#major notes on my text post about the chairs...

[aceywhomps]

g guys... im an art blog... btw... 💔

[almostempty]

Something in your mouth

(joel miller x f!reader)

The third installment of  Never made it as a wise man aka creed!joel

WC: 8.4k | Part 1 | Part 2 |  Other fics | Rating: 18+ 

Summary: post hand job and phone sex; it’s the leadup and part 1 of these horny bishes goin’ on a date

Note: heyyyyy it’s me and i’m back on my bs . i know i promised the fuckening, but that was summer me and now it’s winter me.. so instead of hiding and never updating, i remembered i have free will so u get the full week lead-up and the first half of the date.. and then i’ll brb with the fuckfest okay? i promise. (also it’s actually almost done this time so it won’t take months). again, i am still merely a vessel for the spirit of buttrock joel. hopefully this part 3 is girthy enough to sate your appetite a lil bit  

Tags: au no outbreak modern joel, divorced dad rock dilf joel x f!reader, picks up right where pt 2 ended, alternating pov, dirty talk, horny yearning, blowjob in the truck, still crackish, but i am still dead serious about it being hot so idc, mistakes are all mine

Thanks to Nickelback for having non stop horny bangerz to quote such as Something in your mouth

major thanks to @hoelaris for this moodboard that made me weep tears of joy bc is it so perfect

thanks to @magneticecstasy for date joel thots to be ft in this pt and the next, @auteurdelabre for telling me to let them have their happy ending so i can get back to the paris boys faster, to @syd-djarin for support, horny thots, song suggestions etc, and @itwasntimethatdidit40 for the nickelback pedro tiktok edit inspo

it really takes a village or whatever they say <3 

*if u forgot what this is bc i took so long give Part 1 and  Part 2 a read for a refresh <3 

*if i missed ur tag or u want off this ride lemme know 

okay, it's starting now:

You wake up in Joel’s shirt. It smells more like you than him already, but it still makes you grin devilishly just the same. You go about your day, a few errands and some chores, the whole time with a little more energy than usual. 

When you’re back home and settled in to have a lazy afternoon, you get a little restless. Itchy fingers. It’s hard not to pick up your phone and check your messages again and again. You’re drawn to looking at the picture he sent, the pictures you took, and you can’t help wondering…

Did he wake up thinking of you? Hard, aching, and leaking at the memory of your voice. 

Did he dream of all the nasty things he said he wanted to do to you? Waking up throbbing and frustrated, grinding his cock into the mattress as if you were beneath him. 

Did he wake up and check his phone to confirm you were real? Making it all the way to the shower before surrendering, wishing it was your soft cunt he was fucking instead of his fist. 

You know you’re fucked when just thinking about him thinking about you has you so turned on. It’s so tempting to send him something else. Another picture? An audio message? A thinking of you 😘 text? 

No. No, no, no. 

You can wait him out. Make him work for it a little. He’s a full-grown man. You’ve already given him enough to work with. Plus, you wanna know what he’s gonna come up with next. Right? 

The lazy Sunday ends all too soon and before you know it you’re back to work. Dragging ass into the office with the biggest iced coffee you could buy. You deserve a treat to get through your Monday anyway. 

A little warning bell chimes in the back of your mind as you drop your things on your desk. Ellie grumbles a good morning that matches your enthusiasm for fluorescent lights at 8 am. A little seed of guilt sprouts within you. 

Is it fucked up of you to mess around with Joel? It’s not like it’s something serious. Or, does that make it even worse? There’s no way he would say anything to her about it. 

“Heard you saw Joel again,” she says before you’ve even sat down. Great. 

“Uh, yeah,” you reply, “Still didn’t feel right that he wouldn’t accept anything for helping with my car.” You sink into your chair, hesitating to say more. It’s too early to have a good poker face. 

“So you made him a lasagna?” She questions, staring you down. 

“Men love my meat sauce,” you say with a shrug. 

“Gross,” Ellie grimaces at that, “please, don’t ever say that again.” 

You buy her off with the rest of the cookies you had baked. She’s happy to take the entire container from you and happier to enjoy them all immediately. If she’s suspicious she’s either good at hiding it or you really don’t know how to read her. 

You carry on with your morning catching up on mindless tasks, swirling your coffee around as the ice starts to melt, and trying to stay focused. Ellie turns on her music and you can’t help thinking of Joel again. It’s like he’s infected your mind and every shitty 2000s post-grunge alt-rock song conjures him up. 

You can’t help wondering what exactly he would’ve told Ellie about your surprise visit. Would he have asked about you? Implied anything? You can’t stop yourself from asking. 

“What did he say?” 

Ellie’s head swivels towards you immediately. 

“Who?” 

Instantly you know you messed up. You didn’t realize how much time had passed. You shouldn’t still be thinking of him. She prods you about what you said and what you meant. Not accepting a nothing or a never mind. An uncomfortable wave of embarrassment twists in your stomach, heat blooms in your cheeks, and your hands are fidgety. 

You shouldn’t have brought it up, you shouldn't be so defensive. Shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t.  

Ellie is sharp–cutthroat–reading your every move. You stare at the empty Tupperware on her desk, hoping it will reveal some sort of escape plan. A strategy to deflect. It’s too late. Her eyes narrow just the slightest bit and she follows your gaze. It clicks. 

“Oh, you meant Joel?” 

You’re so busted. “I..uh,” you don’t know how to finish that thought. 

“Why?” She gives you such a blank-faced look that it’s unsettling. You’re an adult. Why does this feel like you got caught sneaking out to see a boy on a school night?

You try to brush it off, but it sounds more defensive, making it worse. You focus on cracking your knuckles and trying to feign a more casual air. For some reason that means you keep talking. Broken sentences pouring out of you and trailing off into a stiff laugh. 

Mercifully, Ellie cuts you off. Tells you it was Tommy who mentioned it. 

So, he was the one who showed up while you had your legs spread open on Joel’s kitchen counter. The catalyst to your shirt heist and hasty getaway. That makes your face hot for a different reason. 

“Oh. Gross.” Ellie groans.

“What?” 

“You’ve got that look on your face.” 

You snort at that. Only slightly horrified that she’s so adept at picking up the tells on your face. “What look?” 

You suck down the last of your iced coffee, stalling, until you’re just sucking in air. You toss it in the tiny trash bin between the two of you and decide to be honest no matter what she says. You’d rather get ahead of it. 

“Was it a sex lasagna?” Her mouth is pulled into a look of disgust. 

You snort at that before shaking your head, preparing to get it all out. 

“Okay, look. It was a thank-you lasagna.” You pause, trying to figure out exactly how much to share. “I didn’t plan the rest of it. It just…happened. And, fuck, it was so hot.” 

Her face wrinkles with confusion, then disgust, then laughter. It makes your heart rate speed up. 

“I’m sorry,” your words come out like a waterfall. “I don’t want to make things weird. I want us to be friends. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sure it wasn’t serious. I’ll tell you whatever you want. It was my fault. I showed up without letting him know. I made the first move—” 

“You fold quick,” Ellie notes, interrupting you. She throws her hands up and you shut your mouth, “Look, you’re both adults, I don’t care what you do. Just, please, don’t tell me any of the sex details.” 

“Do you really not care? Or like, you say I don’t care and then treat me like Cheryl in the front office?” you ask. 

“No. I genuinely don’t give a shit. Well, I mean, if you break his heart I’ll have to kill you.”

“Naturally,” you agree with a solemn nod. 

“But,” she pauses to take a breath, tilting her head before continuing, “it would probably be good for him, don’t think he’s had a real date in a while. But don’t come back to me broken-hearted if he’s a dick—that’s just his face.”

“A date?” you echo. 

She groans and rolls her eyes at you, but it’s too late. 

Your mind starts to wander. With Ellie’s blessing, you don’t have a reason not to give it a shot.

The harps are already strumming as you float off into your cloud of dissociation. Your favorite daydream flickers into focus as your eyes glaze over and a dazed grin curls on your face. It’s always that same slo-mo Baywatch-style memory. That one where you caught Joel wiping the sweat off his forehead with the bottom of his t-shirt. The original temptation that led you back to him. 

Somehow, every time it replays, there’s a new easter egg just for you. The ghost of a knowing smirk or a sparkly-eyed wink when he catches your eye, like a wicked little tease to pull you deeper into the dream world. 

Sometimes it’s all too visceral. In the privacy of your mind, you’re free to direct the scene how you’d like. Slowly panning over the peek of soft skin and the trail of hair you can see. You can still feel the warmth on your fingertips from when you slipped your hand beneath the waistband of those navy blue boxers. 

Sometimes, you create something new. You’d like to take one of his sun-faded plastic green lawn chairs, drag it to the front porch, and sit yourself down for a show. You wanna watch him mow the grass in the evening heat. 

You can see the sweat beads dotted along his neck and the contour of his marble-sculpted arms as he serpentines along your fantasy world front lawn. 

You can smell the fresh-cut grass and the specific blend of sweaty man pheromones that Aphrodite concocted just for you. 

Your chest swells, lungs expanding, as you breathe slowly and deeply. The illusory scents fill your lungs until you release a deep, yearnful sigh. The imaginary lawn mower almost drowns out the imaginary Fred Durst bellering, It’s just one of those days, from that little stereo on the workbench. 

Before you can transition into another scenario—something bounces off your face, and you flinch with a loud yelp. 

“That was your warning,” Ellie glares at you. “Next time I’m throwing something sharp.” 

“Okay, okay, message received.” You offer a sheepish smile, and she turns around. It seems the Limp Bizkit song was very much not a figment of your imagination. Ellie mutters along to the lyrics behind you, barely audible, as you spin in your chair to get back to work. 

It’s not even five minutes later when you swivel in your chair again with another question for Ellie. 

There’s nothing like having a crush on a man you barely know to truly make you delusional. You know you’ve got it bad, but it’s unfortunately just so much fun to daydream and let your mind run wild with the very limited info you know about the man. 

You don’t want to worry about anything that could go wrong. 

Except for, well, everything. 

You still fret over texting him first or waiting. Should you send another picture with no context? Should you call? Should you wait another day? 

When you notice your chest feeling tight you give yourself a reality check. It’s Monday morning. You’re at work. He’s probably at work. You can figure it out later. A future you problem. 

Joel’s text comes through late in the evening. 

Joel: You wearing my shirt to bed again? 

You’re grinning immediately. At hearing from him first and because he fucking clocked you. You snap a quick photo. Despite being on the spot, it’s thoughtfully crafted. Just enough to show the logo and only your mouth, not your face, no extra skin, no sexy tease. Just a confirmation. You send it off, and his reply buzzes seconds later. 

Joel: More 

You try to bite back the grin still stuck on your face as your fingers dance across the screen. You want to tell him off for being so blunt, but for some reason, it feels like such a compliment. You’ve definitely got it bad if a thirsty one-word text feels like high praise. 

You aren’t going to give in this time. You’ve still got Ellie’s words echoing in your mind. A date. You type back one line. 

You: Gonna have to earn it if you want more 

Your phone rings shortly after your message is delivered. Joel’s name flashes on the screen and your stomach flips. You thought maybe he’d send another dick pic, but now he’s calling you? It does check out that he wouldn’t be the texting type, to be fair.

“Hey,” you answer, voice soft, a little tentative. 

“You’re gonna make me work for it, huh?” His drawl is low, rough around the edges and so stupidly sexy it makes your nipples hard. You can just tell he’s already on edge. Delight floods your veins at the idea of him thinking of you all day. 

“You could use a lesson in patience,” your voice is remarkably steady, despite the way your body is lit up. You chew at your lower lip. “Thought I told you that last time we were on the phone,” you chide. 

A deep chuckle rumbles through the phone. “Patience,” he repeats. There’s a pause that has you holding your breath. “I don’t think you’re playin’ fair, baby. Knowing you’re in bed with my shirt on, teasin’ me with another picture.” His voice takes on a husky, knowing tone. “Don’t think it’s patience you’re lookin’ for. Bet I know what you really want.” 

Your breath catches, loud enough he wouldn’t miss it even with his busted phone. You weren’t prepared to be so affected by just the timbre of his voice. It’s fucked up the way he’s got you breathless for no damn good reason. 

You can picture him in his bed. The trademark navy blue sheets. Is he fresh out of the shower? Damp hair and the overpowering scent of whatever 10 in 1 man soap was on sale at the grocery store— 

“Okay. Enlighten me then. What do I want?” you finally reply. 

“You want to hear it,” he continues, smooth and smug, radiating a cocky smirk right through the phone that makes your skin tingle. “You want to hear how you’ve got me hard, sittin’ here thinkin’ about you,” Joel growls, his voice thick with heat. “Thinkin’ about you wearing just my shirt.”

You bite down on your lip to stay quiet. Maybe he’s not in bed at all. Maybe he’s still out in his shop, locked in the office, a couple beers down before he dared to text you. His hair a mess from running his fingers through it, in those faded jeans that cling to him perfectly. 

Either way, it seems almost cruel to stop him with a mouth like that. 

“Thinking about what I’d do if you were here,” he carries on. “You look good in my shirt.” His voice drops even lower. “You’d let me push it up though, wouldn’t you? Just enough so I can see how wet you are for me.” 

You can’t help pressing your thighs together at that thought. If he hears how turned on you are already, you’re definitely going to end up acting out his fantasy over the phone. 

“Fuck.” he mutters, his voice breaking. “You’d let me take my time. Get my hands on those perfect tits again. Soak my fingers with that sweet pussy. Have you so worked up you’d be begging for my cock.” 

He says it like it’s a fact, as if he could come over right now and you’d drag him straight to your bed—or no, like you’d be on him before he could shut the front door. 

It’s so filthy, so confident. You’re so tempted to keep him going, but you pull yourself together. Biting back the whimper stuck in your throat.  

“Well, damn, Joel,” you swallow down the urge to ask for more details. “Guess you’ve got me all figured out then,” you tease with a heavy dash of sarcasm in your tone. 

“Not all of you,” he replies, with a suggestive edge. “Not yet.”

You let out a breath you were holding. “Look, you can’t just get your dick out on the phone, tell me how you wanna touch me, and get your way,” you manage, steady and a little sharp. “Not this time.”

“Not this time?” he echoes, half-laughing, clearly amused. “Alright. Sure. What do you want then?”

There’s a flicker of nervousness that tightens in your chest. You don’t want him to think you’re rejecting him, don’t want to risk losing the momentum of whatever this is. “I’m saying…I do want you. But, if you want more you’re going to have to do more. Show me you mean it. Like…a date.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, and your heart skips as you imagine his reaction. He’s quiet, but you can hear his breathing—measured, like he’s weighing something.

“Shit. You’re serious?” he asks, and there’s a softness now, laced with just enough curiosity to make you think he’s intrigued.

“Dead serious,” you say, adding, “But if you’re not interested in me like that—”

“Oh, I’m interested.” The words come quick, a little sharper than you expect, and they make you beam. “Fine. A date,” he says, like he’s letting the word settle on his tongue. “Friday?”

“Friday.” You confirm and stretch your neck. Your muscles are tense. Shoulders tight. All from his filthy words getting you worked up in half a second and the anxiety of your demand. “Come up with something good,” you tease, your voice slipping into something sultrier, “and maybe we’ll both get what we want.”

There’s a low growl on the other end of the line, tinged with frustration and desire. It makes your pulse throb in your clit. You almost wish you had let him talk you through it before suggesting the date. Hear how worked up he’s been over you. 

“Jesus,” he grumbles. 

Oh, you would’ve turned into a mess and completely forgotten to bring it up. Now you’ve essentially cock blocked yourself until the end of the week. Ugh. 

“You’re gonna drive me mad.” He says. But there’s no animosity in it. Instead, there’s something new in his voice that gives you butterflies. 

“Yep.” 

You’re the one who hangs up first before you can hear anything else that might tempt you to stray from your plan.

……..

It’s late morning when your phone buzzes on your desk the next day, interrupting your excellent cosplay of a ‘productive employee’. You glance at the screen and your heart trips when you see Joel’s name. 

You answer, trying to sound casual despite the fluttery feeling in your chest. “Calling me during business hours, Mr. Miller? You’re going to get me in trouble.” 

Joel snorts softly. “Think we both know you’re the one that likes causin’ trouble.” 

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” 

His voice drops lower, quieter. “You need a reminder? Cause I’ve been replaying exactly how much trouble you caused in my kitchen…”

“Don’t.” You nearly hiss into the phone, trying to cut him off before he starts with any graphic retellings. You spin in your chair, grateful when you confirm Ellie has headphones on for once. 

“Right.” His voice is back to a slightly less devastatingly erotic tone. “Wouldn’t want to get carried away while you’re at work. 

“Well,” he drawls, the grin evident in his voice now. “You said you wanted a date, so I was thinking.”

You hum, leaning into the teasing tone. “If it’s a chain restaurant I’m canceling right now.”

“Do I seem like the kind of guy who’d take you to Applebee’s?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly?” you quip, laughing at the soft groan he makes in response. “No Applebee’s, no Chili’s, and if you’re thinking about taking me to whatever the fanciest Italian place is in this town, don’t. I’m not going on a first date where you used to take your ex-wife for anniversary dinners.” 

There’s a beat of silence, then a grumbled, “It was Valentine’s, actually.”

You cackle, delighted at your guess. He huffs. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re predictable,” you shoot back, grinning as you cross your legs under your desk. “Or maybe it’s just ‘cause nobody has been challenging you.”

“S’that what you are?” he asks, “A challenge?” 

You shift in your chair, the grin on your face is going to make your cheeks burn if he keeps this up. You soften the teasing as you admit. “Maybe a little.” 

“Mm,” he grunts, clearly not convinced.

“If you’re up for it,” you add. Nerves flutter in your stomach now. Maybe he doesn’t want a challenge at all. It’s not like you’ve been hard to get. The silence stretches just long enough to make you wonder if you’ve pushed too far. 

His exasperated sigh crackles through the phone, but it’s laced with something warmer. “Yeah.” But then he exhales, soft and almost self-conscious. “Ain’t a bad thing.”

The words are simple, but they settle somewhere deep, curling warm in your chest. For a moment, the flirty defense falls, and you catch the subtle weight in his voice.

“You’re full of surprises, Joel,” you say finally, your tone gentle.

“Guess you’ll find out,” he murmurs, the words quiet like he’s not sure he’s meant to say them.

Your stomach flutters at the unexpected softness. You knew there was more to him than his bold mouth when his dick is hard or the stoic lone wolf look he wears in his garage. You weren’t expecting him to be…whatever this is now. 

The line goes quiet again, his breathing soft on the other end. “Friday at seven,” he says after a moment, his voice steady but quieter than before. “There’s a brewery that Tommy suggested. I’ll pick you up.”

“That sounds nice,” you reply, smiling into the phone.

“Alright,” he mutters. There’s a brief pause, like he’s hesitating, before he says, “See you then.”

He hangs up before you can say anything else, and for a moment, you’re left staring at your phone like an idiot. A grin stuck on your face. Possibly permanently. 

It’s not just the idea of the date. It’s the thought of Joel making a plan, asking for recommendations, and thinking of what you might like. You figured it’d be fun to give him a hard time and all, but you didn’t have real expectations. 

The week stretches on and you’re not sure if it’s moving too fast or too slow. Having a crush is wicked enough, but having a date planned makes you feel slightly insane. It’s like you’re in a cartoon where the world is suddenly brighter and the birds sing just for you. 

You find yourself constantly daydreaming at work. Every Creed song Ellie plays somehow sends you into a fugue state. Snippets of Joel’s voice replay in your head. 

There’s something about the way he said, “Ain’t a bad thing,” that keeps sneaking up on you when you least expect it. It wasn’t even what he said—it was how he said it. Quiet, like he wasn’t used to admitting something like that out loud. It makes you smile like a fool every time you think about it.

