#you can really see my desperate need to make my art more detailed from last year

[nartblartmallcop]

art from last year that im finally feeling brave enough to post

based on this post (X)

[pomefioredove]

Omg hiii! I saw that your requests were open again! Please take your time and prioritize your rest, and as always your writing is such a delight to read! I always look forward to your posts! 💖💖💖

That being said, can you please write for a Yuu/reader that has a love for painting (but is shy about showcasing their skill) , and was absolutely taken by Vil's beauty even before they met him? Of course they didn't know that he was a famous actor at first. What if Vil one day finds their sketches and paintings of him after months of knowing him? (hmm preferably after the events of book 6..? 👀)

SO CUTE!!! kicking my legs back and forth at this anonnn

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ the picture of vil schoenheit

type of post: short fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

How were you supposed to know?

It's not like Crowley had given you a guide on Night Raven College or its students (though, wouldn't that have been nice?)

I mean, you had to reminded of Trey's last name not two weeks ago. How were you supposed to know who Vil Schoenheit is?

You'd only seem him at a distance. Passed him by in the halls while he scolded some poor first year. He even looked beautiful when he was angry.

He was just made to be painted.

You didn't show your friends the art. You didn't need to give Ace another reason to tease you, and being a stalker would've really been the cherry on top of your weirdness sundae.

Besides, it was just drawing. Practice! Sketches from a distance, doodles done in the margins of your notes, watercolors and paintings from memory...

It felt familiar. This man, this stranger, someone you hadn't even spoken to, made you feel a little closer to home.

.

"Really, you should have some sort of organizational system,"

Vil leafs through pages of alchemy reports and history of magic homework. "Might I suggest a recycling bin?"

You smile. It's not often that your friend- Vil Schoenheit, that is- has a day off. But today is Saturday, and your room is in desperate need of his touch.

"This is... chaotic," he says, brushing a clump of Grim fur off his shoulder. "And you live like this?"

You shrug. "I try,"

"Well, try no more. We'll have this done before dinner,"

His commitment is touching. Millions of screeching fangirls would give anything just to spend five minutes with Vil, and here he is, tidying your room for you.

It's almost cute. He's humming to himself, hair tied back in a ponytail, in one of your shirts (his are too nice to get dirty), sweeping Grim fur out from under your bed.

"Rook and Epel couldn't make it?" you ask, pretending not to care that it's just the two of you.

"I told them not to bother,"

"Oh?"

Vil tsks. "They would get in the way. We're much more efficient on our own- we work well together, after all,"

That's something he'd said before. You'd always wondered what it meant.

"Right,"

You switch places, going to strip your bed of its sheets for washing while Vil tidies your desk.

Off go the pillow cases, the comforter, the blankets. You're wrestling with your mattress when you notice that he hasn't moved in a while.

He's looking through some of the papers from within the bowels of your desk, smiling to himself, a finger held to his perfect lips.

"What?"

"Hm?" he hums, but he doesn't look at you. "Oh, just... admiring your work. You have quite an eye for detail, have I ever told you that?"

He's being weird. You let go of your bundle of bedding and look at what he's holding, but it's just your sketchbook.

Oh. Oh, no. It's your sketchbook.

"OH! Um, wait-" you say, rushing to his side. "Don't- don't look!"

Vil smirks, and he holds the art over your head. "How unfair. The muse should always be the first to see, you know,"

Damn his height and perfect, slender arms!!! Your eyes widen. "It's not what it looks like! I didn't know you when I did those!"

"Yes, I saw the dates. You could make a career out of admiring me, you know~" he chuckles. "I'd pay for these. I'm sure Rook would like a few, as well."

You're practically melting with embarrassment. "Come on- give it back!"

Seeing your pathetic, embarrassed whining, Vil relents, handing you the sketchbook with an eye-roll.

"What are you ashamed of? They're fine pieces,"

"It's not that," you clutch the book to your chest. "It's just- uh- weird, isn't it?"

Vil scoffs. "I'm weird?"

"NO! I meant- I didn't even know you, and I drew you almost every day- that isn't... strange?"

He takes a moment to study you, your body language, the embarrassed look on your face. From head to toe. And then he smiles, warmly.

"I am in a dorm with Rook. There are very, very few things that I find strange now. You admire me- I'm flattered,"

He gingerly takes sketchbook out of your arms and opens it again. "Not to mention, you have an artistic eye that any director would kill for."

You stand there, a little dumbfounded, but mostly very, very grateful that he's your friend, and that you can laugh about this together.

"I'm... well... thank you," you finally say.

Vil smirks, and pinches your cheek. "You're precious. Now, back to work. I want this room over with. These paintings won't frame themselves, will they?"

[theamberwriter]

The Perfect Blend

Modern!Alpha!Levi Ackerman x Omega!GN!Reader || Tea Shop AU

Word count: 6.3k

So this is the first fic I’ve written in a while, and I cannot remember the last time I actually watched AoT. But my thirst for Levi can never be tamed. I hope this does him some justice. Also, I’m on my iPad. So the formatting may be a little weird.

Companion Art: [1] [2]

☕️📚

The Stem and Spine was the shiney new bookstore/tea shop opening on the corner on Prescott and Main. It seemed like ages since anyone had tried opening a store there. It was such a quaint spot. The historical building had detailed moldings, uneven red bricks, and chipped, dark blue paint. Six large, angled windows gave a panoramic view out to the bustling streets in your little college town.

It was the perfect spot to stop, drink tea, and people watch.

You were looking forward to opening day. You’d spent months crawling through every bookshop, online and in person, as well as every thrift shop trying to find one specific book. No one seemed to know of it’s existence. So you were silently begging the universe to cut you a break and let this new bookshop carry what you were looking for.

You’d only recently discovered their grand opening. An awkward omega gave you a flier. They were handing them out as people were leaving the grocery store. You were really excited, but maybe that was your inner bookworm talking.

Since the shop was right down the road, you decided to walk there on opening morning. You weren’t really expecting any sort of crowd. All of the college kids had gone home for the summer, so the streets had emptied out some. You enjoyed how quiet the summers were. So the long, winding line leading from the door of Stem and Spine was definitely a surprise.

You didn’t need to look for the book that badly. You could come in a month or so when things had died down some. You were going to head back home when you heard the people by you talking:

“I heard the guy running this place is hot as fuck,” said one.

“Did you hear what that girl in our study group said?” asked the other. The first shook their head. “Apparently his scent is like, super strong.”

The friend grinned, running their tongue over their teeth. “I can‘t wait to find out.”

Oh no, you mentally groaned then took a nice deep breath. The scents came one right after the other. A mangled mash up of pheromones. This line was almost entirely betas and omegas. And they were here for that alpha. You were never going to be able to shop there at this rate! As an omega yourself, you just knew they all would come from miles around until this guy was claimed.

You decided it was better to queue up, then maybe you’d actually get a chance to set foot inside. You waited for hours. You were sure those ahead of you would linger as long as possible and try to make an impression. That meant everyone had to stand in line longer.

By the time employees came down the line and told people they were closing for the night, your feet were killing you and your phone battery was nearly dead. All day and you’d only gotten a quarter of the way to the door! You could still see the spot you’d started from. A few people tried to get rowdy, complaining it was unfair that they’d been waiting all day. But their steam fizzled when employees threatened to call the police.

For two weeks, you checked the line for Stem and Spine. Day after day the line seemed to get longer. You saw a lot of returning faces, they must’ve been desperate. You even saw a handful of people getting escorted out by police! You also heard more and more rumors about what everyone was lining up for.

I heard he’s one of those hot, stoic types. I’d love to break him.

I heard that if you’re a beta or omega, just the guy’s scent is enough to make you jizz in your pants.

I heard he doesn’t like needy omegas, good thing I’m not like the others.

I heard he’s starting an entire harem - I’d love to be a part of that!

This is my eighth time going. I swear, I’m on the verge of making him my mate!

The rumors went on and on, getting more and more absurd. You wondered what this guy was really like, if he was really worth all of this. You weren’t interested, you just wanted a book! If anything, this was annoying. You figured it was probably annoying for him too, especially if he just wanted to do his job and not have to worry about anyone throwing themselves at him.

Finally, on a Sunday afternoon, you were able to set foot in Stem and Spine. It was quiet. No three block long line in sight. Sure, it was still busy but these people actually wanted books. They were all glued to the shelves, actually talking about books, and showing each other covers.

Inside was better than you’d imagined it. Everything was cream, gold, crimson, and navy blue. In one half was the tea shop. There were shelves of tea and accessories that lined the walls; loose leaf, prepackaged, diffusers, tea pots, honey sticks, spoon rests. As well as a long barista counter that had a large chalkboard and sizable drink list that was nothing but tea. There were a small handful of metal tables and chairs, and you remembered seeing some outside with umbrellas as well.

The other half of the store was the bookshop. There was row after row of books. Mostly fiction from your first glance. There were also displays for local authors and a shelf of new arrivals. You couldn’t wait to spend the day combing through. The entire vibe was cozy and the scent of jasmine wafting around was relaxing. You did wonder, however, how you were able to get in. Had the alpha been claimed? You didn’t smell anything overwhelming.

“Aaawwww, what do you mean he’s not here?!” You heard a girl whine. You were just starting on the second row of books.

“Mr. Ackerman isn’t here,” said the employee, irritation clear in their voice. “And no, I don’t know if he’ll be back today.”

The girl groaned loudly, but you didn’t hear her complain anymore. You figured she must’ve left. You wondered if she was the one who’d managed multiple visits.

“This has really gotten out of hand,” you heard the employee down the aisle say. They’d been stocking more books. “Great for sales, though.”

“That bad?” you asked. The employee looked at you, she looked tired. Her name tag read Mikasa.

“You have no idea,” she sighed. “I like working here. Levi is my cousin and a great boss, but these fangirls have just been too much. You’d think the fact that he ignores them would be a turn off. But they just keep coming.”

You didn’t realize you’d spent your whole afternoon in Stem and Spine until Mikasa came around to give you a five minute heads up. You were disappointed you didn’t find what you were looking for. But you still managed to find a couple hidden gems you were excited about. Maybe what you wanted was just too obscure.

You brought your books to the counter. As they rang you up, you noticed a clip board with a paper that read What Books Would You Like to See at Stem and Spine? Under that was a long list of handwritten titles and author names. You quickly scribbled down the book you were looking for. At least now there was a chance for it to appear.

Over the next month, you managed two visits to Stem and Spine every week. You and the employees actually started to recognize each other. You also started to see titles you recognized from the list. The mysterious Mr. Ackerman, however, still managed to escape your sight. Every time you went, there was a small posse outside just trying to grab a whiff.

It wasn’t until your first visit of the following month that you finally laid eyes on him. You’d just finished a series and were looking to start a new one. So you wandered over to the new arrivals section. You’d been there about half an hour when a heavy wave of lavender hit you. It filled your head, murking up your thoughts. You figured this had to be him, and the rumors were true - his scent was another beast entirely.

You shook your head to focus your thoughts. You liked this store, so this was something you were going to have to get used to if you wanted to keep shopping there. But you were also extremely concerned - if he was here, then that long line and hoard of omegas and betas would be too. You wanted to leave, but you were stuck between two books with money only for one.

You probably should’ve noticed the scent getting stronger. But you were so focused on reviewing the synopsis on both and thumbing through that you were oblivious. You didn’t wake from your stupor until there was a flutter of movement beside you. You glanced to your left to see a dark haired man in a white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He set down the few boxes he was carrying.

This man, you realized, was where the lavender wall had come from. This was the infamous Levi Ackerman, owner of Stem and Spine. Mikasa had told you a bit about him in previous weeks. You liked talking to her whenever you came in.

“It’s rude to stare,” he said in a surprising tenor. His back was still to you. You cursed under your breath and turned back to the shelf. That was one way to embarrass yourself. You began musing between the books in your hands again.

After a long moment of silence, a voice said, “I’d pick the one in your right hand.”

You looked over to meet a bored pair of silver eyes. “What?”

“I’ve read them both. The book in your right hand was far more interesting.”

“Oh cool,” you said slowly. “Thanks. I would’ve been here for ages.”

You quickly placed the other one back in its place and scuttled away. You were just going to have to take his word for it. You didn’t want to hover anymore than you had. At the front, they packaged up your book and you were swiftly out the door.

Levi had been right, the book was very good and you were excited that there were four more books to follow with a movie planned. The next time you tried to go to Stem and Spine it was packed again. There was a line down the block and you just didn’t have the time to wait. Your shift at work started soon, and all you’d wanted to do was thank him for the recommendation.

You decided to head straight to work instead. Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long to see the bookstore owner again. The wall of lavender hit you before you saw him. You watched everyone around you turn to stare. It didn’t seem to phase him in the least.

Levi came to the counter and briefly talked with your coworker, who couldn’t seem to keep a straight face. When they disappeared to look for someone, Levi waited at the counter. This was probably going to be weird, but you really did want to thank him for helping you find a new series you absolutely loved.

“Hey,” you started, the book in your hand. He glanced at you briefly. “I, uh. You probably don’t remember me, but you recommended this book to me last week. And I, uh, I just wanted to say thank you. It was really good.”

“I told you it was better,” he stated. “I remember the other one you had - the author writes shit. It doesn’t have any good character development and there were a few glaring plot holes.”

“Oh, that’s good to know - I’ll definitely take that off my reading list.” You laughed awkwardly, carefully tucking the book away in your bag. “I was, uh, I was going to stop by the shop earlier. See if you were there - so I could thank you. But that line was just - woo!”

“I’m going to have to do something about that.” You weren’t sure if that was directed at you, but Levi seemed lost in thought.

Your coworker soon came back with someone in tow. They talked for a minute and then Levi and his intoxicating scent were gone. Afterwards, your coworker could not shut up about him. There was no way you were going to tell them about the bookshop.

In the days that followed, the line to get into the shop shrunk. But there was a continuous crowd that flurried around. A few employees you recognized seemed to be doing crowd control.

“I don’t care that you want to see him,” said one. “You don’t actually want a book or tea! It’s clogging up the shop.”

So Levi was doing something about the outrageous line. You were looking forward to being able to shop there again. The employees inside seemed less stressed when you went in and, at least, you weren’t brushing shoulders with anyone.

“Hey, [Name]!” Mikasa called as she spied you. She waved from her spot at the book counter where she was talking with Levi. You waved back at her, accidentally met Levi’s eyes, and then shuffled off into the book aisle to grab the next installment of the series.

You paid for your book, then went over to the tea shop. You didn’t know much about tea, but you figured you might as well start trying the different blends. There was a small display set up that recommended different teas for certain books. Like a nice citrusy Lady Grey to go with Pride and Prejudice.

“I don’t think that tea pairs with your book.”

You knew that voice. You turned to find Levi there with you, hovering, observing as you skimmed through the tea bags. You looked down at the pouch of English Breakfast Tea in your hand.

“You don’t think so?”

“You’ll want a black currant tea.” Levi reached just above your head and pulled down a paper bag with a raven on it. “I’m partial to this one.”

You took the bag, turning it over in your hand. You put the original pouch you grabbed back. Awkwardly, you smiled at him. “Uh, thanks. Guess I’ll go pay for this then.”

You weren’t sure what to make of it, it was probably nothing. But this encounter left you with a strange feeling. There were a few more like that to follow too.

“You’ll want a different tea for that,” he said as you picked up the third book.

“I can’t just make the black currant one?” you asked, baffled.

“Each book has a flavor that it pairs with. This one is more of a mint. If you pick wrong, you'll ruin the whole damn experience.” Levi turned the full power of his eyes on you. You were frozen under them. “Just like each person has their scent. Each scent has something that pairs nicely with it. For example, mine is lavender, yours is more of a sage. The two go well together.”

“Oh,” was all you could manage. That was the first time you felt the little flutter in your chest.

Every time you went to Stem and Spine to purchase a book Levi was there over your shoulder. He’d direct you to whichever tea he felt best went with it. He even started talking about the nuances in the flavors. How the aromatics helped, which shape of tea bag was optimal, ideally how long to steep it for. You became very knowledgeable about tea in the following visits. You were sure you'd be an expert by the time you went to pick up the last book in the series he showed you. But nowhere near as knowledgeable as Levi.

The next time you went, you saw Mikasa at the counter speaking with Levi.

"You can have the days off. Just fill out the request form," Levi said as you walked up to them.

"You're going on vacation soon, Mikasa?" you asked.

She turned her eyes to you. "My mate is going into his rut soon. I always make sure to take those days off to help him with his nest or anything else he needs."

You smiled at her. "That's really thoughtful, Mikasa. I hope, if I find someone, that they're like you."

She raised an eyebrow. "You don't have a mate?"

"No." You shook your head and shrugged.

You could've sworn you caught Mikasa giving Levi a nudge and a sharp look. Levi gave her a brief glare back. Then his eyes turned to you, his gaze relaxed.

"Why?" he asked.

You laughed humorlessly. "No one's ever really stuck around or I broke up with them. One guy tried to get me to sell my book collection. He said that they were just a waste of time and money. So I decided that he was a waste of my time. There's nothing worse than someone who doesn't understand your hobbies."

Levi said nothing but hummed in response.

"Do you have a mate out there in this big wide world, Levi?" you asked.

"No," he spat curtly.

You didn't mean to gape, but you couldn't deny you were shocked. "Really?"

"What?"

"I'm just surprised, ya know? With your strong scent and how handsome you are... I just figured by now someone would have come along. That's all."

Levi looked away from you. "My scent is more trouble than it's worth. All it does is draw shitty little brats."

You chuckled. "I can see that, considering the long line the first month you guys were open. I also noticed the growing wall of banned people. – Well I just came in to grab something really fast before work. My shift starts soon."

The college students were starting back up for the autumn semester. The streets began to fill up with cars of fresh faces, new dreams, and overstuffed suitcases. You had a feeling there'd be a new influx of people at Stem and Spine.

The hunch was correct.

Before you knew it, the store was once again filled wall to wall with people seeking Levi's attention. He seemed increasingly agitated every time you saw him. Then he once again disappeared for a few weeks, causing the crowds to thin.

“I heard the author is writing the final installment,” Mikasa said as she rang you up. “It’s supposed to be out in a few months.”

“Really? I thought this was the last book?” You raised an eyebrow. You weren’t upset, just surprised. The story felt like it could easily be wrapped up in one book. You hoped it wasn’t going to be one of those strangling the plot lines scenarios, where the whole series goes down in flames right at the end.

“Nope, one more.” Mikasa shook her head. “I’m sure Levi will be upset.”

“Does he really like this series?”

“No.”

You met her with a curious gaze. Her eyes gave you nothing in return. You’d never really noticed how similar she and Levi looked until then. Both with silky black hair and unwavering grey eyes.

"I don't smell him around today. I take it he's still in hiding? I guess I'm on my own to find a tea, then," you laughed.

Mikasa handed you your bag, it was brown paper with a dark red book and tea leaf stamped onto it. You had a small collection you kept folded under your sink and used for various things.

"Hey, before you go," Mikasa started. "I'd like to consider us friends."

You nodded and smiled at her. "I'd like to think so."

"So then would you like to hang out when I'm not working? I was thinking about going to see the movie for this, it comes out soon. Would you like to go? I'll buy the tickets."

"That'd be awesome! I can pay you back."

Mikasa laughed, then waved her hand dismissively. "It's no issue, don't worry about it. Give me your number, and we can pick a date."

You exchanged numbers then wandered over to the teashop. You were only a little upset to be tea shopping alone. You were so used to having company. You wondered what type of tea Levi would recommend. You had to admit, you were starting to look forward to your shopping visits more knowing he was there. You were happier to see him than Mikasa most days. You were grateful for your newly formed friendship, so it made you feel a bit guilty. But you couldn’t deny that there was something soothing about listening to Levi’s passion for tea.

You thumbed through the pages of the book. Skimming without trying to spoil anything for yourself. You were just trying to get the feel. What flavor would this book be? Something dark and fruity, like a black currant? Or something a little lighter, more classic like the mint? You settled on an orange bergamot, this would have to work. You paid and then walked over to your job.

About half way through your shift, a familiar tsunami of lavender smacked you in the face. Levi strode casually through the lobby looking bored as ever. He had a bag in his hand. You wondered if he’d been out shopping. You met his gaze, immediately diverting your own back to your paperwork.

“Mikasa said you were in the shop today,” he said, the scent rolling off of him was strange and heavy.

You looked up, getting sucked into those silver pools. “Yeah, I came to get the next book in the series. I figured you were still keeping your distance. - Did you need my help with something? Did you need John again?”

“I wanted to make sure you didn’t pick a shitty tea.”

You scrutinized his face. It held absolutely nothing. He really came all this way to ask what tea you picked? Well, it was just the next street over. But he still had to go out of his way to see you. He didn’t have to do that. Your heart fluttered.

“I skimmed through, but I’m not sure I picked the right one.” You handed over the bag of tea you bought.

Levi rolled his eyes. “Tech, don’t spoil it for yourself, idiot.”

He took the bag, examining it thoroughly. He considered the ingredients for a long moment. You could practically see the cogs turning in his mind. Finally Levi handed it back over to you.

“Interesting choice,” he started. “But it works. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks, I really tried to put your lessons into practice,” you laughed. There was a long stretch of silence. “I suppose you’re probably going back to Stem and Spine, I won’t keep you any longer. But I appreciate you stopping by, I didn’t think you remembered that I worked here.”

Levi stood a moment longer, then placed the bag he’d been carrying on the counter. It was from his store. “I brought this in case you picked wrong. - I’d still like you to have it.”

You stood. “No, I couldn’t -”

“I insist.”

“At least let me lay you for it. Or exchange it for the one I bought!”

Levi was already walking away. “Just take the fucking thing. I picked it out for you.”

Then Levi was gone, but his lavender scent still swam in your head. You took the bag from the counter, peering in to inspect its contents. You were so curious what he picked. You pulled out a white bag of loose leaf tea with a rose stamped on it in pink. The name read The Start of Something Sweet, it was made with strawberries and rose. You couldn’t help but smile a bit to yourself.

Later that night you made yourself a cup using what you remembered of Levi’s impromptu tea lessons. You couldn’t keep the little smile off your face. Not even as you talked with Mikasa about your movie plans. You picked a date two Saturdays away. You were really excited, you could only hope that the movie did any sort of justice.

A few days later, you made another trip to Levi’s store. It was restock day. As usual, you beelined for the new arrivals section. You were disheartened to find your requested book had still not made an appearance. You groaned. Maybe they couldn’t find a distributor either. That’d be just your luck.

“Looking for anything in particular?” Mikasa asked, stopping beside you. “You look disappointed.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I’ve been on the hunt for this one book and no one has it. I’ve checked everywhere! I even put it on your recommendations list when you first opened. It’s just getting annoying at this point.”

“Maybe I can track it down for you and get you a rush order?”

You smiled at her gratefully. “You’d do that for me?”

Mikasa shrugged. “It’s no problem. I don’t see why not. What’s Levi going to do? Fire me?”

“Sweet, thank you so much! I’ll text you what I’m looking for.”

