#not that i try to make my art Look like the actors- only the noses really- but idk with cary i get real picky with it

[ollyollyaxe]

found some art i forgot about in my drafts and its crazy how fast my style changes when im learning to draw a character

[aespicysstuff]

Scream

Jenna Ortega x Fem!Reader

Description: "When Jenna can't help but fall in love with her coworker, but she's too much of a coward to confess believing you don't feel the same, however, the girl is wrong you would kneel for her."

Words: 18.1k

Saju: "ENJOY IT LOVE"

---

Jenna Ortega is a well-known name. She is an authentic woman with unreal beauty, creativity, cuteness, education, intelligence, and more. I could spend days complimenting her without getting tired. Like many people, I know Jenna from her works. Watching her performances on screen is already something gratifying and magnificent, but nothing compares to witnessing her talent in person.

How do I know this? Well, perhaps because, thanks to my job, I had the opportunity to work alongside one of the people I admire. Since a very young age, I have always been interested in parkour, martial arts, and boxing. Recognizing my potential in these areas, my father ensured I learned everything. Thankfully to him, I have the most enjoyable job – being a stunt double.

---

You logically started with small films and series, sometimes even commercials and a few games. You had begun to gain popularity among directors, especially after being the stunt double for Zoë Kravitz in "The Batman" and being the motion and body model for a new character in the Resident Evil game franchise. The director of "Scream VI" was looking for a stunt double for Melissa Barreram, the actress playing Sam Carpenter. Like other stunt doubles, you submitted a video showcasing your skills. After seeing your performance and how adept you were at both agile and heavy movements, they hired you for the role. You've been enjoying the experiences to the fullest.

At this moment, you were heading to the set and also meeting with the cast. During the filming, you had gotten close to almost all the actors, especially Jenna and Melissa. As you arrived, you spotted Jasmine and Mason from a distance, quickening your pace to reach them. "GOOD MORNING, BEAUTIES!" You kissed both of them on the cheek. "Good morning, lovely! You woke up in high spirits today," Jasmine said after you sat beside her. "I also noticed. Does it have something to do with a 5'1" Latina who loves playing characters with no sanity?" Mason teased while ruffling your hair.

You weakly slapped his arms, scoffing as they both broke into laughter. But when you were about to say something, a familiar scream interrupted. "MELISSA, STOP!" In minutes, you saw a small figure running towards you and hiding behind you. "Y/n, protect me, plea—" Jenna was interrupted by a furious Melissa chasing her. They ran around the table, making everyone laugh at the actresses' cuteness.

You decided it would be better to stop them before someone got hurt. You got up, caught Melissa in your arms, and held her tight. She struggled a little, but your grip was firm. Though she might be taller, you were stronger. You placed her beside Mason and sat back down, chuckling. Jenna sat beside you, and you offered her a water bottle. After she thanked you and turned to the group, you couldn't help but laugh at the situation.

Your eyes roamed every detail of her face, from her freckles to her dimple, her button nose, and the lips you wanted to feel so badly. Jenna felt her heart jumping in her chest, as if she would pass out from how intensely you were looking at her. She started leaning her face towards yours, interlinking her gaze between your eyes and your lips. Hypnotized, both of you were so entranced by each other that you didn't notice when you were called, "LOVE BIRDS!! WE HAVE SCENES TO SHOOT!! STOP EATING EACH OTHER AND GO TO THE SET!!" Jasmine, always the sweetheart, got your attention, making both of you jump a little and put some distance between yourselves.

The staff and some actors had already entered; only you and Jenna were missing. You remained in silence, trying to tame your heartbeats and your blush. You heard Jenna clearing her throat, "Uh... I-I think it's better if we go inside too." Jenna said while getting up and walking to the set, not giving you time to reply. You stayed for a bit longer, trying to absorb what just happened. Would you guys really have kissed if you weren't interrupted? You put your hands on your head, sighing, and started your way to the set.

You had started the recordings, and now you found yourself restless and apprehensive. At the moment, you were shooting the theater scene, and seeing Jenna hanging there wasn't pleasant. You couldn't believe how many times this girl faced danger without fear. She had mentioned loving to do her own stunts, and you couldn't blame her. You felt incredible after your own acrobatics. Still, you feared that one day she might get seriously injured. You couldn't help but worry about her.

You almost ran towards her when the director gave the order for her to fall, but you held back and sat down again. Her character and Jack's had a brief dialogue, and following the script, Tara thrust the knife into Ethan's mouth. You couldn't deny that seeing her smile of relief after her action and the blood on her face made you more infatuated with her than you already were.

Just as it was said, you knew Jenna from other works, and since then, you admired her. Just like her fans, you couldn't resist the charms of this Latina. Since the first day of filming, you've been falling more and more in love with her. She doesn't help much in easing these feelings since, from the first day, she hasn't let go of you. Not that you're complaining, but trying to stop liking her is almost an impossible mission.

You would really like to confess your feelings to Jenna, but you feel that she deserves someone better, someone who understands her (in the work sense) and who is a beautiful woman that fits with her. You're just the stunt double, the tomboy, as some call you, simply because you have a more sculpted body, a muscular physique, and a tomboyish style. You've always faced these kinds of unpleasant comments for these reasons. Your friends always comfort you, and your small fan community defends you as much as they can.

Jenna also always comforts you when some of these comments shake you. She always says that you're like a Doberman, always with a stern face, ready to snap at anyone who comes close. She said she feels safe with you, as if she were at home. Lost in your thoughts, you hadn't noticed that they had finished the scenes. You also didn't see a certain short girl watching you attentively.

Jenna observed every trace of your face, every bit of you. From your curly hair to your tattoos, she loves every part of you. She finds herself hopelessly in love with you, every aspect of you, habits, words—you leave her fascinated. It wasn't in her plans to fall in love, but on the day she saw you, she knew her heart wouldn't hold up. She perfectly remembers how her heart skipped a beat after seeing you. You were in simple clothes that highlighted your curves and, most importantly, your muscles. But the fatal blow was the smile you gave her after hugging her.

But Jenna is afraid of this, of these feelings. She has always been more focused on work, never paid much attention to romance. But now, after getting to know you, she daydreams about your life together.

She wants to confess, but she never manages to. She always retreats before revealing her feelings, afraid that you won't fit into her life or even that you'll distance yourself because of it. That's why she hasn't confessed yet. But the desire is there, what's lacking is courage and a bit of shame.

Jenna shook her head slightly to get rid of these thoughts and silently approached you since you were still distracted. She came close to you, laughing at your expression, and on impulse, she squeezed your shoulders and gave you a kiss on the neck, staying with her face there. "Jenna! Why did you scare me like that?" You said in a playful manner, covering your face, hearing the girl laugh at the situation. "Sorry, mi corazón, it wasn't my intention, but you looked so beautifully distracted, and I couldn't resist." She hugged you, and you turned a bit, pulling her onto your lap, hugging her waist and resting your head on her shoulder.

Jenna put her arms around your neck and planted a kiss on the top of your head. You didn't say anything, just enjoyed each other's presence. It was enough. The connection you two had was visible for everyone to see, and it was a beautiful thing. That's why many didn't bother you two. Unfortunately, your moment was interrupted by the director calling you to shoot some stunts. Both of you sighed; you gave Jenna a little pat on the thigh signaling her to get up. "No! I'm not leaving. I'm home..." She said in a cute, whiny voice, and your heart skipped a few beats. "I'm home," you couldn't help but smile.

You tightened your embrace. "It's okay, my love. I promise to spend the whole rest of the day with you." You cupped her face, caressing her cheek. Jenna felt butterflies having a party in her stomach. Ugh! How she wanted to kiss you until the air evaporated from her lungs, but she restrained herself, moving away a bit and raising her pinkie finger, "Do you promise with your pinkie?" You laughed at her cuteness and joined your pinkies, "I promise, mi amor." You kissed her fingers, making Jenna even more infatuated.

"Then go do those stunts quickly because I want to be cuddled up with you all day." You picked her up, making her squeal and then burst into laughter. You put her down and started walking toward the actors, but you stopped, turned back, and ran towards Jenna. However, what she had to say got stuck in her throat. You had given her a kiss on the eyebrow and whispered in her ear, "See you later, mi amor."

You ran off after the director shouted your name, leaving a paralyzed and tomato-red Jenna behind. She snapped out of her trance and ran to her trailer, laughing like a love-struck teenager.

---

The sun had already set when everyone was released from the recordings. The sky was partially orange, and its dim light guided you to your trailer. You knocked on the door, and it didn't take long for Jenna to open it. "You took your time!" She pulled you into a hug. "Mi amor, you were the one who got released early, haha!" You squeezed her in your arms, resting your chin on her head. You stayed like that for a few more minutes.

"Let's go inside; you must be tired." She led you in, closing the door once you entered. "Can I take a quick shower, princess?" You asked, seeing a cute pout forming on her face. "But... I wanted to cuddle with you now." She pouted, and you couldn't resist the cuteness, pinching her cheeks, making her pout intensify.

"My love, this will only take me a few minutes, and then you can have me all to yourself." Jenna looked at you with those bambi eyes and agreed, going to sit on the couch while you prepared. As you had said, after a few minutes, you were already by her side, watching none other than "Puss in Boots 2" haha. You were lying on the couch, and Jenna was lying on top of you.

There was a pleasant silence between you two, only the sounds of the movie were heard. You lowered your gaze to Jenna, observing every detail of her, from eyebrows to lips. You became (once again) hypnotized. Jenna felt your burning gaze on her head and turned her face, resting her chin between your breasts, "What's wrong?" She asked, giving you a small smile. You just shook your head, watching her, seeing how every part of her reacted. God, you were hopelessly in love and didn't know what to do.

You wanted to shout at the top of your lungs about how much you love her, wanted to kiss her, love her, take care of her, wanted to be with her. But you are a coward who can't take action and is afraid of losing her in every way. You ran your hand over Jenna's face, gently caressing her with your thumb, watching her close her eyes and practically melt into your embrace.

Jenna turned her face, depositing a kiss in the palm of your hand, still with her eyes closed. She felt the temperature of her body increase with each touch of yours; to feel you so close is a blessing and a curse at the same time. She wanted to have you like this but as her girlfriend, as the love of her life and not as "friends"; she hated that term. She wants to have the freedom to kiss you, love you, but fear and insecurities consume her, and gradually she gets closer to possibly losing you.

You were in your bubble; no one spoke anything, just felt the touches of your bodies and souls. Jenna opened her eyes, seeing your eyes fixed on her, and you realized you’d been caught. So, you sent her a crooked smile with your cheeks reddish. You realized how close your faces were, and with courage taken from your ass, you gradually started to close the distance between you two.

Jenna also started to close the distance; she felt her body tremble in anticipation. She put her hands on your shoulders, grabbing your shirt. "Kiss me… Kiss me please Y/N." Jenna grabbed your face, putting her forehead on yours. She slightly dragged her lips across your face, whispering, "kiss me mi amor."

"F*ck it," you pulled her neck and kissed her. The kiss was hurried, but firm. In it, love and desire stored for so long were transmitted. Sighs were released, hearts accelerated and synchronized, bodies hot like the embers of a bonfire, hands exploring every part of the bodies, every curve, caressing the skin like a brush caresses.

The air became scarce, and both, reluctantly, separated. Jenna had opened her eyes slowly, trying to reason if what just happened was true or just another one of her dreams. She lay on your chest, still panting, and looked at you, waiting for you to open your eyes and snap out of the trance.

You felt like you were in the clouds, more alive. You opened your eyes, seeing the woman of your dreams watching you. "Are you real? Like... did this really just happen, or am I delirious?" You asked her while caressing her hair. Jenna smiled, showing her dimple, and hid her face in your neck.

You both were euphoric, finally! You had fulfilled one of the wishes, but the doubt still lingers. Even though you had just kissed each other with all of you, with your hearts, you can't help but question, "Does she really like me?"

You cleared your throat, bringing Jenna's attention back to you. "Uh... I know we just kissed as if the world were ending, but... uh... what are we now? Like, do you really like me? Because I like— No! I... I love you, Jenna." You confessed, watching Jenna react with disbelief. "I've loved you since the day I met you, with your more reserved way, your somewhat eccentric humor, your sarcasm, your freckles." You said everything with a smile on your face and a special sparkle in your eyes. "You can't imagine all the times I held back from kissing you, telling you how much I love you. All the tears I shed for you, feeling insufficient for you." You let out a shaky sigh; getting all of this off your chest is a relief.

Jenna couldn't explain what she felt at this moment. Relief? Happiness? Sadness? She couldn't believe that you were really saying all this; her heart felt like it was going to explode with so much happiness. But she felt sad hearing your last words, "How dare you feel that way?!? Y/n, I've never felt so happy, safe, and comfortable with anyone like I feel with you. It's like my heart already knew that you would take care of it with your life." She passed her hand over your face, wiping away the tears that you didn't even realize were falling.

"You make me feel so many things at once, but none of them is something bad. You always take care of me, make me feel beautiful, make me feel like I can conquer the world and the universe. You are my star; you are more than enough for me, mi amor. And answering you, I love you too, and I want this to turn into something more. I want you as my partner for the rest of my life." She chuckled lightly; her soul felt light after confessing, after knowing that you also love her.

You hugged each other with big smiles on your faces. Both have a lot to learn, but now, they won't do it alone. You have each other, and this union will be hard to break. Your love is special, like the love of the sun for the moon.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 1 part 3

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1])

so babe, hear me out. we could adopt him. just spitballing here (agatha, probably)

bwahhaha fantasy!billy and his death stare, meanwhile real billy is such a polite baby

if you look closely you can tell Joe Locke is fighting for his life holding down laughter in a lot of his scenes with Katrhyn. he has nerves of steel, couldn't be me

(also, billy telling her she has neither the respect of her peers NOR a fulfilling home life? harsh, but fair.) (at least her wife is trying to fix the home life part)

honey, don't go around kicking grumpy little twinks now! perfectly in character. despite her chaotic exterior, rio is a very lawful person. she is literally the laws of nature!

the Ballad plays faintly in the background when Billy mentions the Road

I love when good actors have to pretend to be bad actors. and I also find it interesting that Agatha cast herself as a good guy. does it make her feel better? is she telling herself that all the atrocities were justified, that it was only survival instinct? (like rio said, she's only lying to herself)

I had to look up the painting, it's Macbeth meeting the three witches (thank you Reddit!) So Macbeth (Agatha) and Banquo (Billy) meeting Lilia, Jen and Alice?

how did I miss Billy sitting on the chair Rio was just on?! amazing lens choices here too

Wanda's death makes her cry again. I honestly, honestly believe she feels awful about what she did to her. but guilt will never be enough to redeem her - especially because she tends to run away from it.