The worst is the evenings. At home in your room. Nothing to distract you. Alone with his t-shirt. Re-reading your brief texts. Lingering wistfully over the dick pic he sent like it’s a letter from your long-distance lover. You’ve got to get it together. 

And Joel? He’s just as distracted, though he’d never admit it. At least not to anyone but you. 

At work, his usual rhythm is thrown completely out of whack. He catches himself staring at the same invoice three times before finally filing it away. Tommy catches him with his Breaking Benjamin t-shirt inside out. 

You’re in his head and it’s driving him nuts. He tried to minimize it. Deciding it was just the impulsive way you crashed into his world. You spread like a wildfire in his mind. The kindness in you to deliver a homemade meal. The audaciousness you have to go after what you want. 

He goes weak for a confident woman and you’re so sharp and quick with him. It’s a rush, but not just because of the sexual chemistry. Not just because you’re a novelty or a break in his routine. 

It’s you. It’s the way you’ve got the passion and sharpness with your words, but you’re still soft on the edges. He thinks about the way your voice had dipped when you said, “If you’re up for it,” like you weren’t just teasing but testing something, seeing if he’d push you away.

He’s not used to this. Not the nerves, not the anticipation, and definitely not the way he’s spending too much time wondering what to wear on Friday. Not that he’d ever admit it, but he even dug through the back of his closet, holding up a button-down shirt Ellie had bought him last Christmas like it might bite him. He ends up tossing it back in favor of flannel—it’s still a step up from a faded band t-shirt. 

By Thursday you’re nearly useless. You drive Ellie crazy all morning, spacing out and jumping when she asks you a question. To be respectful, you haven’t mentioned the date and she hasn’t asked. Would Joel have told her? Does she know you’re losing your mind over a man who probably has holes in his sweatpants? Are you equally as pathetic? 

You’re still stuck on that thought when she kicks your chair, startling you back to reality. “Come on,” she demands. “We’re outta here and you’re coming to the Main Street with me. I’ll buy.” 

Turns out you’re a cheap date. The dive bar has strong cocktails and a very limited menu of fried foods to choose from. You sit outside at a picnic table enjoying the warmth of the early summer evening. 

Ellie is easy to get along with. Talking animatedly about her friends. Sharing the hot goss about Cheryl and her divorce. Trying to recruit you to join the company rec league kickball team. It’s all a welcome distraction even though you still have Joel on the brain. 

You do your best not to bring him up but when she mentions him you know you perk up like a heart-eyed fool. Begrudgingly, but with sincerity, Ellie asks if the date is what’s got you so distracted. 

“How did you know?” 

“You’re both worse than teenagers.” She rolls her eyes. “Thought bringing you here might take your mind off it.” 

You snap to attention at her choice of words. “Both?” 

“Don’t.” 

She’s a good friend. You did need the distraction. You’re still smiling about that thought as you check yourself out in the mirror in the bathroom at the bar. There’s a poster taped to the paper towel dispenser for the cover band that plays Saturday nights that catches your eye before you slip your phone out of your pocket. 

You’d blame it on the drinks but the truth is only had one. You hover over the messages. Wondering if he’s really as nervous as you. Fuck it, you decide before sending what you’ve been wondering. 

You: You been thinking about me? 

His message comes through so fast it’s more revealing than the words he typed. 

Joel: Maybe 

Fuck, why does one word have you feeling giddy already? 

Joel: Have you? 

He asks shortly after. You wonder if he’s second guessing himself. Is Joel nervous? 

You: A little  

You figure you’ll give him the same treatment. 

Joel: Haven’t been able to stop, if I’m honest baby 

Heat floods your face as you stare at the screen, and his next message comes before you can respond. 

Joel: Friday’s been feeling real far away 

That has you shaking your head. 

You: Patience is a virtue 

He’s quick to respond again. 

Joel: Never claimed to be a saintly man 

That makes you genuinely laugh. 

You: Good 

……

By the time Friday night rolls around, you’ve fully spiraled into a mess of anxiety and excitement. You’re not really the type to overthink a date, but there’s something about the whole scenario that feels different. It’s not just because Joel’s hot—hotter than he has any right to be—but he’s trying. For you. It’s disarming in a way you weren’t expecting. 

You know that the worst-case scenario for the night isn’t bad. You know how to have a good time wherever you are and you are confident that he’s a horny bastard that will put out even if you actively try to sabotage the date. It’s that flickering sensation in your chest that hopes for more. That’s what makes you nervous. 

You’re startled when Joel knocks at your front door. You check your reflection one last time before heading to the door. You figure it’s casual enough for a first date at a brewery. 

Despite everything inside of you that screamed to put your tits on display again—you couldn’t resist wearing the Creed shirt. You tied it up in the front so it accentuates your figure and paired it with a faux leather skirt with a matching black lace set underneath. 

It’s gotta be enough to play at the alt-rock vibe he’s still living in. You look good. Really good. 

But when you open the door he isn’t the only one who’s world gets rocked. Joel stands in front of you like he was plucked from your fantasy. Freshly showered, his damp curls just starting to dry in soft waves. A plaid button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off those strong, tan forearms. His dark jeans are markedly not as worn down as the last pair you saw him in, yet the effect on you is just as dastardly. 

It’s unfair, really, how good he looks. You’re left blinking as your mouth goes a little dry while you drink him in. Who’s idea was it to have a date? In public? Fuck. He shifts, a sly smile growing on his face as he rests his hip against the door jam. 

“Hi,” you mumble, still ogling him. 

“You look… real nice,” he says, voice so low and velvety it should be registered as a weapon. 

You know you had a smart-ass remark about the shirt on the tip of your tongue, but it’s gone. Gone… along with your morals. All you’ve got left is the intense, primal desire to do something inappropriate with his arms? Yes! Yes! Yes! The horny gremlins like your idea despite having no logistics or master plan. 

They seem to have no coherent plan of attack at all, to be honest. Bite! Lick! Suck! All you know is that you need him in your mouth until your jaw is sore. 

Joel huffs softly. Amused that you seem speechless. “Didn’t think flannel was all that special baby, you alright?” 

“It’s not the flannel,” you mutter under your breath, but you don't let him hear the rest of that thought: Arms! Arms! Arms! 

You grab your bag and follow him out to the truck, stealing glances at him as he walks ahead of you. You can’t help it. He’s so…solid. Sturdy. Sure of himself. Even when he’s out of his comfort zone. It’s doing something sinful to you. 

The inside of the truck smells faintly like a Black Ice air freshener, a Home Depot on a Sunday morning, and Armor All. The distinctly Joel aesthetic lives up to your imagination. It’s lived in. Comfortable. 

There’s the catchall cupholder of change, receipts, and literal nuts and bolts. The caseless CDs in the storage divider strapped to the sun visor—you recognize a couple like Seether and Three Days Grace. 

Before you can take in every detail though, you’re distracted by just the sight of him driving. It’s absurd, but why does he look this good just driving? Most people can manage to operate a vehicle, but most people don’t look as fuckable as Joel does, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. Hand! Thigh! Neck! Fingers! 

You’re reduced to only being able to name anatomical features when you’re this close to him, apparently. Like an alien learning about a man for the first time. An extraterrestrial explorer propelled by the most curious desire to taste and touch every part of Joel—for research. 

You’re so caught up that it takes a while to register the song that’s playing. Of course, it’s more Nickelback. 

You're so much cooler

When you never pull it out

Cause you look so much cuter

With something in your mouth

It breaks the spell he has on you and you laugh, really laugh. Joel looks slightly horrified, having no idea what led to your outburst. When you’ve recovered enough, you let him in on it. 

“Nice first date song. You really know how to set the mood.” 

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t change the song, and you let yourself glance at him again as he drives. His profile glows in the evening sun, and you can’t help thinking how easy it would be to reach over and drag your hand down his chest, and make him pull over so you could climb into his lap. The thought has you pressing your thighs together, your pulse thrumming in your ears. At this rate you’re not going to make it through the night. 

…..

The brewery is trendy. Joel hopes it’s something you like. He tries to focus on the menu, but feels like his brain is short-circuiting. It’s not the overpriced burgers or the craft beers with descriptors that don’t sound like flavors. It’s the way you're leaning forward on your elbows, chin resting in your hand, smile tugging at your lips. 

The shirt is unfair. The way you’ve got it tied, hugging your body in ways that make his palms itch. Knowing you were touching yourself in the same shirt to the sound of his voice. He’s trying not to stare, trying to be polite, but it’s damn near impossible with you sitting across from him like that. 

“How about this one?” you say, pointing to an option on the menu. “Probably the closest thing to what you’ve got stocked in the shop fridge.” He’d wonder how you knew what he had in the fridge, but his eyes are glued to your finger pointing at the menu and it’s consuming all of his thoughts. 

You ramble on about a few other choices but he doesn’t hear the words. He’s still stuck on your hand. He swears he can still feel the ghost of your touch from the kitchen last week. Shit. His jeans are already feeling tighter than they should. 

He clears his throat, trying to pull it together. “I’ll trust you.”  

You smile wide at that. He’s so fucked. “You know a lot about fancy beer.” Yikes. “You got a favorite on here?” Get it together, he begs himself. 

“Nah, I don’t really like beer,” you say casually. You give him a shrug and point out a cider you’re thinking about trying. His stomach twists. 

“You don’t like beer,” he repeats. “But, you let me take you to a brewery?” His chest feels tight, and he shifts uncomfortably. 

“They have food, too.” you counter. 

“Right.” Why does he feel like he’s so out of his element? He’s been second-guessing everything about this date. He feels his gaze drifting as his eyes shift out of focus, his fingers toy with his bottom lip as he gets lost in his head. 

He knows he can get you worked up just as bad as him over the phone, knows he can make you sing for him with just his fingers, but this? He doesn’t know what you want from him now. Is the date some kind of test? He knows he’s overthinking all of it. 

“Hey.” Your voice brings him back, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I like that you planned something.” 

It seems genuine. The way you look at him with bright eyes and a smirk like you’ve got something to tease him about on the tip of your tongue. “Now ask me a boring first date question,” you instruct with a nod like you’re giving him some kind of permission. 

“What’s your favorite color?” 

You snort laughing at him. If you’re half as nervous as him you don’t show it. 

….

It works. Mostly. Your drinks arrive. The conversation flows more easily. He still gets tripped up here and there but doesn’t disappear on you again. He asks about your job, your family, about where you moved from, and you give him enough to keep things light but still playfully dodge some of his questions. 

Every time he gets flustered, you catch yourself smiling, a little surprised at how much you’re enjoying this. It’s the way he watches you like he’s trying to figure you out. The way he tries. He seems to relax a little and for a moment, you think he might settle into the evening. 

Then he reaches for his water, and it all goes sideways. The dangerously full glass wobbles, tilting just enough to spill halfway across the table. Joel jerks back, cursing dejectedly under his breath as he grabs a napkin to clean it up. 

You can’t help it. The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. Just loud enough for him to hear. “Trying to get me wet already?” 

His eyes snap to yours. You grin, adding, “Don’t worry, been dripping for you since you showed up at my front door.” 

He makes a sound between a cough and a choke. Stunned. The faintest blush creeps up his neck, reaching all the way to his ears. For a second, he looks like he might say something, but all he manages to get out is a gruff, “Jesus.” 

You lean back in your chair, grinning triumphantly. You didn’t expect him to get so rattled by your comment. Not with how vulgar he’s been on the phone or when he had his hand between your legs. It’s an ego boost to know you’ve got the upper hand at first. 

“Relax,” you purr. 

Then you catch the way he discreetly tries to adjust himself under the table. Clearly unable to relieve the pressure. Knowing the effect you have on him is more intoxicating than the alcohol. An idea strikes you. You know exactly how to get him to relax. 

“Do you have cash?” you ask. 

“What? Yeah.” He looks at you confused. 

You nod like he proved a point by saying yes. That confuses him further, a deep line forming between his brows. 

“‘Course you do. That’s like, Dad 101 ‘carry cash in case of emergency’. 

You stand and grab your bag. “We’re not staying,” you say simply.

“What?” He frowns, sitting up straighter. 

You flash him a smile. “I’ve got a better idea. Come on. You said you trust me.”

“To choose a beer,” he grumbles, dropping enough cash for a generous tip on the table before letting you lead. He doesn’t argue as you walk back to the truck, just trying to catch up with your words. He opens the passenger door for you, his hand brushing yours briefly as you climb into the truck. It’s a small thing, but the innocence makes your pulse skip all the same. 

Once he’s in the driver’s seat, the tension between you shifts. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s charged. You glance at him, taking in the way his hands grip the steering wheel so tightly, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he shifts. 

The truck rumbles to life and another one of the horniest Nickelback songs plays—barely loud enough to recognize. 

I’m loving what you wanna wear

I wonder what’s up under there 

Wonder if I’ll ever have it under my tongue 

You bite back another laugh as the vocals float through the cab, perfectly at odds with the vibe of the place you just left. Joel shifts, mouth twitching like he knows how ridiculous it is. “You wanna tell me where we’re headed?” he asks, voice cutting through your thoughts. 

You tell him where to drive and settle back in your seat. Again your thoughts drift. Infatuated with his fingers curling and uncurling like he’s trying to distract himself. He hasn’t said much since you’ve left, but you can feel the tension radiating off him. Heavy and thick. 

You catch his gaze flicker to you for the third time in as many minutes. His eyes trail over the curve of your thighs where your skirt has ridden up. It’s subtle, but enough to make you feel bold. 

You smirk, pulling the visor down to check your reflection in the mirror. Fishing a lip gloss out from your bag, you swipe it over your lips, smoothing the edges with your fingertip. Joel doesn’t say anything, but you don’t miss the deep steadying breath that fills his lungs or the crack of his knuckles. 

Satisfied with your lips, you tug lightly at the t-shirt, adjusting the knot, shifting the fabric to lay how you like and slipping a hand beneath it to adjust your tits in your lacy bra. You hear Joel exhale sharply, a low, throaty sound that makes heat curl low in your stomach. 

“You okay?” you ask, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. Your voice is softer now, more knowing, and when he doesn’t answer right away, you grin. “You seem tense.”

Joel mutters something under his breath. His jaw tightens. Finally, he glances at you, his eyes dark. “You keep doin’ that, and we’re gonna have a problem, baby.”

“Doing what?” you ask, your voice all innocence, though his threat gives you a prickly rush. 

Joel huffs a laugh, low and rough. “You know damn well.” His voice dips, a rasp of heat that whips down your spine. “The lips and the shirt, just messin’ with me like you want me to lose my fuckin’ mind.” 

Your grin widens as you meet his gaze. “And what if I do?”

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice strained, his hand flexing against the wheel. “Trying to get me to crash into a ditch or something?” 

The tension between you is unbearable now, the air thick and buzzing. Joel’s jaw is clenched tightly. You unabashedly linger on the way his hips press forward slightly like he’s trying to relieve the ache between his legs. It shouldn’t drive you fucking wild with need, but you’re gripped mind, pussy, and soul. 

“Pull over,” you say suddenly, your tone steady.

Joel’s head snaps toward you, incredulous. 

“Pull over,” you repeat, your voice softer now, more insistent. “Please.”

He hesitates for only a second before caving, steering the truck onto the shoulder. The tires crunch against the gravel as he shifts into park, the engine idling low as he turns to look at you. His eyes are dark, his breathing uneven, and the sight of him—wrecked and barely holding it together—makes you rabid. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” his voice is rough and quiet. Infused with lust and awe. 

“Maybe,” you murmur, leaning closer. “But you’ll enjoy it.”

Joel groans softly, his hand flying to your thigh, the heat of his palm searing against your skin. “Torturing me,” he mutters, his voice a low growl. “Sitting there lookin’ like that, knowing damn well what you’re doin’ to me.”

“Yeah?” you ask, your breath hitching as his fingers slide higher. “What am I doing to you, Joel?”

He exhales sharply, his grip on your thigh tightening. Why are his hands that big? Like, how are you supposed to know what they feel like and ever leave his grasp? 

Your heart is pounding now, the heat in your veins making it hard to think straight. Joel’s voice drops lower, his hand sliding further up your thigh as he leans closer.

“Can’t stop thinkin’ about it,” he mutters, his lips ghosting over your jaw. “The way you’d taste, the way you’d sound, begging me to fuck you harder, deeper—”

“Joel,” you whisper, cutting him off. Your voice is shaky, your hands gripping his arm as you try to ground yourself. “Please.”

He groans again, the sound rough and desperate, and his hand moves higher, his fingers brushing the edge of your underwear. “Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s what I wanna hear.”

It makes you shudder. You feel him smile at your body's obvious responses, as his nose grazes your skin just below your ear. 

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he murmurs into your neck. “Been thinkin’ about you all damn week. Every time I close my eyes, it’s you.”

His words hit like a match to dry kindling, and your breath stutters as his fingers trace the seam of your panties. 

“You know how hard it was to sit there at that table?” he mutters, his voice turning darker. “With you looking like this, wearing my clothes, teasin’ me.” 

“We didn’t even make it to the actual dinner part,” you giggle as you trail off. 

His fingers press more firmly, dragging slowly over the thin fabric, and you can’t stop the gasp that escapes your lips. Joel groans at the sound, his free hand gripping your thigh to hold you steady.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, his voice thick with heat. “You’re already soaked. Bet I could make you come like this, right here, without even tryin’.”

Your hips shift instinctively, grinding against his hand as he works you with deliberate precision. The friction is maddening, just enough to keep you on edge, but not enough to send you over. Every filthy word he says in your ear has you burning up. 

“Jesus, you’re gonna sound so fuckin’ sweet for me,” he says, more to himself. “Can’t wait to bury my face between your legs, make you scream my name until your throat’s raw.”

“Joel,” you whisper, your voice shaky, your hand flying to his wrist as his fingers dip lower, brushing just beneath the edge of your panties. “Wait.”

He freezes instantly, his brow furrowing as he looks at you. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, your cheeks flushed, your body still trembling under his touch. “Not now,” you assert, your voice soft but steady. “Let me take care of you.”

Joel blinks, his pupils blown wide as your words sink in. His mouth parts to say something but the words disappear. You don’t let him argue. 

Sliding your hand down to his belt, you undo it hastily, fingers working open the button of his jeans before he can protest. It’s for him. You want to do this for him. Help him relax so you can enjoy the rest of your date. 

But, fuck, it’s also for you. You’ve been riding a high just from a shoddy dick pic and your muscle memory, but you’ve been patient long enough. You’ve got to see it in person and you need it in your mouth, asap. You deserve that much, right? 

You slide down the zipper and fuss with the waistband until you get what you wanted. His breath catches as you free his cock. It’s heavy and hard against your palm. Radiating heat and weeping for you. 

“Oh, fuck,” he starts, his voice breaking. 

You hum softly, pleased, leaning in to kiss him as your hand strokes him slowly, deliberately. Joel groans against your mouth, his hips jerking slightly into your hand. 

“You’ve been thinking about this,” you murmur against his lips. “All week.” 

“Yeah,” he rasps, voice raw with want. “Can’t stop thinking about you. How you’d feel, how you’d look, how you’d sound.” 

“Show me,” you whisper, lowering your head to taste for yourself. You like a hot stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, swirling your tongue around the head. 

Joel’s breath stutters, his hand flying to the back of your head as he watches you. “You’re so fucking good, baby. Like a fucking dream.” 

You hollow your cheeks, tongue gliding along his length as you take him into the heat of your mouth. You have to use your hands to work the rest of him, still slowly and deliberately. Every sound he makes, every twitch against your tongue, every flex of his core, and tightening of his fingers, it all drives you wild. 

It has you moaning with need around him. Your cunt soaked and pulsing, begging for attention between your legs as you focus all on him. It’s just as much for you as it is for him. 

His head tips back against the seat, a rumbling grown spilling from his lips as his hips shift beneath you. 