“Hey, I’m actually about to go on break. Do you want to go get something to eat with me? You have off today, right?”

You agreed and hovered by the counter while Mikasa grabbed her things from the back. You chatted idly with a few of the other employees. They were complaining about how busy it’s been since school was back in session. You hadn’t been surprised, of course. They did build the town around the university after all.

Once the scent of lavender began wafting in, everyone became tense. You noticed something was off. It was sharper and so sweet it was almost bitter and very dense and heavy. Levi stalked in, looking irritated. He gave a sharp glare to his employees, but didn’t say anything. Instead marching through the door that said employees only on it.

“Something must’ve happened,” said one of the employees you were talking to. “He was in a good mood this morning.”

You wanted to go after him. In fact, your feet even began to pull in his direction on their own. But you stopped yourself, embarrassed. Tea aside - you didn’t know him all that well, after all. The last thing he’d probably wanted was a random omega tailing after him.

You had a thought, a reflection of something he told you - a book and a good cup of tea always made his mood better. He told you in passing, he probably didn’t even remember saying it. You knew you’d seen your favorite book somewhere in the store. With any luck, it was one he hadn’t read. You swept through the shelves, quickly finding it, then went to find a matching tea. You’d already had one in mind. Mikasa emerged just as the cashier was packing it all up for you. You had them wrap it in brown paper.

“Did you find something after all?” she asked.

You felt warm. Did it get hot all the sudden? You looked guiltily at the items in your hands.

“Actually,” you started awkwardly. “These are for Levi.”

“Levi?”

“Yeah, he seemed pretty mad when he came through a few minutes ago. Could you - I don’t know - could you give these to him for me?”

“I think it would be better if you gave them to him yourself, he’s still here.”

Mikasa didn’t give you much of a choice as she steered you towards the door he’d gone through. She forcefully shoved you down a small hallway and into Levi’s office. He was furious when he heard the door open. The sharp scent was even thicker in here, nearly suffocating. But you couldn’t help your overwhelming urge to calm him.

“[Name],” Levi grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. His eyes were shut tight. “I know you can fucking read, the sign says employees only.”

“They have something for you, don’t be an asshole,” snapped Mikasa.

You thought you heard Levi mutter brat under his breath. He looked up at you, eyeing the items in your hands curiously. You smiled a bit. Avoiding his gaze, you admired how neat his desk was. You were sure, if you had a ruler, that everything would be evenly spaced apart.

“You seemed upset when you came in,” you said, swallowing thickly. “I remembered what you said and thought maybe a book and some tea would help? This one’s my favorite and I picked something that I thought went with it. - I promise I paid for it.”

You placed the items on his desk and slowly backed away. You tried to slip away now that your peace offering had been given. Mikasa, however, wouldn’t let you leave. Levi picked up the book, turning it over his hands. He studied the cover and read the synopsis. Finally, after a long minute, he hummed and turned back to you.

“I haven’t read this one,” Levi said. You stifled a sigh of relief. “You make interesting choices in tea, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you said quickly and Mikasa finally let you out the door.

Mikasa didn’t bring up the incident over lunch. You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about it. Why did you do that? It was incredibly impulsive, but also inappropriate. That was basically the equivalent of screaming out how much he made your heart race and your palms sweat.

You tried not to dwell on it. But over the course of the week, you found yourself reflecting. You had hoped, more than you realized, that he would like what you brought him. You wanted his approval, not just his thanks. But you hadn’t been able to find the time to stop by the store and see if he’d read it. You’d been too busy with work, along with some plans with friends.

The next time you saw Levi was at your work again. He came bearing another bag. You were worried your coworkers would start getting the wrong idea. An alpha giving an omega gifts - how must that have looked to them? Then again, it was awfully presumptuous to think that the bag was for you.

But you were certain that Levi would never court you. Did you want him to, even? You hadn’t put much thought into the idea. But you didn’t hate the thought of getting to know him better. All you knew was what little he’d revealed in your chats while you picked out books and tea. Along with a little of what Mikasa had told you.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” you joked as Levi stepped up to the counter.

There was a certain air about him today. Maybe it was the way he’d slicked his hair back neatly. Or how starched the collar on his shirt was where it came out of his camel colored vest. He even seemed a touch more rested than usual.

Levi placed a bag on the counter. “This is for you.”

You couldn’t stop the sound of delight that came out of your mouth as you took the book out of the bag. It was finally, finally in your hands. After countless hours of fruitless searching, the damn book was finally in your hand.

“Holy shit,” you cried. “You found it! How much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house this time.” Levi reached in and pulled a small brown pouch out of the bag. He smirked, which sent a chill down your spine. “Cinnamon, something spicy to go with that dirty fucking shit you’re reading.”

You froze mid celebration, oh shit. It was indeed a book with a good chunk of smut in it. Your friend had let you borrow her copy, that’s the only reason you knew about the book in the first place.

“You read it?” your voice came out hoarse.

Levi clicked his tongue. “The important parts, to figure out which blend would go along with it. It’s no wonder you couldn’t find it, no self respecting bookshop carries porn.”

“It’s not porn!”

You were not expecting him to read it. But of course he would only read the spicy scenes. No context to the story or anything else. You were devastated.

“Mhm.” It did not sound like he believed you. With that, Levi turned and began to walk away. He called over his shoulder to have a good day, followed by the pet name they used in the book.

You felt warm all over, tingles chasing from head to toe. You stared after him until he was gone. Then you sat flustered in your seat with your cheek against the cool desk. You could feel a scream burning in the back of your throat. You were so glad there was a half wall so no one could see you.

When you finally got up the nerve to crack open the book you found an envelope. Your name was written in beautiful cursive on the back. Cautiously, you cut it open. Inside was money and a little note in the same scrawl.

I won’t hold this against you. I know your entire taste in literature isn’t trash. Here’s money back for the stuff you gave me. I can see why it’s your favorite.

L. Ackerman

PS. Don’t even fucking think about trying to give the money back.

It was a short note, but it was enough to bring that flutter back. You couldn’t help reading it over and over again.

Before you knew it, movie day was finally upon you. You dressed casually and were so excited that you got to the theater an hour before it started. There was no Mikasa in sight, so you sat on a bench and read. You didn’t start to worry until there was only fifteen minutes before the movie began and she was still nowhere to be seen. Not even a text.

You: Hey, just checking if you’re close by.

Mikasa: Sorry, I’m not going to be able to make it. Enjoy the movie, you’ll have to tell me what I missed.

You groaned. You did not want to see this movie on your own. Though, you supposed it wasn’t so bad. Lots of people went by themselves. You’d just been looking forward to some bonding time with your new friend.

“So this is what that little brat was up to,” said a voice behind you. You turned to find no other than Levi. His scent was just beginning to wrap you up in a field of flowers. He had two travel cups with him, and looked as attractive as ever. No white collared shirt today. That was replaced by casual clothes and tight fitting jeans.

“Mikasa?” you asked, forcing yourself to look away.

He rolled his eyes. “I should’ve known, she didn’t even read the damn thing.”

You stood in silence for a moment. You had to wonder if this was as weird for him as it was for you. You had to admit, you did not see this coming. You could only wonder if he was disappointed to see you there.

You cleared your throat. “Look, you don’t have to watch it with me. We can sit in separate rows -“

“Don’t be stupid. Here.” Levi held out a cup to you. “You didn’t get to read the first book with anything. - Let’s go see if they fucked our shit up.”

Levi grabbed your wrist, tugging towards the direction of your theater. Your skin tingled where he touched you. You weren’t surprised by the amount of stares, but each set of eyes you passed was still unnerving. You were glad to be in your seats where it’d be harder for them.

“I heard they’re already filming the next one,” Levi stated after a few moments. He wasn’t looking at you. He concentrated almost too hard on the screen, you thought he was going to bore holes into it. “We should go see it together when it comes out. Maybe grab dinner beforehand.”

“Like…a date?” you asked. It slipped out before you could stop yourself.

“What the hell else?”

You paused for a moment, twisting to look at him. You couldn’t figure out if he was serious or not. His cheeks gained a flush of pink. You smiled at him, then settled back into your seat.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

Levi nodded, but didn’t say anything else as the lights went down. Somewhere through the night, in the tension of the dark theater, your hand ended up enveloped in his.

In the morning Stem and Spine was your first stop. You were there as soon as they opened. Mikasa was doing the opening drawer. You watched as Levi went up and slammed his hand down on the counter. She didn’t so much as flinch.

“Oi,” he said. Mikasa looked up at him. “What the hell was that stunt you pulled yesterday?”

You walked up behind him. “Yeah, you did miss one hell of a movie.”

“I don’t know why you’re both so annoyed, it seems my plan worked,” she said bored, not even bothering to look up from the cash she was counting.

“How did you know we wouldn’t just walk out of the theater and not watch the movie together?” you asked.

“You both like that series too much. Besides, Levi may know a lot about tea, but he’s also stupid. He never does anything for himself. So while he may not have realized what he was feeling, we all could see it. He just needed a little push. And so did you, [Name]. I knew you liked Levi.”

“I never actually told you that, though. I never told anyone.”

“You didn’t have to. You could smell it in the air when you were around each other. Like a call and response. You two were perfect and you couldn’t even see it. I knew from the first day you walked into the shop.”

Levi took your hand. “Don’t look so fucking smug.”

Mikasa laughed as Levi took you to his office. As soon as you stepped in Levi shut the door behind you. He gave you a swift kiss on the cheek as he went to his desk.

“She’s right you know,” he started, intentionally avoiding looking at you. “We are the perfect blend.”

You couldn’t help but wholeheartedly agree.

[got-ticket-to-ride]

Wanted to know your thoughts on this, but for what I've reading on John it really looks to me he really got worse post Paul and post Beatles, like his saddest songs match the moment he started to have issues with Paul, he wasn't really having much contact with anyone outside Yoko, he wasn't doing much music, he wasn't being that funny either, he even died without being able to fully overcome his heroine addiction (addiction that started in the Beatles fall out right?), and idk i believe his involvement in the whole peace/art movement looked more like an escape (like some people do with religion) than actual interest.

So what you think, was John at his worst after he got out the band and cut his relationship with Paul or was it was always like that?

Hello @lord-pain

thank you for this ask! I hope I'll make sense. I think the White Album was definitely the start of John's "sad songs". Happiness is a Warm Gun, Yer Blues. Subsequently, Dig a Pony sounded so desperate to me and Because which is yeah, post India, post breakup?

There's so many different accounts during that period. Some narrators might be unreliable because you never know who these "historians/journalist/"acquaintances" have their allegiance to.

During the 70s it was said that John was miserable, became a violent drunk (who believed in astrology). He was quite unhappy with how things turned out in his life due to his choices but he was too proud to admit it.

About drugs, Fred Seaman said John stopped with heroin in the last half of the 70s in this video.

Due to differing accounts that are out there, I just concentrate on John, what he wrote lyrically and how clearheaded he was during his last interview. He was trying to be better. I think that is the most important detail despite everything that went down. Also the part where he was going to work with Ringo and had booked a studio with Paul for January 1981.

His activism was partly a distraction for him. Beatle John dabbled in it, but he became very aggressive about politics after the break up. He was anti-religion when he released Imagine (1971). But went back to believing in god when he wrote "Grow Old With Me" (1979?), which I have so much thoughts about but I haven't even had the courage to voice out.

While there are glimpses of John's mental anxiety visible in his song "Help!" (1965)

"Help me if you can, I'm feeling down, and I do appreciate you being 'round",

he was trying to be positive about it as seen in "Strawberry Fields Forever" (1966):

"It's getting hard to be someone but it all works out, It doesn't matter much to me".

And was still holding on during the conception of "Across the Universe" (in February 1968) with his mantra:

"Nothing's gonna change my world",

which I think might've been a result of Paul's engagement in December 1967 to Jane.

Across the Universe (February 1968) > believer God (1970) > anti-religion Imagine (1971) > anti-religion (he made a satire song which I did not include here) Grow Old With Me (1979) > believer

During his alleged break from music from 1975, he was still making home demos and was writing Skywriting by Word of Mouth.

I think John and Paul being apart was just not good for them. The general opinion was that Paul left John and had moved on. (I don't believe that's true). It was John who made the decision to leave, it was this push and pull thing, and Paul continued to reach out to him (and we don't know what happened during all those times they've met up). Some accounts say that John was practically begging for a reunion but then again Paul never stopped reaching out to John (see 1976) so I personally think, regardless of all these details that are out in the open, there is still a missing piece we have not considered yet and that can only be told by Paul himself.

To summarize it, John probably had depression (since his teenage years) but Paul was a constant positive thing in his life that he needed and that had helped him through it, "the girl who came to stay" until something happened...

John Lennon was definitely at his worst without his buddies by his side in the 70s.

[theartist-june]

JUNE'S EMERGENCY COMMISSION

Here we go again peeps, ya boi needs some help hahaha! (； ´ ∀｀)

It's sudden, yes, but while its good news it comes with bad news.

Good news: I AM GRADUATING!!! Kind of.

Our school directress contacted mom and told me I can walk the stage to graduate, but I still need to do some summer classes to make up for the missing grade and absences. They gave me a chance and I am glad for it as I really haven't been the best student out there. It's strange that they are even giving me a chance and no chances are going to be unaccepted.

Bad news: HOLY SHIT I need to pay 90K+ Philippine Peso school fees

To be fair--we pay little by little so I can do exams (which I don't do because I have been lazing around) and it just accumulated. And we aren't really in the best economic stance either because, without sugar coating it, we are poor. Well off enough to eat and have some leisure but poor enough that we have to support ourselves through debt. I pretty much still under my mom's care despite of being an adult, and work isnt easy to come by here let alone the minimum wage here not really good enough to support a day to day life. Either way, yeah, that 90k will be a pain in the ass to pay for. And I need to pay for them before I finish up summer classes.

Here is the deal

Of course, it's not realistic to ask for 90k commissions lol. I am only asking for comms--enough to help take off some of the weight with that debt. I will keep this post up--and will keep you guys updated through #blog notice in my blog.

I know it's not going to be easy to get commissions but I do hope peeps would spread this around so the right people could see! It would be a nice and I will really appreciate it!

As for commissions, please look here for more info! Although I will show some snippets and some samples here.

Because I have improved much with my art style unlike the last year, I haven't gotten enough time to make a proper commission sheet but I have enough pieces I can make for a sample!

If you want more information, please do DM me or send in an ask! I will always keep them open for everyone.

I do hope this helps lighten up the burden a little and I know I have been asking so much lately (I had another emergency before but that one was a real emergency and this one just has a sort of time limit as I need to have enough money before I finish my summer classes).

As an extra:

For every 50 dollars I get from commissions, I will be doing a full-body piece (line-art, detailed and monochrome) for free. Kind of like a raffle for the ones that have reblogged this particular post. It is to show my sincerity and maybe desperation lol. But really, I need as much help as I can and will do my all to get it. Thank you very much!

Any kind of support will help. Thank you for your time and have a wonderful day!

Commission Info | Commission List | Ko-fi

[forjustice]

[Johto Moon Festival '24] BEWARE THE CONTEST SNOB

"Well, well, well..." Wallace puts a hand to his chin as he watches the Moon Maiden performances with a critical eye. His most toxic trait: he holds every Coordinator to the highest possible professional standard, like he's never heard of people just doing it for fun. "This Moon Maiden competition has many more contestants than last year, but more isn't always merrier~"

And there he goes, spouting off his opinions on the shows to literally anyone who'll listen.

@dandieliongirl

"First up, we have Anzu. Not a Coordinator by profession, and I can certainly tell. It was lovely enough to look at, I suppose, and she does have a good singing voice. But are twirling and throwing flowers everywhere really her only two skills? She says she wants to spread her wings and fly...She should stay on the ground first and add some more complexity to her technique. Perhaps there's a glimmer of potential in that Cubone of hers, but that performance was too much of a novice one to really tell."

@vixletserenity

"I've met Celeste before. I helped her get a Cosmog. She may prove a Trainer worthy of the Solgaleo or Lunala it evolves into...but she certainly won't get there with her Coordinating work. She makes the same mistake as Anzu does, thinking her voice can carry the performance--and the sparse move use certainly isn't enough to make up for the fact there isn't much else to comment on. I will say this, though. Her grasp on the use of Water- and Fairy-types is quite decent, all things considered. If she wanted a Coordinating career I wouldn't say she's doomed, but she certainly has a long way to go."

@oathofmoonlight

"Kaguya's? Oh, please, girl! Everyone else at least tried to have a moon theme! Unlike some others she seemed to actually be an expert in the skill she was performing, which I definitely do appreciate. But I take exceptional issue with the fact she's vying to be a Moon Maiden and yet the only phase of moon she seems to perform with is the new one. Besides, after a while of watching it, all her moves started to blur together to the point I can't even remember them--and it wasn't even long enough that most people would think details blurred together to begin with. Let this be a lesson to everyone: It's one thing to be an expert in something. It's another to do it expertly on stage."

@gruusha

"So, the thing about Grusha is, I owe them a big, big favor. I owe them a trip to the biggest, best Pride celebration in town--and with the end of Pride Month coming up, I need to do it fast. Maybe I was too late, though, because if they'd been to even one--one--drag show they'd come away with insights into the art of performing that they oh so desperately needed. It is admirable of them to do such a graceful dance in spite of previous injuries--I say that without reservation. But my one big question is: Where's the Pokémon? I suppose the main focus of a Moon Maiden Appeal should be the actual maiden, but to me, keeping the Pokémon completely hidden just screams a lack of imagination on how to use it.

"....Don't tell them I said this, by the way. How can I drag them to Pride if they know I've been gossiping about them?"

@forjustice [yes I'm tearing apart mine as well it's only fair heh]

"Look. I normally don't like questioning performances with deep personal significance. But we're talking about Volo of all people--are we sure she isn't just guilt-tripping us into giving her the prize? You'd hardly believe that she's one of the few Coordinators who's ever gotten a perfect score across the board when you see her make such a hugely glaring rookie mistake: She barely even does anything up until the middle part, and after the dance there most of the rest is just singing--which doesn't help my feeling that she was riding on the audience's sentiments to win. On top of that, I know these performances have to be short, but can we talk about the pacing--they go from strangers to honored guests to friends to family in the span of, like, what, three minutes? Maybe this wasn't the place for expressing such a story. Or the place to try and win the popular vote just by making everyone feel sorry for you outside the context of your performance--not that there even is a place for that, really. But you don't have to take my word for it. I'm just one person who as a religious figure is intimately familiar with the mythology and scripture surrounding this particular individual, and this is just my personal opinion."

[fandsart]

i’d love to see double date or tattoo fic for stobin (from the stobin month prompts)

I asked for requests because I could not choose between them and then you sent me a choice. Fear not, I will combine. Gonna ignore that tattoos weren’t legal in Indiana until the 90s, as it seems everyone is doing that anyway

Double dates make things easier. Nobody blinks an eye at what the activity they’re doing implies when it’s being done with two girls and two boys. It already looks like a double date. If they’re all giggling—as a group—well, no one really questions it. Still, they try to go out of town for it. The people in town know them too well. Assume that Steve and Robin would be dating which is uncomfortable on its face, but even if they were willing to go the beard route, that leaves Vickie and Eddie to pretend to be a couple, and they aren’t the closest. It would be a difficult idea to sell, long term at least.

It’s fun exploring the towns over too; places they’ve never been. Just walking around and finding things to do on the date as they go. Vickie once described it as like window shopping for date samples and then making a meal from the samples. Though she used more words to describe the idea.

So they’re wandering the area, looking in at random shops when Eddie suddenly shouts, “Oh my god, I totally forgot I’ve been here before!”

“Define ‘here,’” Robin prompts.

“This town. I drove over here last year for my wyvern tattoo.”

“I think, only you could forget about a town you went to a year prior,” Vickie says.

“What reminded you?” Steve asks.

“I recognize this area. The tattoo parlor is, like, a block away.”

↞⬡+¤+⬡↠

It’s the drive back that gets them talking, because Eddie has a strict rule regarding not getting impulse tattoos after getting the one his bats now cover, but he’s always itching to get more ink. The only issue comes with committing to a design and figuring out whether he’s actually prepared for the permanency of his choices or if he’s just so desperate to make himself into a work of art that he’s willing to take any image and slap it on his skin.

“If you want something meaningful to put on your skin, why don’t you just have someone you care about pick the design?” Vickie asks. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have any regrets then. I mean, unless you have a falling out with that person, but if it’s someone you really trust it would probably have to be, like, way down the road.”

“Oooh, Stevie, wanna get matching tattoos with me?”

“I’m going to be honest, I don’t know if there’s anything that would be fitting for you to get that I would be also super comfortable having on my skin. No offense.”

“Course not, love.”

“But I could probably think up something for just you.”

“Aw, just for me?”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“But yes?”

“Yes, Eddie, I’ll doodle you up something all for you.”

“You know, I wouldn’t mind getting a tattoo,” Vickie says, directed at Robin. “Maybe a matching one would be too early for our relationship, but corresponding ones could be cool. If you’re down for it. Like if they work as a pair, but could be viewed on their own just fine? But they would be meant to represent ourselves more than each other, you know?”

“We could get our instruments done.”

“Yes!”

“We aren’t heading back now for you to get that done,” Eddie says. “You’ll have to wait.”

“Obviously. We’d need to set up what they’re going to look like anyway.”

“Eh, you’d be surprised with how little a tattoo artist can work with. I know your instruments are kind of complex, but you could at least get a pretty good simple version of them. More detail means a higher price anyway.”

“We should probably sit on the idea for a little bit anyway,” Vickie says.

↞⬡+¤+⬡↠

“Wat’cha workin’ on?” Robin asks, pulling on her uniform vest, ready to start the few shared hours of work she has with Steve after school.

“Brainstorming ideas for Eddie.”

“Oh, the tattoo! How’s it coming?”

“Not well. I feel like if I saw an idea I could tell you whether he would like it or not. I know him well enough for the yes or no of it, but coming up with an idea myself is so hard. I know how Eddie thinks, but it’s not how I think, so I’m drawing a blank. You and Vickie made these decisions look so much easier.”

“Well, maybe if you tried to look for something you have in common like Vickie and I did…”

“It’s not… Look, I’m not upset that me and Eddie are so different. I love him for it. I just wish I could do this for him. I’m glad that you and Vickie being so similar works for you, but so does my relationship the way it is.”

“Well, obviously it’s not working that well.”

“Shut up, we aren’t going to break up over my uncreativity. Eddie’s just usually the creative one in the relationship. I mean, the reason he asked me to do this is because he’s literally so creative he won’t think his choices through.”

“At least he’s self aware enough to recognize that in himself.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe instead of brainstorming for just Eddie you should do some practice brainstorming first.”

“‘Practice brainstorming?’”

“Like a warm up. Like, you know how professional artists will, like, warm up by drawing a bunch of circles on a page before working on their actual pieces.”

“... No?”

