#it's been a complete shit show all summer trying to get ANY information much less any commitment on their part

[gukyi]

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

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?

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: tpollack@university.edu From: y/n@university.edu 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!

[just-jordie-things]

Ghost

word count: 11,648 warnings: swearing, mentions of death, reader is an orphan,  summary: John B was the closest thing to family that (y/n) had left, and now he’s gone and disappeared.  Fortunately JJ’s there to help her feel whole again. based on this song ___

[ yelling at the sky, screaming at the world // baby why’d you go away?... heaven only knows where you are now ]

August 10th, 9:30 p.m (The Night Of The Disappearance of John B Routledge and Sarah Cameron)

“Unfortunately… we lost them” Officer Thomas said, hanging his head shamefully.

Pope broke down right away, Kiara at his side, comforting him with a hug and soft words.

“What do you mean you lost them?” JJ asked, jumping straight to anger.  “They’re just gone? They’re dead!?”

(y/n) stood back, glancing down at her cold hands, finding that they’ve begun to shake with the new information.  She didn’t know how to process what she was hearing.

“We don’t know for certain-” Thomas tried to explain, but JJ wasn’t having it, he lashed out completely.

“You drove them right into the storm!” He yelled, lunging for the cop, grabbing him by his shirt and shaking him violently.  “You killed them-!”

“JJ..” Kiara cried out, clutching tighter to Pope’s side as she began to quietly sob.

He released the cop with a shove, turning back to his remaining friends.  Pope pulled Kiara into his arms, crying into her hair silently.

But (y/n) was frozen in place, her expression hadn’t changed since Thomas had told them what happened.  Tears were streaming down her cheeks quickly, more and more spilling over with each passing second.  Her whole body shook, and she wrapped her arms around herself.  She wasn’t sure if it was the grief or the cold, but either way, her own embrace provided no comfort.

“(y/n/n)- sweetheart…” JJ stepped towards her, his hands outstretched for her to take if she needed, but she didn’t move.  Her eyes didn’t even meet his.

“John B…” She whimpered, her lip quivering as she sniffled.  “Sarah…”

When a sob escaped her, JJ was there in a second, grabbing onto her and holding her as tightly as he could in his arms.  She continued to sob, screaming and crying as her body finally reacted.

She thrashed in his hold, squirming and pushing at him, hands smacking at his arms and chest, trying to pry him off of her, even though deep down all she craved was to be held, comforted.

“It’s not fair! It’s not fair,” She was screaming, drawing the attention of the surrounding officers, as well as the Carreras and the Heywards who had shown up to comfort their children.

But (y/n) had no one to show up for her, they were all dead.

“It’s not fair- It's not fair it’s not fair” She continued to cry against JJ, until her knees gave out and she crumpled to the ground.  

The blonde boy followed with her, gathering her back in his arms no matter how much she fought and pushed him away.

But eventually her body tired out, and she gave in.  He could feel her slump into his shoulder as she rested all of her weight on him.  His own tears soaked into her hair and tee shirt as he dropped his face to her own shoulder.

“Not fair” She mumbled, on repeat, until her crying made her too incoherent to understand.  

He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know what to do, he’d never seen (y/n) like this before, much less how you were supposed to react when your best friend, and your kinda new friend, were lost at sea.

“I’ve got you,” He said instead, knowing that there were no magic words to heal her.  “I’m here, I’ve got you”

They didn’t fix everything, but they seemed to do the trick, because she finally wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her hands fisting into the material of his shirt as she clutched onto him with the same intensity that he held her with.

They spent hours in that tent, long after Pope and Kiara’s parents took them home, they were still there.  Technically they were supposed to wait for a parent or guardian to pick them up.  But JJ’s father was a coked up piece of shit, and (y/n’s) parents were six feet underground.

She didn’t push him away again.  She spent the whole night in his arms, clinging onto him with an iron grip.  And ever since that night, she hasn’t really let go of him. ___

[ how do i love? how do i trust again? ]

September 10th, 3:00 a.m (One Month After The Disappearance of John B Routledge and Sarah Cameron)

“Wake up, (y/n/n), wake up”

The girl gasped for air as her eyes flew open, and as quickly as she’d woken up, she settled back into her pillow, eyes falling shut again as she let out a sign.

“I was doing it again, wasn’t I?” She muttered, squeezing her eyes shut tight as she tried not to cry, and tried not to remember the vivid details of her nightmare.

Which was more of a traumatic memory than a nightmare, really.

JJ, who was lying next to her, was quiet as he gazed down at her, watching her calm herself down as best she could.  He always gave her the space to relax on her own before stepping in.  He wanted her to know that she was capable of recovering on her own, but that he would still be there for her as soon as she needed him.

After a few deep breaths, the girl rolled onto her side, her face colliding with his chest as she continued her steady breathing.

“Will you hold my hand?” She mumbled, and he simply nodded, reaching for her trembling fingers, and gently slotting his fingers through hers.  She continued to tap her index finger over the back of his hand at a rapid pace.

She did this for a minute or two before speaking again.

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be sorry, baby, it’s alright,” He murmured to her softly, followed by a kiss to her forehead.  “I’ve got you”

A small choked sound came from her as tears threatened to well up in her eyes again.

She’d spent the last month in bed with him like this.  No matter how much time passed, and no matter how much her grief started to melt away and she began her coping process, she’d still wake up in the middle of the night from awful nightmares.

She hadn’t planned on being a regular guest in JJ’s bed at the Chateau, but she also didn’t have anywhere else to go.  She didn’t have a place of her own, she’d lived at the Chateau since she was six and John Routledge had taken her in.

She was just a child when her parents got into a freak boating accident and died at sea.  She hadn’t understood why she was put in the system, or why she couldn’t go home to her mom and dad.  But for some reason, her friend John B had gotten his dad to take her in, and after a day or two of moving in, she’d understood.

John and John B were her family now.

But then a year ago, John Routledge was declared lost at sea, and it was just her and John B.  It was hard, since he was pretty much the only father she’d ever known, and since he was announced dead, in the same way her parents had been.  At least she still had John B, who was a brother to her.

Fate had a sick sense of humor though, sending him off into a storm, likely killing him.

And she ended up losing him, too.

JJ’s free hand smoothed over her back, caressing her hair, and then rubbing circles over her back again.  He always did his best to comfort her in any way she needed.  And it had been a month of waking up with her to her nightmares, so he always knew just what to do.

“Can we go stay in his room?” She asked quietly.

That was a new request that JJ hadn’t been expecting, but nonetheless, he nodded, and helped her to sit up.  He reached his hands out for her, offering to help her get out of bed, but she limply hung her arms in the air, silently asking him to carry her.

“Alright, you big baby,” He teased in a tired murmur, and leaned over to wrap his arms around her torso, picking her up and pulling her into his chest.

Her legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, and her head laid down on his shoulder.  Had she not been so shaken up, she could have fallen right back asleep.

“But I’m only doing this cause you’re so damn cute” He told her as his hands shifted to hold her from under her legs, and he carefully made his way through the dark to get to John B’s room.

The flirty comment provoked a small and sleepy laugh from the girl.  It wasn’t much, but it was something, and it provided a certain comfort to JJ.  it had been a while since she truly laughed.  He missed the sound dearly.

(y/n) had spent some time in John B’s room during the long summer days.  But she’d never spent the night in it.

JJ would often find her in there, cleaning up, reorganizing his book shelf, playing his CD’s, feeding the fish he’d won at a carnival a year ago that was miraculously still alive- she’d do anything and everything to spend time in there.  To her, it was all that was left of him.

JJ had even caught her putting on his clothes, worn tee shirts, strangely-patterned button downs, sweaters that were too big for her- but she always took them off before anyone could see.  JJ pretended not to notice, and never said anything.  Both because he didn’t want her to feel embarrassed, but also because sometimes when she spent all of her time in that room, he’d feel just the tiniest amount of jealousy, and it made him feel ashamed.

[ i stay up all night, tell myself i’m alright // baby you’re just harder to see than most ]

“Alright, here we go, baby,” He said as he delicately set her down on the mattress.

(y/n) visibly deflated as she melted into the cool sheets.  Her limbs were still wrapped around JJ’s figure, so she pulled him down with her as she got situated, but he didn’t mind.

With great caution, he slipped out of her hold just enough to lay at her side, so that he wouldn’t pass out on top of her.

He watched as she seemingly relaxed for the night, finally.  She pressed her face deep into the pillow her head was under, taking in a deep breath, the lingering smell of cologne and the beach and something that was distinctly John B flooding her senses.

“It still smells like him” She murmured.  She doesn’t sound like she’s going to cry again, but JJ keeps a watchful eye on her, just in case.

When she exhaled, she opened her eyes, meeting his gaze.  He gave her a small smile, which she faintly returned before moving in closer to him.

“Thank you” She whispered as her forehead touched his gently.

His arms wrapped around the small of her back, pulling her into him completely.  And then he kissed her forehead again, and then her nose, before tucking her head against his chest, just under his chin.

She tended to lean her ear against his chest, using the steady beat of his heart to lure her to sleep.

“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart” He told her, like he had a million times before.

“I know, you always say that,” (y/n) murmured, lips brushing over his neck as she spoke.  “But I mean it anyways.  Thank you, Jay”

Her hand finds a comfortable place to rest just over his heart, and soon she’s drifting back to a seemingly peaceful sleep.  JJ just hopes she makes it through the night.

He lets his hand brush through her hair, untangling the locks until his fingers can run perfectly smooth through it.  He does this until he falls asleep. ___

[ i put the record on, wait till i hear our song // every night i’m dancing with your ghost ]

July 4th, 10:00 p.m (A Month Before The Disappearance of John B Routledge and Sarah Cameron)

Neither of them had made a move yet, but they both knew all too well that there was something between them.  Something fiery and exciting, something soft and intimate.

JJ always flirted with (y/n), long before he realized he actually had feelings for one of his closest Pogue friends.  They’d been friends since they were kids, and they’d technically been living together for the past few months, but only recently had it dawned on him that he was falling in love with her, and it was happening fast.

“As flattering as I find your staring, you look very zoned out,” Her voice drew him from his thoughts, and he found himself grinning as (y/n) walked up to him, beer in hand.

John B and Pope had thrown a Fourth of July kegger, and it was probably the craziest party they’d had in years.  Tourons and Kooks had shown up from all over the island, and every kid on The Cut made an appearance that night.

A couple of Kooks had even brought in their own kegs to help supply the party with enough beer.

But despite all the people here, all the hot Tourons to be exact, JJ had been content that (y/n) had approached him, with her sweet smile and revealing bikini.

“What’s goin’ through that pretty head of yours, hm?” She asked, only half teasing.

All summed had been like this.  The flirting intensified, and they both stopped pursuing one night stands with the Tourons that came to these things.

“Absolutely nothing,” JJ grinned back at her, and she laughed, believing him.  “Where you been all night? Fighting off all these guys I hope?” He asked, half joking.

Coincidentally, a group of basic white tourist boys walked past, one of them letting out a low whistle as their eyes wandered over (y/n’s) figure.

JJ scowled at him, stepping forward threateningly, one of his arms instinctively wrapping around the girl’s waist as he glared down the Touron until he cowered away.

“Wow,” (y/n) chuckled, one of her hands pressing against JJ’s chest, but she didn’t push him away, so he didn’t move.  “You made your point tough guy, jesus,” She said, raising her brows at him.  “Jealous much?”

“Me? Jealous?” He asked with a scoff, to which (y/n) mimicked the sound.

“That’s real hot coming from the most jealous and pissed off guy in the OBX” She teased with a growing smirk on her lips.

“Well, sure, but I’m not jealous of that guy,” JJ told her, gesturing at the lame Touron who was miserably failing at shotgunning a beer.

But as he watched the idiot with an amused grin, (y/n) just smiled up at the blonde boy, admiring his side profile for a moment.

Unlike most stories of friends who became lovers, where they weren’t sure when their friendship blossomed into something more, (y/n) knew exactly when she fell for JJ.

It had been last summer.  They’d been on the HMS Pogue on a fishing trip, and while she’d never been fishing before, she was eager to let JJ and Pope teach her how.  When she caught her first fish, JJ had cheered, but he could tell that it made her sad to throw it in the cooler.  So he told her it was alright if she wanted to throw it back.  He showed her how to carefully take the fish off the lure so it wouldn’t be as hurt, and let her throw it back in the water.

He must have felt her staring, because suddenly he was turning back to her, his eyes locking on hers instantly.

“Look who’s starin’ now” He teased, his fingers brushing against her hips in an attempt at tickling her.

She giggled and wiggled a bit, but she still didn’t pull away from him.

They were very close, so close that if JJ hadn’t been wearing his hat backwards, then its brim would have been bumping into her forehead.  So close, that she could just faintly feel his warm breath hitting the bridge of her nose.  So close, that it would be so easy to kiss him right now.

Curiously, her eyes wandered down to his lips, pink and inviting, begging to be kissed, she thought.  No wonder girls would throw themselves at him, he had the most perfect looking pair of lips.

Of course, before she could decide if it was worth it to throw reason (and the only Pogue rule) out the window, Rafe and Topper were causing trouble somewhere on the beach, and soon JJ was peeling himself away from her and racing off towards the conflict.

He was always there to end it, never one to shy away from a fight.  (y/n) had come to terms with that a long time ago, knowing it was something she’d never be able to change.

But looking back on it, if he hadn’t left her to get his ass kicked by Rafe Cameron, then they probably would have crossed that line between friendship and something more that very night. ___

[ Never got a chance to say a last goodbye ]

September 15th, 9:45 a.m (Two Months After The Disappearance of John B Routledge and Sarah Cameron)

The sun was unrelenting as it shined in through the window, forcing (y/n) to wake up despite her longing to sleep in bed all day.  It wouldn’t be the first time that she refused to get out of bed.

But she told herself that she should.  The sun was telling her that she should.  Even if she did manage to close her eyes and ignore the brightness streaming into the room, she knew she wouldn’t sleep comfortably.

Today, she was going to get up and make herself breakfast.  That felt like a good start for taking care of herself today.

She rolled over with a groan, in an attempt to reach for JJ to see if he was awake.  Some mornings he would wake up before her and she’d find him laying there on his phone, but sometimes he would just peacefully lay there as he waited for her to wake up.

However, as she lazily slung her hand towards the other side of the bed, she only ended up hitting pillows.  And suddenly the easy morning started to turn upside down.

Don’t freak out, she told herself, even as she scurried out of bed.  

Don’t panic, it’s fine, he’s probably just watching tv in the living room.  

As she was about to run out of the room, she decided at the last second it was probably best to throw on a pair of shorts.  The large tee shirt she well fell just past all of her curves, but it would be embarrassing if she ran through the Chateau in front of Pope and Kiara in a worried panic without pants on.

Or maybe he’s making breakfast, like that one time he brought you breakfast in bed, that was really sweet.

None of the calming ideas that crossed her mind actually calmed her, as she searched through the living room, there was no sign of JJ.  The kitchen was empty, the bathroom door was hung ajar, and also empty.

There was a logical explanation for him not being here, deep down she knew that, but then why didn’t he leave a note? Or wake her to let her know he’d be leaving? Why would he leave without saying anything at all? Didn’t he know that this was her worst fear come to life, again?

Panic took over, and next thing she knew she couldn’t take in enough air as her throat closed up and her legs stopped working.  She stood in the living room for a solid minute, hands glued to her head, fists tugging on her hair tightly in a terrible attempt to ground herself to the moment and not spiral any further.

But her heavy breaths turned to sobs and she didn’t know she was crying until she felt the tears on her cheeks.

There’s a logical explanation, there’s a logical explanation, she repeated in her head like a mantra, hoping to god that she’d start believing it soon.

Slowly, she crouched down on the floor, because sometimes when she had panic attacks she got dizzy so it was better to sit down now.

Or maybe he went boating with Pope, they like to fish early in the morning, she thought.  Maybe they hit something, the marsh is always changing with the weather.  Maybe the boat capsized, maybe they drowned to their deaths-

No! Don’t think that!

The sobbing got worse as she assumed the worst, taking in gasping breaths of air, desperate to fill her lungs that felt like they were about to collapse.

Maybe they went into town to pick up breakfast.  Maye they got stopped by Kooks, or Barry, maybe they were murdered in cold blood-

The girl whimpered, trying to ward off the horrific images rolling through her mind, but as terrible as they were, she reminded herself that these weren’t unrealistic worries, that these things had happened before, and would happen again.

He promised me he wouldn’t get on a fucking boat, he promised me he’d start biking around the island, she told herself.  JJ wouldn’t break a promise to her, especially that one, but the anxiety inside of her was still whispering into her ear, telling her that all of her friends very well could have been gone forever.

Maybe he just left.  Maybe he got sick and tired of waiting around.  Maybe he was just being a nice guy the last two months.  Maybe he didn’t care anymore.  Maybe he didn’t miss John B or Sarah.  Maybe he finally fled for the mainland like he’s been talking about since he was a kid.  Maybe he’s with a girl.  Maybe he didn’t care about you anymore.

Her hands covered her face, wishing that she could just stop and focus on something else, calm her breathing.  She wanted to run out of the Chateau and go looking around the island, but she remained frozen on the floor.

“(y/n)?” A voice called, and she could faintly hear the screen door swinging open and then shut.  “Woah, hey, (y/n/n)”

Through blurry eyes, she could just barely make out Pope’s figure, kneeling in front of her.

Pope, Pope is here, she thought to herself, and it sort of helped relax her.  You’re not alone, Pope is here.

She shakily reached her hands out to him, grabbing onto his forearms and anchoring herself to him.

He’s real, he’s right here.  His hands are holding your elbows, he’s real.

“Breathe, (y/n), deep breaths, you can do it,” His initially stressed voice calmed when he realized that she was having a panic attack.  He’d seen her have them once or twice before, but it was always JJ who rushed in and helped her out of them.  “Copy my breathing, can you do that?” He asked.

She nodded her head, eyes meeting his as he took in a long and deep breath, held it for three seconds, and then slowly let it out.  He kept on repeating that action until her exhales weren’t shaky, and her body relaxed.

“There you go, you’ve got it, you’re alright…” He said smoothly.

His thumbs caressed over her arms gently, reminding her silently that he was there for her, that he cared about her.

“You want to talk about it?” He offered, and (y/n) shut her eyes tightly, willing the rest of her tears to dry up.

“I- I woke up and- and-”

When she began to stutter, Pope hushed her soothingly, and helped her through another breathing exercise.

“Okay, now try again,” He said softly, once her breaths evened out again.  “Slowly”

“I woke up,” She said, slowly, and then exhaled.  “And JJ wasn’t there- and then he wasn’t out here-”

When the rambling began again, she breathed in deeply again.

“It’s alright, he’s right outside,” Pope told her, relieved that the problem had an easy solution..  “You want to go out and see him?”

(y/n) nods back at him, and he helps her stand.

“Kie and I came over this morning, we brought donuts,” He said, hugging her into his side.  “We were just on the porch, Jay said you were asleep”

Pope opened the front door for her, as they went onto the porch, and her entire body relaxed as her eyes landed on JJ.

He was sitting on the beat up sofa that had been out there since forever, while Kiara was leaning against the citing of the house, a blunt between her fingers.

JJ smiled as (y/n) came out with Pope, tucked into his side the way a child clings to their mother at large events.

“Morning baby,” He calls to her, and pats the space next to him on the couch, before resting his arm over the back of the cushions.  

In no time she peels away from Pope and is sliding into the space under his arm, her side and her legs pressed up against him.  It feels like that first sip of coffee in the morning, and she forgets about the anxiety attack she’d had just moments ago.

He eyes the way she’s twirling the ring around her thumb, almost obsessively.  She hasn’t taken it off since he’d given it to her, and he doesn’t think she ever will.

“You hungry? Kie and Pope brought donuts” He offered, gesturing to the box on the decorative table Kiara was standing next to.

“Maybe in a little bit” She mumbled, her head falling against his shoulder as she let herself feel relieved.

Some days it was hard to feel content with being content.  But JJ was a huge help with that.  His presence alone was enough to calm her, that much was obvious.

He’s a little thrown off, but wraps his arm around her nonetheless.  His rings are a chill on her hot skin, but it’s somehow comforting.

Panic attack, Pope mouths when the blonde boy looks to him, silently asking what happened.

JJ nods discreetly, before glancing down at the girl under his arm.

“How are you feeling?” He asked softly.

Kiara and Pope pretended to argue over the last chocolate sprinkled donut, so that they had a little bit of privacy between them.

“Fine, now,” She whispers back.

Her fingers aimlessly play with the chain around his neck.

“I- I had a panic attack” She admits.

“What happened, sweetheart?” He asked as the tips of his fingers grazed up and down her arm.

She lifts her head to look at him properly, her fingers still twirling his necklace around her fingers.

“Um… you just… you weren't inside…”

It felt embarrassing to admit that something as simple as that had set her off.  When she was in the moment it was a lot more terrifying.  But JJ made sure she wasn’t ashamed of that feeling.

“Well, I’m right here,” He told her with a grin.  “You know you can’t get rid of me that easy” He added, hugging her tight against him and kissing the top of her head.

She always went pink when he did that, that’s why he did it more often than he used to.

“I know,” She mumbled back.  “I just… you know…”

She doesn’t know what she wants to say.  That she’s scared to lose him too? That he’s the only anchor she had left? The only remnants of family she had left? That she loved him more than words could describe?

Whatever she had planned on filling the blank with, JJ seemed to understand her perfectly.  He’d gotten really good at understanding what she was trying to say in between the words she was actually saying.

“I know, baby,” He says softly.

Her head falls back onto his shoulder.  Selfishly, she wished that she could sit here with him like this every day.  Maybe then she'll start to really feel better.

Meanwhile there’s a nagging feeling in JJ’s chest.  Worry, fear, something terrible that began to manifest.  An anxiousness that (y/n) won’t emotionally recover from the disappearance of their friends.

He knew grief took time, that learning to cope took time.  But she’d already had to face those things time and time again, what if this was it? What if this was the last straw, and she gave into them?

His arm around her tightened a little, and (y/n) hummed as she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck.  She placed a little kiss there before sighing.

“Thanks, Jay,” She mumbles.  “You always know just what I need”

He doesn’t say anything, just smiles and rubs her arm comfortingly.

Despite her words, he still worries on the inside. ___

[ i gotta move on, but it hurts to try ]

August 10th, 1:00 a.m (The Night Of The Disappearance of John B Routledge and Sarah Cameron)

(y/n) and JJ had been stuck under police supervision for the last three and a half hours, sitting under the large tents, listening to the heavy rainfall while passing officers would offer their condolences.

It was all bullshit though, and it was starting to piss (y/n) off.

But finally they were allowed to go home, and were escorted to the Chateau.  Which is where they stood now.

(y/n) looked like she was glued to the floorboards of the porch, frozen in place like a statue.  The wind whipped at her hair and the rain still hit them even as they stood under the little roof over them.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” JJ said, reaching out to take her hand, but even as he tugs, she hardly moves.  “(y/n)-”

“I don’t want to,” She mumbles, eyes trained on the front door.

A part of her longed to see John B appear, open the door with a laugh and scold the pair for standing outside in the rain.  The harder she looks, the more she wishes to see him there.

“But I don’t have anywhere else to go” She whimpered, finally tearing her eyes away from the door to look at him.

JJ steps forward, his arm wrapping around her back as he slowly guides her inside.  Her feet shuffle along, but they barely lift off the ground, and she’s barely moving.  He’s just glad to get her inside and out of the rain.

“I just don’t want you to catch a cold, sweetheart” He told her, which was true, but he just needed to say anything to get her to come into the house.  He didn’t know what he’d do if she refused.

“I don’t care” She mumbled, but she was already standing at the inside of the doorway.

“Shoes off,” JJ told her, having already left his shoes at the door and was heading into the house.  “You know how JB feels about shoes in the house”

(y/n) nods, shakily, and starts to kick off her shoes

But now all she can think about is the first time she’d accidentally tracked mud into the house, and how funny it was when John B freaked out.  Thinking about it now, it was just sad.

When JJ came back in the room, she was crying again, silently, she might not have even been aware she was doing it.  She was untying the laces on her boots as tears spilled over her cheeks.

“Come on,” He spoke, and suddenly there was a towel wrapped around her shoulders.  “Let’s go get you cleaned up, okay?”

“No,” She mumbled.  “I just want to lay down”

Her hands gripped onto the fluffy towel almost violently, her knuckles were white, and her hands shook from the force.  JJ noticed.

“And you will, but you’ve got to shower first,” He said.  “Look at you, you’re soaked to the bone from the rain-”

“JJ-”

“No arguments, lets go” He replied, quiet and calm as ever.

She gave in, mostly because he didn’t have the energy to argue with him.  And then she was back to shuffling along with him to the bathroom.

She stood uselessly at the door while he turned the shower on for her.

“How hot do you want it?” He asked, one hand on the noz and the other under the stream of water

She shrugged, mumbled incoherently.

“You’ve got to speak up, honey” JJ said.

“I don’t care” She mumbled a little louder, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Yeah you do, I’ll put it on hot” He answered for her, and adjusted the nozzle accordingly.

But as he turned back, about to leave the room, she didn’t bother to move.  Her eyes were downcast, and her hands had released the towel only to wring her hands together.

“Hey, I’ll be in my room, you can-”

“Wait-”

She grabbed his wrist before he could leave the room, and her glossy eyes met his, her mouth opened but no words came out, so she closed it again.  He waited until she could find the right words.

“Please- please don’t leave me in here-”

Her breathing grew ragged and the tears started to fall from her eyelashes, and JJ nodded at her, silently confirming he'd stay so she would feel safe.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stay right here,” He told her, both of his hands wrapping around hers.  “I’ll wait right in here for you, alright?”

She nods, still a bit shaky, but she turns towards the shower and slowly works on taking off her clothes, so he thinks he’s doing the right thing.

In all honesty, he had no idea what the right thing to do was.  As he turned his back to her and stressfully ran his hands through her hair, he didn’t know what to say or do, what the right way to comfort someone was.

He knew that Kiara and Pope were at home with their families, probably hugging, telling each other they love each other, the kind of shit you see in movies.

But you didn’t see this part of the movie.  The part where the girl you love is going borderline catanoic as she stands in the shower, limbs heavy and heart shattered.

Was he supposed to talk to her? Offer what few comforting words he knew how to say? Was he supposed to tell her he was there for her, that he loved her and he would never leave her? Was that an overload of information?

“JJ?” (y/n) called from the other side of the shower curtain.

“I’m here” He said, sitting on the toilet seat so he’d be right next to her.

She peeled back the curtain, just enough to peek her head out, and then held her hand out to him.  A slight frown tugged on his lips, but he reached his hand out to hers anyways, softly clasping onto it, as though if he’d put any pressure into holding it, then she’d break like a porcelain doll.