Wanda's magic was so strong that it took at least four things to undo the spell: Wanda dying, Rio's intervention, Billy's counterspell, and Agatha's willpower. It was a group effort, Agatha could have never done it alone. And despite her scorched earth tactics, there are still two people in her life, rio and billy, willing to help out in her hour of need

it's naughty tiiiime

I still really love the curls

can I say iconique?

it's like someone's about to die at the end of this

bwahahahahaah and oh my GAWD all the case files and boxes, where did she GET that stuff, did she rob a precint, did she make them with the power of arts and crafts

you know what I think? being naked here is a power move. she is being very over the top because she's really uncomfortable, she just woke up and she's in those moments when you stop dreaming and have to relearn what's real and what isn't. she is someone used to calculate and scheme and micromanage every aspect of her life and she is not in control right now. what does Agatha do to reclaim control? she puts on a show. to her, being under the spell was way more like being naked, her insecurities and emotions and past were out in the open for everyone to see. being physically naked could never be nearly as distressing, and this is a nakedness she chose, because it tells people nothing about herself, nothing of what she wants to keep secret and protected. she's got the upper hand, not the other way round

you are all cowards and sheep for not saying Wanda's name, says the lady who would rather hide under a dozen magic layers than face her problems

that is so nice that they brought her groceries actually??? and lol those are the flowers in Agatha's crime scene pictures

that little girl is having a great time

FUCK CLOTHES BUT FUCK THESE CLOTHES SPECIFICALLY!!!!

(wait am I allowed to post butt cheeks? what are the rules right now?)

she turns quiet and emo as soon as she's alone

why doesn't she just - kiss the wiwwle bunny. bury her nose in that big fluffly head. even villains need a cuddle sometimes.

sure, bring señor scratchy. so menacing. that'll show them.

poor boy. trapped in a closet with ralph's bluray collection

aaand I really want to get to the next scene so I'll start on it right away, hopefully it'll be ready later tonight

go to part 4

[prolix-yuy]

In honor of your Bangathon, I spun the wheel 🤣

So we have froggy style with *drum roll* none other than our warm, feral racoon man Dieter Bravo. And we just need that sultry foul mouth.

I'm so excited for all the drabble that are going to come of this.

Lovely Britt! It is the penultimate day of the Bangathon and I've thrown all my rules out the window. Dieter double feature, absolutely obliterating my word count, and I'm having way too much fun with it. Let's get froggy with our raccoon boy!

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Position: Froggy Style

Word Count: 2656 (it's 12:45am, there are no gods, no one can save me)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, fingering (f receiving), PiV sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk, public sex, sex parties, mentions of fetish play.

Notes: This idea came to me in a dream and I had to write it, word count be damned! Technically I'm spoiling the ending with just the pairing, but I'm sure you would have guessed it instantly either way. Let's go!

“This is a little too Eyes Wide Shut for me,” you tell your friend Ana as she urges you through the front door of a Hollywood mansion. Your voice is muffled by the mask you wear, black lace molded to look like a cat. Only your eyes are visible, held on with a thick ribbon tied behind your head. Ana is sporting a rabbit mask, maybe a little on the nose for the occasion but you could appreciate the honesty. 

“Then why did you accept my invitation?” she asks, all smug grace and poise in the skimpy red dress she matched to her disguise. You’re more akin to a kitten, steps uncertain and timid as you take in the room and all its inhabitants. 

It had been too tempting, one of Ana’s fellow actors inviting her out to a “masquerade.” When she saw your eyes widen, heat rising in your cheeks, she made a phone call and extended your own invitation. It would have been rude to deny. But now, co-mingling with people who would never know you in the outside world, it all feels like a bad idea.  

Men and women alike are masked, some more on display than others. One fox woman is in barely-there lingerie, a falcon man in low-slung gray sweatpants and nothing else. Your skin tingles in anticipation, the long black dress hugging your form a comfort against the tickle of eyes. 

“If you get cold feet, just leave before the selection,” Ana says, stepping away from you to grab a couple glasses of champagne. You’re about to question how you’ll drink it when you see golden straws circling the lip.

“They thought of everything,” you murmur, eliciting a chuckle from her. 

“Anything catch your eye?” she says salaciously, and you bat her away before surveying the room. Many wolves and lions, a few birds of prey, some dog masks that look suspiciously close to fetish gear. Bodies of all types, but nothing that stood out enough to make you salivate.

“We’ll see,” you say as a chime sounds and the crowd moves deeper into the house. Ana walks next to you, head turning to take in the potentials. You keep yours tilted up, admiring the fresco on the ceiling and trying to ground yourself.

“It’s a pretty good replica, but the real thing is better,” says a deep male voice next to your shoulder. 

“The blue is really vibrant,” you reply, “Looks like they followed traditional techniques.” 

“Only the best for our esteemed hosts,” he muses, making a smile come to your hidden lips.

“Not a fan?” you tease, an entryway coming into view.

“I would never say an unkind word about those that invite me in their home,” the man says with faux adoration, “but yes, they're extremely tacky and most of their art is fake.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you laugh, turning to see who’s speaking but no one is directly behind you anymore. He must have melted into the crowd. You’re about to ask Ana if she saw him when you come to a bottleneck, two darkly dressed attendants speaking to each guest.

“Are you open to being chosen tonight?” the bright-eyed woman to your right says, holding out a red string bracelet. You swallow hard.

“Yes.”

She affixes the string around your wrist, letting you enter the open courtyard. Silver stars twinkle in the indigo sky, braziers lit around the room offering warmth and golden light. A group of guests, mostly male-presenting, gather in the middle of the courtyard. Around the peripheries, mixed company lounge on crisp white couches in various poses of seduction. You settle on one, letting Ana wander away. 

Once guests stopped filing in, another chime sounds and the group begins thinning out. Some remain, nodding to companions or conversing. The majority wander the perimeter, extending hands or sitting beside their choices. 

Anxiety wells in your throat. What was someone supposed to choose you for? You’re among the Hollywood twelves, smuggled in by your connections. What would they want with your cheap dress and cheaper tastes? What could they judge from a glance?

Suddenly, there’s a hand extended before you. 

“Would you care to be chosen, gatita?”

The voice is familiar, the same man from before. Putting visuals to him is more powerful than you thought. He’s in silk pajamas, white and tan with beautiful renditions of bare-branched trees poking up from red and green brush. You even spy some hunting dogs pointing at invisible prey. Covering his face is a brass-colored raccoon mask, tied with red ribbon. His eyes are dark pools behind it, a halo of wild chocolate curls framing the edges. As much as you want to laugh at the raccoon mask, something about it on this man curls excitement in your stomach. It reminds you less of cute animal videos you send to your friends, more of glittering eyes in the dead of night, and the fear of a vicious bite. 

You extend your hand, and his palm is soft and large under yours. “Can it be…private?” you ask, already glimpsing the bold undressing of some guests, others watching on. 

“As the lady wishes,” he concedes, leading you away from the crowd. As you ascend a set of stairs, you converse again.

“Why do the hosts have so much fake artwork?” 

He snorts, keeping your hand in his.

“Because it’s expected. Big house has to be full of priceless art. But you can’t have priceless art in every house, so you compromise. Say it’s on loan, from a museum, from a friend. A grand lie they all pretend to believe.”

“And what’s in your house?” you ask, reaching the top of the stairs. He pauses, eyes roaming you appreciatively. 

“Knew I picked a clever one,” he says, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. “Only originals. My own.” He leads you around a catwalk and down a hall with several doors.

“So you’re an artist?” you ask, stroking your thumb along his. It makes him squeeze your hand back. 

“Among other things,” he murmurs before stopping in front of a door with a tag hanging off the handle. Pocketing it, he enters the bedroom, locking the door behind you. 

It’s too lavish, an abundance of velvet and ruffles that makes you smirk at the raccoon’s earlier comments. He steps in and stands at the foot of the bed, waiting for you to follow. The bravery you’d mustered earlier evaporates when the door shuts, and now you hover by the edge of the bed.

“Gatita, if this isn’t what you want, I’ll leave. It’s only fun if we’re both having it.” You take in a deep breath and shake your head, stepping closer. His hands come up to smooth over your arms, moving to cup the back of your neck. Tugging you into his broad chest, his fingers find your zip and pull it ever so slightly.

“Would you like to know what I want to do to you?” he breathes in your ear, and you manage a weak yes before he starts unzipping your dress tooth by tooth.

“I’m going to remove this dress, and tease your nipples through your bra before taking it off - one handed, of course. Then I’ll lay you back and pleasure your pretty pussy with my fingers until you’re begging for my cock. Once you’re ready to explode I’ll join you in the bed and put you on all fours so I can hit deep and hard inside you. Make you cum on my dick once, then do it again. Maybe even get you to squirt if you’ve never done that. After all that, if you’re very good for me, I’ll keep making you cum all night. How does that sound?”

Could you actually orgasm from his voice alone? You sincerely worry you will as your dress slips to the floor, leaving you in your prettiest lingerie pressed against his intoxicating silks. 

“What about the masks?” you manage to get out, the stiff covering starting to itch against your overheated face.

“Let’s leave them on for now. The mystery is half the fun,” he says, hands sliding up to cup your breasts and thumb lightly at your peaked nipples. You gasp, letting your head roll back. 

“Oh, gatita, I’ll make you feel so good tonight.”

True to his word, the raccoon touches and teases you within an inch of your sanity, talented fingers caressing every erogenous zone until you’re aching and shaking with need. You swear if he even circles your clit once you’ll cum so hard you’ll need an ambulance. Want and desire burns hot in your veins, hands searching for his skin and only getting small touches. The caress of your fingers along the open expanse of his chest. Fingers entwining as he presses you down into the mattress. The skin across his lower back. He keeps just far enough away to tease, but always close enough to work you to dizzying heights. 

“Please,” you whimper after the umpteenth time he’s worked you up and stopped before you could crest. Tilting his head, he leaves another featherlight touch over your clit.

“Ask me for it,” he gruffs out, voice even deeper with desire. “Ask me to fuck you. Ask me to be inside you.” 

The words tumble out of your lips. “Please fuck me, please, any way you want. I need to feel you inside me, need to cum around you. You’ll feel so good, I’ll make you feel so good…” You could beg for hours more but he’s turning you over and moving you up the bed, settling on his knees behind you. Tugging your hips, he lifts you to crouch, hands on the bed and feet planted under bent knees. The position is new to you, but the control you feel like this, hearing the condom wrapper rip and the pops of the last few buttons on his shirt, is thick in your veins.

“Tilt your hips,” he orders, and you arch your back to offer your needy cunt to him. He stretched you well on his fingers, but just the snug fit of his head pressing inside you widens your eyes.

“Fuck, you’re big,” you gasp, earning a soothing stroke over your hips.

“Sure know how to make my cock even harder, gatita. Say it again.”

You whine through your teeth as he sinks further in, stroking two fingers over your clit.

‘“Fuck, you’re so big, my pussy’s full of you, I don’t know how it’s gonna fit inside me but fuck, I want it.” The end rushes out as he shallowly fucks into you, letting you adjust to his girth.

“Oh gatita, don’t worry, I’ll make it fit,” he promises, rolling his hips even deeper. Your arms shake with the effort of holding yourself up, mask hot and sticky with sweat as you pant into the fabric. You want nothing more than to rip it off and let him devour you, whoever he may be. 

Finally, he’s fully seated and you’re delirious with how stuffed you are. One slow stroke out makes you grip the sheets, waiting for him to fill you again.

He's not making you wait any longer. The pace is firm, steady to start, working you around his cock and soaking him with your arousal. Your calves begin to burn but you pay no mind, instead using the leverage to push back against him. He groans at this, helping guide your hips with his hot touch.

“Fuck, your pussy is goddamn divine, squeezing me so tight. I’m gonna make you cum around me and then I’ll give you what you deserve.” Your head spins as he speeds up, every thrust angled right into your g-spot with mind-blowing accuracy. Gathering slick from your dripping cunt, he circles your clit steadily as you clamp down on him, the precipice of your orgasm right at your fingertips.

“Oh fuck I’m cumming,” you squeak before your knees give out, arms buckling as you tumble into the pillows with every nerve ending singing his praises. He’s firm behind you, murmuring how good of a girl you are, how good you’re cumming on him, how hard he has to try not to cum yet. The praise melts you down into barely perceiving a world outside the pleasures of your body.

Once the aftershocks subside, your cunt even tighter around his throbbing cock, the man speaks.

“That was so good, gatita. Now hold on.” At that he begins well and truly fucking you, deep and fast with snarls dripped onto your skin. You half expect to feel a bite, but only his fingers dig in to your thighs to keep you pressed tight against him. You let him use your pussy, content just to feel him pulse inside, when his fingers return to your clit.

“Did you think I was done with this?” he pants, teasing the sensitive bud from overstimulation back to drenching pleasure as he coaxes another orgasm to the surface. “Together this time, on five, four, three…”

You can’t believe this man is going to orchestrate your orgasm, but just as he’s nearing one you feel the telltale tingle erupt into molten fire filling your lungs with a wild shout. He’s shouting too, buried in your cunt and shuddering. It takes long minutes for you both to catch your breaths, white spots dancing around the edge of your vision. Finally he eases out, tugging your knees back to lay you down. You welcome the change, body relaxing as you hear him throw out the condom and return with tissues.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” you say, still a little loopy from all the endorphins flooding your brain. The raccoon man chuckles as you turn and sit up, admiring him standing in those designer pajamas, bottoms pulled up but top still open. Your mind wanders to kissing every inch of his chest, sucking a hickey into his collarbone. A small fear in your chest, unknown even to you, falls away.

“I’d like to take the mask off,” you say, looking up at the raccoon man. His hands falter, coming to his waist and tapping nervously. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, trepidation in his voice. You nod.

“It’s okay, I’m a nobody,” you say, hands on the ribbon behind your head.

“I’m not,” he says quietly, stilling your motions. He’s turning away from you, tense and anxious. You know the feeling.

“You don’t have to. I won’t ask you to. But I'm okay with you knowing me.” You tug at the ribbons and let the cat mask fall away. You skin can finally breathe, making you sigh in relief. The raccoon’s eyes snap to you, and all the hard lines of his body soften.

“You’re...more beautiful than I hoped,” he says, awe in his voice. It makes your skin heat up again, a shy smile fighting on your face. It was kind of sweet, the idea that this stranger would know you for only this night, and that it could be your secret. Even your face would be his and his alone. 

Then his hands lift to the back of his head, and the racoon mask comes away in his palms. 

A blink. Then two. Then shock paints your face. 

Did Dieter fucking Bravo just ruin your pussy?

But he’s kneeling on the bed and kissing you breathless, tearing the rest of his clothes off, and you remember the night’s still very young. 

Maybe you could share a few more secrets.