“Ok well they do. Basically what I’m saying is that if your issue is that you don’t think the way Eddie does, then you could at least get into the mindset of thinking about what makes a good tattoo first. You think more similarly to me than you do Eddie, so if you were picking out a tattoo for me, what would you pick?”

“Well obviously a trumpet is an easy go-to. Oh!” He snaps his fingers. “One thing you could do is get the word for robin—like the bird—down in every language that you know. And then you could add one whenever you learn a new language.”

Robin hums. “I might use that, but no time soon. I’ll have to think on it. Any other ideas?”

Steve snorts. “Ice cream.”

“That doesn’t even work out of context. The only way that could work, like, as something that represents me, is if you get a matching one.”

Steve shrugs. “I mean, yeah, the only way I’d even get an ice cream tattoo would be if you were getting a matching one.”

“Where would you get it?”

“I don’t know. The Scoops uniform had, like, a patch on the shoulder. I’d probably do that.”

“Well if that’s the metric we’re using, my uniform had it on the vest. That puts it on my…”

“Your boobie.”

She elbows him lightly. “Gross.”

“Oh, whatever! It’s part of your body Robin. How can you not bring yourself to name a part of your own body?”

“It’s gross that you’re the one saying it.”

“But you also don’t say it!”

“I’m also not getting a tattoo there.”

“Then just also get it on your shoulder! You don’t have to follow the logic.”

↞⬡+¤+⬡↠

A couple weeks later sees Robin getting two tattoos. A trumpet on her left forearm, the same place Vickie got her clarinet, and an ice cream on her right shoulder in the same place as Steve’s. And Eddie is absolutely obsessed with his new tattoo of an african death-head moth. He named it Andrew. Steve may have recruited Dustin for help on getting past “moth.”

Despite being their most physically painful double date, it’s probably one of their most fun ones. Having some kind of goal and actually getting something—an actual physical thing—out of it makes it feel like they’ve achieved something. Maybe they should start structuring their dates a little bit more, even if it’ll be a little more tricky to keep their relationships on the down low.

It’s not longer “stobin month” but I will continue taking requests from the prompt list by @lesbianancyy because I wanted to take more in the first place, but I got these out late, because I’ve been super busy

[kingsofeverything]

I’m interested! Can you post The fake relationship for a work party? 🫶

Thank youuu 💛 Yes! This is based on a tumblr post that I can’t find now.

Anyone who reads this, remember it’s unfinished, unedited, etc.

And here’s the list of other WIPs

“Yes. Yes, sir. Sounds great. We’ll see you then,” Louis says, and waits for his boss to hang up first. As soon as he does, Louis slumps in his ergonomically designed desk chair and sighs.

He never meant to lie to his boss. It’s not the sort of thing he normally does. But when he first started the job almost a year before, his boss asked if he had a girlfriend or a boyfriend, and his brain couldn’t keep up with his mouth. He answered as if it was a multiple choice question instead of a yes or no question, accidentally outing himself as well. Thankfully his boss just smiled and nodded and told Louis to bring his boyfriend along to happy hour at the bar around the corner.

That first day, Louis went out after work with his new boss and coworkers like a dutiful employee who desperately wanted to keep his job. It turns out that, for a group of accountants, they’re a rather wild bunch. And at almost twenty-eight years old, with a good bit of bartending through college, Louis is… not so wild.

He had more than his fair share of booze and boys over the last decade or so, but as he’s gotten older, his hangovers have gotten worse, and his tastes have changed. Now he much prefers a glass of wine with dinner (two on weekends), video games or movies on the couch (the ability to pause and go pee is underrated), and a ten o’clock bedtime (midnight on weekends). He does go out occasionally, usually with his best friend and roommate Harry, though with his schedule at the bakery, they tend to stay in more. But Louis hasn’t had time to date, really. Or hasn’t made time. He hasn’t found a guy who can give his comfy couch any competition.

But his boss doesn’t know any of that because Louis had the brilliant idea that first evening out after his first day on the job, to use an imaginary boyfriend as an excuse to leave early. He’s done the same every single night out since. Sometimes he’ll stop in for one drink and make a joke about getting home before his boyfriend goes to bed. But most of the time he successfully uses his imaginary boyfriend’s odd work schedule as a reason to skip out on everything. Even the annual company picnic in the park the previous summer.

When he started the lie, he kept it bland and boring, with no details about his imaginary boyfriend or his job. Less than a month into it, Louis started to elaborate. First, mentioning Harry by name, and then dropping little details into conversations. It was easy when no one knew Harry and Louis knew Harry wouldn’t be stopping by his office or anything like that when it’s way across town from the bakery and their apartment. And it wasn’t as if Harry would care. He’d probably think it was funny. So Louis just kept his little lies to himself, not wanting to burden Harry with keeping an unnecessary secret.

Now he’s backed himself into a corner. Because his boss gave him plenty of notice and has practically begged Louis to bring Harry to the company holiday party.

So he has less than a month to find a new job.

Louis flicks his finger against the clip art of the printed invitation, eyes darting around the office to check that no one is watching him, not that they’d be able to see his text conversation. Still he backs up to the far wall of his cubicle, the one that’s actually a wall and not a partition, and sends a quick message.

Louis: Need a favor

He bites his lip, staring at the screen, but a reply comes almost immediately.

Harry: What

Louis: Come to my company xmas party and pretend to be my boyfriend and I’ll give you $20

Harry: What

Louis: $20 and a $20 Starbucks gift card to pretend to be my boyfriend for one night and not ask why

No dots appear. Louis blinks at his phone, trying to will Harry to agree.

Harry: $20 and a $20 Starbucks card, a foot massage, buy me sushi for dinner, and you have to take the trash out without complaining about it for the next year. And we’re talking about this when you get home tonight. I might need to add to my list of demands.

Louis: Ok

If that’s all Harry asks of him, he’ll gladly give it.

—

“Hello, darling,” Louis says the second he opens the door and sees Harry laying on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. The hood of his sweatshirt is pulled tight around his face so that only his eyes and nose are visible. He looks tired, but comfortable and warm. “That’s my hoodie you’re wearing.”

“Finders keepers.” Harry loosens the strings of his hoodie to uncover his pout, pushing it back off his head. With a quick pat to the couch cushion, he says, “Come sit.”

Kicking off his shoes, Louis drapes his coat over the back of the couch. Harry lifts his head, and Louis sits, waiting for him to lay back down so he can comb his fingers through Harry’s curls.

The weight of Harry’s hand against his shin is warm even through his trousers. Harry reaches down and slips his fingertips under the hem, pushing down Louis’ socks and scratching lightly at the hair on his ankles. He sighs and his breath is hot on Louis’ thigh. “Explain, please.”

Louis starts at the beginning. It’s less embarrassing than he expected it to be. He really thought Harry would give him hell for lying to his boss. But he doesn’t even seem mad that Louis lied to him. He listens quietly to Louis’ explanation, humming and nodding occasionally, rubbing circles over Louis’ ankle, and not speaking until Louis is finished.

“Since you started the job in January?” Harry asks, tapping his fingers against the back of Louis’ calf.

“Yeah.” Louis holds his breath.

“What if you’d like, met someone and wanted to bring them to the party?” Harry glances up at him. “You would’ve just like, imaginarily broken up with me? And I never would’ve known.”

“Suppose so,” Louis says, exhaling and tracing the curve of Harry’s ear with his eyes. “I haven’t been on a date in forever though.”

“True.”

While Louis twirls Harry’s curls around his finger, he thinks back to his last date. It was a few months after they moved into the new apartment, right before he put in his notice at his old job. The guy hadn't been awful or anything, Louis just found himself wondering why he’d bothered leaving the house halfway through dinner. And Harry can’t really say anything when he’s been “quite happily single, thank you very much” for going on two years now.

Finally, Harry says, “I’ll do it.”

“You will?”

“Yeah.” Harry rolls onto his back, looking up and meeting Louis’ eyses. He catches his lower lip between his teeth, studying Louis’ face. “Do you have a plan?” When Louis shakes his head, Harry says, “Okay, so… You haven’t really lied about anything other than like, calling me your boyfriend. I’m not like, pretending to be someone I’m not, so it’ll be easy. I’ll just be me, but like, with hand holding and kissing and stuff.”

“What?” Louis frowns down at him. “Why kissing?”

“Please, Louis. This is an office party. There’s always mistletoe.” Harry rolls his eyes and sits up, hair standing in all directions from Louis’ attention. “I don’t mean, like, making out or whatever you’re thinking. But…” Slowly, Harry leans in, licking his lips and Louis’ eyes track the movement. He glances up holding Harry’s gaze as he presses a slow, gentle kiss to his parted lips.

Instantly, Louis’ face heats. “What… Why’d you do that?”

Harry snorts. “The party’s tomorrow and we’re supposed to have been dating for more than a year, Louis. You can’t blush and stutter if I peck you on the lips.”

“It’s not… I didn’t…” Louis holds his hands to his cheeks, trying to cool his heated skin.

“I’ll be your fake boyfriend, Lou, but you clearly haven’t thought this through.” Sitting back against the armrest, Harry takes a breath and blows it out, puffing his cheeks. “We have to like, practice kissing under the mistletoe.”

Narrowing his eyes, Louis lowers his hands, though his cheeks still feel flushed. “I feel like that’s probably unnecessary.”

“Nope. Totally necessary.” Pushing himself up off the couch, Harry yawns, then says, “I’m exhausted. I’ve got an early morning, and a party to possibly attend.”

“Possibly?” Louis asks.

“Yeah, I mean, like I said, I’ll do it, but not if you’re going to argue with me about the like, logistics.”

“Logistics?”

Harry nods, stretching his arms overhead so that Louis’ hoodie lifts up and Harry’s sweatpants slip down. Louis almost misses Harry’s response, but he leans down and ruffles Louis’ hair, drawing his attention. “I’ll only be your fake date if you make out with me — with tongue — for two whole minutes.”

“What?” Louis jumps up from the couch.

“Two minutes,” Harry says, shuffling off towards the kitchen so that Louis has to follow him. He reaches for the tin of mints he keeps in the junk drawer and pops one into his mouth, holding the container out towards Louis. “Mint?” While Louis takes a mint, Harry pulls out his phone and sets a two minute timer, showing the face of his phone to Louis. He loudly chews his mint, swallows it, and taps the start button on the timer.

That is apparently what Louis needs to convince him that Harry isn’t joking. He hurries to swallow the mint in his mouth, and almost chokes, while Harry lounges against the counter, arms crossed, smirking like he doesn’t think Louis will do it. The timer doesn’t make a sound, but Louis can see it ticking away on the screen of Harry’s phone, and it suddenly feels like now or never.

Reaching out, Louis tugs on the strings of Harry’s hoodie — Louis’ hoodie, but finders keepers, apparently — twisting them around his fingers and pulling Harry down to meet him just as he moves fully into Harry’s space. He steps to either side of Harry’s crossed ankles, and Harry drops his arms, grabbing onto the counter with both hands, fingers curling over the edge. Harry’s eyes flicker down and Louis brings their lips together, releasing his hold on the hoodie to cup Harry’s face with both hands.

Two whole minutes, with tongue, Harry said.

Behind his closed eyelids, Louis rolls his eyes. He tilts his head slightly to the right, stroking his thumb over Harry’s jaw and guiding him to meet him, their lips parting at the same time. Harry hums, pushing off the counter, forcing Louis to take a step backwards. He grips Louis’ hips, steadying him, and Louis grabs hold of his shoulders, still feeling unsteady. Mostly that’s due to Harry’s mouth on his because of course he’s a good kisser. He sucks on Louis lip, one hand pressing into the curve Louis’ lower back, the other creeping towards Louis’ ass, when the alarm on Harry’s phone blares and they both jump backwards.

“That wasn’t totally horrible, was it?” Harry asks, slightly breathless.

Louis shakes his head, because it wasn’t, but also because he’s known Harry for a while and never thought to kiss him before and he doesn’t know why. Definitely not horrible. He reaches for the fridge in search of a distraction and something cold to drink.

“Okay, so, I’m going to bed.” Harry snatches Louis’ water bottle from him and takes a sip before handing it back. “Don’t worry about your boss or whoever. I think we know each other well enough that we won’t have any trouble convincing them we’re together.”

“So you’re in?” Louis asks, taking a step back and gulping his water. He raises his eyebrows and says, “You’re going to make this fake dating au a success?”

“Yeah.” Harry nods, scrunching his nose. He pulls his hood back over his messy curls and says, “I suppose I need to wear a suit.”

Louis shakes his head, pulling Harry’s hoodie strings again, this time so tightly that Harry’s nose is all that’s visible, tapping it lightly with the tip of his finger. “Wear whatever you want. Glitter, lace, a tux, a dress…”

“Okay,” Harry mumbles through the fabric of his sweatshirt and Louis pulls on the hoodsweatshirt until he can see Harry’s face againthe hood falls off. “’Night, Lou.”

“’Night, darling,” Louis says, tucking Harry’s hair behind his ear.

——

Louis spends all day Friday working from home and regretting the past year of his life.

In the late afternoon, Harry comes home with shopping bags, and Louis finds himself grinning at him like a loon. He catches himself mid-sigh, and freezes, eyes going from almost closed the force of his too big smile, to wide open, and jerks his head around to stare back at the television.

“Sorry I’m late,” Harry says, rustling his shopping bags before dropping them onto the couch beside Louis. “Realized I didn’t have anything to wear to an office Christmas party.”

“You don’t have to dress up.” Louis turns and pulls his feet up, watching Harry unwrap his scarf and take off his hat. Combing his fingers through his hair, Harry scratches his scalp, stuffing the beanie into the pocket of his coat.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you!” Harry stops, coat dangling off his arms. He hurriedly joins Louis on the couch, and says, “I meant to text you earlier. I thought about it today and I think I’ll need some time to like, get into character. I meant to give you some warning. Sorry. But, um… I’m officially your fake boyfriend as of right now.”

“Now?” Louis frowns, reaching for one of Harry’s shopping bags, but Harry smacks his hand away. There are still X hours until the party.

“Yes, sir.” Harry nods and winks, which Louis always finds annoyingly endearing, because he’s never sly about it, always obnoxious and over-the-top dramatic, with accompanying sound effects and open mouth. “I need a shower. You coming with me?” Before Louis can register what he said, Harry barks a laugh.

Standing and gathering his bags, he walks around and looks down at Louis from behind the couch. Louis tips his head back, about to ask Harry if he plans on being a pain in the ass as of right now, too, and if that’ll carry on all night at the party, but Harry bends down and kisses him before he can speak. It’s no two minute kitchen make out session with tongue, but it’s unexpected, and somehow, even at an angle, Louis’ barely open mouth lines up perfectly with Harry’s cold, peppermint chapstick flavored lips.

Harry walks away and Louis is left there, the tips of his fingers hovering in the air in front of his mouth. The tingling doesn’t dissipate when he finally touches his lips.

Perhaps a better use of his day would’ve been shopping for himself or even sorting through his own clothes in an effort to find something to wear to the party, rather than simultaneously regretting his life choices and trying to figure out when the hell he developed these feelings for Harry and why he didn’t notice them before.

While Harry showers, Louis rifles through his closet, searching for magically hidden clothing that he’s forgotten owning or buying. All he finds is a black blazer and his fitted black trousers — the ones that he never wears anymore because they’re a bit snug. No one’s looking at his bum when he sits behind a desk all day. His deep red scoop neck t-shirt seems festive enough, but he refuses to do more than put on deodorant and blow dry his wet hair after he showers.

It’s a sort of penance for jacking off to the memory from the kitchen the night before. He had to do it. No question.

Harry seems to be all in with this fake boyfriend thing and Louis is powerless to stop it, which means that if Harry’s as big a proponent of PDA as he suspects, he’s going to spend the duration of the party touching Louis in one way or another. However innocent the intention, Harry’s hand in his all night would still give him a boner eventually. God forbid Louis rest his palm on Harry’s lower back.

So he pregamed it a bit. Tired himself out. That way, Harry can kiss him under as much mistletoe as he likes and no matter how red Louis’ cheeks get, at least he’s less likely to spring an erection in the middle of his office Christmas party.

Louis adjusts his hair in his reflection in the bathroom mirror, flicking it off his forehead. He steps out of the bathroom just as Harry opens his bedroom door and they both stop short as Harry drops his coat.

“Oops,” Harry says, but Louis catches it before it hits the floor.

“Hi.” Louis tries to see as much of Harry as he can in the few seconds he allows himself to look.

“That’s very boyfriendy of you, Louis,” Harry comments as he slips his arms into his waiting coat. Louis brushes the backs of his shoulders, straightening Harry’s coat, though it doesn’t need it.

“I try,” Louis says, wondering if he should behave any differently towards Harry. Maybe he ought to change the way he talks to him or acts in his presence as a boyfriend rather than just Louis. He drums his fingers against his stomach and smooths his brow, unsure what he’d need to do differently.

The walk to the subway is colder than Louis thought it’d be, which is typical of him in any winter weather. Harry’s always telling him he should wear more layers. He keeps his hands in his coat pockets, balling them into fists until Harry tugs on his elbow, pulling his hand free.

Even without gloves, Harry’s hands are warm, or at least warmer than his own. He holds Louis’ hand between both of his as they walk, forcing Louis to stay close by his side until they reach the first step leading them underground. Louis follows, keeping his eyes glued to the back of Harry’s head where the ends of his hair curls over his scarf.

The party is being held at the same bar around the corner from the office where everyone else goes for happy hour. As soon as they walk through the door, Louis takes their coats, and when he turns back around, Harry passes him a beer.

“Introduce me,” Harry mutters, slipping his arm around Louis’ waist, and tucking his hand through the vent in the back of Louis’ blazer so that it rests on Louis’ hip.

Turning at the warmth and weight of Harry’s palm, Louis finds Harry already leaning towards him, making it easy for Louis to mutter, “Mr. Davidson is my boss. He’s at the end of the bar. Blue jacket, glass of whisky?”

Harry nods and smiles and proceeds to charm every person in the room. It’s completely unsurprising, but Louis is annoyed at how well he plays the part.

“So what else is there? Someone has to get drunk and dance on a table.” Harry props his hands on his hips and twists at the waist, looking around the room. His eyes go comically wide and his lips form a perfect O. “Presents, Louis. There are presents over there. Were we supposed to bring something?”

“Don’t worry about it. Didn’t want to bother you, so I picked up another $20 Starbucks card.”

Clearly affronted at the thought, Harry gasps and squeezes Louis’ upper arm. “You know I love gift exchanges.”

“Yeah, but there wasn’t a lot of time. Sorry. I—”

“Next time,” Harry says, frowning at the envelopes (?) when Louis pulls them from his jacket pocket and puts them on the table with the other gifts.

Louis nods and let’s Harry guide him away, hand cupping his elbow. He doesn’t want to get drunk, after all, it’s his office party and his boss is present. Aside from that, he could easily slip and say something that would ruin their story.

“Louis!”

Louis and Harry both turn and Louis smiles at his favorite coworker. “Merry Christmas, Niall!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall says, pointing with his beer bottle. “This the famously mysterious Harry?”

Louis rolls his eyes as Niall shakes Harry’s hand. “This is Harry, yes. I wouldn’t say he’s famously mysterious though.”

“Sure. Okay. It’s not as if anyone placed bets as to whether or not he existed.” Niall nods and winks and Louis is pretty certain such bets were placed and he’s curious about who won and who bet which way. He turns to the tall man standing next to him and says, “This is my boyfriend Shawn. Been trying to get you to meet at happy hour, but—”

“Actually, um…” Harry starts, then frowns, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “Shawn and I kind of know each other?”

It’s said like a question and Louis panics at the thought that perhaps Harry and Shawn have slept together at some point over the past year, but Shawn quickly puts that fear to rest. He grins, reaching for Louis’ hand, and says, “I work around the corner from Harry's bakery. Stop in all the time for coffee and too many pastries.”

[korka-mindlore]

Writeblr (re)intro !

Hi, hi! I've had a writeblr before, but left after remaking my entire Tumblr account. Got a bit busy, but missed the community so much that I wanted back in <3

-About me-

Korka or Corky - whichever you prefer

adult

undergrad majoring in two foreign languages and their respective literature :>

I've been writing for about as long as I've known of myself, but only started taking it seriously in the last 5-6 years, and only in the past year or two did I really start figuring out what I want to write, so my style is still unpolished and I still consider myself in my "finding myself" era

major procrastinator and experiencer of what I think is executive dysfunction; I will try my bestest to be active on here, but I might take a week or seven to read a single excerpt, though not for lack of interest or trying!! Nevertheless, please tag me in your works so I won't lose them in the dash :3

-What I write-

prose, short story lover, but I have about three WIPs that would be about the length of a novel(la) (that planning stage sure is planning)

literary movements I draw inspiration from the most are the romantic period (especially gothic) and symbolist movement, as well as the spirit of avant-garde's experimentation and pushing boundaries

my biggest role model is Charles Baudelaire :>

genres I like to stick to: fantasy, horror, horror/dark fantasy, recently tried experimenting with social satire, but we'll see how that goes

I feel most comfortable in fantasy and historical, but I love writing horror the most

I love worldbuilding and writing body horror/gore the most, but describing body language and appearance is something I desperately need to work on

I'm a planner and a perfectionist, so it might take some time for me to intro my WIPs properly, but I'm more than happy to talk about my OCs in the meantime :>

I have four WIPs in varying stages of planning, all still practically nameless:

a historical (time-travel) coming-of-age WIP meant to be about the length of a novel-novella (skeletal stage, planning out characters and main plot points)

a fantasy political intrigue WIP of a similar length (planning stage, details need to be ironed out before I can work on it, but i have an outline, sort of)

(and the spin-off horror fantasy collection of short stories WIP set in the same world) (skeletal stage, planning out the characters and the storylines)

a satirical WIP on the "tiktokification" of the arts, mainly literature, and anti-intellectualism (newest, researching stage; I know nothing about this yet beyond the core message and idea, but I'm looking forward to developing it)

-What I'd love to read-

genres: horror (especially dark fantasy!!), fantasy, "cheesy" romances, historical!!!!! I'm not too picky on genres, but if you mix horror in it, I'll love it even more

details: ngl those hyper-specific fantasy academy settings in coming-of-age stories hit different, detailed worldbuilding is everything to me, best-friends-to-lovers? chef's kiss. enemies-to-lovers? even louder chef's kiss. Morally ambiguous characters, morally questionable protagonists, I just love when the cast is formed of imperfect characters where you can't with 100% certainty say "x is evil" or "y is good". Make me think !