“Shit.” he pants, voice cracking. “You’re gonna make come so fuckin’ hard. Bet you’d look so pretty with my come on your tongue.” 

The sheer filth of his words spurs you on, your movements quickening as you savor every groan, curse, and sharp inhale from him. “Fuck—just like that.” He encourages you, adding firm pressure to the back of your head as his hips jerk and he loses control. 

“You want it?” he asks desperately as you moan in affirmation. You’re voice is still vibrating through him as he starts to come, hot and heavy on your tongue. You don’t stop until his body goes slack beneath you, his chest heaving as you finally pull back. 

He looks wrecked, mouth hanging open, sweat on his brow. You give him a devilish smile before opening your mouth to show him. He stares at you, eyes dark and hazy, before cupping your jaw in his palm as you swallow. 

“Told you,” he huffs, “so fucking pretty with my come on your tongue.” A bright, satisfied smile spreads on your face at his praise. He pulls you in closer for a kiss. When you pull back a frown pulls at your mouth. 

“What’s wrong?” Joel asks hurriedly. 

“I didn’t get to see,” you muse. “Will you take a picture next time?” 

“Fuck,” he looks at you with awe and pride. “Yeah, baby, of course.” 

“Good,” you nod, readjusting and settling back into your seat. “You think you can relax a little now?” you ask, tone teasing.

Joel lets out a breathless laugh. He drags his hand down his face. “You’re unreal,” he mutters, voice still hoarse. The phrase makes you beam with pride. It’s the same remark he made over the phone last week…right before he said ‘got me shooting loads like a fucking teenager’.” 

The gratification just from seeing him this wrecked is like a drug. He’s every bit as enticing and addicting as you hoped and feared. You squeeze your thighs together once more and take a deep breath. Committed to the rest of your idea for saving your first date with the divorced DILF of your dreams. 

“Back on the road. We’ve got places to be.”

Joel blinks at you, still trying to catch his breath. “You’re serious?”

“Yep,” you smile lazily, tugging gently at his arm. “Drive.”

He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about you being the death of him, but he shifts the truck into gear, his hand lingering on your thigh as he pulls back onto the road.

THANK YOU FOR READING PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU ENJOYED OR HATED ANY OF IT <3

dividers by @/cyberangel-graphics

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[kelltonic]

Admiration☆彡

Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Drunkenness/alcohol!! Other than that all fluff. Canon-typical asshole Hangman. established relationship and mentions of introverted girlfriend - no use of y/n

Description: While drinking at the Hard Deck with his fellow daggers, Fanboy finally gets to prove the origins of his callsigns through his drunken ramblings about his (civilian) girlfriend.

WC: 1,580

A/N: My first time posting fanfiction on this account!! Glad it’s dedicated to my underrated husband <33 - on that note, I did write this instead of studying (I’m mid exams) as a form of procrastination, and honestly a de-stressing exercise type thing lmao

“Earth to Garcia?” Mickey hears as he slowly raises his head from his phone, awaiting a text from his girlfriend after the string of ‘I miss you’ and ‘you won’t believe what Reuben just said’ messages.

“Huh? Did you say something?” Fanboy responds, unsure of who grabbed his attention.

“Man, what’s even so interesting on your phone? Come on! Live in the moment!” Javy disappointedly scolded him, gaining some nods and murmurs of agreement. Majority of the squadron were sitting in a spacious booth, various alcoholic drinks accompanying them. Fanboy was squished in between Payback and Hangman while sitting across from Phoenix, Bob and Coyote while Fritz and Rooster sat at the end in seperate chairs.

“Sorry I find my girlfriend more interesting than you guys.” Fanboy scoffed sarcastically.

“Really? Doesn’t seem like she’s responding anytime soon.” Hangman joked with that bothersome southern drawl, peering over to see Fanboy’s one sided conversation. He didn’t blame you, it was late. Really late. The daggers were given a day off and decided to celebrate, not having to worry about getting up early - despite the fact majority probably would anyways.

“She’s probably just asleep, she has exams.” Fanboy defended, he didn’t want the others to get the wrong idea, that he was needy or anything. Though, it didn’t really help. But he wasn’t lying, you were mid exam week in college and were conditioning yourself to a better sleep schedule, he would probably tell you to go to sleep if you did ever respond.

“Mhm… I’m starting to think she’s been made up.” Hangman mocked, no matter how much alcohol he has - he will always find a way to push someone’s buttons. If anything, the alcohol made him more irritating. But before Fanboy could interject, he was saved by his best friend.

“Trust me, she’s real.” Payback groaned. Fanboy wasn’t surprised that he backed him up, or that he seemed so annoyed about it. Reuben had nothing against you, to be honest, he hadn’t even met you in person. But, he did have the unfortunate role of being the closest to Mickey in every outburst he had when he was away from you for too long and needed to scroll through all your shared memories. Reuben had lost count of how many times Mickey showed him his favourite photo of you two right before he got called to Top Gun.

“Really? I need proof or I’m never believing you.” Hangman emphasised, more likely bored than actually unbelieving. Mickey was attractive, both physically and personality-wise, it’s no shocker he’s dating someone. But when your foundation is being a dickhead, and you add alcohol and boredom to the equation, you need someone to annoy. Fanboy was just the easiest target for Hangman given the situation.

“Haha, no chance.” Fanboy swiftly replied. He absolutely loved showing people photos of you. Displaying you with pride, like a toddler showing off their artwork. But when it came to people in the military, specifically other men in the military, he always felt icky. After hearing too much nasty locker room talk, he really only described you and your shared experiences, keeping away from physical depictions and photos. The only exceptions were guys he really trusted, like Reuben. And it’s not even that he doesn’t trust Jake, he just doesn’t want to risk you getting involved in his constant teasing.

“Come on, you always talk about her - just one photo!” Phoenix chimed in, genuinely curious. Fanboy took a second, he was always easy to persuade when he was drunk. But, he stuck to his values and faced his phone away from Jake while scrolling through his favourites album.

“Seriously?” Hangman bluntly groaned, shaking his head in disbelief. “I swear I wont actually say anything weird.” Hangman pleaded, that signature smile spread across his slightly flushed cheeks.

“No shot.” Mickey responded, clicking on one of his favourites of you. You were in a beautiful black dress with some light makeup, it was the one time he ever successfully persuaded you to go to a big party. You were smiling widely, holding onto Mickey while both of you were laughing your asses off. It was a candid one of your mutual friends took while you were both drunk out of your minds. Your hair was slightly tucked behind your ear, revealing an earplug. You were never good with loud noises or bustling groups, so Mickey bought you earplugs to colour match your jewellery. You seemed so happy, and Mickey couldn’t have been more relieved. He was terrified that he would finally get you to go out to a big party and you would hate it, so he sought to make you as comfortable as possible in the situation.

He proudly flipped his phone towards the other side of the booth, presenting you to Phoenix, Bob and Coyote while Rooster and Fritz peeked over. Just about everyone was curious at this point, they had always gotten bits and pieces of his ranting about you but never actually seen the face that matches the admiration.

“Aww!! She’s so pretty.” Bob reacted softly, trying not to overstep but also wanting to validate Fanboy.

“The dress is stunning on her.” Phoenix raved with an approving smile to Fanboy.

“I know, everything’s stunning on her.” He sighed thoughtfully. Despite the fact you were dating, he was still acting like a schoolgirl yearning over her celebrity crush. The others could only laugh at this, while Hangman just drank from his beer. He doesn’t usually feel left out due to his very extroverted and dominating personality, but this was an exception.

“Well that explains a lot.” Rooster chuckled.

“Huh?” Fanboy was seemingly brought out of his trance, tilting his head at Rooster’s comment.

“Your callsign, always wondered what warranted it.” Rooster elaborated, gaining a group-wide laugh. It was so true, he was full on fanboying over you.

His slight embarrassment to his exposure was quickly taken to a halt when his phone buzzed while Phoenix was holding his phone, admiring the photo.

“Mickey baby, you drinking responsibly or just drinking?” You texted. You couldn’t help but laugh at the seemingly millions of messages you had gotten while locked in studying - cramming - for your next exam in… about 7 hours.

Mickey chuckled at your message the moment he snatched his phone back. But, his remaining responsibility took control as he replied.

“You should be sleeping! I love youuuuuuuuuu1!1!1!! go to sleep!” He typed out, his heart sad that he knows he can’t keep you up. But, his last remaining brain cells were aware that you needed to sleep for your big exam in the morning.

“No fair, you texted me first.” You groaned, knowing he was right.

“Yeahhh but like…. I don’t have work in the morning.” He sighed, he was so excited for your exams to be over so he could endlessly bug you without feeling guilty about taking up your time.

“What’s going on now?” Hangman interjected, finally trying to weasel his way back into the conversation.

“I’m telling her to go to sleep, I wasn’t lying - she’s got exams.” Fanboy whined, he was desperate to talk to you - he was always extra clingy when drunk.

“Ooh that reminds me of this other photo.” He quickly switched up, you stopped replying so he could tell you got the message and (hopefully) went to sleep rather than uselessly cramming.

“Oh lord not again.” Reuben moaned, falling back into the seat while he had to sit through yet another rant about you.

“I took this one after the last one when we were in bed..” Mickey was swiftly cut off by some disapproving noises.

“No, no, not like that, it’s nothing sexual - it’s cute!” Mickey reassured, not surprised that his friends’ minds immediately went there.

He pulled up a photo of him lying on your chest while you were both pressed together on your sides, lipstick marks all over his face. He had about a dozen kisses on his face printed from your lipstick, and he couldn’t have been happier. He and you were both still clearly drunk - only the bottom half of your face in frame. Your hair was dangling onto Mickey while he was tucked just below your chin, leaning into your chest. Your smile was just in frame, while his was front and centre. He loved the photo not only for its contents, but also the fact that it was one of your favourites. Mickey explained to his friends the backstory, and how you never really liked seeing or taking photos of yourself. So the fact that you were only partially in frame yet your presence was one of the most significant aspects, it was perfect.

“Okay, okay, we get it - you’re an absolute fanboy. Can we talk about something else now?” Hangman complained, still excluded from the presentation.

“This is what you get for being such an asshole and taking advantage of any personal thing we tell you, Bagman.” Phoenix responded, utilising her daily humbling moment. With a few ‘karma’ and ‘deserved’ comments flying around alongside the comfortable laughter, Mickey couldn’t help but feel so at home. He missed you more than anything, and he couldn’t wait to introduce you to his friends.

“Good night baby ❤️ ❤️” you finally texted back.

“Were you studying just then??”

“I had to finish up!!”

“Yeah? Well good night sweetheart, sleep well ❤️” he replied, shaking his head with a small chuckle.

Began: 1:00am 21st of June

Finished: 2:30am 21st of June

[superectojazzmage]

Just back from Alien Romulus and hoooo boy oh boy. Review/analysis.

Easily the best Alien movie since the first two, which isn't saying much, yeah, but it is legit a really cool and well-made movie, competing with Late Night With The Devil, Longlegs, and Cuckoo for title of my favorite horror movie this year.

In a lot of ways it's about harvesting the few good ideas from the post-2 movies that were squandered and doing them right, plus getting the series back to it's healthier roots, kinda the movie equivalent of someone doing physical therapy to get back in the saddle after an injury. This means it's not quite brand new ground like some may hope for and I've heard some people feel it gets a little derivative at points because of it. I can kinda agree and certainly understand that criticism, but I feel it does what it's aiming for really well and sets things up for future works to go in even crazier directions. Furthermore, it takes a lot of time to try and weld together the disparate post-2 movies in a way that brings the series back to a little coherency.

The atmosphere is really intense and cool, swinging between lovecraftian dread and build-up and high-energy chaos. The aesthetics and special effects are gorgeous, taking full advantage of the progress that technology has made since 2 plus really digging in to the used cassette future vibe of the older films. The characters are likable and actually intelligent (or at least understandable) in behavior like in the first two movies, so you care about what's happening to them instead of just waiting for them to get munched. The action and kills were really cool and creative, the cinematography in general was off-kilter in an awesome way - there's a definite attempt to make the movie feel claustrophobic and intimate. Fede Alvarez did a fantastic job in general, I'd love to see him do more with the series.

It REALLY cranks up the series' psychosexual, freudian, and sexual assault subtext, arguably to a point where it's just plain text. So if you're sensitive to stuff like that or if this is your first go at Alien, be warned for that.

More specific notes go under the header for spoilers. Highly recommend you go in as blind as you can.

Andy and Rain were wonderful leads, their dynamic was fantastic and Calie Spaeny and David Jonsson both turned in great performances. I direly hope they join the first two films' casts as "major" characters for the series going forward.

The effects to make Daniel Betts look like Ian Holms were quite possibly the one and only time the special effects failed. It looks very wonky, which is sad because Betts does a really good job copying Holms' mannerisms for Ash while still making Rook feel like a distinct character.

In addition to the usual themes of sexual unease, genetics, and parenthood, this movie adds in some really interesting themes of familial legacy, the rise of new generations, foundations, etc.. Andy and Rain are like Romulus and Remus of myth, orphaned and left to fend for themselves but growing into founders of a new age - both in-story with their carrying the XX121 substance and evidence of Weyland-Yutani's misdeeds to Yvaga and out-of-story with them being the protagonists of a new era for Alien. Likewise, the Offspring is the first example of an entirely new species, neither human nor alien but taking from the lineages of both through Kay and Big Chap, a Romulus-like founder of it's breed that will later bear fruit in Resurrection with the Ripley clone and Newborn.

I'm really not kidding when I say above that the psychosexual undercurrents are taken to the extreme here. This movie basically sees the ways the original film subtly pin-pricked at those themes, says "fuck that", and deliberately rubs it in your face in a way designed to make sure you can't ignore it. It wants you to be grossed out and to squirm in your chair and it knows exactly how to make it happen.

Alvarez noted in the lead-up to release that he took a lot of influence from Isolation and you can definitely see that in how he depicts the Xenomorphs and the general aura of the film. He further described it as a kind of halfway point between the first and second movies and you can also see that; it has the Lovecraft-style tension and horror of the first, balanced with the energy and action of the second, and it does a really good job finding a middle ground between Ridley Scott and James Cameron's styles while also doing it's own dance.

I mentioned way back at the start how the movie basically harvests the good ideas from 3, Resurrection, Prometheus, and Covenant and gives them the room they deserve while dumping the bad. It does that in both terms of themes/style and continuity/lore. Concepts that those movies bungled like xeno-human hybridism, the black goo, genetic engineering as a focus, and so on are done here more creatively and competently. Themes that those films tried and failed to tackle are handled with significantly more grace. It has the atmosphere and characterization of 3 but none of it's baggage and needlessly depressive tone. It has the body horror and weirdness of Resurrection without taking it to the zany, embarrassing areas that movie went. The effects and creativity of Prometheus and Covenant without any of their awful writing and clumsy messages. Alvarez takes on kind of an Al Ewing-esque "repairman" writing style here.

The Xenomorphs are absolutely deranged in behavior compared to most portrayals, attacking like either cruel sadists or raging chimps and rarely bothering to take hosts. I'm not sure if such a reading was intended, but I got the vibe that the idea is Xenos raised without a queen or hive grow to be basically sociopathic like how real world predatory animals grown without parental figures become feral and dysfunctional. Which would also explain a lot about how the Xeno in the original movie, Big Chap, acts there.

The Offspring's design is fucking wicked and I love it.

One of my few major criticisms is that Big Chap died off-screen instead of getting more to do. What was the point of having him be alive at the start if he wasn't gonna be used beyond a backstory point to set up the main story?

All in all, a very impressive effort and a great return to form for the series that I recommend highly.

[purelyfiction]

15 Minutes

Frank Castle 'The Punisher' x F!Reader

Word Count: 2,750 words

Summary: Prompt: During a very stressful situation, one screams "I care about you, can't you see that I love you?"

Content Warning:  Mentions of injury, hospital, blood - basically anything The Punisher had you're in for.

Author Note: oh hey y'all wanted this - so don't come at me when you realize it's trash and unedited k thanks

Things are always the same with Frank Castle. Well, ‘Pete’ as he reminds you time and time again. But he and you both know that it’s his penance. The toll for every time he crosses your threshold, broken and bloody. If he appeared before you, he was to be an honest man. Honest as medical files and middle of the night whisperings. 

You’d met him solely from being at the right time, right place. You’d been doing your shift at the ER when he’d snuck himself in. Hooded and cloaked, quiet and aloof. He never said a word to anyone. Didn’t answer anyone’s questions. Just sat and watched the chaos. When you’d finally gotten to take your turn interrogating him, he’d shoved a burner in your hand before disappearing into the parking lot of the hospital, a sticky note with a ‘call number in speed dial, post-shift’ clinging to it. You’d debated dumping the device in the trash can outside the hospital on your way home. The part of you that wouldn’t ever shut up about helping people had been persistent. What if he’d been homeless? Then why bother with a burner phone? Curiosity gnawed at you the remainder of the shift and the entire ride home. You finally followed the instructions. Frank Castle showed up on your doorstep fifteen minutes later. 

“Why don’t you go to the hospital?” You ask.

“If I walked in and they admitted me, I wouldn’t be walking out freely.”

You’d fought him the second time he’d shown up. Insisted this couldn’t become a habit. “I don’t have any habits. Routines get people like me killed.” He’d said. The phone buzzed again not even a week later. 

From there on out, you’d single handedly healed Frank Castle, when the rest of New York thought he was dead and buried. He would work in the shadows, keeping quiet and out of trouble. At least with the brawn. Otherwise, why else would he appear on your doorstep like a lost dog? 

Frank had come with a lot of red tape. He would appear at your apartment, and you’d accept him into your treatment center (to common folk, it appeared as a kitchen table and a simple dining chair). You would treat him, avoiding the major questions of who, what and where. The two of you normally only focused on the ‘how’ part of things. How he’d managed to slice his torso just below his rib. How close was the gun when it was fired  - the kind of questions you answer willingly to medical staff. You’d learned early on that any other questions would lead to him trying to evade your care, something you didn’t take kindly. 

Text messages morphed into calls. The first time had caught you off guard, because he’d called your phone. Not the burner. 

“Hello?”

“You home?” The gruff voice questioned.

“No. But I can be. How close are you?”

“Fifteen.”

He was almost always only fifteen minutes from your place when he appeared back into your life. Like his phone signal was only functional when he was within your proximity. One day you’d learn he never wanted to tip anyone off to your location. To your existence. To you.

“Why did you call?” 

“Hands are busy.”

“How’d you get this number?”

“Stop askin’ questions Patches.”

Frank had stopped texting you after that. Instead, he’d call, then he’d show up. The routine similarly paced each time. 

“What are we working with?” You question, shutting the door behind him once he’s entered. Your hands slide on the same gloves as he limps to the worn chair. It creaks under his weight, as though it was tired of this performance between the two of you. 

“KA-BAR caught me a few times on my back. One to the thigh.” He grunts as he manages to peel the dark and torn shirt off his torso. He drops it into your awaiting biohazard bag. One day you swore you were going to get caught dumping at the hospital with how many trips you’ve made.

“Sounds like you got off easy this time.” You remark, pushing his shoulder carefully to assess the damage behind him. “Still breathing. That’s all that matters.” He says it with a lack of real emotion. That’s run of the mill for him. Means that the pain isn’t unbearable.  

“I’d argue otherwise but I’d have better luck arguing with a brick wall.” You lament, carefully beginning the process of cleaning the wounds he mentioned to you. 

“Now you’re catchin’ on..” 

Somewhere in the grey, he’d rehomed his only family member to you. Suddenly daily walks and morning and night routines for a bright eyed pitbull mix snuck into your days. Not that you were exactly complaining. Max was a great roommate. And rarely, if ever, did he track blood onto your carpets. Unlike someone you both mutually had become acquainted with. 