She closed the curtain again and went about her shower.  It wasn’t a bother with only one hand, but JJ could still hear her soft whimpers from inside.

After ten minutes she turned off the water.

“Close your eyes” She directed, her voice was still a mumble, but without the noise of the water running JJ heard her clearly, and followed her order.

Her hand let go of his as she grabbed her towel and wrapped it around herself, but it was only briefly, as she was grabbing onto it again as soon as she was covered up.  She gave it a small squeeze to let him know that she was decent.

When he looked up at her, she was staring down at their hands, focused on the rings on his fingers.

The one on his thumb, she had given to him.  Not for a special occasion, she’d just found it in a shop and thought it would look fitting and cool on him.  

She was right.  

He never took it off.

There was another ring on his middle finger, that one was from John B.  He’d swiped it from a second hand shop because it had a neat but very faint engraving of a snake around it.  He’d originally stolen it for himself, but it hadn’t fit right, so he handed it off to JJ.

(y/n) ran the pad of her thumb over the engraving now.  The snake wasn’t very visible, but she could still feel it.

JJ squeezed her hand, drawing her eyes back to his.

She wasn’t whimpering anymore, but the tears hadn’t stopped.  She had to be exhausted.

“I’ve gotta take a shower baby,” He said softly.  “You want to go to bed?”

She shook her head, looking back at his rings.

“You want to wait in here?” He asked.

With a small nod from her, he stood up, pressing a quick and gentle kiss to the crown of her head before turning the water and going through the same routine again.

It took some time as he showered and (y/n) waited for him on the toilet.  When he’d finished and gotten out to find that she was still wrapped in her towel, he’d convinced her to let him help her change into pajamas.

When she’d finished, she wrapped her arms around his neck, stepping forward and hugging him gently, with little to no force at all.

“Alright, let’s get you to bed” JJ said, lifting her up with ease, one arm hooked under her legs and the other.

“You’ll stay, right?” She asks meekly as he brings her to his room.

“Of course” He hums back.

They get situated under the covers, and finally (y/n’s) tears seem to stop.  JJ doesn’t keep his hopes up, though.

He pulls her head to his chest, one arm wrapping around her back at his other hand takes a hold of hers.  For good measure, she hooks her leg over one of his, just to be sure she won’t roll away from him in her sleep.

“You won’t leave?” She murmurs.

The exhaustion and the misery that her body is facing is clear to him as she tilts her head back to look at him.

He gives her a small smile, before letting go of her hand, so that he can take the ring off of his middle finger.  He takes her hand again, and slides it over her thumb.  It’s a little loose, enough that she can twirl it around with ease.

“Now you can have a little bit of both of us with you,” JJ says to her.  “I’m not goin’ anywhere”

She doesn’t quite smile, but her expression relaxes as she looks at him, and he takes it as a good sign.

“I’ve got you, baby” He tells her softly as she settles against him, sleep finally starting to overcome her.

“I can’t lose you too” She tells him right before her body gives out. ___

[ how do i love? how do i trust again? ]

November 10th, 6:30 p.m (Precisely Three Months After The Disappearance of John B Routledge and Sarah Cameron)

(y/n) had been sitting on the couch all afternoon, replaying the day’s events in her head like a flashback scene in a movie.

She’d woken up with JJ, they made breakfast and went on a walk, avoiding the beach.  They went to visit Kiara at The Wreck with Pope, and then went back to the Chateau to do some chores.

(y/n) liked to keep the place tidy and clean.  It gave her something to do, and deep down, she knew that if John B came home, he’d be happy to see everything was just how he left it.  If not a little more organized thanks to her.

And then they’d gotten the call from the Sheriff’s Department.

JJ came into the room, a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of advil in the other.

“Here” He said, handing them both to her.

“I don’t need it, my head doesn’t hurt” (y/n) replied quietly, barely even looking at him.

“Not now, but from the look on your face I can tell it’s going to soon.  Just take it now, please” JJ said, holding out the cup and bottle towards her again.

(y/n) gave in, knowing he was right, and there was no use in arguing with him because he’d only bother her until she just took the pill.

JJ sat down next to her as she swallowed down the medicine, along with a few more drinks of water.  She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was, and suddenly wondered how long she’d been sitting there.

“Where do you think they are?” JJ asked out of nowhere, and she turned to him.

“What?” She asked, voice barely above a mumble.

“John B and Sarah,” He said their names so easily, so casually her heart clenched.  

She almost never spoke their names.  And when she did, she was usually in a fit of tears.

“Where do you think they are?” JJ repeated his question.

(y/n’s) mouth opened, then closed.  And then open and closed again.  She didn’t understand what he was asking.

JJ could tell, and he sat back to stretch out on the soda, his legs kicking out as his back leaned against the arm rest.  (y/n) turned her body to look at him properly, but didn’t crawl into his arms like he’d expected.  She was too confused trying to comprehend what he was saying.

“I think they’re in Florida,” JJ thought aloud, realizing (y/n) wasn’t going to entertain the question.  “And I think they got married”

“Married?” She mumbled, blinking at him.  “You think they’re... alive?”

“Of course,” JJ said, as sincerely as he could.  “Don’t you?”

She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t have to.

“There’s no way they aren’t.  John B’s a pretty tough guy, and Sarah’s the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.  More stubborn than you” He spoke with such ease, it threw (y/n) off.  

His knee knocked against her side, and he held his hand out to her, beckoning her to lay with him.

Warily, she leaned forward, crawling into the space between his legs, and then flipping over to rest back against his chest.  JJ’s arms wrapped around her middle naturally, and he continued to let his thoughts roam free.

“Do you think they’ve got some new treasure hunt going down there?” He whispered into her ear.

“Yes” (y/n) replied, finally giving in to the conspiracy.

“Yeah?” JJ asked, glad that was entertained by the idea, and hopefully comforted too.

“Yeah… I’ll bet… I’ll bet they’re tracking more gold… or… or jewels… or something”

JJ smiled at how hard she tried to let herself get used to the idea.  He knew how badly she wanted to move on, and how she felt stuck in the past.  This was a significant step forward, and he was more proud of her than he let on.  He just didn’t want her to think he pitied her.

“They’re probably filthy rich by now,” JJ told her.  “She’s probably turned him full Kook”

“In a good way,” (y/n) spoke, her smile shining through her words.  “He was so…”

“Whipped” JJ muttered.

“In love,” (y/n) corrected with a soft exhale.  “They only had a week together before they… left,” She said carefully.  “And I… I’ve known John B my whole life and he’d never looked at anyone the way he looked at Sarah”

From where her head laid on his chest, JJ couldn’t see well, but he just knew that she was smiling as she spoke, reminiscing in the good memories.

“So you think they got married when they got to Florida?” JJ asked, speaking it like it was a truth.

“Yeah, I think they just might have,” (y/n) said.  She thought for a moment, and then let out a small giggle.

He was surprised by the sound, especially when it erupted into more joyous laughter.

“You know,” She ponders aloud, “I think that when they got wherever they were headed, and realized they were safe and alive, he proposed to her right then”

“Yeah?” JJ asked, amused, and revelling in the sound of her laughter.  

He had missed the sound so much, he’d worried he’d never hear it again.  He closed his eyes as he listened to her soft giggles, and melted at the way her back slightly shook against his chest.

“Yeah,” (y/n) confirmed, and one of her hands reached for his that lied on her stomach.  “It probably wasn’t romantic at all.  He probably didn’t even get on one knee”

“You’re so right,” JJ laughed with her.  “He probably was just like ‘we should get married’ and Sarah was like ‘oh John B, i love you!’ And-”

(y/n) burst into laughter at JJ’s high pitched impression of Sarah.  It didn’t sound like her, it didn’t even sound like any girl, but it made her belly laugh, and she sat up slightly so she could turn to look at him.

“Why are you laughing at me? That was a spot on impression” He told her.

“No, it wasn’t,” (y/n) said, shaking her head as she looked down at him.

There were crinkles at her eyes and her lips were pulled into the widest smile he’d seen from her in months.

He had convinced himself that he wasn’t 100% sure what love felt like, but right now it felt like his heart might just burst because of it.

He hadn’t just missed her laugh.  He’d missed her.

“It’s almost like you have no idea what a woman sounds like- but Jay, you’ve been living with one for like three years now- what?” (y/n) had cut herself off from her teasing when she saw the way he was staring at her.

He looked sad, but he was smiling, so she didn’t know what to think.  Usually she could read him pretty well, but she’d never seen this look before.

“What?” She asked again.  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason, I just…”

JJ sits up, trying to find the right words as he instinctively grabs a hold of her.  She turns to face him again, her legs hooking behind him as she waits for him to continue.

“I’m just thinking” He finishes.

“Well that’s dangerous,” She replies, the banter coming as naturally as it used to.  She lets out a little snort of a laugh as she smiles at him.  “What about?”

JJ’s hands smooth around her hips, the way they did earlier when they’d gotten the call from Officer Thomas himself, but now it wasn’t to comfort, it was simply because he could.

“You ever think about what would have happened if we never went on that treasure hunt?” He asked, quietly, like he was trying not to upset her.

She goes still, but she doesn’t push him away, and she doesn’t choke up.

“All the time” She murmurs back.

Her voice comes out through a quiet exhale, and if he wasn’t so close, he might not have heard it.  But in the last three months his ears had been practically trained to hear her every breath, and catch on to every mumble.

“Really?” He asked, and she nodded, her bottom lip tucking in between her teeth as she looked back at him.

“Of course,” She quietly replied.  “How else do you think I keep sane during all the quiet moments?”

It’s a sweet thing to say, paired with a soft smile that JJ felt relieved to see.

“Well then what do you think we’d be doing right now?”

“Something stupid,” She answered right away, followed by a small laugh.  “Something sketchy.  That’s all we ever did”

“We fished too, fishing’s legal.  And surfing, that’s legal too”

“That’s fair,” (y/n) hummed.  “Kie and Sarah would’ve gotten along better,” She added.  “It would’ve been nice to have a girls day”

“I’ll have a girls day with you” JJ told her, making her laugh again.

“I know you would,” She said, setting her hands on his shoulders.  “But it’s not the same”

JJ shrugged.

“You can braid my hair and put makeup on me, what else do you do on a girls day?” He asked, and again, she giggled.

He hoped he could keep making her laugh.

“What do you think we’d be up to?” She asked once the laughter subsided and she was left staring into those baby blue eyes again.

“Macking”

The laughter bubbled back over, her hands swatting at his shoulders as she threw her head back.

“Well you don’t have to laugh that much,” JJ said, brows furrowed as he pouted.  “It’s true, we would be”

“Maybe,” (y/n) corrected.  “If you’d ever actually made a move, maybe”

“What do you mean ever actually made a move?” He asked, offended.  “I maed plenty of moves! Lots and lots of moves”

“Oh really?” (y/n) asked, quirking an eyebrow.  “I don’t think we’re remembering it the same way, because I only seem to remember you scaring other boys away from me...”

“Well, yeah, among other things,” JJ said, shrugging casually.  “Can’t have a bunch of lame Tourons crowding my girl”

She laughed at his idea of flirting, but she knew fully well that it had always worked.  JJ Maybank was charming in his own unique way, and even now it made her melt in his hands.

“So you’re saying that eventually you would have done something about it?”

“About it?”

“Yeah, you know, whatever was… between us,” (y/n) clarified, her finger twirling around the space between them.  “I have a hard time believing you would have asked me out”

“I would have!” JJ said, pretending to take offense at her accusation.  “Eventually”

“Mhm,” She hummed, and then shook her head.  “Well, we’ll never know now,” She sighed, dropping her hands to her lap as she started to fiddle.  “I think we skipped a couple steps”

“I think we skipped all the steps, sweetheart,” JJ chuckled, taking her hands so she would stop fidgeting.  “But that’s alright, I wouldn’t take it any other way.  You’d be the only one for me no matter what happens,”

Her face turns a rosy shade of pink, which brings JJ to kiss both of her cheeks with a proud grin.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asked.  “Have the what are we conversation”

Surprisingly, (y/n) shrugs and shakes her head.

“I mean, I don’t think we really have to, do you?” She asks softly.  “If there’s no one else for you, and no one else for me…” She trails off, her eyes flickering in between his.  “I think it’s pretty clear to me”

“Yeah,” JJ agrees, nodding his head.  “Pretty clear,” He repeats.  “I just hope you know what you’re getting into” He teases.

She giggles, wrapping her arms around his neck as she leaned in closer.

“I’ve lived with you for quite some time now, I think I know exactly what I’m getting into”

There’s a beat that passes between them, a quiet, contemplative beat.

But then (y/n’s) shaking her head, and she’s smiling at him so brightly that it’s contagious.

And then she leans over just a little bit, just enough to tenderly press her lips against his.

He’s quick to react, his hands reaching up to her face, pulling her impossibly closer to him.

She’s so slow and careful with her movements, and JJ thinks it might have been the softest kiss he’s ever been given.  Her lips are warm, inviting, and he begins to kick himself for not making a proper move on her back when everything wasn’t so heavy.

They pull away, their grins equally wide, and (y/n) leans her forehead into his, her eyes still shut.  JJ stares at her, awestruck, admiring every curve and freckle on her face.

His hands fall to her waist again, and he pulls her down onto the couch with him, allowing her to tuck herself in against his side as they lay comfortably.

They talk for a long time, theorizing on where they’d be now in another life, and what Sarah and John B are up to, wherever they are.  There’s a few tears that JJ has to wipe from the girl’s cheeks, but she’s smiling.

She has hope, for the first time in months, she’s filled with hope and love and deep down she truly believes things will get better.

Even if the day started with the Sheriff’s Department calling to let them know that John B and Sarah Cameron are officially and legally declared dead, since they’d been missing for three months.

It might get worse before it gets better.  But it was bound to get better. ___

[ i stay up all night, tell myself i’m alright // baby you’re just harder to see than most ]

February 19th, 2:45 p.m (Six Months After The Disappearance of John B Routledge and Sarah Cameron)

“I’m not sayin’ that I will key their cars,” JJ argues, “I’m just saying that I would!”

Pope and Kiara burst into fits of laughter, knowing full well that JJ would bust up Kook property at any given chance, even unprovoked.

(y/n) rolled her eyes from next to him, patting his arm gently.

“Sure, Jay, sure” She says, completely unconvinced.

Normally he’d continue to argue that he was just making a joke, but no one would believe him, and truth be told, he wouldn’t even believe himself.

They’d all gotten together today to hang out and eat lunch at The Wreck.  It was one of Kiara’s off days, so for once she actually got to sit at the table with her friends.  It was a nice afternoon, and definitely much needed quality time.

“You want more water?” (y/n) hummed, already picking up her and JJ’s empty glasses.

“Sure, thanks,” He answered with a charming smile while she got up.  “Oh, but wait” He called, reaching out for her arm before she could walk away.

“What?”

He tugged on her arm so she would bend over and he could swiftly kiss her cheek.  She giggled, swatting gently at his bicep, but nonetheless she blushed as she headed off to the counter.

Kiara and Pope each made their faces at JJ.  Winks, wiggling eyebrows, wide eyes, smirks, they couldn’t help it.

“Shut up, both of you” JJ chuckled before they could even say anything.

“We didn’t say anything” Pope grumbled.

“It’s just about time, that’s all,” Kiara said, putting her hands up in surrender.  “You two have been dancing that dance for years”

JJ didn’t say anything, just smiled as he poked around his plate of fries.

“Look at him, he’s so in love with her” Kiara cooed.

But Pope wasn’t looking at him at all, he’d turned in his seat when he’d caught sight of Rafe Cameron eyeing (y/n).  He’d known it wasn’t a good sign.

“Pope,” Kiara called, trying to get his attention, but realized his gaze was focused elsewhere.  “What are you…” She trailed off, turning to follow his line of sight.

She only groaned at the sight of Rafe, before turning back to their own table.  Kooks came to The Wreck on occasion, but not usually Kooks like Rafe Cameron and Topper Thornton, who were in a booth across the restaurant.

“What’s he doing?” Pope mumbled, now watching Rafe get up from his booth, and make his way to the counter, where (y/n) was chatting with one of the servers.

JJ started to get up, but Pope was quick to put a hand up.

“Wait, doesn’t start anything,” He warned, and for some reason, JJ listened to him.  “(y/n) was friends with Sarah”

“That guy’s a fucking prick- and a murderer-” JJ started to argue, but Pope hushed him, telling him to keep his voice down.

“Just wait a minute before you swoop in there and make a scene,” Pope said.  “He’s Sarah’s brother, Sarah was a good person”

JJ muttered a string of profanities, but sat back down in his seat.  He didn’t take his eyes away from the counter though.

“(y/n) (y/l/n),” Rafe called, letting out a low whistle that made JJ bristle.  “Long time no see”

(y/n) barely looked at him before shooting her gaze down to the cups of water.  JJ can tell that she’s playing with the ring on her thumb.

“Yeah, I haven’t really been… around” She’d answered.

“Why doesn’t he just say his piece and leave” JJ muttered, both of his hands in his lap, curling into tight fists.

“That’s too bad” Rafe responded.

(y/n) wasn’t giving him any of her attention, so JJ knew he shouldn’t be so upset right now.  But he didn’t trust Rafe for as far as he could throw him, and he definitely didn’t trust him around (y/n).

“She can hold her own” Pope reminded him, knowing that JJ was starting to see red.

Yeah, but he’s a creep, he thought to himself.

“I’m sorry about Sarah,”

(y/n) spoke suddenly, soft and sweet, displaying nothing but kindness to a boy she knew wouldn’t know what kindness felt like if someone handed it right to him.

“I didn’t get to know her as well as I would have liked, but… I did like her a lot.  She was definitely a special-”

Rafe cut her off before she could say anything more.

“Well, you move on fast, don’t you?” He snarled.

(y/n) blinked, eyes going wide at the rude comment, even if she didn’t understand it.

“What-?”

“Your Pogue boyfriend’s only dead for a few months and you’ve already latched onto another, huh?” He asked, gesturing towards JJ.

(y/n’s) eyes wandered over to her boyfriend, who had just stood up from his seat with such force it fell backwards, and was now making his way over.

Please don’t get in a fight, she begged silently.  Please don’t make a scene, this isn’t worth the attention of the whole restaurant.

“Rafe, you’ve got it all wrong,” She told him quietly, trying to diffuse the situation herself.  “John B wasn’t my boyfriend, we grew up together, he was a brother to me-”

“You’re disgusting,” Rafe spat at her.  “If it wasn’t for your Pogue friends and your Pogue slut self, Sarah wouldn’t be dead right now!”

It felt like (y/n’s) heart stopped at the cruel accusation, and for a moment, she thought she might burst into tears in front of him.

“She’s not dead” She mumbled, her throat going tight.

JJ was at her side in a second, his arm winding around her hips and pulling her into him, about to drag her away without a word to Rafe.  He knew she didn’t want him to act out, and as hard as it was, he didn’t want to let her down.

He prompted her to follow him back to the table, forgetting about the water on the counter, he just wanted to get her out of this restaurant as fast as possible

“She is dead, they’re both dead because of you!” Rafe called after her, desperate to get the last word in.

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up?” JJ hollered back, throwing the Kook a threatening look over his shoulder.

“That’s fine sweetheart!” Rafe shouted, and (y/n) tried her best to block him out.  “Let your shiny new toy fight your fights for you! Just like John B did.  Do all the Pogues you fuck become your guard dog?”

That was it.

Any chance of her crying went out the window and next thing she knew, she was ripping herself out of JJ’s hold and lunging towards Rafe, swinging without any aim, but enough force that when she hit the Kook in the nose, she could feel the crunch of cartilage against her knuckles, and blood splattered onto the counter.

“You bitch-!”

Rafe barely had a chance to fight back before JJ was grabbing (y/n) by the waist, lifting her up and physically carrying her out of The Wreck.  Pope and Kiara hastily followed them out, laughing joyously.

“Are you crazy?” JJ asked, only setting her down once they were down the street, and they were certain that a group of Kooks wouldn’t follow after them to finish what (y/n) had started.

She was still scowling, and rubbing at her jaw where Rafe had just barely nicked her with his knuckles.

“Fuck,” JJ grinned at her, taking her by surprise.  “You are crazy”

“You’re not mad?” She asked, and all three of her friends laughed.

“Mad? Of course not, you just broke Rafe Cameron’s nose, baby!” JJ cheered, cupping her face in his hands and pressing a quick kiss to her lips, and then her nose, and then her cheek.  “That’s my girl!”

The whooping and hollering of her boyfriend, echoed by Pope and Kie, made her blush red and butterflies erupt in her chest.  Breaking a Kook’s nose was a strange thing to feel bashful about, but the attention made her shy.

“Come on, let’s get home and ice that before it bruises” JJ said, nodding to her jaw.

As they made their way to the Chateau, their hands latched and swinging between them, JJ continued to gush over how badass and amazing she was, no matter how much she laughed it off and begged him to stop making her blush. ___

[ every night i’m dancing with your ghost ]

February 19th, 3:15 p.m

“You’re lucky I pulled you outta there before he landed a whole punch,” JJ told (y/n) as he pressed a bag of frozen peas against her jaw.  “This coulda hurt a lot worse, why didn’t you duck babe?”

(y/n) let out a huff, swinging her legs from where she sat on the kitchen counter.  JJ was standing between them, coddling her much more than necessary.

“I dunno, I’m not some pro fighter like you” She retorted, and hissed when he pressed a little too hard against the sensitive skin.

“I know that was supposed to be sarcastic, but I’m gonna take it as a compliment anyways,” JJ retorted, earning a good natured eye roll from the girl.  “You know I’m proud of you, right?”

“I know,” She giggled back.  “You haven’t shut up about it”

“Can’t help it, it was fuckin’ awesome,” JJ gushed again.  “It was so hot, the most perfect punch, I wish I coulda taken a picture of the look on Rafe’s face, priceless.  You’re such a badass, I fucking love you”

He didn’t seem to catch what he’d said, but (y/n) did.  

Her eyes blew wide, and her lips parted momentarily, at a loss for words.  And since she didn’t know what to say, she decided the next best thing was to lean forward and capture his lips in a passionate kiss.

The kiss took JJ by surprise at first, but then the realization of what he’d said hit him, and he pulled away from her abruptly.

“Oh my god, I didn’t mean- well I did, but I-”

“JJ,” (y/n) giggled as he rambled, her hands laying across his cheeks.  “It’s okay, I-”

They were cut off by the phone ringing, which was odd, because it wasn’t their cellphone’s ringtone.  It took a second to even realize that the Chateau had a landline.

“What the fuck?” (y/n) pushed the bag of peas JJ was still holding away from her face, and hopped off the counter.  “Who even has this number? Oh my god, do you think it’s Thomas again?”

(y/n’s) heart began to race as she darted out of the kitchen towards the phone hanging on the wall.

“(y/n/n)- do you want me to take it?” JJ asked, worried that she’d freak herself out too much to actually answer the phone.

But she’d already unhooked the phone from the wall.

“Routledge Residence, (y/n) speaking”

There was a chuckle on the other side of the line, followed by a teasing, “I just knew that you weren’t gonna move out”

JJ couldn’t hear what the caller had said, but from the look on (y/n’s) face, he knew it couldn’t have been a telemarketer.

She dropped to her knees, the cord on the phone uncoiling completely as it stretched all the way down.  A choked sound between a sob and a gasp escaped her, and in a second, JJ was kneeling in front of her, jumping right into panic attack mode.

“(y/n/n), what is it? Who is it?”

“JJ there too? How are you guys-”

“John B?” (y/n) mumbled, voice shaky, scared that this was some practical joke at her expense.

JJ’s eyes went wide, and she finally looked up at him, his jaw slack.

“The one and only,” He laughed again.  “Guess I’m lucky you were at the house, I don’t remember any other phone numbers”

“I can’t believe it- are you okay? Is Sarah okay? Holy shit, John-”

“We’re okay, we’re both okay,” He chuckled, cutting her off.  “You’re not gonna believe this… but… we’ve got it”

“You’ve got it?” She repeated, confused.

“The gold, (y/n), we’ve got the gold”

“No shit-”

“Sarah says hi by the way,” He added.  “We’ll be back as soon as we can with it, okay? I don’t know when, but we’re working on it”

“What’s he saying?” JJ asked, but (y/n’s) brain was in a clusterfuck of information.

“I miss you- well all miss you- we miss you so much” She stammered out.

“We miss you too, (y/n)!” Sarah called, sounding distant through the speaker.

“We miss you a lot,” John B added,  “I’m sorry we didn’t call earlier, we just had to be sure there way it could get tracked-”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I forgive you,” (y/n) said through a watery laugh.  “Just- just be safe, and get back as soon as you can, okay?”

“We will, promise,” John B replied.  “And I’ll try to call more too, okay? Look we’re… we’re working it all out right now”

“Okay, good,” (y/n) sighed, and wiped her teary cheeks with the back of her hand.  “I can’t wait to see you both”

“And when you do, we’ll be millions of dollars richer,” He told her.  “Look, we have to get going, Sarah has work.  The Kook Princess has a job here!” He told her with a laugh.  “I’ll call you when I can, alright?”

“Alright,” She agreed.  “Okay, call soon”

“Stay safe, (y/n/n), talk to you soon”

“Bye, John B”

He hung up, leaving the phone to ring a low dull sound, and (y/n) and JJ to stare at each other in amazement.

“They have the gold” (y/n) mumbled out.

“For real?”

“For real,” She nods back at him.  “They’re working on a plan to come home-”

Before she can finish, he tackles her to the ground, hugging her tight, and just letting the phone hang by it’s cord.  They’re laughing, she’s crying, and they can’t remember the last time they’ve felt joy like this before.

(y/n) sits up slightly, enough to wrap her arms around him and kiss him chastely.

“They’re in the Bahamas, and Sarah has a job, and- and they’re gonna come home” She rambled on as tears streamed down her face faster than JJ could wipe them away.

He’s grinning at her, kissing her whole face, everywhere he could.

She starts to giggle from the kisses, her shoulders raising from the ticklish feeling.

“JJ- JJ!” She cried out, having to grab him by his shoulders to get him to chill out.  “We have to go tell Pope and Kie!” “Okay, come on, let’s get going, I’ll drive you there now” JJ said, pulling her up to her feet, but before racing for the door, he wrapped his arms around her and spun her around in the air.

“I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it!” (y/n) cried out, giggling when he finally set her back down, and grabbed her hand before dashing for the front door.  “We’re going out tonight, baby!” She was so ecstatic, her body was practically vibrating.

He laughed, grabbing the keys to his dirtbike from the counter.

“Wait wait wait, JJ!” (y/n) called, her grip tightening on his hand as she pulled him back towards her.

