wolfing it down so fast that you’re basically asking to choke, in which you immediately do. A piece of chicken lodges itself in your throat, and you begin to cough violently. Renjun sighs, patting your back before handing you your cup of water.

“I feel like I’m babysitting a toddler every time I eat with you,” he points out as you gulp down your water.

“Thanks,” you say after you recover.

“For dislodging the food in your esophagus or calling you a toddler?”

“Both!” you say cheerfully.

Renjun shakes his head at you, but he’s smiling. You take advantage of his good mood by quickly reaching over and swiping a couple of grapes from the fruit bowl on his tray. He rolls his eyes when you pop them into your mouth and wink at him.

“Um, Renjun?” A small, different voice cuts in. Both of you turn around to see who it is.

Hwang Yeji, daughter of Iris and one of the most popular girls at the camp, is standing there. She’s fidgeting, and you can see pink dusting her cheeks. Her friends are at the table right behind her, giving her supportive looks. She smiles shyly at Renjun.

“Can I help you?” Renjun asks, deadpanning. He isn’t rude per se, but it’s also not a friendly tone.

Yeji slightly falters at his lackluster response. “Oh, um, I’m going to be performing at the amphitheater tonight...and I was wondering if you could come watch?”

“Why?”

You know Renjun is asking because he’s genuinely baffled, but it doesn’t lessen your urge to want to slap him upside the head.

“N-No particular reason! O-Okay, bye!” Yeji turns on her heel and runs away. You watch her go back to her table, head hung low in defeat.

“What was that all about?” Renjun is still bewildered.

No longer able to control yourself, you punch him in the arm. “You moron!”

“Ow! What the hell, Y/N?” he hisses, rubbing his arm.

“She invited you to watch her perform because she likes you!” you hiss.

“What? No, she doesn’t.” He furrows his eyebrows.

“Yes, she does! I should know of all people, you dingus. Even without powers, literally anyone else would be able to see that Yeji likes you!” You’re trying your best to keep your voice down, but he’s making it difficult for you. “You are the densest person on the planet!”

“Look who’s talking,” Renjun mutters underneath his breath.

“I can’t believe you just blew her off like that,” you continue, not hearing what he said.

“How was I supposed to know she liked me? I’ve never even spoken to her,” he protests.

You stare at him in disbelief. “Couldn’t you tell by the context clues?”

“What context clues?”

“Oh my gods,” you groan, covering your face with your hands.

“What do you want me to do then?” he asks tiredly.

“Go to her performance tonight,” you say immediately, uncovering your face and whipping your head to look at him with a hopeful expression.

“I don’t really want to though. There’s no point in getting her hopes up if I don’t like her back,” Renjun states matter-of-factly.

“How do you not even have a little bit of interest in her? Look at her! She’s stunning!” You feel like your eyes are about to pop out of your head.

“I’m not saying she isn’t, but I just don’t feel anything special towards her,” he explains.

“You’re actually insane,” you say incredulously. “There’s no way someone can look at Hwang Yeji and say they don’t feel anything special.”

“If you feel so strongly about it, you could date her,” he suggests.

“No, I’ve decided,” you cut him off, slamming your hand on the table with determination. “I’m going to find you a girlfriend.”

“I’ll have to respectfully decline your services,” he answers, sighing.

“Give me one week,” you plead, “all of my matches have worked out within a week. Please, Renjun? The worst thing that can happen is that you actually like someone and you two become a couple.”

“And what if it doesn’t work out?” He tilts his head.

“Then, I’ll drop the girlfriend topic for good. I swear on River Styx. And I’ll also give up my title as Camp Half-Blood’s official matchmaker,” you promise.

“You gave yourself that title.”

“Shut up.”

“Why are you so adamant on finding me a girlfriend anyway?” he asks.

“Because you’re so set on not getting a girlfriend, and that drives me crazy. I want to know just who on this Earth can make you feel something special, if even Yeji can’t do it. I want to crack you, like a walnut,” you admit.

“Bad analogy.”

“Yeah, it sounded better in my head.”

Renjun falls quiet, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he weighs the pros and cons of your proposition. Athena kids think way too much and way too loudly; they need to let loose and follow their hearts more.

You sit in anticipation for just a little longer before you see the tension on his face begin to dissipate and his features begin to droop. It’s an expression you know well; he’s going to let you have your way, like he always does.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “You get five days. That’s it.”

You squeal loudly, launching yourself at him so you can envelop him in a big bear hug. He grunts as he catches you, saving the both of you from toppling backwards onto the floor. “You’re the best, Renjun!”

Even when he’s irritated or annoyed, Renjun never pushes you away when you hug him. He isn’t exactly the affectionate type, yet his embrace is always so warm and calming. His words may be cutthroat, but his actions are always gentle.

He circles his arms around your waist loosely as he sighs into your hair, seemingly waiting for you to pull back to face him before he says anything. When you do, he flicks you on the forehead instead.

Okay, so you take the his actions are always gentle part back.

“Ouch!” You shrug yourself out of his hold, rubbing the probably reddening spot on your forehead.

“Payback for punching me earlier,” Renjun says, crossing his arms. “But are you sure about this?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have a perfect record when it comes to your matches. Plus, you’re losing two out of your usual seven days. Are you sure you want to risk breaking your streak?” he asks.

“What makes you think it’ll get broken?” you shoot back.

“I don’t just think; I know it will,” he smirks arrogantly. “That’s why I’m asking.”

You feel your left eye twitch. Riled up by his cocky demeanor, you grab your cup and chug the rest of your water, wincing like you just downed a shot. Wiping your mouth, you point your finger at him.

“Huang Renjun, just you wait. I’ll make you fall in love so hard that you’ll forget your own name.”

ও DAY ONE.

The Athena Cabin is a marvel to you every time you enter it. Rather than a cabin, it’s a workshop and a library in one on the inside. There are beds pushed haphazardly against the walls, and if you didn’t know that this was the official Athena Cabin, you would’ve thought that the Athena children had simply just crashed at a random facility at the camp and decided to call it their place of residence.

Renjun is still asleep, despite the commotion of his brothers and sisters running around in the library and/or constructing something in the workshop. His bed is located in the very back, hidden by a bookshelf that’s not frequented often. He’s curled up into a ball, with the blanket covering his head but you can still see tufts of his hair sticking out from under it.

“Rise and shine!” you sing, lifting blanket off his face.

His peaceful expression twists with discomfort as its exposed to light, and he immediately rips the pillow out from under his head and puts it over his face. He says something to you, but his words are muffled. You just assume it’s some sort of profanity.

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty! We have business to attend to,” you say cheerfully, taking the pillow away and tossing it to the foot of his bed.

“And what exactly is this supposed business?” Renjun asks dryly, opening his eyes and squinting up at you.

“We’re going to scout for potential candidates for you,” you answer as you grab his arm and pull him up. He reluctantly lets you, slumping forward like a limp puppet.

“Isn’t that your job?” He raises an eyebrow, running a hand through his messy bedhead. Renjun always looks particularly adorable when he wakes up. His pajamas consist of a pair of basketball shorts and an extremely stretched-out t-shirt. The shirt is so big that it’s slipping off his shoulder, which makes him look like a little kid. His hair is sticking up in all sorts of directions, and you can’t help but grin at how cute it is.

“Yes, but you’re a special case.” You talk to him like he’s five, running your hands through his hair and messing it up even more. Renjun scowls at you, but he sits there and lets you do it.

“Geez, who peed in your cornflakes?” you tease, seeing his stormy look.

“You.”

“Okay, fine! I’ll wait for you outside, but don’t take too long to get ready,” you say, finally retracting your hands. “No more than thirty minutes or else I’m gonna come find you!”

He gives you another nasty look, and you blow him a kiss before skipping away. As you head back to the entrance, you greet a couple of Athena kids who pass by. Normally, Aphrodite and Athena children stick their noses up in the air and ignore each other, but you’re such a frequent visitor that they have had no choice but to accept you. It also helps that Renjun is quite popular, so the campers that don’t like you are forced to tolerate you anyway because you’re his best friend.

