#this is just the outline for the au so not everything is set in stone. things are yet to get build up on. here is the foundation for my ide | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hanalulugguk · 9 months

Text

Sugar Rush Ride II

Pairings: Han Jisung x fem oc

genre: fluff, non-idol AU

Warnings: none.

Word count: 4k

bold is korean

(yet to be proof read!)

hello my loves. this is part dose of shy jisung as a librarian, i don't plan on making it too long so they'l kiss soon dw, not this chapter there. feedback is appreciated so i know where you'd like the storyline to go, nothing is set in stone :*

jisungie library assistant part 2/?

Enjoy <3

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Lyra hadn’t been to the library in 2 days, opting to spend the weekend with friends and recharging, she was already well caught up after staying with her professor on friday the 4 hours that followed her last class, completely against his weill but she can be convincing when she needs to. Meaning, supposedly, she had nothing to worry about, however she’ll definitely find herself to be behind after today's class. The class she was currently running late to, in theory at least. It's still 8;30 but she hasn’t even taken the 35 minute subway commute so, realisticly, she will end up late.

As she hurries down the long stairs that lead to the subway, card in hand, she tries to tie her hair to the best of her ability to get it out of her face, laptop dangerously balanced in her arm that’s extended backwards, a dangerous play, but seemingly effective as she reaches the turning gates. She scans her card quickly, getting nudged on her butt as the gate repays her for the aggressive shove she gives it, before making a run for the subway door pushing against the crowd of people making it only a few seconds before the door closes.

Luckily she finds an empty spot, the cart she got into not being too crowded with only 2 people standing at the cart dividing door. Placing her bag on the floor, lyra pulls out her small makeup pouch to do her makeup. Having slept somewhere after 3am from binging a new show, it was of no shock to her when she woke up a few minutes before 8 having slept through all 5 of her alarms to waker her up at 7. With very quick practiced precision, she does her concealer, bronzer, blush, mascara and hesitates to do her eyeliner so instead she just lines her waterline with black kohl. A quick poor job at lipliner and lipbalm, choosing to ignore how she accidently overlined her bottom lip, and she’s done.

People on the subway have seen heinous things, have seen weird occasions on the 9am subway, so lyra aggressively patting her makeup in was not a head turner to people. Pulling out to check her tasks for the day she notes the research paper she needs to hand in today for her job, noticing how she was only halfway done with it. At that time she already knew she would be late on her master’s work. Working as a freelance researcher and analyst was not an easy thing on the side with a master’s degree, but she was aware it would be the sole reason she is able to afford her current life.

With only a few minutes to her stop before she needs to rush off the subway again, seeing as it was almost 9, she knew she’d be, almost, not too late going into her class. Which was the case as she walks into the class 9:13 with the professor still setting up the projector, lights off and quiet murmurs flowing through the room. After a polite hello lyra finds a seat near the back, lying her things down and pulls out her materials.

By the time it hits 2, lyra is already getting off the subway, much more relaxed and in no hurry like she was that morning, and making her way down the long main street to reach the library. The plan for today was clear and simple, or simple enough, finish the rest of the research paper, revise for tomorrow’s in class analysis and outline the chapter they took today, opting to keep the studying after the analysis seeing how they don’t have materials on hand for it and she can barely keep everything on the top of her mind for too long.

Making it into the library building lyra contemplated grabbing a coffee, but deciding to keep it for her break, knowing very well she’ll need a pick me up halfway since she hasn’t eaten anything since her early morning heated up leftover frozen waffle as she fought the clock to get out of her apartment at a reasonable time to not miss taking the subway at a decent enough time. Making her way inside, there were still a number of tables empty, being only a little before rush time.

Taking a quick glance around she chose the table closest to the main desk knowing that during rush hour the back couches where people hang out and the back tables would be the most crowded considering it being a monday too, meaning it’ll almost be coffee shop rush hour in here. Wanting to be able to work in, the closest to, peace as possible given the circumstances.