“What? What is it?” He asked in a hurry, his eyes wild as he looked back at her.

She just grinned at him, before pulling him in closer, and leaning up on the tips of her toes so she could kiss him.

She could feel his tenseness fade away, and when she smiled it broke their kiss.

“I love you too,” She told him, her smile brightening before she reached up and stole another kiss.  “And I’m glad you’re here with me, always”

“Well, we do live together, sweetheart,” He teased.  “But you know I’d never go anywhere else”

“I know,” She hummed, and leaned in to kiss him one more time.  “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, quit trying to distract me!”

(y/n) laughed as she followed him out the door, an overwhelming amount of delight flooding through her as she got on the back of JJ’s bike, rehearsing in her head what she wanted to say to their friends, and how impatient she was to see John B again.

___

xoxo ~ jordie

[pascalpanic]

Fixer Upper PART ONE (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

Summary: Nothing seems to go right in your new house. When yet another thing breaks, a certain handyman comes to your rescue.

W/C: 2k ish

Warnings: language, joking mentions of a house being cursed (it isn’t), reader has dirty thoughts bc it’s Frankie and he’s hot

A/N: this one goes out to my anons who’ve been sending me stuff about frankie as a repairman! I loved the idea and I thought it would be super fun to write! This will be part ONE of three-ish! ps idk if any references to reader’s gender are in this part but there certainly will be some in the future so.

It’s been a while that you’ve lived in this house. Since that day you hauled in the cardboard boxes, you’ve been feeling that your life is the epitome of Murphy’s law. Or rather, this damned house is.

Nothing ever goes right. The heat breaks in the winter and the air conditioning breaks in the summer. The plumbing needs work when you need it to work, and the oven only ever breaks halfway through cooking something. Seriously, you swear this place is cursed by some hex determined to pester you out of living here.

You’ve never exactly been the handy type. You don’t know much about mechanics, heating or cooling, the electricity and wiring in your house, any of it. By now, you wish you’d taken the time to learn it at some point rather than hiring someone every time.

The first sign was that the June heat seemed inescapable. You’d been outside all day, and you figured it was just your body taking its time to adjust to the cooler, indoor temperature. Then you never cooled down. When you stepped out of the bathroom after a shower and found the air to be nearly as muggy as that of the steamed bathroom, you realized that the air conditioning must be off.

Well, it was on. The problem was that it wasn’t working. You opened all the windows, and figured the night breeze would cool you, then you became worried about serial killers and crimes and promptly shut and locked all of them again. With the fan in your bedroom on, the air at least moved, but was still thick and heavy.

In the morning, when you wake with no blankets on and sweaty sheets, you dial the repair company as fast as you can. You inform them of the situation, and they tell you they’ll send someone out your way in the next hour or two.

The air is still somewhat cool outside, so you give the front porch a shot once you get changed out of your pajamas and take yet another cool shower. The heavy dew is an indicator of just how humid the air is, and you relish every little breeze that passes by and cools you down. You conduct your morning business outside, hoping to have this problem fixed before the sun reaches a height where the temperatures will rise exponentially.

About an hour after the call, the repair van rolls up into your driveway and parks. “Thank God,” you murmur to yourself.

Your focus returns to your computer, but you hear the door slam shut and look up to find the repairman there. He wears khaki cargo pants and a gray t-shirt, complete with a ball cap on top, with dark brown curls peeking out from the bottom. He fastens his tool belt around his waist as he walks up to the porch. “Hey there. I’m Frankie. I’ll be taking care of you today,” he informs you, a kind smile on his face. You already like him. “I got the basics from the boss, but can you tell me more about the problem?”

Looking up at him from the seated position you’re in, you give an awkward smile. Suddenly, you wish you’re better dressed, fixed up and looking nice. Even in work clothes, this man is beautiful. It makes you a little nervous, you in your pajamas and him looking like a god even in cargo pants. “I wish I could, but I don’t know anything about the air conditioner and how it works other than how to change the settings. All I know is that it isn’t working.”

He gives a good-natured chuckle, a soft bounce of his chest beneath the shirt. He looks down at his tool belt and his scruff brushes against the collar of the gray. “Well, let’s go give it a shot. I’ll need you to show me around, show me the control panel and the main system.” God, he’s handsome.

“Oh, of course,” you nod and stand, leaving your laptop on the small table. “Well, right this way. And please, you don’t need to take your boots off. Those look complicated,” you laugh as you look at the heavy tan boots at the bottom of his body.

Frankie nods and looks around as you lead him through the house. He doesn’t take his boots off, since you insisted, but he does give them a generous wipe on the doormat, careful not to track anything in. “It’s a beautiful place,” he tells you honestly, with a half-smile that just tugs at one of the corners of his ridiculously soft-looking lips.

“Thanks,” you shrug and show him to the control panel. “I try. Okay, here’s the button thingy.”

“The button thingy?” he teases, which leads to laughter from the both of you.

“If I knew what it was called, you wouldn’t be here,” you tease him back and shake your head.

Frankie uses the tools from his belt to take off the casing. You lean against the wall as he works, admiring the way his hands nimbly check the wires and paneling behind it. He holds a small flashlight between his teeth to look into the wall cavity.

“I can hold that for you,” you offer, and he moves his mouth for you to take it from him.

“Thanks,” he says, popping his jaw slightly to adjust from the awkward angle of holding it between his teeth. “You don’t have to. I’m just here to fix it.”

You point it at the same spot. “I might as well be some help, considering I don’t know shit about my own house.”

Frankie laughs at that, stealing a glance your way that makes your face warm before his gaze returns to the electrical situation. “Well,” he declares after a few seconds. “The wiring must not be the problem here. This all is working fine, so it must be with the actual system.”

“Great,” you groan. “The part I know even less about.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he chuckles and screws the panel back into place on your wall, making sure everything works properly and he didn’t mess with any functions.

Leading Frankie to your basement, you show him the cluttered laundry room and the central air conditioning unit. He’s already analyzing the system, and you back off to let him work. He looks focused. “Holler if you need me,” you tell him as he gets on his knees to look at something, daring to gently pat his shoulder. It’s strong, muscular beneath your palm.

Heading back to the kitchen, you open the fridge and sigh. For a moment, you allow yourself to close your eyes and just enjoy the cold air it produces. Hopefully, your house will be the same soon enough. Grabbing two tall glasses, you fill each with ice before pouring half sweet tea and half lemonade into the glasses.

You stand in the kitchen with the freezer open, sighing at the cool air it provides. Not sure how long he’ll take, you scroll through your phone. It’s surprisingly quick, you find.

“Hey, I found it!” Frankie calls from the basement.

Carrying the two glasses, you return to the laundry room to find him reorganizing his tool belt. “Here,” you tell him with a smile as you hold out the drink. “Least I could do. It’s unbearable in here.”

“Thanks,” he smiles and lifts the glass to you in a miniature salute before taking a sip. Frankie then launches into a detailed explanation of the issue with the A/C unit, using all kinds of terms you don’t understand and mentioning parts you didn’t even know were included in the machine. “I got it all fixed up, though, and it shouldn’t take long before it’s working just as good as normal.”

You sigh in relief, swallowing the sweet drink and smiling at him. “God, thank you so much. You don’t even know how awful it was in here.”

“If it’s anything like right now, I do,” he chuckles. The man takes the hem of his t-shirt and lifts it to wipe his face, revealing a muscular but soft body beneath it, with a beautiful little trail of dark hair leading to beneath his belt. Is it terrible that your first thought is that you want to lick it?

You force the image from your mind with another swig of the drink. “Yeah, just about. Well, how much do I owe you?” You ask the man, leading him out of the laundry room and into the basement that’s already feeling cooler.

“Oh, nothing right now,” he shakes his head as you lead him upstairs and to the kitchen. “I just tweaked some things for you, didn’t need any parts or anything, so it’s just gonna be labor.” He seems to remember something. “Ah, shit. I gotta have you sign something. I’ll grab the paper from the van and be right back,” he tells you and leaves his drink on the counter, half-jogging outside.

While he’s outside, you lean against the cool kitchen counter and let yourself daydream. This Frankie guy certainly is attractive, and his personality is definitely something you’re interested in. What if the situation right now played out like a porno, and he fucked you on the countertop? You certainly wouldn’t complain. You noticed his hands and feet are large. Certainly he must be big somewhere else too. “Oh Jesus Christ,” you murmur to yourself. Why did my mind have to go there? And why is the thought so hot? He’s a sweet man too, clearly goofy and sweet. Why is your mind going there then? Really, upon further pondering, you just want to hug the man, admire his strong body pressed to yours in an intimate but innocent gesture.

“Sorry, what was that?” Frankie calls out as he walks into the house again.

His voice snaps you from your daydreaming. “Oh, just talking to myself,” you say quickly and cheerfully, taking the paper from him. The top is printed with repairman name: Francisco Morales. Francisco. That makes you smile. What a cute name. The rest is filled with the details of what he did to the machine to fix it, and you sign and date at the bottom. “Here you go, Francisco.”

His tanned skin turns a little pinker on the cheeks. “Great,” Frankie smiles and takes it back.

“Before you leave,” you tell him quickly, darting to grab your purse from the entryway, “here.”

Frankie walks to you and you hand him a generous cash tip, with a stupid smile stuck to your face. “Thank you, wow,” he says, voice honest in its surprise as he notices the total of the money.

“Of course. I really can’t thank you enough. God, it’s been painfully hot in here and I really just can’t stand the heat,” you ramble, your voice speeding up. “And… yeah. Thank you. For your company, too.”

“Just doing my job,” he tells you with a smile, putting his hands in his pockets. “Oh, here.”

From his pocket, he pulls a little rectangle of paper with his name and company on it. “The shop number is on here; if anything changes, just call and ask for Catfish.”

“Catfish?” You ask with a smile, puzzled.

“My old military nickname. It’s what the guys around there call me,” he shrugs, shy at the nickname.

It makes you laugh a little, and you tuck the card in your purse. “Well, Catfish, thank you. I’ll be sure to use this next time I have some stupid thing I can’t repair myself.”

“Please do,” he chuckles, a shy smile on his face. “I’ll see you around.”

“Thanks!” You call again and cringe. That’s, what, the ninth time you’ve said that now? He walks to the van and you give him a wave before retreating back inside. God, now you can’t wait for this shitty house to need another repair. You’ll certainly be asking for Catfish.

-

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[gwynrielsupremacist]

A COURT OF LIGHT AND SHADOWS

Chapter 1: Voices

Read at AO3.

Gwyn's afternoon couldn't get any worse.

First of all, the morning's training had been horrendous.

Three weeks after the Blood Rite, Cassian and Azriel had thought it was time to start practicing again, since according to them, they had made a lot of mistakes that could very well have cost them their lives.

She was still alive, just like Nesta and Emerie, so at least one thing they had done well, survive.

After 3 weeks of not doing any sports, it was noticeable when you came back with all the energy, especially on a day where the sun was literally burning.

She noticed as she did push-ups that morning how her arms were trembling dangerously, the sweat running down the curve of her breasts, soaking the shirt she had worn.

Gwyn had promised herself that she would go out into the outside world.

That year she had made a lot of progress, she supposed she should be ready to enter society again, but no.

After the events in the Blood Rite, what she wanted was to lock herself in the darkest corner of the library, with a good book, and stay there to live.

Obviously, she couldn't do that. But she would have liked it.

With all the sore muscles, having failed almost all the obstacles the two Illyrians put them, showing a regrettable endurance in each and every one of the exercises, she had to go down to the library to have a pleasant chat with Merrill, who did not understand why her performance hadn't been 100% in recent weeks.

"I don't know, Merrill. Maybe because they pulled me out of bed against my will, left me in the middle of a forest full of Illyrians, while I had to fight to stay safe, as well as having to kill people? Maybe because I had never left the library after Sangravah, and I suddenly found myself in the same situation? " She reasoned, trying to control her pulse, having remembered the events in the Blood Rite.

She detested Merrill.

More than anyone else, she hated her. She often thought that life would be so much easier if people like Merrill just didn't exist.

After leaving her a ton of work to do, the female disappeared, leaving Gwyn with about seven books resting in her arms, already numb from the morning exercises.

She ran to the nearest table, relieved when she put the books down, with a thud.

She rubbed her dazed hands, wincing at the pile of books that awaited her to spend hours and hours together.

She had to research one of Merrill's new obsessions, the ancient and forgotten Prythian gods.

"I didn't even know they existed", she opined, opening a random book to a random page, flipping through the contents.

She got dizzy from so much information she did not understand, closing the pages with force, grabbing a cart that was nearby, leaving the volumes in it and going to her room, to calmly read those pages and pages of useless information, and then do a chapter-by-chapter summary for Merrill.

"Great, it's a good way to spend your free time if you love reading junk." She groaned as she carefully lowered the cart down the stairs.

"It is not junk. It is information that may be useful at some point", answered her subconscious.

At least she thought it was her subconscious.

She didn't remember when she had started to hear that voice, just one day it had appeared, and now it was considered the voice of reason.

Everything that voice said, it was true.

"I know, but I don't know how knowing which are the main and forgotten gods of Prythian is going to solve my problems." She attacked, greeting one priestess that came close to her, passing by her side.

The voice fell silent, apparently it had nothing more to add.

At least Gwyn could answer the voice in her mind. It would have been a strange thing to see a person argue with herself.

Upon reaching the room, which was a simple square with a bed, a wooden desk with a wooden chair that had more splinters than wood itself, and a modest closet, also made of wood.

Yeah, in summer the termites would destroy all the furniture if she wasn't careful.

Closing the door with the latch, one of the little luxuries she had on it, she put the books down with a thump, brushing her hands on the skirts of the gown, which was already heavily encrusted with dust.

She thought of taking off that long dress, which after so many washes the initial blue had ended up in an almost invisible gray, but she did not feel like going to the common baths of the priestesses, because every time she went there, they peppered her with questions about the Blood Rite.

And the last thing she wanted to do was talk about it.

So she collapsed on the bed, pulling back the covers and hugging the pillow with one arm, as she got into a fetal position.

"You have to go out, you can't hide in the bedroom all afternoon." It protested, to which she responded very kindly with a growl as she turned, trying to make it understand that she was going to do whatever she wanted.

"Alright then. If you get caught between the sheets and can't get out, don't come running to ask me for help." it threatened.

Gwyn didn't know how she was going to ask for help to a voice. It was disembodied, how the hell was she going to beg for help if she didn't even know what that murmur was?

She rolled over on the bed, rubbing her eyes and exhaling, disappointed.

She hated not being able to get out of that damn room.

She hated her insecurity and her irrational fear.

"It is not irrational, Gwyn." It assured her.

"Leave me alone." She begged, getting it to shut up.

She lay on her stomach, breathing deeply.

She looked at the time on the only clock in the room, located above the closet.

19.36.

It appears that she had a lot of time to do absolutely nothing.

Maybe she was going to pick up a book that Nesta and Emerie were reading.

Honestly, she was dying to sink her teeth into one that had caught her attention. According to her description, a maiden sent by the gods fell in love with her bodyguard...

Determined, she bolted upright, unlocking the latch, happily heading for the book.

There would be time to examine the books Merrill had passed her.

Anyway, she had a lot of time, reading something that interested her was not going to do anything bad to everyone.

With a broad grin, she made it to the fiction book section. She opened one of the books, tucking her nose between the pages, an exhale escaping from her lips when she smelled the wonderful book scent.

Her gaze sparking, she searched for the novel she was looking for.

"Didn't you forget something?" It asked.

She stopped short in the middle of the shelves, alarming a passing priestess.

Bowing her head in apology, she went back to searching, her eyes narrowing as she searched the thousands of spins with her eyes, finding none that bore the name of the book she was looking for.

"I don't have any errands to deliver to Merrill." She snapped, frowning when she finally found it.

It was at the top of the shelf.

She made a long face, standing on her tiptoes, stretching her arm as far as she could as she stuck her tongue out, focused.

"I don't mean Merrill, Gwyneth."

"Mysterious voice, what are you talking about?" The priestess demanded in a tired voice. She did not arrive. Why did they make the shelves so high? It was not possible that someone could reach them.

Although, don't get it wrong, Gwyn adored the voice. It was equal to the voice that we all have within us guiding us.

The problem was that the voice that she had was a little… annoying.

She looked at the shelves next to the floor, no books in sight.

Maybe if she got on them…?

She put one foot on it, skipping little hops as she judged whether the bookcase was going to fall or not.

Realizing that it was unlikely, she lifted her other foot, raising her heels as much as she could while she stretched out her arm, feeling her muscles go numb.

A little more ... just a little more ...

"You remember that your friend Nesta has a mate, right? And that you promised them that you would go to her ceremony?" As soon as she finished the sentence, Gwyn stopped.

Shit.

Seriously, had she forgotten that?

"There is still time… There are five days until the ceremony." The voice tried to calm her down, but nothing was going to do it now.

She jumped down from the shelf, as she began to walk from one place to another, in circles.

She had to go.

She couldn't do that to Nesta.

"I don't even have a dress. What am I going to wear?" Alarmed, she slightly stretched the strands of her coppery hair, thinking of a way to solve all the problems that had suddenly befallen her.

I have to leave the library to go to the mating ceremony.

I have to leave the library to go to the mating ceremony.

The female began to hyperventilate, forgetting the book that she had held less than 3 centimeters from her hands.

That was far more important.

"I can't tell Nesta that I forgot about her mating ceremony. I can't do that to her." Gwyn protested, running her hands over her face, rubbing her temples angrily, forcing herself to search for solutions and solutions and solutions.

But neither of them was going to work.

She had to get out of there, no priestess was going to leave her a suitable dress for the mating ceremony.

But she couldn't go alone. She did not dare to go down to the city alone.

Emerie couldn't help her. It had started the illyrian high-selling season and the illyrian needed the money. She only went to training, then she quickly returned to her store, not staying a minute longer than necessary.

Cassian and Nesta were completely out of the question.

Azriel...

"Ask him." The voice advised.

She needed to name that voice. She could not continue calling it "the voice", that was beginning to be uncomfortable.

"Maybe he can help you get the dress." It continued.

Would it be male or female? Or rather, what the hell was it?

"Are you listening to me?"

She definitely had no idea what it was.

"What are you?" Gwyn questioned, curious as she left the fiction section behind, walking aimlessly through the library.

She loved to wander aimlessly through the thousands of bookshelves, silent priestesses, the whisper of books her only company.

Besides that voice, of course.

"Have you heard anything I've said to you in the last two minutes?" Her voice roared.

"I've heard nonsense, so no, I haven't heard anything." She claimed. "But anyway, you haven't answered my question. What are you?"

"I am everything and I am nothing at the same time."

Now was it was being funny with her?

She rolled her eyes, annoyed "That is not an answer."

"It's an answer if you know how to interpret it." It answered.

She rolled her eyes again.

"Well, at least tell me what I can call you, it's uncomfortable to think of you as 'The voice'" She asked.

The voice fell silent, which she thought meant the end of the conversation.

She decided to head over to her room, assuming she should start Merrill's work, until 'the Voice' answered her.

"Elián"

Gwyn stood in the middle of the bedroom hall

"That is your name?"  She asked.

"My real name would burn your lips if you were able to pronounce it" It replied. "But yes, Elián is my name, and I am 'him', I have noticed how you struggled because you did not know if I was a man or a woman. The definition of gender is much more complicated than that, but it will be enough".

"G-Good." She answered.

Elián was quiet at last, leaving her with her own thoughts, as she opened the door, her own scent of jasmine feeling welcoming.

And the proposal he had made, although obviously she had ignored it, she was not wrong to consider.

Perhaps the Shadowsinger would help her out, aiding her finding a decent dress for her.

She closed the crank behind her, sitting on the small bed, wondering if it would be smart to ask him, risking him saying no, or not asking him and risking not having a dress for the ceremony.

Sighing, she figured she should go to the bathrooms to get the sensation of dust - and the dust itself - off her body, so she grabbed change clothes and headed there, deciding at that moment that tomorrow she would ask the Spymaster if he could accompany her to buy a dress.

Inside her, she could feel Elián nodding his head, giving his approval.

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[mystic-sky]

✨part 1 here ✨

Satoru’s only been in love once. Though it wasn’t with you, it wasn’t long before he met you either. The summer before he graduated high school he fell into a deep infatuation with someone. 

He was always a fast guy, even during his earlier youth- having lost his virginity in his sophomore year. He was a curious one, and he had the looks and the charm to scoop as many women as he chose. But he did give love a try with her. She was spunky, but shy at the same time. Outspoken, and he’d never forget how she kissed him first. She scooped him off his feet, somehow wrapping him around her finger- until she got bored. Gradually, there were no more late night phone calls, no more study dates and sneaking out together. She no longer responded immediately to his text messages, and casually rescheduled plans on short notice. Satoru had never been out right rejected before. But his nonchalant attitude lead him to adapt, and just reciprocate everything she had been doing. 

And in came his ex best friend, Suguru, who he no longer spoke to for external reasons.

He couldn’t go anywhere in school without witnessing or hearing the two laughing amongst one another or watching them hold hands. He felt nauseous every time he saw him wrap his arms around her; her sickening smile and her eyes sparkled just for him.

Senior year felt way too long. In the end, she left the both of them high and dry for an American University after graduation. But Satoru saw it as a lesson of sorts. He didn’t think all women were the same, but he certainly didn’t leave himself open to disappointment after this.

And that’s why he wasn’t the least bit surprised when he saw Suguru pressing his lips to your knuckles in the cafe you both first met in.

“Snake,” Satoru muttered under his breath.

He had no plans to walk inside the establishment at all, until he saw your cheery smile over the head of the brunette on his arm through the window. He shifted his gaze towards the source of your happiness, feeling that same sickening feeling from 3 years prior. 

He needed something sweet to rid the awful taste on his tongue. He took the brunette girl on his arm with him, offering to buy her a sweet drink. She happily obliged, simply ecstatic to be in his highly esteemed presence.

He imagined you didn’t even know who Suguru was, or what kinds of things he was capable of. But who was he to try and inform you? The both of you had split long before, and the last thing he needed was you thinking he actually cared about you. 

But he couldn’t stop looking at you. His heart swelled as he remembered when you both first met. It wasn’t even in lecture the way he had convinced you prior- oh no, long before that. It had been in sophomore year of college, the semester before you signed up for the political science course. 

He saw you in the college office, discussing electives you’d possibly be into with your counselor and one of your friends. He thought you were a cute, timid little thing. He gave himself a project, figuring he’d plant the seed and flirt with you in the near future when he had less women in his current line up. He could tell you were a busy one, rushing out of the office just as quickly as you came in. He didn’t even get a chance to make conversation with you. 

He signed up for a political science class, realizing just how low the probability of him ending up in the same class as you was. One semester later, he remembers chanting God is good as you sit idly in the middle of the lecture room when he arrives. 

The seats around you are taken, and he regrets being late on the first day. At least he had 2 hours to admire you from a distance. 

Your friends had came to get you as soon as class ended, making him miss his opportunity again to talk to you. The week after, you showed up late to class. Satoru being Satoru, it was impossible for him to keep empty seats beside himself due to his popularity. He watched you climb the steps and sit all the way in the back, far behind him. You had stayed to talk with the professor after class as a result. And unfortunately, his entourage of women couldn’t be kept waiting. That week he cut them all off. It was getting too difficult to maintain so many relationships along with his multiple sexual partners.

 A part of him thought having multiple partners and women around just wasn’t worth it. He grew tired of having multiple personalities around him. One sexual partner would be the most convenient. He didn’t even care if people thought he was dating that one specific person- as long as people left him alone. To rid himself of his options when he hadn’t even found a new contender for himself yet is what leeched at his brain. He might of been a bit of a sex addict. But there was also a part of him that was sure you’d be into him. All he had to do was try.

The third week you were absent. He almost lost his shit. He never saw you around campus ever, and he didn’t even know your name. This was getting a bit ridiculous.

Then, seemingly God sent, did he happen upon you in the university’s local cafe. He hadn’t known how long you’d been there since he had been studying himself towards the back.

You had gotten up and had been staring out the glass at the rain. A golden opportunity, he thought.

He packed his things, tossing his bag over his shoulder and umbrella in hand. Smoothly, he stood in the same space by the window. You were dazed, in your own little world, barely noticing his presence. He heard you speak,

“I guess I should sit back down,” you muttered quietly. She’s really not paying me any mind, he thought.

“Man, you don’t have an umbrella? That sucks.” He finally spoke, earning a startled look from you. He continued to stare straightforward towards the window pane. 

“Yeah, I know.” You say, sighing to yourself. He could see the slight blush in your cheeks through the corner of his sunglasses. 

“It says the rain is going to stop within the hour on the weather app.” He said, scrolling and tapping away at his phone. “You goin’ to the train station?”

“Oh, yeah.” You say shyly. He watched you nervously tucked some hair behind your ears before he looked straight ahead at the rain.

He also noticed you couldn’t stop stealing glances at him through the corner of his eye.

“Like what you see?”

You blinked at him repeatedly, earning a cocky chuckle from his end.

“Wanna walk with me?” He asked, peering down at you. He assumed it was too forward because he couldn’t read the look on your face after that. Just a series of blinks and a continuous puzzled stare. 

“I don’t even know you.” You said bluntly, and he felt that you meant it disrespectfully.

“Not yet.” He said slyly. “But I’ve seen you around campus a lot.”

Though that wasn’t true, he couldn’t possible tell you that he had been secretly admiring you every Wednesday for almost three weeks now either.

He watched you put a finger towards your chin before speaking.

“Professor Edamura’s class right?”

“Bingo.” He grinned.

“There’s like 120 people in that lecture.” You only took a guess, considering that was your largest class. 

“Yeah. But I think you’re the cutest.” He could’ve been smoother about it. But he was anxious to make his introduction. Only seeing you on Wednesdays sucked. This way, he could make sure you’d be thinking of him for a little while until you saw him again. 

Whose the mysterious tall guy with the white hair, or at least that’s how he thought you’d be thinking of him in his head.

“Thank you,” you say, squeezing your arms around your book and pressing it towards your chest. 

“Oh look, the rain is stopping.” He says, leaning forward, nose nearly pressing against the glass.

“Well, see you Wednesday.” He smiled a cheeky smile, before walking off. He felt you watching him stride down the street, and that’s how he wanted it to be.

Days later, Satoru was sure to be on time to class. He finally got a chance to sit beside you, offering you a wink and a smile. He could feel how shy you were, choosing not to make much conversation with you during the two hours of lecture. 

Luck was on his side yet again, considering he got paired with you for a group project. He offered to meet at his house, fixing up a group chat for the five of you. The other girls in the group talked over you while you made project plans before class ended. He was highly aware that they were trying their hardest to flirt with him, completely unphased by your presence. He felt bad that he couldn’t even really get close to you without other women somehow ruining things yet again. At least he learned your name and got your phone number. 