This had been going on for months now. You don’t know why you keep letting him in. Why you keep stocking your medical artillery just for him. This certainly couldn’t be legal. You definitely should’ve told someone. But if you went to the police you ran the risk of people thinking you’re losing it for thinking a dead man is alive. 

Yes, officer, I sutured his forehead last Thursday. Also I have his dog. 

It was criminalizing. And more or less - you were growing to like his company. 

Sure, he’s sullen and in pain when you see him, but he gets more and more vulnerable with each patch job. It’s where the endearing name had come from. After the fourth night, he’d simply started calling you Patches. You’d offered to give your real name, but, he said the less he knew about you, the better. 

If that was for his sake, or for yours, you still haven’t figured out.

After an emotionally brutal night shift, you clamor into your apartment. Your eyes are sore from bathroom stall sobbing, your body aching from being on your feet for over twelve hours. The emotional toil is starting to eat away at you. Conversations with parents and loved ones, watching young children have to face painful procedures due to broken bones, calling time of death, not once, but twice. 

You were a shell of who you usually are. 

So you shower. Take your time and let the water run cold. You manage to find your way to the kitchen after getting dressed, grabbing milk and moving to find a box of cereal. You’d eat, feed Max and take him out to wet - then go to bed. Your eyes feel glazed over as you go through the motions. Trying to get through the next thirty minutes before you can sleep. 

Sleep would have to wait. 

The frantic and heavy pounding on the door startles you. Max begins barking, a very deep and protective bark you’ve not heard before. Still, you carefully approach the door. 

Then you realize it’s three in the morning. So, you backtrack to the kitchen, grabbing a pairing knife and hold it in a self defense position. Slowly, you return to the door. 

The peephole doesn’t allow you to fully capture the entire person - but you know who it is. You can hear the heavy and pained breathing from this side of the door. 

After two deadbolts and a chain are undone, you pull the door open, and grab his arm in what you assume is an uninjured spot. Once the door is shut, you lock it behind you. 

“You didn’t call.” You remark. Frank moves past his patient’s chair in favor of your couch. It lets out a huff under the weight of him. There’s no words for a while, just really heavy breathing. 

“Frank.” You try again as you carefully approach your living room. Max is sniffing and carefully inspecting the man, more than happy to see the familiar face. But as the pup continues to examine, you watch the man’s chest movement. The heavy breaths are starting to slow. 

You carefully approach, watching as Max starts to paw at the man’s arm. The realization that he’s unresponsive comes soon after. Adrenaline kicks your body into an awake state. 

Finding your med supplies from their usual spot, you’re rapidly taking vitals. His pulse is dropping. Yours is rising. 

“Fuck, Frank, this is-“ your voice is shaky as you get him to his back, trying to get the vest off him as quickly as you can. He’s going to hate you for this. But you quickly cut the elastic straps of the Kevlar unit, freeing the panel from his body. His shirt follows. 

An expansive plane of muscle and scars greets you. If you weren’t actively trying to save his life, you’d be far more appreciative of the sight. Despite the gore of blood and wounds there. 

You can’t dress any wounds right now, you need to stabilize him first. His pulse has stopped dropping but it’s low and irregular. Which you know means you’ll need to restart it. You fucking hate doing this. 

Sprinting out the apartment you clamor up the steps to the AED panel on the wall, swiftly pulling it from the mount and running back down the steps. 

Getting back to the apartment, it seems too calm. Max has laid down in his bed nearby, and you approach Frank cautiously. 

Eyes have opened since you left the room. You let out a heavy sigh of relief. 

“You son of a bitch.” You grumble, setting the device on the table nearby, catching your breath from the exertion of sudden exercise. 

“What. It happens.” He offers a slow and easy breath through his lungs. You approach again, carefully coming to his side and taking his pulse. It’s still lower than you’d like, but it seems to be equalizing.  

“No. It doesn’t just ‘happen’. You were in afib.” You reply, quickly starting to access the injuries now that the risk has subsided - for now. 

“It does just happen. Not a big deal, Patches.” He seems unmoving in his response. You’re still counting his breaths as you start to clean.

“You’re an asshole.” You whisper, still moving with caution and care.

“Yet you’ve not kicked me out.” He points out to you.

“I’ve gotta help. Otherwise, my guilt will debilitate me. It’s a curse.” You drop gauze to a nearby pan, continuing in your care. “How’d this happen.” 

You’re usually more gentle with your questioning. But now, your heart is thundering and you were already exhausted to begin with. Now you have to deal with this fucker potentially eating it on your couch. 

“Took on more than I could chew.” The answer makes you hesitate. Frank never admitted defeat. Not once in your time knowing him. 

“You know better.” You remark. 

“Normally, I do.” There’s a sound of pain when you move his arm. 

“What changed.” The tone of your voice is so dejected. Disconnected from how you usually are. He’s noticing. 

“A few things- Jesus, would you ease up?” He curses as you are particularly rough with a bleeding gash. 

“Have to stop the bleeding.” You comment. 

“You got a second to take the stick out of your ass before you keep goin’?” Frank asks. 

You could throttle him. 

“You fucking nearly busted my door down at three in the morning, scaring the shit out of me, collapse onto my couch without a word and nearly start dying on me, and you think I’m supposed to be chipper to see you? Fuck that, Frank.”

The gloves on your hands snap as you tug them off. You start to collect the proper supplies for the next task on the treatment plan, but he somehow sits up, not without a heavy sound of pain and discomfort accompanying it. 

“You don’t even know what happened.”

“I don’t want to know what happened.” You correct. He flounders at your response.

“They knew, Patch.” He offers it, his words grim and slow. Your brows furrow in confusion. 

“They knew what? Who knew what?” The need for some clarification shines through your annoyance, sliding on a new pair of gloves. 

“About you. The guys I was after. They knew.” 

You freeze from the unraveling bandage in your hand. 

He’s been so vigilant about this. Keeping your midnight medical meetings a secret. Keeping you out of his shit. You were just the woman who saved his life and let him continue fucking up others. It was transactional, and you weren’t supposed to become a risk. Clearly he’d never planned on it if he kept Max here. 

“What…did-“ Your brain is going hazy. With a major lack of sleep, and falling adrenaline levels, it’s hard to wrap your head around this. “You went after them because of me?”

“Guess you could call it that.” He lays back again, not without sound effects. You linger in the information. Then a spark lights you. 

“Are you dense?”

“Huh?”

“No, are you actually stupid? Going after them like that? You said it yourself, you took on more than you could handle. What the hell were you going to do if they got through you? Max and I would’ve been DOA let’s be so for real, Frank.” You start to ramble as you return to your treatment. He seems taken by surprise. But his face steels. 

“I was doin’ what needed done. You don’t like it? Tough, kid. That’s the way this goes.” He tries to defend.

“No, there’s no ‘tough’ here. That’s some bullshit. You should’ve told me. If I was at risk you should’ve told me and warned me. Let me get out and away-“

“You don’t need to be bothered by it if they’re dead, Patch.”

“Yeah well, you get yourself killed then I’m dead. So, maybe next time, next time, you consult me on this shit show you’re running in this massive fucking circus tent of Manhattan.” You sneer, finishing up a bandage and starting to set up a suture for a bullet graze. 

“I don’t need to tell you Jack shit. I’ve got it handled.” He buffers. 

“This?? This is what you call handled Frank?? This is so far from handled. You were approaching death not even ten minutes ago.” 

“Yeah? So what?”

You gape at him. Your hands stop moving. 

“So what? So what, you almost died?” 

“Not a big fuckin’ deal. The vast majority of this dumpster fire wants me dead anyway. Let it happen, Patches. Then you can go on livin’ your shitty life with underpaid shifts and knock off brand Cheerios. Nobody cares about this fuck up anyways.” His head falls back onto a pillow he’s adjusted while monologuing. 

You stand to your feet, no longer kneeling beside him. 

“No one cares? Are stupid and blind?” You gasp the air in before expelling it in quick order, “I care! I care about you! Can’t you see that? Can’t you see that I love you?” The confession leaves you as violently as your hands move. You’ve stained your pajamas with tinged red fingerprints, a result from the pale blue gloves on your hands. 

He blinks. He blinks and stares at you.

“No you don’t.”

“Yes. I do.” You say it much more confidently than you expect. 

That’s why the door keeps opening. That’s why you’re always on the other end of the line. That’s why after time and time again of rehearsed lines and instances that he can’t come back - you keep letting him in. And in every three day recovery stretch, every emergency interaction, in banter and routine, you’ve found yourself infatuated by him. Your thoughts flooded with him as you treated patients with similar injuries. Playing out conversations from late hours. Fake scenarios where he would text you out of the blue, ready to confess that he’s got a soft spot for you. 

Despite that, the two of you stare. You breathe, you hover and you stare. 

“You shouldn’t, Patches.” He finally tries, slowly sitting up. 

“But I do.” 

“You can’t, you get that?”

You shrug. 

“Yet, I do.” 

You slowly come to the couch, finding a spot between his legs as he stares at your wordlessly. The apartment is eerily quiet. Save for a sudden sneeze from the sweet pitty boy in the corner. Both of you look at the animal and then back at one another. 

  “Well… what now?”

He looks at you, a slow smirk growing on his features. 

“Maybe you finish patchin’ me up and we can mull this over some Cheeri-nopes.”

[rafeysvenicebitch]

🦢007 masterlist

CW: cussing, old lady gossip, fluff

a/n: FUCK. It has been so long since I’ve updated this story. I’ll try posting more of this!!

Rafe was right. The country club ladies had a field day with your scandal.

They clutched their pearls and tightened their tennis visors as you walked through the doors of Figure Eight Country Club, this time not on Rafe’s arm, but alone. The usual whispers felt louder, bolder. Some didn’t even pretend anymore. The way their heads turned, how their sunglasses dropped just enough to shoot you a glance of judgment—it was something else.

You kept your chin up, strutting in a pair of Miu Miu slingbacks, a pale pink Chanel tweed dress, and your hair ribboned in satin. If they wanted to look, let them look.

You weren’t there to gossip or tan by the pool. You were there to work.

The club manager, a woman named Doreen who always smelled like lemon pledge and backhanded compliments, walked you through the details of the upcoming charity gala Rafe was hosting. You’d be performing—your first major public performance since everything blew up—and you were going to look the part.

You had your notepad open, scribbling lyrics and humming melody ideas under your breath, when one of the older men, Mr. Jennings, slid into the chair beside you with his drink sloshing.

“You gonna sing for us the way you sing for Rafe?” he smirked.

You stared at him. “Only if you match his donation.”

He chuckled, embarrassed, before retreating, and you caught Kayden across the room watching the whole thing. He came over, dropping off a hibiscus spritz without being asked. “You good?”

“Always.”

Meanwhile, Lottie and Nora were by the pool with paint swatches and linen samples, arguing over ivory versus eggshell and whether blush pink was too cliché for the gala. You joined them, sipping your drink and pointing to champagne tones instead. They agreed. The three of you talked about candle centerpieces, Rafe’s reputation, and which color made you look like money.

You tried texting Rafe a photo of one of the setups. Looks okay?

He didn’t answer.

You tried again. Miss you.

Still nothing. Then your phone rang.

“Where are you?” you asked softly.

“I’m working,” he said, clipped.

“I know, but like… where?”

You could almost hear the cigarette drag through the phone before he said, coldly, “Don’t ask me that again.” Then, a pause. A thump. The sound of a card being slapped onto something.

The line went dead. But when you looked down, you saw a photo from your concierge app. Rafe had given you his black Amex. Again.

—

Later that week, you went dress shopping.

It was Lottie who suggested the boutique in Charleston. You didn’t want subtle. You didn’t want sweet. You wanted to command the room.

And you found it.

A custom Versace gown—blush pink satin that clung to you like liquid. Corseted bodice with a sweetheart neckline. Thigh-high slit. The train shimmered with crystals that caught the light like champagne bubbles. Paired with Manolo Blahnik stilettos, diamond drop earrings, and elbow-length La Perla opera gloves, you were a walking headline.

The night of the gala, Rafe finally showed.

He was in a crisp black Tom Ford tux, his hair slicked back, and his watch was a vintage Cartier. You caught him watching you from across the room with that cold, unreadable look he always wore before doing something unhinged.

The lights dimmed.

And then you were on stage.

A band behind you. Velvet curtains. The crowd’s breath caught as you stepped into the spotlight.

You sang:

Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.

Chick Habit.

Be My Baby.

Each song more flirtatious, more decadent than the last. You twirled, you winked, you sang like your life depended on it—and every man in the room watched you like you were a fantasy come to life.

When the final notes of Be My Baby faded, you held the mic up, smiling.

And then, from the edge of the stage, Rafe walked out.

He didn’t look at the crowd. Just you. He took the mic from your hand—and kissed you.

Right there, under the lights, in front of socialites and donors and every woman who thought you didn’t belong.

Gasps. Flashbulbs. A few champagne glasses breaking.

He finally turned to the crowd and spoke about the cause—funding addiction recovery centers in the Outer Banks, something deeply personal to him, though he never said why.

But it wasn’t what he said that mattered. It was how he looked at you.

—

Afterward, he took you to dinner. Somewhere quiet and candlelit on the water. You barely tasted the lobster ravioli. You just kept looking at him like he might disappear again.

But he didn’t.

Because the next thing you knew, you were half-asleep on a private plane, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Where are we going?” you murmured.

“Texas,” he said, without looking up from his phone.

“Why?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then finally, “I bought a ranch outside Dallas. Wanted you to see it.”

You blinked. “Why Dallas?”

Rafe turned to you slowly, then nodded toward the window where dawn was starting to break.

“It’s called the Y/N Rose Ranch,” he said. “Had the sign custom made. You’ll see it when we land.”

And he said it like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like naming property after you was a Tuesday afternoon decision.

Like he owned the whole world—and now, you.

Taglist: @strawberries-and-lots-of-kisses @vogueprincess @faistingmymike @greengoblinswifey @whinyangel @blackynsupremacy @rafesbabygirlx @memoirofasparklemuff1n @cameronsbabydoll @rafeyscumangel @rafeyscumangel-recs

[badaseyebags]

to all the boys that tried to love me ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Ch2

word count: 1,4k

warnings: new unlocked character

authors note: hello, as i promised here’s another one! i hope those who are reading (if there’s anyone) enjoy this chapter, feel free to share your thoughts! - 🍞

okay, what the actual hell was that? first party? more like first disappointment, because how on earth do people spend their weekends like this? maybe i’m still too childish to understand the hype, or maybe i simply don’t belong in there because my intentions don’t align with the majority of the people attending them. how the hell did the party end up with the tsurugi dude lying on the floor outside and bawling his eyes out? i thought he was the sunshine itself or something.. i guess even the sun goes down.

when he came inside and sat down on a chair nearby sobbing into his hands, i couldn’t help but ask him if he’s okay. all he did was nod with tears still in his eyes and boogers coming out his nose. okay, i’ll take that as a no. how the hell does someone so popular not have friends rushing to his side seeing him in this state? or are they not really his friends? ugh, club people are so damn strange.

it’s been about a month since that event and for some reason, my friends and i wanted to give it a second try. why? not sure honestly, that remains a mystery. apart from ryujin wanting to get the chance to hook up with that one jimin wannabe. she found his instagram account recently but was too much of a coward to text him, or even view his stories.

so who had to do all the dirty work? me of course! i had to do all the stalking and story viewing to update her on this “handsome man”. jesus christ he’s so cringy. all his posts are making me have a bad shiver and the ick in me is making me sick. he doesn’t have the guts to show his face but he shows his abs? the irony. ugh.. how can she think this is attractive, she has no idea what his face looks like. whatever, if she doesn’t want to be caught stalking i’ll take one for the team. my poor little eyes.

so it became a routine, i went on his profile to check out if he has posted any stories and sent them to her. not sure why she didn’t want to be noticed by him in the first place, but i didn’t question it too much. it became natural at this point, without her even having to tell me, i would check his account and update her. i noticed the app linked to his instagram account, tellonym..? i have that app, it allows people to send anonymous messages. my bestie can send him hints about herself, and let him know how she feels, I’m a genius! i told her about the plan and she was excited, however once again she didn’t want to be the one being involved. she’s a flirt master and i suck at flirting, so i have no idea why she left it up to me. is she seriously making me send a man that makes me audibly go “ew” anonymous pick up lines… what has this come to. i just do what she tells me, cringing at every letter i type out, dropping hints about her and trying to spark his curiosity. was i doing a good job? probably not, but i tried my best and it seemed to get his attention, so i did my part.

speaking of guys.. i remembered how many friends tsurugi seems to have. maybe there’s a possibility he will know about the guy i’m curious about? the quiet guy that looked more like he belongs into a cozy cafe rather than a noisy, stinky club. hmmm… it wouldn’t hurt to ask, right? the worst that could happen is him saying he doesn’t know this dude at all.. but that’s a lie, they definitely interacted that night, i’m sure of it! so i do what any sane person would do, and i shoot him a message. maybe making new friends would make parties more enjoyable, and he could introduce me to that dude! win win situation right here.

miffybaby: hi, you were at that party right?😊

tsurug_i: hey i was😄 have we spoken before? i don’t remember what happened that night at all😅

miffybaby: are you feeling better? you didn’t look too good.. 😳 we didn’t really speak i just asked you if you were okay

tsurug_i: i just went a little crazy with the alcohol but thanks 😅 are you coming to the next one? it’s in a few days i think you should come

miffybaby: yeah i’ve noticed 😂 i might, my friends want to go and we are headed to that city so.. might as well

tsurug_i: oh😂 hope to see you there! but you have to remind me, i might not recognise you

miffybaby: if i don’t change my hair colour by then, you will notice my pink head

tsurug_i: damn i really don’t remember seeing a pink haired girl.. i had to be wasted af. i just saw your photos.. don’t change your hair, it’s pretty. i’ll recognise you for sure

woohooo i can’t believe i just made a friend! well, kind of. i’m so excited for the next party. i feel like it won’t be like the previous one, i can feel it!!!

the day of the party came but this time the party was in a brand new club, much much bigger one. way more space, even the outside area is pretty. there was even a boxing machine like in arcades, we gotta try that later! this is all so exciting and omg… i think i just saw that dude i’m curious about, i freak out a little and nudge my friends and they hype me up, today i will learn his name! his outfit is cute.. i just gotta ask tsurugi to introduce me to him. speaking of tsurugi, there he is i can hear and see him from miles away, hmm.. do i come up to him? should i just wait? he probably won’t recognise me tho. i turn to my friends to ask them what to do but before i can finish he’s already tapping on my shoulder.

“Hi! is it you?” he smiles so big, showing all his teeth and his braces reflect the lights in the dark room. funny contracts to all the tattoos covering his arms and his big frame. i just smile at him and shoot him a friendly hi, i thought that would be all but he just went all in and squeezed me into a tight hug. i guess he’s just like that.. i awkwardly pat him before pulling away and he introduces himself to my friends. “you look just like your photos i didn’t expect this” huh.. what is he on about.. how else am i supposed to look. i just laugh awkwardly as we walk to the bar getting some drinks, only cider for me. they’ve told him i’m not good with drinks so that was all i could of gotten, great now i got 3 people telling me not to drink and babysitting me. i take little sips and start feeling a bit tipsy, so i tell myself it’s the perfect time to ask. “hey i wanted to.. i wanted to know your friends name.” my eyes subtly glance over at him.. he’s sitting with a few people, barely interacting just observing and sipping on some drink. how mysterious, i really wanna know who he is. he looks over at him, pauses for a second. “oh him? he’s.. how can i say this” he stutters, scratching the back of his head.