I also love reading poetry, though I'm not the best at analysing it and understanding particularly deep analogies, I love poetry that deals with abstract feelings, interpersonal relationships and personal philosophies <3

-I don't know how to end this :> -

A bit more about what i love writing/reading:

I'm from a Slavic country and dislike the way Slavic characters get written in western media, so most of my OCs are Slavic and I love to see a fleshed out Slavic character

I love body horror as an allegory for bodily autonomy and beauty standards. It's fun as horror, too, but as an allegory - very fun to explore

In general, I'm weak for a good symbol

And on me:

I spent most of my time in the last few years writing fanfiction, but so eager to focus on original fiction, too

I tend to write on-and-off, I'm either busy or tired, and sadly can go months without any progress :< I hope this changes as I get more settled into life

But! I've taken a recent liking to just making OCs without any particular WIP attached to them, so I'll probs talk about them if nothing else :)

I just missed the community of a writeblr a lot, so I'm hoping to make friends on here ! ^_^

[gracewritesfics]

You post thirst traps on social media hiding your face, and sext strangers, and he views it all from his anonymous account. But what you both didn't know was you were in the same college. Suddenly, he realises it as he notices details about you. And he recognises you and is totally shocked.

Y/n's pov;

I've been single for a long time now. Dating is so complicated. The last time I dated a guy was three years ago. It was a year long relationship that ended in nothing but a heartache and tears. I was done with dating. I didn't want another complicated relationship. I had developed commitment issues because of my past relationships. So, I decided on not dating anyone.

Anyway, I still wanted attention. I will not lie. I felt the need. So I created an account on instagram. It had a weird username so none of my in real life people recognise me. I posted a picture without my face, wearing a sexy top, that hugged me tight, showing off my curves. A few people followed me, mostly creepy guys. You know how it is. They go crazy. And start dming you all at once.

I saw my message requests as they were bombarded with texts with just a few pictures that I had posted. I replied to ones I found a little appropriate, not creepy. But then they asked for more, they asked to meet me and my information like my contact number. So I blocked them or ghosted them.

I did not want to have sex, not with some random guy from my social media. I did all of it for attention. I was loving it. I posted a picture with my red lace bra and my dms were flooded. I talked a little to a few guys. I had this pattern, I ghosted them as soon as they began to sound like a creep.

No one knows about this. This side of me. Not my besties. None of my friends. The day they get to know about it, it's over for me. Because in reality, I'm a really shy girl. Introvert. I had this image. But the pictures I had posted on that account, were questionable for someone like me. I was shameless there. Like for public entertainment. But I got what I wanted. Attention. And I got to show off my body. It was too sexy to keep it disguised. At least some guys could see and jerk off and sleep peacefully at night because of me. Right? I was just doing social work.

One night, it was insufferable. I needed someone to talk. But most guys in my dms were creeps. I didn't want to talk to them. I went a little too far as I tried to click a perfect semi nude. I wore panties that barely covered my ass. And I slid off the straps of my bra, it showed the most of my cleavage. And I clicked pictures, showing off my ass and then my cleavage. I pressed my boobs from the side of my arms to make them look more perfect and show off the cleavage more. And then I posted it on my story.

I was hopeless. There were only creeps. I checked every other dm, disappointed. Then, there was this anonymous account, it said, "Your body is beautiful." I looked at it and smiled. "Don't flatter me. There's no need." I replied. "I'm not flattering you, it's the truth. I think women's bodies are a piece of art crafted by god and yours is one of the perfect ones." The text read.

"Woah, woah. What do you want? Nudes? Sex?" I asked. "No. I don't want any of that, unless of course, you are comfortable." He texted. "Are you for real? Are you a guy?" "Yep, I'm a real person, a guy."

"Can you please... help me. I need someone." I said finally out of desperation. "Tell me." He said. "Send me your video, while masturbating" "Are you sure?" He asked. "Yes" I replied. I took off my bra and clicked a picture of my boobs while holding them with one arm and sent it to him after contemplating. "Damn, they're gorgeous." He texted.

His choice of words swooned me. Even if it was a facade. Maybe he's trying to impress me so he can fuck me in real. But it made me feel things. I was fucking wet already and then he sent me a video. His veiny hands, holding his dick, jerking it then going faster. I imagined it inside of me with every thrust he made by his own hand. His dick was leaking precum. And I was so wet. I shoved my finger inside me and paced it back and forth to get some satisfaction.

I felt a wave of tremble and my fingers were sticky with all the release. "Did it help?" He asked. "It did" I said but I needed him so badly. I needed that dick inside me. "Then sleep well, beautiful <3." He texted. My eyes were widened. It was sweet but, why would he text me like I'm his girlfriend. I was just a random stranger.

I logged off my account and decided I'd not open it. But a couple nights later again, I felt irritated with all the tension. I wanted a release. So I logged in. I tried not to text that guy. But everyone else was stupid, creep, asshole. "Hey" I texted. After a few minutes, he texted back, "Hi! How are you?" I told him I'm fine. "Can I help you with something?" "You already know." I replied. And then he understood.

Sexting with him was, so satisfying. He knew exactly what to say. It made me turn on even more. "I'll trail kisses from your neck to your shoulders. I'll paint you like a canvas with my tongue." He sexted in poetry, I was amazed.

Jimin's pov;

As I was pacing through the campus to reach the hallway, I bumped into a girl. All her pages fell down and got scattered on the ground. "I'm sorry." "It's okay," she said and began to pick it up. I bent on my knees to help her too. She was really polite, someone else would be arguing with me that I was running around..

For a brief moment my hand touched with hers... And I viewed it closely. I felt like I had seen those hands somewhere. I looked at her face, but I didn't know her. She looked into my eyes and then said, "Thank you."

"What for?" I asked. "For helping me, in picking all this mess up." "Oh, no worries, it was my fault anyway." I said. "It's okay." She said again and then went on her way. I looked at her from behind. Shoulder length hair. She wore a top and a skin fit jeans. She walked away and I went my way.

..

"Hey" she had texted. The girl from that account. "Can I help you with something?" I asked. "You already know."

I had controlled myself for a long time. Once, when I was in high school, I dated a lot of girls. They'd also get into bed with me and have sex. But as soon as they got a guy better than me, they'd leave. I don't usually say this for women, but some of my exes were bitches. Especially the last one, she took me to bed herself and later blamed me that I manipulated her into sex. She did so when I caught her cheating with someone else.

I had this anonymous account because I wanted to have zero social media presence. I did not want to add some stupid people to see what's going on in my life. When I came across this account of a girl, she posted her thirst traps. I was really intrigued. Although she intentionally posted pictures where she showed her curves and her cleavage but I couldn't help but notice every detail. The little moles she had. One on her collarbone. It was beautiful. She had a scar, on her left thigh, did she hurt herself?! I did not ask, it would be too personal.

I had texted her earlier complimenting her body because I couldn't hold back. Sure, I was jerking off every other night seeing her pictures. I was curious, how beautiful would she be in real. How her face would look like? If her body was so beautiful. I wanted to hear her moans. How would it be to fuck her?

...

I was climbing the stairs of college one day as a girl was descending and suddenly on the last step she lost balance and she fell down. If I had stood close enough I would have held her. But she fell and her skirt slid up her thighs. I'm not the one to peep like a shameless creepy guy. But what caught my attention was the scar on her thighs. I shook my head to come to my senses and held out a hand to her.

Her hand felt so soft, like a touch of a blanket in winter. She got up and straightened her skirt. "Thank you.. I.." she hesitated feeling embarrassed. "It's okay, it happens, don't be so worried. No one else saw!" I assured her. Then she smiled hesitatingly and went away. I looked at her as she walked away. Was she..? No, she is so shy and quiet. She can't be her. Its paradoxical.

...

"I want to ride you. Fucked by you from behind. I want you to fuck me so hard I can't walk." She was wilding. Our sexting had reached another level. Whenever she felt the need, she texted me and I was there for her. We imagined the filthiest scenarios and our imaginations were wild. We sometimes even got close. I asked her when she sent the picture of her ass, she told me she had those scars from harming herself. She told me her ex used her to get nudes and sex and then left her. I shared with her my story. We practically knew each other's worse secrets. But we did not know each other.

...

One day, as everyone was preparing for the college fest, students were gathered. It was a compulsion to take part in one thing or the other. So, I took part in a dance. It was supposed to be a pair dance with 5 pairs. There were other girls too, so we were told to choose a partner from participants. There was this girl I knew. We had bumped into each other twice. I chose her as my dance partner. We began to practice as the dance instructor told us to do.

I held her waist for a step and she rested her hand on my shoulder. She wore a top and it revealed a little bit of her collarbone. I saw a ... mole. What the fuck?! "What's your name?" I asked casually, smiling. "y/n, and you.." "Jimin Park." I told. I shouldn't do this. But I peeked through the gap on the neck of her top, and noticed another freckle on her cleavage, at the exact same spot. I moved away my gaze instantly. She. Is. Her.

The girl I've been sexting with. It's her. I noticed her face. More beautiful than I ever imagined. Her voice sweet like honey. I imagined her completely. From the pictures she had sent me. I imagined her under me, moaning in that sweet voice of hers. I controlled myself. As I still danced with her.

"Can you say my name?" I asked. "What?" "I want to see if you pronounce it correctly." I said. "Umm.. Jimin, right? Jimin!" She said. I wanted her to scream it louder. "Right!" I said.

...

I held myself back too much, knowing it was her, everyday we practiced dance and every night she'd say filthy things to me in the chat. She wanted to be fucked so badly yet in real she hid behind that mask of innocence. I'm not saying she wasn't innocent. But I knew her behind that shy girl demeanor. She was wild.

The fest happened. The dance practice sessions were over. We did not meet much in college after the fest. Not like we used to while practicing dance. When I placed my hands on her waist and imagined her naked in front of me like in her pictures. I knew every detail of her body. Her freckles, her marks, her curves, everything.

One night, after a couple days, as she was busy with exams, she texted. "I'm sorry I was MIA for a while." She texted at midnight. "That's alright, you must be busy." I said. "Yes." She said. "Exams over?" I asked, unconsciously. "How do you know about my exams?" She asked back. Fuck. "Who are you??" She asked. "Do you know me?" A series of texts.

"I know you pretty well, you've shared a lot about yourself." I said. "No, I did not tell you about my exams. Who are you?" She texts. "I'm someone, who knows you. In real and virtual. From your shy personality to your wildest dreams."

She freaked out. She stopped texting. And a few moments later, I was blocked. What the fuck? We had talked so much, and sexted so many times, now that I tell her I exist in reality, she blocked me. I had her pictures saved. I saw them for a while. Then in frustration I threw my phone on the side of bed.

...

I paced my steps, looking for her all around the campus. I searched so many places but she wasn't there. Finally I saw her in a classroom. Putting her head down. I went inside the class and sat near her. "y/n?" I asked. She jerked up. Her eyes widened and she was terrified. But as she saw me her expressions calmed. "Oh, Jimin. You." She said.

"Yes, me." I said. "I thought it was someone else." She said. "Who could it be?" "Um.. no one." "Then why are you so scared and terrified?"

"I-" She was going to say something when I placed my finger on her lips. "Do you not recognise me?" I asked. "What?" She looked confused. I showed her my other hand, flexing it. "This hand, do you recognise it?" I asked. Her eyes widened with each breath as she noticed my veiny hands.

"You dream of it every night, these fingers, you dream of them inside of you..." She heaved, her heartbeats heavy. She couldn't breathe. She got up and hurried out of the class. I followed her. Calling out her name in the hallways. She dashed across the campus. I ran up to her and held her wrists and pinned her against the wall of the auditorium. Our voices faintly echoed as we spoke because of the huge space.

"Why are you running away from me? Didn't you say that you want me?" I asked. "I..I.. never imagined, you were.. really."

"You have driven me crazy with your fantasies. And I want to fulfill each one of them, darling." I said. "Wh.. I ... Jimin."

"Stop the act. I know who you are. I have seen you behind this facade." I said.

"Jimin, I'm not the kind of girl... that's not me." She mumbled.

"Babygirl, don't be ashamed of your desires. It's not a bad thing. I know you. I know about your scars, your freckles, each line of your body. And I know you want this. Just tell me once. I'll give you everything you want. In every way you like it. Don't hold yourself back anymore." I said, cupping her face as she looked into my eyes.

"I.. want you to-" she was about to say when I crashed my lips with hers and began kissing her, biting her lips, shoving my tongue in her mouth. "Wa-..wait.. is this the right place?" She asked.

"How about, I take you to my mansion? There's no one else there, my mom dad have gone for a trip." I said. "your mansion?" Confusion etched on her face in indecisiveness. "Do you trust me?" I asked "Y..Yes. I trust you." She said. I grabbed her hand and dragged her to my car.

...

As she sat in the passenger seat I drove off the campus and I drove in speed. "Slow down, baby." She said. "I thought you liked it fast" I joked. She hit me playfully. As I parked my car outside my mansion. I looked at her finally, biting my lower lip in anticipation. Weeks and months of just imagining and dreaming.

Her gaze met mine and then dipped to my lips. I instantly grabbed her face and pulled her in for a kiss. Devouring her, like her lips were my favourite ice cream. I licked her, sucked her lips. She gasped as she tried to kiss me the same way. She moved her velvety lips against mine and I melted.

"Are we gonna do it in the car?"she asked.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hold myself back!" I said and she chuckled lightly which made my heart tickle. I got out of the car and pulled her out of the seat and into my arms. Slamming the door with my feet as I kicked it. I held her up in my arms. And rushed to my bedroom which was luckily downstairs. I rushed across the hall into my bedroom, I dropped her on the fluffy mattress of my bed and locked the door. No one was home, but just in case.

I want back to her after locking the door. She looked straight at me, laying down as I had placed her, hands on the sides. She put her legs close together joining them.

She wore a skirt, black stockings, and a shirt on top. It was sexy. But it needed to go. I held both her knees as she had her legs joined, and did them apart. Spreading her legs open. I yanked up her skirt, and put my hand over the thin fabric of her panties. I laid on top of her, kissing her, mixing her saliva with mine. My tongue practically fucked her mouth.

She fought for dominance but I kissed her hard. Then I moved down to her neck. Unbuttoning her shirt all the way down, I removed it from her taking off it's sleeves. She wore her red lace bra. "This is my favourite." I said as I kissed over her cleavage. Biting her nipples from over the fabric of her bra. While I made circular motion with my fingers on her clit and she was dripping wet already. She moaned and gasped as I moved my fingers slowly and then I slid down her panties and shoved my fingers in her pretty little cunt. I stroked her with my fingers as she moaned.

I paced them back and forth inside of her until they were soaking in her juices. I licked my fingers to taste her. And then put them in her mouth. "you're delicious, I can have you for breakfast, lunch, dinner and dessert." I said. And went down on her as I put my thumb in her mouth. And undoing her bra from the other hand in a second. She gasped. "Are you impressed with my skills, love?" "Hmphh!" She said with my thumb inside her mouth.

I licked her pussy moving my tongue and trying to devour her, putting it in as long as it can go, I tasted her. Her reactions drove me crazy as she moaned and breathed heavily. She shrieked when I put her clit between my teeth gently.

I went back up and kissed her hard. "Taste yourself, you filthy little girl." She chuckled. "How do you want it?" I asked. "Do I have to tell you?" She arched an eyebrow.

I scoffed. I knew her wildest fantasies. I knew how she liked it. I undid my jeans and she gazed at my dick shamelessly. I took her hand and placed it on my dick. "Feel it. How you said you wanted to hold it and do the things to me as I sent you the video?" I teased. She moved her hand and lashed it against my dick. I moved her hand and laid on top of her grazing her thighs with my dick. "Just... fuck me!" She said.

And I put it inside her. Slowly moving it at first and then increase the pace. I held her wrists to the sides. I watched her face, burning red, so flushed like a cherry. She was a smoking mess that I had created. I stroked back and forth faster, each time earning a moan from her.

"Say my name, love!" I said.

"Jimin! Jimin..Jim- Ahh!" I chuckled.. I couldn't help. It was so hot as she said, my name sounded like a melody.

"Do you want to ride?" I asked. She nodded with half lidded eyes. Sweating all over her neck and forehead. I laid down, and held her so she could get on top of me. I had wrecked her so bad. She got on top of me, I held her waist and she put her hands back on my thighs as I lifted them a little for her. She rode my dick, moving up and down as it pierced the insides of her. She moaned loudly. If I had neighbours, they'd surely enjoy.

"Jimin.." She mumbled and she brought her face down over mine. "I... I have fallen. In love. With you. I want you."

"I love you. Y/n. I want you all to myself. You are mine. You don't have to ask, I'll fulfill all your wildest fantasies. And no other man, could touch you like I do. They'll not see you like this. You're mine to fuck, mine to ruin and mine to love. All your scars, all your freckles, all your curves, mine to kiss and to touch."

"I love you baby. I promise. I'm all yours. Every inch of me. I belong to you. Take me as you want. I'm shameless. I'll be on my knees for you. I'll scream your name while you take me. Take me, completely."

[misterbrick42]

I saw your blorbo rating post on PmSeymour’s channel and I felt called to spread the word of my lot and savior, Lucky Guy.

Lucky Guy IDV (see my profile pic) is a character from the semi-hit game Identity V. While the other characters all have an item or power that’s (mostly) unique to them, Lucky relies on his extraordinary luck to get items out of the chests sprinkled around the maps you play on.

As you might know, the number 7 is a lucky number. This man literally had the word lucky in his name. Luck is his entire shtick. This gives him a horse shoe-with-a-bunch-o-four-leaved-clovers around it on the number-7-scale.

As for the mystery component, Lucky Guy has a lot of mystery. While other characters have names, backstories and lots of lore, Lucky has nothing. One of the main theories about him is actually that he doesn’t exist, so little is known about him. You know a fandom is desperate for info if the only conclusion that can be made about a character is that they aren’t real. This gives him a who?-where?-what? On the mystery-component-scale.

Lucky Guy has a maid outfit, which you can buy and wear in-game. He even gets pink glasses instead of his usual brown ones. Maids often serve food, which he has been depicted doing in official art. Soup is a common food you can make a maid serve to people. This earns him an it’s-there on the soup-scale.

Lucky Guy is trapped in a magical manor, forced to participate in death matches on different maps, which makes it hard to get sand. There are certain maps where he could get sand from, but he’s not connected to sand as other blorbos might be. This, sadly, gets him a measly relatively-neat-car on the sand-scale.

Skeletons is a hard one. While a guy that was with Lucky in the old (probably-not-cannon) tutorial did die in basically the first scene, leaving the dude with only a skeleton, he isn’t really involved with skeletons. Other characters would have much higher scores on the skeleton-scale, but lucky has a one-in-his-body.

Finally, last but not least, slime! While the manor and most its occupants are from the 1890’s, Lucky Guy has a much more modern appearance. With his t-shirt-long sleeve combo, low-waist jeans and classic red sneakers, he looks like he’s from 2016-2018. This could definitely mean he was exposed to the slime craze. He might’ve even tried to make some. I’d give it a came-into-contact on the slime-scale.

I hope I gave enough details for you to judge! If more clarification is needed, don’t be afraid to ask! My inbox is open. I love talking about my blorbo, autism go brr when I do. Can’t wait to see the blorbo judging start.

Nice

[haeroniel-doliet]

Welcoming the new year:

I just finished marathoning the original trilogy, never actually having watched them back to back, on a tv screen, by myself. (Spent new years alone, which briefly felt really really sad but turned itself around to be just what i needed.) Absolutely the right choice there were so many details and theyre so good and i just love them very much and can actually focus on them fully and it felt like experiencing them anew somehow! God, Luke is such a pretty boy and i'll always love Leia she's so beautiful.

Did have some breaks in between like to actually see the clocks roll over here, and then again with my friends abroad, to cry a little in a sort of semi bittersweet way about acknowledging that I actually achieved something huge this year. Not knowing whats coming next so not making promises but just hoping the year will be kind and gentle to me and all my loved ones.

Feeling somehow rejuvenated even if its 5 am, realizing i'm a little free from my art block of wanting to paint perfect stills from the movies, bc it's been done before so many times. I gotta find what makes me happy, how I like combining references to make new. I can do it. And just to try reset my brain to my unironic otp, i had a play of the last 20 mins of mandalorian finale. Just... Kinda needed it! Granted, now im actually also frustrated by the cgi, bc i've just seen how alive and expressive Mark was, so it seems very very stiff. I'm still really glad the character was brought back bc its made my heart sing with joy for a good 2 years now! Not gonna touch the boba episodes, i'm gonna dwell in the good feelings of 2 years ago when the love bloomed for me. Sure, i don't feel particularly inspired to draw/paint anything even though i desperately wish i was. Maybe the answer is a few more face studies and then just. Make someone hold another real gentle. Idk. To be seen. If i can post any art before season 3 comes out i will be so very proud of myself i promise.

Hope you had a lovely new years if you're reading this, lots of love and good wishes for you. Theres nothing inherently special about a new year rolling in, it just happens and we're along for it. I hope you get what you want most, i hope the year will bring satisfaction and peace and the ability to recognize and enjoy it <3

[lovejustforaday]

2023 Year End List - #8

Javelin - Sufjan Stevens

Main genres: Chamber Folk, Indie Folk, Folktronica

A decent sampling of: Progressive Folk, Art Pop

The softspoken gentle soul and prince of indie returns yet gain to bless us with his poetic grace.

Alas, this will not come close to being the best, nor the most enthusiastic review of this critically acclaimed behemoth of a record. Sufjan Stevens has already been (for some time now) one of the truly canonized and most undisputed sacred darlings of all of indie music, and there are a lot of folks who are very passionate about this man's art who've formed very intimate bonds with his body of work over the years.

I mean, Illinois is one of my favourite albums of all time, and probably the record from the 2000s indie canon that I can agree with the most, and even then I still kind of feel like a poser when discussing his music. This guy just has such a huge following of dedicated mega-fans, that it really forces me to occupy a space somewhere more in the realm of being a casual Sufjan enjoyer, especially seeing as how I haven't even completed half of his full discography yet.

To add to that, I've seen many folks already calling this his greatest record of all time, and it hasn't even been out a full year. Hell, my placement of this LP at #8 means I'm most likely rating this well below the average person's response. Welp, looks like you can crucify me now internet ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Okay, silly jokes are officially over. As it stands, this is actually a very heavy and serious record.

Javelin is a sort of fantastical series of requiems, arranged with warmly plucked folk guitars and banjo, thumping percussion, sweeping choirs and orchestral swells, and evanescent, cathedraline electronic sound environments that appear variously throughout the record to enhance its majesty. I'm not the first to make this observation, but it really is a bit like an amalgam of Sufjan's entire history of musical outputs blended into one project.

The record commemorates and pays tribute to the passing of his long-term lover Evans Richardson, a prominent figure in the New York art scene who demonstrated a particular passion for his community. The record goes on to detail the struggles and differences in the last year of their relationship as well, making this an exceptionally difficult undertaking emotionally.

Javelin also marks the second time the artist has written a project dedicated to a deceased loved one, after 2015's Carrie and Lowell, and the first time Sufjan has publicly spoken on the same-sex attraction that queer fans especially had been speculating from his lyrics for decades. Likewise, it would probably be a fair assessment to regard this as his most emotionally vulnerable project to date, which is no small title to bestow upon a Sufjan record.

One of the most vulnerable moments is the desperate plea of "Will Anybody Ever Love Me?", a song that's really all there in the title. This one feels very classic Sufjan, with exuberant guitar plucking and soft piano accompaniment with a woodland atmosphere, culminating in soaring call-and-response choirs.