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

[soleilceirinen]

Renaissance | Cillian Murphy x fem!Reader - Part 1

Summary: you are an Art History student in your last year at university. Cillian is your teacher. Note: in this story Cillian is about 20 years older than the reader. Everything happens in an alternative universe where he is not an actor or famous, he doesn't have a wife or kids like in real life. Also, English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistake! Cillian Murphy Masterlist - Part 2

You walked through the crowded hallways of your university at a fast pace. The building was old and the stone walls always made you feel like you belonged to a different century. It was quite sad to think that it was going to be your last year. 

By the time you got to the classroom, it was filled with other students who were already chatting and talking about the summer holidays. The only empty spots were in the first and second rows since nobody wanted to be too close to the teacher. Sighing, you walked to one of the seats on the second row, the one next to the window. The teacher wasn't there yet so you let yourself get lost looking at a pigeon. 

You were so distracted that you didn't even notice when the rest of the students took a seat and started to calm down until you heard a deep voice. It made you look forward to the teacher's desk, where a man was leaning. His forearms were visible under the rolled up sleeves of his shirt. 

He was very pale, even more than you and his hair was quite long, with a few gray strands. He might be in his middle fourties but you weren't sure, guessing other people's age had never been one of your strengths. He remained leaning on the desk while looking around the classroom.

“My name is Mr. Murphy and I will be your Renaissance Art teacher this year” his gaze jumped from one student to the next but he seemed to glance at you for longer. He cleared his throat before continuing. “As you might be aware, for most of you this is your last year so you would have to do a research project. My research line is the Renaissance, it’s art but also other aspects related to the period so if some of you are interested, I can tutor a maximum of four students”.

He continued with the lecture, causing some people to complain in low voice that other teachers don’t start with the lectures on the first day. You could only listen to his voice and try to take a few notes. He had the kind of voice that one could hear for hours and never get bored of it, even if he were talking about things that happened centuries ago. 

Thirty minutes later, he stopped talking. Mr. Murphy pointed a finger at a couple of girls sitting at the back of the class.

“If you are not interested there is a coffee shop on this street.” The girls were slightly startled but after a few minutes they were chatting quietly again. “Very well, both of you. Out. Now.”

“We are not even talking loud” said one of them, receiving a slap in the arm from her friend. 

“I assume that all of you are adults that are here on your own will, so whoever is not interested can leave, no problem, but please stop interrupting the lecture.”

Both girls picked up their things and left under Mr. Murphy’s cold stare. He looked down at his notes, as if trying to see where he had to resume his speech. After clearing his throat, he carried on with the lecture. 

Nobody dared interrupt him again, and an hour later everyone collected their things and left in small groups. You took your time, always keeping an eye on Mr. Murphy to make sure that he remained seated at his desk. You approached him, stopping a few steps away.

“Good day, Mr. Murphy.” you said, noticing that he wouldn’t have heard your voice if you weren’t so close. Then he looked at you with the bluest eyes that you had ever seen in your short life. He removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose before turning to you again with a small smile.

“Yes? Do you need something?”

From that distance you could see all the little freckles distributed all over his face and the unreal cheekbones. A thought came across your mind, he reminded you of some mythological god painted by the great masters. 

“I’d like you to tutor me on the final project.”

He nodded. “Have you thought of something in particular or do you prefer me to give you a topic?”

“Well, I’m interested in the role of women in the art world during the Renaissance, perhaps as art patrons or collectors.” You said, playing with a loose thread from your sleeve. He smiled again, this time little creases formed at the corner of his eyes. It caused you to blush.

“Sounds good,” he said “the feminist approach will be very well received by the court that evaluates the research projects.”

“Oh, okay then. Thank you Mr. Murphy.” You rushed out of the class as you felt your face getting more red and warmer. You were at the door when he said your name out loud. Turning around slowly you faced him again. “Yes, Mr. Murphy?”

He was holding several pieces of paper with what you could tell was the list of names of the students taking part of the module, along with a horrible picture of each one. You cursed internally reminding the day your picture was taken on your first day at university. 

“Don’t forget to apply on the virtual classroom, and there’s no need to call me Mr. Murphy. If we’re going to be working together on that research project this whole year, you better call me Cillian.”

You could just nod. That night in your room you connected to the virtual classroom to enroll in the research line. A few minutes later, a new message appeared in your university email inbox. You clicked on it, your heart was pounding when you read the name of the person sending it.

Dear y/n, 

I’ve received your application. It won’t be formalized for a week or two at the most but we could start working on it sooner if you are available. 

My tutoring hours are Tuesdays at 11 a.m. and Thursdays at 18 p.m. 

Let me know which one suits you better.

Regards, C. 

[autumn-foxfire]

Movie 25: Bride of Halloween time!

And it's already forcing the romance >.> It is funny that Ran always shuts down Sonoko's comments about Shinichi crushing on her as Conan. That's her little brother, she does not entertain that bullshit.

...Did they not bother telling the guests that this was a fake wedding?

Poor Sato, she looked absolutely traumatized over even the thought of Takagi dying on her.

Sato looks very beautiful in her wedding dress, though. I hope we do see the day Takagi and Sato get married, out of all the couples, they are ones I would love to see.

Something I've noticed in the introductions: they never introduce Ran as Shinichi's girlfriend, just his childhood friend, even though they've been together for a while in the manga and anime now. I guess even those who do the introductions don't want to say they're together :p

It's so nice of Shinichi to imagine Ran in her wedding to Sera :p Thank you for telling us he did, Ai.

She's so pretty-

AND SHE JUST GOT BLOWN UP.

KOGORO T-T He was actually being a good father for a change too... He didn't even think when it came to protecting Ai from danger.

They're so scared for him T-T

I like when the police can be competent, especially Sato as we know that Gosho doesn't respect his female characters as much as they deserve so it's nice when writers do give it to them.

I forgot that Matsuda texted his "friend" even after his death. That's very gay, gay, homosexual, gay of him. Sounds like he couldn't let him go.

Fewer and fewer people came because they're all dead. Amuro is the only one of his friends left.

...Did the movies forget that Takagi and Sato are already dating? And that they're sleeping together, both sexually and non-sexually? This seems like drama for the sake of drama.

Ran is not as worried for Kogoro as she would usually be? They didn't get the best writers for this movie, did they. They got a great team to animate though because it looks really good.

Takagi understands Sato so well T-T Well, at least the writing isn't all bad.

I have to wonder how these agents feel, being told to take a child to their boss and they have no clue why. They must suspect that their is something wrong with this child, especially if he's being treated like an equal by their boss.

And it doesn't get solved by you but rather by a know-it-all boy who can't keep his nose out of investigations even if it'll cost him his life.

Was that Amuro's car that just got destroyed? Ouch.

Well at least Date put it to good use.

And of course Scotch asked about his boyfriend. He also came to save his life.

It's not really that tense when I know he doesn't die here, but later.

They tried to make a run for it so they didn't have to do errands for others XD

Ai first had to go through it and now Shinichi almost died T-T They're not having a good time this movie, are they.

Ran looks very pretty in this outfit she's wearing. Very mature but not overly so.

Okay but Takagi looks good with Matsuda's haircut. However, I do like how normal he usually looks so I don't want him to change his normal haircut, just appreciating our great man Takagi.

No one should question Shinichi's presense anymore. Even if he was invited, he would be find his way inside a confidential meeting.

Shinichi just clicked his fingers... to tell everyone that they have a hint for the case. He's so overly dramatic, he gets it from his mother. The only thing he taes after his father is his intelligence and colouring, he gets everything else from his mother.

Lol I wonder if Shinichi was trying to get info from Amuro about his dead boyfriend.

She is so angry. You know she's also angry at herself for going alone with this plan and putting Takagi in danger. But damn she also looks incredibly hot.

Considering how he's panicking Takagi is actually a pretty good actor.

Takagi: I am in WAY over my head.

I really, really love the art direction for this movie. They're bringing out the unique style of detective conan to great lengths.

...Those were supposed to be burns?

They looks like tattoos, not burns. If you're going to do scars, commit to it. Give her proper scars.

OH THEY CAN DO SCARS.

Shinichi has gone into his mind map again. It's not as fun when Kaito isn't there helping him along.

Can't have a movie where Shinichi isn't lying to Ran's face!

Awww, Ai put on a hat for the halloween spirit.

Shinichi's latest genius idea: fake being kidnapped in order to get to the culprit.

Oof, poor guy was completely fooled by his future "wife". He's going to struggle to trust again.

Amuro has no chill. He just dislocated that woman's arm.

I love when he makes this face after he saves people. It's his "well that was fucking close," face which makes it look like he isn't taking what he did all that seriously.

I vote for letting the bitch die but I know Shinchi isn't stopping her for the culprits sake, but rather to save the heart of the woman who had lost too much.

This is the best side of Shinichi.

And Agasa once again saves the day.

I hope Ran gets to help with keeping the football in place. She is there after all.

CAN WE NOT DO THE RAN THING. IT'S SO GODDAMN CRINGY.

Sick shot. He's taking after his husband with the moon shots.

So Matsuda and Shinichi used the same method to stop the bomb and they did so because of Matsuda's dead boyfriend.

One of the only couples I cheer for when they kiss XD

I'm guessing the post credit scene is another practise. Yeah.

THEY BROUGHT TAKAGI WITHOUT HIM KNOWING. OKAY THAT'S FUNNY.

[searchingforserendipity25]

Wondrously Wrought

@maedhrosmaglorweek

Many thanks to @jouissants for the ask that kept the spark alive and @meadowlarkx for helping revive this fic.

Child-making was a craft as any other among the Noldor, as full of complicated collaborations and covetous secrecy as goldsmithing or alchemy. All parents had their preferences in design; it was only that not all of them sought so pointedly to build a matched set as Nerdanel and Fëanáro. “What do they even want another one for,” Macalaurë demanded.

Very unlike one another they were, and very near in each other’s company always; very much as if they had been constructed for it. Oh, but it was a difficult charge to rally against! - Macalaurë did his best, sometimes. Oher than as an exercise to train the art of the spectacle, it had little use in itself, and little conviction. 

But the exercise was necessary. Maitimo did not begrudge it, and certainly not tonight. 

The door was knocked upon, and opened, and his brother came to throw himself at the bedspread, complaining already, “Might as well have named me Faithful Finwë, if that was the intent! I tell you already I am not sorting any jewels; go let down your long hair yourself, I am not in a mood to be dutiful just now."

Maitimo narrowed his eyes, appraising, because he knew it was what was expected and wanted. He had a fondness for theater himself. More for the politics of the seating than the art; but enough knowledge, in performance and politics, to play the judge when his brother demanded. 

“Tolerable,” he decided. “But a bit too brash for an entry. No dignity - not in that line of advance, at least."

His brother rose up enough to lean back in repose with a florish, and hide his face half in the duvet and his trailing sleeve, a curled vengeful shape. “Thanks ever so, my lord! Your squire and servant I might be, but some tendrr brotherhood might be liked time to time."

Maitimo snorted, and reached to right his squire's veils, the neat braids underneath. "I have never heard of a servant that made such a fit; I am not certain it would be very creditable before an audience." Not least because the tenderness netween them was very great, and too well-known. It would take an actor better than him to pretend otherwise.

"Have you not heard," said Macalaurë, raising up his freckled nose, lofty and mocking but not yet laughing. "I am a prodigy, you know."

Macalaurë would not speak so in public. But it might have been worth it if he did, and the punishment besides, for the reactions in the court if his charming cup-bearer started throwing such barbs. The politics alone, between the factions of Indis and their father's partisans, would keep his brother in a sea of accolades, one half so he might not complain and the other in praise of vindication so neatly aligned to the principles of the Vanyar.

He would not, of course. He had not the stomach or the heart for it, and preferred to put all things of anger and true spire in his art. If it were done to flush out spies and sympathizers, that would be one thing, and the performance surely a spectacular coming-of-age tantrum, a shiver down the backs of those that feared another generation of brothers at war. But presently it served no use in particular, and Macalaurë was a creature of useful performance.

Still, the pretense was worth encouraging. Not any real disobedience, which would have been painful; but he was old enough that Maitimo felt the occasional responsibility to cleave them apart a little, if only so they would not strangle each other. Even in private, he always grew bored of trying to be wroth at Maitimo swiftly enough, and sometimes deeply saddened afterwards.

Already he sat nearer, and started to sigh, looking at the jewels in the stand and the papers on the table waiting to be transcribed.

“Try that again,” Maitimo ordered, striving not to lose all chances of a smile. “With more conviction, if you please. Loosen your hands - no, alright, like that. And the tone-” 

There it was - a little thing, and false, but brave. “Yes, I know, I knew as I heard myself.”

 Macalaurë sat upright to bind back his hair, cleared his throat. And then again. Maitimo knew it was true hesitation. Macalaurë  never wept without intention; he kept all his sorrow in his throat, the ruined line of his mouth.

“Ai, sweet one,” Maitimo said, and offered his arms.

Whatever the pretense, in the end Maitimo was the concert-master, Macalaurë came, and curled close, sighing against his neck. Otherwise he was very still.

It was worse, sometimes, when he did not even attempt to be wroth at all. Findekáno had accused Maitimo of arrogance, an entitled certainty that charmed and compelled; and it was true, of course, for he was a prince, but mostly because he had Macalaurë with him, Macalaurë's great conviction in him, that dwarfed the Trees and turned the world in his favour. Maitimo knew it. He was not careless with it, or very demanding; but it was his, and it would be crueler to pretend otherwise.

Near and dear they were, Fëanáro's children. Maitimo could not yet believe his brother was soon to go to the musicians for study; he thought he might go a little mad, even with the visits and the seeing stones and the letters. He knew Macalaurë would certainly go a little mad; and not for the first he wondered at their parent's ambitions, that stitched vast talent and hunger for the Song with the most binding fealty.

They had not meant harm in it. But it was a difficult thing for Macalaurë to be; and a difficult thing for Maitimo to be held to.

Child-making was a craft as any other among the Noldor, as full of complicated collaborations and covetous secrecy as goldsmithing or alchemy. All parents had their preferences in design; it was only that not all of them sought so pointedly to build a matched set as Nerdanel and  Fëanáro had.

“What do they even want another one for,” Macalaurë demanded. It came out stifled, words tight in his mouth. He was not whispering, but Maitimo could tell he was being very careful for his voice not to carry. 

“To love, I gather,” Maitimo chided. “That is the end in itself, when making a child.”

In the privacy of their quarters, Macalaurë made an atrocious face against Maitimo's breastbone. “O, that is prettily said! Go quote the Indisian Sonnets at another quarter, if you please. Are we not satisfactory, as the fulsome performance of brotherhood? In blood and heart, surely, there is nothing lacking."