Once her things are placed on the table, lyra takes a quick break, spreading her legs the furthest away she could under the table, back leaning against the back of the chair as she throws her head back, eyes closed. inaudible groan barely making it out of her throat as she appreciated the stretch after sitting through a 3 hour class and the commute from campus. “Hello darling,” the soft call urges lyra to hold her head up looking in the direction of the voice as she sees sally approaching her table from the opposite side of the library, big smile etched on her face as she pulls a chair at lyra’s table.

“Hi sally, how’s work?” lyra asks politely, gathering her limbs and leaning against the table to rest her chin on her palm as she offers a small tired smile to sally. “Same old, putting books away and helping people around.”

“Anything interesting happen?” lyra urges resting both forearms on the table as sally furrows her brows, “this is a library, define the interesting you’re looking for.”

“Something other than people studying and sleeping,” lyra explains, pulling her feet up to press the outside of her thighs against the arms of the chair, leaning her back against the stiff wood. “We had a field trip visit today.” Lyra forms an o with her mouth “how old?”

“5th graders,” at sally’s reply lyra’s face forms a grimace making her give a light laughs, “they weren’t all that loud,” sally reasons but she still shakes her head, “glad i’m never here early.” sally rolls her eyes at her response then asks, “shouldn’t you be empathetic with kids? Considering what you’re working towards?” sally asks.

“I’m able to be empathetic when it is one singular kid, not kids as a whole.” lyra responds making sally shake her head at the poor logic, “how was your day?” she asks already expecting her response when lyra presses her lips into a thin line and shuts her eyes tightly. “Only half the day left to go,” she replies dramatically making sally let out a sympathetic laugh at the younger’s dramatic response. “You’ll get through it,” lyra nods as sally gets up pointing towards the main desk.

“I need to get the rest of the books back in place before the place gets crowded, i’ll leave you to your work.” lyra gives a grateful smile as she blows sally a kiss making her smile.

Wasting no time, she slips her headphones on, pulls out her work and switches on her laptop to get what she can done as fast as she could, hoping to make it home before midnight today since she has an earlier class tomorrow. Through the rush and hassle that adorns the library from 3-5, lyra was able to get a lot of her work done, not being bothered or too distracted by the people wandering the library and the noise that, no matter how many times people are warned, seems to occupy the library at this time. She even barely looks up when the long line starting at the main desk reaches her table as she continues to type, scour through her papers and scribble in her notebook.

At 5:15 the library is back to being quiet, barely any sound is heard as the only people left are those who plan to spend the time there working or reading. With a hand waving in front of her face, blocking her view from her computer, if it were anyone else’s she would be pissed, but when she looks up to see sally stood next to her on the left, big smile plastered as lifts up a book in her hand, she returns the smile. Lyra slips off one side of her headphones and sits up straighter in her seat, “i’m done with my shift so i’ll be off, i was sorting through the books this morning and thought you might like to read this one so i kept it aside for you,” lyra takes the book from sallys outstretched hand to ready the title, smiling. ‘The self-driven child’.

Sally has always been this way, ever since she’s been coming to spend all her study time at the library Sally has been picking out books for lyra that might help her. From media psychology to social psychology books, to behavioural psychology, any book she comes across that may be deemed helpful for her. Even the ones that lyra does not need, but the thought that sally keeps her in mind as she goes about her job makes lyra feel very flattered and content.

“Thank you,” lyra says softly looking back up at sally with a big smile, “oh it’s nothing darling, just be sure to read through the blurb and let jisung check it into the system for you if you want it.”

“Jisung?” lyra asks with furrowed brows making sally nod, “he’s new, he used to be on the early morning shift before noon with me but since we needed someone to be here during the night to help around he was moved to the night shift. He starts 6, he should be here in a bit, let’s hope he doesn’t forget about his shift again.”

Could that be the man she saw last thursday? The one she practically ran away from?

“I’ll be sure to read the blurb,” lyra says simply making sally smile and stroke her head gently, “be sure to take breaks, and eat.” the younger nods in response, sally bidding her goodbye as she makes her way out.

It was almost 5:30, meaning it had been a little over 3 hours since lyra started working and her grumbling stomach proved to be an obstacle to continue that streak when she tried to get back to her task. Opting to listen the voice of reason, the loud gurgling of her stomach that could probably be heard by other people occupying the space, she quickly assorted her things on her desk, making sure to keep the book sally gave her in view so she wouldn’t accidently pack it up, and grabbed her wallet and phone before proceeding to make her way to the cafeteria.