"Genuflecting Ghost" opens similarly, leading into a more explosive electronic soundscape with weeping woodwinds and resplendent chimes. I had to look up what 'genuflecting' means and, in trademark Sufjan fashion, this is a reference to Christian prayer. Quite poetically and solemnly, this track is reminiscent of his older song "Casimir Pulaski Day" which also evoked praying over the body of someone who was dying, though this time he pleads to bargain with his own life. Deeply moving.

"My Little Red Fox" contains what is quite possibly the most beautiful chorus of the year, possessing a restrained, waltzing medieval grandeur that conveys a warm heart heavy with sorrow and need. "Kiss me with the fire of gods" is breathtaking lyrical imagery that only Sufjan could sing so softly yet deliver like a blow to the heart. Easily a top 5 Sufjan Stevens track for me; perhaps it will be even higher as time goes on.

"So You Are Tired" reflects the acoustic simplicity and the crisp, moody piano arrangements of Carrie and Lowell. Lyrically, it is perhaps the most impenetrable track on the record, reflecting very difficult unresolved feelings of abandonment from his partner before they passed. Just, really heavy stuff if I'm being honest.

The record climaxes on the eight and a half minute opus "Shit Talk", expressed in several smaller climaxes across multiple movements swelling with refrains such as "Hold me tightly / lest I fall", "I don't wanna fight at all", and "I will always love you". This track very much feels like the load bearer of all the hurt on this record - the breaking point of the artist.

I feel a bit icky even trying to explain the emotions of this album second hand as an outsider to his experience of loss, this song in particular. At the same time, I'm really trying to honour this piece of art. Also, please understand that this list is just my own personal subjective ranking of the music I enjoyed the most this year, and not an objective evaluation of the artistic merits of these projects.

All that said, If I had one small difficulty with the record, it would be that Javelin does not feature the diversity in arrangements from song to song that Illinois was teeming with. The record has a general formula and sticks to it quite religiously throughout most of its run. A very beautiful formula, might I add, and perhaps it adds to the feeling that this really is a collection of requiems or hymns. And of course, none of this is to say that there is a wrong way to grieve, and Sufjan certainly deserves to write such a record as he should see fit.

Either way, I can comfortably say right now that this is already probably my second favourite Sufjan record. Long time fans of the artist will appreciate Javelin for the monumental benchmark it represents in his discography; a fully realized expression of just about everything he's done up until now, and a delicately-crafted tribute to the most beautiful person he met in his life.

I encourage you to really let this one sit with you. I'm not even sure if I've done that properly, as there was just so much great music this year, and my attention has been divided across so many excellent records. This is another one I suspect might grow on me even more with time.

9/10

Highlights: "My Little Red Fox", "Shit Talk", "Genuflecting Ghost", "Will Anybody Ever Love Me?", "So You Are Tired", "Everything That Rises"

[avatar-anna]

Makeup Artist

summary: You’re hired as Harry’s makeup artist for Love on Tour

words: 7.1k

tw: none

Never in a million years did you think that you would be on tour with Harry Styles.

Sure, you were a celebrity makeup artist, but your wheelhouse consisted of red carpets, runways, and editorial shoots. You were familiar with Harry’s work, had even gone to one of his shows for his first album, so you knew that he and his band didn’t really do anything crazy in terms of stage makeup.

For those reasons, you said no when you first got the call. Someone knew someone that knew you, and you were suddenly in touch with the tour manager for Harry Styles. They gave you a brief description of what you would be doing on tour—mostly the band’s makeup, but Harry’s as well for two shows in New York, something about a Halloween special. Going on the road sounded fun, but the job itself didn’t feel all that fulfilling. You absolutely loved makeup, it’s why you became a makeup artist in the first place. You loved getting people dolled up in full glam, playing with colors and themes and experimenting on clients when they gave you the chance. You were more than capable of doing more natural looks, your job often called for it. But makeup was a form of expression for you, and you didn’t think that this job opportunity was going to challenge you in any way, so you politely declined.

You thought that was the end of that, and went about the rest of your day. It wasn’t until a week later that you received another phone call from the same unknown number that you finally took the job. 

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist you take this job,” the tour manager said. “H is really impressed with your work, and he doesn’t want anyone else.”

H? You thought. Was it rude of you to assume that Harry Styles didn’t have any involvement in the choosing of his makeup artist? You knew that he’d been dipping into different parts of the beauty industry lately, but you still thought that this was something that his team would take care of.

“I don’t know, this just isn’t something I would normally do,” you said, feeling bad for rejecting the tour manager for a second time. You hoped he wouldn’t be in any trouble with their boss.

“What’s your normal rate?” they asked.

“Excuse me?” It wasn’t an uncommon question, you just weren’t expecting that level of desperation from the tour manager.

“How much do you typically charge? We’ll double it. Or come up with a price that covers the whole tour. You would be a very valued member of our team.”

Double? The tour manager didn’t even know how much you charged clients, yet they were already promising to double it. Perhaps it was a tad selfish of you, but now that more money was on the table, you were considering it. You loved makeup as an art form, but you still had bills to pay. “Uh…Okay. I’ll do it.”

“Great,” the manager said, and you could almost see the weight being lifted off their shoulders. “How fast can you get Covid tested and on a plane to Las Vegas?”

They wanted you to start now? “Well, most of my kit is fully stocked, but I still need to get some things together. And I have to pack, obviously. I’d say…two, maybe three days?”

“We need you here by tomorrow night,” the manager said, making your eyes widen. How did this become so last minute? “Okay…Okay, I’ve got it. I will have someone take care of getting whatever you need for your kit, you just pack and do whatever you can to get here as soon as possible. We’re going all over the country, so be prepared for all types of weather. And make sure…”

You listened carefully as the tour manager rattled off a bunch of details about the tour—more of what was expected from you, when you needed to be there, how to get to the venue, where to stay. You realized that this was going to be a long phone call, so you muted yourself and began packing, pulling out your large suitcase and carefully putting what you thought you would need in it while listening to the tour manager go over things like Covid restrictions and signing an NDA and other technical stuff.

When they were done, they asked you what you needed, you quickly unmuted yourself and rattled off brand names and brush types and the exact amount of sponges you would need. Normally, you would use the same set of brushes on a client and wash them thoroughly, but since you would be doing the same people’s makeup for a few months, you thought it would be more efficient if each person had their own tools and products so nothing would get cross contaminated or thrown out constantly. “I’ll pay for everything once I get there,” you said, but the tour manager brushed you off and said not to worry about it.

The phone call ended, and in the quiet of your bedroom, you were able to really think about everything that just happened. “Holy shit,” you breathed, sitting down on your bed in a daze.

Touring was…interesting to say the least. Everyone you spoke to was incredibly kind and respectful, and never for one moment did you feel like an outsider or like you didn’t belong. After the first few shows, you knew almost everyone by name, and even had people to sit with for meals before the show. 

You needed to call your friend. You were going on tour with Harry Styles.

----------------------------------------------------------

And as you predicted, the work itself was fairly easy. You just had to do the girl band members’ makeup before each show. Nothing too elaborate, just enough powder and blending to make sure they weren’t too oily onstage. You felt like you were scamming everyone, seeing as you were being paid double for doing less than what you normally did, but you hadn’t had any complaints yet, so you kept your head down, did your job, then went back to the bus just before the show started.

For the first couple shows, you stayed and watched the whole concert, excited to be on the road for a famous singer. But you quickly realized that tour bus life wasn’t for you and didn’t get much sleep when it was moving and with so many other people making a lot of noise, so you got your rest for a couple of hours while everyone else was still at the venue.

A month into the tour, though, and you were itching to do more than just foundation, powder, and a little blush. You wanted to do more, and your head was constantly filled with ideas on how you could spice up the band’s makeup. It wouldn’t be for anyone but yourself, but you could do the girls’ makeup in your sleep by now, and you needed to switch things up a little, otherwise this would be a very long tour.

“Can I try something different tonight?” you asked one night. You were sitting with Ny’oh, one of the guitarists. She had the most eccentric style out of the three girls when she wasn’t onstage, so you figured you’d start with her in the hopes that she would be more receptive to something different.

“Course, babe. What did you have in mind?”

The two of you quickly finished up dinner and went to the band dressing room. You got Ny’oh settled in her makeup chair and got her normal routine out of the way, smiling to yourself as you started to prep the skin just beneath her eyes. 

“I can tell you’ve been wanting to do this for some time,” she joked, her eyes looking upward as you patted eyeshadow into her skin.

“I saw this trend when I was while I was scrolling on my phone on the bus the other day. I tried it out for myself and really liked it, so I thought I would see what you guys thought.”

You were always looking to others for inspiration. The beauty of the internet was that you could share tips and learn new techniques to try out in the future. This one that had eyeshadow focused on the bottom half of your eye rather than the eyelid was extremely intriguing to you. One of the nights where you were on your own on the tour bus, you got your personal makeup kit out and began practicing. It looked amazing, and you thought it would be so cool if you matched the girls’ makeup to the suit color Harry was wearing that night. And after listening to his music live a few times, you realized that Harry’s music was very vibrant and lively. You thought you could match the essence of his music through the makeup you did for the girls.

“You should’ve said something sooner,” Ny’oh said, grinning when you handed her the mirror to see the finished product. Tonight, Harry would be wearing a pink number, so you dabbed a soft pink on Ny’oh, added some pink highlight to her cheeks, finished it off with a little mascara, and she was done. She looked soft, ethereal, exactly what you were trying to go for when you started.

“So you like it then? It’s not too much?”

From then on, you were doing something different each night to match whatever Harry was wearing. All three girls were receptive to the idea, and even had you take pictures of the finished look to post online. It was fun to hang out with them before the show, and soon enough you were hanging out with them all the time, exploring new cities together and shopping until it was eventually time to head to the venue.

For the first time ever, you felt like a part of a group. As a freelance makeup artist, you mostly went from one job to the next. You were rehired by the same people often, but before this job, you’d become a little lonely. You lived by yourself, you didn’t have a pet, and you didn’t speak to your family much anymore. It was just you and your one friend, though she had a pretty busy schedule of her own. You thought you were okay with that, but the longer you were on tour, you realized that you’d just conditioned yourself to be fine, and now you were craving companionship more than ever. 

Still, you were so used to your alone time that sometimes you needed it. So while everyone was out to lunch in Atlanta, you were on the tour bus, watching TV on your phone. That is, until there was a knock on the bus door.

Confused, you went over to open it and see who it was. You were on one of the crew buses, and anyone on it would’ve just come in rather than knock. But when you opened the door, your eyes widened. This was no crew member.

“Hi.” You didn’t know what else to say. You technically worked for him and had been traveling the country together for almost two months now, but you’d never actually spoken to Harry.

“Hi, I’m Harry,” he said, pink flooding his cheeks when he realized you probably already knew that.

Sparing him any more embarrassment, you stuck your hand out for him to shake. “I don’t believe we’ve formally met. I’m Y/n.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” He took your hand and shook it, his hand warm and soft, but a little callused too.

You expected Harry to say more, but he didn’t, just continued to stand awkwardly outside your tour bus. You realized then that he’d run out of things to say, and you wondered if he was always this shy. “Did you need something? Everyone went out for lunch and to explore, so they won’t be back until later.”

“No, no, I was looking for you actually,” he said. “Can I come in?”

“Of course! Sorry, where are my manners? I should’ve let you in sooner.”

“It’s no problem.”

You stepped aside to let him in and tried not to gawk. When people met celebrities, they always said things like, “they were taller in person” or something along those lines. You’d never really had a moment like that until now. He didn’t tower over you by any means, but you did have to tilt your head up the tiniest bit to meet his eyes.

The layout of his tour bus must’ve been similar to yours because Harry knew to go to the back of the bus so you could both sit on the couch together. He sat down, crossed his leg, uncrossed it, then placed the other leg on top of his knee. You thought he was just shy, but now you were starting to think he was nervous. I’m not that intimidating, am I?, you thought, wondering how to not come off that way if you were intimidating him.

“I’m sorry for not coming to see you sooner. I usually try to meet everyone at the start of tour, but I feel like anytime I look for you, you’re never around.”

Now it was your turn to blush. “Sorry about that. I usually come back here when I’m finished getting everyone ready for the show.”

“I’m that bad, am I?” he asked, cringing a little.

You blanched, not realizing he was only kidding until it was too late. “Of course not! I’m so sorry if I gave you that impression. I just don’t sleep well when everyone else is in here, so I try to sleep when the bus is empty. I can stay tonight, though. I promise it’s not what you—”

“Y/n,” Harry said gently. “It’s fine. I was only teasing you.”

“Oh.” Well now you were really embarrassed, but you tried to recover. “So, um, was there something I could help you with, or were you just stopping by to say hello?”

Harry took the change of subject in stride. “Well, yes, I wanted to meet you properly, but I also wanted to ask,” he said, pausing like he didn’t want to continue. You knew that look, though. You’d seen it on a lot of guy clients. 

“Do you want me to do your makeup?”

“Erm, yes. I don’t know why, but touring just gives me these dark circles,” he said, touching the soft skin beneath his eye. “I don’t know why that was so hard for me to admit. I’ve worn makeup before.”

You shrugged. “It’s not uncommon. A lot of guys are weird about it. But you’ve come to the right place.”

Getting up from the couch, you ran over to where you kept your kit. You hadn’t had to use the stuff you had set aside for Harry yet, but you still kept it close by each night just in case. Going back over to him, you told him to close his eyes and got to work.

It was completely silent, but it wasn’t awkward. Harry seemed to understand that you needed the quiet to focus. With a brush, you put the tiniest amount of color corrector where he needed it and applied a little concealer over it. His dark circles weren’t as bad as he made them out to be and only needed a little touching up. When you told him he could open his eyes, he did so, a lot quicker than you’d anticipated. Now you were practically nose to nose and looking at each other right in the eye. 

You sat back immediately, putting away your brushes and the makeup you used on him. Pulling out a mirror, you handed it to him so he could see your handiwork. “It’s like they never existed,” you joked.

Harry inspected himself in the mirror, looking from side to side as if a different angle would magically reveal what you’d covered up. Seemingly satisfied, he set the mirror down. “Thank you.”

“Of course. It’s what I’m here for,” you said, taking the mirror from him and putting it back in your kit.

It occurred to you then that now that he was all taken care of, he would probably want to leave. Only he didn’t stand up. Looking him over, you thought he probably didn’t know how to politely excuse himself. It also occurred to you that he didn’t go out with everyone else to explore Atlanta. Because he couldn’t or because he didn’t want to? You wondered.

Taking a chance, you said, “I, um, I was watching TV in my bunk, but I could play it out here, if you wanted to stay for a while?”

You felt like an idiot the second the words were out of your mouth, but before you could take them back, Harry smiled at you and made himself comfortable on the couch. “I think I’d like that.”

----------------------------------------------------------

Halloween was going to be your favorite night, there was no doubt in your mind about it. 

The whole band was dressing up for two Halloween shows, and instead of just doing makeup for Ny’oh, Sarah, and Elin, you got to do the boys’ too. Because of that, you had to start earlier than you normally would, but you didn’t mind. Any excuse to break out your more colorful palettes and blushes was more than worth it to you. And everyone hung around while you worked, too, making it a party of sorts. Stella, the hair stylist, and a nail artist was in the band’s dressing room working with you while everyone was listening to music and talking over each other and having a good time. It was the first time you’d hung out with the whole band before, and you had to admit that they were all very sweet. Not that you ever doubted that, you figured that anyone who worked for Harry was probably nice, and you were proved right.

Speaking of Harry, he had yet to come by to get his makeup done, even though you’d been informed that he would be getting his makeup done tonight and tomorrow. You were curious as to what he was currently up to, but you tried not to think about it so you could focus on finishing Pauli’s makeup. After that afternoon where he watched TV on your tour bus, you saw a little bit more of Harry. He made a point of coming to see you, whether that was on your tour bus, a dressing room, craft services, or somewhere else. And he sat down in the makeup chair before shows too. Nothing major, just covering up his dark circles like you’d done on the tour bus and a little something to even out his skin. It gave him a nice glow too, something you pointed out to him the first time you finished his look. Each interaction was always brief, but you thought it was sweet that he went out of his way to see you when he probably had such a busy schedule.

As you were wrapping Mitch’s makeup—he was the only one that didn’t seem totally thrilled about having his makeup done, so you kept it very minimal, putting a little black on his nose to match the lion costume he was supposed to wear—Harry walked in. Too focused on fixing up Mitch’s brows after you convinced him you wouldn’t do much more than that, you didn’t notice him come in, but he noticed you. He wanted to immediately go over to where you were working, at the very least to see how you managed to get Mitch into a makeup chair, but he was sidetracked by Sarah and Elin.

“See? Not so bad,” you said to Mitch, handing him a mirror. You worried he wouldn’t like it, but he seemed satisfied with your minimal work. Thanking you, he walked back over to where everyone else was while you cleaned up your station. 

“Who’s next?” you called, turning around to see who was free and who wasn’t. It was then that you saw Harry, and your smile was instant when you saw his hand partially raised. “Oh. Hey, Harry. Come have a seat.”

He sat down in the chair, and you got his designated brushes out, immediately getting started on prepping his skin. “How are you?” he asked, his eyes closed while you brushed moisturizer on his skin.

“Good. How are you?”

You spoke to Harry quietly while you did his makeup, starting with a light base and covering his dark circles like you always did. His voice was soft as he spoke, almost like he didn’t want to disturb your work. He wouldn’t have either way, but like most things he did, you found his awareness of your job very sweet. 

“So, I have your base done, is there anything specific that you wanted, or?”

You knew that the theme for tonight was Wizard of Oz and that Harry was dressing up as Dorothy, but aside from that, you had no instruction. Harry opened his eyes and blinked at you. “Nothing…Nothing too intense, I guess? I don’t know, I trust you.”

He was trying to be nice, but he didn’t really give you much to go on. But Harry said he trusted you, so you went on instinct and got started. As promised, you didn’t do anything too intense—a little blush, but strong enough that it would be seen onstage, a little highlight on his cheeks and the tip of his nose, and mascara, though that part made you nervous.

“It might feel a little funny, but try not to touch your eyes, okay?” you said. You used the gentlest formula you had, but you had a feeling it still might bother him, seeing as he’d never worn it previously. You wouldn’t have done it, but you really thought it completed the look, so you just put two coats on and called it a day. “I’ll help you take it all off afterwards. Just come by my bus again.”

“You’re not going to stay?” Harry asked, a small frown on his face.

“I like to catch up on sleep, you know that,” you said. He tried not to look hurt, but you could see it on his face. Before you could think about it, you said, “But I can stay tonight. I want to see how my work turned out.”

You knew you were going to be exhausted tomorrow, but seeing Harry’s face light up was worth it

“I’d like to thank my makeup artist tonight for doing such a wonderful job. She came up with and did all the makeup last night and tonight. She did a wonderful job, don’t you think?”

Harry rested his chin in his hands and grinned so that everyone could see your handiwork. The crowd cheered, and you were suddenly thankful that Harry convinced you to stay and watch his show for a second time. No one of course knew that you were the one who’d done his and the rest of the band’s makeup, but it felt nice to be recognized and praised for your work all the same.

After last night, Harry had more of an idea of what he liked and didn’t like. “Yes to the blush, no to the eye stuff,” he said when he sat down in your chair again. You agreed with him. After the mascara got in his eye while he was onstage, you decided that you would try something else. This time around, you added a slight pink to his cheeks and just above his eyebrows, his skin glowy and flawless as always. Then, as a play on his costume, you glued four pearls to his face: two above his eyebrows and two on his cheeks.

In comparison to his band’s makeup, Harry’s wasn’t as elaborate or over the top, something you had lots of fun coming up with with each person (Mitch even let you play around with some stick on stars too). But in your mind, the makeup was simple so as not to overpower Harry’s costume, which had ruffles and tulle and lace all the way up to his neck. Last night in his Dorothy costume, he’d shouted, “I look cute!”, as he pranced around the stage, but you preferred tonight’s ensemble.

After the show, you went back to the band’s dressing room and began laying out everything needed to remove the stars and pastel colors from their faces. You stifled a yawn, checking the watch on your wrist. In theory, it wasn’t very late, but you hadn’t gotten much sleep in the last few days, and it was starting to catch up with you.

Ny’oh was the first one to enter the dressing room, and also caught you yawning. “You should go back to the bus, get some rest,” she said, walking over to where you were still standing.

“Are you sure? I was going to help everyone get everything off—”

“It’s fine, babe, I know my way around makeup remover. I can help the boys. That’s who you were worried about, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Can you just remind them to wash their face and moisturize too? I left some masks out, but I doubt they’ll use them.”

Ny’oh promised that she would take care of everything, ushering you out of the dressing room with a wave of her hands. “I got it, now go. Get some sleep.”

Thanking her, you grabbed the rest of your things and left in a hurry. If you got back to the bus before everyone else, you might be able to fall and stay asleep for a few hours before the snoring and the sleep talking began.

The next two days were mostly traveling with a couple breaks thrown in, so you kept to yourself mostly, hanging out with the rest of the people on the bus occasionally and sleeping when you could. You found traveling days to be your least favorite, as there was very little opportunity to truly be alone, but you managed. When you finally arrived at your next destination, everyone was more than eager to get off the bus and stretch their legs. You did too, but your exhaustion from lack of sleep outweighed your desire to leave the bus, so once everyone was gone, you cuddled up into your bunk, ready to shut out the rest of the world for as long as possible.

It didn’t last long, not nearly as long as you’d hoped, because you were woken up by knocks on the bus door. For a moment, you stayed in your bunk, wondering if it was entirely too rude to not answer whoever was at the door and just hope they eventually went away, but you finally got up.

A sense of deja vu flooded you as you saw Harry on the other side again. His hair was held back with a small black clip, a smile on his face as he looked up at you. The smile dimmed slightly though when he looked you over. “You were sleeping, weren’t you?”

You were, but you didn’t want him to feel bad. “It’s okay.”

“I’m really sorry. I can come back later if—”

“What’s in your hand?”

Harry looked down to where you were looking. Scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, he said, “I asked around and Stella said you didn’t get off the bus with everyone else, and I figured you hadn’t eaten, so…”

“So…you brought me lunch?”

“Yeah, I—I didn’t want you to not eat all day, so I thought I would bring you something, and I wanted to thank you properly.”

“Thank me properly? For what?”

“For all your help in New York,” he said, swaying from foot to foot. 

You tilted your head at him curiously. “It’s my job, Harry. There’s no need to thank me.

“H,” he said suddenly. “Everyone, um, everyone calls me H.”

“Oh. H,” you said, trying it out for yourself, missing the smile that grew on Harry’s face when you did so. “Well, like I said, you don’t have to thank me. I was just doing my job.”

“I mean, just because it’s your job doesn’t mean I can’t thank you, but I guess I also wanted to thank you for even coming on tour. I know you declined the first time and that this isn’t the kind of job you would normally take on, so, thank you.”