That’s another thing you don’t understand—why Renjun hangs out with you when everyone around him is practically foaming at the mouth at the prospect of being his friend (or something more). But for reasons unknown to you, he chooses to ice them out and spend time with you instead.

It’s not that you’re inherently unpopular or someone that would “tarnish” his reputation, but he could probably find someone that annoyed him less and didn’t cause as much trouble as you do. However, you’re glad that he’s choosing to stay by your side in spite of how crazy you can get, because you’re not really sure what you would do without him.

Not that you would ever admit that because Renjun would roast you to high Olympus.

As if on cue, you spot Renjun trudging toward you. True to your request, he got ready within thirty minutes. In fact, it only took him about fifteen. He doesn’t look very happy, but he’s always had a resting bitch face (though you’re pretty sure he’s just pissed at you right now).

Strangely, you’re a little embarrassed to see him. You’re not sure why you suddenly thought of your friendship with him and got all sappy. You’ve never really been good at handling the mushy-gushy stuff—only helping others find it.

“Let’s get this over with,” Renjun says begrudgingly when he reaches you, crossing his arms.

“Okay, well, first thing’s first,” you respond, trying to get back on track. You loop your arm through his, which prompts him to instantly uncross his own so you can cling onto his bicep. It’s such a natural action for you that you don’t even think about how quickly he accommodates you. “What’s your type?”

“Where are we going?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows as he lets you lead him around.

“That depends on your answer to my question,” you reply breezily.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the one who figures that out? You know, with your whole Aphrodite-love-sense-tingle thing.”

You ignore his dig at your ability. “Normally, yes. But seeing as you’re incapable of feeling any emotion other than bitterness, I have to directly ask you.”

He laughs at your comeback. “I see. But even if I do tell you my type, what makes you think she will like me too?”

“If she doesn’t, then just woo her with your irresistible charm,” you say sarcastically.

“My irresistible charm has a tendency to make people hate my guts, actually,” Renjun says, shrugging. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“Renjun, you are fully capable of making a girl fall for you,” you chide, huffing at his negative attitude. “I’m not concerned with that. My main issue right now is finding someone that will make you care enough to want her to like you back.”

“You think so?” he asks quietly, looking down at where your hand is resting on his arm.

“Hm?”

“I hope you’re right,” he says a little louder, dragging his gaze away from your hand and giving you a small smile. “About being capable.”

When Renjun looks into your eyes, you feel him for the first time. Your heart wrenches with his, like a knife was driven into it and something keeps twisting it. It’s an excruciating pain that makes your lungs want to cave in, a pain so unbearably sad that it makes you want to assume fetal position and bawl your eyes out, an exhausting pain that drains you of all your energy until you want to collapse, a pain that makes you hate yourself—but it’s a pain you never want to get rid of. It’s a pain that makes you happy. It’s a pain you’re willing to endure for...for...for what?

But the pain only lasts for a moment, flashing by like lightning. As you try to reach deeper, it slips through your fingers. Just as suddenly as it hit you, it vanishes. What remains in its place is the metaphorical iron wall that you always seem to run into every time you try to look into Renjun’s heart.

You can already feel your body starting to forget the pain. It’s so fast that you begin questioning if you even truly felt it in the first place, or if it was all some fever dream. You could also be having a stroke, so there’s that.

All jokes aside, you’re not sure what you’re more surprised by: the fact that Renjun has been feeling like this or how well he’s managed to hide it.

And you’re not sure what you’re more hurt by: the fact that Renjun didn’t tell you or if you’re the one he’s trying to hide it from.

“—hello? Y/N? Earth to Y/N?” Renjun waves his hand in front of your face.

You jolt, blinking several times as you detach yourself from your whirlwind of thoughts. “S-Sorry! What were you saying?”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, brows furrowing in concern. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Ghosts don’t exist,” you retort automatically.

“Yes, they do! How many times have I told you there’s no way that my glass bottle could’ve fallen from my bed without shattering, yet it was underneath my bed, completely and totally unsc—” He begins to protest.

You cut him off by wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a hug. Thankfully, Renjun stops rambling about his ghost story that you’ve heard about a million times and trails off. His hands slowly come to rest on the small of your back, giving you soothing pats. It makes you sad that he’s always ready to comfort you when he’s the one that needs it. Your vision gets blurry with tears, but you hurriedly blink them away.

“How can you be so smart yet so dumb?” you whisper into his shoulder, clutching him tighter.

“You know, you’re sending me mixed signals here,” he says wryly.

You hug him for a couple more seconds before pulling back. Reaching your hands up, you cup his face. Unfortunately, you do it a little too enthusiastically and basically slap both of his cheeks. “Shit! I’m so sorry, Renjun!”

“Ow! What is wrong with you?” he demands, wincing. His lips are adorably jutted out and his words probably aren’t as angry as he wants them to be because you’re squishing his cheeks way too hard.

“I just wanted to tell you that I will definitely find you a girlfriend. No matter what,” you declare with determination in your eyes.

Because I don’t want you to be in pain anymore. Because you deserve to be happy. Because you should have someone to lean on too, you want to say.

Renjun is staring at you like you’ve grown another head. “Y/N, you’re scaring me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you dismiss. “Now, hurry up and tell me your ideal type.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Oh my gods, I’m fine. Stop with all the questions and just answer me!” you say, placing your hands on your hips.

“I think I’m starting to reconsider my ideal type right now,” he replies, eyeing you suspiciously.

You sigh loudly. “Could you tell me one character trait that you would like in a girlfriend? Just one. Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

He snorts, and you begin to grow frustrated. “Renjun—”

“Stubborn,” he answers.

You raise an eyebrow. “Of all the things you could’ve chosen, you went with that?”

“I finally answer your question and now you’re shaming me for it?” he shoots back.

You put your hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, sorry. Anything else you can think of?”

“Unpredictable. Hotheaded. Infuriating. Nosy. Reckless. Unable to take anything seriously. No concept of personal space,” he lists them off like he’s has it memorized.

“These are all terrible traits,” you point out, frowning.

“Tell me about it.”

“Stop messing around,” you snap, giving him a small shove. “Some positive ones, please.”

Renjun pauses. “This might take a second.”

You give him a pointed look, crossing your arms and tapping your foot impatiently. At this point, you’re not even sure if he’s just joking or if he actually means it. However, it’s the only thing you’ve gotten out of him so far, so you have to work with it.

“Dedicated,” he finally says after some intense pondering.

You exhale in relief. “Thank gods. What else?”

“Kind. Cheerful. Carefree. Funny. Always makes me smile. Marches to her own beat. An open book when it comes to her feelings. Says whatever is on her mind without thinking twice. Gets excited about things that don’t matter. Has a wonderful laugh. Able to see the good in me, even though I’m an asshole—”

As he continues, you eventually stop paying attention to his words and watch his expression. All of his features have softened, and there’s a warmth in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. He has the gentlest smile on his face as he talks, but you’re not even sure that he’s aware of it.

You wouldn’t be a child of Aphrodite if you couldn’t recognize a boy in love, and Renjun certainly fits the bill.

Suddenly, you feel an ugly sensation twisting in the pit of your stomach, coiling like a poisonous snake. It’s an awful feeling, and it makes you ashamed because it resembles jealousy way too closely for your comfort. You hate feeling like this, but you don’t know how to stop it. In fact, you don’t even know why you’re feeling this way. It’s foreign to you, but you know it’s not coming from Renjun. This is all coming from inside you.

“Stunning in every way,” Renjun finishes quietly. His voice is barely a whisper, but you can hear it clearly, as if it’s right in your ear.

Digging your nails into your palms, you let out a low whistle. “That was very...specific.”

“Afraid of a challenge?” he counters, smirking.

His banter makes you grin. It’s almost enough to make you forget the feeling in your stomach. You wonder why you keep getting worked up by yourself. Maybe the summer heat is getting to you, and you really are on the verge of having a stroke.