Maitimo's shoulders shock with swallowed laughter. He knew his brother felt it, and did not even think to apologize; there was no arguing with that tone, he knew. "Are your abilities feeling slighted? For my part, I have no complaints, and few criticisms that cannot be addressed. Indeed I should think we have done well enough that the feat is worth repeating."

"Not all encores ought to be sang," said the minstrel prohibitively, commanding as the name foretold. Maitimo pitied his orchestras already. 

But not very much, and not at all. His opposite and equal by design, Macalaurë had a talent for the mastering of meaning in sound, and form, and intent, and would make an excellent concertmaster for much the same reasons he was an excellent scribe to a jurist, and was made miserable by it.

Indis had not allowed any of her children to serve his husband's firstborn. That Vanyar did not hold to hierarchy in that fashion; they kept their devotions to their daily prayers and  mountain shrines and the presence of the Valar.

Fëanáro loved Finwë better than any son ever had or could, but not even for love made any secret of his thoughts on the smithing of sons and the delineation of princely lines. In this one thing alone he was unfilial.

And it was worse, he thought, because Finwë did agreed with his son in his heart, or wished to agreed; and also never to concede that it ought to have been otherwise, never to betray his living wife, never to renounce any of his children, or their joy, or their liberty. Maitimo had been firstborn of the firstborn, Third Finwë from before the first drafting, and his obligations were right and correct, immense, and himself perfectly suited to meet them.

But Macalaurë was his opposite, and that demanded an equal share of the task, in the fashion of the Noldor who were not Unbeggoten, those made for brotherhood from the first thought. Findekáno ran to cartography and the games and the salons, and Turukáno painted, and of their sister - what did Írissë not do well, and evade to do even better? But their cousins were singularly made, singular unto themselves; they had the time, and the liberty, and the joy of it, though also they were of the lines of princes.

How still the King had been, when Nerdanel gave the joyful news! Full of joy, of course; but he had made such a kind point not to look at Macalaurë, or Maitimo, or the empty place where his second-born sat, when she was not making herself a wonder to other eyes in Valmar. 

They had waited until Macalaurë was hold enough to be his brother’s scribe, as well as his squire. The next one would not follow the same steps - would have to find somewhere else to apprentice under. Maitimo had been very clear on this, when Nerdanel told them she was with child, before he had allowed himself to be happy at the notion.

He suspected, though he did not know, that their parting to come was the cause of the new arrival. Soon Macalaurë would be a minstrel in all accomplishment, and no one's scribe. He did leave a very distinctive silence, wherever he went away from. In it ran the small league of their cousins through the archways and gardens of the city - brash, bright, laughing, untempered, full of study and leisure and no service.

It seemed rather drastic an enterprise if Fëanáro's intent was to make a point, to fill the courts of Tirion with his own sons raised and bridled, proud in the manner of the Noldor. But then, the ones that lived already were hardly diplomatic, Third Finwë and his Commander.

 Their mother had called them  to her side before the formal dinner, and explained the matter: all the steps, the discussions, the preliminary drafts. It had been alarming in itself, but not so very unlikely, and Maitimo had felt briefly cross with himself, that he had not thought it a possibility soon to come.

More alarming by far had been Macalaurë. He was made to last and endure, his sea-changing brother of the many faces, and for restlessness. It was not a good sign to have go that stone-still, and certainly not to have him go that quiet.

We did not wish you to be alone in this world, she had said . Nor your brother. But I know you do not agree, and I shall hear your advice, for we mean to return to the work in time, and none are as qualified to speak their mind on the matter.

As long as the argument was well-presented, it would be well-considered; so it was in the house of Nerdanel. Maitimo had made his case. He could have that satisfaction, at least. The next one would be a new thought, or at least not built to fit a map of lacks and qualities from the preexisting models.

And there was the love, of course; it did exist. Neither of them could complain of indifferent craftsmanship.

“Mother will not be sorry, regardless of the result,” Maitimo said, for Nerdanel never regretted any of her designs, regardless of whether they held up outside of the over in the light, or grew up to be children willful enough to have opinions on the mold used in the making. “But I shall speak to Atar. He cannot rescind your leave now; you are expected in Valmar already.”

Fëanáro would not ever apologize. Not to Macalaurë, not to Maitimo, not to Finwë his best beloved father, who went still and striken whenever his grandsons were brought before him. He adored them well, his firstborn’s first son and his brother; but he knew the distinction well between the moulds. 

And the inspiration, besides. Certainly Findis had received no mentions that he had heard, and the comparisons were few and always unwise.

 Maitimo was made for perfection, articulation, calculation and might and skill and laughter. Perfection of form accomplished, Fëanáro had set forth to bring his firstborn the best brother he could, and he had.

It would have been more easily forgiven, if he had not managed to do it.

Never would Fëanáro’s firstborn be lonesome, or less beloved, have any cause to resent the one to follow him. The son that came after was made for him, a useful joining of opposite qualities, jointed together as limbs on an automaton and imbued with a talent that sprang from him clear as running water.

No one, he thought wryly, would name either Fëanáro or Nerdanel derivative. Yet there had been a reference. A prodigy of the dance, most gentle of Finwe’s get; the great rider, the swift swimmer, Finwë’s second-born who loved not and was not loved by her half-brother. Maitimo knew his Aunt very little; but he knew the lack of loyalty between his father's kin so very well.

As an experiment, Macalaurë was better than a success. Plainly they meant to try the crucible again. Maitimo was still in debate on whether he ought to forgive it. He was quite certain he ought not to; because Macalaurë would never be able to hold it against him. 

“Findekáno does not have such a role,” Macalaurë said, without any resentment. Maitimo read him better than most, who rarely saw even the need for translation, and even he did not know what lingered under that tone. “And Arakáno’s has never polished his boots. Not even once .”

“Poor Findekáno,” Maitimo said, meaning it entirely. “No wonder he goes barefoot so much of the time.”

Macalaurë laughed. Maitimo knew that much was real, for it made the windows in their panes shiver. 

 Maitimo liked his cousins very well, and too much his father would say. Whenever they were in company they had an enjoyable time, not least because he found them and they found him amusingly foreign. They ran and played without rank or quarter, a baffling nonsense of petty squabbling and easy laughter. Maitimo had never tormented his brother with a snake at the end of a stick - he could not imagine how his father would have reacted. He could not imagine wanting to do it, when Macalaurë was more than anything certain to learn too much unsightly advice from the serpent, and go sharing the notions with Finderáto.

A notion came to Maitimo. He jostled his brother and peered down curiously. “You know how Finderáto has been, with the new one - are you going to be jealous, dearest?” 

Macalaurë, who was of age and quite dignified about it otherwise, pinched him ruthlessly in the arm.

"As if it would make a difference," he said. "As if I could!"

Maitimo did not say, I am sorry this is what you are . Macalaurë knew all his tells, anyhow; he was not sorry. Only for all the rest of them, the children of Indis. Finno and Arakáno, and sweet, selfish little Finderáto and his smaller brother. The ones that walked alone, and had no living shadow, no singing squire.

There was no space for doubt in the love between them. The next one, whoever they might be, was unlikely to come with any divergence in that regard.

Another brother, then; sketched along the same foundations, made of the same materials. An opposite, and a stranger. Maitimo allowed himself the happiness of the thought, sparingly enough that it could become habbit. Once he did, Macalaurë would follow, and it was better on all accounts that he should be made to be happy about it, and not merely sorry for himself and Maitimo and the nameless creature.

"The next one will be different," Maitimo promised. "We shall make certain of it."

Macalaurë peered at him with his eyes like a finch’s, still and opaque and sorrowing. “Will we?”

Maitimo took his hands. It was not a difficult thing to do, after all. He had decided on it already; had plotted already which course to set, with their brothers, the teachings, the care. He knew what his brother ought to do, and how he would do it. He could not be sorry to have him as he was; but he could do this, which was manoeuvring, might, cunning and wit, the application of his gifts.

“I swear it,” he said, very solemnly. “They shall be wild.”

That pronouncement was a strain for the imagination of a prince of the first line, but Macalaurë was a prodigy.

“They shall rise as they like, run as they like. They shall grab what they like, and fight all they disdain, and make no apologies; a wildling creature." Macalaurë lifted his chin, smiling, imperious, training already for the next role - older brother, mastering and clement, trying to predict which iteration he would like best. "And none shall stop them until his quarry is found - and they shall speak well, and laugh often - as often as we do, Maitimo, and most inconveniently for all the times we cannot."

“A horror,” Maitimo agreed. “Awfully selfish. And if they feel the lack, and suffer for it, we shall tell our parents, so they might return to work and correct it in another; but I do not think it shall come to that."

“And they will be angry,” said Macalaurë, all the power of his voice bound tightly, tame and striving. “When they wish to be angry, as often as they like, and as harshly. Let it be so! Are we not an immaculate performance, in heart and blood?.”

Macalaurë’s face shone so brightly in the lantern-light. Such a talent for the invention of faith he had, Maitimo's own ambitious minstrel. He wondered whether that was a thing Macalaurë chose, to go with his voices and his faces, his duties, or something that had been given to him to hold for his brother.

It made no difference from whence it came, of course. It was not a thing that could be asked of their parents, nothing that could be accounted as finely as the moving of a gear or the placing of a rivet. But at times, then and afterwards, far afterwards, Maitimo thought he would dearly have liked to know.

[ofbeautsandbeasts]

Okay, I want to know how the transition of the phantoms deformity happened? How did we start from Leroux full face corpse while being skeleton like thin to ALW half faced deformity and "normal" body?

Hi, thanks for asking me a question! (my inbox is barren these days, except for the occasional tumbleweed...or should I say tumblrweed?) 😂

Well, I think Leroux chose a very corpse-like Phantom because an "opera ghost" should look macabre and close to death...just based on the name/concept. I do believe he was a fan of Bram Stoker's Dracula because Erik and Dracula have a lot of things in common. For example, Erik sleeps in a coffin, he has no mirrors in his house, he lives in a secluded and mysterious house, he doesn’t eat when Christine dines, he gives her Tokay wine at her first meal, he keeps her as his prisoner for a time, his eyes blaze, etc. I'm not sure if Leroux was trying to make his readers suspect Erik's a vampire all along or if he was paying homage to one of his fave novels or if he simply thought it would be cool to give Erik these traits. Gothic novels of that time just tended to have supernatural villains and Erik is no exception. It makes sense that a truly horrifying phantom would essentially look like a zombie...because what's scarier than something that really shouldn't be alive and is missing a nose??

(sorry, I couldn't resist adding some of my & @fantomexnoir's art 😆)

As for ALW's half-deformity, @textsfromthefifthbasement has it right about Michael Crawford rehearsing with a full face mask and it being difficult to sing/emote well, so they switched to a half-mask. Regarding why it's not just a skeletal deformity, I think that would be underwhelming to modern audiences because we've collectively consumed so many horror movies since they were first made that we need something more contrasting and unnatural like this:

Trust me, the first time I ever saw this deformity, I was completely BOGGLED! Like...his head has a HOLE??? That somehow doesn't get infected or bleed out????? Don't even get me started on the version that has exposed brain 🤦:

As for the "normal" body, it would be difficult/problematic to only cast underweight actors for the Phantom...but I'd so love to see someone like Matthew Patrick Davis do a performance as ALW Erik! He's the 6'6" man who dressed up as Jack Skellington and performed as him for a youtube video (link here). Just imagine him doing Stranger Than You Dreamt It and the Final Lair with the same creepy/spidery physicality!

Alas...I don't know when we'll ever get a super accurate Leroux adaptation. Maybe one day Guillermo Del Toro will get around to directing one...and then we can all die happy 👻

[alhyari-art]

Creating Characters That Resonate: Some Tips for Memorable Designs

"While tools play a role, it’s our vision that truly matters”

You know that feeling when you see a character from a game, a painting, or a comic and you instantly fall in love with it? It's not just because it looks cool or cute. It's because it has a personality and a story that shines through its appearance. That's what I love about character design: the ability to create characters that make people feel something.

If you are interested in learning the basics of this art form, there are many resources available online 😅. (I will create some tutorials on this soon.) But now I'm not here to lecture you on anatomy or color theory. Instead, I'll share some of my personal tips on how to make your characters unique and engaging for your audience.

Tip 1: Dive Deep into Your Character’s World

Kickstart your design process with inspiration from your own world. This personal touch not only enriches your art but also adds depth and more meaning to your creative process.

Consider this school bully who is based on.. a person I used to know. He’s probably off picking his nose when he’s not on the page! Can you spot him?

See the bully's backpack 😈? (Illustrated for Swish! by Mahmoud Elzein.)

It’s all about discovering those tiny personal connections that breathe life into a character. Brainstorm with character profiles, create mood boards, and try to figure out “what’s in their pockets”. I’ve found that writing dialogues for my characters helps me visualize their personalities better. Honestly, half the time, I’m imagining how they would annoy each other offscreen!

Tip 2: Play with Shapes to Highlight Inner Conflict

To emphasize a character's inner turmoil, you can use contrasting shapes. By smoothing the edges of sharp shapes, you can reduce the contrast and reveal different aspects of the character.

“Good or bad?,” I always ask my students.

Experiment with different sizes and shapes and make your characters captivating enough that your viewers accept the visual logic of your art worlds.

Imagine a gorilla 🦍 and a bee 🐝 as friends in a picture book. How would you draw them in relation to each other?

A good way to enhance the narrative and ease the tension is to break down the character shapes. For example, the bully in Swish! looked threatening at first, but I used his soft facial traits to show his insecurity. I also gave him a loose shoelace to imply that he is not totally in control.

Even the smallest details can tell a story about your character. (Illustrated for Swish! by Mahmoud Elzein.)

Tip 3: Harness the Power of Color and Value

Contrast is key! Opt for vibrant characters against muted backgrounds, experiment with warm and cool tones, and introduce pops of light against deep shadows for visual drama.

Contrast and lighting for drama.

Challenge yourself with limited color palettes. This forces you to think creatively and adds an unexpected layer of unity to your work. For the ‘Museum Heist’ piece, I used shades of blue, and it was gratifying when viewers, even those not from the art world, noticed how it influenced the piece.

The blue tones were a fun challenge 💎

Tip 4: Sprinkle in Details and Accessories

I take sneaky joy in hiding personal details within my illustrations. Maybe it’s my old license plate or a memento from my parents. Details like faded scars and mended clothes add layers to your characters and imply a history, giving them more depth.

Can you find all the hidden secrets in Ella the Gorilla's room? 🔎 Let's play in the comments! (Book by Mawya Alfadda and Rama Al-Sahreef)

Tip 5: Push the Boundaries with Expressions

Imagine yourself as the director of the scene and your characters as the actors. Hire the best actors and make sure they come with the best: pose, gestures, and outfit, and nail the whole performance.