The next day, and also the night before the meet up, he texted you privately outside the group chat. 

He remembers checking his phone a few minutes later, seeing you’d left him on read. He realized he probably shouldn’t have been so forward. He chuckled at himself before tossing his phone on the bed and going to sleep.

You arrived somewhat early to his apartment, greeting him quietly before he told you to make yourself comfortable. It didn’t take long for the other three to text the group chat explaining that something had coincidentally came up, leaving you all alone with him. There you sat on the floor of his living room, not looking all that pleased to be in his presence. 

“Guess it’s just the two of us,” he chuckled. 

“Don’t look so happy about it.” He watched you roll your eyes.

“I can’t help it,” he says, sitting across from you on a different floor pillow. “I won’t lie. I had been thinking of asking you on a date. I didn’t think I’d get so lucky.”

“And did you text the other girls in our group the same thing the night before?” You say, nonchalantly opening your book. You didn’t even look his way. Your response threw him off.  Why were you acting like you hated him?

“No, they’re incredibly annoying.” He sighed genuinely, hoping he could change your outlook on him even a little.

“You’re pretty cool though. Kind of bummed you didn’t text me back.” He addressed. It sort of ticked him off that you didn’t respond to him. 

“Because I know what you’re up to.” You say, scribbling away in your notes.

“And what might that be?” He takes off his shades, putting them on the glass coffee table. He loved to play with the girls like this; acting so oblivious to his obvious intentions. 

“I’m not going to fall in love with you. I don’t have time for that.” You firmly set your pencil down, looking at him. He was taken aback. He’s intrigued and wants to poke at you some more.

“I don’t exactly want you to.” He chuckled. You looked at him before speaking again.

“So what do you want from me?” You say, placing your palm in your hand and leaning forward a bit to look at him directly. He thought the way you furrowed your brows at him was precious. He was fully aware you were being serious but he thought you were too cute.

“I said I wanted to take you on a date.” He laughs. “Get to know you a bit, but ultimately take you to bed at the end of the night, if you don’t mind. You can decline, I just wanted to show you a good time.”

Satoru may have been a downright whore up until now, but one thing he did manage to do was not lie to any of the women he dealt with. He never made false promises, and he never ever told women he would eventually commit to them. He hated when people tried to hold him emotionally accountable for things. He was typically clear to everyone about what he wanted from the beginning. Anyone who got their heart broken afterwards couldn’t say shit to him. 

“Sure,” you say calmly, to his surprise. You shift yourself around the table, right beside his body.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” you took hold of his jaw, delicately planting a kiss. He had no idea you were so confident. It had been so long since someone had kissed him first so forwardly and so passionately. For the first time in a long time he was mesmerized, feeling the summer before senior year of high school all over again on his living room floor. Your lips were incredibly soft and pillowy. He was already hard, wondering just what your sex was like if you kissed him like this.

You shifted over his body, straddling him against the bottom of the sofa. You’d give him exactly what he wanted.

“You better be good at this, or don’t even bother looking at me after we finish this project.” You break from his lips. His eyes widened a bit, staring deeply into yours before speaking. 

“Oh princess, I don’t ever disappoint.” He smirked. He lifted both your bodies off the ground. He sucked in your lips, kissing you firmly as he brought you to his bedroom. 

That night, he gave you the best sex of your entire life. He wasn’t lying about not disappointing you.

Sex with you was more than a memorable experience to him. The both of you had formed this bond having had done it so many times in one semester. You never pried or asked him about his personal life. You never hinted at wanting more than what he was already giving you. He would notice when you were stressed and life would occasionally beat you up. He lent you his ear, hoping to ease you the best he could. This kept up for almost a year, and he genuinely thought you’d get tired of the agreement by now. But here you were still, being exactly what he wanted you to be. You never smothered him, and that made him want to spoil you. 

He didn’t know how to communicate that unless it was while he had sex with you. You told him not to buy you gifts. Maybe he could treat you to dinner but you were keen on keeping things minimal. 

The most intimate moment you both had was probably the night before you both had ended it all.

He hadn’t seen you all week, and took you to dinner before bringing you home to bed like he always did. He wanted nothing more than your skin against his own. The warmth you gave him was intoxicating yet somehow endearing. He couldn’t dare fall in love with you, but his sex told you otherwise.

“Fuck, I missed you.”

Your entire head was hot from the whisper he made into your ear. He knew he shouldn’t have said it like that. The way your sweet and dazed eyes looked up at him- he knew it was starting to fuck with you. You let out a moan as he filled you up completely, grinding your sex towards him from underneath.

“It looks like you missed me too,” he chuckled. He could never forget the sounds your slimy cunt made every time he inserted himself into you. He knew you couldn’t lie to him even if you tried— your body wouldn’t let you.

He heard you moan back how much you missed him too, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close. This was getting bad and he knew that. But he never had someone hold him like that before- like they loved him. 

“I know baby,” he placed sweet kisses against your face and neck, “I know.”

This memory echoes in his brain as he watched Suguru play with your fingers at your table. He orders his drink, and the dame beside him is talking a thousand miles per minute but he doesn’t hear thing. He somehow tunes out the entire establishment, only focusing on you and the dark haired bastard right in front of you. 

She moves on quickly, he thought. He was thankful he had his signature dark shades on so he could stare at you as much as he wanted. 

Were you both just talking? Did Suguru establish the same friends with benefits situation with you? Or... was he your boyfriend? 

It felt like it was just yesterday you were telling him how much you missed him, how much you needed him. 

Satoru then remembered the bullshit speech you gave him once about how you didn’t have time to fall in love. 

So what the fuck was this?

He knew he could’ve handled the split so much better. But he was scared. He didn’t trust you. He didn’t want to find out if you were capable of hurting him. Were you that fickle? He knew he was one to talk, but he’d never forget the look you gave him that night- like you were in love with him.

But that was only two months ago. He watched the both of you get up, and pack your things. The nostalgic yet sick feeling from earlier grew tenfold in his stomach as he watched you and Suguru join hands. He watched him press a long sweet kiss against your forehead before tilting your chin up to his gaze. Suguru whispered something to you, obviously making you blush and stare at the floor. He presses another kiss to your forehead before leading you out of the cafe. 

Satoru’s chest felt tight, and he hadn’t felt this way in years. Such a green feeling, but mostly terrified that he might’ve been in love with you. 

Just how was he supposed to get you back?

✨part 3 here ✨

[razorblade180]

Interdimensional Moms: Bonus

Part 4 here<-

After many tears and tissue boxes, all members of team RWBY had finally stopped crying. Blake was the best off with her eyes a little red while Ruby was the complete opposite. The girl’s face was still rather red and her eyes were puffy. She hadn’t even completely stopped sniffling yet; much like tear marked partner. Yang on the other hand rested her head on the table. She had cried hard enough to giver herself a minor headache. She was completely drained.

Yang:Ugh, this blows! I thought this was gonna be a fun learning experience.

Blake:We definitely learned. It just so happens we had to poke at some.... extremely sensitive topics.

Weiss:I’m all for looking inward and self reflection but I’ve had my fill.

Ruby:Same. Should’ve kept the summary light.

Yang:No, I’m glad you got that off your chest. We just need a way to lighten the mood.

Blake:.....I kicked Weiss’s butt in a tournament.

RWY:......What?

Blake:During the time spent training for Salem, another tournament was held between the schools. It had team matches and singles. I kicked Weiss’s butt in my fourth round. It was a good day.

Weiss:How is that lightening mood!?

Blake:Listen, it was a big deal! I never thought I was gonna win the whole tournament but I really wanted to beat you. I love you but your head gets a little big when you’re on a roll for too long; plus I just really didn’t want to lose. I always felt a bit of rivalry between us.

Yang:Hehe, is that you’re way of saying “It would look bad to lose to a Schnee?”

Blake:Well it would!

Ruby:Hehehe.

Yang:Wait, does that mean we went back to school?

Blake:Yeah. It was pretty comforting. There was definitely a lot left to learn.

Yang:Weird. School kinda faded into the background.

Ruby:I went back to school. We all did actually. It was fast tracked by roughly a year but it was fun. We all got to pose in caps and gowns.

Weiss:Damn! I should’ve went back just for that. Unfortunately I was busy making rent and learning how to properly preheat a oven.

Yang:It’s like two buttons.

Weiss:Gas stove, and six years out of date.

Yang:Awww, you had to learn the hard way. I’m surprised and thankful you never left the gas on.

Weiss:There’s an alarm for that. Also I’m not irresponsible! Anyways, I mentioned similar tournaments earlier. I didn’t participate much but enough old videos of me in them were enough for to really light a fire under my kids. For awhile I was a bit concerned that they were just following a trend but they really love it. They used to always go around playing like knights when they were tiny.

Ruby:Carmine was a little different. She definitely always tried doing things I could but nothing got the girl jumping like seeing Yang’s horses or new ballet shoes. There wasn’t a morning when I didn’t hear a vase fall over or seeing her spin like a top. Carmine still hums some old routines when she isn’t paying attention.

Yang:Not too many memories of Yujin when she was pint size. But I do remember that wild child always loved using my bandannas for everything! Napkins, capes, ropes; anything but an actual bandanna. I used to get a bit upset with the napkin one but she’d always look at me with her big eyes and crazy hair. I never stayed mad.

Weiss:Softie.

Yang:She was like a pudgy puff ball! Fat cheeks and wholesome smiles. Ah! So adorable!

Weiss:I used to always have at least one of my kids on my hip when I was out and about. I think the media has a magazine amount of pictures of me at the park kissing my babies. Summer liked tummy rubs. She’d never go to sleep without one. Some nights I’d sing too but start to doze off so Jaune would have to take over.

Yang:*smiles* Speaking of Jaune.....

Ruby:No.

Yang:You don’t even know what I was-

Ruby:Were you about to suggest we compare our Jaune’s in the bedroom?

Yang:*red*......Well not just the bedroom! What’s the harm!? I just wanna know if he’s consistent across the board. No need to get detailed.

Weiss:You really never change no matter the world.

Yang:Can’t change greatness. It shows in any form!

Blake:He’s pretty compliant and accommodating. The benefits of being his first when I had prior knowledge I suppose.

Ruby:Don’t answer!

Blake:Why not? I’m comfortable with it.

Yang:Don’t listen to those two Blake. They’re just a bit more embarrassed since Jaune has literally been their one and only.

Blake:Huh, I never thought about it like that. Jaune would’ve been the first person you two opened up to on such a level; especially Weiss.

Yang:That’s still hilarious. All the protesting and somehow you found yourself stripping for the guy.

Weiss:Shut up! I already know! It was....I.... *blushing* emotions ran really high.

Ruby:An entire mental rollercoaster of thoughts and firsts happening all at once. Anxiety was high.

Yang:Heh, so you could say that Jaune Arc-

RW:Got through our walls. Hardy har har.

Yang:Shit, I am the same in every universe. Well I don’t have any reservations about it! *grinning* He makes me feel special every time!

Blake:Bottom.

Yang:I’m ignoring you.🎶

Ruby:Hehe, sounds about right. He...might make me feel a bit special as well.

Blake:Switch.

Ruby:How can you just guess off of that!?

Blake:It’s a gift.

Weiss:......

Blake:*smiling*

Weiss:Leave me alone.

Blake:I don’t know what has you embarrassed. You told us you’ve slept with everyone here except Ruby! I knew you were repressed but geez.

Weiss:For your information it wasn’t my idea! It was yours!

Blake:Not surprising. Let’s switch the topic. How is this other child of mine? Can’t picture me having a daughter.

Weiss:Veronica is very sensitive. Even if she tries to act like she isn’t. One time when she was tiny, a soccer ball hit her straight in the face and she sprung up saying “I’m fine!” Then you took her behind the bleachers to patch her up; tears all on her face. It both breaks my heart and very adorable to see her act fine while her ears are folded back.

Ruby:Your other son Kovu was a bit of cry baby. Partly my fault. Carmine kept beating him up and making fun of him.

Blake:What!?

Yang:Ha! Wait, that’s my kid too. How the heck!? Are you telling me you raised the rowdy child and I got the baby?

Ruby:Yang you’re a baby. I’m like twice as rowdy compared to you. A nevermore got worked day one at school.

Weiss:She has a point. You cry the most out of any of us.

Yang:Wha- that not- how....shut up! *pouts* I’m not that touchy.

Ruby:Kovu is a sweetie and not a cry baby. Carmine is just a little mean when she tries to care about others. She beat him up in an attempt to make Kovu give up dreaming about being a huntsman. That way he wouldn’t be in such a dangerous job. Reasonable logic but you know, a little over the top. Almost broke his arm. Boy did I chew her out. All it did was make him want to try harder.

Yang:Fantastic. I shouldn’t expect less from my own blood. I bet Yujin would like him. Which reminds me, anybody have kids in relationships?

RWB:We’re working on it.

The three women paused briefly before laughing at their meddling. Yang could only admire and fear her friends.

Yang:Should I be scared for your children?

Blake:Lucas needs someone to break up the routine in his life. I’m not saying he has to date her, but it would put a smile on my face.

Ruby:Carmine takes after me, not really thinking about stuff like relationships much. However, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t at all. Carmine tries her best to not act like she’s a teenaged girl with teenage wishes. But everyone sees right through it. I’m fine with her not being in one but I would like if she acknowledged that it’s okay to just....ugh, be normal! Why can nobody have normal knees in my life!?

Weiss:Nick likes Valerie who tries to deny she likes him by liking Summer, who doesn’t like her; while Veronica crushes on Nick who obviously has conflicting feelings.

RBY.....

Yang:Why is it always complicated with you?

Weiss:How is this my fau- okay it is a little bit.

Blake:Where do you stand?

Weiss:I think Valerie would be lovely for him.

Yang:What’s wrong with my baby girl!?

Blake:Yeah!?

Weiss:One, not yours. Two, have you met who I’m married to? Can’t really say he’s wasting his efforts. Though I wouldn’t be upset with Veronica. I think those two might be good for each other.

Blake:Any other bombshells people got?

Ruby:......

Ruby:Ilia is happily married.*sips coffee*

Blake:Oh that’s wonderful! I’m glad she found a loving wi-

Ruby:*smirks* To Sun.

Blake:....*stands up* I need, champagne!

A bottle of champagne poofs into existence with several glasses. Blake immediately pours everyone a glass before raising hers into the sky.

Blake:Ruby Rose, today you’ve erased guilt upon my conscious. I’m happy there’s one world where it seems all of my good exes get over me.

Ruby:Are the Ilia and Sun where you’re from miserable like Yang!?

Blake:No, but they kinda fumble in actually going for relationships. It just always makes me feel a little bad.

Yang:You can technically count two worlds. I’m fine, Ilia is dating a pretty secretary, and your one evil ex is now raising a morally good family.

Blake:You’re right! This calls for a double toast! To alternate universes! *puts glass down*

Weiss:Haha, aren’t you gonna drink it!?

Blake:No I’m still recovering; but how could I pass up the opportunity!? Man I wish I could attend that wedding! I don’t know if I’d be a bridesmaid or the best man!

Yang:You’re just gonna steal Neptune’s thunder like that?

Blake:Hey, Sun and I have taken bullets for each other and stab wounds. I think I deserve to be a little greedy and say I ride or die for that man just a little harder than Neptune.

Ruby:Geeeeeez Blake! Haha, I didn’t even tell you about the baby.

Blake:*visble excitement* Excuse me!?

RWY:*raises glass* Cheers.

Blake:CHEERS! What’s he like!?

xxxxx

Aero:AAAACHOOOO!

Carmine:Eugh! Cover your mouth! I don’t need to get sick.

Aero:Damn! What happened to uh I don’t know, “bless you!?”

Carmine:*pulls out tissues* Happy?

Aero:Where...why are those in you book bag?

Carmine:It’s flu season.

Aero:....I can’t tell if you’re the coolest person around or just a second mother.

Carmine:I can be both. My mom is arguably both but don’t tell her that. It’ll make her month and she’ll hug me too tight.

Aero:Bitch, you love hugs. Stop being difficult.

Carmine:Mmmm nah.

Aero:I feel bad for your mom.

Carmine:I feel bad for yours.

Aero:Hop off. You’re so childish.

Carmine:And yet you love me.

Aero:*red* In your dreams!

Carmine:It would make your day if I dreamed about you,wouldn’t it?

Aero:I hope you dream of spiders.

Carmine:We do not joke about that! *grabs him* Aero I will beat you up if I dream of them tonight! That’s just mean!

Aero:Stop crying ya baby. I could’ve said they were- ow!

Sun:*hitting him* Shut up and just kiss something! We’re trying to watch a game.

Aero and Carmine:We don’t like each other!

Jaune:With all do respect, that’s a lie. But please by all means Aero, continue not touching my daughter if you know what’s best for you. I don’t wanna have to fight you and your parents right afterwards.

Sun:Ilia would kill you.

Jaune:Yeah! That’s why I don’t want the fight! Much like Ruby, she’s short and terrifying. Her size holds the rage.

Ilia:*peeks in* Who’s talking shit?

JASC:Nobody, we love you!

Ilia:.....Got my eyes on you four. *holds Garnet up* and this one; the most well behaved in this bunch even with no nap.

Garnet:*fussy grumbling* I’m a ball of rage!

Ilia:You wanna nap?

Garnet:Yes!!!

Ilia:See, behaved. *walks away* don’t make me come back out here.

Carmine:....So do you like me because your mother is also imposing?

Aero:This is it, my evil origin story. It begins today.

xxxxx

Ruby:I admire his patience.

[carriagelamp]

Weirdly enough, I often find myself reading less in the summer, since I have more time than I do during the rest of the year to do other things. Also artfight has been eating up more than a bit of my free time! But here’s a collection a graphic novels I sat around on the hammock reading, and some novels I finished up...

(Everyone go read All Systems Red, holy crow guys)

A Whale of the Wild

The “sequel” to A Wolf Called Wander, though it doesn’t actually connect to the previous novel except in the stylistic/thematic sense. A Whale of the Wild is very much a standalone novel. And a pretty decent one! Personally, I think I liked Wolf more, but this one was a pleasant, informative read, with just the right amount of crushing dread sprinkled in. It’s about a young orca called Vega who is learning to become a new wayfinder for her pod but who still has a lot to learn, especially in an ocean that is becoming increasingly hostile to orcas and the other sealife that live alongside humans. When a devastating earthquake hits, Vega and her little brother find themselves separated from their family, lost in a now horrifyingly unfamiliar environment, and fighting starvation as the salmon that sustain them become more and more unreliable. It’s a desperate fight for survival as they search for food and their missing family. This book is written for a middle grade level, and does a really good job of putting the current environmental crisis into an animal’s perspective while giving the readers something to hope for.

The Adventure Zone: The Crystal Kingdom

Every July I eagerly anticipate the next Adventure Zone graphic novel. This one is for their fourth arc, The Crystal Kingdom, in which Magnus, Taako, and Merle respond to a SOS from a floating laboratory that is gradually being consumed by crystals and which threatens the entire world should it fall into the ocean. Carey Pietsch’s art continues to be absolutely fantastic, so beautifully and hilariously expressive, and this one delivers some great Merle moments, lots of Carey Fangbattle, and, of course, Kravtiz. Kravitz, my beloved…

Anyway, I obviously always recommend these. If you’ve never gotten into The Adventure Zone, I totally recommend either trying these graphic novels — or even better, just go listen to the podcast because it really is both hilarious and creates a shockingly good and heart-wrenching story by the end.

All Systems Red

I’ve seen The Murderbot Diaries on my dash occasionally, and it always looked interesting, but a friend’s recommendation finally compelled me to read the first novella of the series. And holy shit y’all. Absolutely the best book I’ve read this month, it’s amazing. Mind-blowingly good. Also, if you’re like me and want a good audiobook, it’s a nice three-hour listen, very chill!

Anyway, All Systems Red is about a Security Unit, an artificially created being that’s part-organic part-mechanical and all-company-owned-and-controlled. However, self-named “Murderbot” has managed to hack into the system that suppresses its own will, and is now coasting along, doing the least amount of work its job requires not to be noticed, while preferring to spend all its time watching the hours and hours of soap operas it has downloaded into its brain. And it’s a tolerable if somewhat dull life, until the science team that it's currently rented to is attacked and the whole mission goes pear-shaped. Suddenly Murderbot has to scramble to keep its humans alive… while its humans scramble with the realization that their “SecUnit” isn’t actually a mindless robot like they had all believed...

This story is both gripping and hilariously funny. Murderbot has such a unique voice and perspective and it’s an absolute pleasure to follow its story. I reallly need to read the next book...

Asterix and the Banquet

A classic. I was startled when I realized I hadn’t actually read this Asterix story… but hell I’m not gonna complain, it lets me read one of the originals for the first time again! In this Asterix volume, the Indomitable Gauls and the Romans end up arranging a bet — the Romans intend to keep them under siege, trapped in their village, while Asterix is confident that he can easily evade them… and will prove it by going on a tour around all of Gaul, collecting iconic foods from each region in order to return and put on a fine banquet. So we get a fantastic adventure in which Asterix and Obelix run all over the country, pursued the whole way, while making cheerful stops at the various eateries along the way. Also the first book Dogmatix shows up in! All around, a wonderful read, fun like all the best Asterix comics are.

Beauty Pop v4

A less impressive graphic novel. The first Beauty Pop is one of my guilty pleasure manga because… it really is pretty stupid but in the best possible ways. I mean, the whole thing is framed around hairstyling battles, like a shojo sports manga without the sports. It’s bonkers. Unfortunately, the series does not really manage to hold up, and it really begins to feel repetitive and dragging as it continues… as a lot of series like this do. *shrug* Unsurprising but still kinda disappointing I suppose. The building three-way romantic tension is mildly interesting if for no other reason than the main character Does Not Notice and Does Not Care about any of it, which is amusing and refreshing.

FRNCK v5

Now this series only gets better and better as it goes. This is the first book of the second arc, and somehow the danger just seems to be ramping up and up and up. The cavefamily have lost their home… as well as Léonard and Gargouille. Heartbroken, shocked, and angry, Franck is the one who ends up shouldering the blame for their presumed deaths as the others mourn. Things only get worse when Franck finds himself separated from the family, and in the territory of another tribe, this one hostile and cannibalistic...

Haikyuu v5

I continue to read this series because it continues to be charming… though it is beginning to feel, maybe, just a little repetitive. Kind of an inevitability with sports manga. But so far it continues to be good enough to overcome that. I’m not sure what I can say about this series that I haven’t already, so I’ll simply say it continues to be one of the most impressive sports manga I’ve read, and the author does a fantastic job of creating engaging characters, fleshed out teams, and really compelling relationships. I do genuinely adore all the main members of Crows, along with a number of characters from the rival teams as well. And of course it has some kickass volleyball scenes that are just drawn so dramatically they can’t help but take your breath away a little.

M*A*S*H Goes To Maine

Meh. The original book of the series was actually quite good in my opinion. This one… considerably less so. The first part I enjoyed more, since it was about Hawkeye, Trapper, Duke, and Oliver Jones trying to set up the FinestKind Clinic and Fishmarket in Crabapple Cove (which… is just the best premise I could have ever asked for). However, the book spends most of its time describing the quirky lives and times of other people living in the area and I… just… don’t care. It was funny at times but… I just don’t care. I wanted to hear more about the main cast. Also I found this book felt more racist and misogynistic than the first which also put me off :/ Wouldn’t bother if I were you. Go read the first book instead, or better yet just watch the TV show which is an obvious banger.

My Heart’s in the Highlands

I have had this on my “currently reading” list for so long but I’m officially giving up. It’s a really good book in theory but my god I can’t get over the pacing.

It’s about Lady Jane, a woman studying medicine in Edinburgh in 1888, and who suddenly finds herself back in the Highlands in the 13th century. Lost and confused, Jane is now at the mercy Clan Donald’s hospitality while she tries to adjust to this new world and hunts for her broken time machine. Fortunately, this hospitality include a burgeoning friendship with a red-haired warrior woman, Ainslie nic Dòmhnaill, who opens Jane’s eyes to the way the world could be.

Listen. It drives me nuts. This book should be completely up my alley, it has everything I like — IT HAS ALL OF ITS HISTORICAL FOOTNOTES CITED AT THE BACK, LITTLE EXTRA DETAILS ABOUT EVERY CHAPTER. THAT’S MY SHIT RIGHT THERE. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LIKE BEING ABLE TO GO OVER HISTORICAL DETAILS?? AND WELL RESEARCHED FOOTNOTES?? And yet it doesn’t. Fucking. Work for me. It has a kickass Scottish warrior lady as a love interest! It has a badass lady doctor! It has fish-out-of-water culture shock! But it also has a completely meandering plot, no sense of building tension, and a romance that just happens out of nowhere and feels completely unearned and uninteresting.

I would genuinely just rather read Outlander again, which I know has its own host of problems, but at least Outlander felt exciting and interesting and tense and funny. The romance built in fits and starts, it was complicated, and kept me interested. That book had me hooked (and has me hooked every time I reread it) whereas this book I’ve been sadly picking at for months like its a plate of overcooked spinach. This felt like an attempt at a queer, historically accurate knockoff which I would normally be super into but which just could not stick the landing.

Moomin on the Riviera

My first time actually reading anything from the Moomin canon. I have zero idea how to feel about it! It certainly is as feral as I’ve heard described! Overall, I think I enjoyed it but it sure made me feel strange emotions I didn’t know existed. I’m not even going to try to describe it. Read it if you want a batshit insane anti-capitalist comic.

Surviving the City

This was good in some areas, less good in others. It had a very interesting indigenous perspective on life in the modern city, the foster system, and The Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women issue, which I’ve never seen handled in a book before. Something about the pacing did not completely click with me and I found myself getting easily distracted, but it’s definitely worth the read just to experience it and look at the issues it deals with through the characters’ (and author’s) eyes. It did give me a lot to think about and wrestle with, which is sometimes the best thing a book can give you.

Torchwood: Pack Animals

A really fun read, more so than I had ever expected! If you like Torchwood and want more stories about the team before everything goes to shit, this is perfect for that. It includes the entire cast, an interest mystery to be unravelled, lots of slavering monsters, Rhys being really wonderful and sweet (which I didn’t know I wanted until I read this book), and all the humour I expect from Torchwood. I had to send a lot of quotes to my long-suffering girlfriend who a) does not watch this show but b) needs to tolerate it because I find it too funny to keep to myself. It was good enough to make me go out another book of the series since this was the only one my library carried.

[vanderlindemorgans]

Cross My Heart (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you’re the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Eventual smut, some references to alcoholism and drug use. Reader is in her late twenties but there is an age gap between her and Whiskey. Chapter specific warnings are as follows - mentions of alcohol, descriptions of blood, Whiskey being a bit of an ass and some brief talk of dead relatives. 