She took the elevator ride as an opportunity to stretch her limbs, arms high above her head as she arches her back letting out a low grunt, nose scrunching and face contorting. By the time the elevator dings, doors opening, she's stuffing her hands in her pockets heading to the cafeteria, noticing the flow of people inside, it wasn’t too busy but there was a significant amount of people eating and chattering, the soft murmur being drowned out by the jazz music playing through the floor.

Pushing the glass door, she enters the cafeteria, the smell of freshly made food and coffee wafts through the air, growing an appetite within lyra that almost supasses her need for coffee. Going in further, Jonah spots her from a few tables down, a tray filled with empty china plates as he goes around gathering them from the tables. He gives her a small smile with a wave, which she returns with a smile of her own. She walks into his line of direction to head towards the cashier with him, “busy time?” she asks simply as soon as they’re hearing distance from each other. “As always,” he replies back giving her back a gentle touch as he walks behind her urging her forward, “come i’ll fix you up something to eat.” he situates her in front the cashier as he places the tray full of plates aside, calling back to axel in the back kitchen to come take the plates before making his way back to the other side of the cashier.

“What should i get you? We have really good bolognese today.” at the news lyra gasps with a hand over her mouth making jonah laughs as he rings it up for her, “i want something with it, i haven’t had breakfast today,” jonah gives her a disapproving look before he takes a step backwards to point at the displayed menu on the side, “you could either have shredded steak and onion or chicken tenders,” lyra hums before opting for the steak. “Alright then, that’ll be 23 dollars ma’am.”

“Here you go sir,” she extends her card over cash register, “do you want me to add a coffee for you? We don’t have any vanilla syrup today though, we ran out.” lyra gives a small pout as her disappointment shows. She doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth but no matter how many times she tries or how many ways she attempts, she can’t have plain coffee. It always tastes too bitter for her, and added sugars are too sweet for her, opting for vanilla syrup as her perfect flavour enhancer.

“No it’s okay, hopefully a full stomach will be enough of an energy booster to finish my work.” jonah gives her an apologetic smile as he swipes her card before giving it back to her. “Find a table, me or axel will bring it to you.” she nods before choosing a table near the window, setting her things down before resting her temple on the large glass, closing her eyes as she tunes out the light music playing, focusing on the sound of ongoing cars and the light chatter from the street that makes it’s way to the second floor.

Not too long after, the sound of a china plate being placed on the table alerts lyra as she opens her eyes to see axel placing the second plate down, “ don’t believe what jonah tells you,” he whispers making her furrow her brows and tilt her head, she opens her mouth to speak but before she can ask jonah approaches her table. “He burned the steak.” At the simple statement and axel’s offended look, Lyra leans her head back as she laughs.

“I didn’t!” axel hisses at jonah who’s already making his way back to the cashier, he turns to lyra who’s still laughing lightly, pulling the plates closer to her to begin eating. “It’s just seared a little extra.” he defends, making her shoulders shake as she shakes her head. “I’m sure it’s great.” she ensures making axel huff out a breath. She takes a bite out of the steak and holds up a thumbs up to axel who stood waiting.

She could taste a bit of the solidified spices sticking to the pieces of meat but none of it close enough to taste charcoaled. Axel smiles gratefully before petting lyra’s shoulder, “thank you, even if you’re lying.” she furrows her brows at the comment, “remember the raspberry potato salad?” at the mention of the failed recipe testing from a good 7 months ago that he won’t seem to live down, axel shakes his head “i forgot you don’t lie, sorry.” as axel makes his way over to jonah to get back to work lyra hums as she goes back to her meal.

With a full stomach and satisfied taste buds at the quick lemon muffin she stuffed from the new recipe testing that axel snuck her, Lyra heads back to the library with a little hop in her step.

The stark contrast of quiet atmosphere between the library and cafeteria floor help lyra switch from her break to work mood as she makes her way into the library. Upon entering she notices less people are around since it was nearing 7, the library tends to empty out near 10, the prime time of working in the peace and quiet being between 7 and 11. She makes her way back to her chair putting her phone and wallet away before taking a seat and slipping her headphones back on.