Don’t just copy the reference! Exaggerate those eye positions, play with asymmetrical half-expressions – this keeps things lively and adds charm.

Never be afraid to push your reference photos for more whatever-you-call-this characters! 😄

Tip 6: Seek Feedback and Refine

Discord and Telegram groups have been invaluable for me – asking targeted questions (like “Does anything feel off?”) gets me feedback way beyond just “looks nice!”.

How people interact with your WIPs speaks volumes. Don’t just listen to words, watch how long they engage and which elements draw their eyes.

My wife and kids are a great help, especially for children’s book and game art. They notice what I often overlook. I sometimes get annoyed when they don’t like something (I worked on for long), but I know it’s not personal. After all, they’re the best early test for my work.

Bringing It All Together

Character design isn’t just about drawing – it’s about infusing them with personality and emotion that resonates. Let’s keep the conversation going! Share your favorite character design tips in the comments below 👇

[popculturebuffet]

Mutant Month: The Marvel Super Heroes: Dr. Doom's Day!: Hawkeye is an X-Man Now (Patreon Review for Emma Fici)

Hello all you happy muties and welcome one and all, wether you fly, shoot rays out of your eyes, make pasta in your nose or your heart can shoot an all inspiring ray that teaches people how to truly love themselves and then explodes them inside out, all are welcome for a celebration of 60 years of the strangest heroes of all, the outlaws, protectors of those who hate and fear them, those undergoing a fall, the uncanny, astonishing, amazing, dark, immortal, red, blue, gold, black, and green, the

As I haven't remotely hid on this blog but will repeat for newcomers, I love the x-men. Their my faviorite superhero team and are easily my faviorite franchise in comics, with spinoffs from New Mutants, to X-Factor to X-Men red all ranking among my faviorite comics ever. I love these characters dearly and haven't covered them nearly enough on here so I decided to celebrate the 65th anniversary with mutant month... and while we're a few months late due to moving and such, this month happening was never in doubt and wills tand as a yearly celebration of all things x.

So to kick this off we've got an odd little note in x-men history, one I wasn't even aware of till asking my good friend emma what animated apperance of the x-men she'd like to cover.. and finding out their first wasn't on spider-man and their amazing friends like i'd thought but much earlier, on a show known for awesome theme songs, shoddy animation and not much else. Yes folks before costarring in the friendly neighborhood, before all the 90's tastic spandex, before 2000s teenage angst and awesomeness, and before the last gasp till a revivial of said 90s spandex, the strangest heroes of all became the allies for peace and teamed up with one of the first mutants to combat the greatest evil the world had ever known on a barely animated marvel cartoon. Also hawkeye was there. So join me under the cut if i've peaked your intrest as we inter the limitedly animated world of the sub mariner and his allies for peace on the marvel super heroes!

The Marvel Super Heroes wasn't just the first animated apperance of the x-men, but the first marvel animated series PERIOD. Create din 1966 and running for 65 episodes (with each episode having three chapters to it but seeming to tell a complete story). The series was made on a budget somewhere BELLOW a paperclip and a piece of string, a singular bottle cap. They simply scanned the actual comics, barely aniamted them, added some effects and for lip movements used Syncro Vox. For those unfamiliar with it Synchro Vox was a super cheap effect where they cut out the characters mouths and had real human mouths recite the words. And if you say "Well jee whiz jake that sounds like a styigan nightmare from the deepest depths of my subconcious" then your right on the money. There's a reason it didn't outlast the 60s.

As you can imagine this .. looks pretty bad and it's better ot just read the actual comics. The actors TRY, they do, but static, barely perserved images on a screen just can't match the panel work in the original jack kirby art. Congradulations Marvel Super HEroes, you found a way to somehow make JACK KIRBY ART not work. I hope your proud.

It's only lasting impacts are , and i'm completely convinced of this, serving as the inspriation for this incredibles short

At first I thought it was cheap animation in general but knowing now this cartoon uses synchro vox and seeing this cartoon again.. yeah. Good on you crew for doing such an incredibly deep cut and making it work on it's own.

The other is the theme songs. The theme songs for the most part slap.

YOu'll also recognize the Iron Man theme song as they used a jazzy instuermental in his film. And given it's the best of the bunch it's easy to say.

There's two themes missing from this. The first is the shows theme itself. Which is... a lot.

I mean they did get namor down pretty down pat.

So kudos. Speaking of Namor his absence from that montage kinda speaks to him as a whole. As doe shis theme being a bit.. less than the others

It's not bad, but you get they just didn't quite have Imperius Sex Machine as defined as the other 4. Captain America at the time was a man of action, who fought for the people and was a symbol of all of america has to offer. Iron Man was a playboy who kept people at a distance. Thor is a god full of the majesty and wonder that brings, and Hulk.. well okay Hulk's theme is just goofy but damn if it isn't fun and still gets the point across. But namors is "Look at him ain't he powerful. He rules a kingdom. So for those less familiar with the prince of the deep who might of missed wakanda forever, a quick recap: Namor started as a golden age super hero, one of Timely, the future marvel comics, first, and one of the big three of his day with the human torch, a diffrent one than the one who'd later flame on with the fantastic four, and Captain America. LIke most timely heroes he vanished to the sands of time for a while. So cue the Fantastic Four and the true birth of the marvel universe. And since Marvel coudln't just let their bigger names of days past simply lie around, they put the human torch moniker on our boy johnny storm. And once the fantastic four proved to be the hit they were, they decided to bring him back via this book to test the waters.

It's a clever return too: Naturally the person to bring namor back is Johnny Storm, the new human torch and spirtual successor to the original who Namor famously battled in the golden age. Johnny was a teen at the time and ran away from home eventually ending up at a homeless shelter.. and finding NAMOR. Turns out since wwII (an increasing gap but unlike most in comics one that dosen't need to be handwaved as Namor is immortal), namor lost his memory and grew a beard. Johnny uses his power to burn it off

And unable to convince namor he's a freaky fish guy dunks him in the bay. The good news is this brings Namor back. The bad news.. is this brings namor back, who sees his kingdom in ruins and wages war with the surface. The four are able to mostly repel him, and Namor ends up taking a liking to JOhnny's sister Sue. These became his primary character traits: wanting to lash out at the surface, and wanting to nail Reed Richards girlfriend and later wife. Seriously just a few years later the guy buys AN ENTIRE FILM STUDIO when he hears Reed's gone bankrupt simply to try and win her over. As other books sprouted up he'd appear in them, mostly to punch the hero or be courted by various supervillians to team up with them as he was the hottest guy in prom. And that's where the decision to make HIM the 5th pillar of this show really makes me tilt my head. Namor isn't a TERRIBLE character. He's not one I like a lot, but it's simply because outside of his stint with the x-men, where both Matt Fraction and especially Kireon Gilleon really nailed him down: arrogant, but not without honor, powerfula s hell and knows it and while certainly willing to go after someones partner does so because he senses a lack of passion. Dosen't make it okay. Also as seen above it shows his tastes are wide, varied and awesome.

The problem is most of the time he's just an angry fish man with a pretty standard power set and a fairly boring kingdom. Wakanda forever completely redesigning it really helped the MCU version.

But just thinking of the remaining superhero books they could use while fantastic fours rights were elsewhere, as were spideys, they still had ant-man and the x-men. (The avengers were around but were largely saved to adapt in cap and iron man's shorts). I get it to a point: Ant Man had recently been canceled and X-Men.. weren't exactly a hit.

See the early x-men adventures.. aren't great. Their not terrible, there's some good ones as i've read them, and it's not exactly a big secret in the x-men fandom or marvel fandom as a whole that while the CONCEPT for the x-men was great: a new evolution of mankind with powers, that next step being largely teens and young adults struggling to control them.. but Stan Lee and Jack Kirby had no idea what to do with this. Stan 100% created the concept of mutants so he wouldn't have to make up an origin for every superpowered villian or hero. You can only use good ole radation so many times before people catch on and Thor, Cap and Iron Man all had super unique origins that coudln't easily be replicated. The most they could do thor wise is bring in another god from another mytholgy with herc.

But it was at it's core just weaker versions of the kinds of stories he told elsewhere and fell HEAVILY into

Ant Man baffles me as while yes, his book was canceled.. they still had a WHOLE series to mine stories from with interesting visuals. He was still an avenger and he and jan played off each other decently when it didn't fall into Smilin Stan really not knowing how to write women.

SO I KINDA get it as Namor was more the default.. but it still felt like a weird choice given they didn't have mcuh to work with where he wasn't the villian and actively seemed to refuse to adapt any story where he was. IT was just an odd choice to pick someone who at the time was mostly an outright villian and most of whose character arc from that was in books they woudln't use.

So when you have to use WHATEVER you can, what do you do? Well if your this show.. you do something profoundly bonkers and hilarious.

The Actual Episode:

So.. this episode is a mighty marvel frankenstien's monster.

NO not him. He wasn't around yet. NO this episode is clumisly stitched together from two diffrent ff issues. Fantastic Four #6 and Fantastic Four Annual #4

The first makes sense as it features Namor teaming up with one of marvel's best villians who they apparently could use in both shows: Doctor Doom. They simply had to replace who his nemesis were. And that of course is where our futuraly uncanny x-men come in, simply slapped into the baxter building and given the ff's reputation and relationship fighting doom. Oddly they woudln't actually fight doom during the 60's like everyone else. Eventually though he did leading to this awesome cover

Granted FF writer at the time John Byrne didn't like the story because Doom was tricked by X-Men enemy and my boy arcade and tried to retcon it but that's a story for another day.

Point is the X-Men hadn't fought doom.. but given they were more generic superheroes at the time having them step into the ff's roll actually makes a lot of sense. And they even had some panels they could use from the x-mens series of them battling namor.

Yeah for some weird reason they decided instead to mash this story.. with FF Annual #4, the wedding of Sue Storm and Reed Richards. An issue that I haven't read but i'm bound to cover eventually for my annual February superhero wedding special

It is famous enough for me to have the gist though: Sue and Reed get married but this being a superhero comic, some action gets thrown in. In this case Dr. Doom decides to gift them EVERY SINGLE AVALIABLE SUPERVILLIAN in the marvel universe. That's not hyperbole. Pretty much every villian who could from street level guys to the big bads like Kang showed up to try and beat the shit out of the ff.. but this being the wedding of two public super heroes, every super hero in the marvel universe short of spidey (who didn't seem to show up, loner that he was). IT comes off at least from a distance as a big old celebration not just of the happy couple but of how much the marvel universe had grown.

As a result though the first half of this episode is just a lot of fighting and feels really disjointed esepcially once the ff #6 adaptation kicks in as there's never really any resolution to the "all the supervillians are given a subconcious signal to fuck with my arch enemy's wedding day. " part of the plot. Or here it's because the X-Men are getting a major award. Which is nice given how their usually treated.. but for some reason here their called "the alliance for peace".

Look if you had to rename the x-men, and why on earth would you even back then at their weakest, why not the peace patrol, the peace posse, Cyclops and those other 4, the Beast Brigade, the Merry Mutant Marching Society, Not-The Fantastic Four, The Fantastic Five, The Sesnational Six, Uncle Charlie's Funtime House Band, Scotty Dosen't Know, The Teen Angels, The Alps, The Marvels, The Recess Monkeys, Code Yellow, The Mutants, XX-Men, The New Justice Team, Fruit Punch, We Hate you Please Die, Hated and Feared, Diaper Time, Stars and Garters, or Suck it Erik? Did they only have 5 minutes? I did and I came up with all of that, so how.

At any rate the first few minutes is just a lot of fighting. Again they HAVE an issue with namor. I get not wanting ot use all of it: Wanda and Pietro were still in the brotherhood of evil mutants at the time and it was back when Magneto was less "one of the most complex, compelling and awesome characters ever" and more "Dollar Tree Doctor Doom". But you HAVE PANELS OF THESE CHARACTERS FIGHTING NAMOR

There's also some with beast. So there was more than enough to do that and still use bits from ff #4. Just have doom narrate he's having mole man attack them. Instead once the fighting stops most of the x-men vanish, widdling down to just xavier who, thanks to using the wedding panels, is in his best baby blue prom tuxedo.

Oh and instead of just angel and professor.. we also get the greatest of all x-men, king of kings. Hawkeye. Yes for no reason other than they could crop other characters out easier probably, Hawkeye shows up a lot in the second act and is implictly a member of the defenders of peace. So in this reality, playing Mephisto's Advocate, either Hawkeye's a mutant with super sharp aiming ablities, or Hawkeye came to the X-Men to tie one of them up to prove he could join them instead of the avengers and Xavier was like "Fuck it come on in bud."

The rest of the ep is.. fine. Namor is asked to team with dr doom, then is betrayed by doom. We do get some awesome over the top stuff as Dr. Doom needs to use the grabber to pull the x-baxter building into space. So namor SWATS MEOTRS AWAY then chases Dr. Doom and ethan hawke into space and somehow survivies. IT's the cheesy kind of fun I want

So yeah.. for a first x-men in animatoin apperance this is pretty bad. Their barely featured as a team, Jean hardly gets to do anything, and it's two stories that just don't work together welded together. We have to assume at the end new york just.. burnt to the ground because Dr. Doom left all the other super villians int he world on. Or like the actual story the watcher just said "Fuck this' and ended it. Either way it's a pretty bleh episode and even the weird as hell way the x-men are used dosen't give it much of a recomednation.

Thankfully next up in x-men month we have something a bit more fitting as it's time for one of the greatest x-men stories of all: God Loves, Man Kills. Thanks for reading.

[slightlycrunchy]

Written for the @startrekwintergiftexchange for my recipient, @lokilenchen. I adore your art, Lena, and I hope you enjoy mine.

read on ao3

Leonard pounds on the door again.

He stands in the hallway of Deck 5, outside of a very particular room and taps his foot impatiently, blending into the chaos around him hinting of a shift change. Beings of all shapes and sizes rush from their cabins to their assigned posts which—he looks at his holowatch—are set to begin in three Standard minutes.

“Jim, do not make me medical override this, dammit. I’m leaving in ten seconds whether you’re out here or not!” Leonard hears what sounds to be a muffled shout and something heavy hitting the floor. He would have thought the bulkheads were more soundproof than that. 

Just as the countdown in his head reaches one, a shock of blue greets Leonard from down around his waist, Jim’s crystal stare colored with mirth as he fumbles with the boot he is failing to zip up.

Jim’s smile is blinding. “Sorry, Bones.”

Hazel eyes roll. “Yeah, I would believe you other than the fact that you do this a few times a week,” he grumbles, turning away to begin walking down the hall and towards the turbolift that hopefully isn’t full of ensigns. Chapel has first watch and Leonard has seemed to make it a habit of late to hang around the bridge for the first portion of Alpha for no other reason than to keep an eye on the accident-prone captain currently trailing behind him. He hears Jim stumble into the wall with a low curse, the final zip of his boot sounding out clearly.