“It’s like you don’t even know me,” you retort dramatically, clinging onto his arm again. “Alright, let’s go!”

“Where?”

“The Training Grounds!”

“Why there?” His nose crinkles.

“Your ideal type is as Ares kid as it can get,” you say, snorting. “So, obviously, we’re going to their turf.”

“Ares children are obnoxious and arrogant,” Renjun scoffs.

“And you’re a smartass, so it’ll be fine,” you say breezily.

He rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath.

“You’re such a drama queen. Besides, it won’t be only Ares kids there,” you point out.

He shrugs in a noncommittal manner but ultimately lets you lead him to the Training Grounds. When you arrive, as expected, it’s mainly Ares kids there. For people who aren’t used to it, the Training Grounds could be mistaken for a battle royale, judging by how vicious it can get at times. Even though it’s just a bunch of sweaty young adults angrily swinging swords at dummies and each other.

Stroking your chin, you begin to scan the area. It’s only when your eyes fall onto Park Sooyoung, the daughter of Ares that’s infamous for making men cower to their knees, that the lightbulb goes off in your head.

“What about Sooyoung?” you ask excitedly, tugging on Renjun’s shirt.

He frowns. “She hates me.”

“You don’t know that,” you say.

“She tried to throw a dagger at my head once,” he states flatly.

“She does that to everyone,” you dismiss. “I think you two would work well together.”

“Please, enlighten me.”

“She could be the brawn to your brain. She’s super rambunctious, while you’re more reserved and can keep her in check. But she’ll be able to teach you how to live a little, and you’ll just perfectly balance each other out. You know, that whole opposites attract and enemies to lovers trope,” you explain.

“Enemies to lovers?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Yes,” you say dreamily, “You two start off absolutely despising each other, but neither of you can fight the tension building and eventually just get entangled in the throes of your passion!”

“Okay, Fifty Shades of Grey, calm down,” Renjun says, scrunching up his features in disgust. “Stop writing fanfiction in your head and come back to the real world.”

You glare at him for killing your vibe. “Just go and try to talk to her.”

“I don’t want to be mauled.” There’s actually a small glimmer of fear in his eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s not gonna kill you. At least not in front of everyone like this,” you reassure him.

“So you’re admitting that there is a possibility she would kill me.”

Fed up, you snatch his wrist and begin dragging him. He makes noises of protest, but you keep a vice-like grip on him. Sooyoung is sparring with some of her brothers (and frankly, handing their asses to them). You’re envious of how beautiful she is even with sweat dripping from her chin and tendrils of hair stuck to her neck. Her face is flushed with effort, but it makes her look like a peach.

However, don’t ever judge a book by its cover because she proceeds to lift one of her brothers, as if she’s bench pressing him, and tosses him aside like a rag doll. He comes flying directly toward you, but Renjun wraps an arm around your shoulders and yanks you aside with his surprisingly quick reflexes. Sooyoung’s brother lands with a hard thud, right beside your feet.

Renjun holds you tightly against him as he scowls at Sooyoung, who is smirking at him. Your heart is pounding wildly, though you’re not sure if it’s from the adrenaline rush of one of Sooyoung’s brothers hurling towards you like a projectile or the way Renjun is cradling you to him.

“Are you out of your mind?” Renjun demands, livid.

“Sorry about that,” Sooyoung says, trying to hide her amusement.

“No, you’re not. You did it on purpose,” Renjun snaps.

“Remove head from ass, Huang. If I didn’t think you’d be able to get her out of the way in time, I wouldn’t have done it,” Sooyoung responds, sounding bored.

“What if I hadn’t? Your tank of a brother would’ve knocked Y/N out,” Renjun says angrily, gritting his teeth. “And trust me, she doesn’t need any more screws loose than she already has.”

“Hey!” you chime in, offended. His arm falls from your shoulders and back to his side when you give him a dirty look. He seems a little surprised, whether the reason be from your sudden protest or how long his arm’s been around you.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sooyoung says, rolling her eyes. “Anyways, what do you want? You’re here to see me, right?”

Renjun opens his mouth to say something, but you slap a hand over his mouth. “Renjun thinks you’re really pretty and wants to train with you.”

Perhaps you could have delivered it in a smoother manner.

“Mm?” He stares at you with wide, horrified eyes. He’s trying to speak, but it’s all muffled by your palm.

Sooyoung snorts, crossing her arms and tilting her head. “Does he now?”

“Yes. He’s just too shy to admit it,” you lie through your teeth.

“Mhm, I’m sure he is,” she laughs. “What’s the actual reason you’re here?”

“Whatever are you talking about? That is the reason,” you answer sweetly. “So, what do you say? Wanna spar him?”

“Mmmmmm!” Renjun has you by the wrist, trying to remove your hand from his mouth, but you won’t budge.

“You must think I was born yesterday,” Sooyoung sighs. “You’re trying to set us up together, right? Glad to see you’re sticking to your whole matchmaking schtick.”

“Maybe,” you admit sheepishly. “Also, it is not a schtick! I have a natural affinity for finding people that are compatible with each other, like all Aphrodite children, and it is my duty to use that ability in order to help others.”

Despite how proud you look, Sooyoung and Renjun exchange knowing glances, and she reaches forward and gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Stray strong, soldier.”

“Mm,” he responds, sounding tired.

You watch the interaction with a baffled expression. Neither one of them seems intent on providing any context for you. You’re hit with another pang of jealousy.

“While it would be my utmost honor to be Renjun’s girlfriend, I will have to decline. Firstly, because I would definitely murder him by our third date tops. And secondly, because I already have a girlfriend,” Sooyoung says nonchalantly.

Your hand goes limp and falls off of Renjun’s mouth, finally freeing him. Your jaw is hanging wide open, a direct invitation for flies. The both of you just stand there and gawk at her.

“What?” you exclaim, grabbing her by the shoulders. “You have a girlfriend?”

Most Aphrodite kids are just naturally aware of all the couples at Camp Half-Blood whenever they see them, but you make it a point to keep tabs on them so you can avoid incidents like this while you’re trying to find matches for others. Clearly, you’ve missed one.

“Ye—”

“Who is it?” you demand, resisting the urge to shake her until her bones rattle. “How could I not know about it?”

“Well, that was the goal,” Sooyoung explains, “we want it to be a secret.”

You’re gripping her so tightly that the tips of your fingers have turned white, though you’re sure it doesn’t bother her since she’s pure muscle. You want to know who it is so badly, but you respect her privacy, so you decide to let it go. Even if you really don’t want to.

“I understand,” you say solemnly, begrudgingly releasing her. Your body is slightly twitchy as you fight to control your need to snoop.

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” Renjun cuts in, half-joking and half-concerned.

“Today has not gone well for me,” you sigh, spirit crushed by the sudden news and exhausted because of your weird mood swings that have been happening. “I’m hot, and I just want a nice, cold shower, followed by some nice, cold ice cream, and then followed by a nice, warm nap. We’ll try this again tomorrow.”

“Want me to walk you back to your cabin?” Renjun asks.

You nod, shoulders slumped in defeat. “Sorry to bother you, Sooyoung.”

“No problem. You’ll get ‘em next time,” Sooyoung says, trying to sound encouraging.

As you turn to pitifully walk away, you notice Sooyoung and Renjun exchange another look in your peripheral. She gives him a thumbs up and he smiles wryly before he also turns to follow you.

It’s just the icing on the cake for your awful day.

The walk back to your cabin is pretty quiet; Renjun sensing your foul mood and making the wise decision of letting you pout all by your lonesome (not that he’s much of a chatterbox anyway). You’re looking down at your feet as you walk, and he kindly navigates you through crowds and moves you out of the way when campers run by. This is something Renjun does often, since you have a tendency to not pay much attention to your surroundings on a regular basis, so you don’t even think twice about it.

When you finally arrive, Renjun gives you a comforting pat on the back. “See you tomorrow. I’ll meet you here. Do not barge into my cabin and give me another rude awakening like you did today.”