You were surprised by his confession, surprised that he seemed to know more about you than you did about him. You vaguely recalled his tour manager saying that Harry insisted that you were the makeup artist that was hired for tour, but you hadn’t thought about it much since.

“Of course. I’ve had a lot of fun,” you said. Then, because you couldn’t help yourself, you asked, “So, why did you want to hire me? I was surprised to get a second call from your tour manager. You could’ve easily gone with someone else.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed a deep scarlet, looking more bashful than you’d ever seen him. “I don’t think you remember, but we’ve met before.”

“We have?” You were pretty sure you would’ve remembered meeting a guy as remarkable as him, famous or not.

“Kind of. Indirectly. I—I saw you?” he said, though it sounded more like a question. “Oh Christ, I sound like I’ve stalked you now, that’s not it at all. You, um, you were Lizzo’s makeup artist at a music festival kind of thing. You said hello and asked if I needed anything, but I could barely say yes or no before you were called away to do something else.”

After Harry’s confession, you racked your brain, trying to remember the instance in question. You remembered the event, one of those big radio shows, and you remembered doing Lizzo’s makeup. That night was such a blur, though. Someone else’s makeup artist was sick with the flu and didn’t show up, so you offered to help out. If you had asked Harry if he needed anything, it was probably because you’d been asking multiple people that same question all night. 

“I remember that night,” you said, feeling guilty that you couldn’t recall your very brief encounter.

“I remembered you,” he said with more confidence than you’d ever heard him speak. Hearing him say that made your face flush, but that only made him smile more. “I asked Lizzo who you were, which definitely raised some eyebrows, but she told me your name, and after asking around a little more, I knew I at least wanted to hire you to go on tour, but then, you know…”

“Covid,” you said, nodding.

“Covid,” he agreed. “Almost two years later and here we are. I hope that doesn’t freak you out. I didn’t hire you with any ulterior motives or anything. I really do admire your work and thought you would be a valuable member of our team, and I think I was right.”

It was certainly a lot to take in, but Harry was being so earnest, you almost didn’t have a choice but to believe him. You tried not to let him saying, “I remembered you,” get to your head, but it was slowly becoming the only thing you could think about.

“No ulterior motives, huh?” you asked, leaning against the side of the bus door.

Harry shook his head. “Nope.”

“So you bring all your crew members lunch?”

“Um,” he looked down at the takeout in his hands.

It quickly dawned on you that flirting with your boss probably wasn’t the best idea. There was still a lot of the tour left, and this…whatever was happening right now was probably more trouble than it was worth. Were you attracted to Harry? Sure, but you found lots of people attractive, that didn’t mean you acted on that attraction. So before he could come up with an answer that would probably be trouble for the both of you, you said, “I’m kidding. Friends?”

Harry looked at you for a few moments, and you couldn’t tell what it meant. Finally, though, he agreed and said, “Friends.”

You let him in the tour bus and led him to the back so you could sit down and watch your show. It only occurred to you now that you hadn’t watched another episode since you watched it with Harry.

As you walked to the couches, you couldn’t be sure, but you swore Harry muttered, “We’ll see about that.”

Now what the hell did he mean by that?

----------------------------------------------------------

It was the last night of the tour, a night you were both dreading and looking forward to for weeks. You’d had a lot of fun, and made friends that you were confident enough to say would last. There were memories you would carry with you forever, and you could only describe being on tour with Harry and his band the experience of a lifetime. Still, you were partly relieved because while touring was fun, it was very long, and living out of a tour bus wasn’t your favorite. Sleeping came easier after investing in ear plugs and a white noise app on your phone, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss the comfort of your own bed.

And then there was Harry.

The two of you had grown quite close over the last couple months, so close that Ny’oh would wiggle her eyebrows at you whenever he came looking for you in the band’s dressing room. That alone was embarrassing, but it was when you tried to convince her that nothing was happening and Harry merely draped an arm around your shoulder and kissed the top of your head that had you flushing from head to toe.

Since that afternoon in your tour bus, Harry shamelessly flirted with you. Anytime he convinced you to stay for the concert instead of going back to the tour bus, he’d wink at you on stage and look you in the eye when he sang certain lines, and during your stop in Seattle, he brought you a bouquet of flowers from Pike’s Place. 

Harry’s affection was overwhelming to say the least. You’d never had anyone work as hard as he did to get you to go out with them, but like clockwork every night before he had to go onstage, he would ask, “You free tonight?”, to which you would reply with a shake of your head. At first, he would only ask you out when no one was around, but as the tour progressed, he said it in front of anyone who was around.

He was never deterred by your rejection, in fact, it only made him double down and try harder. It got to the point where everyone knew that Harry had a thing for the makeup artist. You thought that that would make you some kind of a pariah among the rest of the crew, but it didn’t. Some would tease, but it was never in a malicious way. And Harry’s band only encouraged him.

“Why do you never say yes? You obviously like him too,” Elin asked as you did her makeup one night. 

You shrugged, blending her crease color until you came up with an answer. “He’s my boss. I’m pretty sure that’s like the number one rule about work. You don’t date your co-workers, and you definitely don’t date your boss.”

That was the main point, but you were pretty sure you, and especially Harry, liked the game of cat and mouse you’d been playing most of the tour. You knew that he knew you liked him, so he just took whatever you gave him in stride, ready to try again the next day.

“Y/n,” she said, opening her eyes to look at you skeptically. “Mitch and Sarah are literally married and have a baby. Things are a little different here than working in an office.”

Elin had a point there, one that you couldn’t ignore. If you weren’t resting on the tour bus or hanging out with Harry, you were often babysitting for Mitch and Sarah. Odds were, if someone needed to find you, all you had to do was figure out where the baby was, and you would be there too. Which only made Harry even more attracted to you, not that he would ever tell you that. 

Still, even if Mitch and Sarah made it work, that made them more of an exception than the rule.

 “What happens when it’s all over, Elin?” you asked suddenly

“What do you mean?”

“After the tour ends, I go back to LA and find my next job, and he goes…Well, I don’t know where he goes, but I think the atmosphere here heightens everything. I’m worried it won’t be the same when everything goes back to normal.”

Elin just smiled at you like she knew something you didn’t, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask her more about it, so you finished her makeup in silence.

Now the final tour date had arrived, and butterflies were running rampant in your belly. You weren’t avoiding Harry, but you also weren’t hanging out where you normally would just before the show started. You were with the baby, walking up and down a random hallway trying to get him to fall asleep. You would never admit it to Mitch or Sarah, but part of you offered to watch him tonight so that you would have a buffer between you and Harry. 

“Am I being silly, bub?” you cooed at the baby in your arms. He didn’t answer, just gurgled at you happily. “He’s a good guy, a great one even. He’s kind, he seems to genuinely care, he likes the things I like, he—”

“He’s wildly attractive, worships the ground you walk on, is great in bed.”

You jolted, clutching the baby tighter to your chest. “Jesus, H, you scared me.”

He was leaning against one side hallway, no telling how long he’d been standing there and listening to you talk about him. Almost like you couldn’t help it, you looked him up and down. The gold vest was too good, showing off just the right amount of skin and accentuating his tattoos perfectly. And Harry knew it too. He was waiting for you when you met your eyes again, grinning at you devilishly.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were hiding from me,” he said, stepping closer to you.

“Not hiding. No, I’m just trying to get him to fall asleep,” you said, gesturing to the baby you were holding. 

He took another step closer. “So, you’ll get to watch the show tonight, then?”

“Of course. It’s the last one, I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Great,” Harry said, his grin wide and bright. “Afterwards, I was thinking maybe we could just—”

You waited for him to finish, but he didn’t. You figured he was going to ask you out like he normally did, but something about him seemed different this time around. He looked more nervous, less sure of himself. “Just?” you asked, hoping a prompting would help him.

“Talk,” he said, almost blurted. “I think about doing so many things with you, but at the end of the day, I just want to sit and talk to you for hours. Whether that’s in a hotel room, or a house, or a tour bus, or your makeup chair. I want to talk until we know everything about each other. You—You’ve brushed me off every time I’ve asked you, and I was okay with it because I knew I would have another chance, but now it’s the last night of the tour, and I don’t know what I’d do if you said no again.”

“Harry—” you tried to say, but he kept going.

“No, please let me finish. I know you think that we wouldn’t work away from all this,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the venue. “But, I like you so much. I don’t think you understand how much joy just seeing you every day brings me. So no more games, no more chasing you down and hoping you’ll say yes. I think you’re amazing and beautiful and are the most genuine person I’ve ever met. Please say you’ll wait for me after the show so we can talk.”

You were rendered speechless. Obviously you knew Harry liked you, but you didn’t know how deeply. Sure he flirted and sought you out on off days to hang out with you, but you were so focused on keeping your own feelings in check, you didn’t stop and think about what actually being with him might look like. 

Looking at him now, you saw his green eyes pleading with yours. You’d never seen him so desperate before. “I, um, I’d really like that.”

Harry’s expression was one of disbelief. “Yeah?”

Nodding, you confessed, “Saying no to you almost every night is exhausting. It probably doesn’t make sense, but I was protecting myself in case—”

“I do understand, of course I do,” he said. Reaching forward, he gingerly took your chin in his hand. “But I have a break after this tour, and I just want to see where this goes.”

“Me too, and I have the feeling you’re about to kiss me, but it just doesn’t seem right while holding someone else’s baby.”

Harry’s eyes broke away from yours and looked down to where you were still holding Mich and Sarah’s little bundle of joy. He grinned, seeming to agree with you. “That’s fair, but don’t run off right after the show, alright? I want you to be the first person I see when I come backstage.”

“Deal.”

You and Harry didn’t kiss in the hallway, but you let him take your free hand in his as you made your way back to where everyone else was. Both of you were giddy with excitement, looking forward to the end of the show.

“Fucking finally!”

Looking up, you saw Pauli and Ny’oh standing by a bunch of equipment. Having seen your joined hands, Ny’oh shouted, getting the attention of everyone else milling around and prepping for the show.

“Oh my God,” you groaned, embarrassed beyond belief. You tried to slip your hand out of Harry’s, but he held onto you tighter.

The rest of the night was a blur, and by the time Harry was blowing kisses and making his way offstage, you were practically vibrating with excitement. He jogged off the way he normally did, shedding his gold vest and handing it off to someone as he went, but he only had eyes for one person.

You were waiting for him at the end of the tunnel, and having seen you, Harry picked up his speed. When he was finally in front of you, you grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him against the wall. “I think you’re amazing and beautiful and one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met too,” you said, just before pulling him down so his lips met yours.

[gukyi]

the art of the rom-com | jjk

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

{enemies to lovers!au, college!au}

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

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

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

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

Jeon Jungkook on February 12th at 9:53PM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lot of you respond with halfhearted smiles and waves. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As long as you can pick your teammate. 

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

Shit. 

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

“And lastly, Jungkook and Y/N.”

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

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

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

Right above is your response to his comment. 

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

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

Your fists tighten by your side. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You storm out the door.

[February 13th, 1:24PM]

Unknown Number: guess who ;)

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

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

You: Damn shame You: You done jerking off yet

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

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

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

[February 13th, 2:17PM]

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

You: Guess I don’t have a choice do I

Jungkook: unless you wanna facetime

You: Is that an option?

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

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

Jungkook: watch me

[February 13th, 2:21PM]

Jungkook: [screenshot sent] Jungkook: done

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

Jungkook: miss you already <3

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

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

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

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

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

In a way, you suppose it kind of is. 

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

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

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

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

Well, she’s got you there. 

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

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

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

To: tpollack@university.edu From: y/n@university.edu Subject: what the freak

Dear Professor Pollack,

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

Cheers, Y/N

would be very professional on your part. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So I can’t change partners?”

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

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

“That’s life,” she corrects. 

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

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

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

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

“You’ll find a way.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then I guess I’m just a robot.”

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

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

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

You frown at him. “Does it matter?”

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

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

Yeah, right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“We’ll be the stars.”

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

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

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

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

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

You scoff. “Of what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, you in?”

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

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

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

You scoff. “Yeah, right.”

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

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

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

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

You smile up at him. 

“I guess we will.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Either.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You say that about everything.”

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

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

And you? 

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

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

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

“No reason,” you say, looking away. 

There’s no fooling Ruby and her eagle eyes. 

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

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

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

“It’s a mockumentary about rom-coms.”

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

Hopefully not. 

“Sort of?”

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

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

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

You sigh. “Jungkook.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you?”

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

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

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

Can’t you?

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

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

Huh. Imagine that. A life without him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Great,” you deadpan. 

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

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

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

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

“Do you promise?” Jungkook says. 

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

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

You don’t like the sound of that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you explain what you mean by that?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who says it can’t be both?”

You frown. “Whose side are you on?”

Five feet away, Jungkook laughs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re soon-to-be-lovers.” 

“How forward of you.”

“Isn’t that my job?”

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

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

“Yes, that’s going to happen.”

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

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

You shake your head back at him. 

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

It’s strange. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? About what?”

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

“Us?”

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

If he says so. 

“Hey! Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How efficient,” Jungkook comments. 

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

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

“Do you really need to do that here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you talki—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There,” Jungkook says. 

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

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

“I appreciate it,” you say. 

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

Like you even have a choice. 

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

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

It smells like him. 

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

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

And you know what the worst part is?

This is only the beginning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Promise?” You prompt. 

“Promise.”

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

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

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

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

“So,” Jungkook echoes. 

Silence. 

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

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

“We already know each other.” You frown.

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

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

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

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

“Red,” Jungkook responds. 

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

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

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

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

You nod. 

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

“What about you?”

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

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

“This project is different,” you insist. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeon Jungkook on March 3rd at 11:13PM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

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

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

“You’d be like Heaven to touch…”

“I wanna hold you so much…” 

“At long last, love has arrived…”

“And I thank God I’m alive…”

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

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

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

“But if you feel like I feel…”

“Please let me know that it’s real…”

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And let me love you, baby…”

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

“Let me love you…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was that, Jungkook?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re alright.”

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

“Don’t get a big head,” you warn. 

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

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

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

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

You smile. “Okay. See you.”

“See you, too.”

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

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

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

Then, you take a seat right next to him. 

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

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

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

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

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

A notification pops up on your laptop.

[March 17th, 11:05AM]

Jungkook: wanna meet at the tables outside after class?

You look over at Jungkook with a frown.

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

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

You: Since when has that ever stopped you before?

Jungkook: haha very funny Jungkook: tables sound good?

You: Only since you asked so nicely :)

Jungkook: thoughtful as always i see

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You should.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You narrow your eyes at him. “No.”

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

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

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

“Thank God,” you mutter. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You scoff. “You wish.”

“Well, are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is black too, you know, sexy?”

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ruby—”

“I gotta go. Enjoy your not-date!”

She hangs up. 

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

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

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

You chuckle. “‘Whoa’ yourself.”

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

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

“Cleaned up just for you.” He grins. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks for coming.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, how do you think about it?”

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

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

“I wish you did,” admits Jungkook. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me?”

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

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

You have to admit it. He’s beautiful.

“Smile,” you say, pressing film. 

Jungkook grins your way. 

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

“How about we hold hands, too?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excellent.”

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

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

It’s new. 

It’s strange. 

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

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

You wonder what that means. 

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

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

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

“Yeah, I did,” Jungkook says. 

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

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

“Magical.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh. “Confused.”

“And why is that?”

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

“And is this because of Jungkook?”

“Yes.” Another easy answer. 

“How are you feeling about him?”

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

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

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

“In a good or bad way?”

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

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

“Do you think he’s changed?”

“Something has.”

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

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

“No,” you say, nose scrunched up. 

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

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

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

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

Taehyung sighs.

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

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

[March 28th, 1:05PM]

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

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

You: Really? You: You didn’t tell me

Jungkook: been too busy

You: What time is your show tonight?

Jungkook: 7pm

You: Sounds good, I’ll be there

Jungkook: oh Jungkook: you don’t have to

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

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

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

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

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

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

[March 28th, 6:58PM]

Jungkook: hey are you here?

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

Jungkook: always such a tease

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

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

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

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

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

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

Isn’t that why you’re here, too?

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

“Jungkook!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, please don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook!”

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

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

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

He’s never been able to resist you. 

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

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

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

“Thanks,” you manage to cough out. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the curiosity is eating at him. 

“Forget what?”

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

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

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

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

“But you didn’t,” Jungkook clarifies. 

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

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

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

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

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

“You can say something,” you tell him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He almost does it. 

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

But he doesn’t. 

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

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

It’s good enough for him. 

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

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

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

“Jungkook?” You call, voice groggy. 

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

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

Jungkook grins. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook walked me home?”

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

“No,” you say dumbly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything else, Mom?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that means a lot to you. 

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

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

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

He grins. 

This time, Jungkook is the one with the flowers. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How generous of you.”

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

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

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

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

Jungkook likes the sound of that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, the project?”

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

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

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

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

Jungkook beams down at you. “I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This.”

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

But he need not worry about that. 

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

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

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

“You scored,” you remind him.

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

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

“Never.” He smiles wickedly. 

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

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

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

“Anytime.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You send him one back without even needing to think. 

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

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

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

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

You shrug nonchalantly. “Just a little.”

“Excellent. Shall we begin?”

You and Jungkook nod. 

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

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

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

“Always,” you say.

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

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

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

“How gentlemanly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you say the same, Jungkook?”

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

“You both seem very happy.”

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

“Jungkook?”

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

“Are you glad you did this project?”

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

“You seem really certain about that.”

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

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

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

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

“The ends of your hair look like hay—”

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

“Who, me?”

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

“Are you gonna say it?”

“And so… they lived happily ever after.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pollack!”

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

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

“Y/N, I’m tenured. I don’t care.”

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

Pollack grins. “I never reveal my secrets.”

Your mouth drops open. 

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

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

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

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

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

“What,” Jungkook says, an eyebrow raised. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m glad,” Jungkook says with a chuckle, admiring the way you beam at him. “You know, I was really worried that you might think we didn’t have a happy ending after all, especially after everything.”

“What do you mean?” You look at him curiously. 

“Well, I just really wanted to make sure that we had a happy ending, because you’ve been through so much.”

You pause in place, eyebrows furrowing as you look up at him. Been through so much? Does Jungkook know something you don’t? Wait, no, did you… did you tell him—?

“You knew?” You ask, the realization piercing you like an arrow. “All this time, and you never said anything?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. 

“How long have you known?”

He winces. “Since I walked you home when you were drunk. You told me.”

You did?

Shit.

“And you didn’t think that maybe you should have told me that you knew? Especially when I asked you if I had said anything embarrassing?” You cry out, indignant. “What, were you just planning on never telling me?”

“I was going to, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to know that you had admitted all those things to me,” Jungkook admits, growing desperate. “They were really personal things, I thought you might react badly.”

“Oh, so you just decided to keep it a secret instead? Look how well that worked out.”

“What was I supposed to do, Y/N? I know you would have been upset.”

“Tell me!” You exclaim. “I asked you if I had said something embarrassing that night and you said I hadn’t. And I believed you. Better to have known then than now!”

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says.

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t just tell me. Didn’t we say we would be honest with each other? But instead, you just let me assume that all of the nice things you did for me were because you actually cared, and not because you felt bad for me?”

“I don’t feel bad for you!” Jungkook shouts. “I mean, I do, but that’s not why I took you out on dates and gave you flowers and held your hand. I do care about you.”

“Oh, so filming us kissing was just because you actually cared, too, right?”

“I don’t know why you’re so hung up about that,” Jungkook points out. 

“Because I thought it was a private moment,” you remind him. “You hadn’t filmed anything the whole night. I thought we were just going out on a date like two people who cared about each other did. Us kissing was personal. But you texted Taehyung and told him to show up with his camera anyway, right? Because you were planning on kissing me from the very beginning. Because you knew, Jungkook. You knew and you had absolutely no intention of telling me.”

“Y/N, wait, I didn’t do those things just because I pitied you,” Jungkook says, reaching out for your hand. 

You pull away. “You didn’t? Then why did you film us kissing, then?”

“Because…” he flounders. You aren’t at all surprised. “Because—”

“Enough, Jungkook. I get it,” you stop him, shaking your head. “Everything we’ve done since that first date we had, when we went to the Italian place, everything since then—it was all played up. Because you felt bad for me. I had a shitty experience with love and you wanted to make me feel better. Whatever.”

“Y/N, it wasn’t like that,” Jungkook chases after you as you begin to walk down the stairs, towards the exit. “I didn’t pity you. I still don’t. I did those things because I care about you, and I wanted you to be happy.”

“Well, you got what you wanted,” you say, arms crossed over your shoulders as you push your way out the door. “I was so happy when I was with you.”

“Wait, Y/N—”

“Bye, Jungkook.”

The door slams shut behind you. 

“How many finals do you still have left? You finished your movie, right?”

Ruby is stirring herself a cup of earl grey tea as she sits down on the couch next to you, where you’re very obviously sulking as you scroll through the Feel Good Rom-Coms category on Netflix. 

“I just have a couple essays and a presentation,” you mumble out. “You?”

“Ugh, I still have all of my final exams to take,” Ruby tells you with a thick, heavy sigh. Clearly, she doesn't feel like talking about them now. Or at all. “The life of a biology major.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wants to be a doctor, not me,” you remind her crudely. “You better know your shit, or I’m never taking my kids to your practice.”

“Rude,” Ruby says. “There goes my family and friends discount offer.”

You laugh to yourself, a small smile inching its way across your lips. Ruby’s always known how to brighten your day, even when you feel like absolute shit. 

“What are we watching, hmm? I’m cool with anything.”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, flicking through all of the rom-com options and feeling very unhappy with all of them. “I feel like you’ve seen all of these.”

“Yeah,” Ruby says. “Whenever I’m not studying, I’m watching Netflix or The Bachelor.”

You nod. Maybe you’ll just settle on some old NCIS reruns and call it a night. 

“Oh!” Ruby exclaims suddenly, a lightbulb going off above her head. “How about we watch your movie? The rom-com you did with Jungkook! I haven’t seen it yet.”

“I don’t know…” You begin, the mere thought putting a bad taste in your mouth. For obvious reasons. 

“Come on, please? I really want to see it, you were so excited about it,” Ruby begs, getting all antsy as she climbs all over you, literally pulling your arm to get you to cave in. “It’s short, too, isn’t it? Like forty-five minutes long? We can watch whatever you want afterwards. Please.”

You huff out a breath. If it were up to you, you would move that film onto a flash drive and toss it into a dumpster on fire. But it’s not just up to you. Ruby has been asking you about it since the day you told her you were filming it, and now all she wants to do is see the final result. And it’s only forty-five minutes long. What’s that when compared to the rest of your life?

“Fine,” you relent, not wanting to fight about it any longer. “Let me get my computer.”

Ruby cheers. 

You bring your laptop over to your coffee table, turning off the ceiling lights as Ruby tucks herself underneath a blanket, hands warmed by her steaming cup of tea. You pull up the movie file and, taking a deep breath, press play. 