“yes him! i wanted to know his name” i nervously look up at him hoping he will get the hint.

he leans down to my level as if to whisper but he’s almost screaming to overpower the volume of the music. “it’s a girl, her name is … s.. her name is hwa.”

i can feel my eyes widen and my heart start beating quicker. why do i feel so much relief and why am i suddenly so excited? i have to get to know her. there’s no way i can’t. i’m so damn gay and lucky.

it’s odd how tsurugi ditched his comically large friend group to spend time with us.. all his time.. i didn’t think he would do that, it’s really nice of him but.. why is he not introducing me to hwa yet..

“so, can you introduce me to her?” i poke him hoping he will do it, but instead he grabs my hand, holding it tightly in his suddenly as he pulls me a bit closer. “don’t worry about her, let’s go for a walk.”

[zemnian-newcomer]

Nine Eyes of Lucien - Personal Highlights

Putting the details behind a Read More, for length and spoiler reasons (if anyone still cares about that), but in short: I loved the book, especially the use of fonts and formatting. I will definitely be having it in the back of my mind once I get to the Aeor arc in my current re-listen of c2.

Page 24, and this is already so much more fucked up than anything I was imagining. What the fuck, who comes up with that?

Just putting this here because yes I see the parallels. Didn't realize it was the same year until I saw the post pointing that out though.

The fact that these are Lucien's last words before dying (for the first time) - yeah I'm not gonna be okay about this for some time. The connection across lifetimes between the Hollowing (still a horrifying concept btw) of Lucien's brother and the Emptiness Molly and Kingsley experienced in the beginning of their existence...

And what's this? IT'S BOLO LORE WITH A STEEL CHAIR!!!

Molly is such a little shit and I love him so much. I liked him before but this book really solidified it for me. This passage might be one of my favorites.

A note on the formatting for these parts: Love the use of footnotes. They're asides, they're not part of the main text - but aren't they? They can make space for themselves where it wasn't intended, even take up the majority of a page! They draw the eye, they're INTERESTING!

And suddenly he's out of the footnotes and part of the main text. Beautifully done.

And next to all the lore about Lucien and Molly, Cree and the rest of the Tombtakers... we get a scrap of shadowgast. Thank you, Madeleine Roux! I will be thinking about "crying out as if he had been the one struck down" every day for the foreseeable future.

Also it's so fucking funny that Lucien has literally no idea who Essek is. Like, the Mighty Nein travel with him for a bit, they part under less than stellar circumstances, and just a few days later they're suddenly working with this random drow?

Other small notes without excerpts:

I liked learning more about the Tombtakers, both pre-campaign and during

The fact that Aldreda is, as far as we know, still living in Rexxentrum post-campaign... So many possible encounters that could happen there. Or not. It's a big city, after all.

Cree deserved better. So did the rest of the Tombtakers but her especially.

[sincebrooklyns]

austin and camryn ^^

yayyyy I knew you were going to send this one to me so I didn't send it to you on purpose bc I felt that you'd be equally as compelled to complete it and I could not afford you the opportunity to show me up

how did they meet?

oh I really don't remember what's been discussed. I'm sure you have an amazing headcanon about it. but lets just play in this space for a moment. I think most easy situation i can see them in is a social setting where they weren't so much introduced as they were just kind of hanging out adjacently, whether one of them was a friend of a friend of the other or it was two separate groups that ended up intermingling bc they were occupying the same space. i'm picturing a bar with a sand pit in the back, big stone fireplace and wires of bulb lights strung overhead. Austin was in one Adirondack chair and Camryn was perched on the arm of someone else's, they took note of each other but it wasn't anything too concentrated. they didn't exchange numbers that night, but someone in their group must have because they ended up in each other's orbit for the next few weeks and months. if I had to guess, i'd say Camryn took an interest in austin first. of course he thought she was beautiful, but I don't think he was motivated to make any major moves when they met. he was probably a decent amount of time out from ending things with piper for good and had resigned to sparse, tepid text exchanges with his singular bumble date post-break up

who is the bigger romantic openly? secretly?

hmm so I don't entirely know. unfortunately my brain does not respond to direct prompting and engages only with what it wants to. and here I just feel like emphasizing that austin's way of showing up is flowers. holidays, special occasions, good news, bad news. there's a bouquet for everything. he isn't particularly eloquent and I think he probably misses cues a lot but I think he has an unwavering commitment to making sure the vases in the house are always full and that's the way that he communicates hey i'm here and I care about you and I want you to know that

who is more likely to send cutesy texts to the other?

neither but its because they prioritize phone calls to exchange information or even just say hi I'm thinking of you and I love you and I think they split initiating those more or less equally. I think this is rooted in Austin not being much for technology but works really well for the sincere nature of the love that I think they share

whose family do they celebrate more holidays with?

austin's and I don't think that's entirely due to the bias that results from him and his siblings being like. a thing before partners were added and families were expanded. I think I've kind of started to conceptualize the Hannas as like way more codependent(?) or at least involved than I probably would have ever imagined them to be I think partially out of concern for stephen when they were younger/without children like hey lets make sure dad is good but I also just see Rory and Austin being fairly decent friends running in similar social circles and only growing more in that direction and then Aubrey being so touched by like how easily she is accepted by her siblings when she does become a parent (which for whatever reason I see happening a little bit after Austin and Rory begin to have children) when they're all engaging with each other in that capacity which I just think is really nice

do they have any personal holiday traditions together?

i feel like christmas cookies have to go soooo hard at their house, no? Camryn makes a massive batch of sugar cookies with festive cookie cutters and then she mixes all of the frosting and sets out the sprinkles and they decorate them. they could mail them out or give them to delivery drivers or take them to school or whatever. I think they'd pretty naturally fall into hosting roles for the major food-based holidays like thanksgiving. I'd love to see them maybe take a camping trip once a year or so with marley's kids, maybe for labor day weekend or something. we know they are booked and busy with the Lancasters for the fourth of july, so.

if they get married, what was the wedding vibe?

so again just roll with this. but I feel like a sexy like midnight beachy vibe could be where its at for them. I don't know if there's a particular term for this sort of thing. coastal gatsby almost. i'm thinking beach with like cool sand and moonlight on the ocean and the beautiful brittle beach grasses and like feathery pampas but also like lux gold and maybe marble and something like navy blue for the wedding party. does this make sense. I feel like the beach is just so natural and lends well to the person Austin is but I think despite how down-to-earth camryn is I guess I just see her as like sexy and indulgent somehow

how did they decide what to name their child(ren)?

see I wholeheartedly believe their names are perfect for them as a couple and also for Austin independently but he would have never arrived at any of that on his own. so it had to have been all camryn. I like to think she pitches them and has already kind of decided because and austin turns them over in his mind until they become real for him and once they click they're perfect. I love that their first names are all the same amount of syllables, I love that the girls names are feminine but not too frilly and the boys names are very boyish but like fun?, and I think Austin would like the same thing about them. me Courtney with the broken brain loves the way maisyn bridges the guys and the girls and how her name kind of carves out her unique role in the family. thats Austin's little pal

[limabeans-babies-forthewin]

Meet Wires

Does anyone else have a Death Note OC? Cause I have a couple, but Wires is the one I focus on the most.

Wires is a hacker who basically forced their way into L's life by providing helpful information on a case he was stuck on, then basically refused to leave.

He's plagued with hikikomori and wears a blue demon mask whenever he video chats with someone and has a smaller, more practical face mask he wears if he ever goes out. No one knows what the lower half of his face looks like. The most he says at a time is one or two word responses, so he mostly uses a text-to-speech app on his phone whenever he needs to speak more than that.

Despite being super socially withdrawn, Wires has a habit of turning up wherever L is without warning. Even when L doesn't tell him where he's going at the time. (Watari has almost shot him for it numerous times.) Wires is also quietly chaotic and will use less than morally acceptable means to accomplish his goals (hence the hacking). L is obviously less than thrilled about his habits, but does frequently use his skills to solve cases if he hits a wall. They're basically best friends and their most frequent type of hanging out includes hanging out silently on video chat.

Wires is also an avid horror movie fan and always has one running in the background of whatever he's doing, even properly reacting to the jumpscares when they happen despite the fact it looks like he's not paying attention. His favorites are "The Poughkeepsie Tapes", "The VVitch", and "Nope". But he has a soft spot for "Trick 'r Treat", "The Mist", and the "Friday the 13th" series.

Fun Facts:

Since a majority of his conversations are held via text-to-speech, his casual word count is 221 words per minute.

Sometimes his obsession to find new horror movies leads to some dark rabbit holes, and he has to be reminded that not all things called a "movie" is safe (or legal) to watch.

Once he's comfortable with a person, he can kind of be an asshole.

Whenever Wires turns up in L's place, they have a habit of sharing a single chair much like cats do. As if they're the only one there without acknowledging each other.

Wires hates anything sweet. This does become a point of conflict in many a petty war between him and L.

It's always a safe bet to assume that Wires is lingering on one of L's computer monitors at all times. It makes everyone but L nervous.

Only L has ever heard Wires say more than 2 words at a time. Well, L and hiring manager at a tech company, but that's neither here nor there.

This little gremlin lives in my head rent-free despite the fact I haven't watched or read Death Note in at least a year, so don't be surprised if he pops up despite me being in a different hyperfix at the time.

I might post his officially meeting L snippet in a while, so be on the look out for that!

Until then!

[valence-positive]

I'm aiming to give advice from any starting point, sorry if that makes this too much in it's specificity, but finding out when you can graduate is a solvable problem:

If you don't know when you're set to graduate, your degree requirements are your best friend! You want to google "[Your college] + [your department] + degree requirements"

The page you want will have some text like, (by googling Boston College Chemistry degree requirements) "Ten 1-semester courses are required for the Major in Chemistry plus five co-requisites from other departments." and then a table of courses, usually with some x course OR y course thrown in there. Here's BC's chemistry page for reference: https://www.bc.edu/bc-web/schools/morrissey/departments/chemistry/academics/undergraduate/major.html

Now that you've got the list of courses you need to graduate, you need the list of courses you've taken. If you don't have a copy of your transcript on hand, your school's management system (or, in a pinch, an email to your school's registrar's office with the text "Hi, I'm having some trouble finding my unofficial transcript. Would it be possible for you to send me a copy or provide instructions for downloading it? Best, [Y/N]") that lets you register for classes will also likely contain a link to request your <em>unofficial</em> transcript. You don't have to pay for an official transcript and wait for it to arrive in the mail. The unofficial transcript will be a neat pdf with a list of the classes you've taken, your grades, and the associated credits broken down by semester.

With both your department's degree requirements in hand, and the classes you've taken, start checking those bad boys off. I tracked my courses vs my requirements in an excel spreadsheet all through college. If your aim is to get done as quick as possible and get on towards your rad post-grad plans, you're going to want to only take classes that check off a new box on your degree requirements. Even if you've switched majors a couple times, most majors will be between 8-14 courses (from my experience), and you've already made some progress. Not everything will be offered every semester, but departments will offer required courses at least one semester a year (Fall or Spring), sometimes even in a Summer semester. If you're not sure when courses are offered, you want to search your course registration system for them (including past semesters if available to determine a pattern) - or, pull up your department's "People" page and look for "Staff/Admin", if your department has an Undergraduate Assistant they are your best friend and can answer your questions. If your department does not have an Undergraduate Assistant, emailing the Department Chair is a good next bet. Their goal is help you have the things you need.

Other notes:

Your college may have distribution requirements (eg. you're a chemistry major but they want you to take at least 1 history class, and vice-versa). These may be called: "core", "distribution", "breadth" or "liberal arts" requirements. Here's an example from Boston College: https://www.bc.edu/bc-web/schools/morrissey/undergraduate/core-curriculum/core-requirements.html

Your transcript will likely note which courses you have taken fill which requirements! These are much more open requirements, and easy to fill in any given semester because <em>many</em> courses are offered that meet one or two of these requirements at once. Eg, at my college for both my art AND a history credit I took a course about Meso-american Art and Culture. It was really fun and not too hard, because the professor knew most students were taking it for the distribution requirement. With 5 years under your belt, you may have already checked many of these off. Sometimes AP and IB credits can also cover these requirements if you came in to college with any of those.

Now that you know what requirements you've filled, and what requirements you still need to take, you can confidently plan to complete your schooling at any pace - weather that's 4 or 5 classes a semester, a part time load, or finishing out your degree one course at a time. With planning and a spreadsheet, all things are possible. Go fight win!

Hope this was helpful, rooting for you anon.

Also also: In your last semester, while you're in classes finishing your final requirements, you will then to apply to graduate (eg. fill out a form confirming you took all your requirements) - departments send this kinda stuff out by email mid-way through the semester usually, but it can always also be accessed by emailing your department chair and inquiring politely about where to find it if it's not on your department's website.

I'm currently feeling horrible about the fact that I haven't graduated from college yet. I've been here for 5 years (partially part time) and I have no clue when I'm set to graduate. I feel like I'm taking too long and its going to be way too much debt for me since I have no financial aid. I have plans for when I graduate but it feels like there is no end in sight. I went part time because of my mental health but staying longer is making it worse.

Who told you you're taking too long??? Who would put such a toxic idea in our baby's head? Shame on them! You're doing amazing, sweetie!

There is nothing wrong with going at your own pace. If that means taking a leave of absence for your mental health, or taking 1 class per semester for the next decade, or quitting work temporarily and being a full time student... it's all valid!

Guilt is not serving you, my sweet. Banish it from your pretty little head and do what you need to do to be well, mentally, financially, and physically. Here's more advice:

How To Pay for College Without Selling Your Soul to the Devil 

Did we just help you out? Join our Patreon!

[eregyrn-falls-art]

[ID. A series of four images. Stan and Ford Pines are standing on the edge of a fall cornfield (after harvest) on a grey and misty day. Ford is consulting a road-map. Both are looking around with puzzled and dissatisfied expressions, as if they are looking for something that they can't find. In the first image, the viewer can see a couple of figures in the misty distance. As the series of images progresses, the two figures approach closer and closer from behind the two men. In the last image, Stan and Ford look up, startled, as the two giant humanoid figures, made out of cornstalks, loom above them. End ID.]

Stan and Ford and the Cornstalk Men - an update!

The Cornstalk Men are a fall tradition that I've missed seeing in person for the past couple of years. I first did this sequence where Stan and Ford encounter these New Jersey... beings? cryptids? creatures?... back on Halloween of 2017. Decided on the spur of the moment to update them; 5 years is a long time in art evolution! Below is some of the original text and other links.

In October of 2017, I first posted about encountering these giant cornstalk men while driving on a minor highway through New Jersey farmland.  Although I didn’t go into it at the time, I was driving on a really grey day with fog persisting through the morning, turning the surrounding fields and distant trees into ethereal vistas.   Which made coming upon these faceless giants all the more eerie, despite it being a busy highway (and them basically being roadside advertising for a garden center.)

Some folks commented suggesting that these were propitious figures, forest spirits (or… spirits of the field, I guess?) or otherwordly sacrifices for a good harvest.   Sure!  Why not. As I said before, this seems like some major Over the Garden Wall shit happening right here.

[ID. A photo of two humanoid figures made out of cornstalks. They are both sitting in large yellow Adirondack chairs. One has an arm raised, as if waving. End ID.]

(As noted in the original post, these things are gigantic. Those are novelty giant Adirondack chairs, They've got to be at least 10 feet tall, even sitting down.)

It seemed like just the kind of thing that Ford would insist they go investigate!  

Though, he and Stan were never very familiar with the more farm-oriented parts of New Jersey.  Stan is obviously dubious about the whole thing; including after the Cornstalk Men show up.  As it turns out, they’re perfectly friendly, if a bit inscrutable, and happy to at least try to answer Ford’s questions before whatever fate awaits them on All Hallow’s Eve. (The original version was posted on Halloween.)

BONUS:

[ID. A drawing of Ford Pines, from behind, looking up at one of the giant cornstalk figures. He is holding up a pen in his right hand, and probably has a notebook in his left hand, although it can't be seen. The cornstalk man seems to be looking down at him (although it has no eyes), and has one arm raised, though it's unclear what the gesture means. End ID.]

(Stan has already fucked off across the road to a farm stand where they are selling five different types of pie. He is less interested in witnessing eldritch harvest rituals, and more interested in making sure he keeps them both on schedule for the Skype call later to see what the niblings have dressed up as this year.)

I did eventually do a sequel, in GF style, in which they do bring Dipper and Mabel to meet the Cornstalk Men. (That was posted on Thanksgiving 2018, which is why I now associate these posts with Tgiving.) And here is the original version, from 2017.

Anyway -- hope everyone's day has been as good as it can be. I know the holidays can be stressful for a lot of people. I'm about to heat up some dinner, and begin my now-annual rewatch of Over the Garden Wall.

[stayarmytinyzenmoa-l]

Without a Trace [Ch. 9]

Vigilantes AU TW: Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Descriptions of Blood, Minor Character Death, Gun Use, Knife Use, Major Character Death, Mentions of Falsified Suicide, Descriptions of Murder Genre: Drama, Angst, Light Comedy Pairing: ATEEZ x Reader Y/N Pronouns: Not Specified Word Count: 10.0K Summary: Vigilante work has been outlawed, thus sending nine prominent vigilantes either into retirement or into lower ground and, while some abide by the law, a few continue on. Then, one day, a greater threat forces these vigilantes to come together once again, regardless of the law.

(9/11) [First] | [Previous] | [Next] [Other Groups Masterlist] | [Without a Trace Masterlist]

Notes: Breaking my hiatus for a bit to finally post this monster of a chapter AHAHAHAHAHAHA Have fun lovelies Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in these actions. The idols mentioned in this work are meant to be seen more as face claims rather than the actual idols themselves.

Feedback is greatly appreciated!! Thank you for reading!

“Shit, shit,” you cursed more under your breath as you and San ran out of the building. San more of limping, to be exact, but still able to keep up with you easily. You turned over to the corner where Mingi was originally parked at, the car he’d been inside turned into a complete mess of bullet holes through the windshield and splashes of red. “Oh god, oh no,” you shook your head, running over to it and pulling open the already broken door. There was no sign of Mingi or whoever was in there with him. Just as you were about to run off, three patrol cars blast past you. Hongjoong must have finally heard from Yeosang.

Yeosang, what the hell happened to the signals? Could it really have been Radiohead? She was a total sweetheart, though, you’d worked with her a number of times. Unless the Charlatan got to her, that is. You shook the thought out.

“Spades!” Seonghwa pulls over next to you, tossing you your keys. He revs the engine on your motorcycle. “Yeosang texted us the car, we’ll get to him first before anyone else,” he says. “Just get me close enough to the van, we’ll get him back,” he taps the rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Yeah, got it,” you climbed on in front of him.

“Hey! What about me?” San winces.

“Rendezvous with Cheshire and Broker!” And you took off, speeding between other cars and narrowly avoiding obstacles. Seonghwa looked at his watch and, with the press of a button, a holographic screen projected from it, showing the vehicle that Mingi had been shoved into.

“Got it?” You asked.

“Got it, just focus on driving!” Seonghwa stood up on the bike, just enough to see over your head as you moved faster. Then, speeding nearly as fast as the two of you, was a van matching the exact description from Yeosang. 

“It’s on our right,” you shout and speed up, weaving through traffic like you’d done many times before. As you started to gain on the van, you felt Seonghwa steady with the rifle just inches above your head, and you tried to keep the motorcycle as still as it could be just as Seonghwa took the shot. The bullet whizzed above you and into the van, causing it to crash onto the sidewalk. You skid to a stop and Seonghwa jumped off, practically throwing the door open and…

“Empty,” Seonghwa’s voice wavered. You ran next to him and, true to his words, the only thing in the van was its driver, who had a blossoming bullet wound on his shoulder now. Then another van sped behind you.

“That one!” You pointed after it and, in seconds, another car comes barreling down the street with three of your teammates inside and keeping their eye on it. “Damn, let’s catch up,” you and Seonghwa were quick to follow after the rev of your engine.