You give him a strained smile and wink. “No promises.”

Of course, your act doesn’t fool him. He sighs. “Did it really bother you that much that Sooyoung managed to hide her relationship from you? It’s not like you to be so down after one failure.”

Honestly, that’s the least of your concerns right now. Did it hurt your pride? Yes, but you’ve recovered from a wounded pride countless times.

What bothers you the most right now is the vile jealousy that you’ve stored in your heart. How shitty you felt when he was describing his ideal type (and how absolutely lovestruck he looked), or how bitter you were when you saw that Sooyoung and Renjun were in on something you weren’t. It eats away at you, seemingly within moments, before you even know what’s happening. But why? Where is it all coming from?

This is Renjun you’re talking about. Renjun, your best friend. Renjun, the one who’s always there for you. Renjun, the closest person to you other than your bloodline.

Or so you thought.

The pain that you felt from him earlier still haunts you, even if it’s faint. You’ve always seen Renjun as someone you can confide in, no matter what, yet it doesn’t appear like he feels the same towards you. In fact, an irrational part of you thinks you may be the one he’s trying to keep it from.

And the paranoid part of you thinks Sooyoung knows about it too.

You know it’s horrible to think that, but you can’t control it. Renjun isn’t required to tell you everything he feels just because you do, not that it doesn’t hurt any less. It just bugs you that there could be someone closer to him than even you, which is an incredibly toxic mindset to have. You’re upset by the fact that you’re so possessive of him, yet you can’t seem to let him go either.

I guess it’s alright if it’s Sooyoung, you admit to yourself, since she has a girlfriend.

You blink.

Wait, what?

Before you can figure out what the hell your brain meant by that, you feel Renjun place his hand on your forehead. It jars you from your thoughts and you come back to reality, where Renjun is staring at you with furrowed brows as he checks your temperature.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright? You’ve been spacing out all day,” he says, clearly worried.

“F-Fine!” you answer way too enthusiastically. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he dismisses. “Just go get some rest.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” you nod hurriedly, giving him a two-finger salute. “I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early! Don’t oversleep!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves you off, smiling. You can tell he’s still concerned, but your brighter attitude relieves him just a tad. “Oh, and Y/N?”

“Mhm?”

“I forgot to mention one more trait for my ideal type.”

“What is it?” You wish you had never asked him in the first place. Just when your mood was getting a little better, it sours just as quickly.

“Dense,” he adds.

You give him a puzzled look. “Huh?”

“I want her to be dense,” he states simply.

“No way,” you argue, when his words finally register. “How is it gonna work out if both of you are dense as hell?”

“Who knows? Maybe our denseness will cancel each other out, and we’ll fall in love instantly,” he shrugs.

“Of course. PEMDAS and shit,” you jokingly agree.

“Exactly,” he says, nodding with a deadpan expression.

You laugh loudly—a big belly laugh that makes Renjun beam. The tension eases off his features, and he seems much more reassured. Your heart swells at how hard he’s trying to make sure you’re okay, not that he would ever admit that.

“Okay, for real now. Bye, Y/N.” He gives you a lazy wave before walking away, shattering your touching moment.

You huff at how he turned around without even letting you respond, though you still wave back (even if he can’t see it), and go back into your cabin. The moment the door closes behind you, you make a beeline for the shower. Peeling off your sweat-soaked clothes, you close your eyes in bliss when the cold water hits you.

As you let the water run down your body, you begin to feel more and more like a petulant child that just threw the biggest tantrum ever. You’re embarrassed that you overreacted like that and got so emotional for no reason. You chide yourself for being selfish. Just because you’re upset that Renjun doesn’t confide in you the way you do him, it doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t have someone. You should be happy for him when he finds a person he can fully open up to, even more so than you. Isn’t that what you’re trying to do for him right now?

You shut the water off before slapping your cheeks hard, giving yourself a wake up call. Resolving to be more composed tomorrow, you decide to just take a nap for now as you change into comfortable clothes and dry your hair off.

When you get to your bed, you see a small bowl of ice cream on your nightstand. Luckily, your shower didn’t take too long, so it’s still relatively frozen. It’s two scoops of chocolate, which is your favorite. You’re so excited that you almost miss the note tucked underneath the bowl.

don’t know when you’re going to get out of the shower, so this might just be soup by the time you’re out. if that’s the case, drink it anyways since i went through the trouble of getting it.

You snort. It’s so like Renjun to write a tactless note like this and not even bother signing off on it. If he’s going to be sweet, he shouldn’t ruin the moment by doing what he always does—opening his mouth (figuratively, in this case).

But it’s not enough to wipe that big grin off your face, as you carefully fold up the note and put it in your drawer.

He’s not cute at all.

ও DAY TWO.

The next day is about as successful as the first one, if not worse.

You had woken up with a game plan. Before you went to meet Renjun, you drafted up a list of campers that matched his ideal type (for the most part, since he was a little too specific). The goal was to narrow it down to a couple names before trying to march in head first, since that went disastrously yesterday.

Unfortunately, instead of things going smoothly like you had hoped, you find yourself banging your head against a tabletop repeatedly.

You and Renjun are currently sitting in the library of the Athena Cabin, having been there for almost an hour now. He’s nearly eliminated your entire list that you so meticulously curated this morning. You’re starting to wonder if he’s purposefully being difficult just to see you riled up.

Renjun watches you hit your head a couple more times before outstretching his hand, catching your forehead in his palm and blocking you from hitting it against the table again. “Stop before you bleed all over the table, and I get stuck scrubbing it out later.”

You raise your head to glare at him. “I’ll show you bleeding all over the table.”

He doesn’t even blink at your threat, infuriatingly unfazed. “Are you done with your list already?”

“No,” you grumble, “I still have some left.”

“So, if I’m not interested in the rest, does that mean we’re done for the day?” he asks.

“Haha,” you say wryly, “you wish. If you don’t pick one, then I’ll just go through the list myself and pick one that I think is the most compatible with you.”

“Damn it.”

“Okay, what about Hyun Seunghee? She’s an Apollo kid. Super talented and sweet, one of the most adorable people on the planet, and loves art just like you,” you suggest.

“Seunghee is a very sweet girl,” Renjun agrees. “But I don’t think I have the energy to keep up with her. She’s even bubblier and more hyperactive than you, and I can barely manage dealing with you.”

Sighing, you cross out Seunghee’s name on your list while simultaneously flipping off Renjun with your other hand. “Okay, what about Lee Mijoo? She’s one of my sisters, and honestly, she’s way out of your league but I’ll keep her in the running for now.”

You figure it’s best to not mention that, despite being way out of his league, Mijoo has expressed some very...explicit interest in Renjun before. It’ll make things awkward if they do end up talking, and you aren’t one to expose your own sister like that.

“Ew, no way, that’s weird,” Renjun says, scrunching up his nose.

“What, why?”

“I don’t want to date anyone related to you. That would make us sort of related too, and the last thing I want is to be your brother.” He spits out the word like it’s a stale piece of gum that he’s been chewing for four hours.

“First of all, slow down, tiger. You would have to marry her for us to be related. This is just a casual thing. No one said anything about marriage. Second of all, that is so mean! Why wouldn’t you want to be in-laws with me?” you demand, offended.

“Don’t most people enter relationships with the intention of spending the rest of their lives with each other?” he asks, skillfully dodging your question. “I won’t date someone if I think we’re just going to breakup down the road.”

There’s a beat of silence as you stare at him with wonder. Your lips curl into a gentle smile, and you can’t hide the adoration in your expression. Renjun truly is all bark and no bite. Who would’ve guessed there’s such a lovely and pure person behind his sharp tongue?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks warily. You swear you can see a little pink dusting the shells of his ears and the tip of his nose.

“It’s just...you’re much more of a hopeless romantic than I initially thought, Huang Renjun,” you say teasingly.

Now, you can definitely tell he’s embarrassed. He mumbles a “shut up” under his breath, but you can barely hear it.