It opens with your first interview with Taehyung, a muted, royalty-free lo-fi hip-hop song playing in the background. You had edited it so that it would jump back and forth between your answer and Jungkook’s, highlighting the contrast between the two of you. It was mostly for comedic purposes, just because seeing you deadpan about how love doesn’t exist and then quickly switching to Jungkook wax poetic about it is amusing, but watching it now just makes you want to curl into yourself. 

You should have known that this would have never worked out. Should have kept that same jaded attitude. You let your guard down for one second and look at what’s happened to you.

The next scene that Jungkook shows is, of course, the moment he spills burning hot coffee all over you in the middle of the Starbucks, comedically panning up to your positively-flabbergasted face just to add to the shock factor. Next to you, Ruby laughs at the mishap, obviously amused by the fact that the two of you are now drenched in coffee and scrambling to clean up the mess. You try to focus your energy on how peeved you were at Jungkook after he did that, but get distracted the moment he films himself wrapping his denim jacket around you, placing it over your shoulders and making sure it’s just right. 

He didn’t have to do that, and the two of you both knew it. But still, he sent you off your class all bundled up in a jacket that smelled like him, smelled of that boyish aroma that you couldn’t get rid of, even when you put it in the wash with your lavender detergent. All of Jungkook’s clothes smelt like that no matter how much cologne he put on, always smelt woody and thick. It would consume you, that scent, a cloud surrounding your figure whenever you were near him. 

The movie keeps playing, and you keep thinking about how much of a fool you must look like in it now, all giggles and smiles as Jungkook sings Frankie Valli to you while he hands you a rose, that same sly little smile dotting his features. Hearing the song again makes you feel like you’re choking, like something’s smothering you, and you’re not sure what it is until you realize that it’s the sound of Jungkook’s voice. 

You haven’t heard him sing since he serenaded you. 

Then it’s your first date, the one Ruby told you to wear the yellow dress to (“Hey, I told you you looked amazing in it! Wow!” Ruby exclaims when she sees you). You remember when you edited this, putting the clips together of you eating at the restaurant, wandering around the park, posing underneath the trees, holding hands. You were smiling so hard your cheeks hurt while you were editing, grinning from ear to ear at all of the things the two of you did together. They were so picturesque, those scenes, so perfectly shot, so romantici—t did a fine job of convincing you that it was all real. 

You even put in the little clip of you and Taehyung talking. A mistake, now that you look back on it, of course. It was so vulnerable, so real, so candid and honest like you said you would be, and now it’s all blown up in your face. You must have looked like such an idiot to Jungkook when he saw this scene for the first time in class. You remember the wide-eyed look on his face when it popped up. Like he couldn’t even believe you had done this in the first place. 

Scoffing, you shake your head. You either. 

The rest of it you can hardly bear to watch. Just a wrap-up of your relationship, a compilation of all of the small moments you shared when you didn’t realize that Jungkook was filming, when you dared whip out your camera to shoot for a second or two. Little clips that jump from scene to scene, shots of you laughing and eating and skipping along campus as you held hands. It’s hard to reconcile the fact that it’s all over. 

You don’t even listen to the final interview, not bothering to pay attention to what you or Jungkook have to say when you were there, when you can recall every word he’s ever spoken to you at the drop of a hat. 

The truth is, you were always a goner for him. 

And look how well that played out. 

By the time the kissing scene comes up once more, you’re ready to set your whole laptop alight. 

The screen turns black as it ends, fading away into nothingness, the instrumental slowly disappearing alongside the image. You shut your laptop when it’s all over, a little too angry for your own good, but you wrestle the scowl off your face as you take a drink of water from the glass sitting on the table. 

“Wow,” Ruby says, speechless. She blinks at your closed laptop. 

“Did you like it?”

“I—I don’t even know what to say,” Ruby says, which is a first. “It was amazing, Y/N. Seriously. Gorgeous. Like, cinematographically? Stunning. The shit on Netflix isn’t even as good as that.”

Even if you did have to sit through your stupid movie one more time, the compliments make you feel a bit better. “Thanks,” you murmur. 

Ruby nods enthusiastically. “It was incredible. I’m just—I’m in awe. You and Jungkook have a gift, dude. It was seriously one of the best things I’ve watched in a really long time. And, like, not even in a cheesy, yucky rom-com kind of way. It was so… so genuine. So real. Wow.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“You’ll have to tell Jungkook, too,” Ruby says. “He did really well.”

“Yeah, he’s a great actor,” you say, a little too bitterly for your own good. 

“What do you mean?” Ruby raises an eyebrow your way. “I didn’t think he was acting at all. It looked pretty real to me.”

You frown. “It did?”

“I mean, yeah,” Ruby says with an honest nod. “I mean, you did tell me it was a mockumentary and not just a run-of-the-mill rom-com. So wasn’t everything supposed to be real, anyway?”

“Yes…” you trail off, unsure of the direction of this conversation.

“Well, if you ask me,” Ruby says, all matter-of-factly, “I’d say he definitely fell in love with you.”

Something rushes through you. Something warm and bright and full of energy. 

Hope. 

Even though you have finished one of your finals early, finals week is still just as much of a slog as it always is. Three essays and two presentations deep, you aren’t finished any of them and the due dates are slowly creeping up on you, ready to pounce the moment the clock strikes twelve. 

Eh, it could be worse. You could be Ruby and have six timed, proctored final exams on biology, anatomy, and chemistry. So you suppose you can’t complain too much. 

Finals week sees you all holed up in your apartment like always, but more so this semester than any previous ones because you don’t feel like going to the library and risking seeing Jungkook there. Or anywhere, really. Since you presented on the last day of classes, you haven’t spoken since, and hopefully you can keep that streak going forever. You had made it until this semester without ever crossing paths despite being in the same major, so hopefully that luck will follow you. 

It’s almost midnight when you finally decide to call it quits for the night, having at least gotten mostly through two of your essays (just have to edit and proofread!) and worked on about half of your two presentations. Sighing, you get up from your couch and stretch, feeling your bones crack from sitting in the same place for hours on end. 

You lean over to the floor lamp by the edge of the couch, ready to flick it off and head to bed, when you hear something outside. 

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

You freeze.

The voice is soft and mellow, a little muted because it’s making its way through your wooden door before it reaches your ears, but it is unrecognizable. Even without the acoustics of the Eighth Notes, you know who’s on the other side. 

“You’d be like Heaven to touch…”

“I wanna hold you so much…”

“At long last, love has arrived…”

“And I thank God I’m alive…”

Unable to resist, you wander to your front door, basking in the sound of him, in the way the notes float through the air as if on clouds, dancing along the walls as they sink into your brain. He sounds so sweet, voice warm like tea on a cold night, just singing his song on this empty, lonely night. But it’s not just his song, is it? 

It’s yours, too.

You pull open the door. 

“You’re just too good to be true,” Jungkook sings, a honeyed melody that calms the waves of your stormy heart, “can’t take my eyes off of you…”

But just because he’s here, serenading you once more, doesn’t mean he’s going to get it any easier from you. You fight to keep the smile off your face, pressing your lips together as you narrow your eyes at him. 

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

“I love you, baby, trust in me when I say…”

He meets your eyes with his own, and they aren’t glinting in the way they normally do, the way that they do when he knows he’s doing something to grind your gears, when he’s got a trick up his sleep. They gleam like pearls as the dim glow of your apartment lights up his figure, warm yellow mixing with the caramel in his irises.

“Oh, pretty baby, don’t bring me down, I pray…”

Oh, pretty baby, now that I’ve found you, stay…”

“And let me love you, baby…”

From behind him, Jungkook brings out a single red rose, twirling it between his fingers as he holds it out to you. 

“Let me love you…” He trails off there, voice delicate as vanishes into the chilly night air, disappearing between the two of you. 

You can’t help but take the flower from his hand. What else are you supposed to do?

“So?” Jungkook asks, hopeful. 

“Don’t think you can just show up at my apartment and woo me back by singing to me,” you chide, even though he definitely can. 

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says simply, because there really is nothing else to say. “I should have told you.”

“I watched our rom-com again,” you tell him. “I should have believed you when you said you cared about me.”

“I always did,” Jungkook says. “I just wanted you to know that love was real, and that it was there for you.”

“I should have known,” you agree. You look up at Jungkook through lidded eyes, musing to yourself. “You know what I learned?”

Jungkook tilts his head in curiosity. “What?”

“That love isn’t a feeling. It’s a person,” you explain, sighing pleasantly. “Love comes to us through the things we share with other people. That’s what it is.” Your thumbs twiddle in front of you, the pads of your fingers rubbing at the stem of the rose.

He takes a single step forward, reaching out to take your hand in his own. “And are you pleased with who you’ve found?”

You roll your eyes. “Just shut up and kiss me already, you idiot.”

Jungkook obliges without a second thought. 

There is no one to film you this time, no project to work on. There is only you, and there is only him. And there is only a lifetime that the two of you share, a story that you have told together, piece by piece, frame by frame. Your movie didn’t end once you finished editing. Nor did it end the moment the screen went black in Pollack’s class. It wasn’t even over when you watched it a second time with Ruby. 

No, it continues on. Forever and ever, so long as you are with him. There will always be something new to capture, to burn into a disk so you’ll have it for eternity.

He pulls you in for a kiss and it’s not the end of the film. It’s the beginning of a brand new part, a new installment in the series that is your life with him. That is the relationship you have created together. His lips aren’t the fireworks as the credits roll. They are the scene where the two characters meet for the very first time and know that they were meant to be. The scene that sets all of the other ones in motion. That is who Jungkook is. That is what you are sharing, right now. 

A brand new frame. 

When you part, you press your forehead against his, soft blonde locks framing his face as they tickle your face, dancing along the skin of your cheeks.

“You called it a rom-com,” Jungkook points out randomly, just remembering now. 

“Well, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know…” Jungkook says, pretending to think about it as he rocks on the back of his feet. “Did it have a happy ending?”

You bring your lips to his once more, arms wrapped around his neck as you clasp the rose between your fingers. You make a mental note to press it later. Something else to remember him by. Something other than your movie. 

Jungkook pulls you into him once more, hands resting firmly on your waist, letting his body press against yours as you stand there in the muted light of your apartment’s living room, letting the cool spring breeze wash over you. You smile against his lips, feeling your heart race when he grins back. 

“Yes,” you declare proudly. 

And so, they lived happily ever after. 

↳ thanks for reading! don’t forget to let me know if you enjoyed it!

[bontenten]

Bewitch

Pairings: Osamu x F!Reader x Atsumu; Miyacest WC: 7.4k Genre/Warnings: smut, fairytale retelling (Hansel and Gretel), magic au, dubcon/noncon, incest (miyacest), fear, knife, monster, bondage, snuff, vore, gore/blood, object insertion, body horror, a bit of size, tummy bulge, oral (m.receiving), anal (m. receiving), masturbation (f. & m.), voyeurism, arson...

Summary: The unexpected guests at your cottage have a mysterious past and hidden agenda. Will they allow you to accompany them on their journey?

Travelers are advised not to spend the night in the Dark Woods. It's said that beyond the last hiking trail, past a brook, lives an Evil Witch. That witch is vile and merciless; often, fools lost in the woods are never seen again. It's said that she must be over 800 years old, feeding off of the essences of children and young men unfortunate enough to cross her paths. It’s said that she even eats fellow witches. No one really knows. After all, no one who has seen her has lived to tell the tale.

It's been a few months since your teacher has left you to fend for yourself here in the woods—your first time alone during this apprenticeship. She said she had to attend a big conference with a whole bunch of other grand witches. You asked if you could tag along, but she insisted that you stay and watch the cottage. The lack of company is about to drive you insane so you often resort to conversing with yourself or the forest itself.

The soft moss muffles the sound of your footsteps as you begin the trek back home, a faint off-trail path away from the main road that no one else would usually notice. On any other day, you would just go home without a fuss, but loneliness makes people do some bizarre and odd things. For instance, the desperate longing for companionship leads to you dropping a not-so-hidden trail of fancy pebbles to inadvertently lead someone to your abode.

For most travelers, going off-trail is akin to a death sentence as any wrong turn might lure them into the forest's deadly maze. Not for you though, you know this place very well: every fallen tree, overturned log, the wanted signs nailed to the trunk...

Wait. A wanted sign?

You can make out from your distance that there are two heads on it, but the details are fuzzy, and the bounty looks smudged. Before you can get a closer look, you hear the birds caw in the trees, signaling the beginning of sunset. You pull your attention away from the poster and continue on to your way home.

The cottage is extremely cozy and warm. The windows are bejeweled and the door is solid wood. You live here comfortably with your teacher, after all, learning about the principles of magic and what it means to be a witch. It's much more than curses and spells, as your teacher would tell you, witches have character and a moral compass. Although there are certainly those who decide to experiment with the darker arts.

While you get a fire going in the huge furnace and boil some water on the stovetop, you hear two voices squabbling outside followed by three raps on the door. You're stunned by the noise, turning to face the shut door wondering if you were just dreaming about the noise. Is it? Visitors? No, you must have heard wrong.

"'Samu, I bet it's a farce, let's not." The voice sounds both tired and weary, almost out of breath.

"Let me just try again, I can smell a working kitchen in there, someone is definitely there," another voice insists. Three more knocking sounds. "Excuse me! Is the owner of the house available? My brother and I followed a path of colored stone and came upon your establishment...could you spare us some water? A bite of food?"

Two men, though they sound friendly. You're frozen in the kitchen, staring at the door that remains between you and the strangers.

"Is there someone home?" The second voice tries again. "Please, my brother is not feeling very well."

Your initial wariness for the stranger melts when you hear about the brother, which does not sound like a lie based on the raspy voice you first hear. A witch's character is fundamentally kind to all sentient beings, especially those in need. But you're still nervous, so you end up grabbing a metal ladle before carefully going to open the door. When you crack the door open, you see a pair of twins. Beautiful men, one blonde and one grey-haired. The former, with a quirky grin, although his eyes certainly look lackluster. But the other seems like he's at the right place, eyes peering past you into your home, fixated on your kitchen.

"I'm Osamu. And this," he gestures to his twin, "is my brother Atsumu. We're a bit lost, you see."

You nod your head in a casual greeting and introduce yourself as the resident apprentice at this cottage. As a good host should, you open the door to the weary guests preparing to welcome them in.

"Are we welcomed in?" Osamu asks, not moving from his spot. Atsumu isn’t budging either, arms crossed and only looking at you from the corner of his eye, waiting for your answer.

Without giving much thought you nod and open the door wider. "Both of you are most welcomed in."

"Then we thank you for your hospitality," Osamu says, taking a step inside, dragging his twin with him.

Words, especially spoken words carry power and hold intent. And a witch's words, no matter how careless they slip out, contain magic. Welcome, as you say. So welcome, they are.

You shut the door behind them and prepare to go give your first-ever guests some water. When you turn around, you notice Osamu already in the kitchen, the sleeves of his tunic rolled up past his elbows.

"Your food is about to burn. Heat's too high," he tells you, expertly taking control of the sizzling pots and pans. "I got it, don't worry."

Feeling flustered at the faint smell of scorching food, you hurry over to see if you can be of any assistance. "Let me help out."

"No, it's quite alright."

How can a host let her guests do all the work like that? And the first company in a while too! What an utter failure.

"How—" you try to argue back, but you're cut off by Atsumu tugging on your wrist, dragging you over to the sofa in the corner.

"Don't worry about him, he loves to cook." Atsumu brushes out the wisps of his bangs with a huff. "And actually quite good at it. Anything that goes through his hands...well, in short, all become part of his design."

Like his twin, Atsumu's frame is broad and huge, but there is a quality of emptiness of sorts. Osamu's shoulders are wide but there's more substance to it, whereas Atsumu's form seems contained. You can't help but use your learnings to see if you can figure out just what's off about Atsumu. He's slowly walking around the living room and studying the portraits hanging on the wall. He picks up a frame that is set above the fireplace and comments, "None of these are you. How come?"

"Oh, they're my teacher. I'm just a witch-in-training at the moment, so—"

"A witch?" Atsumu questions, clenching the frame tightly. His hands begin to shake, the glass under his thumb beginning to crack.

You did not expect Atsumu to display such a visceral reaction upon the mention of witches. After all, witches normally stayed far away from ordinary human society and when they do mix, it's often a role of healing. But the look that sparks in Atsumu's eyes, it's almost—feral.

"'Tsumu!" Osamu yells while stalking over quickly from the kitchen. He throws his arm around Atsumu's neck and drags him off into the shadows. You can't make out the muffled voices and deep growling noises that are coming from down the hall.

It's their private matter, so you go back to the kitchen. True enough, Osamu's hands are almost like magic. The bubbling pot of broth doesn't seem to be on the verge of overflowing, the onions caramelizing beautifully, filling the air with deliciousness.

Moments later, the twins come back. You notice that Osamu clothes are wrinkled from tugging Atsumu around, but at the very least, Atsumu is looking much better than before.

The three of you set the table for dinner. Osamu brings out the plates as though he knows the kitchen inside and out already. Atsumu comes emerging from the cellar with two bottles of fine wine that you didn't even know your teacher had stowed away. Surely, she wouldn't mind? With Osamu and Atsumu sitting to the left and right of you at the round table, it almost feels like a more familiar, cozier gathering between friends than a situation of a host and her guests.

They tell you that they have been traveling across the lands for a long time now, looking for a cure for Atsumu's illness. It reminds you of the hollow, repressed form you saw earlier and your curiosity gets the better of you. They don't tell you the nature of the malady, but what they do share is that they are looking for a witch to undo the curse on Atsumu, a result of dark witchcraft.

"I am a witch!" you exclaim, feeling your call to action at the moment. "Please, is there truly nothing for me to help to undo the spell?"

Osamu leans in close to you, and wipes a bit of sauce staining the corner of your lips with the pad of his thumb. He smiles. "We're looking for a very high-level witch. One day, maybe you'll get to the level of magic needed."

"You're too weak," Atsumu bluntly points out. You're sure Osamu means to say the same thing, but Atsumu's words are really sharp.

"I know," you sigh. "My teacher tells me that all the time. So, I'm really trying. I'm sure there's at least something I can do."

"I definitely think that. Don't be so hard on yourself," Osamu comforts. "Have you been living alone here for a long time?"

You feel two pairs of eyes glued onto you waiting for your answer. You smile reflexively before your eyes trail to the empty plate and carefully choose your words. "Yea. Just me and my teacher. She's a grand witch...maybe if you wait here for a few days, you can meet her when she comes back from her conference."

"We—"

"We'll be gone tomorrow!" Atsumu snaps, staring into Osamu's eyes.

Osamu doesn't pay any mind to Atsumu, and puts an extra piece of dessert onto your plate.

"We have a long way to go. Atsumu's condition isn't getting better, so we can't stop in one place for long."

It makes you a little sad, because you were hoping to spend some more time with the twins, both of whom you have grown fond of. Osamu and his gentleness. And even Atsumu, despite his quick remarks and outbursts, adds a particular spice to your mundane life.

"Maybe we'll bring you with us," Osamu comments lightly, "'Tsumu, wouldn't that be nice?"

"She'll just be dead weight," Atsumu retorts. You wonder if he absolutely hates you. Is that why he is always so against you being next to Osamu?

Osamu puts an arm around you and blows on the shell of your ear. It tickles and you can feel his body enveloping you. "But she's so sweet," he tells Atsumu and whispers into your ear, "Aren't you?"

You find your wandering gaze looking into his half-lidded grey eyes. His face is right next to you, lips just hovering barely five centimeters away. The overwhelming presence of him is undeniably alluring. Your breaths become shallow as your heart rate speeds up with desire.

"I'm exhausted! 'Samu you too. We're going to bed!" Atsumu drops the silverware onto his plate and stands up. He comes around the table, muttering curses under his breath. Atsumu grabs Osamu by the wrist and drags him off towards the guest bedroom you have shown them before.

You didn't quite catch Atsumu's angry mutters, but you hear "slut" and "harlot" thrown around a few times. Were they directed at you? No, you're not like that, you tell yourself. Atsumu must have been thinking that you are trying to seduce his twin. After you clear out the table, you decide to clear up any misunderstanding.

You tip-toe down the hall to the guest bedroom prepared to knock when you hear muffled sounds coming from inside. You carefully press your ears to the crevice of the door and clamp a hand around your mouth upon hearing the stream of moans.

"'Samu, 'Samu please, ah—"

That's Atsumu? Your eyes are wide and still trying to process the shock of what you're hearing. You tell yourself you shouldn't be here. You should not be listening to whatever is happening behind the closed door, but you can't help it. Hearing Atsumu's moans makes you want to squirm.

You slightly jump when you hear a slap, followed with a pleasured groan. The sound is so clean it feels as though the phantom hands are touching your own heated skin.

Osamu's chuckle nearly makes your knees weak.

"Don't get cocky, if it were any other day ngh—, any other day, I would be the one pushing you into the mattress."

Slap. "Shut up, cute 'Tsumu. I like you being so needy for me like this. What do you want from me? Tell me."

"Fuck me, 'Samu."

"With pleasure."

The wood creaks loudly and you tell yourself, you really need to get out as you back away and try to quickly walk down the hall back to your bedroom.

You throw the door open and lock the door behind you with a click. With your eyes closed, you try to steady your breath and the building heat in your core. It's quiet. There's no noise coming from their room. But they are twins! 

You remind yourself that a witch is all-accepting and kind. There are so many circumstances beyond your understanding, judgement is not a part of your nature. And if what they are performing is wrong, what should you say about yourself? You peel off your clothes and step out of the soaked panty that is proof of your lust.

Pillows are fluffed and covers are pulled over your body. You try to sleep, but each time you are about to drift, Atsumu's cries of pleasure come back into your head. Your hand trails down your navel until the fingertips trace over your clit. Gathering some slick from your cunt, you drag it across the sensitive bud.

You shudder from the touch as images, constructed in your fantasy, cloud your mind. You imagine Atsumu's hands spreading your legs apart and Osamu's teasing words next to your ear. He would tell you to open wide and shove his cock down your throat. You suck on three of your fingers until lips wrap over the knuckles, your saliva pooling from hunger. And slip your fingers into your cunt easily, curling them against the plush walls.

"F-fuck me," you moan into your pillow.

With pleasure.

You quiver, clit pulsating, and your pussy juice dripping into your palm. The wash from the high soon takes you into sleep. All throughout the night, you squirm and feel the phantom sensation of being watched. Not just observed, but studied, by two pairs of glinting hungry eyes. You can almost imagine them on either side of the bed, trapping you into the mattress no matter which way you turn.

A few times the weird feelings almost pull you awake, but you don't dare crack an eye open to confirm your suspicions until the morning light begins to filter through the windows, rousing you from sleep. The air is filled with fragrant herbs and the sizzle of delicious brunch from someone awake before you.

No doubt, it's Osamu, because who else can it be? Atsumu? Please. The twins....

You climb out of bed and stretch your neck on the way to the washroom. Your bedroom door is open, but it's too early to notice that detail.

"Morning!" Osamu greets you from the kitchen. You find a fresh mug of coffee shoved into your hands from him.