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

You watched him as he settled himself back down into the couch, taking note of every breath he took while he reclined back, refusing to look you straight in the eye. That didn’t bother you too much - you were too busy studying the myriad of bruises and cuts splayed along his body, from the tears and scuffs in his denim jacket to taking note of his perfectly maintained Stetson. How on Earth that thing had managed to escape from whatever situation Jack had gotten himself into unscathed mystified you, but from what you remembered of him you knew he loved that damn hat to death. 

Neither of you had said a word to each other since he stumbled through your front door only moments before, that heightened sense of tension undoubtedly ripe in the air. You thought if you ever saw Jack Daniels face again that you’d have a couple of cutting remarks to say to him - if you ever did think about him that is, and you usually didn’t. Jack hadn’t haunted your thoughts for years now, memories of the summer you two first met and the cold dark of winter when you fell apart falling away to the sands of time. The last thing you ever expected was to have him show up on the front step of your ranch, looking like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life. Gazing over him now, you felt it was somewhat your obligation to make sure he was fine: despite your less than amicable feelings towards him you weren’t about to let him die on your couch. 

“Can I get you anything?” you asked him, a hint of uncertainty to your tone. He turned his gaze towards you and shrugged slightly, looking no less unsettled than he had a moment before. “I’m fine for now. Trust me, it doesn’t hurt as bad as it looks”. 

“You sure about that? No offense, but you kind of look like a wreck” you shot back, to which he replied with a small scoff. “Nice to see you too, sweetheart. I forgot how hospitable you were to those in your care”. 

You could feel a spark of heat rise in your cheeks at his words, and almost wanted to retort back with something equally if not more biting. That fucking bastard. Here he was, lying on your couch looking like he’d walked out of a gang fight and he had the gall to give you attitude. “Alright, ignoring your completely rude and uncalled for attitude for a moment, you still haven’t answered my question. What the fuck did you get yourself into?” you asked.

There was a momentary pause where Jack looked back up at you, an expression of remorse crossing over his face in the brief glance he shot at you. Turning his gaze back down towards the wooden coffee table before him, he shook his head and sighed. “Sorry about that, darlin’.I just...I got myself into a bit of a tight situation. Things have gotten complicated now” he explained, prompting you to raise your brow at him. 

“Yeah, I can see that. Who did this to you?”. 

“Just some other agents. It doesn’t matter” he replied curtly. 

“From where? Statesman?” you asked. After dating him for about a year, you were well aware of his position as an agent to Statesman, and you knew exactly what that job entailed. Jack had been injured before, sometimes worse than how he was now. You remembered once he came back from a mission with several different bones broken, multiple gunshot wounds and a concussion. You’d been left worried for weeks after that as he recovered, only being allowed short visits to see him due to the very nature of his job. This time was different though. You knew Jack was a survivor, but for him to show up out of the blue after several years of no contact, looking the way he did, something was horribly wrong. Studying his expression intensely, you couldn’t help but let out a low sigh in frustration. It annoyed you to some degree of how evasive his answers had been thus far. It was almost like he was ashamed to even say what had happened to him, ashamed to be even talking to you. 

“No, no, they...they weren’t. That’s not important right now though” he finally answered, running the edges of his fingers over his tattered jeans. If it were any other day you would have been more upset at his dismissal of your question but upon seeing the troubled look on his face you felt it best to let it go. An uncomfortable silence had started to hang over the room, the space between you and him feeling more and more tense as the moments ticked by. You looked down at your shoes, taking note of every scuff and streak of mud as if they were the most interesting things in the world, and giving yourself another minute of hesitation before blurting out “Why are you in Dallas?”. 

“It just so happened to be the place the cargo plane I was stowing away on landed. I wasn’t tryin’ to seek you out or anything, if you’ll believe me”. 

His explanation gave cause for you to raise a single brow at him once more, not entirely believing it to be a coincidence that he just happened to show up in Dallas after seven years of radio silence. “Really? Why come here then? Don’t you have your agent buddies to fall back on for shit like this?” you inquired, your tone coming off far more biting and bitter than you originally intended it to. You could see Jack seize up slightly at your callousness, a pained expression passing over his face that made your breath catch in your throat for a second before you darted your eyes away from him, focusing back down to your shoes and deriding yourself for even having a moment of fleeting attraction to him. All these years and those pathetic puppy dog eyes still managed to get to you. Damn him. 

“Usually, yeah. Not this time round though. I’ve…” he stopped himself, his eyes betraying the deep wounded pain woven within them, strengthening every second longer he dwelled on the memory of his former glory. “I’ve been kicked out of Statesman. Or, well, I haven’t officially been kicked but after what happened the other day I’d be a damn fool if I even tried to walk through their doors again”. 

You blinked at him in confusion, his words not fully registering with you. Statesman kicked him out? Him of all people? You briefly considered the possibility that he was simply just pulling your leg and trying to gain some sort of sympathy but upon remembering the pained expression on his face you were instantly told all you needed to know about the truth behind his words. Ok, so he’s not lying, but still...why? “I find it hard to believe that they’d just boot out their best field agent. What did you do to warrant that?”. 

You could see Jack’s mouth twitch slightly, indicating that he wasn’t entirely up for divulging such information. Running a hand through his hair, he trained his eyes to the ground and refused to look up at you as he went on to explain what exactly had gone down to lead him there. “Long story short, I had a disagreement of sorts with a couple of agents from a fellow organisation, and may have gone against Champ’s direct orders in order to hinder them. I guess you could say I went rogue” he elaborated, intentionally trying to keep some of the finer details out. You had half a mind to push for more info, though after another seconds thought you decided against that idea and instead settled for nodding at him semi-sympathetically.  “I see. So...why are you here then?”. 

He didn’t answer you right away, rather finding himself to be staring straight upwards at the wooden beams on the ceiling above. You analysed his expression, trying to find any sort of hint towards what he was thinking. Your eyes kept being drawn back to that dried gash of blood across his cheek, and you winced at the thought of him being in any sort of prolonged pain. Maybe you should have fetched some medical supplies for him after all - knowing Jack and the way he was, he always liked to downplay the dangers associated with his job. Every time he wound up in Statesman’s medical wing needing some sort of bullet taken out of him he never once admitted to ever being in pain. Getting injured was part of the job, he always said, so it wasn’t worth it to worry over him everytime he got hurt in the line of duty. He was an expert at saying he was fine when it was all too clear that everything wasn’t. 

The sound of Jack sighing heavily pulled you from your thoughts, looking up to see him with his head in his hands, practically exhibiting every clear sign of tension in the book. A small part of you wanted to feel sorry for him, for seeing him like this. “Look, I realise this may be too much to ask of you, considering our history, and part of me hates that I have to in the first place but...I have nowhere else to go. I can’t go back home to either New York or Kentucky. I’m not an agent anymore, so I can’t ask any of them for help, and I’m almost a hundred percent sure that I’ve got some sort of bounty on my head now. I’m on the lam as they call it”  he prattled. “I need a place to hide out, to lay low while I sort some shit out”.

The day had already been weird enough already, hearing him ask for your help was only just the cherry on top. Blinking slowly and with your mouth hanging open in utter disbelief, you blurted out “Let me get this straight: you need my help?”.

“Just for a little while, and I promise, sweetheart, as soon as I’m able to I’ll be outta your hair” Jack assured, turning his eyes upwards to you so that you could see his lovely brown eyes, the very same ones that you felt yourself get lost in all those long years ago. “I would never ask this of you unless I had no other choice. You and I both know that”. 

You were at a complete loss for words. Between his tone and those frustratingly sweet eyes of his, you weighed your options carefully on what you should do. Should you let him stay with you? On one hand, with what he’d done to you years ago, something that still left you hurting even now, some part of you felt hostile towards him being around again. You remembered being young and 21, giving your heart out to him and only ever receiving empty promises in the end, leaving you with the painful memory of standing crestfallen on a flight of marbled stairs, on a night that you had sworn was gonna end with a ring ending instead with a shattered heart and never-ending glasses of merlot on your lips. Eventually, you’d learnt to live with the heartache. And pretty soon, for the most part, you’d forgotten. Seeing him there, tonight, in your living room of all places, was starting to bring those feelings back. No matter how hard you tried to stifle them, ignore them and focus on the matter at hand, you still felt the bitterness creep into your tone every time you opened your mouth.

Still, even though Jack had hurt you, you couldn’t just leave him out with nothing. From what he told you, he truly had nowhere else to run. If you threw him out now, he could be dead within hours. The mere thought of that made your heart sting, and despite any bad blood between you two you weren’t heartless, so with a small sigh, you at last settled on the answer you would give to him. “Alright. I’ll let you stay. On one condition though: you gotta help out a little with some of the ranch handling stuff. Once you’re all healed up from your injuries of course” you posited. “And don’t bother trying to butter me up, I’m not enough of an idiot to fall for your charms twice. I’m doing you a favour so it would be in your best interest to avoid pissing me off. You think you can handle that?”. 

He smirked back at you, though it was void of it’s usual playfulness and felt to be more out of sadness than anything resembling his usual jackassery. “You drive a hard bargain, sweetheart, but yeah, of course. I’d be more than happy to help ya out”. 

“Alright. Now…” you nodded at him before turning on your heel in the direction of the kitchen in search of some bandage and gauze for his injuries. “I am going to get you some medical supplies because even though you said you’re fine you clearly aren’t, and I’m not about to have you dropping dead in my goddamn living room. The blood would get all over the carpet and I ain’t lookin’ to pay to get it cleaned” you announced, dropping down to your knees and rifling through one of the lower kitchen cabinets for all the necessary items. 

You could hear him chuckle from the living room, imagining him to be wearing a more toned down version of that charming grin he always seemed to have on him. “Ah, you wound me, my dear girl. Where are your folks?”. 

His question made your heart seize in your chest, your hands grasped around the roll of bandage and bottle of antiseptic you’d scrounged out from the back of the cupboard. Rising to your feet, you stuttered on your words as you led yourself back into the living room with an arm full of different medical equipment. “They...they died a couple of years ago. It’s been just me for awhile” you answered back, doing your best to ignore the look of surprise that spread across Jack’s face. “I’m sorry to hear that, darlin’”.

Tearing off a strip of bandage, you motioned for him to give you his arm so that you could begin tending to some of the deeper cuts on him. “It’s ok. Well, not ok, really, but what can you do?” you murmured, brushing the length of his torn denim jacket out of the way and pressing down a dash of cold antiseptic cream across one of his cuts, watching as how he winced slightly from the sting. “Life goes on. It has to, or else you get left frozen”. Shaking your head, you began to tie the strip of fabric around his forearm, eager to get off the topic of your deceased loved ones as soon as possible. “I’ll put you up in the guest room upstairs. Don’t go through any of the shit in the cupboards, ok? It’s private stuff”. 

“I would never dream of doing so, sugar”.

“Good. Lucky for you, none of these gashes seem too bad so they’ll most likely heal within a couple of days. I’ll just put a bit of adhesive over that awful one you got across your cheek and you’ll be right as rain in no time” you said, popping open the box of adhesive bandages. 

Jack smiled at you, albeit weakly as you smoothed the bandage over his cheek. “Thank you for doing this for me. I mean it. Honestly, I didn’t think you were even gonna let me stay here”. 

You shot him an odd look at that comment, leaning back down to pick up the various bits of first aid paraphernalia off the floor to deposit back onto the coffee table. “What do you take me for, Jack? I ain’t a cold hearted bitch. I hate you for what you did but I don’t want you to die or anything” you quipped, staring at him straight in the eyes as you said those words. Not allowing him a second to respond, you turned away and began to walk off towards the stairs, starting to feel the exhaustion of the day sink in once again when you placed your foot on the first rung.“You’re all good to go. I’d say go upstairs and get some rest, lord knows that’s what I’ll be doing. If you need anything give me a shout ok?”. 

He nodded back at you wordlessly, abruptly turning away afterwards the lean against the couch with his back turned to you, lost back in his own thoughts. You allowed your gaze to linger on him for a moment longer then dragged yourself up the stairs and towards your bedroom, flicking off the hallway lights as you went. In an instant after you heard the click of your bedroom door shut behind you, you allowed yourself to groan out in agony at your entire predicament. So, your ex-boyfriend is on the run and hiding out in your house. This could prove to be interesting...

[kiara-carrera]

permanent ink

note: this is set the day after this drabble i did, but also set in that quick little sad montage in s2e1 when jj gives himself a stick and poke. this is probably gonna be reworked once i actually get to season 2 just for any context issues i run into later on, but the bulk of this is canon for them, my tiny lil babies. none of this is really season 2 spoilers tbfh, but also just know this is set in s2e1. also v unedited.

pairing: leah thompson x jj maybank

cruel summer, season two

When Leah woke up, it was to the sounds of chickens clucking somewhere in the distance and to the dull throbbing of her side against an uncomfortable surface. Even before she could adjust to being awake, even before her eyes could flutter open to assess her surroundings, there was no doubt in her mind that she was at the Chateau, on John’s uncomfortable ass pullout couch.

And then there was that pang in her chest at the thought of even just his name. None of this was right. None of it made sense. It seemed as if everyone around her had just accepted the fact that the Phantom had gone down and wrecked, that John B and Sarah had been lost to the sea. That they weren’t just gone for a bit of time, but forever. 

And yet something in her just wouldn’t let the information click, wouldn’t let the all too apparent truth win the battle with the denial warring through her mind. Grief was something that Leah was slowly realizing she wasn’t capable of stomaching, her brain reverting back to the denial stage like a broken record.

It didn’t make sense. The truth was too much to handle, too much to rationalize. To Leah, it didn’t make sense that the same fate that had befell the father had occurred again for the son, like some sick and twisted tragedy. These were the things that existed only the the thoughts that she shoved down and down, deep where she hoped they would never resurface.

They always did.

She let a groan escape her, an annoyed and frustrated little noise, as she rolled onto her back, eyes still squeezed shut as she considered praying to a god she didn’t believe in to let sleep take her. If not for refuge from all thoughts of John Booker Routledge for another moment, but to get away from the sounds of those fucking chickens.

“Sleeping Beauty finally awakes,” someone said from beside her, a snarky yet somewhat joking tone laced into the words.

Her eyes snapped open as she flailed a bit against the couch, heart jolting in her chest. She managed to sit up a bit before her eyes landed on the source of the voice. A somewhat amused JJ was sitting across the room, legs crossed and his foot in his lap, a pencil dangling precariously from his fingers. 

Memories of the night before slowly came crawling through her mind, sitting on the dock, silent tears streaming down her face under JJ’s arm. They’d sat there until at least two am, mostly in silence while passing a beer between them. She wasn’t sure what had happened after they came back in the house, laying back on John B’s couch the last thing she could remember before she must have fell asleep.

“Jesus Christ, JJ,” Leah breathed out, hand running over her face, her heart galloping in her chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

JJ snorted. “Geez, good morning to you too, sunshine.”

“Fuck off,” she groaned, letting herself flop back onto the couch. She could hear him laughing as she pulled the pillow out from under her head to shove it over her face — it was way too fucking early to be dealing with this.

Look, she wasn’t saying that being around her best friend was awkward, because it wasn’t. At least, she was doing her best to make sure it wasn’t. But there was always that little nudge at the back of her mind, always trying to get her to work through whatever the fuck she was feeling, because it sure as hell wasn’t normal friendship shit.

She spent an inordinate amount of time trying to convince herself that nothing had changed, another round of denial in her life, but really, what was she going to do? Have feelings for JJ? Her best friend? And do what with that, exactly? Dig herself into a friendship ruining hole? Tell him? Hope he’d, in some fucking weird twist of fate, feel the same? The same JJ who’d never had an actual relationship and flirted with basically anyone, including her, even though with her it was always jokey?

Yeah, fuck that.

But that didn’t make this any less awkward in her mind. Last night had been a bit easier, despite the influx of grieving, but she’d been able to ignore that and just be with JJ without wanting to completely bury herself in a hole and never come out.

And there was also the fact that she told him she’d go to Yucátan with him, that she’d pretty much go anywhere with him, regardless of anything. Yeah, that wasn’t something they were skirting around lately. Well, she figured they’d be if she had completely just left that conversation in the back of her mind. 

And it was clear he’d more than likely taken it as a friendly yeah, I’m totally down for just fucking leaving my entire life to go somewhere with you thing considering he hadn’t brought it up once. Which was kind of shocking because while some people tended to write him off as an idiot, he was oddly perceptive when he needed to be. And yet somehow he hadn’t noticed her speech leaned more on the side of weird, cringey, cliche teen rom-com movie bullshit rather than friendship.

God, she hated her brain.

Leah let out another groan, deciding to take initiative to not be a complete fucking weirdo around JJ because fuck, they all needed to stick together now more than ever, and so she promptly chucked the pillow off of her.

Normal, she could do that. And then she truly focused on him as she turned onto her side again, picking up on how he’d fallen silent. The pencil was now held tightly between his fingers, a crease between his eyebrows that was born of pure concentration as he poked at the skin of his lower calf with the needle he’d fastened to the writing utensil.

Oh, great, he’d set up an impromptu tattoo parlor while she was sleeping, that wasn’t concerning at all. And — was he wearing fucking overalls?

Christ, of course he looked good in overalls. Just fucking spectacular. 

“Stare any harder and I’m gonna start charging you by the minute, Lee Lee.”

Leah’s eyes snapped up to meet his once again amused expression, not having noticed how her gaze had seemingly just zoned out at the sight of him. She could feel heat coursing up the back of her neck at the embarrassment at being caught, not even caring at the use of that god awful nickname 

“Nice overalls,” she told him, sarcasm all over her tone. Inside, she was cringing. Nice job, Leah, draw attention to another thing you don’t want to think about, fucking brilliant job, she thought to herself, but her mouth was already going again before she could just, y’know, shut the fuck up. “Is there a barn raising I don’t know about?”

JJ narrowed his eyes at her, playfully brandishing his pencil at her. “For all you know these overalls could have gotten me the best handy of my life once.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her, rolling her eyes at his cocky grin. “Please, no one gets laid wearing overalls. And what the fuck are you even doing right now?”

“Stick and poke,” JJ said matter-of-factly, raising his eyebrows before promptly sticking himself again as if to prove his point. He barely so much as hissed at the stab of needle, tugging his teeth between his lips for a moment as he focused back in on his work. “Kie showed me how to do it.”

“Please tell me you at least sterilized the needle.”

Not even looking up from his leg, he gestured the pencil in the direction of the table beside him. “What do you think the lighter is for?”

Sure enough, his light was discarded beside him. That didn’t do much to make her feel better, though, and she raised an eyebrow at him. “Considering it’s you? Anything from smoking a J to arson, probably.”

“Haha, real funny, Lee,” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes as he continued to stab at his skin. JJ was silent for a moment before asking, “Want one when I’m done?”

If you had told her she’d be waking up to her best friend wearing overalls and offering to give her a tattoo in John B’s living room, she probably would have just stayed asleep. She wasn’t really sure how to tell him she didn’t exactly trust him to stab her multiple times with a questionable looking needle ... and dear God, she didn’t even want to consider what he was possibly using as ink. So she opted to go for the slightly less scathing remark.

Leah sat up a bit, supporting herself on her elbows. “Do you have another needle?”

“Uh...” JJ paused, glancing around the table. “That’s a negative.”

“Then at the risk of getting an infection, I’m gonna pass.”

“I could just do the lighter thing again,” he offered.

Leah sighed, running a hand through her hair as she sat up fully, legs swinging to hang off the edge of the couch. “J, I’m gonna be honest, I don’t even know if I trust that you sterilized it right the first time.”

“Ye of little faith,” JJ cried out in offense, once again brandishing his pencil at her. He jokingly narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re wounding me here, Lee. Total lack of respect.”

“I’m sure your big ass ego will get over it,” Leah retorted, shaking her head at him with a laugh.

They lapsed into silence again, JJ continuing to prick his calf with a steady hand and an oddly intense air of concentration. Leah reverted back to just watching him quietly, resting her elbows on her knees and dropping her head into her waiting hands. This was probably the most still she’d ever seen him as long as she’d known him, bar when he was passed out asleep.

Compared to last night, the JJ she was seeing now was doing a pretty bang up job at holding it together. Or, at least, pretending that he was. They hadn’t said a whole ton last night, but Leah knew as well as she knew the sky was blue that JJ wasn’t doing okay. 

The open (and most likely empty) can of beer on the table beside him only solidified that thought.

She wanted to comment that giving yourself a tattoo after drinking was very much not recommended, a know-it-all tone ready to join the factoid on her tongue, but she wasn’t sure how many buttons she’d be able to push before it’d turn into an actual argument.

And fuck, if there was one person she didn’t want to be on the outs with any time soon, it was him.

So instead, she kept her mouth shut, letting her eyes trail across his furrowed brow and the tongue poking out from between his lips in thought. From where she sat, she couldn’t see what he was etching into his skin and while she wasn’t really supporting the impromptu DIY tat, the suspense was starting gnaw at her insides.

Before she even realized what she was doing, she was up and crossing the room. JJ didn’t even bother looking up as she approached him, his attention only being hooked when Leah pushed a few of the things on the table aside before boosting herself up to sit on it.

He looked between her and the table a few times, before a laugh escaped him. “Sure, just make yourself at home, why don’t ya? You’re lucky I’m done,” he told her, setting his pencil on a bit of the table not occupied by her.

She shrugged, taking the opportunity to look down at his skin. Turning her head to the side so that she was actually viewing the tattoo the right way, she couldn’t help but feel a tug in her chest once it clicked for her.

P4L was scribbled into the skin in JJ’s all too familiar handwriting, thin and somewhat crooked lines formed into a tiny brand of Pogue status. More than that, it was a sign of friendship, of family. In a world of haves and have nots, they had each other. 

A soft smile pulled at her lips, corners turning upward as she looked at it with an equally soft gaze. “It looks good.”

JJ flashed a weak smile. He cleared his throat and the words he spoke were joking, a clear shift for the conversation to go somewhere less somber, less intense. “You jealous you’re not a true Pogue, Lee?”

Leah’s brow knitted together in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“No tattoo, fake Pogue.”

“I don’t remember that in the Pogue friendship rulebook.”

“Just added it,” JJ shot back, a smug little look in his eyes.

She couldn’t help but snort. “Great, I’ll be sure to tell Pope about the new mandate so he can promptly shit his pants at the thought of getting a tattoo with a needle duct taped to a pencil.”

“Nah, Pope’s got guts,” JJ countered but all it took was one raised eyebrow from Leah for his statement to fold like a cheap suit. “Okay, yeah, he’d freak.”

“Ya think?” Leah asked with a laugh, her eyes bright with amusement. She took another glance at his new tattoo. “It really does look good, though. If I actually trusted you to permanently alter my body with a needle, I might’ve reconsidered.”

She expected JJ to scoff and go on another rant of how she was insulting his honor or something, but all she was met with was JJ staring intently at her, lost in thought as he mulled something over. That creeping feeling filled her chest as he looked her over and she had about nine thousand guesses for what could possibly be going through his head as she grew a bit nervous under his gaze.

None of those things were JJ going, “Got an idea,” while reaching around her for something on the table.

She watched on in quiet confusion as he retrieved a Sharpie from behind her, waving it around a bit like he’d just won a prize. There was a devilish grin on his lips as his eyes trailed over her before zeroing in on her arm. JJ didn’t bother with niceties as he pulled her arm from her lap, tugging it towards him and flipping it palm side up.

“What are you ... ?” Leah asked, trailing off as she let him all but manhandle her arm.

“Shh, genius at work,” he told her, pointing yet another writing utensil at her in a mock threat. He took her wrist in his hand, using the other one to push up the array of beaded and string bracelets crowding her arm. 

Pulling the Sharpie’s cap off with his teeth and spitting it out to the side, JJ’s brow furrowed in concentration as he put the marker to her skin, leaving black ink in his wake. Leah already knew what he’d be writing, but still she found herself watching intently as his chicken scratch scribbled across her skin, as if he’d suddenly depart from being sentimental and draw a dick on her arm or something.

He pulled back after a moment, gently rubbing his thumb just under his masterpiece, and he grinned at her, the first real smile she’d seen from him in days. It reached his eyes, the blue of them clear and bright and just ... happy. He looked happy, even if this exchange would only last for another few moments, and it made Leah’s heart do a funny little flip in her chest.

At the risk of making eye contact with her best friend for longer than necessary, the kind of extended look that would risk awkwardness and things Leah was far too sober to think about, she averted her gaze.

Written in what honestly looked like some of JJ’s best handwriting, P4L inked her skin, a small and semi permanent declaration of her Pogue status. A tiny laugh escaped her, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she looked it over.

“There, now we match,” JJ told her. 

She looked back up, eyes locking with his. Dimples showing, JJ was still giving her that smile, that goddamn smile that only ever worked to make hers grow wider. The same smile that had, as of late, made her feel slightly dizzy, like her once perfectly structured world had gone just a hair off-kilter and metamorphosed into something else. And it wasn’t helped by the fact that, though there was no reason for it, he was still holding onto her wrist, callused fingers hot against her skin.

Her heart did that funny little flip again, just once more with feeling. Leah out a breath, nodding just a bit. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

[lovelyirony]

strawberries & cigarettes by troye whatshisface but it's winteriron (idk if this is a prompt or just a statement you can take it as either)

Bucky doesn’t like the fact that he’s going to a stupid fucking private school. He doesn’t like that this is his mother’s sacrifice, that she stays up late with the bills and works another job so that he can go there and make a living. 

He doesn’t even know what he wants to do in life, that’s the thing. Mom thinks that he’s going to be a really good businessman and she doesn’t know that he smokes outside his window and sometimes just doesn’t retain any sort of information at school because he has to be good. 

“I sacrifice so much for you,” she tells him one night. “You need to make a good living for yourself. Promise me.” 

And he does. Hell if he knows how he’s going to keep it, but that’s the promise. 

- 

The one kid that he absolutely hates at school is Tony Stark. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth and a whole silverware drawer at the ready in case he doesn’t like the spoon. 

Tony’s kind of wealth is the kind that is so astronomically high that at some point you have to wonder what it means to him. Because it doesn’t seem to mean anything. 

He shows up in the shittiest sneakers he’s ever seen, held together with tape and drawn on by someone else. His hair is never styled, his uniform is never washed, and yet he just exudes that kind of confidence that comes with knowing that your life is better than anyone else’s, kind of. 

He’s also an ass in class. Correcting teachers, derailing the topic, and acting like it all is beneath him. 

They say he’s a genius, going to take over his father’s company. He has his future set in stone, and so there’s nothing else for him to learn. Bucky’s not really sure if he’s a genius or not, because he’s pretty sure a genius could figure out when to leave shit alone. 