~

“No, no,” Yeosang stood up fast and his chair clattered to the ground behind him. His eyes darted between all screens and one hand tangled into his hair. “This is all wrong, it’s all screwed up…” he pulls on the strands now, pulling a few out in the process. He looks at the loose hairs hanging off of his fingers and takes a deep breath. Then there were rapid knocks at his door, causing his head to whip toward it. His breathing, although labored, rang loud in his ears, second only to the loud bangs at his door. He picks up the pistol under his desk before approaching the door and threw it open, training the barrel at the intruder.

“Just me,” Hongjoong held his hands up.

“And me,” Jongho walks into view. “Let’s go, no time for questions.” Yeosang could only nod, they were working against time now.

No doubt, this will be the first time they face the real Charlatan.

It didn’t take long for them to catch up, though.

Yeosang was quick to run up to the other five who were at the door to the complex, trying different ways to get in. Hongjoong was next to follow, and finally Jongho.

“What’s the situation?” Hongjoong asks.

“We just got here too,” you tried the keypad once again and with blinking red lights, you stopped. “Been trying to get in. We already surveilled the place and this is the only entrance. Even the vents are welded shut.”

“They’re clever,” Hongjoong grumbles. You all cleared for him to stare at the keypad. A sticky note was placed above it, with the simple message ‘To the smartest A.’

“I already tried it, but it didn’t work,” San scoffs.

“Who the hell said you’re the smartest?” You snarked.

“It didn’t work for you either!” He fought back.

“Alright, alright, I got this,” Wooyoung stepped forward, skimming over the message under the sticky note, and punching in a code. The red light laughed at him. “It’s broken. Yunho, you’re good with numbers, you try,” Wooyoung invites him.

“Don’t look at me, I’m too dumb for that contraption,” Yunho shrugs.

“I already know I won’t get it,” Seonghwa leans against the door.

“Haa…” Hongjoong sighs and grabs the note. “There are how many of me a day, there are how many suits, there are how many As, and there are how many of me,” he recites the hint carefully. His hand hovers over the keypad and presses on the first code that came to mind: Four, Four, Nine, One. Four parts of a day, Dawn, Day, Dusk, Night. Four suits, Hearts, Clubs, Diamonds, and Spades. Nine members of their team. And one Charlatan. The green light is like a beacon as the doors slid open.

“Well, that was expected,” Seonghwa led the group in. The complex was as big as it was empty, with their footsteps seemingly bouncing off of the walls. There was another floor early accessible by the ladder against the wall, and to make the task harder there were four doors that Mingi could be in, each sporting a different sticky note. The door shut behind them, a simple sticky note stating ‘Good luck!’ written on it.

“How childish… Looks like we’re going to have to split up to be efficient,” Hongjoong says. “Read the notes, what do they say?” He looks at the closest one to him. To the most agile and the most watchful.

“This one says to the smartest and to the most cautious,” you called out across from him.

“This one says to the most confident and the most greedy,” Seonghwa announces on the top floor.

“And this one says to the most secretive and the most deceived,” San crumples the note in his hand.

“We know one, at least. Mastermind’s the smartest,” you crossed your arms once everyone had regrouped.

“The most cautious, then, who would we say that is?” Hongjoong asks.

“Huntsman?” Wooyoung nudges his head toward Seonghwa.

“Safe bet, I’d assume any hunter would have to be cautious,” Yeosang adds.

“But if we follow that line of reasoning, then I’d nominate you too,” you cut in. “Who can be more cautious than the one who avoids conflict?” You reasoned.

“Possible but now you have to consider the other positions. I’d argue that Huntsman is the most confident, considering that you know every shot hits their target,” he says.

“And with Cypher, I’d argue that you’re either the most watchful or the most secretive,” Yunho chimes.

“For most cautious then…” Hongjoong hummed and looked around the group. “Timekeeper.” Jongho, pointed to himself, a curious look on his face. “Who is more cautious than the one who meticulously picks out their targets?”

“I guess,” Jongho shrugged.

“The most confident has to be Huntsman!” Wooyoung volunteered Seonghwa for him.

“I never miss,” Seonghwa confirms and Wooyoung grins.

“I rest my case,” he rests his hands on his hips. “As for the most greedy…” everyone’s eyes settle on Yunho.

“Wow, you’re not even going to debate it?” Yunho’s eyebrows scrunch together. “I mean, you’re not wrong, but ouch.”

“Can I take the most agile?” Wooyoung points at himself. “I was known for my quick attacks, you know!”

“We know!” The group resounded.

“I can’t think of anyone faster anyway,” you hummed. “We all agree that Cypher’s the most watchful then, right?”

“Has to be, I know you’ve been spying on me, creep,” San glowers at Yeosang, who responds by rolling his eyes.

“And by process of elimination that leaves you two,” Hongjoong looks at you and San, standing side by side. “The most secretive and the most deceived, huh?” He hums.

“Don’t look at me, I don’t know what it means either,” you shrugged. “Blackguard?” You looked next to you, but San just shrugged too.

“Well, that settles it then, Blackguard and Spades, take the left top door, Cheshire and Cypher you take the right, Huntsman and Broker will take the left bottom door, while Timekeeper and I take the right, am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Wooyoung was the only one to respond while everyone else broke off. Wooyoung followed Yeosang into the door and the two stopped as soon as they saw themselves through a mirror. The door slammed shut behind them and they steadied themselves. “Looks like we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Wooyoung mutters. The room was dark except for the light under the mirror. Then the sound of others lighting up filled the room.

“Great, my worst enemy,” Yeosang rolls his eyes. “Myself,” he huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Is it really just a mirror though?” Wooyoung knocks on it and looks around. “Looks like we’re in the middle of a maze,” he points out. “Oh, look, this one’s a trick mirror,” Wooyoung chuckles and pointed to the mirror that made them look longer.

“Hm… there has to be some kind of gimmick,” Yeosang looked behind him, the door they had entered from was now replaced with a mirror. Then, he turned to his side and, thankfully, it was an opening. “Let’s go this way,” he waves Wooyoung over to follow him and they both walk through cautiously, their peripherals occupied by their own reflections. Wooyoung rolls his shoulders enough that his uniform’s sleeves become looser around his joints and he rolls his neck after. “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?” He throws a few air punches to test his mobility.

“You only do that when you know something bad’s going to happen, it’s like an instinct,” Yeosang shudders.

“Oh, relax, we’ll be fi—” Before Wooyoung could finish his sentence, the mirror next to them shattered. “Fuck, what the hell?!” Wooyoung stumbles back, steadied only by the arm Yeosang threw out to catch him before he could fall completely. Wooyoung froze in Yeosang’s arms now, core strength just barely holding him up otherwise while the two stared at each other. “When did you…?” Wooyoung stutters, not fully grasping his friend’s newfound strength until now that he stared at his arms. “Oh…”

“Don’t even think about it,” Yeosang drops him and straightens himself before offering Wooyoung his hand, which the latter politely obliged. The two stared at the now shattered mirror pieces before them. 

“That’s bad luck.”

“Hmm… it’s weird too,” Yeosang lowers himself to observe the shards.

“What’s weird?” Wooyoung follows suit.

“The shards… why are they on the other side of the mirror?” Yeosang asks.

“What do you mean?��

“If the shards were on both sides, which would make more sense, then the force of impact would have been above the mirror. If they were on our side then that means something behind the mirror broke it. But they’re on the opposite side so that means one of us must have hit it,” Yeosang explains. Wooyoung hums and grabs one of the shards.

“Wait… yeah, you’re right,” Wooyoung mumbles and twists the shard in his gloved hands. Then, on the shard's reflection, Wooyoung saw it and was quick on his feet to hurl the shard towards the figure behind them.

“Shit,” Yeosang bounces up just as the masked figure fires a warning shot between the two, shoulder impeded by the mirror shard Wooyoung had embedded into them.

“Run!” Wooyoung pushed Yeosang forward through the opening and the two took off.

“Who do you think this one is?” Yeosang asks just as he moved out of the way of the red aim light.

“Uh… can’t tell under that godawful uniform,” Wooyoung pulls Yeosang down the corridor. "One thing’s for sure though, it’s not Mingi,” Wooyoung ducks under the shot and makes a sharp turn, Yeosang just barely running into the mirror before he turned too.

“What are we supposed to do in here?! Survive?!”

“Maybe find the exit? Mingi in the middle? Who knows?!” Wooyoung shouts and turns quickly again, only this time smashing into a mirror. “Ow, fuck,” Wooyoung winces and Yeosang tugs him along.

“We don’t have time for this!” Yeosang skids to a stop just as the mirror in front of them shatters. On the other side of the mirror is yet another masked figure, only this time, a glint of red shone beneath the mask and Yeosang swallowed harshly. There was only one vigilante who was crazy enough to indulge in that kind of bodily modification. Lee Sangyeon, or better known, as “Crosshair,” he shudders.

“If only we had Huntsman,” Wooyoung looks around for another way out, but the mention of the vigilante seemed to have triggered something in their second pursuer, enough to make him pissed.

“Why’d you have to go and mention Huntsman?! You pissed him off! You…” Yeosang stops.

This was new. This revealed something very important.

Though under control, the Charlatan’s henchmen were still somewhat conscious underneath the brainwashing.

“Cypher! Focus!” Wooyoung pulled Yeosang back to reality and they began to run again.

“Wait, I think we can reason with them! If Crosshair’s upset over the mere mention of the Huntsman then that means they still have some autonomy in there somewhere, and I think we can tap into that somehow,” Yeosang looks over his shoulder, only one of the henchmen was following them, Crosshairto be specific.

“Sangyeon! Come on, listen to me! I know we were never the closest friends, but you gotta come back,” Yeosang kept a reasonable distance while shouting toward their attacker. But Crosshair instead trained his gun on him.

“Leave it, Cypher, they can’t be reasoned with! The brainwashing is too strong while that mask is on!” Wooyoung insists, then, right as they turned the corner, their second pursuer blocked the way. They raised the butt of their rifle and swung it down on Yeosang’s leg.

“Fuck!” Yeosang’s pained voice rang out in the room, the only thing louder than the sound of his leg snapping in half, leaving Wooyoung to look around him for any possible solution. They were cornered, and there wasn’t an opening in sight. Anything, Wooyoung would take anything right now. He pulled Yeosang up and slung his arm over his shoulders.

“Sorry, buddy, this is going to get crazy,” Wooyoung pivoted on his heel and broke the mirror with his elbow before running through the new opening with Yeosang essentially dragging behind.

“Just drop me off here, you need to tell Mastermind that the henchmen are still somewhat in control, it could change everything,” Yeosang insists.

“No way, I’m not leaving you, Yeo,” Wooyoung adjusts him over his shoulder and continues running down the corridor while keeping an eye out for the openings. “We’ll get out of here together or not at all,” Wooyoung taps on the comm in his ear but is met with dead static. Wooyoung could barely make out the faint outline of a staircase just ahead, but how he was going to get there he wasn’t sure. “Come on,” Wooyoung takes a deep breath and continues to run.

~

“This looks… eerie,” Yunho’s comment bounced off the walls of the empty room. Though his hands were in his pockets, it was clear that he was ready to defend at a moment’s notice. His eyes scanned the empty room, his discerning eye was one that he had long prided himself on, and for good reason. Being in the business that he is his instincts had never been wrong, he couldn’t afford to let them be wrong, he had to be able to see any threats before they could even be considered one.

And it is those same instincts that flared inside of him now. Something was horribly wrong about this wrong, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly. What was it that put him on edge like this? The room was empty except for the two of them, it was so empty that he could hear their footsteps echoing behind them. There wasn’t a single camera in sight, either, no windows, and two sets of doors, the one they entered in from and the one before them now. It was a large and foreboding thing too, at that, ready to slide open once it was ready.

“Empty room, nowhere to hide, no vantage points, almost like an arena,” Seonghwa hummed.

“An arena, huh?” Yunho’s voice was tense.

“What are you sensing?” Seonghwa asks with a narrowed glance.

“I’m not sure yet,” Yunho followed Seonghwa around the room. There were no signs of any trap tiles or loose sections of the wall. “You feel it too, right?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa walks over to the large door now and knocks on it lightly. The clang of metal filled the room and Seonghwa turned away from it. “That’s not opening until we finish something, that’s for sure,” he says.

“You think Mingi’s back there?” Yunho asks.

“Who knows?” Seonghwa and Yunho approach the middle of the room now. Yunho throws his arm out now, stopping Seonghwa from proceeding any further. Yunho takes a deep breath and, he was certain, he still heard it. He still heard it echoing, the footsteps. Yunho looks around, then, right before they could take a step further, Seonghwa is somehow shoved aside right as a knife grazes Yunho. 

“What the hell?!” Yunho stumbles back, trying to figure out where the attack came from, all the while Seonghwa rolled to the side and grabbed his rifle, aiming it at particularly nothing. Then, when his rifle is shoved out of his hands, he realized what was happening.

“They’re invisible!” Seonghwa called to Yunho.

“Yeah, I kind of got that!” Yunho barked back. Seonghwa grabbed his rifle just as the doors opposite to them slid open. Another one of the Charlatan’s henchmen stomped out, one of a noticeably larger build, and the doors behind him shut quickly after. “Well… safe to say that that is not Mingi.” Yunho pulled his revolvers out of his pockets and trained them on the larger henchman before firing a few incapacitating shots, which unsurprisingly did very little to stop him. Yunho twists his head toward Seonghwa, who’d gained a considerable distance from the large henchman and was now training his rifle on him. “Huntsman, stop! Remember who we’re fighting, we can’t take reckless shots!”

“Speak for yourself,” Seonghwa fires his rifle and the bullet pierced through the large henchman’s arm. Then, right before he could reload, the rifle is once again pulled from his hands. “Got a way to deal with the invisible one?!” He shouts.

“Maybe!” Yunho ducks under the heavy swing of his opponent and falls back while digging through his pockets again. Knives, lighters, bullets, and playing cards all toppled from his hands before he finally found what he was looking for. “Aha!” Yunho pulled out a pair of large goggles and pulled them over his head.

“You look ridiculous, man,” Seonghwa groans while swinging the end of his rifle aimlessly, hoping to hit the invisible henchman somewhere. Yunho turned on the goggles, his vision filled with a technological interface for a brief moment before activating its true purpose, heat-seeking. Then, just like that, the heat traces of everything in the room was visible. And, to his curiosity, he noticed the large heat traces concealed in the walls. Ignoring the tank of a man heading his way, Yunho trained his sights on Seonghwa, spotting the two figures close enough to each other.

“He’s on your left!” Yunho shouts. Seonghwa pivoted on his heel and swung his rifle again, and he heard the crunch of bones after. “He’s on the ground, you got his arm! Don’t shoot to kill!” Yunho commands.

“I heard you the first time,” Seonghwa slams the rifle down one last time, hitting the invisible henchman’s abdomen hard enough that the invisibility device strapped to the henchman’s chest ceased to function, rendering them passed out on the floor. Seonghwa wiped the sweat from the side of his forehead with a handkerchief and took a deep breath.

“Geez… pretentious mu—” before Yunho could finish his thought, the last henchman swung at him, sending Yunho tumbling across the ground. He winced and groaned loudly and clawed beneath him to get up, but it was hard with his sudden blurred vision and ringing ears. He could barely make out the heavy footsteps, let alone the way Seonghwa grappled for a bullet to reload. Yunho’s hands moved beneath him quickly, all of the contents of his pockets had been for the most part emptied in his search for the goggles, if he could find even one thing to use he’d be set. Luckily enough for him, that one thing was all he needed, the cold steel of a knife, a recent buy of his and one he spent both a pretty penny and a select few lives for, but nevertheless it was meant as a gift for none other than you. The one reason why he hadn’t given it to you yet is the lack of testing, but it should be fine. He grabbed at it, wincing again as he felt the flesh under the blade slice open, and flung it forth before passing out.

“Shit,” Seonghwa slung his rifle over his shoulder and ran toward Yunho just in time for the large henchman to fall backward with a loud thud. Seonghwa eyed the one knife that had embedded itself into the henchman’s chest before refocusing on his teammate. “Yunho, wake up,” Seonghwa shook him awake, but Yunho didn’t stir. “Get up! We don’t have time for this!” Seonghwa said it louder. The door once again started to open, painstakingly slow at this rate. Seonghwa shook his head in frustration and smacked Yunho across the face, waking him up in an instant. Yunho touched his stinging face and glared and Seonghwa.

“The hell was that for?!”

“Pull yourself together! There’s more coming!”

“Fine!” Yunho looked down at his right hand, the thing frozen in the same way it was when he flung the knife.

“What happened?” The doors are fully open now.

“Cut my hand with Mono’s prized weapon,” Yunho glanced behind Seonghwa, seeing two new henchmen enter, “paralysis tonic, great.” Yunho grips one of his revolvers in his good hand.

“You don’t have an antidote?!”

“Not on me, but it should wear off in a few… hours,” he lets Seonghwa pull him up.

“Talk about timing,” Seonghwa takes a couple of steps back, watching one of the henchmen taunt him with their mace. “You can tap out at any time, of course, I can handle things.”

“Don’t praise yourself too much,” Yunho shoves him forward and the next round begins

~

“What do you think this room is?” Jongho looks down at all the cables running through the floors.

“Hard to say, let’s find a light switch,” Hongjoong starts feeling around the walls while Jongho minds the floor. The only light source at the moment came from the open door behind them, but aside from that, they were working in the dark. Finally, Hongjoong flips the light on and the room illuminates with a bright light. Jongho shut his eyes and allowed them to readjust before he opened them again and saw that the room’s purpose was apparent.

“Looks like we found where he brainwashes them, huh?” Jongho mumbles. The cables led to various machines, and in between those machines was “Mingi!” Jongho, who in his concern and excitement could care less about code names, ran forward and pulled the mask off of him. Mingi’s eyes slowly opened before looking around before he groaned and hung his head low.

“Hold on, friend, I’ll help you out of this,” Hongjoong pulled out his pocket knife and sawed at the ropes before Mingi was free. Without standing up, Mingi rubbed his wrists and pulled at the white jumpsuit he now wore. “That was a close one, we almost lost you,” Hongjoong shakes his head while Jongho examined the mask.

“Mastermind, come over here,” Jongho waved him over while taking steps away from the machines.

“Why?”

“Just do it,” Jongho insisted. Once Hongjoong was close enough, Jongho turned the mask around and showed him the inside. Unlike the mask they had already, this one was completely empty, it was just like a mask from a costume store, and behind them Mingi stood up and grabbed the back of the chair, the metal screeching against the floors. Hongjoong pulled the sticky note off of the mask.

‘You found your treasure! But now you must earn it. You must face the opponent no one sees coming, the opponent who is as swift as he is efficient, the one who moves just like a Shadow,’ is all it read before Jongho pulled Hongjoong out of the way in time for the chair to slam against the wall and leaving a large dent in its attack.

“Shit,” Hongjoong turns around quickly just in time for Mingi to slide a Charlatan mask over his head.”

“They actually got him,” Jongho slides on his brass knuckles before rolling his head.

“Pull your punches.”

“I know.”

“We can’t hurt him.”

“I know.”

“We can’t save him.”

“I know.” Jongho’s answers were short, he knew what he had to do. They had to break Mingi out of whatever hypnotism he was under first. Jongho toyed with his wristwatch before stepping forward and blocking every hit that Mingi threw at him. Hongjoong, meanwhile, looked around the room for something, anything, to use. They were able to break Juyeon out of his trance by breaking the mask, but would it be the same for Mingi? He wasn’t wearing one earlier, so there was no telling. “Aim for the mask!”