Aware of the tight time she has, she wastes no time in turning on the noise cancelling feature and turning on a chill r&b mix before pushing her phone aside. Within a few minutes she’s back to finishing up her work, in a record time of 30 minutes she’s finalized it and handed it in. as soon as the loading screen turns into a ‘successfully submitted!’ screen she slumps in her chair n let’s out, what she thought, was an inaudible sigh of relief. Before she has the chance consider a(n unnecessary break) much needed time to recollect before she moves onto scouring the internet for any content that remotely resembles todays class so she could go over it, her eyes, unfortunately, catch the time display at the bottom of her screen.

Lyra decides to finish up quickly and go home earlier than usual so she could make it to bed before midnight. Extending her arms at her sides to stretch and crack a few joints, the knuckles on her left hand skim a soft fabric that makes her instinctively retreat her arms and curl in on herself before turning sideways to see what the uncalculated contact was. Upon turning she lays eyes on the same man from last week, dirty blonde hair pushed back by his black rimmed glasses, button up white shirt a little dishevelled and wrinkled, with the top two buttons undone and slightly tucked into his black jeans. His round eyes are wide, alarmed and worried as he takes a quick step back from lyra’s chair. His small lips are rounded in the smallest lowercase o she has ever seen as his eyes skim over her small frame, still curled in at the sudden contact, as she looks up at him with wondering eyes.

The man looks in distress, as if he smacked lyra across the head with a table made of steel rather than accidentally walking in her line of contact whilst she was stretching. “Oh i’m sorry i didn’t see you walking by.” lyra apologizes, small polite smile as she straightens her back and pushes her hair behind her ear to see the man better. With no shift in expression he shakes his head lightly, eyes still wide, as he takes a step to the side and points around him, “no i,i didn’t know you were stretching.” he excuses, an unnecessary roll to his r in a foreign accent. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t expect you to.” she chuckles, responding back lightly to show there no hard feelings.

“here, “ she takes a small step forward, pulling her chair in to allow more space between her seat and the table behind her for him pass by. “Thank you.” jisung responds, eyes trained on the floor as he habitually gives a small bow.

He walks behind her slowly, looking back as he passes her. Once jisung is at the front desk he takes, what he thinks, are quick sneaky glances between the the books in his hand and lyra who has gone back to working on her laptop, pushing any papers and books aside as she pulls it closer to her.

The sound of keyboard typing fills the quiet space and in no time jisung is out of his trance and goes back top his work, stealing occasional glances as he passes lyra’s table, careful to not bump into her again at any point. By the time it hits 10, there’s only 3 people in the library. Jisung, lyra, and another girl at the back of the library slumped on one of the lower seats in the reading corner, headphones on as she seemed to be watching something on her phone.

Jisung is at the front desk, lyric notebook open as he hunches over it, brows furrowed in deep contemplation, pen poking his bottom lip as he scans over the lyrics, crossing out yet another line that does not provide the flow he wants. He lets out a sigh of frustration, as he goes back to the first line, humming the song and lightly murmuring the lyrics till he reaches the same line he hasn’t been able to go past for the past 3 days.

As he tsks and places his pen down on the notebook in annoyance, in his line of vision stood lyra with her bag slung across her shoulder, and the book sally gave her clutched in her arms. At the shock of another person he wasn’t prepared to interact with, jisung sprung out of his chair, stumbling a little, as he ran his hand through his blonde hair, forgetting that his glasses were in his hair, making them go flying to the floor a few feet away from the desk. Both lyra and jisung turned to look at the poor glasses as she chuckles lightly. From embarrassment and quick over contemplation, jisung froze for a second, mouth flapping open like a fish out of water. When she sees that he makes no move to go pick up his glasses, lyra goes to grab it for him, he watches her as she crouches down to pick them up, fold them and walk back to hand it to him.

“Here you go,” she says in the quietest and gentlest tone she could muster, and places them in his outstretched hand. “Oh thank you.” jisung quietly responds, clutching them tightly as if they’d try to excape him again. “Absolutely,” she responds with a small smile.