Everyone at St. Anthony’s knows that Bucky is an individual who does well on his own. At most, you say hello and move on. He doesn’t talk to anyone, he makes sure he doesn’t look like he talks to anyone, and he’s said multiple times that he doesn’t want to talk to anyone. 

Tony Stark, however, talks. Doesn’t matter what the subject is, he talks. 

Bucky gets nicknames. Because of his...frigid demeanor, this means that Tony calls him shit like “Ice Pop,” “Icicle,” “Mr. Freeze,” and any other nickname that’s applicable to cold. 

“Hey Snowball,” Tony says in class. “You finished with your presentation for English class? Mine still sucks, although I’m sure it’ll be better than Hammer’s.” 

“That’s not saying a lot,” Bucky mutters. “At all. Now shut up. It’s class.” 

“We all know it’s going to be boring,” Tony says. “Sitwell has the personality of a tumbleweed, and you’re so much more interesting to talk to.” 

Bucky doesn’t respond to that. 

“Ah, so we’re at the no-talking stage, darling. I’ll make it up to you. Ice cream? Dinner? Elaborate cruise trip in summer?” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, and Tony quiets for roll call, but says one last comment. 

“I think I’m going to do the presentation in Comic Sans. Thoughts?” 

“I wish you didn’t have thoughts, then maybe you’d leave me alone.” 

Tony laughs. 

“You’re cute, Barnes. Cute. You know I don’t leave anyone alone.” 

- 

There’s a bad day. Bucky gets those sometimes. Every day of his life is a bad day, almost, but this one? The absolute worst. 

He had nightmares, barely got any sleep, and found out that his little sister used up the last of his shampoo, so he had to use his mom’s and now he smells like “Strawberry Paradise.” 

He hates the day, and it’s not even eight o’clock yet. 

Tony Stark, of course, makes it worse. He talks incessantly about something related to robotics or the weather or music or whatever, and Bucky just sees red. 

"Can you shut up for one fucking second of your life?” he hisses at him. “Oh my fucking god, it doesn’t matter. Nothing you say matters at all to me.” 

- 

Tony’s heard a lot of shit like that. Like, a lot. Probably worse. 

But for some reason, it’s hurting more coming from Bucky Barnes. 

Tony doesn’t shut up. He knows that. Everyone knows that. He has legitimately given people headaches. His dad has timed his talking and limited him to about two minutes. It would’ve been even less, but at family therapy they’re trying to work on “empathy for others.” 

(A crock of bullshit, because Tony’s fairly sure his dad doesn’t know what that is.) 

Bucky’s...he’s different. Sure, he hates Tony. Everyone does, and to be completely frank, Tony likes it that way. You know where you stand, how you can be interpreted if people only feel one thing about you. 

But Bucky is perhaps the only interesting person Tony knows at this hellhole of a school. He works really hard on his assignments, has more to work on than other kids. He looks frustrated at math equations, but stays and pores over textbooks after school. 

He brings a peanut butter and jelly sandwich every single day. Tony thinks the last time he had one was at a birthday party when he was twelve, and even then it wasn’t really a sandwich but more of a deconstructed concept thing that probably cost two hundred bucks a plate. 

- 

Now that Tony’s ruminating on it, it’s probably because no one has exactly told him that what he says doesn’t matter. They just say they don’t wanna hear about it. The two concepts are honestly very different. Tony has a sneaking suspicion that he is going to go into a tailspin about this on a Thursday night at two in the morning. 

Ha. On a Thursday night at two in the morning. What odd phrasing that is, why is that so weird? It’s night, but it’s morning and you’re supposed to be asleep but morning is a wake-up time, so--

Oh, there’s the meaning. 

Why would you discuss a night and a morning? Why does it matter? On a Thursday? 

Tony wonders how much shit he’s said that just ultimately doesn’t matter. 

This gets him thinking about how much nothing in his life matters. Don’t get him wrong, he knew it. 

Knew it in the way everyone tells him he’ll be the next Howard Stark. 

Knows it in the way that his own father isn’t exactly all too fond of him and Tony has a problem looking at anything with dear old Captain America because of comparisons that his father makes and honestly he probably almost named Tony “Steve.” 

Could you imagine him having the name of Steve? God, he’d barf. 

- 

For some reason, this is the worst he’s ever felt. Sure his father hates him and his mother could be considered an absentee at best, but what gets him to cry into his pillow and rethink his entire existence is a guy who has eye circles darker than anyone else’s and thinks that wearing any bright color is “branching out into alternative fashion.” 

God, he wishes he had a break. 

Nothing you say matters to me. 

This is the phrase that gets him. Tony is pretty sure it’s because it’s what everyone thinks. 

- 

Ever since then, Tony doesn’t talk to Bucky. Ever. 

And that’s...that’s weird to Bucky. It was routine. Tony annoys him, he snaps a bit, and then it starts all over. 

Tony looks at him, sometimes. As if he’s some sort of impossible problem he can’t figure out. 

When Bucky actually thinks about it, Tony hasn’t really talked to anyone. He’s still himself, which is irritating, but he’s not talking about anything and everything and filling up space. 

It’s...odd. 

He feels a little bit bad because what he said was super shitty and he shouldn’t have said it, but now it’s too late to just kind of awkwardly apologize, and Bucky’s already shit at apologizing anyway. 

- 

Summer arrives with a bang. School is let out ,and in comes the ninety-degree-days that melt your damn head off. Bucky’s apartment doesn’t have AC, so their windows are permanently open and fans are blasting as they swear they’re melting. 

Bucky needs a job. Preferably one with air conditioning. 

He finds one as a driver. Rich people hate taxis, it’s a huge health hazard or whatever they wanna say. He’s not gonna ask. But a nice man named Edwin hands him keys to a damn Cadillac and tells him not to drive too close to the other cars and be careful, because he wasn’t supposed to start the job quite yet, but “something came up.” 

- 

Tony fucking Stark. That’s who he’s fucking driving. 

“Oh my god,” Bucky groans. He sees Tony get into the car. 

“Hey, Jarvis told me I had a new driver, it’s really nice to--oh my fucking god.” 

“Where are you driving to.” 

“Queens.” 

“Queens, seriously?” 

Queens isn’t the type of place for someone like Stark to go to. He’s supposed to say Saks Fifth Avenue or Gucci or wherever the hell rich people go when they’re not vacationing in Europe or elsewhere. Not Queens. Especially not Queens. 

“It doesn’t matter where I’m going so long as you know where to drive,” Tony says. 

“Sheesh. Okay.” 

The rest of the drive is silent. It’s not like Bucky can do small-talk. Jesus, he’d rather take his other arm off than do that. 

And Tony, obviously, is not going to say anything. Not after hearing that stellar set of remarks from school. 

It’s a school. There are kids out front, who practically swarm the vehicle. 

“Should I be concerned?” 

“No, they do this every week. If you drive the car back home, Jarvis will explain more. You were kind of an ‘on the spot’ hire for us.” 

“Got it.” 

- 

Jarvis is a kindly old man who Bucky would trust with his Social Security number. 

He is also extremely loyal to Tony, at least. 

“He helps out with some after-school program at one of the local schools,” Jarvis says, smiling softly. “Has a spot in his heart for the children.” 

“What’s he do?” 

“Oh, helps them with schoolwork. I think he does some improvement type jobs around there, but he won’t let us know. Secretive, that one.” 

Bucky sips his tea and doesn’t say anything about how Tony once told everyone in the class that he was wearing neon yellow boxers and they were the comfiest damn boxers he had. It’s just not pertinent to this conversation. 

“You know him, Mr. Barnes?” 

“Um, yeah. We go to school together. I’ve seen him around.” 

“He’s a good student. Always getting straight A’s. Doesn’t always seem like it, but he listens well. Just has a different method.” 

“That’s for sure.” 

- 

For the next two weeks, it’s silence. Always. Bucky will turn on the radio and that’s it. The only thing that Tony has said is to “please change the channel to literally anything” when Belinda Carlisle’s infamously terrible “Heaven is a Place on Earth” came on. 

And that’s it. Seriously. 

When it is two weeks and four days, Bucky can’t take it anymore. 

“Look. I have this job for at least two more months. I’m talking to you. So tell me what you’re doing today.” 

“Teaching.” 

“Wow, way to be descriptive,” Bucky says sarcastically. 

Tony knows he shouldn’t throw it back in his face. But honestly, truly, this is pissing him off. 

“Oh I’m sorry, does what I say matter to you now? Is that what this is?” 

“Oh come on. That was months ago.” 

"Not the point!” Tony says. “I’m getting out now. Feel free to pick me up or not. I don’t give a fuck. But don’t you pretend for a damn minute that you give a shit about my reaction since you’ve already made your point.” 

The car door is slammed. 

Bucky is in somewhat of a pickle. 

- 

Sam tells him that he’s, quote, “the stupidest motherfucker on the planet.” 

And then hangs up. 

thank you for being such a good friend sam. really appreciate it. 

aw look at the little bitch boy mad because i called him stupid. shut up i’m on a date and don’t care once about you. at all. 

i think what i really like about our friendship is how open and empathetic you are to my feelings 

do you know how unattractive you are? on a scale of one to ten? prussia.  

you can’t count now? 

no i can count i’m just saying you shouldn’t exist. 

god i hate you. i’ll talk to you next month

(Yes, they have a time limit to texts. Once a month. And Bucky used his to try to get advice like an idiot. He should’ve just asked Steve. Steve probably would’ve sent him money for a milkshake.) 

- 

Sharon, upon reading his text, sends him back one message: 

so i read this but i’m not emotionally invested. can u make a playlist and send it to me? 

oh my god. you have got to be kidding me. 

i’m not. i told you that u need to b more creative in life. b spontaneous!!! 

He leaves her on read after that. 

- 

Bucky has to figure out how to apologize. Genuinely. Because nothing’s worse than having an apology made but knowing that the person isn’t really meaning it, they’re only saying it to make people more comfortable. 

(He wonders how many times someone’s apologized to Tony because of this reason.) 

He’s not exactly sure how to go about apologizing. 

But he figures it’s sooner rather than later, so he takes the subway to Manhattan and then gets a bike (that’s not exactly his, but he’s bringing it back) and starts the trek to the mansion. It’s a good and solid thirty minute bike ride. 

- 

Tony is having a rather uncomfortable family birthday dinner. Howard’s, to be specific. He’s not sure why they didn’t just go out, but maybe his father is tired of acting like a happy family in public. God knows Tony is. 

(“What’s your favorite thing about your son?” An interviewer had asked cheerily, blush lipstick stretching widely as she smiled. 

“Well, it’s certainly not his sense of style,” Howard had joked. 

He didn’t know what his favorite thing about his son was. He couldn’t answer the fucking question.) 

Jarvis mentions that “Sir Anthony” has a visitor at the door. 

“Are you serious, kid?” Howard says, hissing. “You told someone to come over? During a family event?” 

"No, of course not,” Tony says hurriedly. He doesn’t have anyone over to the house period. Too much risk, not enough payoff. There was also the fact that the house is basically like a mausoleum because both of his parents would rather be caught dead than spend time in one another’s company anymore. 

“I’ll go...I’ll go check who it is.” 

- 

Bucky. Fucking. Barnes. 

“What are you doing here?” Tony hisses. 

“I came to apologize.” 

“For what?” 

“For telling you that your words don’t matter?” Bucky says, more of a question. “I don’t know what else I would apologize for. Maybe for mean-mugging you. I don’t know.” 

“Why?” Tony asks, tiredly. “Why would you apologize for that?” 

“Because it’s obviously affecting you and also I know I was in the wrong? That’s why people apologize?” Bucky answers. “What I did was shitty. What you say matters, I was just having a shitty day and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It obviously stuck with you a lot longer than I thought it would. So now I’m apologizing.” 

No one besides Jarvis has ever apologized to Tony. Ever. Not in a genuine way. 

“Did you...did you bike here? You have a bike?” 

“What? No.” 

“You walked here?” Tony asks, incredulous. 

“Of course not, then I’d be arriving, like, an hour later. No, the bike isn’t mine.” 

“Who’s is it?” 

“I don’t know, some hipster’s from Brooklyn.” 

“You stole a bike?” 

“The circumstances weren’t ideal, but I don’t have a car to drive to your freakishly large house,” Bucky said bluntly. 

Tony grins. 

“Well then, Buckster, welcome. Let me give you a ride home.” 

He pokes his head into the dining room, where the plates are already being cleared. 

“Hey, I gotta give my friend a ride home. Car broke down a couple miles from here.” 

“Why don’t you just fix it?” Howard asks. “You’re a Stark.” 

“A Stark who would need to order a part for a 1980 Ford Crown Victoria.” 

“Tell him to get a better car.” 

“Sure, pops.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Alright, Dear Father of Mine.” 

“Just go, damn it!” 

- 

Bucky is led to a garage full of luxury cars that probably cost more than his whole block put together. 

“Which one you wanna go in?” 

“Am I allowed in one of these? Holy fuck these are nice.” 

Tony grins. 

“Best part about having a car is driving it. Choose one.” 

Bucky chooses a bright red car, a smooth Cadillac. 

“Holy hell, this is cool.” 

Tony drives. 

He’s a good driver once you get past the fact that you will fear for your life for at least twenty minutes. He is also notoriously terrible in the city traffic, yelling at drivers and pedestrians alike. 

“How are you still alive with the way you drive?” Bucky asks. 

“We made it, didn’t we?” Tony asks, grinning. “Now go return your bike and don’t try to walk to my house again.” 

“See you tomorrow?” 

“Naturally.” 

- 

Tony talks a lot. But Bucky finds himself listening. It still takes a while, but he talks. 

Tony really is smart. His mind just works quickly, and that’s why at school he never really seems to absorb anything. 

Bucky tells him about his neighborhood and how much he hates his neighbor because she keeps blasting music at one in the morning. 

“So? Blast it in the morning,” Tony says. “That’s what I’d do.” 

“Ma would say no.” 

“Then don’t tell her!” 

- 

When it all changes, it’s when Bucky picks him up from a gala. He gets the following text: 

pls come pick me up!! please! i’m begging! 

It’s eleven at night, but Bucky sighs and goes to get the car and goes to pick him up. 

Tony’s swaying outside. Bucky gets out, getting a pack of Marlboro out of his jacket. 

“Shouldn’t smoke,” Tony says. 

“You drunk?” 

“No, can’t risk it when Howard and Maria aren’t here--mom and dad.” 

He almost never calls his parents mom and dad. Ever. Only in public settings. 

Bucky lights up anyway. Tony stares at the orange embers flaring up. 

“Why did you need a ride?” 

“Kind of avoiding an old...enemy. Slash ex-boyfriend.” 

“The worst kind of enemy to have. He trying to talk to you?” 

“It’s been an all-night event, so--” 

The doors burst open. 

Out walks the sleaziest guy that Bucky’s ever seen. His suit is garishly designer, the kind that borders on being confused for a tacky suit that you find in a thrift store for two dollars total. 

“Tony, baby! Where have you been? I wanted to discuss things with you...in private.” 

He gives Bucky a once-over. 

“And who are you, catering?” 

Bucky immediately wants to clock this guy in the damn mouth. 

“Actually this is James, my boyfriend,” Tony says, snaking his arm around Bucky’s waist. 

At this point, he’ll just have to go with it. It’s not the worst thing that’s happened. 

“And who are you?” Bucky asks. “Sweetheart, you never mentioned you knew someone with such a...unique take on style.” 

“I’m Ty, an old and close friend,” he says. He sticks his hand out. Bucky makes him switch hands by holding out his metal hand. 

“Nice to see you,” he says. “But unfortunately, I have to take my guy back home. Plans and all that, you know how it is.” 

“Bye Ty!” Tony says. 

Bucky throws an arm around Tony’s shoulders, bringing him close. A ghost of a kiss to the forehead completes the lie, and Bucky looks back towards Ty, who has his eyes narrowed. 

He flips him off with his right hand. (It’s satisfying.) 

“Thank you so much for going along with that,” Tony says, looking up. 

The cigarette is still in his mouth. He takes a drag, letting embers fall down and disintegrate into the pavement. 

“He seemed like a shitty kind of person.” 

“Not the best of people, that’s for sure,” Tony mutters. “You wanna go get ice cream?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.” 

- 

Getting late night ice cream is like going into a different dimension. Bucky’s not sure if it’s the overbearing, fluorescent white light that gets to him, but Tony seems tired. At ease, but tired. 

He gets strawberry ice cream, and Bucky gets chocolate. 

They sit and eat for a moment. 

“Why do you go to St. Anthony’s?” Tony asks. “It’s clear you hate it.” 

“You don’t?” 

“Not the worst school I’ve been sent to.” 

“You don’t want to be there either?” 

“There are a lot of places I don’t want to be, but this isn’t about me, I’m asking about you. You wanna share with the class or get a hall pass?” 

Bucky snorts. 

“Geez, okay. My mom really wants a good education for me.” 

"She know that you don’t know what to do?” 

“And how do you figure that?” Bucky asks, eyebrow raised. 

“You wouldn’t be working as a chauffeur for the rich kid if you knew what you were working towards,” Tony says with a shrug. “Seen it happen before. Usually I don’t know who they are, but you figure out commonalities pretty quickly.” 

That makes too much sense. 

“I have no fucking clue how I’m living my life and my mom wants me to become a businessman.” 

“You wanna do that?” 

“Do I look like the kind of guy that wants to wear a suit?” 

“You look like you’d look good in a suit, not that you’d wear one.” 

Bucky laughs. Takes a bite of ice cream, and readjusts the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. 

- 

Over the summer, he and Tony get closer. They take walks in the park and Tony drags him into overpriced shops to look at clothes that are the ugliest goddamn things they’ve ever seen. 

At some point, they hold hands and discuss secrets of the world of theirs that is unique to them. 

Bucky kisses him one night while they’re just leaving perhaps the worst restaurant in the entire state of New York and god Tony didn’t think he’d ever not mind being wrapped up in fake-strawberry scented hair and cigarette smoke clinging to clothing, but he doesn’t mind it. 

The whole summer, they’re inseparable. Tony chatters in the front seat of the car, now, and Bucky smiles a little bit more. 

They walk in parks together and show each other funny little jokes and make inside understandings and look at sunsets and sunrises and get coffee and look at each other across the room. 

- 

It’s love, honest and true. But it’s not love like the never-ending kind. The thing about love is that it is not included in any toolbox, physical or mental. There is one thing that everyone knows regardless of whether it is admitted or not: 

Love does not solve everything. It does not fix everything. And one should never rely on it to do anything but exist and work through your person to the best of its ability. 

- 

Howard comes back from a business trip. Sees Tony kiss Bucky goodbye, and that is that. 

You can’t something like that as a son. It just...it won’t work for business. 

Tony is sent to a boarding school upstate. Stricter guidelines, more controlling. 

Bucky only hears one thing from Tony: 

I’m sorry. 

And he doesn’t believe it. 

When you’re young, you think love is invincible. You think it survives through everything if you really want it to. 

Love doesn’t do that. 

Bucky writes letters, calls Jarvis, and mourns the loss of young love. He smokes a little bit more, leaves it clinging to his skin as a reminder that Tony would always wrinkle his nose in that adorable way, but it served to show Bucky that he had a bad habit. 

He was in the middle of quitting. 

His mother notices it. 

Tells him that he needs to get his own shampoo. 

“You can’t just use mine all the time,” she says playfully. 

He remembers Tony’s hands gently threading through his hair in disbelief as Bucky kissed the living hell out of him. 

Now there’s barely any trace. 

He stops in his tracks when he sees an old coffee cup of Tony’s in his kitchen cabinet. 

“When did you get this one?” Becca asks. She’s drinking out of it. He remembers Tony smiling over it at their little coffee shop that was hidden away. “I love it. It’s so cute.” 

“From a thrift store,” Bucky says. “You can have it.” 

“Really? Thanks!” 

- 

Tony pauses at the smell of cigarette smoke. Remembers blue eyes blazing along with orange embers, smoke curling around long hair and long summer nights. 

His roommate at this new school asks if he smokes, if he can get him a pack. 

“Uh, no. Just used to know someone who did.” 

“You think they could get me a pack?” 

“They don’t go here.” 

“You can’t call them?” 

Tony doesn’t respond. 

You can’t call them? 

He’s almost texted him about twenty times. Called him about thirty. 

He knows the number by heart. 

But he knows that Howard made him get a new phone, and now the memories are fading. He wishes he still had the pictures. 

- 

Love does not always last. Sometimes it is not meant to. Tony tries to tell himself that as he wakes up with tears streaming down his cheeks. 

You always wish it would. 

[mostweakhamlets]

genuine question: why is staged cringe?

I want to preface this by saying that I loved Staged initially. I thought it was a super cool concept with actors I’m fans of. I still think that it is a really cool concept! I think it’s great that these actors hatched this idea of acting from home over video chat. I love it when people are experimental. I love it when people break the status quo with art. 

However, I think that this is one of the downfalls with Staged. There’s so much potential there, and you really notice how much of that was squandered when you start noticing the things about the show that don’t sit right with you. At least, that’s how I felt. 

It really is a matter of, “I feel like this show aged poorly. For the love of God, make series two different.”

I have a lot to say about this, so I’ll put it under the cut and in sections haha

Superwomen

This was my biggest peeve with Staged. I felt like the women (mostly Anna and Georgia) couldn’t just exist. It felt so unnatural and so forced. Like “Look, these women are just any women.” 

I know that Georgia Tennant already has this sort of public image of being this super productive mom (which I have more feelings about but won’t go into it here). I think that’s awesome! But Staged hammed that up. I know that it was supposed be a satire version of her, but come on. She’s Supermom to the point that her husband is incompetent? That he really can’t make dinner for his own children? That he has to just reheat something she made that week? 

We see Georgia as the perfect woman—helps a friend with childbirth, writes a book, she apparently does all the cooking and cleaning (judging by how surprised she looks when she notices all the laundry folded and put away when she returns from the childbirth), and is the perfect mom and wife. And I know that she had little screentime, but why couldn’t we see any actual flaws? Why does she have to be Supermom every time we see her while her husband seemingly dicks around on Zoom all day? 

And then there’s Anna. She’s much more private than Georgia is irl, so she doesn’t already have this crafted public persona. We see less of her in Staged. The Tennants have more of a story than she and Michael do. And with that time, they really made sure to make… smart. I guess you could call it that. 

It felt like there was an attempt to make her smart when she had all this information about—what was it? Italian fascism?—on the top of her head. But it definitely felt “smart” in the way that men often think people are “smart.” They can just regurgitate facts rather than actually say anything constructive. It felt like she had just played Trivial Pursuit a lot or binged watched every single episode of QI. I’ve no idea why they felt the need to just awkwardly shoehorn that in when there are so many other ways to show that a woman is intelligent. 

It makes me wonder what the creative team thinks of women—at what point is a woman valuable in front of a camera? Could a character like me, who doesn’t know a lot of trivia or isn’t an exceptional cook or can be a birthing partner, earn screentime in a production by these men? Are women allowed to be flawed beyond “Haha yeah I’m eating cake while watching yoga videos” and agreeing to put recycling in someone else’s bin? 

Is there an oversaturation of the male ego in Staged? Kinda. It was all about three men’s shit show while girlfriends and wives stood in the background as flawless house partners. It feels like that bland brand of feminism that’s like, “Women can do anything! And that includes compensating for their male partner’s shortcomings!” 

Covid Insensitivities  

Back in March, we were all different people! We thought we saw a light at the end of the tunnel. We were watching TikToks and staying home and supporting essential workers. But things got very much worse. As an American, I’m terrified of what’s going to happen in my country alone. Much of the world has been hit hard, and government leaders all over are proving to be incompetent. 

But early summer/late spring was a different time. And when they filmed Staged, they had a Covid subplot with Michael’s neighbor. At the time, it felt fine. But now it feels icky, in my opinion. It feels wrong for rich people, safe in their homes, to craft a storyline where a fictional woman has Covid, and “It really affects me, Michael Sheen. I’m worried about this.” 

At the time, I felt like, “Is this really the angle they should have taken with such a serious global issue?” And now I feel like, “This is definitely not a subplot they should have gone with. Oh my God, I physically cannot watch Michael Sheen fake crying while on the phone with a doctor.” 

Their hearts were probably in the right place, but it aged terribly. I really hope that they don’t return to subplots like that in series two.

Which brings me to my next point: 

The Oh So Relatable Lives of Celebrities

The Covid-neighbor subplot felt wrong for another reason: it felt like a misguided attempt to look relatable to an audience who is probably a bit more exposed to the virus than these people sitting in their massive homes. 

I won’t go into this much because I don’t see it as a major issue. Again, at the time it felt fine. We thought we were all in this together, and these rich people really did get the common struggles: dealing with childcare, being cooped inside all day, etc. 

But again, things changed. 

I’m honestly tired (and a bit bitter) of seeing rich people trying to pose as having the same set of problems the rest of us do right now. Sure, it must be hard to raise five kids right now. But when this is over, the Tennants get their nanny back irl. Yes, it’s hard to stay inside all day with little outlets. But Michael Sheen irl 1) has actually been acting quite a bit during this, as we’ve seen now, with plenty of press and 2) has a huge garden and a magical little park he could always walk to. 

I can’t help but feel bitter as I sit in debt, unemployed, watching very well-off actors get irritable over lockdown. 

In General 

In general, Staged was fun at the time. It was cute, and I enjoyed watching it when it came out. It was during the “hopeful” stage of the pandemic, as I like to call it. Loans payments and rent payments were paused. Eviction was illegal. People who could, stayed home and watched TikToks. But now we’re in a different stage. 

A lot has happened, and a lot of places are refusing to shut down states/countries again for the sake of the economy. People are starting to realize how little their individual livelihoods matter to our governments. There are tense elections all over the world. There’s no relief being provided for people who desperately need it. 

I think that the sort of quirky Covid stories like Staged aren’t going to be necessarily enjoyable right now. Really, the last thing I want to see is rich people pretending like they’re struggling in their huge homes and with their presumably unlimited resources. 

I’m really holding my breath with series two. I hope that they go in a different direction than they did last time, or it’ll be a completely tone-deaf show to me. 

Like I said, there is so much you can do with a setup like Staged, but I think that they dropped the ball so many times that it just feels like someone else should take over this format. 

I’d completely understand if people disagree with me. These are just my criticisms of the show.

[warsmith-38]

How I would do RWBY pt. 7

War Arc.

Season Seven.

The Cabal is standing room only and Salem is enraged at recent turn of events.

Complains loudly to Myrmidon.

Myrmidon assures Salem that the current plan is not only progressing smoothly but Ozpin still has no idea what it is.

Salem calms down and her mind turns to Cinder. Particularly the fact that Ozpin has captured Cinder.

Salem wonders if she ever told Cinder about the current plan.