“Right!” Hongjoong pulled his pistol out. “Sorry for this, Mingi, I don’t have a choice,” Hongjoong pointed the gun at Mingi’s leg and fired, a shot that missed only by a thread. Mingi stopped in his tracks and reached behind one of the machines before pulling out a pair of gauntlets, heavy-set ones at that. But Hongjoong could’ve sworn up and down that he recognized them, he had to, and every weapon the Charlatan used was stolen.

“Mastermind! Don’t let him hit you under any circumstance!” Jongho pushed Hongjoong toward the door and Mingi started to follow. “Run!” Jongho ushered him forward, but the door slammed shut. Then, the ceiling above them slid open just as the floor beneath them started to rise.

“Talk about avant-garde,” Hongjoong keeps his pistol trained on Mingi, who slammed the knuckles of the gauntlets together. Then, the dust settled, and Hongjoong and Jongho found themselves standing in the middle of a large room.

“Mastermind! Timekeeper! Thank fucking god,” Yunho runs up to them, beaten, bloodied, and bruised, but notably dragging a worn-out Seonghwa with him.

“The hell happened to you two?!” Hongjoong exclaimed. He looked around and saw the scattered bodies of henchmen around him and, to say the least, he was a little impressed.

“Too much,” Seonghwa used his rifle to support him.

“How about this one, then?” Yunho flipped the knife in his hands, having grown used to using it after being paralyzed at least once.

“Don’t hurt him,” Hongjoong says quickly.

“They got him, we were too late,” Jongho stretches his arms.

“No…” Yunho looks over just when the doors behind Mingi slid open again. “No!” Yunho wailed.

“Did we lose them?!” Wooyoung shouts with Yeosang slumped on his back.

“Yes!” Yunho shouts. Then, when a bullet grazed his face, leaving a shallow cut in its path, he exclaimed again. “No!” Wooyoung and Yeosang ran out of the double doors, past Mingi, and toward them.

“The whole gang’s here!” Wooyoung looked relieved and Yeosang waved weakly. “Wait, where are Blackguard and Spades?” He asks. “Did we find Mingi?” The other members pointed behind them and Wooyoung turned quickly. “No!”

“Yeah,” Jongho sighed. Yeosang climbed off of Wooyoung’s back carefully and fell on the floor.

“Nothing is going well,” he mutters. Again, Mingi slammed his fists together and the click of a bullet sliding into place is heard.

“Fuck, where did he get that?” Seonghwa’s voice wavered.

“What is that?” Wooyoung asks.

“You don’t recognize them?” Seonghwa fights to hold his rifle up. “Those are the Ace of Diamonds’ gauntlets,” he takes a stabilizing step back.

“Oh shit,” Yeosang frowns. Where was Spades when they needed them?

~

“Huh… two roads diverged in a wood,” you looked at the two doors, each with their respective sticky note written on it. “How’s your leg?” Your hand naturally brushed against the shallow wound.

“I’ve been through worse,” San tightened the cloth around it. You and San naturally went to either side and ripped the note from their place. “The Seeker,” you read it aloud. San remained silent.

“This room is mine,” he says. “Guaranteed,” he put his hand on the doorknob and, as soon as he turned it, iron bars rose from the middle of the room and San was quick to run toward you. “What the hell?!” San gripped one of the bars and you approached it slowly while observing the floor beneath you.

“Oh they’re good, I’ll give them that,” you muttered. “Whatever is in our doors… we’re on our own,” your voice trailed off as you wondered what could be awaiting you on either side. “I’m guessing that once we’ve both completed what we had to in our rooms we’d be able to regroup,” you theorized.

“Probably, but then again I really can’t think of anything else it could be,” San leans against the bars and closer to you. “Don’t die, (Y/N),” he says just barely above a whisper.

“I should say that to you,” you responded. You tapped your finger against his enclosed fist and turned away from him. “Be careful.”

“I will.” You heard him reply behind you before you entered the room. San pushed away from the bars and toward his own door, staring down at the note in his hand.

The Liar.

It’s always going to follow him, isn’t it? San could only shake his head as he pushed his way into the room. It was small, no larger than a bedroom, and at the end was another door. But, most noticeable, was the collage of news articles splayed against the wall.

The Newest Vigilante on the Block: Aegis!

Capital Bank Stormed! New Vigilante Saves the Day!

A Breath of Vitality Into a Dying Movement: Aegis!

Who is Aegis?

Aegis: The Shield of Zeus Personified

Aegis’ Debut at the Capital Bank!

Aegis.

Aegis.

Aegis.

San tore the news articles down and crumpled them in his hands. The ones he didn’t crumple he ripped. And the ones he didn’t rip he ground beneath his boot. Aegis, Aegis, Aegis! What did the world see in him anyway?! All he was was a coward with a shield. San hesitated before pulling the last article from the wall.

Who Could Aegis Be?

The headline was simple, but it was the first paragraph that somehow caught his attention.

Who is Aegis? We decided to ask a group of students who seem to be excited about the emergence of the new vigilante. (L/N) (Y/N) comments that “it’s nice to see a younger vigilante, he even looks like he’s around our age! The older vigilantes will always be cool, but at one point we have to look forward to the younger wave!”

It’s always going to follow him, isn’t it?

San shook his head and went for the next room. It was nearly identical to the one he had just left, even down to the collage of news articles on the wall next to him

Aegis Saves the Day Again!

Aegis Becomes a Ray of Hope.

Aegis in the Center of Action.

Aegis Throws Himself into Danger to Save Everyone!

Aegis Has Gotten More Active!

Aegis Sighted in Further Zones from the City.

Aegis.

Aegis.

Aegis!

San found himself tearing the articles again. But, once his frustration had quelled, he stopped. He stopped and he took steps back until his back hit the wall. Aegis. The name loomed over him like an untouchable monster. Then, just under the articles, San made out the faint hint of writing on the wall, and again San found himself tearing the papers off until the sentence was visible.

Uneasy is the head that wears the crown.

San stared at the writing, an undefinable ringing starting in his ears as his head started to feel heavier. He looked back at the door he entered and backtracked to pull the rest of the articles from the wall and, just as he had expected, there was writing there too.

In the beginning, was the myth.

San walked back to the next room.

The myth is the beginning of Aegis, the impenetrable shield wielded by Zeus and Athena. And as for the second quote, San would rather not dwell on it. He knew what he was signing up for when he became a vigilante.

The next room, as expected, was just like the last two.

Aegis Becomes the Forerunner of Vigilantes.

The Dawn of a New Age: Aegis.

The Shield of Light Aegis!

Aegis Spotted Running Toward the Scene of the Altercation. Mass Casualties Avoided!

Aegis vs. TNT: An Explosive Battle with Few Injuries

Aegis Becomes the Forerunner of the Dawn of a New Age for Vigilantes!

Aegis!

Aegis!

Aegis.

San ripped the papers off again to reveal the message underneath.

The truth is often one’s best shield.

The shield strapped to his back weighed heavier now. Or had it always been heavy? If it was so great then how the hell did he break it so easily? San looked at one of the now torn articles. Aegis stood proud with the senator, hands locked in a strong handshake. It’s clear to everyone, Aegis was never the shield, it was always the person. Against all possible odds, Aegis stood strong, and it was that strength that would later become Aegis’ downfall. An impossible standard to herald, it was a fool’s errand to begin with. San continued forth. The next room was different. Each wall had a door on it except for the one directly in front of him with a single news article taped to the wall.

College Student Eric Son Found Dead in Rose Haven Apartments.

Eyewitness (Y/N) (L/N) reports that after checking in on a neighbor, they found their partner dead in their shared apartment. Officers on the scene ruled it as a suicide with a single gunshot to the head. (L/N) was cleared from suspicion after confirmation of their alibi, but the residents around the area remain on red alert. Everyone has commented that Son didn’t seem the type to die in such a tragic way. Some sources share that Son was wrapped up with shady figures and events. Who knows? Is it really the case that you can’t run from the past? We will update the story as it continues.

Eric Son, his greatest failure. There was no writing on the wall this time, there didn’t need to be. No, instead, there was a passage highlighted. You can’t run from the past. San tore it off and ripped the article to shreds. He destroyed it to the point that no one would be able to tell that it was a news article to begin with. The Son case was a turning point in the career of Aegis. It was a turning point in the creation of Blackguard. It was a turning point in the founding of the Aces. It was a turning point in the Vigilante Ban. Everything revolved around this one case.

And it was his fault.

The doors slid open next to him.

“Blackguard!” Wooyoung called him over. San turned around just in time to dodge the knife that lodged into the wall behind him. San pulled the shield from his back and secured it to his arm. “Don’t be too harsh! It’s Mingi!” Wooyoung shouts after.

“Mingi?” San looks at the Charlatan in front of him. He looked at the gauntlets around his hands. Then, Mingi turned away from San and started to walk toward Yunho, who was still paralyzed from moments before.

“Shit, shit… I have to think of something,” Yeosang looks around the room, but there was nothing to work with, nothing they could use to distract Mingi long enough to get the mask off of him.

And of course, came his aha moment.

“Blackguard! That’s still Mingi! He’s brainwashed, but it’s still him! Talk to him and he’ll respond!” Yeosang, though nursing his leg, was able to stagger up somehow.

“The hell’s wrong with the rest of you?!” San shouts.

“Yeosang’s leg’s busted and Yunho’s shooting hand’s paralyzed!” Hongjoong explains. “Plus, you were the one who broke Juyeon out of his brainwashing! You’re the best person to do this!”

“Ugh,” San charges toward Mingi, shield in front of him and ready for impact, and finally he smashed the shield against Mingi’s side, effectively sending Mingi staggering back. “Fuck… I forgot this dude was built like a goddamn tank,” San ducks behind his shield just as Mingi throws a right hook, the gauntlet collided with the shield and the firearm inside of it went off, leaving the loud clang of a bullet hitting metal resounding in the room. The bullet ricocheted off the shield and around the room before it embedded into Seonghwa’s shoulder.

“Argh, fuck,” Seonghwa gripped his shoulder but half his rifle up regardless.

“Don’t shoot!” Jongho stopped him. “We can’t afford it!”

“I won’t hit anywhere vital!”

“That’s Mingi!”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Seonghwa squeezed the trigger and Hongjoong pointed the rifle up. The bullet hit a ceiling tile and sent it crashing against the floor.

“Where’s Spades? They should be able to do something!” Wooyoung pleads.

“No time,” Yunho dug through his pockets and pulled out a first aid kit, “Mingi’s preoccupied with Blackguard, we have to use this opportunity now.” San looked over to the group. Realistically, Seonghwa was his best bet but he won’t be much if Hongjoong is holding him back. Then he tossed a hopeful glance to Jongho, who just adjusted his wristwatch and shook his head. Wooyoung wasn’t even an option, with Yeosang out of commission then Wooyoung’s first thought would be to keep him safe.

Yup, he’s on his own. As usual.

“Mingi! Hey, buddy,” San took careful steps around Mingi, who seemed to follow him with his gaze. “Remember me? Blackguard?” He asks. No response, instead, Mingi loaded his gauntlets again and San took steps to distance himself away from him. “Come on, big guy, how about Bobby? Remember him?” Mingi seemed to hesitate for a moment. “Gotcha.” San’s excitement was clear, he found his way in and all he had to do was pull that sentiment out.

~

The door shut behind you as soon as you cleared it, but you were too busy staring at the scene before you paid much mind to the sudden slam. The room you were in was small enough with a large control console in front of you with six large monitors behind a simple setup consisting of a keyboard and mouse. But it wasn’t this that caught your attention, no, it was the display on the bottom center screen.

For the eyes of (Y/N) (L/N), the Ace of Spades, only.

Just how much did he know about you?

“Take a seat, (Y/N).” The Charlatan’s voice filled the room. You did so, you had no reason not to oblige. Whatever was going on, it was clear, he had the upper hand in this already dangerous gamble. As soon as you were situated, the screen changed to a singular man hidden by the darkness. “Hello, Vigilante.”

“Charlatan, I assume? The real one,” you asked. The figure nodded.

“I’m sure you have questions.”

“I have plenty.”

“Ask away then, we have time.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“All will be revealed, the Mastermind isn’t the only chess master in this game.”

“And I can ask anything? Anything at all?”

“Sure.”

“Who are you then?”

“Everything except that.”

“Of course,” you rolled your eyes. “Why then? Why do all of this?”

“Mm… I’ve always hated vigilantes,” he says bluntly, “it was through their reckless behavior many times that I lost something or someone important to me, and many others share my sentiment. So, now, I wish to rid the world of them completely.”

Talk about textbook answer. You didn’t expect anything else from someone who despised vigilantes, but you did expect a little more. The way he spoke, you wondered, which vigilante ruined him?

“If you hate them so much, why bring other vigilantes into it?”

“I alone cannot execute my plan, but I have a way to make others do it for me.”

“The masks.”

“Yes. Your friend, Cypher, he got very close to decoding it.”

“What is it then?” You pressed.

“Rhythmic flashes and certain sounds.”

“So nothing more than common hypnosis?”

“Common, sure, but effective. But, (Y/N), you must remember that the fundamentals of hypnosis still apply. I can’t force someone to do something they wouldn’t want to do already. And, with that, you realize what point I’m getting at, don’t you?”

“What can I say? Vigilantes crave action.”

“You’re all destructive. And here you are, cracking jokes.”

“It can’t be possible that every vigilante is that bloodthirsty though.”

“Of course not. That’s why I killed them.” You didn’t know why, but that statement did send chills down your spine.

“So you killed him then?”

“Your friend?”

“Yes.” The Charlatan didn’t answer, instead, the screen next to you turned on to show CCTV. You recognized San’s shield from anywhere, and it wasn’t long before you noticed the others.

He got him.

You watched Mingi thrust his fists together and your throat ran dry.

“They’re a magnificent weapon.”

“You shouldn’t have those.”

“I apologize, I know they’re something of a sentiment to you.”

“Where did you get them?”

“Where do you think? You only put it in one place.”

“How did you get there?”

“Obviously, I had access.”

“Who are you?!” You repeated your question from earlier, but the Charlatan didn’t respond, so instead you took a deep breath. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“I want to make a deal with you.”

“Hell no.”

“You haven’t even heard what I had to offer yet.”

“Why would I work with you? All you’ve done is kill people I’ve cared about.”

“I’m just offering an exchange,” his voice was uncomfortably calm. Then you saw the panel next to you open up, revealing the Charlatan’s signature mask next to you.

“I’m not putting that shit on,”

“It’s just there for insurance, if I do this correctly, you won’t even need it.”

“Fuck you, I won’t agree to any deal you offer me.”

“Do you mean that? Even if I can provide you with the answer you’ve been looking for since the beginning?”

“Likely story, I’m not looking for anything right now.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nothing,” you stood up from your seat now, ready to turn around and leave.

“Shame. I thought you were still interested in the Eric Son case, but it appears that I was wrong.” That’s one way to stop you. “What do you think about it, (Y/N)? The foundation of your career, the Eric Son case. It’s fascinating.”

“What do you want me to say about it? What more than the facts?” You sat back down on the chair and the screen in front of you changed showing a basic profile of Eric. “He killed himself, that’s all there is to it.”

“But he didn’t though, you know that.”

“I don’t have proof.”

“You had plenty, you had enough to found the Aces with your group, right?” You stayed silent. “A fantastic group you all were, the five of you were all friends, right? How sweet.” Still, you stayed silent. “I must applaud your sentiment, did you ever find out who killed him?”

“No.”

“Would you like to know?” You swallowed harshly. It had been years already, though that was the original cause of the Aces, your purpose grew, you all grew. You all grieved, you all moved on,  and you all left. “You’re the last active Ace, you owe it to them to find out what they fought for. What he died for.” You could feel the cold sweat run down your neck. “I will ask you one last time, Ace of Spades. Would you like to know what happened to Eric Son?”

“…” You took slow and deep breaths. After all these years, were you really going to find out your life’s work from a villain of all things? “Yes, tell me.”

“I’d rather show you.” Then the screen in front of you went black. After a few moments, it sparked to life once again and you felt your heart stop.

Eric tapped on the screen of the lens.

“Man… (Y/N) is so going to kill me if they see this,” Eric adjusted the camera to better get a good range around the bedroom. “Okay…” he looks at his phone screen. “Should be fine… I’ll just turn it on when I’m out, I guess…” he continues to mumble to himself while walking around the room. Your bedroom to be exact. The camera caught everything, from the bed, the closet, to the window, it had a good vantage point. “Crap, the one in the living room’s offline again.”

“How do you have this?” You asked aloud. The Charlatan didn’t answer. Instead, the image flipped off again and turned back on to show a different day and in a different position, the living room. You didn’t even have to look at the date stamp to know what day this was, you remembered that conversation verbatim. It haunted you in your nightmares as much as it did your waking hours. You watched your past self collapse on the couch with Eric following shortly after, the way his arms opened for you so naturally was like a habit to you and him at that point and the way you saw yourself melting into them was a common occurrence. How bittersweet this all was, and how tragically poet.

“Are you really sure you don’t want to have the others over?” Your voice sounded so different back then.

“Yeah, the worst case scenario is that our neighbors over there have hate sex while we’re playing Mario Kart,” Eric’s voice, just as it always had, warmed your heart. “Sorry, I know you really wanted to do it.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You have a point too.”

“Yeah, it was nice just going out with them, even if it got so rudely interrupted.”

“Rude interruption is a nice way to put it! I thought you died!”

“But I didn’t!”

“Christ, Eric, you can’t just rush into danger like that, you could get seriously hurt.” How ironic. This whole conversation. The feed was silent for a while and you remembered why, you remembered the way Eric looked at you when you said that, you could even catch a hint of that expression from this footage. You couldn’t hear it, but you remembered what he said next.

“You know I would never put you in that situation, right?” You watched him tighten his arms around you. You remembered that embrace being the most comforting thing in the world, you really were so scared for him that day the bank got robbed, you were so stressed about it that you could barely hold in whatever was inside of you.

“I know.”

“I love you, (Y/N), I would never want you to get caught up in danger.”

“I know, I love you too.” You felt your chest tightening. You knew what came next. That glass shatter must have been loud if you heard it through this footage. You saw the way Eric turned to the front door, followed by you.

“There goes Mr. Shin again,” Eric shook his head.

“I should go check on Yuna, I’m so worried about her.” You felt your breathing pick up now. This was it. The truth.

“Yeah, go ahead. Let me know if she’s okay, and if Mr. Shin tries something, you call for me right away.”

“I will, I’ll be quick.” You watched your past self stand up and leave the unit, all the while Eric watched you go. As soon as you heard the door shut, you saw Eric’s shoulders visibly relax.

“Hooo boy, I have got to figure out (Y/N)’s new schedule, that was close…” Eric ran his hand through his hair and shook his head, “it’s a good thing that I wasn’t in uniform.” He lifts one of the couch cushions and pulls out something, keeping it well concealed in his hand before getting up to leave.

“How do you have this footage?!” You asked it more forcefully this time, but the Charlatan still didn’t answer. Instead, the camera flipped to the bedroom, where you watched Eric walk to the closet and open it wide, then, after some clothes were removed, he pulled off the backboard of the closet and placed whatever he had taken inside. Suddenly, you saw Eric shut the closet quickly as he turned around faster than you would’ve thought possible from him.

Were you really ready to see what was next? You turned away from the screen and you heard the footage stop.

“Did you want to stop?” The Charlatan’s voice cut through your thoughts. You shook your head and steeled your nerves before turning back to the screen and allowing the footage to resume.

You watched Eric stare toward the window that slowly opened to allow for his murderer to walk in. Clad in black with lightning motifs you recognized this second person well.

“Blackout!” Eric’s voice was ecstatic, of course, it was what with how excited he always got about vigilantes. But when you saw Blackout load his gun you felt a stone in your stomach and, just as if a switch flipped, Eric grew serious, you could see it in the way his shoulders rolled back. “You know… a villain hiding under the guise of a vigilante, it’s not a good look. Let’s make this fast, my partner’s out helping one of our neighbors and I’d rather keep this between us.” His voice was steady, a tone he didn’t usually use and one you weren’t too used to hearing from him.