When jisung doesn’t respond furthur, a moment of silence settling between them, lyra holds up the book she was holding, “i wanted to burrow these.” she says simply holding them out to him to take them from her. “Oh of course.” Jisung clumsily takes the book from her as he gives the chair behind him a little kick so he could shuffle to the computer. “The self-driven child.” he reads under his breath as he types it into the computer. Upon finding the book in the sheets he enters the date and turns to lyra, “what’s your name?”

“Lyra campbell.” she responds simply taking a small step closer to see the screen as jisung types. Hyper aware of her lingering behind him, his fingers graze over the keyboard, looking between the keys. Upon noticing she offers him guidance.

“L,”

“Huh?” jisung turns to her, round eyes big and glowing, “lyra, L.” she repeats and his mouth froms an o, just as it did earlier. He turns to the keyboard and presses the letter. “Y- r- a. Campbell, c-a-m-p-b-e-l-l.” when he’s done he presses enter to finalize the entry and turns to lyra with the book.

“Hand back in uh 3 weeks, between noon and 6pm.” he receits the rules given to him as he hands her back the book, lyra nods dutifully as she takes back the book with a smile, “thank you. Good night.”

“Good night.” he parrots back as she turns to leave. Jisung wipes his palms on his jeans as he turns back to his notebook. “Aish how embarrassing.” he mutters to himself taking a quick glance the library’s entrance where lyra just was.

At midnight, jisung unfortunately had to politely kick out the girl who was still hanging out at the library, watching whatever she was watching, so he could close up and go home. Thankfully, she was no trouble though and instantly packed up, talking too fast for jisung to be able to grasp onto more than ‘the library wifi is just spectacular’ and ‘nowhere in her dorm is as quiet as it is here’, and left. In very quick strides jisung places all the books he knows need to be placed, having a much better understanding of where everything needs to be after a week of being the one to close up the library, turns off any devices, places any forgotten object on the front desk for sally to deal with when she comes back and turns off the lights as he heads out with a polite bow and goodbye to the security.

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velvetwastaken · 11 months

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I spot another ask meme so you know what that means lol! 3, 4, 10, 16/17 (they're pretty similar so just choose what fits u more ig?) and 50 if you'd like!

well, I appreciate it! these ask games are my ego boosters lol

3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

Ough, this is a tough question. I'm bad at seeing these kinds of patterns in my own stuff. BUT I think all my fics are some form of friends to lovers or enemies to lovers (or they are intended to be eventually if the fic is pre-relationship).

I'm also pretty sure I use way too many idioms. Like excessively, problematically so. It’s also kinda how I talk though so that’s my excuse 😅

And I really hope that all my fics, even the angsty ones, have moments of humour in them. I know there's almost always something that’s made me laugh out loud while writing, and so I hope anyone reading it also finds it at least mildly amusing.

There's probably more, but I’ll leave it there for now.

4. What detail in [insert fic] are you really proud of?

Am I supposed to specify the fic? Let me know if you had a one in particular in mind for me to think about. I’ll just pick a couple off the top of my head for now.

I like the description in my levihan fic where Levi and his horse wipe out because I had a wreck almost exactly like that when I was working on a ranch. Actually that whole fic is just full of horsey details that please my inner horse girl to no end 😂

Specifically for ganqing, I’m actually really pleased with sneaking in the blueberry cookie detail in Must Love Cats 😂 It’s super minor, I know, but I had already written that part before I was educated about Keqing’s favourite cookie, so then obviously I had to intentionally go back and change it. It makes me feel like I know Keqing a little better now lol.

10. How do you decide what to write?

hmm. I feel like this is a deceptively tricky question, lol. Is it how do I decide what ideas to develop into a full story, or is it how I decide how that story goes? I think the answers to either will be less than satisfying since I barely know myself tbh 😬

For the former, usually there is a scene or image that sparks the initial idea. It might be from a legit prompt, but more often it's just a passing thought, probably inspired from something I saw or experienced at some point. Sometimes the process for writing the story is just getting to that scene, other times it's just starting at point A and seeing how far the idea takes me.