Leonard doesn’t stop to wait. “Three years into this and you’d think the captain would have his shit together.”

Jim catches up to him, breathless. “The captain may have stayed up too late last night and drank too much bourbon on doctor’s orders.”

“Pretty sure I told you to slow down at one point, kid. You should have learned by now not to try to keep up with me,” Leonard smirks.

The turbolift opens to a—thankfully—empty compartment and Jim stands close, shoulder touching Leonard’s own as he huffs a laugh. Leonard feels warm down to his toes, his exasperation little more than a front he wears like a practiced actor would play the role he has chosen. Thing is that Jim’s in on the farce, and that’s half the fun.

“Kid, huh? Haven’t called me that in a while.” 

Leonard simply shrugs.

They do this almost every day, trailing through the ship together, a strange ritual Leonard can’t remember the start of since the whole thing makes no sense given sickbay rests on the exact deck they’re vacating. Yet, the thought of not accompanying Jim to the bridge and checking that everything seems fine before he slinks back below decks to slave away in the bowels of the ship (alright, maybe he’s being a bit dramatic) seems counterintuitive. Like he’s fighting instinct and not doing this will end in some sort of disaster. Doesn’t make much sense when Leonard has never been known to be a superstitious man. He has no plans to stop, regardless.

Jim pushes the button that’ll take them to the bridge and then sidles close once more, a comfortable silence blanketing over the compartment. Only the low hum of the lift detracts from it, that and Jim’s breathing. Leonard goes to place his hands firmly behind his back in parade rest but doesn’t hesitate to brush at the skin just over Jim's knuckles as he does so, eliciting a small smile; the ones Leonard is so familiar with, yet guards jealously. 

With Jim so close, the smell of him is apparent, notes of warm skin and the cologne he prefers, the synthesized smell of fresh laundry that is—as Spock would say—‘illogical’, but is appreciated all the same coming off of his clothes. And mixed in with it all is…something new.

Leonard sniffs audibly, brows furrowed in thought…recognition. Jim being only slightly shorter puts his hair just at the line of Leonard’s nose and it isn’t long before he’s narrowed in on just where the smell is coming from.

“What is that?” He sniffs again. He turns and takes Jim by the shoulders. “What the hell is that—I know that smell.”

Jim is squirming now, snickering as he tries to twist away from Leonard’s grip, playing up the innocent act with a look on his face that has removed him from many a sketchy situation. 

“I don’t know what you mean, Bonesy,” he teases. 

“The hell you don't!”

Leonard releases him with a small shove, Jim’s shoulders coming up and shaking with barely suppressed laughter.

Leonard narrows his eyes in suspicion. “How’d you get it?”

“Get what?”

“Those blue eyes won’t fool me, where’d ya get it, Kirk?”

“Ooh, he’s mad.” Jim raises one eyebrow.

Leonard steps back, hands on his hips. He’s not mad, not truly anyway. Mostly it’s confusion that has him acting this way—an act quite unbecoming of a senior medical officer, he can admit. He takes a deep breath. “I’m not and you know it. Where’d you get it, Jim? I’ve been out for months, we haven’t been back to Earth since we left almost two years ago. I’m just confused, is all.”

Jim straightens, using one of the handles to pull himself upright completely, his expression turning serious. “I wondered if you would even recognize it.”

“Funny you think I wouldn’t.”

Jim fingers at his own hair, fixing what has come loose in their tussle only to come away with a small amount of product between his fingers, rubbing forefinger and thumb in circles as a smile grows on his face. “What if I told you I’ve had it for a while?”

Leonard can feel the warmth radiating off of Jim’s body as his captain steps forward, his chest coming to touch Leonard’s own as Jim looks up at him through long lashes. Hands circle around Leonard’s waist, fingers splayed against his spine. He can’t help the way he sinks into it, nor does he want to stop it, no matter they’re about thirty seconds away from the doors opening to a very public bridge. Jim’s arms have been home for a long while now, after all. They’ve both grown up since their academy days but the years have been short, and with their careers—and the uncertainties guaranteed them—Leonard doesn’t like to waste time. His eyes darken.

“Didn’t know you liked my pomade, darlin’.”

With Jim so close, Leonard’s voice is little more than a purr, and he knows that he doesn’t imagine the shiver that runs through Jim at the intimate gesture.

“You know I’ve liked it since day one.”

And yes, he supposes that’s true.

Leonard is lost for a moment in time, then. Like a holovid playing before his very eyes he can see that day, crystal clear in sense memory. 

The smell of recycled dormitory air circulates, midmorning sunlight draping across the mess of sheets tangled around Leonard’s legs, the feeling of stretched muscles familiar as he awakes from a most restful night. Well, not all of it had been restful.

He can hear Jim puttering around in the bathroom, the mattress under his palm still warm from where he had been not minutes before. The smell of sex still permeates the air, and Leonard smirks. He’s overcome with a sudden feeling of content, fuzzy and molten all the way to his bones as the thought of hours spent in darkness and pleasure come rushing back.

This is the first time he has ever had Jim. Now that he knows the taste of the confounding man, first his closest friend and now something more, he doesn’t think he can give it up.

That fateful day aboard the shuttle bound for San Francisco had Leonard meeting a twenty-two-year-old delinquent and yet against his better judgment they’d been inseparable ever since. He didn’t even try all that hard to push him away once he realized Jim was determined to stick around. They spent two years getting to know one another amidst Academy regulations shoved down their throats, long nights spent in study turning into longer nights filled with honesty. Jim asks about Georgia and Leonard about Iowa, about parents and mothers and family that feels as far away as the stars they’re so destined to explore. They've been leading up to this moment for a while, gentle touches and Leonard’s incessant worrying over Jim’s health the brackets containing something more that they both have been dancing around.

And then Jim kissed him last night. And Leonard knew they were done playing will-they-won’t-they.

The sink water turns off with a hush and Leonard sits up, dragging his body to the edge of the bed, the sheet barely covering his cock from hanging out as he splays his legs and rests back on his palms. Jim is naked as the day he was born as he exits the bathroom and Leonard has no issue looking his fill.

“Well, good mornin’, sunshine,” Leonard says.

Jim squints, clicking his tongue. “Don’t use that southern charm on me this early, I just got out of that bed, I don’t have time to get back in it.” But by the way he walks across the room to sit beside Leonard shamelessly, drawing close, Leonard knows that’s a lie.

He takes a moment to look at the visage that is James Kirk. Jim folds up his legs and leans forward, that confident grin on his face apparent as Leonard takes in golden skin, scant freckles on slightly summer-burnt shoulders, curving lips that are just this side of dry. As if he can feel Leonard’s gaze like a physical thing, Jim licks at them, blue eyes shuttering into something sensual and tempting, and by the way his mouth quirks up he knows just what he’s doing to one Leonard McCoy. 

When they kiss, Leonard thinks he knows what to expect but, as it always seems to be when it comes to Jim, he’s mistaken. Last night had been a well of passion, suppressed desires flowing out of the both of them like a dam set free but in the here and now, Leonard feels his breath catch for an entirely different reason. He feels comfort. Instead of insistent need he only feels a sense of rightness, of finality. As if the meeting of their mouths and bodies had been written a long, long time ago and now that they have given in to the plot, things are going to go right.

Leonard has never felt so right.

It’s the work of a moment for him to lean the rest of the way forward and grasp Jim’s arms, the healthy muscle of his biceps soft and giving beneath doctor’s hands, his supple skin like suede to his touch. Jim hums into his mouth and his tongue darts out to coalesce with Leonard’s own, their breaths coming quicker as Leonard presses Jim into the mattress, hands sliding down to paw at a well-formed chest. Leonard’s tongue is soon to join, dipping down to mouth at a pebbled nipple, Jim arching up beautifully to meet him, his legs parting wider to welcome Leonard closer, their cocks touching in passing. Jim gasps and Leonard smiles against spit-slick skin as sensation, bright and electric, rolls up his spine. Leonard drags his teeth, nipping at flushed skin as Jim wriggles underneath him, the sensation bordering on being too soft. When Leonard makes his way up to a sharp jawline, tonguing at day-old stubble, he’s brought up short.

He buries his nose in the soft hair just behind Jim’s ear, following his hairline upwards into the gentle coif Jim must have created within his short time in the bathroom. Leonard’s eyes narrow and he brings a hand up to muss up the little that Jim had accomplished.

“Hey!” Jim squirms, trying to get out from beneath Leonard’s body even as the doctor doubles down, placing all his weight onto the younger man, the air leaving Jim’s lungs in a huff.

Leonard sniffs again. “And just what is this, sweetheart? Dipping into my stash?”

Jim goes abruptly still. His cock twitches between their stomachs and Leonard smirks. “My hair was a mess, I saw it on the counter—thought, why not? Where’d you get it anyway, the container makes it look homemade.”

“It is.”

The container of pomade is one of a handful Leonard has, picked up from the last time he visited Georgia, a local friend of the family making the mixture from scratch. He’s one of her most loyal customers, or so she says and he chooses to believe her. He’s got credits out the ass, the least he can do is give them to someone who can actually use them when his daily needs are taken care of by Starfleet and they tend to just hang around in his bank account. He buys half a dozen or so and they last him the year. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do about this particular arrangement when they finally leave on a spaceship to the stars—Jim would say he’s going to be ‘grumpy’ about the whole thing. The kid’s probably right.

Bright blue eyes soften incrementally, Jim looking up and down the length of Leonard’s face with blatant tenderness, a soft smile turning up his mouth. 

“I wanted to wear some. Smells like you. Always wondered what it was that gave you that special something, I just figured it was some cologne I’d never heard of.”

Leonard runs his fingers through Jim’s hair, fixing what he’d just finished ruining. Jim’s hair will be longer in a few years, but right now it’s barely grown enough to welcome the product with any useful efficiency. Once Leonard has finished, he looks on his work with pride.

Leonard kisses the tip of Jim’s nose, a perhaps uncharacteristic show of affection coming from him but hell, it’s a special occasion. “Suits you. What’s mine is yours now, I’d say. I can buy a few extra next time I’m off home if you think this is gonna be a repeat offense.”

The gentle smile on Jim’s face quickly turns wicked, the gleam in his eye turning predatory. “I can think of something else that’s gonna be a repeat offense right about now–”

And with a burst of power Leonard didn’t know he had, Jim flips them both, two sets of hands and mouths creating heated paths of lust and want, Jim’s loose and welcoming body allowing Leonard entry with little preamble from last night’s activities. Leonard’s cock buries into Jim and still that scent surrounds them both, an omen of something like comfort—like home.

When Jim comes with a shout and Leonard is quick to follow, the warmth in his chest matches that of his core, bursting with more than just fleshly satiation and blinding heat. His heart sings along with his skin, and all he can think of is JimJimJim. Leonard wraps two firm hands around his lover’s heaving back and draws him close when he collapses, spent entirely atop Leonard’s torso. The doctor squeezes firmly. Jim laughs, breathless.

“I’ll take a container of it…if you’re buying.”

Leonard thinks of the simple domesticity two side-by-side pomade bottles can symbolize and he buries a helpless smile into Jim’s shoulder.

“Whatever you want, Jim.”

The memory is vivid, rushing in and gone before a few seconds have passed in real time. Jim still stands against him in the turbolift, the soft hum making its way into his awareness again.

Jim looks at him with a knowing eye. “You thinking of our first time?”

Leonard raises a single eyebrow—sometimes he really hates that Spock has rubbed off on him in certain ways. “The first time, what? That you committed your thieving ways?”

Jim snorts. “Yeah, that first time.” He sighs, drawing away slowly, his hand grasping Leonard’s as they come to stand shoulder to shoulder. “I stashed a couple extra containers away. Would you believe I forgot about them? They were just there, in my duffle at the back of the closet.”

“With the way you pack? Yeah, I can believe it.”

The display screen on the control panel shows they’re coming up on the bridge and Jim drops his hand with a soft lingering of fingertips. It isn’t that the crew doesn’t know of their relationship, neither of them have specifically tried to keep it a secret, but their deep understanding of one another and tendency to yell at each other across the open space of the ship has placed them firmly within an untouchable sphere of ‘we don’t talk about it’—self-imposed by the crew, of course. Leonard assumes this is partly due to Jim’s status as Captain and his own high ranking position, but suspects the rest may be due to the possibility of bodily harm should their relationship become ‘fleet gossip. Leonard will neither confirm nor deny these suppositions. Regardless, as they do every day, both men allow the veil of responsibility to come down between them with a parting glance and as Jim squares his shoulders and lifts his chin minutely, Leonard is at once struck with the changes only a few years have made. 

Jim is no longer that impulsive, reckless young man Leonard first fell for and though the memory of him is forever encased in the brightness of nostalgia, Leonard is happy to accept this version of the man he loves, here and now. Though, Jim hasn’t left all of his impetuous spark behind him.

Right before the doors open, the lift slowing, Jim places himself between Leonard and the door with a knowing look in his eye as he bites his lip suggestively.

“I’ll bring them by later. In the meantime, I’ll think of a few highly inappropriate things I want you to do to me as payment for a very special delivery.”

The doors begin to open and as Jim turns, straightening his shirt slightly as he takes a step out, Leonard’s fingers dart forward and give Jim’s ass a little pinch. Jim hardly flinches (professional as always) and with a surreptitious look around the consoles directly by the lift, Leonard knows he got away with it.

Again.

Leonard keeps his face carefully impassive as he whispers just loud enough for Jim to hear, “Wouldn’t expect any less of you, Captain.”

And if every time he passes by Jim and gets a whiff of his own pomade which drags a few ‘inappropriate’ thoughts of his own into his mind, well…no one has to know but himself.

[byneddiedingo]

Michael Redgrave in Mr. Arkadin (Orson Welles, 1955)

Cast: Orson Welles, Robert Arden, Patricia Medina, Michael Redgrave, Akim Tamiroff, Katina Paxinou, Mischa Auer, Peter van Eyck, Paola Mori, Suzanne Flon. Screenplay: Orson Welles. Cinematography: Jean Bourgoin. Art direction: Orson Welles. Film editing: Renzo Lucidi, William Morton, Orson Welles. Music: Paul Misraki. 