The fight was surprisingly evenly matched, Eric held his own well despite the odds, but with every punch and every block you knew what the end result was and it made the whole thing even more heartbreaking. You wondered why Blackout didn’t just shoot him there, you wondered why Blackout even let him fight, but then you realized why. You realized why he let Eric struggle when he finally pinned him to the ground, loaded gun held to the side of his head, and you heard Blackout laugh. He did this because he enjoyed it, the thrill of it, the inhumanity. A true villain.

“Senator Johnson sends his regards.” Blackout’s voice was gruff, maybe strained from the fight before, but it was the name that got you. Senator Johnson was the head senator who proposed the Vigilante Ban in the first place, and yet here he was working with one.

Bang.

You shut your eyes and the audio came to an abrupt stop. Why was he making you watch the whole thing? You opened the slowly and you could still hear the aftersound of the gunshot. You watched blood stain the floor under him and you tried to ignore the blood splatters against the wall. Blackout stepped over Eric now and he wiped the gun in his hands before placing it in Eric’s, curling his fingers over the handle carefully while he started to set the scene. You had to hand it to Blackout, he really did well in making it look like a suicide. You watched Blackout move things around the room and move some things back, then, he reaches the closet, which he opens without a care, but then he hesitates. You watched Blackout bring a fist to cover his mouth while he takes a few steps back from the closet. Then he turns around to look at Eric, and back at the closet, and back to Eric again, and back to the closet again.

Blackout takes a step forward and pulls something from the closet. Something you, no, everyone would recognize.

“Aegis…” the name slipped out of your mouth so naturally.

“No, no, no… this wasn’t what they told me,” Blackout’s voice shook and he walked back to Eric and fell on his knees, checking for a pulse that wasn’t there. “What have I done? It was just a job, it was just supposed to be a job, how could I have killed Aegis? I… oh god,” Blackout drops the shield and holds the side of his head, clearly thinking to himself and clearly trying to find out what to do.

“Oh fuck… I killed Aegis…” he repeats again. “I killed Aegis and I have to hide that…” his breathing grows labored and he grabs onto his mask, pulling it off quickly to breathe easier. It was like something clicked in his mind because his next move was to run back to the closet, taking a duffle bag from it and shoving the contents of the closet into it. Aegis’ uniform, Aegis’ mask, Aegis’ tools, and, of course, Aegis’ shield. He packed them tightly and headed toward the window, but he stops next to Eric, he stops for a moment before leaving the way he came. And when he turned to close the window?

You saw him.

You saw who murdered Eric Son.

~

“I’m sorry, buddy.” After who knows how long of fighting, San had finally pinned Mingi down. Mingi took labored breaths and San held the shield above his head before bringing it down on the mask, leaving a large fissure in it’s wake until it finally broke in half and slid down either side of Mingi’s face. Beneath him Mingi was winded, he gasped for air like he’d been drowning moments before, and he looked around like a madman who’d never seen light. He scrambles away from San and spots the others.

“Mingi?” Wooyoung asks shakily.

“Woo?” Mingi swallows nervously.

“Oh, he’s back!” Wooyoung cheered and started to run over, but San beat him to it and offered a hand to Mingi, who just stared at it. After some deliberation, he took it and San pulled him up.

“I still can’t forgive you for what you did,” Mingi says quietly.

“I didn’t expect you to.”

“I don’t care that I know the whole story now.”

“I figured.”

“But… I will work with you,” Mingi shakes San’s hand and pulls away from him.

“All’s well that ends well, right?” Wooyoung hugs Mingi and helps him to reach the others. “Let’s go find Spades, they went with you, right, San?”

“Yeah, there were two rooms, so Spades went in the other one while I came here, it was just through that door,” he point to the large doors in the back.

“So much shit came out of that door,” Seonghwa clicks his tongue.

“I know, right? No wonder Blackguard came running out of it,” Yeosang chides. The doors started to slide open again, and the group went quiet.

“Jokes aside… I don’t think we can handle another Charlatan in this state,” Hongjoong watches in tense silence, but then relaxes upon seeing who entered.

“Spades! You’re okay! We were just about to come check in on you!” Wooyoung was always the first to reach out, but your eyes were glued to the floor. You pulled your mask off and tossed it aside. “Spades?” Wooyoung’s voice grew uneasy.

“Shit, did they get you too?” Yunho’s voice wavered, but his gaze never broke away from you.

“Spades?” San approached you slowly. “Everything alright?” He really didn’t want to break another Charlatan mask, and knowing your skills, there’s no way he’s getting out with all four limbs intact.

“You…” your voice was shakier now.

“(Y/N)?” He said your name quietly, his hand reaching out to break you out of whatever trance you were in, then you snapped.

Everything moved so quickly. You wrapped your hands around his neck and shoved him to the ground, thumbs pressing down on his windpipe with strength that was fueled by adrenaline alone. San grabbed onto your wrists, trying to pull your hands off of him but struggling because of his exhaustion from the fight before. The shouts around you fell on deaf ears while you readjusted your grip to apply more force, letting go only to push off Mingi’s hand on your shoulder.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?!” San shouts despite the strain on his voice. “(Y/N)! Snap out of it!”

“Fuck the Charlatan, he couldn’t get me if he fucking tried,” you grabbed the knife strapped to your belt and held it up. “It was you! It was always you and I trusted you!” You brought the knife down and San just narrowly avoided it.

“What the hell are you talking about?!”

“It was you! You killed him!” You saw the realization in his eyes, the way they widened, and the way he shook his head. He knew. He knew what you saw in that room. All the tears you held back in that room came out now. It all made sense. The way you’d suddenly run into San so much more after Eric died, the way he treated you, and the way he took care of you. Was it some sort of twisted guilt he felt toward you? Guilt not just from killing Aegis but also from killing someone you loved? “How fucked is that, San?! You sick bastard! You killed Eric and you had the audacity to pretend that you had nothing to do with it!” San grabbed your wrist before you could bring the knife down on his neck.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I didn’t know who he was, I didn’t know!” You’d never heard a more genuine apology from him until now. Someone grabbed onto your shoulder, but you couldn’t care to see who it was. You couldn’t care to push them away, whatever they tried wouldn’t be fast enough anyway.

“I don’t care.” With your free hand, you grabbed another knife and plunged it first into San’s shoulder, causing him to release your other hand to allow you to

General Tag List: @stopeatread @bat-shark-repellant @raeincitizen @umbralhelwolf @yangsrose @kazooms @sadcoffeecritic 

Without a Trace: @naiify @sunsethw4 @leesalts

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[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!

[hotdogct]

whatever, forever | njm

pairing: film major!na jaemin x history major!reader genre: college au, songfic, minor ~angst, the tiniest bit ~suggestive. words: 2.1k a/n: based loosely off the song “rock bottom” by modern baseball. russian cowboy film is real - at home among strangers - mikhalkov . just a lil something written over the course of this week to distract myself from how badly my body hurts. :) 

hyuck 🔆    [11:29 pm] is he here?

hyuck 🔆    [11:32 pm] are you making out???

hyuck 🔆    [11:37 pm] i can hear you guys on the couch

hyuck 🔆    [11:41 pm]  shut up make out do something already!!!!

hyuck 🔆    [11:41 pm] i'm waiting 😘 

After reading those texts from Donghyuck, Jaemin could feel the color drain from his face, confidence diminishing by the millisecond. You had stepped away to the kitchen for another beer, but left your phone behind absentmindedly; buried within the safety of soft, plush blankets the two of you found yourself tangled in that evening on the couch in your apartment. You were supposed to be reviewing films for your ‘Films of the USSR’ course, with midterms right around the corner. Jaemin was never good at studying the traditional way - notes and books, readings and lectures.

He was much more of a visual learner, content to be a spectator; but all he could focus on was you.  

Some bizarre Russian take on the traditional ‘western’ from the 70’s was playing on the modest television in the living room. It had lost Jaemin’s attention long ago - the beers and pizza you two had been nursing that evening just some of the many factors making his mind wander. The multiple shots of espresso he consumed earlier in the day left his heartbeat a consistent elevated rhythm. The room was spinning - or maybe it was just him. Knowing you would scold him if caught snoozing, he took this moment of solitude to close his eyes, content smile spreading across his soft features…

When Jaemin felt a device vibrate under his thigh, he didn’t think twice of reaching for it, digging through the blankets absentmindedly. He blinked once, twice; the screen lit up automatically and betrayed your secrets before Jaemin could even comprehend that this wasn’t his phone.

What was no surprise was Donghyuck, your pesky roommate, being nosy as ever. What shocked Jaemin was the content of the messages.

Sure, it was glaringly obvious to everyone with a pulse just how infatuated Jaemin was with you, and had been since you showed up to the foreign film club on campus two years prior. As a film major he had felt obligated (read: pressured by the department chair) to attend, passively paying attention from the back row of the lecture hall on Tuesday nights.

While notoriously bad at remembering dates, Jaemin could clearly recall the weather on the night you first appeared at the club - blustery, the earliest glimpse of Spring bringing warmth during the daylight hours, and a crisp chill to the evenings. He remembered your introduction - you were a history major, but loved cinema; how you joked that you were too broke to travel but that this club satisfied your wanderlust. Practical, he thought to himself - excusing himself during the 10 minute recess post film and ditching discussion, as he always would.

The second week, Jaemin watched from his favorite seat in the back row as you unfurled a blanket out of your bag -  a thought that had never once crossed his mind in all of the nights he had spent in the frigid lecture hall. You had waited until the lights were off in the hall, as if prioritizing comfort was somehow a shameful display for you. He hadn’t meant to take notice - he simply was observing what was in front of him - the film, the fidgeting and rustling of his peers, cell phone screens glaring bright like stars, the distant rumble of doors opening and closing, your actions in the dark...  

That night, Jaemin stayed for the post film discussion for the first time, hoping you would share your thoughts. Sure enough, Jaemin watched as you engaged in a fiery debate about purposeful dialogue, double meanings. If anyone had asked for his opinion, he wouldn’t have been able to give one. It would be the first of many occasions he was rendered mute by you.

The third week, Jaemin did the impossible and raised his hand to participate in the post film discussion. His comment wasn’t anything groundbreaking - leaves his memory not long after it comes out of his mouth. He couldn’t quite understand this sudden need to share his thoughts with others, the compulsive urge for conversation - how unlike him - and was none the wiser to your lingering eyes from across the room.

Still contemplating all of this on the walk back to his apartment, Jaemin somehow tuned out your clunky, approaching footsteps. Only your voice successfully cuts through the dense fog clouding his brain - causing his entire being to jump.

“I didn’t realize you could talk.” 

A startled “YA!” bellows from his throat, an involuntary reflex;  but when Jaemin turns around to apprehend whoever caused him such stress, he’s shocked to see it’s you.  Feeling his cheeks burn, sensing your need for a response, he clears his throat and shrugs his shoulders. 

“Not much of a conversationalist.”

You pause. “Fair enough. How’s that working out for you though…?”

You were quick with the retort - he had nothing to immediately offer, save for his name - that much he could speak aloud, didn’t tell you that he knew yours already. Racking his brain for an answer, this was quickly becoming the most mental fortitude Jaemin had to put into a task since middle school algebra. Most of his friends knew he was no fan of debate; emotionally stone walled. You brashly approached the subject within two minutes of meeting him.

“Jaemin?”

 Resuming his walk back home, now accompanied by your energetic frame, Jaemin finally answers: 

  “I, uh, manage. It’s whatever.” 

  A giggle, melodical and sweet - he made you laugh. “Whatever?”

  “Yeah, you know. It’s all whatever. Doesn’t really bother me.” This is the same speech Jaemin tells himself, day after day. “Just here to learn, soak up everything like a sponge.” His shoe makes rough contact with the gravel of the path, rocks scattering sharply against the still of the night. This time, you were the silent one, until: 

“So, you take in everything - but do you ever let it out?”

  No. 

Jaemin wasn’t about to admit that, though; couldn’t quite comprehend that his infatuation with you was much more rooted than he initially conceived. His answer was the only one he knew how to give, default expression, a blank canvas, yet somehow willing to let you make your mark.

“It’s whatever.”  

Hearing approaching footsteps, Jaemin is quick to drop your phone. He exaggerates a yawn upon your return, stretches his arms outward, tries his best to sell the scene fully: He is tired©. He is ready for the midterm. He is sober enough to get home safely. Most of all, he doesn’t want to prove Donghyuck right, can’t believe you two would joke about something like that.

  What was he even doing here?

  “Well,” Jaemin forces a fake smile, looks straight ahead at the Russian cowboys on television, the floor, anywhere but you; slaps his thighs with both hands. “I’ve had a fantastic night, as always, but I should get going.”

Before he can make any headway on getting up, your hand is gently pressing on top of his own, as you sit back down beside him on the couch with ease. Moments later your weight is gently pressing into Jaemin’s slender frame, as you try to get back in the comfortable, cuddly position you were in before the beer break. 

“Noooo, Jaem,” you dig your head deeper into the fabric of his hoodie, words slurred and muffled. “I just opened ‘nother beer and we still have like, 40 minutes of this to get through. Can’t leave now.” You nudge him again once, twice, hoping he would adjust his arms around you - but Jaemin is cold and still. 

It hurts him to ignore your gaze when your head pops up from the safety of his chest; focuses on the bright light of the television instead, gestures towards the cowboys having an intense shootout on the screen. 

“I think I’ve got the gist of it. It’s getting late.”

“Exactly! ‘snot safe out there,” you start, eyes darting around in search of your phone. “Just stay and finish the movie?”

Another incoming text causes your phone to light up from its location on the armrest. Bingo. You lunge towards it with all the grace of a drunk 20-something (nada), arm not at all able to reach from your current position. It’s as if Jaemin is momentarily invisible, an obstacle in the way. You wriggle your hips closer and closer - not close enough - before throwing one leg over his lap, outright straddling him. Your hands finally grab onto your phone, rolling your eyes seeing it was just texts from Donghyuck; only then does it gradually dawn on you just how intimate your current position was.

Jaemin, Jaem, Nana - the only person you’ve met that you haven’t been able to understand. It drove you crazy, kept you up on nights like these; how he held a wealth of knowledge, locked inside the worlds most sealed lips, wide Bambi eyes. A mature presence in every matter except for his own emotional state. A dam you wanted nothing more than to overflow. Even now, with you literally on top of him, his hands remained limp at his sides, afraid to offend.

You hoped Jaemin realized that you weren’t phrasing your next words as a question, but as a command:

 “You sure you gotta go?” 

 Jaemin wishes he could say no, wishes he could summon the courage to follow through with action for once in his life. Instead he finds his face uncomfortably close to yours, swears his heart could burst out of his chest with how nervous you’re making him. The room continues to spin and he’s vaguely aware that his breath must smell like the most unattractive mixture of garlic, coffee and beer; trying his best to divert his gaze literally-anywhere-but-your-own-ohhhh-fuck-its-too-late…

He wasn’t aware of how shallow his uniquely scented breaths were until he dimly felt a hand move to his chest; both your locked gaze and gentle action grounding him. A simple moment to catch his breath that felt like it spanned infinity itself. And there, nestled amongst the stars, Jaemin finally found his courage.

 …fuck it.

 Jaemin’s lips are crashing against yours; knows he’ll need to apologize later for his poor aim, awkward pressure, this rusty practice of alcohol and hormonal fueled energy unfolding between the two of you. If the room was spinning before, certainly it was now in astral orbit. Now Jaemin’s hands are frantically grasping for any bit of you he can grab - didn’t come this far to lose you now.

It all comes to a grinding halt before either of you can begin to comprehend the boundaries just crossed, the physical distance closed. Shallow breaths were now shared between you two, foreheads resting against one other; triumphant orchestral soundtrack from the abandoned film making the moment feel much more important than it surely was.

That is, until Jaemin hears faint applause coming from the neighboring room, feels your features harden downward, scowl apparent. His name is not mentioned, but the shared annoyance of Donghyuck could be felt. Seconds later you motion your head towards the direction of your bedroom; despite the frantic grip he held on you only moments prior, Jaemin trusts himself to untangle his body from yours temporarily, familiar footsteps leading to the bedroom.

Door shut with a bang, Jaemin’s wide eyes take in your space for the first time; drunken, heavy legs steering him onto the lumpy mattress you called your bed, knocking a stuffed animal to the side. A multitude of string lights were hung all around, creating your own private galaxy with hundreds of little stars…

But you - when you showed up a moment later with water in one hand, the blankets that had been discarded in the living room in the other - Jaemin swore you somehow shone the brightest of them all. The bed momentarily shifts under your weight as you join Jaemin, your back pressing against his chest, his arms encircling you, safely. 

 In the privacy of your room, the pace Jaemin sets is much more sluggish; slow, deliberate kisses along the side of your neck, shoulder blade. Featherlight traces of his fingers through your hair, softly hums in tune with whatever music you had put on. Intoxicated no longer by alcohol or caffeine, but by you.

“Jaem?” your sleepy voice weighed down by the sandman’s dust, stomach rumbling and suddenly craving the local deli. “Can we order Marathon tomorrow?” 

A lazy kiss is Jaemin’s initial answer. “Whatever you want.”

You snort, before mocking him. “Whatever yourself.” Jaemin doesn’t respond verbally, and you try again. 

“Whatever, forever.”

To hell with the spins, to hell with class tomorrow, to hell with your creepy eavesdropping roommate, to hell with the midterm - Jaemin was staying right here - with you - in wonder whateverland. 

a special lil dedication to fic writers in general. i was inspired to write because last week in the immediate aftermath of my incident, reading fic was one of the only ways to temporarily distract my brain from how bad my chest hurt lol. this weekend i plan on reblogging the ones i read with some feedback attached as a thank you. please know the silly hobby that we partake in really can have a small effect upon others. it feels silly to acknowledge, but thank you. <3

[encantoisawesome]

screenshots of bruno’s room 

(i wanted to get at least the majority of the details so i got the first screenshot in every scene transition that revealed a new detail of the room)

so i was just gonna post these on their own with no other text but then i kept noticing more and more stuff in the screenshots and now i wanna talk about some of them.

1. does bruno use that hair brush on himself or just for the rats? (probably more the rats then himself) 

2. bruno owns socks. at least his feet wont get cold during the autumn/winter seasons

3. ive noticed that there are a HELL TON of boxes scattered around his room which either contains various items or used as furniture (or as a stage for his telenovelas). one of them that i noticed though, on screenshot 9 one of the boxes has folded up fabric in it which are a similar colour to his shirt and trousers underneath his ruana (i could be wrong, the area the box is in is in the shadows). when i saw that i immediately thought “did he used some of these boxes to pack and those are his clothes?”. i dunno, like i said i could be wrong

4. he has a spare ruana hanging above the shelf behind his telenovela stage. also a hammock in the corner

5. who’s boot is that on the shelf? is it brunos? does bruno have boots? i dunno (also WALL-E reference)

6. for the love of god someone please tell me he has more toothbrushes that the rats havent touched/eaten

7. the chair made out of a barrel. plus the basket light shade

8. on screenshot 19, 20 and 22, i noticed that near his door there are a stack of picture frames leaning against the wall next to his rat maze. when i saw those i actually thought they were the pictures that were previously on brunos wall next to his previous room (on the walls on the stair case leading to his door you can see shadows of where pictures once hung). again i could be wrong 

9. i desperately want to know what those notes pinned to the wall say on screenshot 21. my theory is that they are instructions on how to cook something as they are pinned near his mini stove

10. the spackle covering one of the walls

there are WAY more stuff to talk about bruno’s room behind the walls, those are just 10 things i noticed and wanted to talk about. what do you guys think?