For the latter, I'm pretty bad for not outlining anything and just winging it, so I don't know that I 'decide' anything. It sounds hokey, but I do think I sometimes get to a place where I'm in the character's head enough that they are telling their own story and I'm just transcribing it (this was very much the case for Reversal). I am experimenting with outlining though, and it's been helpful to a point, but having decided what should happen next and actually writing the prose for it are two very different things and I am suffering 🫠

All that aside, there is a part of me that thinks nothing is really decided when it comes to writing, nothing is set in stone. Once I write something I can change it a hundred times after that. I consider everything to be a draft of sorts, even after it's up on ao3 or whatever. And in a way that's very comforting. Writing is flexible in a way that my life is not and I like that very much.

16. What's an AU you would love to read (or have read and loved)?

I love AUs. There are so many good ones! But for a current top three, let's go with University AU, Office AU, and Scifi/fantasy AU. I would read any of these AUs all day long 😂

50. Answer any question of your choice, or talk about anything you want to talk about!

Okay! I’m going to pick #40 and answer that one for this freebie lol

Do you tend to reread fics or are you a one-and-done kind of person?

And the answer is a resounding YES! I reread fics all the time. I have some on rotation because they are just that good they demand to be reread regularly. I honestly love rereading and even rewatching anything that’s made me happy before. Just because I know what’s going to happen doesn’t mean I can relive those feelings again.

#thanks for the ask ridl!! it’s always such a treat!#ask game

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kholran · 1 year

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Fic Writer Interview

Thanks for the tag @lucientelrunya!

name/nicknames: Kholran or Khol. I don’t use my real name online much.

fandoms: I’ve written for DMBJ, Les Mis, and The Hobbit fandoms, but I’ve created things Black Sails, Outlander, LotR, Person of Interest, and a handful of anime (Gundam Wing, Hellsing) fandoms. The ones I follow but haven’t created for yet are too many to list here.

two shots?: Wild Fire was supposed to be a one-shot that got away from me and ended up as two chapters, but everything else is actually either a one-shot or an absurdly long multi-chapter.

most popular multi-chapter fic: Pyre, hands down.

actual worst part of writing: DIALOGUE. Look, I’m barely functional in social situations as it is, and now I have to write two (or more) sides of a conversation, while making it sound natural, AND keeping character voices instead of just my own? RIDICULOUS.

how do you choose your titles: They usually end up being quotes or song titles/lyrics. I try to incorporate some form of light/fire in my Pyreverse titles so they fit the overall theme.

do you outline?: I usually have a few set plot points that I want to get to, like stepping stones. And then I have to connect those points into a full story. I don’t actually write any of it down, though. It all lives in my head until I get to that point of the story. With varying levels of success at remembering what they all were.

ideas you probably won’t get around to, but wouldn’t it be nice?: It’s been ages since I worked on my Weilan Mermaid AU,but I do hope that I’ll write it some day. I don’t actually get very many ideas, so I’d like to try and get to all of them eventually. But we’ll see.

callouts @ me: Just do it. It doesn’t have to be perfect from the start. You can fix it later. Just put some words on the page first.

best writing traits: I’ve been told people like the way I write a character’s perspective of the setting and events so I guess that?

spicy tangential opinion: Do I have any? IDK. I mean there are some ships I don’t get and some popular characterizations I don’t agree with but that’s not very spicy, I don’t think. Everyone has opinions.

tagging: @merinnan @alxina @xantissa @foxofninetales @amidalogicdive

#things i'm tagged in #writer asks

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ammonitetheseaserpent · 2 years

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Here’s an official outline for @lynxz-studios and I’s AU, the Calamity Spirits AU!

Background

When the Guardian created the Calamity Stones, they also created three corresponding angels, of a sort, that the gems would house. These angels would watch over each set of gem wielders to make sure they were “worthy”.

The Heart gem is inhabited by a giant wolf named Lunimus, a huge lioness named Virsol resides in the Strength gem, and the Wit gem has a massive raven named Sagacella. These names, however, are not revealed to anyone except gem wielders who are deemed worthy. So, to most, they are simply named after their gems’ respective attributes of Heart, Strength and Wit.