“Don’t put so much pressure on yourself,” you advise, “it’s totally natural to date and breakup. You can love someone with all of your heart, but that doesn’t mean they’ll be your life partner. Loosen up, my friend, and just have fun! Fall in love recklessly, and don’t think about anything else! That’s what youth is all about!”

You expect him to make fun of you for lecturing him like you’re centuries old, when the both of you can barely label yourselves as adults, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he’s gazing at you with a deep melancholy in his eyes. You’re sitting right across from him, but the way he looks at you makes it seem like you’re galaxies away. Your gut wrenches at how hurt and helpless he seems, like he’s yearning for something that is out of his reach.

Time seems to slow down as the two of you stare into each other’s eyes, as if you’re both entranced. It’s hard to tell how long you stay like that, but it feels like you’ve woken up in the middle of a sweet dream when Renjun finally breaks eye contact. You’re slightly disoriented, even though it’s probably only been a few seconds.

Clearing his throat, Renjun mutters, “Anyways, don’t put anymore of your siblings on the list.”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts before sighing. “Fine. But now I’ve run out of names on my list.”

“Well, gosh darn it, what a shame,” he says in a terrible Southern accent while attempting to get up. “Look’s like that’s a wrap for today!”

“Not so fast,” you cut in, snapping your fingers at him to sit back down. “We’re not done yet.”

He groans but reluctantly obeys, dramatically throwing his head into his arms when he does.

“Behave while I go through this list again,” you order, putting stars next to names that you’re going to force Renjun to reconsider with.

“Now, you’re making me want to hit my head against the table,” he complains, voice muffled by his arms.

You ignore his whining, focusing on your current task at hand. Just as you finish narrowing it down to a select few, someone brushes past you and it’s like you hear angels singing. Seo Soojin, daughter of Nemesis and actual hotness personified, walks by.

Soojin is relatively new to Camp Half-Blood, having arrived for the first time last year. You don’t know much about her personality because she keeps to herself and her tight-knit circle of friends for the most part. You know for a fact that she’s a far cry from Renjun’s type, but you’re starting to think he doesn’t really know what he wants—seeing that he shot down every single person on your list already. She will be a nice change of pace for him.

“What about Soojin?” you ask in a hushed whisper, leaning forward.

“Who?” Renjun looks around, not lowering his voice or trying to be subtle in the slightest.

“Shhh!” you hiss, grabbing him by his shirt and yanking him forward. You pull a little too hard and end up knocking your foreheads together.

“Ow! Why is your head made out of cast iron?” Renjun winces. He tries to lean back, but you don’t let him escape.

“Shut up! You’re the blockhead, asshole,” you protest, getting offended for the second time. “Anyways, Seo Soojin. The girl over there. The one with the bangs, big lips, and is hot as fuck?”

He squints, finally zeroing in on her. “What about her?”

“That’s what I’m asking you, dipshit!”

Renjun shrugs noncommittally—an action that you’ve grown extremely accustomed to during these past two days, an action that makes you want to rip your own hair out. “She seems nice.”

“Well, try and talk to her then,” you say, spelling it out for him. “You know, so you can see if the two of you will hit it off or not.”

He gives you a look. It’s the same look that a twelve-year-old kid gives his mother when she makes him take a picture in front of a national monument that he doesn’t know anything about, nor does he care to. However, she insists, so he reluctantly trudges over to it and takes the picture—hands firmly balled up by his sides and his lips pressed into a hard line, no matter how much his mom tells him to smile.

So, in other words, Renjun looks like he wants to crawl into a hole and die.

“Are you sure that you’re human?” you ask incredulously. You’re not even being sarcastic at this point; you genuinely want to know how he is able to feel absolutely nothing for women that could rival the goddesses themselves.

“Technically—”

“If you say that you’re only half-human because we’re demigods, you’re going to get a pen through the jugular,” you warn, pointing your pen at him.

“Am I wrong, though?”

“You know what I mean, you smartass. Are you or are you not capable of feeling romantic attraction towards another person?” you demand.

“I am,” he simply says.

“That’s it? That was the most robotic answer I’ve ever heard in my life!” you exclaim.

“What else am I supposed to say?” he asks, throwing his arms up.

“Have you experienced any blackouts recently, like woken up without memory of the past twenty-four hours? Have you checked your body for any chip implants under your skin?” You eye him suspiciously. “Been beamed up by any UFOs? Gone somewhere haunted?”

Renjun gives you a pointed look, sighing. “While it is touching to know that you do, in fact, listen to me whenever I talk about topics I’m interested in, this is not how I wanted you to apply your knowledge.”

“You know, now that I think about it, you sure talked about alien abductions a lot,” you say, stroking a fake beard on your chin. “Could it be because you were actually abducted by aliens and got brainwashed into gathering information about us demigods, but they took away your ability to feel emotions so they wouldn’t get in the way of your mission?”

You pause, waiting for his reaction. Renjun is very obviously trying not to smile, with his chin being propped up by his palm and his fingers covering his mouth. “Please, continue.”

“But ultimately, that will be your fatal flaw and the downfall of your mission because you can’t empathize like humans can,” you finish dramatically.

“Alright, let’s say I was brainwashed by aliens. Why would I then draw more attention to myself by talking about the very thing that happened to me? Wouldn’t that be counterproductive?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Reverse psychology,” you explain, “you talk about them, so you won’t seem suspicious.”

Renjun exhales sharply before looking down at his feet. You can see his lips twitching as he tries not to laugh, though you’re pretty sure that exhale from before was a small laugh. You’re grinning, despite the fact that you’re also trying to keep up your detective act.

“I’m kind of wish I had been abducted by aliens right about now. Maybe brainwashed me would be a little more courageous,” he mutters under his breath. You’re not sure if you were meant to hear that, but you do anyways.

“That sounds exactly like something someone abducted by an alien would say!” you say in an accusatory tone, pointing a finger at him. He rolls his eyes, but a tiny smile eventually makes its way to his lips.

You gasp loudly, grabbing his face and pulling it towards your own. He makes a small noise of surprise, eyes as wide as UFO saucers. Your faces are so close that your noses are slightly brushing up against one another, but you’re not paying attention to that right now.

“Or you could be a lizard person,” you whisper, “you know, the ones that people think take the place of government officials.”

“They’re called reptilian humanoids,” Renjun corrects. His breath (which smells like the blueberry muffin he had this morning) rustles your baby hairs.

“Your eyes are glowing yellow, and your pupils are turning into slits,” you tease.

“Are they, now?”

No, they aren’t. His eyes are a cool, icy gray, like most Athena children. It’s always been a trait you’ve been jealous of. They sparkle like stars, or freshly fallen snow. They change according to his mood too. For example, when he gets angry, there are no stars. Instead of twinkling, they flash like lightning. His eyes are truly the window to his soul; they’re one of your favorite things about him.

Renjun slightly leans into your touch, and it finally hits you how close he is. You’re cupping his face with both hands, tilting his chin up, and it looks like you’re about to...kiss him.

It seems you’re not the only one who thinks so, because almost the entire library is gawking at you. Including Seo Soojin. She looks surprised, and slightly disgusted, by the two of you.

Oh.

You feel heat rise from your neck to your entire face.

Oh gods, they all think we’re a couple.

You recoil away from him, withdrawing your hands like your just burned yourself. “We have to get out of here.”

“What?” As always, Renjun doesn’t know what’s going on.

“Just come on,” you say quickly, grabbing his arm and dragging him out of the library.

Your face burns for a long time after that, and you can no longer focus on anything else. In the end, you decide to call it a day after a few more half-hearted attempts to find more candidates for Renjun. When you come back to your cabin, you take another cold shower.

You’re not sure what you’re so flustered by: the fact that you didn’t realize what you were doing or the fact that everyone in the library saw it.

Or the fact that you didn’t mind the notion of being mistaken for a couple with Renjun.

ও DAY THREE.

You don’t meet bright and early with Renjun today. He demanded to sleep in this time, since he’s not an early riser to begin with and the past two days have sucked all the energy out of him.