You mumble thanks and sip at the brew while watching Osamu fry the eggs. Osamu looks to be deep in thought, probably thinking about something pleasant from the faint smile ghosting on his face. You feel a pang of guilt from both listening to their private lives, and also the strange feelings that maybe they heard your private life too—it's all your paranoia talking.

"You're so talented," you blurt out, fisting the fabric of your long skirt.

"Thanks, but better not let 'Tsumu hear ya, he gets jealous super easily."

Even if Atsumu hears, it's fine. You really mean both of them. Both of the twins both seem super talented as a duo; like they've been out there and seen the world. Meanwhile, you're still stuck here, without company. Would it be possible...if they simply stayed?

Osamu senses the words that are stuck in your mouth and answers them for you. "We're gonna be leaving right after breakfast. There's still lots of ground to cover today," he explains, plating the pancake before preparing to ladle a spoonful of batter for the next one.

"Do you have to leave?" you ask, almost pleading.

"It's cozy here and comfortable. We enjoy your company too, but we have to go. Your teacher would hate us, immensely, and on top of that...let's just say, we're always on the run."

"You say it like you two are fugitives or something."

Osamu chuckles and leans closer to you, hot breath flaming your cheeks, or maybe it's just the heat from the stove. A teasing grin pulls his cheeks up slightly as your eyes flicker over to see his lips spell out, "Maybe. Scared?"

Embarrassed, you take a defensive step back, squeaking and bumping into another body.

"MORNING!" Atsumu announces behind you. He's in good spirits and he has his hands on your waist to steady you; he sniffs your hair and smiles before letting you go. "I smell something delicious."

"Breakfast is ready," Osamu says, plating the pancakes. "Hungry 'Tsumu?"

"Tch." Atsumu shoves past you and knees Osamu, mood doing a complete 180. You're almost left like a fly on the wall as you watch the scene unfold.

Osamu is quick to catch his balance while keeping watch on the stove. "Not awake yet?" Osamu grins and passes him a plate of pancakes, essentially telling him to shut up and eat. "Who shoved a stick up your ass? Go eat."

"Fuck you."

"Hm."

Atsumu grumbles but digs into his food anyway. Osamu catches your amused expression in the corner and explains, "It's always like that between us. It's our...way of showing how much we care."

"I know." It's sort of endearing, the banter between the two brothers. Even if the world turns against them, no matter what the odds are, at least Miya Osamu will have Miya Atsumu, and Atsumu will have Osamu. Perhaps it's exactly that sort of bond the two share that you're envious of. Body and soul. Because if only you could have just an ounce of that sort of familiarity with another. But you're just an outsider without an invitation to join in.

While you're mulling over your thoughts, you don't catch the darkening gazes being exchanged between the twins. At some point, Atsmu's plate is already emptied and the wooden table is cleared while you're still lost in your mind. Osamu is fiddling with the metal tea strainer, bobbing it up and down to brew a mug of tea. He threads a cotton string in and out like it's a plaything.

"Do you really want to be with us?" Osamu asks nonchalantly. "'Tsumu and I were talking about it. If you do, maybe we can work something out."

"I just..." You feel like this is your final chance to tell them that you don't want them to go. None of the going around circle hinting that you have been doing. This is the moment to just tell it to them. If you miss this chance, you feel like you won't have another. And even though a pit pulls at your inwards telling you to reconsider, you're brave. "I just want to be together with you all, and help you cure Atsumu. My teacher is so talented, I'm sure she'll have a remedy."

They grin.

Osamu is a great cook, he can do that. Atsumu sometimes seems lazy, but he's super strong and quick to help too. And you can pick up all sorts of other tasks in the area! Maybe because they're so helpful, your teacher will even let them stay once Atsumu is cured. Maybe they can learn magic too! You have heard of warlocks who are powerful with spells too. And you can already imagine, the three of you, like a team, eventually going out into the world to fight demons and monsters and—

"Open wide," a sultry voice sounds next to you. Backing away automatically, you find Atsumu standing right behind you.

"W-wait," your voice shakes, stuck in your throat. "What are—"

His fingers reach for your mouth, prying it open. Before you can voice your distaste, a warm, metal ball gets shoved into your mouth, the thin chain quickly tangles into your hair. The faint traces of tea seep out of its small holes down your tongue and throat, while some spill out the corner of your mouth like trails of drool down your jawline.

Osamu smiles and wipes the liquid away with his thumb, relishing in how your widening eyes gape at him in confusion.

"Being together," he answers the question you wanted to ask, "is what you want isn't it?" He takes a spool of kitchen twine and begins to secure the tea strainer in your mouth. The thin cotton threads wrap around your head over and over again, tightening the steel against your tongue.

You shake your head and try to take another step away from the man you're beginning to become wary of, but the strong grip of Atsumu's hands on your shoulder prevents you from squirming at all. His fingers dig into your flesh, and when you turn to look at him you catch a glint in his eyes, glowering down at you.

"No, no, no, behave," he taunts you, "listen to 'Samu. He'll make you feel real good, trust me."

With the gag in your mouth, all you can let out are weak, warbling gargles from the back of your throat. Why are you doing this? You weren't like this before? Loud snorts flare out your nostrils from the fear screaming through your body.

Osamu comes back with a paring knife, examining the edge under the sunlight filtering in through the stained glass. He presses the cool blade along your cheek, dragging with the dull edge just enough so the sharp end doesn't cut your skin. You feel your knees growing weak and if not for Atsumu's hold on you, you would sink into a shuddering heap on the floor.

"You know, I think you might be the best meal yet," Osamu compliments, blade trailing down to your collarbone. The tip of the knife toys with the first button, pressing tension on the x-cross stitching. Snap. The first button pops off, dropping onto the wooden floor and rolling away to an inconspicuous corner. "I'll prep you well."

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. The knife flicks again and all the buttons clatter on the floor before running away for refuge.

Atsumu has cleared the table already and you find yourself hoisted up and laid onto the surface like a slab of meat on a cutting board. The cold surface presses against the back of your shoulder and ass. Osamu ties your wrist together with a hemp rope and secures the other end around the table leg. He also secures your ankles to two other anchor points.

You're utterly exposed and ashamed at your body's display, mortified at how your body is reacting when you catch sight of Atsumu, his eyes dilated, looking at your slit that you know is drenched already. The rough texture of the rope presses painfully into your skin from how tight the bindings are. You can only let out gagged whines in complaint, chest rising up and down from the loud breaths.

"Can't do, love," Osamu chides, kissing the knot at your wrist, satisfied with the results. His fingertips trail down to cup your jaw and his thumb runs across the tea strainer. You close your eyes and groan at his touch. Osamu murmurs, "I won't let anything go to waste."

Atsumu is growing impatient at the sight of his twin treating you like the finest specimen ever. You're not the first one. You won't be the last one, but he still can't stand the sight of someone looking just like himself having first tastes while he's missing out himself. He wants to shove Osamu aside, but he knows that Osamu absolutely hates it when he ravages the meal when it's not ready.

Atsumu unzips his pants and lets his hardened, leaking cock spring free. You stare at Atsumu who is fixated on his own pleasure. His hand wraps around his cock and pumps the length up and down.

Osamu turns your head to look at himself instead. "Someone there is impatient, but let's not learn from him, okay? I want to take you slow, make sure you'll be ready. I don't want you stressed, you release too much cortisol and that toughens the meat."

Anything that goes through his hands...well, in short, all become part of his design.

His hand kneads your breast and toys with your nipple, circling and tugging on the tiny, erect bud.

"Relax," he whispers into your ear. "Just like you did last night."

You try to clamp your thighs shut from reflex. Immediately the resistance from the rope ties stop your movements. Osamu squeezes your thighs and pushes them apart once more.

"Right here isn't it, after hearing me fuck 'Tsumu..." Osamu's finger runs down the sides of your labia. "You just couldn't help touching yourself too huh?"

He knows. They know. You feel your cheeks burn at the realization.

"There's nothing embarrassing about it. If anyone should be, it should be us twins, " Osamu's fingers easily slip in, your pussy already dripping with arousal. "Oh woops, I shouldn't need to comfort you. You're clearly not shy."

Osamu's fingers are thick and long, able to reach far deeper than you ever can. Your tongue is still struggling against the gag while your saliva steeps the tea leaves trapped in the ball.

"Oi," Atsumu cuts in with annoyance. "I thought you said to not play with food. What the fuck are you doing, chef?"

Osamu stops his finger in you for a moment before dragging them out. You're trembling at the sudden emptiness and desire to fill the space immediately. The lack of stimulation is irritating and you are desperate.

Osamu walks up to Atsumu, bringing his drenched fingers covered in your slick to his lips for a taste. Before he can do so, Atsumu grabs Osamu's wrist and takes in those digits, sucking on them gingerly.

Osamu smiles and runs the other hand through Atsumu's hair.

"Patience is a virtue, 'Tsumu, I was just getting her fully prepared for you. I'm giving her all to you already, you couldn't even let me have a taste of her?"

Atsumu releases Osamu's fingers with a pop. "I never said I wasn't going to share," he mutters before pulling Osamu in for a kiss, passing the taste of you along their tongues.

Your body jostles as you finally get a visual matching what you heard last night. You feel your pussy leaking with more excitement, the arousal drips all the way down to your asshole. And the more you squirm, it's as though the rope ties become tighter and tighter, rubbing your skin raw. But even that pain is incomparable to the need to quell your fire.

Atsumu pulls away and presses one last kiss on Osamu's nose. "I always love what you serve, thank you 'Samu." Your heart rate rapidly speeds up as Atsumu comes towards you. He's positioned between your legs, both hands on your thighs, marveling at the display of your body. His hands feel hot.

Atsumu grins. "You probably didn't expect me to be the one taking you, huh?" He guides his cock to your entrance, the bulging tip prodding along your puffy lips. "Did you want Osamu to be the one fucking you?"

No? You want to argue, straining your head up slightly, but only tea-laced saliva drips out from the corners of your mouth.

"'Fuck me, 'Samu. Fuck me, please.' Is that what you heard? Is that what you wanted to say too?"

Your screams are muffled whimpers.

Osamu snorts off to the side, watching Atsumu do exactly what he accused Osamu earlier of: playing with his food. Hypocrite.

Atsumu glares at Osamu before turning his attention back to you. "You'll be begging for me, Atsumu, after I'm done with you."

He lines himself at your entrance and inches himself in, groaning at how your cunt is somehow just sucking him in. You're so warm and tight inside, wrapping perfectly around every part of him. He sits in you for a moment, just enjoying being blanketed by your muscles and chuckling how you tighten around him every now and then.

You whine, urging Atsumu to move a little.

"Okay, okay. Geez, and 'Samu says I'm impatient." Atsumu slowly draws his cock out and snaps his hips forward, the base of his balls slapping against your ass. He delights at how you squeeze your eyes shut and continues rocking into you at a comfortable pace.

Osamu enjoys standing off to the side for a while. He always liked watching Atsumu savor and delight the food he prepares. Atsumu always eats with such gusto. It should have always been that way, until the witch ruined everything. The curse, an experiment with the dark arts, should have never happened. Above all else, it should never have been on Atsumu. Osamu can only wonder if the reason they are subjected to this fate is because they are twins. Until a cure is found, Atsumu, his most beloved other, will have to replenish himself in this way.

A sharp pain rips through you and tears well up in your eyes. You feel Atsumu's cock suddenly begin to pulsate and grow in size. At first, you thought it was because you're clamping down on him too hard and will yourself to relax. But the cock, the thing, is certainly unnatural now. And between your tear-stained vision, you can just barely make out... Monster.

You begin to thrash wildly, head tossing side to side, back arched as much as you can in a futile escape attempt. Atsumu's claws rest on your hips while he pounds into you furiously. His groans, now deep growls, send vibrations that you can feel within your throbbing clit. You fear that you'll actually be ripped in half by the way Atsumu is thrusting into you. The engorged cockhead hits your cervix each time and his ball sack, even heavier, bowls and knocks against you.

Osamu unfolds his arms and comes over.

"It'll only hurt if you don't relax," he tells you, reaching out to press on your clit. "Just let him have his way."

"Go fuck her somewhere else," Atsumu snarls. His voice is warped and bellowing. Your mind is getting foggy as Osamu's fingers on your clit don't stop teasing the bud while having a petty talk with Atsumu. And Atsumu, ticked off by Osamu, picks up his speed.

"There we go, now that's beautiful," Osamu comments, taking his hand away and watching you unfurl in your pleasure. Your abused cunt is puffy when Atsumu pulls out, and you feel the thick liquid start to flow out when you take breaths.

"No, don't do that," Osamu chides, taking three fingers to gather the cum spilling out and stuffing it back in. "Better keep it all in. 'Tsumu isn't done with you yet."

Not yet? You can't even voice your thoughts except weakly shaking your head and moaning into the steel gag. In the moment, your stomach rumbles loudly.

"'Samu, she's hungry," Atsumu points out, rubbing your tummy. "You feed her and I'll stuff her."

Osamu ruffles Atsumu's long hair and gives his new, erected horns a teasing squeeze. Atsumu yelps at the touch. "'Samu!"

"Okay, okay," Osamu relents and stands next to your head. You see him take the paring knife again and slide the icy blade between the cotton ties and your hot cheek. A quick slice and you feel the pressure of the gag release. Osamu removes the tea strainer from your mouth and tosses it into the sink.

"Must have been so over-brewed, I apologize for that," he says. You know he doesn't mean it at all.

"Why?" you croak out. Your jaw and cheeks are sore from being held in position for so long. There's so many things you believe you can ask why about. Why they are prepping you like a meal, fucking you like a toy...Why Atsumu is the way he is. Why Osamu is not who you think he is either. Why you.

Despite Atsumu's grotesque figure, you're sure that you fear this twin more. Osamu's thoughts are so well-hidden behind his eyes; he never gives away what he's thinking or planning. You can only accept his decisions from the receiving end.

"Because of Atsumu," Osamu answers. Everything is for 'Tsumu. "I'll feed you."

Osamu cradles your head with both hands, his fingers tangled in your hair. He prods his cock against your lips. Feeling your resistance, he grips your hair tightly, painfully pulling on your scalp, and presses the tip of his cock to force your lips open. You nearly gag at the length entering your throat and your hands ball into tight fists. Your nose is buried in the base of his cock, pressing into his balls. Each breath you take is heavy with his musky, hot scent.

It's easy to focus on Osamu's cock fucking into your throat, leaving an unamused, monstrous twin off to the side preparing to turn your attention back to him by force.

Atsumu rubs himself against you, preparing to enter you again. You're sure that he has become even bigger. When the tip pushes through, your body attempts to fight the intrusion in self-preservation. The claws at your hips dig in and Atsumu all but pulls you onto his length like a sock. You scream around Osamu's cock, throat clenching around his thick length, and nearly black out from the stretch.

You never had anything this big in you before. Atsumu lifts you up slightly, his grasp becoming large enough to encircle around your whole waist. Your ankles are still tethered and tug on you, much to Atsumu's annoyance. He easily slices through the bondages with a sharp claw. Now free of restraints, Atsumu can cradle you more easily, finally pushing the last section into you. 

Crack!

You can’t cry while you're stuffed with Osamu’s cock, but tears stream endlessly from your eyes. You’re sure your pelvic floor is broken, completely forced apart in a futile attempt to accommodate Atsumu stuffing you beyond your physical capacity. Your hips give out as your two legs, bone out from their sockets, dangle grotesquely.

“Just focus on me,” Osamu wipes your tears away and continues to pump into you. But you cannot focus on the human object in your mouth when your whole lower half and inwards are broken, stretched or squashed.

"Hey look ‘Samu! It's bulging," Atsumu marvels at the imprint of his tip pushing your flesh out from the inside. “Look, my cock is saying ‘hello’.”

Atsumu excitement translates into messy thrusts, treating your body like a game. “Maybe I can even touch your dick through her!” 

Your whole body is numb, the brain shuts its pain signals off completely, and hormones pour through your bloodstream in overdrive. The broken climax spasms through your body like the last bits of a faltering system.

“Better hurry...she’s...she’s fading soon,” Osamu warns between his grunts. He clasps your head and spurts his seed into you. You mindlessly swallow every drop of him, letting the contents slowly flow down your throat. You can’t process anything nor recognize any of the murky images. Who are you? Where are you?

Your memory fades in and out as your eyesight drifts between black and white. You can’t do anything about how the monster is now on all fours over your body, unrecognizable as Atsumu. You don’t feel any fear towards this grotesque figure. You don’t register how his tongue licks your neck.

Your mouth is now empty but you can’t formulate syllables.

“I’m sorry,” you hear Osamu whisper before sharp fangs pierce into your jugular, digging in deeper and tearing a chunk out. Red sprays across your body in fast spurts, drenching Atsumu and covering Osamu. The teeth at your throat gnaw at the flesh, starved, tearing through the skin, fat, and tissues like a child crunching fruit. 

You can feel the droplets falling onto your face like fresh rain after a storm. You vaguely remember your teacher and her warning of strangers. She always reprimanded you and you wanted to make her proud. There will no longer be any chance of that now. You weren’t a good student, and only an utter failure.

Osamu waits for Atsumu to finish you off. Atsumu always gets messy at this point. Osamu tried to help Atsumu section his prey off by cutting and organizing the limbs and even attempted to debone the meal beforehand, but Atsumu has his preferences, and Osamu respects them. So, Osamu delegates cleaning duties to himself instead. 

You’re already beyond recognition when Osamu comes back with barrels of oil. All that is left is a kitchen stained with blood and a pile of bone with chewed connective tissue left. Atsumu sometimes eats the bones too, but not always.

“‘Tsumu, are you full now?” Osamu asks, reaching out to cradle his twin. Atsumu has now transformed back to the way he is supposed to be. Osamu threads his hand through Atsumu’s blonde hair and inhales his twin’s scent.

Atsumu doesn’t respond and tugs at Osamu’s collar, trailing down his arm to bring Osamu’s hand to his own cock.

Osamu grins and kisses the top of Atsumu’s head. “Do you want to fuck me ‘Tsumu? I know you like to, after your meals.”

Atsumu whines and nips at Osamu’s jaw, pushing the twin down on the blood-stained floor.

“Okay, okay.” Osamu unzips and pulls down his pants before crawling onto all fours.

Atsumu’s hand cups Osamu’s ass and pries the cheeks open before curiously fingering at the specimen plugging Osamu’s hole. Atsumu holds onto the base and turns the object, before laughing.

“‘Samu, what is this you have in your ass,” Atsumu teases. “I like this presentation.”

This time, Osamu is the one embarrassed. “Last meal, it hurt like hell. So...I wanted to prepare a little.”

“With an egg holder?” Atsumu cackles again, fiddling with the ceramic object. “Should’ve just told me ‘Samu, I could never bear to hurt you.”

Atsumu holds onto the base and slowly pulls the object out before tossing it aside. He smiles and teases Osamu’s enlarged hole that’s opening and closing around nothing. Gathering up some saliva, he spits onto Osamu’s asshole before lining his cock at the rim and slowly pushing in.

Along with the curse comes a near insatiable lust. Atsumu knows that if he doesn’t fulfill his need to fuck or be fucked, he will snap. He doesn’t really care who he kills during a frenzy of that sort, but it’s too risky to get Osamu caught up in the collateral.

The witch that wanted to create the perfect weapon, failed. She failed because she underestimated the twins’ bonds for each other. She failed because the twins discovered that witches excrete a very special hormone in their body after climax, and it is exactly that substance that is slowly curing Atsumu. With every witch eaten and absorbed, Atsumu is healing and gaining magical powers. He is even capable of passing those essences to Osamu. One day, everything will be the way it's supposed to be.

Osamu plays with a few strands of Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu’s softened cock still buried inside of him. Atsumu has his jaw resting on Osamu’s shoulder.

“You make me feel so good,” Atsumu sighs, enjoying the quiet moments after his high.

“And what about her?” Osamu asks, gesturing to the table where your remains are still at.

“She made me feel good too. The best one yet, but don’t be jealous.”

“Come on, let’s clean up and get out of here.”

After washing their bodies and changing into clean clothes, Atsumu and Osamu are ready to say goodbye to the cottage they have overstayed their welcomes at.

"Let's go 'Samu, we're already behind." Atsumu finishes dumping the last bucket of oil along the edges of the room.

The clamor of boots stride across the creaking wood. As though with the passing of its owner, the cottage itself has lost the will to live.

"Coming," Osamu calls back, walking past the makeshift funeral pyre for you. He notices a flash on the ground and bends down to pick up a button.

"'Samu! Get the fuck out or I'll burn ya down too!"

"Yea, yea."

Osamu drops the button into his shirt pocket and joins his twin outside. Atsumu strikes a matchstick and tosses the small flame into the cottage. Fire meets oil and spreads in an instance, engulfing the cottage in an angry blend of orange and red, devouring all contents and remains within. The smell of scorched wood reaches the twins who are looking at the sight from a distance.

"She was good," Atsumu comments, looking at his twin unsure about what Osamu's grey eyes are thinking about. Atsumu realizes that he didn't specify what good exactly means. But it doesn't seem like Osamu is paying much attention. Is Osamu thinking about you? Is he unhappy? Does he regret what happened to you? Although what's done is done already, if time can go back, would Osamu choose? You or Atsumu?

Osamu slips his hand into Atsumu's, erasing the unspoken worries away. He gently leads Atsumu onto the trail, leaving the burning cottage behind.

"Stop thinking such nonsense," Osamu mutters, squeezing Atsumu's hand. No matter what happens, Atsumu will always come first. His needs, his desires. That's what it means for Osamu to love Atsumu. Even though the rest of the world may not understand the relationship the twins share, calling it depraved and disgusting, it's still selfless on their part. What sin is there to honestly love? What sin is there to try and save his loved ones?

While Osamu admits to himself that he does feel a deep attraction to you and knows that Atsumu feels the same pull as well, there's nothing that can be done about Atsumu's condition. But it's not as though you are completely gone. Your essences and core are within both twins, being absorbed as one with their bodies and soul. You'll forever be with them in that way, even if you no longer have any sentient memory of it.

Osamu fiddles the button in his pocket; there's still a physical reminder of you in that tiny form.

It must be about a twenty-minute trek from the burning site. Although the flames are already far from eyesight, the scorching smell and embers still drift over. The twins pick up their pace, eager to exit the forest before nightfall and make it to the next destination. On the way, they pass by the tree trunk with a wanted poster.

"They never get my best angles!" Atsumu complains, ripping a wanted poster that is nailed to the tree trunk.

"It's not like you have a good angle, ‘Tsumu."

"Shut it, we look the same ‘Samu. You're just calling yourself ugly too!"

Osamu shrugs and continues his trek down the main trail. Atsumu huffs, tearing the parchment into indistinguishable pieces before throwing the shreds up into the air like confetti.

"Wait up!"

Osamu stops in his tracks. "Hurry up, loser. We still have a long way to go."

Atsumu takes a few wide strides and swings his arm around his twin's shoulder. Behind them, a very light drizzle falls from the sky.