They’re kind of foils to the Calamtrio, in a way - wild, free reflections of their gem aspects, completely sure of who they are. Lunimus is adaptable and driven by instinct, knowing intuitively who he can and cannot rely on. Virsol is confident, powerful and unwavering, knowing what she’s capable of and how to use her strength. Sagacella is resourceful and cunning, knowing what they want and how to get it - no matter what obstacles stand in their way.

Show Events

When the Calamtrio are initially connected to the gems, the power between them is very wild and uncontrolled. They become even more so after everything that goes down in TC, as the spirits become dissatisfied with the humans - which is a big part of the reason Anne’s powers take so much out of her, and why using them feels bad (aside from the fact that she’s only half-connected to the Heart gem).

At some point during Season 3 (maybe All In?) the spirits “test” the Calamtrio by exposing them to all their insecurities, and after a tough time, the human trio come out successful, and prove how they’ve all changed for the better. Anne affirms to Lunimus that she knows who she is now, and though she’s been wronged, she won’t let that define her, and if the hard path will end up being better for herself and the ones she loves, then that’s the one she’s going to take. Sasha tells Virsol that she’s not that person anymore, that she wants to cooperate, not control, and that her days of manipulation to get what she wants are over. Marcy admits to Sagacella that her trying to escape reality is what ended up hurting herself and those around her, and affirms that she doesn’t want to live a sugar-coated lie anymore.

After the Calamtrio “beat” the spirits, they reveal their true names and become willing to give the humans full access to the powers - which they end up doing in The Hardest Thing, of course.

When Anne is sent back after dying, she’s sent back with reformed, normal-animal-sized versions of the Calamity Spirits, who have just enough inter-dimensional power left to take themselves and the Calamtrio to the human realm one last time. The Guardian intends for their angels to watch over these humans from the earth, granting them one last piece of Amphibia.

The spirits still retain a bit of magic. Lunimus is able to soothe those around him, allowing them to think more clearly, and is attuned to the emotions of others. Virsol is able to strengthen one’s resolve, and has a lot of endurance herself. Sagacella can read the thoughts of others, and open their mind to communicate things to a person, even over a distance.

Once they “reform” they develop their own personalities. Lunimus is the titular “little brother” of the group, with a bit of a tendency towards brattiness and melodrama. Virsol is like a protective older sister with a burning curiosity streak - you will not like her when she’s bored. Sagacella has massive “oldest sibling that doubles as a semi-parent” vibes. They sometimes have to stop the other two from squabbling, which is easier some times than others - Virsol is at their complete mercy, while Lunimus is more rebellious towards them.

#amphibia #amphibia marcy #marcy wu #amphibia anne #anne boonchuy #amphibia sasha #sasha waybright #amphibia guardian #three stones deity #lunimus #virsol #sagacella #amphibia au #calamity spirits au #random snippets of my day

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gukyi · 4 years

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the love project | jjk

summary: from running to mcdonald’s at 3am after a halloween party where the two of you dressed up as the teletubbies to timing how long it takes for him to drink a cup of monster mixed with mountain dew and iced coffee and then do fifty push-ups, you’re used to your best friend jungkook asking you to do all sorts of crazy things. but, of all the shit the two of you do, letting him follow you around for a week with a camera and take candid photos of you for a photography assignment might just be the craziest of them all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 12k warnings: college antics, hopeless pining, slow burn a/n: me: this fic will be 10k max! also me: actually nevermind on par for the course of this blog, i hope you enjoy this fic! it was so much fun to write and it definitely got me back into the ~writing mood~. more fics coming soon!

These days, the weeks pass you by like trains on a platform. They whiz past you, the only discernible features being the beginning and the end of them, with the middle nothing but a blur.

At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in college, and the days bleed into weeks bleed into months, and suddenly you’re one year closer to graduating, one year closer to figuring out what next to do with your life, even if you’re still missing that one general education requirement you forgot to take in your first year so now you’re trying to cram it into your schedule at the last minute.

Okay, you’ll admit it. Introduction to Astronomy is kicking your ass. That’s what you get for putting it off until junior year, when you’re supposed to have reached the point in your History major career where you don’t have to look at numbers anymore and the idea of doing basic math is absolutely unfathomable. History majors don’t do math. They just don’t. It vanished from your academic arsenal long before now, alongside your ability to interpret word problems and understand science textbooks.