Which means you’re free until noon. You check the time—10 AM.

Two hours to kill.

You don’t feel like getting all sweaty and hot, so any activity outside is out. You really don’t want to be judged by more Athena kids in the Arts and Crafts Center without Renjun. So, you decide to head back to the library, despite how yesterday went.

You check out a book that goes into depth about some of the most believable conspiracy theories; Renjun actually read it a while ago (and totally geeked out about it to you), but who would have thought that you would end up reading it too? Past you definitely would’ve laughed in your face if you told her that.

Once you get back to your cabin, you curl up in your covers and begin to read. You get about two chapters in when you hear the door open and Jeong Jaehyun, one of your brothers, walks in. He’s wearing his orange t-shirt that’s soaked with sweat, and his hair is dripping from perspiration too. His pale skin glistens, and he looks like a sweaty and sparkly vampire.

“Hey, kid,” Jaehyun says, nodding at you. He isn’t that much older than you, but he’s gotten into the habit of calling you kid for some reason.

“This is a surprise. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you come back from training before 5 PM,” you tease.

He lets out a low whistle. “Way too hot out there. I needed to get some A/C before I had a heatstroke—is that a book in your hand?”

“What about it?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Jaehyun snorts. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you near a book, much less read one.”

“Rude. I am expanding my horizons,” you retort.

“It seems so. What was up with you and Renjun at the library yesterday?” Jaehyun plops down on the edge of your bed.

“How do you even know about that?” you ask, wrinkling your nose. “And go take a shower first before you sit on my bed! You stink!”

“Do I?” He waggles his eyebrows and throws his arms around you in a bear hug. You try your best to shove him off, but he has a hold on your like a python.

“I hate you,” you say when he finally pulls back, sniffing your shirt to make sure you still smelled like your fabric softener. “Anyways, how’d you find out about the library thing?”

“Rumors spread fast around here, dear sister. But, seriously, what’s the deal?”

“There is no deal, Jaehyun,” you sigh, closing your book. “It’s all just a misunderstanding. We were joking around while I was trying to find a potential girlfriend for him there—which, by the way, is going horribly. I don’t think he feels romantic attraction properly like everybody else.”

“Oh right. I forgot you roped Renjun into your matchmaking thing,” Jaehyun says, disappointed. “Damn, and here I thought he finally made a move.”

Your head snaps up to give him a quizzical look. “What?”

“What?” He tilts his head.

“What did you mean by that, the part where you said you thought Renjun finally made a move?” you ask.

Jaehyun stares at you for a couple of seconds, an astonished expression on his face. “Do you really not know?”

“Would I be asking if I didn’t know?” you shoot back, annoyed that he still hasn’t answered you.

“Gods, all this time, I thought you were just pretending like you didn’t know because you didn’t want to make things awkward,” he continues, shaking his head.

“Jaehyun, what are you talking about?” you demand.

“Renjun is in love with you, Y/N.”

You gape at him. It’s a good thing you’re already sitting down because you definitely would have fallen on your ass if you had been standing.

“Th-Th-That’s impossible,” you stammer, like an absolute idiot. “There’s n-n-no way.”

“Oh, come on, lil’ sis. He’s never even tried to hide it. He’s so obvious about it that I seriously don’t understand how you didn’t know,” Jaehyun snorts. “You don’t even need to have powers to see that he’s head over heels for you.”

“But—but how? I would’ve sensed it!” you exclaim.

“You’re so sharp when it comes to other people, but you’re dense as hell when it comes to yourself,” Jaehyun points out, shrugging. “You just never paid attention, Y/N.”

You don’t respond. Your mind is a mess, a jumbled mishmash of emotions. You’re feeling so many things right now, and you can’t pinpoint any of it.. You wouldn’t be surprised if you passed out.

“Do you like him back?” Jaehyun asks softly.

“I—no! Of course not. Renjun’s my best friend. If I liked him, why would I be trying to find him a girlfriend right now? That’d be stupid of me. Yeah, that’d be so dumb. Why would I do that?” You’re rambling now, and it’s glaringly obvious that you’re trying to convince yourself rather than Jaehyun (and you know he can see it too).

“It doesn’t seem like you’re trying that hard, though.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you ask defensively.

“The Y/N I know spends all hours of the day gathering information on her potential matches and making sure even the tiniest detail goes according to her master plan that she’s already drafted inside her head. She wouldn’t be sitting here, leisurely reading a book, especially if it’s going horribly. She would be doing everything in her power to get things back on track,” Jaehyun notes. “Ask yourself. Do you really want Renjun to get a girlfriend?”

“Wh-Why wouldn’t I?” You ask him, hoping he knows the answer, because you sure as hell don’t know.

“Because he won’t always be there anymore. He won’t have time to let you constantly drag him into your antics anymore. You won’t be his number one anymore. His girlfriend will be his first priority, of course, as she should. Think long and hard about that, Y/N. Will you be okay with that?”

“I—” The words seem to die inside your throat as you come to realization that you might not be okay with that at all. You’ve always gone to Renjun for everything and knowing that he may not always be there makes you feel lost, like a compass without it’s True North. You’re being selfish again, but it seems like you’ve gotten into the habit of acting selfish whenever it comes to Renjun. You’ve let yourself grow too reliant on him.

“Why do you care so much anyways?” Now, you’re deflecting. “Why did you tell me all of this?”

“Because you’re my little sister and I care about you. I want you to be one hundred percent sure of your own feelings, so your heart doesn’t get broken. The only reason I didn’t say anything sooner was because I thought you were already sure. Take some time and think about it, Y/N. It’ll be better for your friendship with Renjun if everything is crystal clear between the two of you,” Jaehyun advises, giving you a pat on the shoulder. He gets up, presumably to take a shower, and leaves.

You barely notice him go.

You sit in your bed, staring blankly at the wall, until Renjun finally arrives. He’s still a little groggy, probably having woken up ten minutes ago before coming. His clothes are a little rumpled and his hair isn’t styled, with his bangs flopping in his eyes. Normally, you would have made fun of him and mussed it up, but you have other things on your mind as of the moment.

Like always, he can tell something is up. He gets that concerned look on his face—the one where he has a deep crease between his brows and his rosy lips are turned downwards.

“What’s wrong?” He places a hand on your arm, lowering his head so he can’t get a better look at your face.

Physical contact with Renjun has always been something normal for you, but suddenly, you’re now acutely aware of everything about him. You can feel the pad of every one of his fingertips on your bare skin, the warmth of his palm, and just how easily his touch makes your body relax. Even when your brain is a whirlwind of thoughts, your muscles, like clockwork, instantly loosen up with just a brush of his hand.

“We need to talk,” you say shakily, moving away from him. There’s a flash of hurt in his eyes as his hand falls to his side. You feel bad, but the longer he’s touching you, the more confused you get.

You lead him a secluded area behind the Dining Pavilion, and he follows wordlessly. He waits for you to speak as the two of you stand there. Now that you’re here, you don’t really know what to say anymore.

“Are you in love with me?” you blurt before you can stop yourself. “Jaehyun said—”

“Yes,” Renjun answers. If he’s surprised or taken aback whatosever, he doesn’t show it. In fact, it seems like he knew this was coming. There’s no fear or hesitation in his eyes. He’s unwavering in his answer, and you wonder how he can always be so certain of his feelings.

“How long?” you ask tentatively.

“Probably when we first met,” he says.

“Why?”

“Are you asking me why I’m in love with you?” He raises an eyebrow.

You’re not sure. You’re not sure of anything anymore.

When you don’t answer, Renjun looks at you for a very long time. “You make me happy, Y/N. No matter how shitty things get, no matter how much I want to ram my fist through a wall, I see you and it’s like I can finally take a breath again. When you smile at me, I forget about everything that was bothering me. You and your daily shenanigans are the best part of my day. You’re obnoxious and frustrating and exhausting, but I fucking love you for it. I’m at your beck and call; I’d do anything for you. Whenever you’re happy, I become happy too. Nothing else matters to me anymore. That’s why.”