"What if?" is the question that haunts every Orson Welles film after Citizen Kane (1941). What if Welles had had the financial, production, and distribution support for his films? Of none of them is the question more appropriate than Mr. Arkadin, which was edited by other hands than Welles's and not even shown in the United States until 1962, and at one point was said to exist in at least seven different versions. In 2006, the Criterion Collection released a three-DVD set that edited together all of the existing English-language versions of the film, following what was known of Welles's original plan, along with his comments on some of the other versions that had been released. It's probably as close as we're going to get to what the director had in mind. So what if Mr. Arkadin had been under Welles's control all along? Would we have a more coherent narrative and style? Would the protagonist, Guy Van Stratten, have been played by a more skilled actor than Robert Arden? (It's a role that would have been perfect for someone like William Holden.) Would Welles have called on the best makeup artists to provide himself with a more convincing prosthetic nose and a wig and beard whose edges don't show? Would the function and the fate of Patricia Medina's character, Mily, have been clearer? And does any of this really matter? For what we have here, despite Welles's later description of the film (or its handling) as a "disaster," is one of the most fascinating works in his storied, troubled career. There are sequences that are haunting, even if their purpose in the film is unclear, such as the procession of the penitentes, who in their tall, pointed hoods look like exactly what Mily mistakes them for: "crazy ku kluxers." Or the Goyaesque masks at Arkadin's ball. Or the sequence of truly wonderful cameo performances, including a hair-netted Michael Redgrave as the junk dealer Burgomil Trebitsch, who keeps trying to sell Van Stratten a busted telescope (which he pronounces "telly-o-scope"). Or Mischa Auer as the proprietor of a flea circus. Or Katina Paxinou as a Mexican (?) woman named Sophie. And then there's one of Welles's most celebrated speeches, perhaps second only to his "cuckoo clock" monologue in The Third Man (Carol Reed, 1949), in which Arkadin tells the fable of the scorpion and the frog. Though analogues have been found in folklore around the world, this particular formulation of it seems to have been Welles's own:

This scorpion wanted to cross a river, so he asked the frog to carry him. No, said the frog, no thank you. If I let you on my back you may sting me and the sting of the scorpion is death. Now, where, asked the scorpion, is the logic in that? For scorpions always try to be logical. If I sting you, you will die. I will drown. So, the frog was convinced and allowed the scorpion on his back. But, just in the middle of the river, he felt a terrible pain and realized that, after all, the scorpion had stung him. Logic! Cried the dying frog as he started under, bearing the scorpion down with him. There is no logic in this! I know, said the scorpion, but I can't help it -- it's my character.  

Perhaps it was Welles's character that betrayed him into making movies that flopped but turned into classics.

[zoe-oneesama]

Ooooh can we hear your thoughts and opinions on Miss Bustier, her akuma, and Zombizou’s plot after your fresh rewatch of the episode? >:3c

HoKAY so I held onto this one because I still needed to do my "pause every three seconds to write notes and make dumb quips in the discord chat" rewatch, but NOW!

There is so much ugh in this episode and some of it might sound familiar because I've salted on Bustier before, but here we go, mostly chronologically. These will be both petty and detailed:

Okay I literally had to ask the French Discord if Mylene's gift is a translation error:

It is not. That's what her gift is. I've only heard of people keeping a lock of their LOVER'S hair or that of someone who's passed away. But sure, what a totally normal thing to gift your teacher.

Most of Bustier's approach to things - having fighting students hug it out, quiet time, daily affirmations - could probably work if the cast was elementary school age. Like, really young elementary school age. Like, still learning what empathy is young elementary school age. Like, literally teaching someone "hey it hurts when you're hit, right? So that means it hurts other people when you hit them, right? So you shouldn't hit them because you know it hurts to be hit" young elementary school age.

BUT AS 14 YEAR OLDS THIS COMES ACROSS AS REALLY INFANTILIZING AND TOO LITTLE TOO LATE.

They forgot Chloe's sunglasses in the "Morning Compliment" Scene and it's like she's missing her tiara, it's so wrong. Also she's supposed to be boredly looking at her phone while Rose is talking but her sight line is off:

Sabrina and Nino's Super Different from Season 1 Voice Actors really threw me in this episode, I don't know why specifically this time it did but it did. Maybe because in this episode it feels more like Sabrina's reading off her lines and maybe she's just getting comfortable and maybe Nino's dropped the "cool/surfer guy" affect on accident?

Speaking of Sabrina, me and my sister noted that even she managed to get something for Bustier which led us on a side tangent - why didn't Chloe spend some of her time ordering Bustier something? In "Dark Cupid" she orders a 24-carot Gold Frame for her poster on the walk home and by the time she arrives at the hotel, it's there! You're trying to tell me if she really wanted to she couldn't have had something express delivered for Bustier? Oh what am I saying, that would require Chloe to use her vast resources on someone ELSE and we can't have that!

Point being, despite having at least half the school day (the montage shows them having Chemistry, Lunch, Art, and Dodgeball before Bustier's class), Chloe spent more energy on sabotaging Marinette's gift instead of just easing her own guilt by buying a gift herself. In case anyone thought this episode showed Chloe in a GOOD light.

Montage of Bustier/Zombizou's weird eye/brows/browbone in this episode:

The thinner the brow, the worse the squiggles. This lighting really highlights her scary thin nose bridge and NOT in a good way

It's not as obvious on the small scale, but her eyes have a purple ring around them, her eye lashes are a blue/grey color, and her pupil is TINY, but I prefer that to not HAVING a pupil.

BLUE! LASHES!

Her browbone is clipping through her mask, lovely

Her eyebrow doesn't match up with the brow bone and she doesn't have a furrow between the brows so it looks...so off.

Here's no. 2 closer up

I appreciate the class getting mad on Marinette's behalf but I wish they'd kept their insults to facts - instead of saying she caused half the akumas in Paris or that she's worse than Hawkmoth, stick to the fact she's a bully who hates seeing other people happy. You know, things Bustier can't write off because they're true.

Though it's very telling that this Chloe's face as they call her "worse than Hawkmoth":

She feels no remorse over not JUST ruining Marinette's gift to Bustier, but ruining something that was MEANT for Bustier! But given how Bustier has the AUDACITY to praise Chloe and give her credit, it's no WONDER where Chloe gets her delusional ideas that everyone likes her or should be thanking her when she acts despicable!

But that's no surprise since that's the expected outcome from Bustier's enabling philosophy of "forgive and forget despite the other person truly wronging you in multiple ways, suffering no repercussions, and in fact are getting kudos for behaving poorly on top of never repenting for what they did." Why WOULD Chloe do better when there's no incentive to?!

The only way that Bustier's advice to Marinette to "let go of her anger and forgive Chloe" is if in the meantime, Bustier is punishing Chloe for what she did. Otherwise, this is letting Chloe get away scot-free to vandalize again. What good does that do anyone, including Chloe? What does Bustier think is going to happen when Chloe does the same thing in high school or as an adult but the other person presses charges instead of "forgiving her and letting go of their anger?" She's setting up Chloe for failure, on top of failing Marinette by teaching her that her feelings don't matter and that having negative emotions is shameful.

Because that is Bustier's intent. That feeling negative emotions is something to be ashamed of. When she's deakumatized, she's distraught over "giving in to her negative emotions" and says that "I'm terrible" for doing so. So I guess Bustier thinks her entire class is terrible because they've all been akumatized, good to know.

That's why her "good deeds" are forcing fighting students to hug it out. That's why she makes her students give each other "compliments" but doesn't actually care what the compliments are (since she's satisfied with Chloe's "Rose, today you seem less...annoying." compliment). That's why she'd rather convince Marinette to ignore that Chloe defaced her gift with malicious intent so that Chloe can keep gloating and getting credit - because confronting Chloe would make her feel a "negative emotion" and it's easier to convince Marinette to back down. They're just empty gestures to keep a facade of PoSiTivItY without actually getting to the root of what causes these negative emotions.

If my teacher ever dropped to their knees like this to talk to me over the age of 10, I would be absolutely feral. Get up and talk to me like an equal deserving of respect, not a fucking toddler.

Gotta love that Bustier's defense to being told "Chloe is the meanest person I've ever known" is "oh someone in Paris must be worse than Chloe." Like, oh yeah? Who? Because Marinette hasn't met them.

And honestly, if Chloe hasn't learned "the meaning of love" at age 14, that sounds like a job for therapy and not her equally aged classmates.

Really wish there were more jabs at Zombizou's power. "I'll spread compassion throughout Paris! By making everyone make out with strangers!" There's a lesson about forced, toxic positivity in here that they totally whiffed on.

I knew from reference photos that sometimes Zombizou's lip mark disappears from her chest, but I held out some hope that it meant something like that she needed to reload on lipstick or something. I am but a fool, they just messed up, since above is literally her after one cut.

Now that Zombizou has entered the ring, can we talk about her design? Because I am confused. The short skirt and puffed sleeves feel too young for Bustier and the patchwork and knitting needles aim more for Marinette - which makes sense if it was meant for Marinette. But the powers have nothing to do with Marinette - in fact, even the parts of Zombizou that remind us of Marinette don't match with what Marinette was upset about:

This should've been the first hint of Princess Justice with the way Hawkmoth sensed Marinette's anger, so where'd this patchwork Tim Burton doll come from?

And then the power and motivation - forcing everyone to feel compassion and love through forced physical contact? Again, there's something here about forced positivity and coercing people to "get along" against their will, but they completely abandoned it by the end.

She kicked Mendeleiev's door in half, she kicked the Art Club door in half, she kicked Damocles' door in half, she kicked the school's front doors in half...this woman is a menace. And she has the gall to tell Damocles "I don't like knocking, I prefer a gentler touch."

Some,

BODY!

Let's also appreciate how shiny Mendeleiev's door is.

Tragic, but between evading Mylene and Sabrina in the courtyard and revealing themselves to Ladybug in the locker room, the class lost Nathaniel and no one even noticed. RIP. Literally I didn't notice until me and my sister went backwards from the Eiffel Tower trying to think of who would and wouldn't have been captured if not for Chloe and it took us to getting to Max and Kim on the roof to think "...wait where'd Nathaniel go?"

Some more errors for you:

Max's shirt clipping through his pants

Ladybug's grey flat screen (in "Copycat" it's reflective like any other screen)

Chloe's new facial hair ie. Being Impaled by her Side Hair

And Alix's hat that blips in and out of existence but that happens in so many episodes it's basically not even worth screenshotting anymore.

And I'm at my image limit, but they got Zombified Kim's eyes wrong - the glow green, like in "Despair Bear", instead of the purple they're supposed to be.

Zombizou: "NO ONE can escape MY KISS!" and "Witness the final triumph of love!" Me: "Ma'am that is ASSAULT!"

Sorry not sorry but I don't buy Chloe's heel turn at the end. Literally being carried by Chat Noir, by themselves in an elevator as their entire class was picked off one by one she's still asserting that "only the best remain" and isn't the least bit sad about it. She only suddenly cares about "getting in the way" when Chat Noir is taken out.

Because there's no more meat shields. There's no more canon fodder. There's her and there's Ladybug and if Ladybug is taken out, then so is she. There are no other options for Chloe and Ladybug: Ladybug wins or Chloe is infected like everyone else. This doesn't prove that Chloe feels remorseful, it proves that not even Chloe is dumb enough to overlook what it would mean if Ladybug lost here.

Her putting herself between Chat Noir and Ladybug isn't a sacrifice, it's the only option. It's self preservation, it's the only way to succeed. It's not noble that Chloe only does something when the only other option is the same fate that she happily left everyone else to. You could even argue the only reason Chloe needed to interfere was because Chloe distracted Ladybug by trying to apologize NOW of all times.

What's with this show's blonde's and their bad timing?

And about that apology - what a shoehorn! I think the writers did intend for Chloe's apologies to be genuine, but they failed in the set up. Maybe if Chloe got less and less despicable as classmates were picked off, if she got less and less sure of herself, if she acted like when people sacrificed themselves for her that was something to feel GUILTY about- but she doesn't. She's not guilty or even grateful. Kim puts her before him on the baton? She mocks him for thinking that she might possibly kiss him for it, which wasn't even his goal. Rose gets attacked trying to carry her onto the bus? She snaps at her because she wasn't "fast enough" to stop her ankle from getting twisted. Alix pushes her out of the way to make herself a human barricade between Rose and the rest of the survivors on the bus? She complains about people "invading her personal space".

Her apology to Ladybug reads like her swearing to be nice when Stoneheart throws her from the Eiffel Tower - an empty promise on her "deathbed" that's heard by almost no one that she can immediately take back or pretend never happened.

And her "apology" to Bustier isn't any better. I've already pointed out that Chloe could've used her time to rush order a gift if she felt THAT BAD about forgetting Bustier's birthday. She has a butler, her best friend is basically a personal assistant, she's got a phone that she's glued to half the time - she has so many ways to set a reminder or literally get someone else to do her work for her to ensure she got something for Bustier's birthday. There's no excuse, she flat out didn't care enough, that's all there is to it.

And somehow this and her getting her a gift a day later are supposed to be what clues us in that Chloe "has a heart, she just doesn't know how to use it?" Uh, if they really wanted to prove that, maybe she should've actually taken Alya's suggestion about apologizing to the class seriously instead of gloating over "saving Ladybug?" Chloe didn't change, Chloe didn't learn anything!

All that happened was that Marinette was taught by someone in authority over her to ignore Chloe being awful, leaving her open to give Chloe a chance in "Maledictator", leading to even more entitlement on Chloe's part, eventually leading to "Miracle Queen" and "PenalTeam" with Chloe feeling so entitled to everything being handed to her that she opts to side with the BAD GUY.

THAT'S what the lesson in "Zombizou" leads to. THAT is what this starts. This episode has no re-watch value whatsoever thanks to Seasons 3 and 4 and it is rage inducing with hindsight.

[soleilceirinen]

Renaissance | teacher!Cillian Murphy x fem!Reader - Part 4

Summary: you are an Art History student in your last year at university. Cillian is your teacher. A/N: in this story Cillian is about 20 years older than the reader. Everything happens in an alternative universe where he is not an actor or famous, he doesn't have a wife or kids like in real life. Also, English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistake! Part 3 - Part 5 - Cillian Murphy Masterlist

As he said, Cillian texted you less than fifteen minutes later telling you that he was outside of your building. You grabbed the tote bag you had filled with a few things and waited at your door, trying to hear any sound. The last thing you wanted to happen was opening the door and finding Brad waiting in the dark. 

Only silence.

You opened the door carefully to avoid making a sound and rushed to the apartment door. Once in the street you looked around for Cillian, he saw you first and got out of his car. He was wearing a plain shirt and a pair of comfy pants, his hair was dishevelled. 

When you were close enough you couldn’t help snuggling against his chest, leaning your cheek on the soft cotton fabric of his shirt. Cillian hugged you tight and let you cry in silence while he stroked your hair and whispered words to calm you down. He cradled your head with his warm hands and made you look at him, he inspected your face and wiped your tears with his thumbs. 

“It’s over now, don’t worry. Are you better?” he whispered. You gave a thumbs up gesture, doubting that your voice didn’t sound like a hoarse duck. 