She realizes that, yes, yes she did.

Salem is once again angry.

RWBY and JN(P)R are enjoying relative peace as next moves are planned.

Neo is the most cooperative with authorities out of team CEMN.

Due to being, more or less, just hired help she isn’t all that helpful.

Emerald and Mercury are in a similar situation due to being Cinder’s direct underlings and not Salem’s.

All they know is what Cinder told them, which was only just enough to keep them compliant.

Cinder is the one that would have information but is quite tightlipped about things that aren’t insults.

Ozpin wants answers but Ironwood draws the line at out and out torturing a teenager.

Cinder is just waiting in her cell with one arm cuffed to a chair.

WBY and JN(P)R all have a go at trying to make her talk. (Ruby isn’t allowed near her)

Blake tries empathizing with her situation, formerly being one of the bad guys herself.

Cinder says that Blake was an easily swayed idiot who didn’t know what she was actually doing.

Ren and Nora try good cop bad cop.

Cinder calls both of them morons.                                                                  

Weiss tries bribing her with money and medical help for her missing bits.

Cinder tells her to eat shit.

Jaune tries a ‘you’re a deranged psychopath, prove me wrong’ approach.

Cinder taunts him by talking about killing Pyrrha.

Not only does Jaune have to be pulled out of there, Ren and Nora have to be talked down from cutting the cameras and shank-rushing her.

Ironwood offers her a plea bargain. Spill on Salem and don’t get hanged for heinous war crimes.

Cinder rebukes all of it to varying degrees of profanity.

Penny’s turn.

Penny doesn’t ask her any questions or try anything.

All she says is that she forgives Cinder, that someone should even if no one else ever would.

Cinder is a little unnerved but remains uncooperative.

Everyone calls it quits for the day.

Ruby sneaks into Cinder’s cell when no one is looking.

Cinder almost has a heart attack out of fear of what Ruby will do to her.

Gives her an emotional speech on how Cinder and Salem ruined her life and the worst part is that it was her new best friend that did it.

Ruby is found and escorted out of the cell.

Cinder, having slightly awakened her long ignored heart, says that she did consider Ruby a sort of friend.

Ruby tells her to go to hell.

Yang notices that Cinder’s veneer is peeling.

Decides to take her shot.

Yang surmises that Salem was involved, to a degree, in raising Cinder.

Cinder confirms but also is insulting.

Yang talks about how she knows a little something about parental figures who don’t give a crap.

Cinder gets angry, says that she knows that Salem cares about her.

Yang says that if Salem cared then why did Cinder have to go to Atlas to try and get her attention again?

Cinder starts flinging insults about unloving mother figures.

Yang flings back better ones.

Cinder brags that they’re all dead anyway.

Says that Salem’s big plan is to set off a special bomb-like grimm that will turn another chunk of the planet into grimm land just like the territory around her sanctum.

Ensuring a lack of stability that will force the rest of the world to adapt and evolve.

She doesn’t know where Salem is planning to set it off though.

Everything across the previous seasons was trying to maximize chances of it going off without a hitch.

Weakening potential target areas, providing distractions, eliminating threats, things like that.

That or it was just another attempt to kill Ozpin. Sometimes both. Mostly both.

That’s when she realizes that she just told Salem’s master plan directly to her greatest opposition.

Says that her talking won’t matter and will enjoy watching Salem kill all of them.

Yang tells her to stop being such a chuunibyou.

Ozpin’s Council (Him, Ironwood, Glynda, Qrow, Winter, RWBY, JN(P)R, Ciel, mad scientist) start trying to deduce where Salem will set off the grimm nuke.

Atlas is too militarized, even with the troubles there. Vacuo is too close and wouldn’t provide much strategically. Menagerie and Mistral are both too out of the way to be of use.

The target is Vale. A centralized zone that still has yet to completely recover from the events of the school arc and will further fragment the free peoples of the world.

Not to mention that it’s Ozpin’s personal favorite kingdom. Just another insult on a very long list.

Everyone packs up and heads to Vale for a very somber return home.

Emerald, Neo, and Mercury offer to properly switch sides on the grounds that they had no idea about the whole ‘fuck over the world’ thing.

They only signed on to cause a little trouble and get paid.

They want to help stop Salem now, especially if they’re probably considered expendable collateral.

Offer is appreciated but the handcuffs stay on.

Upon arrival in Vale, Ruby and Yang are immediately accosted by Tai.

Tai is upset with Ruby for running off and not doing so much as ever calling him and he’s upset with Yang just for not calling ever.

He’s proud of his girls for doing so much to help the world, but still.

Raven is there too and offers Ruby a hug from her new stepmother.

Tai and Raven reveal their wedding rings, showing that they have in fact tied the knot (Tai’d the knot).

Yang BSODs for a moment.

Raven has a moment with Yang and Ruby, saying that she took the scolding to heart and realized that, yes, she was a piece of shit.

Came back to Tai to try and start making up for things.

It took a little work but Tai is no longer a depressed, overprotective, neglectful, sad sack of crap, so maybe it’s not the worst thing that she’s back.

She’s also given all the intel she acquired while part of the Cabal.

R+Y are skeptical but intend to burn that bridge when they cross it later.

Cinder sneaks out of her cell.

Tries to bust EMN out too.

They rebuke her, saying that they would rather not help permanently fuck over a continent and by extension the world for no real reason beyond ‘because you said so’.

They would rather live in the world, not destroy it.

Cinder leaves them to rot, finds her gear, and steals a new robo-arm for her trouble, doing everything she can to stay under the radar while she thinks of what to do next.

RWBY + JN(P)R have trips down memory lane as they walk through the ruins or the rebuilt versions of their old haunts.

Remembering the good times and the bad.

The trials and tribulations as well as the warm memories that they keep dreaming about returning to.

Then they get to work.

They scour the recovering city of Vale first for any sign of anything grimm or Salem related.

Team CRDL, who stayed in Vale as volunteer workers and security, say that aside from a few more grimm raids, nothing special has happened in months.

CRDL assist as much as a team of jobber jabronis can.

Surprisingly, they don’t act like cunts.

Ozpin realizes that the only places that haven’t been searched were the places he’s kept secret.

Reveals his illuminati style cave with monitoring equipment that has tabs all over the world.

It has cameras and stuff in places that Ozpin has absolutely no right or need to know about.

Low and behold, grimm have tunneled into it.

Myrmidon is in there, checking up on things.

She introduces herself to the main characters and then cheeses it, leaving a distraction force of grimm.

After they’re dealt with, they turn their attention to the big fucking elephant in the room.

Massive, bulbous, monster of a centipede grimm is right in the center of the chamber. The grimm nuke.

They’ve found it, sure, but now what do they do?

The Council has a brainstorming session to try and come up with a solution.

Can’t just kill it, it’ll go off.

Raven’s portals only go to people she’s bonded with in some way and it would still fuck up wherever it was teleported to.

It’s a living thing so disarming it like a conventional bomb is not exactly possible.

EMN are questioned on what they might know about it but aren’t able to help much.

This is when they realize that Cinder is gone.

Search effort begins to stop her from fucking everything up.

Yang and Jaune eventually find Cinder.

Keep up the browbeating even as they fight her.

Cinder says that even if she wanted to help, Salem would kill her if she did.

Yang calls Salem a bitch.

She says that Salem’s about to kill her anyway when the thing goes boom.

Cinder relents and says that she’s not sure but Ruby’s white fire is probably the key.

Salem had Summer killed out of fear of her semblance potentially interfering with this exact plan.

Cinder about to am-scray while Yang and Jaune are distracted by putting plan together.

Jaune stops her.

Punches her in the face, hitting the side that can see.

Says that that was for Pyrrha.

Cinder runs off rubbing her jaw.

Begin white fire surgery.

They cut small, precise, holes in the grimm and Ruby burns the resulting goo deluge.

Plan is working shockingly well. Grimm is losing explosive fuel by the truckload.

Takes some time, but eventually all that is left is the monster itself and the explosive trigger.

Trigger goes off in a pathetically emaciated whiff.

Everyone celebrates.

Then they realize that they still have a massive centipede grimm monster that is in the top ten largest ever recorded grimm underneath Vale.

Said massive centipede grimm turns on default mode. Default mode being rushing towards the nearest living thing and killing it.

Said grimm bursts into downtown Vale with more grimm coming behind it.

Right when they had just finished cleaning it up.

Season final boss time.

RWBY, JN(P)R, CRDL, EMN, and the living elements of STRQ fight the grimm.

Professors of Beacon are also helping as well as The Council in general.

Cinder, in her attempt to get out of there, gets caught in the fighting too.

Fuck it. CFVY and SSSN show up from Mistral on Ozpin’s request for backup.

All. The. Warriors.

EVERYONE gets a hit or two in on the grimm.

Big final hit with everyone involved.

Grimm is dead.

Salem is back in her sanctum watching this on a crystal ball or whatever.

Her own rage and frustration at what happened spawns a whole new horde of grimm.

Screams loud enough to break all the glass in her sanctum.

Ruby and Cinder have stare-down after grimm is dead.

Both silently decide that there are bigger fish to fry and go their separate ways.

Big celebration party. World saw RWBY kick absolute ass.

Cinder is out of options so she is now on her way back to Salem.

Myrmidon is sharpening her spear/sword/rifle.

She can’t wait.

Season seven done.

[turquoise-stones]

Umbrella Pt. 2

Bakugou x fem!reader

Anonymous said:

can i rq for a part 2 for the umbrella fanfic of bakugou? i really love your writings!!

A/N: Sure! Just a little warning though, I wrote Umbrella about 2 years ago (and it was one of my first one-shots ever or maybe my actual first) so my style is a bit different now. I hope it’s not too noticeable (or at least it’s better!) 

You don’t have to read the first one to read this one, but it does give context. Here it is. 

Also, this isn’t a songfic, but listen to the music for maximum feels.

. . .

There was nothing worse than rain in the winter. Unlike the warm rain of the summer or the cleansing rain of autumn, winter rain fell in never-ending icy sheets.

Much like the sudden onslaught of heavy rains, class 1-A was suffering from a change in tone as well. It had only been a couple of weeks since Bakugou Katsuki had been kidnapped from the training grounds, and while he came back unscathed, the fear and paranoia he brought back with him stuck. The thought that villains could invade supposedly “safe” places whenever they wanted, and kidnap even the strongest of students, loomed over everyone’s heads. 

You let out a loud sigh, packing away your gym clothes and preparing to go home. The one good part about the rain was the fact that you were staying later at school and training more. You could watch the sunset too, and empty wet buses are always better than crowded wet buses.

You walked swiftly to the main entrance, thinking of the root of your worries: Bakugou. Even if he acted tough, he was still human, and humans don’t just walk away from a kidnapping completely fine. The changes were subtle but there: he trained harder than before, was a bit jumpier when you caught him by surprise. You had always considered him this impenetrable force of nature, but sometimes you forgot, sometimes everyone forgot, that he was still just a teenager.

Standing under the overhang, you pushed rustled out your umbrella, still wet from use this morning. You clicked open and stepped out into the soaked gray world. Water beat mercilessly down for a split second as you slipped under the curtain of water streaming down the roof, before turning into a lighter drumming. You shivered as wind whipped through your clothing, misting your face in rain. It really was freezing outside. 

You didn’t even know why you were so worried for him. One would think that they would fear their own safety first, but maybe that just wasn’t in your nature. You just cared for him and you couldn’t help it. The two of you weren’t lovers, in fact, you wouldn’t even count yourself among his close friends, yet you just cared for him. 

The closest spark of romance between you two was that time months ago when he had kept you safe from the rain, and while the rain was much more pleasant that day than it was now, your thoughts still traveled back to that moment. Even though nothing came from it, it was still the sweetest display of care that you had seen from him since. At the very least, you never forgot your umbrella again.

You glanced left and right down the long deserted sidewalks to cross the street, but paused when you noticed a bright splotch of red through the blurry rain. It was many streets down, and you could barely make out the small blonde tuft. He was just standing there, still.

Your heart skipped a beat, feeling a little uneasy. Perhaps you were just unused to seeing him calm, but he just looked so sad and lonely, all alone. Despite the biting winds and your desire to get home, you felt compelled to stray from your path and go comfort him. As you veered off the main road, you found yourself clumsily dodging more and more puddles as the sidewalk became less and less smooth. Rain ran downhill from you, kicking up at the fronts of your shoes and flowing in a sheet down. He spotted your brightly colored umbrella bobbling towards him, and he watched with amusement as your rain slicked form tottered into view. 

As you got closer you realized that he was standing in a park, or more like a small patch of grass scarcely large enough to house a swing set. And as you crossed the street to him, you realized that he was actually looking at the far more impressive view of the city below, sparkling with wet golden light. Panting slightly from the uphill climb, you finally reached him.

“Bakugou! What are you doing up here?” You called.

“I could ask you the same, (y/n).”

“What?” You made your way closer, as the drumming of rain on your umbrella seemed to drown out all sound.

“Why’re you here?” He asked, much louder. You flinched at the harsh tone but understood that that was just what Bakugou’s normal voice sounded like. Somehow, he wasn’t nearly as wet as you were, and was remarkably just in a t-shirt and sweats, while you were bundled up in a thick jacket.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay!” You said, reaching a point where the two of you couldn’t get any closer because your umbrellas were bumping.

“Of course I’m okay why wouldn’t I be.” He grumbled.

“Well I didn’t think you were the type to just stare at pretty views, so of course I got worried.”

“I can stare at whatever I damn so please.”

You were about to drop the subject, but you remembered the small changes in his demeanor over the past couple weeks, and decided to press him more.

“You don’t have to act tough around me okay?.”

His lips curled and he stepped away a bit, and you were afraid that you went too far. 

“Who said I’m acting?!”

You gave him a pointed look and he let out an angry huff, looking to the side and biting at his lip.

“C’mon Bakugou… you can talk to me.”

He frowned, before muttering something you couldn’t quite hear. 

“Say that again?” You asked, trying to move closer but the jostling of the umbrellas merely flicked water in your face.

“Nothing. Just… What's said here stays here okay?”

You smiled warmly at him, happy that he was allowing himself to open up. The smile quickly vanished when a brutally cold gust of wind flew by you. Bakugou and his hot quirk didn’t seem to be all too affected. He seemed to think for a moment, parsing through his feelings before forming words.

“I guess… I guess I feel like I need to appreciate this more.” The tips of his ears were starting to turn red. He didn’t understand why in the world he was admitting this to you, but you were the first person to genuinely ask him like that. 

“What’s ‘this’?”

“Like the world and stuff.” He huffed, gesturing vaguely at the wet streets, embarrassed that you were making him explain more. 

“Yes, the world is lovely.” You said patiently, not quite understanding.

“Cause what if they killed me? I mean it’s not like they could have. But what if they did?”

“Then you wouldn’t be able to treasure pretty things anymore.” You finished sadly for him.

“Yeah.”

He turned away from you to look down at the city again, face finally looking a bit more relaxed. You let him collect his thoughts for a moment.

“Were you scared?”

He narrowed his eyes at you and you thought for sure he was going to yell at you for even suggesting it. But his answer surprised you.

“Of course I was fucking scared. I thought they would torture me for information or some shit.”

In the many months that you had known him, you had never heard Bakugou outright admit something like that. 

“Like yeah I attacked them, but that’s only cause I knew that was my only chance. If I didn’t fight they would tie me back up and probably kill me. And… and if fucking Deku didn’t come I would have lost.” He let out a loud groan, obviously upset that he had to be rescued. “Fuck.”

You let out a noise of concern, reaching out to touch his arm.

“It’s… I’m…” He struggled for the word, the frustration building back onto his face. His eyes were starting to get glassy and he was practically shaking in frustration. “I’m weak. Fuck… I’m so damn weak.”

“Bakugou no you’re not.” 

You pulled your umbrella closed and dropped it on the ground with a clack, before stepping forward to give him a big hug. He jolted back in surprise, almost dislodging you. 

“You aren’t weak. All this shows is that you’re not invincible.”

“But-”

“Stop it. One defeat doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. You accessed the situation and fought because that was the best solution. You fought even though you knew you would lose, because you had to. You decided to go down taking as many villains as you could with you, instead of just accepting defeat. And if that’s not heroic… then I don’t know what is.” You murmured, voice softer now that you were close enough.

“Don’t… don’t say that…”

You patted his back soothingly as his arms gripped your back, pulling you closer away from the rain. His unsteady breath ghosted over your ear.

“Why not? I believe it.”

“I don’t… I don’t want your pity.” He choked out, starting to shake. “I-I’m…”

“Shh… shh…” You cooed gently. “Let it all out.”

“I-I don’t…”

You hummed lightly as he squeezed you tight, his shoulders shaking as warm tears fell into your hair. 

“It must be hard… right? Pretending that everything is okay all the time?”

He only sobbed harder, and it pained you to know that he had been holding these fears in for weeks.

“It’s alright… you’re alright. We can stay here as long as you need.”

As you looked over his shoulder at the rain blotched city, you realized that you weren’t cold anymore. All that mattered was you and him, tucked away together in the washed away world.

[mist-sly]

Sing of the Moon

Chapter Two: The Colosseum

I havnt uploaded in a while, been super busy with uni starting back. Currently working on chapter five which should hopefully be uploaded on AO3 this weekend! As well as some character art!!! Untill then enjoy chapter two!

“So, its true! That snake cheated!” Sirius shouted out. He had been pacing the conference room since he got to the UFC performance Institute to try and calm himself down.

“We can’t be certain of that Sirius. The only information we have is that the gloves that were worn during your fight had been tampered with.” Dumbledore said calmly. Sirius stopped pacing the room and looked at the old man.

He was furious. The moment Dumbledore called him that morning, he that it was true.

“Hold on Albus. Let us look at the facts here.” Fleamont Potter said. He along with James potter, Sirius best friend and four-time world boxing champion where sceptical when Sirius rang them that day. The idea that Snape had cheated and not one single official had noticed was not the most idealistic thing in the world.

“The gloves had been tampered with. We discovered this a month after Sirius lost his championship belt to Snape. Your officials missed it, leading to an unfair fight Dumbledore. The biggest fight of the year and yet you let one of the fighter’s cheats to win.” There was a sort of sharpness in Fleamont’s tone, but he did not seem angry.

“Yes, the gloves had been tampered with but there is no evidence that it happened before the fight. You have to see that the time gap between the fight and when you made this discovery is long.” Dumbledore said.

“I want his title revoked!” Sirius said, anger lacing his tone. Dumbledore looked up at him with a look of pity. A look that Sirius really did not want to see right now.

“How were the gloves tampered with?” James asked for the first time during this meeting. He and his dad had informed Dumbledore of the accusation but never actually got the look at the gloves. “Dana is still investigating but it seemed that one of the layers of padding had been replaced with-“

“Soft cast,” Sirius stated cutting Dumbledore off. The three men looked at Sirius confused. Dumbledore furrowed his brows before nodding. “Yes, how did you know about that?” Sirius ran a hair through his dark haired and closed his eyes tight. “More like how the fuck did he know about that,” he muttered to himself.

He hadn’t been able to get the interaction with the young man out of his head. He had gone through the possibilities on how the man could have known. He could have been a Snake, part of Snape’s team but then, Sirius knew that they wouldn’t let one of their own dress like he did.

There were so many questions revolving around that man. Who he was? Why did that girl call him ‘wolfy’? How did he get those scars? Or how did he get that fresh black eye?

So many things didn’t sit right with Sirius about the young man. That’s why Sirius wanted to find out everything, all the answers to his questions and further information about how he knew Snape cheated. However, that had to wait till after Sirius took care of business.

Fleamont let out a loud sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What are you going to do about Snape. The tampered gloves will not be let go unless we hear a proper solution.” Dumbledore smiled, opening a file and sliding it across the table. Fleamont picked it up and scanned its contents before handing it to Sirius. “A rematch, for the title?” Sirius hummed. Dumbledore nodded, his blue eyes watching Sirius carefully.

“Of course, a statement will have to be made to the press about the possibility of the tampered gloves being used in the title fight. A lot of media Sirius, you know what that means.” Sirius couldn’t help but smirk. Of course, this match wasn’t just for him. The press where like vultures for this type of thing. Fans would demand a rematch. It would become an even bigger fight, with bigger stakes. The UFC would be rolling in the cash that it would bring in. Sirius would be rolling in the cash.

“When?” he asked sliding the file back over to Dumbledore. “Well, your both scheduled fights. That books you till…. probably summer next year at UFC 264.” A year to prepare for a fight. A year to train and work harder than ever to crush Snapes greasy head into the ground. A year till he had his title back.

Sirius smiled and looked at James. The messy haired boy had his cocky grin on that only meant one thing. It’s time to cause a bit of mayhem. “I will get my agent to contact you and Dana. Its good doing business with you Dumbledore.” Sirius held out his hand which Dumbledore took.

James and Sirius stood outside the complex. There coats wrapped tightly around them. Fleamont having already left.

“So, what’s the game plan?” James asked. His dark skin shivering from the cold and his chocolate brown eyes looking at Sirius expectantly.

Sirius took a deep breath, exhaling and watching as the air condensed. “First,” he said looking at James. “I want to find that guy.” James raised an eyebrow at him, “and second,” he turned his attention back to the car park. “I want to know how the fuck he figured out the gloves were tampered with.”

James smirked as he watched Sirius storm away. A man on a mission. He shook his head and laughed. “This will be fun,” he said to himself before running after his best friend.

~

Sirius parked outside the same little coffee shop that he went to just the week before. His black Bentley looking very out of place in the rugged and run-down street. He and James had drove around for half an hour trying to find it. It was clear to the residents of the area that they were not from around these parts.

Sirius entered the coffee shop. The bell above the door ringing. The warmth and the smell of coffee pleasantly familiar to him. He walked over to the counter, James right by his side.

“Hello, what can I-”, Lils stopped when she noticed who it was. Her eyes darted from Sirius to James. She folded her arm in front of her and walked over to them. An eyebrow raised and her green eyes narrowing on them. “Up sider. What are you doing here?”

Sirius smirked at her and leaned on the counter. “Coffee. What else?” Lils rolled her eyes. “The coffee here tastes like shit. Nothing compared to that fancy stuff you two probably drink.” She was blunt. ‘Good’ Sirius thought makes this interrogation a hell of a lot easier for him, less sweet talking involved.

“Lils, that’s your name, right?” Sirius asked, running a hand through his hair to expose his enchanting silver eyes. The girl scoffed at him. Clearly his charm wouldn’t get him answers. “Lily, only my friends call me Lils.” She was snappy and sharp as a blade.

Sirius was about to say something when James leaned on the counter in between him and lily. “Hi lily. My names James, James potter. You might have heard of me, four-time world boxing champ.” He had that cocky grin on his face like always whenever he was chatting up a girl. He had put in his contacts prior to the hunt hoping to look more intimidating. Lily looked at him in disgust. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

James grin completely dropped. That was a first. Sirius rolled his eyes and shoved his friend out of the way. “I’m looking for that tall, skinny bloke. You know the one from the other day.” Lily just blinked at him. Sirius furrowed his brows looking from lily to James then back to Lily. “You know the guy with the caramel-coloured hair? He has amber eyes?” Still nothing. Sirius sighed and rubbed his face. “He had a scar on his nose and cheek, a fresh black eye with a cut in his eyebrow.”

Lily hummed and leaned forwards on the counter an amused smile on her face. “I didn’t expect you to name that many details Sirius Black,” lily said, a devilish grin growing on her face. That was a surprise. Sirius mouth dropped up; his eyebrows raised as he stood there frozen. “Knew who you were looking for the moment I saw that Bentley pull up outside.” Her grin was replaced with a warm smile that instantly made Sirius relax.

“So, what you want with wolfy?” She asked bringing three cups of coffee over to the booth that James and Sirius were now sitting at. She looked at both them and groaned sitting in beside James.

“He knew that the gloves in my last fight had been tampered with. Every detail he said was correct. I want to know how he knew.” Sirius stated taking a sip of his black coffee. The hot liquid burning his throat in the best way possible. A bitter taste settling on his tongue.

Lily hummed, staring at the cup of coffee she was nestling in her hands. She didn’t say anything. Her brows furrowing lost in thought. Sirius looked over at James, he was watching her closely with his chocolate eyes. James gently nudged her, seemingly snapping her out of where she had travelled to in her mind. She shook her head lightly and smiled at James.

“Sorry. I don’t know if I can help you with that.” She looked at Sirius a frown on her face. Her eyes where softer now. “Could you at least tell us where we might find him,” James asked. Lily looked down at her cup again, biting her lip.

She closed her eyes and scrunched up her nose. Her green eyes finding Sirius again. “I can show you were he is, but you can’t tell anyone about this place.” Sirius smiled and nodded, “yeah, sure- “ Lily cut him off again, “I mean it Sirius!” She said it so firmly that Sirius immediately shut up. She stared at him intensely, her eyes pleading him. This was important to her. Lily was helping him, the least he could do was promise her.

“I promise you. I won’t tell anyone, and I never break a promise.” Lily scanned his face for any indication that he might be lying. After finding none she nodded. “Ok…” she took out her note pad and pen from the pocket in her apron. Scribbling something down. “Meet at this address at Nine tonight. Tell no one that you’re coming. Do not knock on the door, just wait outside for me. Oh, and walk, your car will draw far too much attention.” Sirius let out a small laugh at the instructions, but lily’s face remained completely serious.

“Ok, Nine O’clock. We’ll be there.”

~

It was freezing. The nights always seemed so much colder in Gryffindor. The darkness lasting longer with every passing day, winter drawing closer.

Sirius shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. The blood in his finger turning cold and making them numb. He could see his own breath every time he exhaled as if he were smoking. Beside him, James pulled his white hat over his tinted red ears. A thick red puffer coat zipped the whole way up to his neck.

It was ten minutes past nine. They had arrived fifteen minutes earlier at the address lily had given them, just in case but they didn’t anticipate how cold it would be. They also had the added company of their friend, Peter Pettigrew. The small, chubby boy was wrapped up in gloves, scarf, and hat. The problem however with inviting Peter was that he winged about everything.

“Are you sure she didn’t just tell you to come here just to make you look like an idiot and freeze to death? Who even is this chick anyways?” Peter grumbled. Sirius rolled his eyes. That was the tenth time he had asked these questions. “Oh, shut up Peter,” James snapped. He was more than happy to come. Excited even. For him it was like a new adventure and the fact that he wouldn’t stop talking about the red-haired girl since they left the coffee shop, could also be a reason why he was so excited.

“Just look where we are! Have you even been to this part of Gryffindor before? For fuck sake, were standing outside an abandoned building,” Peter fired back, waving his hands around and gesturing to the building they were currently standing outside.