“You should have told me,” you say, voice cracking. Your heart is singing with joy, and you want to cry with relief. He talks about you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and you so desperately want to be exactly that for him. You’re not confused anymore. Everything has finally become clear for you now. You truly wonder how you managed not to notice anything at all—whether it be your own feelings or his.

“I knew it would upset you,” he murmurs.

But then it hits you.

You can’t even fathom how much Renjun has had to endure throughout the years. He’s loved you all this time, yet he hasn’t said a word—out of consideration for you. In everything he’s ever done during the course of your friendship, he has always put you first. Even if it hurts him, he was willing to withstand it for your sake.

Yet all you’ve done for him is force him into letting you try to find a him a girlfriend, despite the fact that he was against it, and he had to pretend like he was okay as he watched you parade around like a fool telling him to love someone else.

You don’t deserve to be loved by someone like Huang Renjun.

You don’t deserve to love someone like Huang Renjun.

Suddenly, you begin to feel nauseous—probably sickened by guilt. Black spots dot your vision, and your legs start wobbling. Your body collapses only moments after, but luckily, Renjun manages to catch you before you can hit the pavement.

“Y/N? Y/N? Hey, talk to me,” you can hear him say very faintly. He’s cradling you against his chest, and you bury your face in it. Your head is spinning, but you feel surprisingly grounded in his arms.

Has he always smelled this nice? His scent is a mixture of books and sandalwood, and you’re basically crushing your nose against his chest like an absolute pervert. You don’t feel embarrassed because you know you can blame it on being sick later.

Speaking of sick, even though Renjun smells so good, you proceed to lean forward and vomit all over him and yourself.

Once again, you don’t feel that embarrassed because you black out soon after.

ও DAY FOUR.

You wake up tucked nicely under your covers. Much to your relief, you’re also in clean clothes—your favorite set of heart pajamas. Unfortunately, that’s the only bright side to your current state.

It feels like you haven’t had a sip of water in ten years, and your lips feel like they’ve been glued together. Even the tiniest movement makes your head feel like someone is drilling into your skull. Your body feels twenty times heavier, and not to mention, you just generally feel like shit because of what happened with Renjun.

“Oh my gods, you look so creepy right now. Who just lays there with their eyes wide open? If you’re awake, you should say something,” a voice chides. Turning your head just a smidgen (and wincing because of the pain), you see your sister, Lee Mijoo. She has a glass of water in her hand, setting it on your nightstand.

“How long have I been asleep?” you ask hoarsely.

“Let’s see. Renjun brought you back at like 2 PM yesterday, and it’s now 8 PM, so...thirty hours?” Mijoo counts on her fingers.

“Fuck,” you groan.

“Heatstroke will do that to ya,” she says, making a clicking noise with her tongue.

“I had a heatstroke?”

“Yep. It was a pretty nasty one too. You really did a number all over Renjun’s shirt. It was like a vomit Picasso,” Mijoo says, sounding kind of impressed.

Your face burns from humiliation.

“Here, sit up and drink this water,” she orders, helping you get up. Your head is screaming in pain, like a million little jabs to your brain. You down the water in one big gulp, not realizing just how dehydrated you were until your lips hit the water.

“So, you and Renjun, huh?” Mijoo asks sheepishly.

If you still had water in your mouth, you would’ve spat it out. “What?”

“Jaehyun told me everything,” she explains.

Traitor, you think to yourself.

“Don’t be mad at him. Renjun looked like a kicked puppy when we saw him. There’s no way I wouldn’t have asked questions,” she says. “Did you break his heart, little sister?”

You sigh, putting the cup back on your nightstand. “I hope not. His heart shouldn’t be broken by someone like me.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means that he shouldn’t concern himself with me,” you sigh.

“Well, he does. He came to check up on you like a billion times. I had to ban him from coming back until tomorrow,” Mijoo snorts. “He’s a really good guy, you know.”

“Trust me,” you say, rubbing your temples. “I know that better than anyone.”

“So, what’s stopping you? I would be all over that.”

You glare at her before letting out another sigh. “He’s too good for me, Mijoo.”

“That’s for him to decide, no?” She raises an eyebrow.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just saying the truth,” you say.

“So, you won’t mind if I date him?” she asks seriously.

Your face falls instantly, and Mijoo doubles over laughing.

“Geez, Y/N, you looked like you were about to claw my eyes out!” She wipes away a tear.

“Very funny,” you say dryly.

“But what if I had been serious? What would you have done then?”

You don’t answer.

“I think you really, really like Renjun, Y/N,” Mijoo whispers loudly.

“I think I love him,” you whisper back.

“Then, you should probably tell him.”

“Yeah, I should,” you echo.

Ignoring the major migraine you have and the fact that you’re still a little sluggish, you throw your covers off of you. You don’t change out of your pajamas, simply throwing a thin cardigan over it.

“Uh, Y/N, maybe you should wait until you feel be—”

“No, I have do it now before I change my mind,” you cut her off, slipping on your tennis shoes.

You hear Mijoo call after you, but you’re already out of the door. The Athena Cabin isn’t too far from the Aphrodite Cabin, so the walk is short. Much to your surprise once you’re inside, he isn’t there.

Grabbing the nearest Athena kid you see, you ask, “Where’s Renjun?”

“Um, I think he went to the amphitheater?”

The amphitheater is a bit further, so you promptly release and thank the kid, before taking off. You’re not sure if running is recommended right after a heatstroke, but you do it anyways. By the time you get there, your cardigan is slipping off and you’re dripping with sweat from the humid summer heat.

The amphitheater is extremely crowded, since there was probably a performance tonight. It’s actually a little hard to see over all the people. However, you find Renjun pretty quickly.

You see him standing off to the side, away from everyone else. He’s staring emptily at the stage, hands tucked inside his pockets. He looks so tired and dejected. His entire body slumps as if it’s too exhausting to stand up straight anymore.

All because of you.

You wait until you finally catch your breath, opening your mouth to call out to him. But you don’t ever get the chance to because a girl walks up to him. You can’t tell who she is because the back of her head is facing you, and you see Renjun give her a small smile before saying something.

The girl laughs and turns her head, giving you a view of her side profile.

Hwang Yeji.

All of the courage you had inside you withers away like a dying flower.

You take a step back, accidentally bumping into someone behind you. They say something to you, but you don’t hear it at all. Instead, you turn on your heel and run. You run wildly and blindly, nearly whizzing right past your cabin. You’re barely able get back inside, eyes so blurry with tears that you can’t even see where you’re going.

When Mijoo sees you, she doesn’t ask any questions. She just turns on the shower for you, extra hot. You step in without a word, letting the water mix with the tears running down your face.

It’s not that you think Renjun is in love with Yeji now. In fact, you know he’s not. It’s just that they would be much better together.

Yeji is one of the sweetest girls you know. She would treat Renjun with the kindness he deserves. She would consider his feelings first before making him do anything. She would make him happier than you ever could. They would be so compatible, and if you weren’t in love with Renjun yourself, you would definitely be trying to set the two up.

After your shower, you change into the clothes Mijoo set out for you—an oversized sweater with cotton shorts—and miserably crawl back in bed. You’re so drained that you don’t even have the energy to drink the fresh glass of water on your nightstand.

Everything hurt—mentally and physically.

Your heart aches most of all. You’ve dated here and there, gone through some breakups, but nothing has ever been as painful as this.

It’s a pain that consumes you whole. A pain that makes you want to scream but no sound will come out. A pain that makes you want to tear your heart out. A pain that makes you wish a bunch of aliens abducted you and brainwashed you into not feeling any emotions anymore.

It’s the same pain that you thought you felt from Renjun on the first day of when this all began.

And then the last puzzle piece finally falls into place.

That pain was never his.

It has always been your own.

You love Renjun too, and you’ve loved him for a very long time.

ও DAY FIVE.

“Come on, Y/N. At least get up to wash your face and brush your teeth,” Mijoo pleads.