He put his arm on your shoulders and led you to his car. You just let him do it, because deep inside you knew that he wouldn’t hurt you. Cillian drove in silence, keeping an eye on you from time to time and occasionally humming the lyrics of the soft music that played on the car radio. 

He lived in an expensive neighbourhood, with the kind of apartments that made you wonder how they would be on the inside every time you walked by. You followed him, at the building entrance was a reception desk with a doorman reading a book. The man looked up and wished you goodnight when you passed by his side before returning to his book. 

Cillian and you got into the elevator after waiting for a few seconds. The inside was covered by a huge mirror so you took the opportunity to look at your reflection. Your eyes and nose were red due to the crying but other than that, you looked as always. You catched Cillian’s eyes on you through the mirror, he cleared his throat and stepped out of the elevator when the doors opened. 

While he opened the door of his apartment you heard soft noises coming from the other side of the wooden door. 

“Shh, Scout. It’s just me, calm down” he said, talking to his dog. “Come inside Y/N.”

The black dog seemed utterly excited to see you, even though it was the first time. He sniffed you with his wet snout, tickling your legs. 

“Sorry” said CIllian, gesturing to the dog.

“Oh no, it’s fine. He is the cutest thing I’ve seen in a long time” you smiled, scratching Scout’s head. He wagged his tail happily. 

Cillian smiled too. “He seems to like you.”

“What an honor.” 

After that, Cillian gave you a little tour of his apartment, with Scout following the two of you everywhere. You loved the place, it had plenty of books and vinyl records in every corner as well as little mementos from all over the world, from his travels. 

“This is the guest room, you can stay here” he pointed to a door at the end of the hall “and that’s the bathroom, if you need it.”

“Sure.” 

He turned around to leave you alone but you stopped him by grabbing his hand. 

“I don’t know how to tell you how grateful I am for what you did tonight, Cillian. You didn’t have to. To be honest, I feel like a burden.”

He squeezed your hand tenderly. 

“Did I ever say that you were a burden?”

You shook your head. “No, but maybe you think it and you don’t say it out of politeness.”

He rolled his eyes and gave you another squeeze in the hand.

“Really, Y/N? I thought you were smarter than that. Try to sleep a bit, yes? We’ll talk tomorrow, for now make yourself at home. And stop thanking me.” 

“Good night, Cillian.”

After putting your bag on a dresser next to the window, you got into the bed and tried to sleep following Cillian’s advice.

Unfortunately, you couldn't stop thinking about how your friendship with Brad had been shattered in a moment. It made you a little sad, you had shared secrets with him, even considered him one of your best friends and now he was nothing more than a stranger, someone who you didn’t trust anymore. The thought formed a few tears but you didn’t let them fall from your eyes, you wouldn’t shed more tears for a wanker like him. 

Then, you heard the door opening slowly followed by the sound of paws approaching you. Yor relaxed the moment a warm tongue started licking your hand. It made you giggle lightly, you needed it.

“Hi, Scout. You are such a lovely boy, you know?” You could hear his tail hitting the ground. The dog gave you a last lick and laid on the floor at the side of your bed, like a guardian to keep you safe through the night. 

The next morning you woke up feeling disoriented, not recognising the room. Like a flood, the memories from last night invaded your mind. You kind of wished it all were a bad dream. 

You got out of bed and went to the toilet that CIllian indicated last night, it was very clean and smelled of air freshener. You fixed yourself up a bit before heading to the kitchen, where a series of noises and a delicious smell came from. There, you found Cillian cooking something with Scout at his feet. 

“Good morning” you greeted them sheepishly. 

Cillian turned around and smiled at you. “I’m making pancakes, hope you like them.” Then, he pointed to a kettle. “There’s hot water if you want a cup of tea. Or do you prefer coffee?”

“Tea is fine, and your pancakes smell delicious, by the way. Hi, you.” 

Scout was trying to put his paws around your waist in a weird attempt of a hug, it made you laugh. Cillian sight at the scene.

“I swear, you are his new favourite person.”

“He slept in my room last night, it was great. I always wanted a dog but my parents never let me have one.” You petted Scout’s black fur. 

Cillian put a plate of pancakes in front of you. 

“Do you want to talk about what happened last night?” he asked, sitting in front of you with two streaming mugs.

You shook your head while grabbing one of the mugs. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

“But you need to think about what you are going to do, you could find another place to live.”

“I can’t afford moving right now, I started living with Brad because it was cheaper” you confessed at what Cillian frowned.

“What about your parents? Maybe they can help you…”

You tapped on the table, thinking about your family. 

“No, my parents are not an option. They wanted me to become a lawyer but I chose to study History of Art instead, so now I am a big disappointment for them. I’m lucky though, I get a scholarship every year without which I couldn’t have studied.”

Cillian hummed.

“I started studying law but it was disastrous so I changed my degree” he said, playing with a piece of pancake. “ At least you were sincere with your ideas and followed your real passion, without letting your parents control your life. Don’t let others put you down, I’m sure that in your life you will achieve everything you set your mind to, because you are a hard working young woman. And in regards to your flatmate, you’ll find a way to fix it, you’re not alone after all.” 

“Thank you, Cillian. I really appreciate your words.”

“It’s the truth” he said, shrugging without taking his eyes off your face. 

You felt like crying but this time not out of sadness.

Instead, a warm feeling started flowing from your chest. It was the first time someone had complimented you sincerely, encouraging you to follow your dreams and truly believing in them.

[hlficlibrary]

- HL Fic Library's Baker/Chef Fic Rec -

Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

🍰 For As Long As I Can Remember (It's Been December) by green_feelings  / @greenfeelings [E, 128k]

After recovering from a severe accident that causes Harry to lose his memory of three years, he moves to London to start his life over as a star chef. Little does he know that when he falls in love with Louis at first sight, it’s not the first time they meet.

Featuring an unintentional game of hot and cold, Harry chasing memories that won’t come back, Louis burying himself in work to try and forget what he can’t forget, Liam being torn between two of his best friends, Zayn as a moral compass and Niall saving the day with good music and brutal honesty.

🍰 promise your whispers are mine by lightswoodmagic / @lightwoodsmagic [E, 94k]

"Where did I say it’s been easy for you, or,” he paused, staring at Harry’s lowered head and willing him to look up, “where have you ever gotten the idea that it’s been easy for me either?” When a few beats had passed and Louis was sure the conversation was done, Harry looked up, straight into Louis’ eyes like he was trying to physically pin him in place. “Our situations are completely different and you know it, please stop trying to - .” “Then let me help you fix it, Harry,” Louis interrupted, desperate to reach out and cover his hand with one of his own. “Let me help, please.”

Harry’s the head chef at Azoff’s Catering, and he loves his job; the opportunity has always been more than he could dream of and he’s proud of the food he creates. Until he meets Louis, an event coordinator rising through the ranks with his own company, and who reminds him of the dreams he once had for his own career. While their easy friendship initially thrives in an industry known for chaos and betrayal, they soon discover they both have their secrets, and maybe it’s too late for either of them to try to find happiness outside of their work. Especially when they realise that their happiness might rely on each other.

🍰 Face Your Fears by @sadaveniren [E, 92k]

Harry is a single father, pretending to be a beta after his alpha mated him and left him. He’s getting by just fine raising the twins when Louis walks into his bakery. Too bad him and Louis will never be a thing.

🍰 leave it to the breeze by @hattalove [E, 81k]

Louis couldn’t be prouder of his bake, but there’s something—there’s something. Something about Harry Styles and the earnest way he measures, pours, mixes, scrapes. Something about the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he knocks the air out of his batter.

or a great british bake off au in which louis cares about winning and winning only, harry is made of sunshine and rainbow sprinkles, and niall sticks his nose into other people's business. also featuring liam as louis's best friend-slash-concerned mother, and zayn as a macaron connoisseur.

🍰 across city skyline (and straight through my heart) by Halos_Boat / @halohamilton [M, 76k]

Louis Tomlinson meets Hollywood Heartthrob, Harry Styles when he walks into Louis' little bakery one day.

Immediately, Louis is charmed by him and Louis thinks Harry might feel the same way, given the fact that Harry has visited the bakery everyday since he'd come to town.

Until one day, Harry walks in with a boyfriend under his arm and a smile on his face.

The one where Louis owns a small bakery that's well known in his town and Harry Styles is an actor who comes to town to film a new movie. Louis is endeared by him, but that doesn’t seem to matter since Harry Styles is already taken.

🍰 Felt Nothing Like Home by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird [E, 61k]

The Bon Appétit YouTube channel has become an unexpected success partly due to the newest series developed by classically trained pastry chef Harry Styles who is intent on making the art of baking accessible to the masses. He and his best friend Louis Tomlinson have been with the magazine for years and they’re unused to the level of online fame they’ve suddenly achieved.

It’s easy for Harry to brush it off and ignore it (despite the teasing they get around the test kitchen) because Louis is happily married and has been for years—since just before they met for the first time. Or, it was easy to brush it off, but at the beginning of the summer, just as they’re leading up to the stress of planning the annual holiday issue, Louis and his husband decide to file for divorce.

🍰 I Know How To Whisk (But Teach Me Anyway) by @2tiedships2 [M, 32k,]

Louis scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. “I don’t understand. Unmated alphas don’t just go into a rut out of nowhere. Unless…”

Louis grabbed onto Niall’s arm in desperation. “Am I a homewrecker? Does Harry have a mate? Oh my God, was he not flirting? Did the change in his scent not have anything to do with my smell yesterday? Did I just make that up!?”

Louis let go of Niall and dropped his face in his hands. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

“You’re an idiot,” Niall stated. Louis looked up to find Niall rolling his eyes. He snapped his laptop closed and moved to stand up. “I need to get some work done. Why don’t you stay here and think back to ABO dynamics 101.”

With that Niall hopped off the couch and headed to his room. He stopped and turned to Louis before he made it to the hall and said, “Oh, and Lou. You may want to reconsider your outlook on soulmates.”

Louis yelled after him. “Soulmates aren’t a thing, Niall!”

Or the one in which banana bread just might make Louis change his mind about soulmates.

🍰 If I had no love to give (I wouldn't give it to you) by @kingsofeverything [E, 30k]

Small town restaurateur Louis Tomlinson needs someone competent to work in his kitchen.

Chef Harry Styles needs a job.

🍰 all the lights are full of colour by @infinitelymint [E, 26k]

So, fast-forwarding eight years from the day Harry met Louis, he is now a twenty-seven year old owner of one of the most up-and-coming eating establishments on the London restaurant scene, father of two wonderful boys and… separated from his husband. Now, that last part definitely was never a part of the original plan.

Or, Harry and Louis are separated, but for the sake of their two sons, they choose to spend Christmas together. It may just lead to a Christmas miracle.

🍰 Heartbreak Anniversary by @brightgolden [E, 24k]

When Harry Styles, an actor who has grown accustomed living in Los Angeles agreed to do The Great British Bake Off in London, never in his life would he imagined that a certain singer-songwriter serial-heartbreaker Louis Tomlinson would be there too.

Luckily, it’s just for two days. Right?

🍰 If We Have Each Other by ishiplouis / @pocketsunshineharry [M, 23k]

“When are you going to accept my offer to go out again? It’s been seven years and you’re still saying no to a fun night?” Niall complains.

“A night in with Mads is a fun night for me Ni, I already told you that.” Harry responds while serving a customer.

“You’re infuriating, I just want my best friend to go out with me tonight, is it too much to ask?” Niall pouts but all Harry does is chuckle and prepare the coffee machine for the double espresso the customer ordered.

“Playing the victim, are we now?” Harry is so used to Niall’s techniques. “Well, I have good news for you, Maddie is having a sleepover at one of her friends so tonight so I’m all yours.”

OR AU where Harry is a single father and a one-night stand is going to change his life forever.

🍰 Boyfriend Material by Speechless / @smokingluckiesalltheway [E, 22k]

What really fucks with his head is the fact that Nick Grimshaw didn't just lie and disguise his evil plan as a birthday present. He didn't simply force Louis into his little psychological torture despite his efforts to keep that from happening. He didn't even stop after involving another innocent person into his cruel game. He also paid Harry Styles, a handsome, charming, young chef, so he would teach Louis how to cook. He told Harry Styles which days Louis works the morning shift and that's why Harry Styles knocks on his door every Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday.

So basically Nick bets Louis he can't go two months without sex. And then he introduces Harry to him. Because he's the Devil

🍰 Soup Of The Day by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom [E, 20k]

It had been the single minded goal for them since college and seemed simple enough. 1. Study hard. 2. Open their dream restaurant. 3. Take the culinary world by storm.

What could possibly go wrong?

Or the Restaurant AU where Louis and Niall are chefs, Chicago is windy, and cracking the big time is harder than they ever imagined. But when a mysterious man starts grading Louis' soups by leaving little piles of rocks, could it be just the thing they need to get them on the road to success?

🍰 'Til I Tasted You by kiwikero / @icanhazzalou [M, 15k]

Louis is Harry Styles' biggest fan. It doesn't matter that Harry is famous for being a food blogger and Louis can't cook to save his life.

At least, until Harry offers to give Louis a cooking lesson. Then it matters just a teensy bit.

🍰 Gimme Some Sugar by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense [M, 13k]

Louis is scheduled to work an overnight shift with Harry, the hot new pastry chef, to complete a special order. Into the late hours of the night, they bond over music and the ability to make each other laugh like no one else... which makes it harder and harder for Louis to hide his crush. Maybe it won't be so bad if he can't.

Or an AU inspired entirely by a manip of Harry with highlights.

🍰 Simply Irresistible by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings [M, 12k]

Louis only comes to town to start up a successful restaurant, but finds he can't quite leave once the job is done. Though, that might have more to do with him falling for his quirky neighbor than anything else.

A fic loosely based on the movie Simply Irresistible. A silly and funny movie with Sarah Michelle Gellar about witchcraft, cooking, and sex that everybody needs to watch at some point in their lives.

🍰 Whisk me off my feet by @allwaswell16 [E, 5k]

When Louis locks himself out of his apartment in just a pair of novelty underwear, he hopes his new neighbor can come to his rescue.

🍰 an honest mistake by @disgruntledkittenface [NR, 2k]

“You look different when you’re not covered in come,” he blurts out, immediately regretting each and every life choice that has led to this exact moment. Elevator Guy is going to hate him.

Louis has ridden the elevator with his neighbor all week. The first time they speak, there’s a misunderstanding.

🍰 Read the Recipe by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup [G, 2k]

Louis Tomlinson does not have to be good at baking. He is rich, and has people for that.

Or, to put it more specifically, he has a single person for that. A person named Harry Styles, who comes highly recommended.

[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. 

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