Peter was not wrong. The address Lily give them was a couple of streets away from the coffee shop. It was an old building. Glass littered the pavement outside it, the windows boarded up with wood. The brick wall had a large, spray-painted wolf, howling at the moon on it. The art itself was very detailed, silver spray paint had even been used on the fur and moon to make it shine and sparkle when the streetlight shone of it.

“She will be here,” Sirius said firmly, pulling the hood of his hoodie up. As if on que, the sound of heals clicking down the pavement echoed round the empty and abandoned street. Lily smiled as she walked towards them. James clearing his throat and straightening up. “Hi guys, sorry I’m late.” She stopped a give Sirius an apologetic look noticing him shivering before noticing Peter.

“Who’s this?” Lily eyes scanned Peter up and down, narrowing in as the small boy gulped nervously.

“This is Peter he’s a friend and employee of mine. He’s an analysist, helps find fighters styles and any mistakes they might have made in previous fights,” Sirius said, eyeing lily as she examined the boy.

Lily hummed and turned towards an ally. “Let’s get going, I don’t want to miss the fight.”

The boys looked at each other before following her. “Fight?” James asked, quickly walking beside her. Lily just rolled her eyes stopping in front of a large metal door. She banged on the door three times, making the boys flinch. There was a pause before lily banged on it once more.

The sound of locks roughly turning on the other side, bounced off the walls of the alleyway.

The door swung open. The boys all looked up as a very large man stood in front of them all. He was tall, taller than the young man Sirius was trying to find. His shoulders were broad and his arms huge. He wasn’t fat. Defiantly not fat with the amount of pure muscles he had.

Peter gulped loudly as James leaned over to Sirius. “How the hell do you find these people?” he whisper shouted. Sirius just blinked up at the man, making sure that he was real.

The man narrowed his dark blue eyes on them. A few strands of his dark red hair falling over them. “Who are you?” He grunted out, looking each of them up and down.

Sirius stepped forwards into the light of the doorway. He watched as the man’s eyes widened in recognition. “Sirius Black?” Sirius didn’t answer him. He was to transfix on the large scar that ran down the center of the man face. It started from the top of his forehead, ran down the bridge of his nose and out onto his left cheek. It truly made the man look scary.

“It’s rude to stare,” said the man, snapping Sirius out of state. He cleared his throat and looked away, just past the man to the inside of the building. “Sorry, that’s me.”

The man raised an eyebrow at Sirius before Lily finally decided to speak up, “Cain let us in, its freezing out here!” She yelled, pushing past Sirius. Sirius watched as the scary looking man smiled softly at her.

“Lily! How nice of you to stop by,” Cain said cheerfully. Lily rolled her eyes but smiled non the less. “Yeah, yeah. These guys are looking for wolfy, mind if we come in now?”

Cain looked past lily. His eyes landing on Sirius suspiciously. “Fine,” he said, moving out of the way to let them in. Lily looked back at the guys and grinned as they followed her inside. “So, what are professional fighters like you two want with a guy like wolfy?” Cain asked, pushing his way to the front.

“That’s private business,” Sirius stated as Cain lead them down a dark and damp hallway. The dark green wallpaper was peeling away, and the floors creaked with every step. Lights flickered overhead and the faded sound of shouting and cheering drew closer. “Suit yourself,” Cain shrugged.

Sirius looked over at James. The dark-skinned boy was looking around in complete awe. Sirius could understand why. The two off them had grown up in wealth and fame. Dirty and destroyed places like this weren’t exactly common in their world. “What is this place?” James breathed out.

Cain looked over his shoulder at them, an eyebrow raised. “You mean you don’t know?” He asked stopping outside a pair of double doors. The sound of shouting and cheering was louder now but still muffled by the metal doors.

The boys shook their heads. Cain grinned at them. “Well lads. Welcome…. TO THE COLOSSEUM!” He shouted pushing the two doors open.

Bright overhead lights shone into Sirius eyes as he walked through the doors. The group finding themselves on a balcony overlooking what seemed to be an indoor stadium. Rows upon rows of people cheering and shouting, the sound of bets being made and taunting sending a wave of electricity up Sirius spine. Right in the middle of it all was an octagon ring that Sirius knew all too well.

“You wanted wolfy, well there he is,” Lily said. A smile was plastered on her face as she leaned on the railing looking over the ring. Sirius’s silver eyes watched the two people fighting. His mouth suddenly felt dry as that familiar cameral coloured, head of hair ducked to dodge a punch. “It’s him…” he barley managed to whispered out.

Peter and James stood either side of him, watching the fight starstruck. “Sirius, mate. I hate to burst your bubble, but you described this guy as tall and skinny,” James said practically bouncing on his feet as ‘wolfy’ landed a hard left hook. “That guy is anything but skinny!” Peter gasped as if offended Sirius could ever describe the man like that.

Sirius gulped as the two fighters danced around the ring. The young man now facing towards him. His amber eyes were bright, sweat dripping down his forehead. His arms, legs and torso shining in the light. He stood up straighter, pushing his sweat drenched hair out of his face which only seemed to smear the blood that ran down his nose, everywhere.

Sirius blinked a few times to make sure he was seeing things right. His feet felt like they were stuck to the ground, unable to move or look away. Only one thought swam through his mind…

“Who the hell is this guy?!”

[tessarichardss]

new york’s very own tessa richards was spotted on broadway street , with a striking semblance to zoey deutch ! you may know them as @tessarichards or hitting the front page of tmz as ex-reality star rumored to have moved to new york for an internship with hassenfeld children’s hospital . according to tmz , you just had your twenty-fourth birthday bash . while living in nyc , you’ve been labeled as being guarded , but also tenderhearted . things that would paint a better picture of you would be endless nights you’ll never forget, sunflowers, running barefoot through an open field . ( cisfemale + she/her  ) +  (  saxon , twenty-six , she/her , cst )

Out Of Character

Hello bbies! 🥰 My name is Saxon and I’d like you to meet the absolute labor of my love Tessa and love her even though she doesn’t deserve it! We are always open for connections, ideas or plots so please, please, please do not hesitate to hit me up if you want to conjure something up with this lovable and ridiculous energetic puppy. I look forward to roleplaying with you and your children!

Basic Information

Full Name: Tessa Grace Richards.

Nickname(s): Tess.

Birthday: Febuary 10th, 1996. 

Orientation: Heterosexual.

Language(s) Spoken: English, Spanish.

Background

So Tessa was born to an unwed couple who were in their mid 30′s at the time, her mom thought the two of them were hopelessly in love until Tessa was four and dude just dipped? Her mom came home one day and all his stuff was gone, no note or anything, he drained their account and they haven’t ever heard from him since.

This obviously fucked Tessa up young because she has mad issues with love meaning anything and also abandonment, like she definitely doesn’t sleep well at night because she spent years waking up and running to the window every time she saw car lights, thinking it was him coming home.

Her mom is an absolute saint of a woman however (think Lorelai from Gilmore Girls meets Donna  Sheridan from Mamma Mia), just an absolute quirky angel of a woman who definitely took in and helped abandoned animals but was also the place all the kids in town knew they could go if they had shitty parents/living situations or just a bad day and they needed a safe place to go? So obviously she stepped up and took down all dudes pictures and just raised Tessa like the single boss she is.

Tessa grew up into like an angel of a kid but oh buddy was she a chaotic one. Total tomboy, full of insane energy and personality, always on the move and exploring and doing things she shouldn’t be. Definitely the type to show up back at home as the suns going down just covered in dirt and bumps and bruises. 100% knocked her own baby teeth out from falling and slamming her face and had two front silver teeth as a little kid.

She was never very girly and because she grew up in this southern town that was just full of very critical asshole kids from more well-off families than her own was, particularly the girls who were very prissy, she definitely ended up clicking more with boys and quickly became ‘one of the guys’. Like undoubtedly had an all male friend group and was definitely the girl that girlfriends would be paranoid about while all the dudes were like confused as to how their girls were jealous because Tessa was just like another guy/little sibling, there was no interest on either end.

She had two shitty relationships as a teenager, the first cheated on her because she wasn’t ready to have sex and then the second whom she actually gave it up to, turned out to just be with her on a bet to see how long it would take him to get in her pants? She ended up punching dude in the face when she found out and broke his nose and asshole’s family actually wanted to press charges until Mama Richards shut the shit down.

TW: SUICIDE ATTEMPT MENTION Has slight anger management issues? Like she’s chill but when she blows up man does she blow up. Pushed a girl down a flight of stairs at school after she made a remark about a friend who had tried to commit suicide, the family did press charges this time and Tessa had to go to anger management classes and serve community service hours. She also got kicked out of school and just decided not to go back, went online and just got her GED at seventeen instead.

She was (and still is) very close and attached to her mom, absolute most important person in her life, but she worried about her so much her mom realized she probably wasn’t ever planning on leaving? So her mom got the help of her friends and they actually filled out an application for her to go onto a reality tv show? Seems crazy but each season took place in a different part of the world and her mom knew she wanted to travel but would never make the decision herself so when she got cast her mom was just like “lol here you go bye now”.

She hated it at first because she had grown so used to Texas and the country and her friends and making sure her mom was okay that it gave her a lot of anxiety and stress but she actually fell in love with it? Made a lot of close friends, became a fan favorite of sorts and would you believe it, the dumbass fell in love.

This boy wormed his way into her heart and it was a kind of a slightly unstable relationship because she would try and push away from him and her feelings but he always drew her back? He even proposed after like months of them being together and she panicked and ran but still he drew her back and they agreed that they should chill with the idea of engagement/marriage? He ended up leaving the show after like their fourth messy break up? And she, would you believe it, followed. The two ended up sleeping together but she was overly aware of the fact that he wasn’t actually in love with her anymore so she saved herself any awkward conversation and further heartbreak by just dipping before he woke up. 

After this, Tessa returned to Texas and spent a solid week just out partying and drinking with friends and suddenly - BAM, she was having a one night stand with a complete stranger which was rather out of pocket for her and then even more suddenly - BAM, a pregnancy with no clue as to who the child’s father was. Thankfully it ended up being the one night stand’s and he turned out to be an incredible guy and father.

Obviously she never returned to the show and focused instead on becoming a mother and setting up a future for herself and her child.

She’s always been a big fan of kids (worked for a daycare after school, actually helped start up a charity that works with orphans/orphanages while on the show) and so she decided that she wanted to be a child life specialist and started attending school during her pregnancy and the two years that followed.

She ended up having a little girl named Addison, this child is her whole world and she’s 1000% the mom that posts about their kid too much on social media but she’s 100% turned Tessa’s life around and helped her mature in ways she wouldn’t have without her and she just loves her kid more than anything/anyone else. 

She assumed her life would remain in Texas until a trip to New York a few months back to visit Alex Morgan (who remarked on the fact that she should move in) ended with her packing up her daughter and her bags within less than a month and landing her in the state for the foreseeable future. 

She’s currently continuing her last year of school through online classes in order to get her bachelors while interning at the Hassenfeld Children’s Hospital. 

Personality

A dork? Literally the biggest dork, the dorkiest of dorks, just a whole friggen dork. This child rambles like you wouldn’t believe and her mouth 100% works faster than her brain so like you never know what to expect but she’s just a happy, friendly, sarcastic little bean with social anxiety and a heart of gold tbh.

Also an aggressive lil’ lady though, like 12/10 chance she’ll throw hands if you want to fuck with or say something about the people she loves.

A chaotic soul as well like down to party and have a good time and will definitely drink a dude under the table, definitely broke her ribs two summers in a row from a drinking game because this child doesn’t know when to slow down or chill out, she’s just trying to live.

Emotional as hell, like definitely cries during commercials and Disney movies, but like if you’re trying to tap into her serious emotions she’s gonna shut that shit down. She keeps people locked out tbh and just jokes about the serious shit in her life if she does talk about it.

Desired Connections

Friends? This is tricky because she was basically in Texas for most of her life and then traveling? But someone who lived in/visited Texas and they met? Someone she met while filming the show in some random country - they were living there or traveling and met while she was out and about one day? Maybe someone she met through her charity work? Someone who has a kid or a younger sibling/niece/nephew/godchild who she took care of at the hospital or even on a home visit and they met her/know her that way?

Exes? So her most recent ex is off limits because it’s based off a real connection but like either of her exes from high school? The first one would have had to have lived in Texas for some time but the latter could have been visiting friends/family for a summer? If anyone has a character that works for these I’m down for the drama, especially the second because Tessa is fully ready to break dude’s nose again.

Half siblings? So Tessa’s dad basically bailed when she was little - maybe he had another family? Could have had a kid before her who he also bailed on, could have started a family during the same time or after, he could have stayed there for them or bailed on them as well? They could know about Tessa, or neither could know about the other? Tessa pry wouldn’t know about them because she made it a point to never bother searching for this man let alone any family but literally I’m down for whatever other ideas you’ve got on this one!

Honestly Tessa needs some guy friends! Like I said she’s always been very much more one of the guys - would rather be drinking a beer watching a sports game and yelling than going on a shopping spree okay she has 0 interest, and since she moved from home she needs a new guy group to cause trouble with but also, who makes a better wing woman than a girl okay? Chaos friend but also mom friend rolled into one because she will get involved in shenanigans but will also call you out for acting dumb too.

Also here’s some open, wanted musing connection ideas; https://tessarichardsmusings.tumblr.com/tagged/tessa-%2B-open

Pinterest

[thesparkinthefire]

Ghost - Pedro Pascal x Reader, part 2

A/N: I finally, finally finished this. Wuhu! Part two of the Ghost series (that is turning into a three piece) is here for your entertainment. The musical mentioned later on is called Six and I am referring to the character of Katherine Howard, in case anyone is interested. I tried not to let the musical-nerd take over but I don’t know if that worked. I also wrote a bit about The Mandalorian and will just assume everyone who likes Pedro has already seen that, haha.

Word count: 3,729

Paaring: Pedro Pascal x musical!Reader

Trigger Warning: anxiety, age gap hinted, someone cried a bit

part one

“If there's anything left I can do to convince myself it could be true it's up to me, to suspend my disbeliefs.” - Suspend my disbeliefs, the Ghost cast album

You were nervous. More than that. Your confidence had gone missing two days ago and you started asking yourself why you had even accepted the role in the first place. You were portraying Molly. Molly. The female leading role of a musical based on a movie that everyone had seen. What made you think that it was a good idea in the first place?

Of course you and Oscar, who was playing Sam, had been practising for weeks but the premiere was only two days away. Two day. You had been staring at the script in front of you for ten minutes now. What was the line? This morning, when you had done your first run through you had remembered it but now it was gone – erased from your memory and you couldn't stop asking yourself how you were suppose to remember anything once you were on stage. No, you thought to yourself. Now was not the right time to panic. You just had to go through the whole scene and the line would come to you. Okay, breath. What was the scene?

Molly and Karl were sitting in a restaurant, talking about how she had information about Sam's murder. Sam, as a ghost, was standing beside them. While she was trying to convince Karl to believe what the fortune-teller had said. Suspend My Disbelieves was playing in the background. Molly was telling him the things the psychist had told her – the photo they took in an empty bus, the starfish in Montego Bay – and that Sam knew who killed him. Karl protests and Molly tells him, that she had a name and address and that Sam wants her to go to the police. “The police? Jesus, Molly,” says Karl. “What are you gonna tell them?” Sam talks in the background and Molly-... What does Molly say? Fuck.

It was gone. The line was gone, fucking vanished. You would never be able to do the whole show even though that was what you started with. Acting in a movie was so different to performing in a musical. When shooting a movie you had multiple takes to get a scene right – sometime you would even go back at a later point and rework it, when the writers changed a dialogue or something just wasn't right about it. But when you were doing a musical you normally only had about a month of rehearsals with the cast, before that you learned the songs on your own and had your vocals prepared for the assemble to join you. And then you rehearsed. And rehearsed and rehearsed. But there was no rewind once the show started. No one was gonna yell “Cut!” and ask you to do it again. The audience was right in front of you and they expected nothing less than you doing your job without any mistakes.

Musicals had always been your passion. You had been in music-focused classes in school giving you two extra music lessons a week and joined the school's choir as soon as you were allowed to. You had been taking dancing classes since you were a child. Playing theatre in the long summer holidays and visiting theatre camps. You had been growing up wanting to be a musical actress and your dream had become true when you joined a West End production in London. Your first role was in the assemble, the next was a side character and the next a main. People saw you had potential and they never regretted giving you a chance. Then you had the offer to play the female leading role in a teen-romance movie – before that you had never through about filming movies but you gave it a try and hell. It felt like a dream when they called you to tell you, that the statistics had been going through the roof. From one day to another your life changed completely. That was when you stopped playing theatre and musicals. You moved to California, after you had been offered a role in a promising movie series and then got the part in The Mandalorian. And met Pedro.

You grew up with Star Wars. Your whole childhood had been Star Wars themed – from birthday parties to the prequels in cinema to The Clone Wars series to reading literally every book out there. If there was anything you loved as much as you loved musicals it was Star Wars. You remembered your dad calling you “Padawan” when you were building birdhouses when you were ten years old. You remember presenting a Star Wars book in school. You even did your final oral exam in Spanish about Star Wars just because it was the only thing you could possible focus on other than musicals. So when you had the chance to be part of that universe you took it. Nothing could have kept you from doing it. You knew you would accept it before you even knew what the part would exactly be. When you met John and Dave – who were producing and writing The Mandalorian – you were shaking. You were so nervous that you felt like you were about to shit your pants at any minute, you chugged a whole glass of water during the meeting and just couldn't stop shaking. That's how excited you were. And it didn't get better when they told you about what they had planned for your character.

Aurine Jaxx – your character – was set to become something like the girlfriend to Din Djarin. Not really a girlfriend, because his life and story line was focused about The Child but you were introduced to show even more how much he struggled in between being a Mandalorian warrior and wanting to retire and just be human. You loved Pedro Pascal and how he portrayed Din. Of course you had seen the first season of the show. That scene in the last episode when the droid took his helmet off? Those were the only two minutes when your saw his face all season but the acting in this was fabulous. Messed up hair, trembling lips, shiny eyes – you were able to see how afraid of dying he was, even though it was something he had been confronted with every day of his life since he was a child. You were over the moon to be able to work with him.

Din met the fiance of Aurine in a dubious bar. He asked him to return his soon-to-be wife to him after she had ran away. Din, in need of a job after breaking with the guild, accepted and met her. But soon he found out that she was running from him, not because she was afraid to commit to a life with him, but because he was mistreating her, cheating on her and even threatening to physically hurt her. So Din took her with him instead of bringing her back to the fiance and she stayed. They grew closer and closer and he started trusting her more than anyone.

The scene you were the most nervous for was kissing him. Of course acting with someone who wore a helmet all the time wasn't easy but the kissing scene was way harder. It was set to be at night-time, The Child sleeping in the ship while Din and Aurine sat outside by a small campfire in the middle of nowhere. You had to close your eyes and he placed his hand above them just to be sure you wouldn't be able to look. You remember his hands being cold, contrasting the warm breath in your skin. His lips ghosted over yours, before he kissed you. He was so gentle and shy about it, while you moved a hand into his hair and pulled him closer. Soft lips on yours while his fingers painted feather-light touches on your cheek. Watching the scene back was sending shivers down your spine. Kissing Pedro Pascal wasn't something you ever thought you would. He was such a talented actor that you were almost sure he wasn't acting in that scene, that he had really been nervous to kiss you. Maybe you were hoping for it. But obviously that wasn't the case. He was a brilliant actor.

And now you were here. Back at playing musicals, what you had started with, and you never felt so insecure in your whole life. Confidence was the key to a good stage presence and you had lost it all. So when you got a text from Pedro you basically lost it. All he sent was “How are you doing? Haven't heard from you all day.” but it made you tear up immediately. Without sparing a second thought you asked him, if he wanted to come over because you were about to freak out. “Be there in 15.”

Pedro had a talent for calming your nerves – he had proven that a few times during your time together at press-tour for The Mandalorian. Interviews made you nervous especially if they were live or in front of a huge audience. You were always afraid you might say something the fans wouldn't be pleased with or even accidentally spoiling the show. He made sure you drank enough throughout the day, got enough rest, and always had some sweets for you before an interview to push your blood sugar and stop your hands from shaking. His touch was calming and comforting but made your heart race at the same time. In a good way. Saying, you didn't like being close to him, would be lying. He held your hand at crowded places, had an arm over the backrest of your seat during interviews and sometimes even cuddled with you in cold planes. You have had a few movie nights over the weeks you have been touring, because the hype for the second season was enormous, and they always ended the same: Watching maybe half of the movie before one of you fell asleep. You have been falling asleep on his shoulder and woken up to the beat of his heart.

So it was no surprise to you, that he showed up at your door with a bar of chocolate and two beer. “Do you think alcohol is the thing I need right now?”

“Alcohol calms one's nerves,” he answered with a smile, handing you the beer and the chocolate, after you had let him inside. “You said you were freaking out and I guessed it was because of the premiere, so I brought you something to help you calm a bit.”

“But alcohol is not the best thing for your voice.”

“It is not?”

“Not for your singing voice,” you confirmed, dropping onto the sofa. You put your head back and closed your eyes. You shouldn't be bitching around – you had asked him to come over. “Sorry, I am just stressed. I keep forgetting that one line I have right before the break and the thought that that might happen on stage, in front of the audience, scares me.”

Pedro sat down beside you, gaze wandering over you. “I get that but you are gonna be okay. You are a great actress and do musicals just as well.”

“You have never seen me perform a musical.”

“Internet,” he admitted, causing you to open your eyes and tilting your head into his direction. “Don't look at me like that, you have watched my former projects too. You have basically seen me naked.”

“Well, that's because your projects were big and highly advertised – unlike the small musicals I took part in. You can only watch them because of illegal uploads on YouTube.” Oh, some of those YouTube videos had the potential to drive him mad.

The musical you had gotten a leading role in was about girl power and women realizing, that they should work together and hype each other instead of comparing one another. He loved that message, really, but what he loved more was you. And that little of a costume you were wearing. You were basically in nothing more than tights, a bodysuit and a see-through skirt on stage. Maybe it was fate that no videos of your solo song were online – the song was rather sexy and Pedro didn't know if he would have been able to handle seeing you in that costume, singing about men wanting you.

“I like to do my research on the people I work with.”

You couldn't fight the smile forming on your lips. “I should have done a deep dive into my brain before I accepted the role. Seriously, I don't think I can do it. I might just pass out right before the curtain opens.”

“You will do great,” he assured you.

“I won't.” You got up to get a bottle opener from your kitchen. “I can't even remember that one line.”

“Let me help.” You sat back down, handed Pedro the opener after you had opened you own beer and took a sip. “Which scene are we talking about?” He had the script in his hands already. Oscar and you had him over for practise a few times, so he knew most of the scenes you shared.

“The one where Molly first tells Karl that Sam had been murdered. I know that Sam says something like “Jesus, Molly, what are you gonna tell them?” and then I am suppose to say something but I can't remember it at all. I have been going through the scene a million times now – talking it through, acting through it, but nothing helps.”

“No wonder you don't remember what you are suppose to say.” He laughed quietly and you really didn't know what on earth was funny about that. “You are singing.”

“I am-” All of a sudden the line was back in your head as if it had never been gone. Of course! “Suspend my disbelieves.” Pedro nodded. “Oh, thank god, I am not going crazy!”

“You are gonna have the music on stage that will remind you, that you have to sing – don't worry.”

“That is the problem, you know? I used to not be this worried when it came to musicals. I used to be so confident in what I am doing but it is all gone now. When did that happen?”

“You just haven't performed in front of an audience for a long time. That happens to me too when I go back from cinema and TV to theatre.” You had almost forgotten about that. On one hand you would love to see him in a play, but that would mean he would stay in his home in New York, while you were Los Angeles based right now. You didn't even think about the possibility about him moving back to the opposite side of the country once all deals and meetings for his next projects were done. He had stayed in his LA apartment ever since you met him, except for the time between Christmas and the new year. How were you suppose to survive here without him? “Do you want to sing one of the songs? Music always seems to calms you.”

The question hit you out of the blue but he was right. You had a playlist full of songs that soothed you and you had used it more than once since the rehearsals had started. “Y-yeahr,” you answered, nodded, and moved over to your piano. “Can I sing a sad song?”

“You mean Without You? I haven't heard you sing that one yet.” Of course he had listened to the original cast record. Why haven't you thought about that? Yes, he had heard some songs of the production you were working on, but mainly the ones you shared with Oscar. And there wouldn't be an album for your cast.

“Okay, I will try to do that.”

“You will be great.” His words made your heart skip a beat. How was he able to smooth you with such a simple sentence?

“But you gotta stay behind me – I don't like seeing people stare at me when I sing.”

“Says you, the musical actress?” He had to hold back a laugh.

“Performing on stage in front of an audience of hundreds is something else than performing for one person in my living room.”

“Okay, I'll give you that. Go ahead.” Pedro moved to stand behind you, the beer still in his hand. You sat everything up and took a deep breath before you started the song. It was probably the most emotional moment of the whole show, besides the final. Molly was mourning Sam with that song, expressing the pain of losing him and how she tried to deal with it. Performing it in the play was hard, because you were on the edge of crying for real most of the times. Of course you had lost people close to you in your young life already, but part of the song also reminded you of Pedro and how hopeless your love for him was. He probably saw himself as a mentor of your, I not even a father figure. But you couldn't stop seeing him in front of your inner eyes among the line “Every place I wanna be, I wanna see you there.” You wanted him by your side. You wanted him to be your date for the premiere and the after show party. You didn't want him to go back to New York, you wanted him to stay with you in LA. You wanted him to hold you when times were as stressful as they were right now. You wanted him to kiss you, to wrap his arms around you and to tell you, that no matter what happened, he would be by your side. And you wanted him to mean it. To feel the same. To love you. God, you wished he would love you.

By the end of the song your heart was aching. It was hurting and you were glad, that he didn't say a word for a minute. You could just pretend that you were in your role and he would understand that the song made you sad, because it made Molly sad. But just as you were about to crack a lame joke about it, you heard a sniff. And it didn't come from you. “Are you-” You turned around to see Pedro having his back turned to you, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Are you crying?”

“No.” His voice was shaking. Slowly he turned back facing you, lips curled to a small smile. “Absolutely not.” His eyes were a little red and shiny. He was crying.

“Oh god, I am sorry.” You stood up and went to hug him.

“Just proves what a great actress you are.” He returned it. You closed your eyes, leaned your head against him and took a quiet but deep breath. Was it selfish? Maybe. But perhaps you needed the comfort just as much as he did. Just in a different way. Feeling his warm body against your own. His hair tickled your ear. God, he smelled good. Something you had always liked about him. You couldn't define it, but it was good. Everything about him was good. And you regretted nothing more, than that you had never asked him out, never had made a move on him.

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