You ignore her, pulling your covers over your head and turning away. It’s already well into the afternoon, but you’ve been feigning sick so you didn’t have to get up. The rest of the Aphrodite children have left and gone about their various activities throughout the camp, but Mijoo was tasked by Jaehyun to take care of you.

“If you just do that, I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the day,” she bargains.

You think about it for a second before sighing, begrudgingly sitting up. You can see the pity dripping out of her eyes when you brush past her to head to the bathroom. When you see yourself in the mirror, you can understand why.

Puffy eyes, matted hair, tear-stained cheeks, and chapped lips. It’s too bad you hadn’t been wearing mascara last night because the only thing you’re missing in your hot mess look right now are those dark smudges right under your eyes.

You brush you teeth, which takes a lot more effort than you realize, and splash water on your face. Not even bothering to brush your hair, you head straight back to bed. True to her word, Mijoo doesn’t say anything else after that.

That is, until a couple hours later.

“Um, so I know I said I would leave you alone, but I think you might want to get up for this one, Y/N,” she whispers. You can’t see her because you back is turned to her, but you can tell by the tone of her voice that it’s important.

Irritated, you yank the covers off you and sit back up once again. “Mijoo, I—”

You almost choke on air when you realize Mijoo isn’t alone. Renjun is right beside her, looking not much better than you. He’s in a wrinkled t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair looks like he just ran his fingers through it and called it a day, and he has purple bags under his eyes.

“Can we talk?” Renjun asks.

You hesitantly nod.

“I’ll, uh, give you two some privacy,” Mijoo says awkwardly before turning around and running out of the cabin.

You don’t know what to do now, staring down at your clasped hands. You hear Renjun take a step forward, and you feel the edge of your bed dip under his weight. There’s a sizable gap between you and where he’s sitting, but he’s still close enough for his scent to waft over to you. He smells wonderful like usual, and you hope you don’t stink in return.

“How are you feeling?” Renjun asks quietly.

“Like shit,” you answer honestly.

He laughs under his breath. “I know what you mean.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you feel giddy all of a sudden when you see him smile. How did you manage to turn into a lovesick little schoolgirl over night?

“I talked to Yeji last night at the amphitheater,” Renjun says after a moment.

“I know,” you mutter.

He blinks. “You do? How?”

You’re not sure how to answer that.

“Well, that doesn’t matter right now,” he dismisses, taking in a deep breath. “I just wanted to tell you that I ran into her after I checked up on you, and she invited me to watch her performance. I wasn’t going to say yes at first, but I thought it would make you happy if I did. I tried, Y/N, I really tried. Yeji’s a nice girl, but I can’t help how I feel. I love you, Y/N. It’s always been you, and it always will be. I’m not asking you to love me back. I just want to stay by your side, as your friend, if you’ll allow it. I—”

“Stop,” you interrupt, scooting closer to him and putting a hand over his mouth. “I have to tell you something.”

Renjun gives you a bewildered expression but nods nonetheless.

You remove your hand from his mouth, before taking in a deep breath of your own. “You’re my best friend, Renjun, and I’ve always confided in you for everything. I took you for granted, and I only thought about myself. Deep down, I think I’ve always known about your feelings and my own, but I was afraid to dig for it. I was comfortable, and I didn’t want to ruin that, even though you were hurting. I’m truly sorry for treating you that way, Renjun. From now on, I want you to tell me everything—the good, the bad, the ugly. Don’t bottle things up for my sake.”

He goes to say something, but you hold up your hand to stop him.

“The reason why I knew you were with Yeji at the amphitheater last night is because I was there too. I went to look for you,” you finally confess. “When I decided I was going to find a girlfriend for you, I thought I would be able to step aside when you did find someone. But once I saw you with Yeji, I realized that I couldn’t do it. What I want with you isn’t a friendship anymore. I’m in love with you, Renjun. I have been for a long time, and it took me four, almost five, years to see that because I never thought to listen to my own heart until now. I don’t think I will ever deserve you in his lifetime, but I love you. I’m selfish and I’m a mess and I always cause trouble for you, but I—”

Renjun wraps an arm around your waist and tugs your body flush against his. His hand comes up to cradle your cheek as his thumb lightly runs across your cheekbone. You’re clutching his shirt like a lifeline, holding your breath, as you stare into those gray eyes.

“You,” he whispers, his lips barely brushing against yours, “are more than I deserve.”

He leans in and closes the infinitesimal gap between your mouths. He kisses you desperately, like you’ll disappear any moment, and you can feel all of the emotions he’s been locking away. His arms are wound tightly around you as he pulls you into his lap. You weave your hands through his hair, and he deepens the kiss. Your shirt rides up as you shift, and you feel his hand slip up your shirt and rest against your back. It ignites a fire within you and you want to tell him to take it off completely, but your lungs are screaming for air, so you have no choice but to pull away.

“Sorry,” Renjun says breathlessly, his chest heaving up and down, as he takes his hand out from under your shirt.

“No, I liked it,” you say, shaking your head and placing your forehead against his. “I just ran out of air.”

“No,” he disagrees, “I didn’t mean for it to go that far. It was supposed to be a sweet kiss, but I lost control.”

He tugs your shirt back down and gently sets you back down next to him. You can’t help but giggle at how flustered he is. It’s not often that Athena children, especially Huang Renjun, loses control of their emotions like that.

“I’m glad you find this amusing,” he says wryly, rolling his eyes.

“You know,” you say in a sing-song voice, “I still technically never broke my streak. I found you a girlfriend within five days.”

“Does it really count if you ended up being my girlfriend?” He raises an eyebrow. “Seems a little unprofessional to me.”

“Don’t be a sore loser,” you taunt.

“You also said you were going to make me fall in love so hard that I’d forget my own name,” he points out. “And I didn’t, so that’s false advertising. Unprofessional and unethical? I could sue you.”

“You are so petty,” you squint. “And come on! That kiss didn’t make your forget? It made me forget!”

“I don’t like you that much.” He deadpans.

“Huang Renjun, you are so not cute!”

4 YEARS AGO.

“It’s not my best work, so you can have it,” Renjun says, trying to act casual about it.

You look so happy that Renjun would have painted a thousand more if you asked him to. You have a smile that could make the goddesses envious, and he can barely hear what you’re saying over the thumping of his own heart. He hopes his expression looks somewhat elusive because he’s not sure how to handle himself right now.

You’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen in his life.

Renjun feels like he’s been shot by Eros’ arrow. He used to never understand why everyone was so wary of Eros; he’s basically just a mascot for corny Valentine’s Day cards. Apollo and his children avoid Eros and his children like the plague. Though granted, Eros did force Apollo to fall in love with Daphne and then she ended up turning into a tree. So, there is a little bit of history there. Point being, Renjun just didn’t get it.

But he think he does now.

“Thank you so much!” you say excitedly, extending your hand. “I’m Y/N!”

Renjun just stupidly stares at you. He’s not even sure if he’s worthy to touch your hand, but he also doesn’t want to be rude. He carefully shakes your hand, unable to say a word.

“What’s your name?” you ask, tilting your head.

Is it possible for a person to be this adorable? he thinks to himself.

“I’m...”

You’re looking at him, waiting expectantly.

“I’m...”

You’re still smiling, but he can see the slight confusion in your eyes. He’s never felt like more of a moron in his life.

“Ren...jun,” he finally says after an extreme amount of concentration.

You beam at him, and he wonders if he’s the only one seeing the ring of light surrounding you. There’s no way you aren’t Aphrodite’s favorite child.

“Nice to meet you, Renjun! Let’s be friends.”

Renjun isn’t sure he wants to be just friends, but he finds himself nodding along anyways.

Fuck, he thinks, I’m in trouble.

#neowritingsnet #ncitynetwork #cznnet #NCT-WRITERS #nct scenarios #nct imagines #renjun fluff #renjun angst #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream imagines #renjun #nct #choerrypuffs #demigods

3K notes · View notes