Perhaps in another universe, you would have actually retained those skills past high school, but that universe is not this one, and so your problem sets can solve themselves or not be solved at all.

Your best friend would have to disagree.

“It’s not even calculus!” Jungkook exclaims over a mouthful of a Starbucks tomato and pesto panini, pointing to your laptop in exasperation, as if the answer has been staring you in the face for the past fifteen minutes. “It’s just algebra! All you’re doing is plugging the numbers into the formula and finding the missing variable!”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff, furiously erasing at the notebook in front of you as you get yet another incorrect answer. Who knew math could be so difficult? Oh, that’s right. You did. “You took that advanced differential equations class for fun last year. It’s not even required for your major. You’re just a masochist.”

“Says the person who convinced their advisor to let them take seven classes because they, and I quote, ‘all seemed so interesting’ and you ‘didn’t want to miss out.’” Jungkook rebukes pointedly. “Because your life would be so terrible if you didn’t take Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe.”

He’s got you there. Seven classes is a lot. In your defense, Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe was very interesting and you got a 4.0 that semester. So who is he to judge? Jungkook’s favorite pastime is pretending that taking three different computer science classes in a single semester isn’t going to single-handedly kill him.

Jungkook watches you struggle for a few moments more before he sighs, like he can’t take looking at someone so mathematically incompetent any longer. He stuffs the remaining third of his Starbucks panini into his mouth all at once like the ravenous beast he is before he reaches over the tiny table you’re sat at to look at your problem set himself. He turns your laptop towards him and grabs hold of your notebook, furrowing his eyebrows as he enters Work Jungkook Mode.

Work Jungkook Mode is the mode of him you see most often during finals week or the rare occasions where you meet up to actually try and get work done. Work Jungkook has tunnel vision for whatever assignment is currently in front of him, which he will do either in one sitting or die trying. Work Jungkook lets his coffee get cold and forgets to answer your text messages, even when you’re sat right across from him and you know that he can see the notification on his laptop. Work Jungkook refuses to turn in anything that he hasn’t devoted his entire being to, even if it’s something as simple as a discussion board post. Some of his other friends say that when Jungkook is in Work Jungkook Mode, they won’t even try to contact him, lest their messages get lost in the flurry of his coding assignments.

But you are not “some of his other friends.” You are his best friend. So rules do not apply to you. And Jungkook has long accepted that fact.

“Hey, don’t mess up my work—” You exclaim defensively, grabby hands reaching over the table to retrieve your notebook. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Jungkook scribbles something down in nearly-illegible font, determined to solve the problem in front of him. He thinks for a few more seconds before eventually jotting down an answer, circling it with his pencil. Holding the notebook out so both of you can see, he scoots his chair over to your side of the table, your shoulders pressed together in this tiny corner of the Starbucks, right by the bathroom, and explains, step by step, what he did.

He does that for the following two problems in your set, walking you through the kind of math he was doing in freshman year of high school like it’s nothing, answering all of your stupid questions and giving you tips on how to finesse the system by taking as many shortcuts as possible. Teaching you things you never learned, or possibly had just forgotten. Things that a professor would think is idiotic to re-teach to a junior in university. Things that Jungkook wants you to know because he just wants you to have a little more faith in yourself.

“Does that help?” He asks when he’s finished, still doubting his fantastic teaching abilities despite the fact that he just taught you more in the last thirty minutes than your professor has managed in a month and a half.

“It actually does,” you tell him, pleasantly surprised. Looking back down at your notebook, what was once a shapeless blur of numbers, letters, and formulas is suddenly a clear and organized outline of each and every step to follow. “I didn’t know it was that easy.”

“Anything can be easy if you just commit yourself to learning how to do it,” Jungkook says, one of those random sentences that are too wise for a college student surviving off of RedBull and Starbucks food, the ones that always make you think Jungkook is secretly an immortal sage with life experiences far beyond your own. “Except coding. Which is hard no matter how good you are at it.”

“Aw, you can do it,” you rally, reaching up to pinch his chin in between your fingers and squeeze it tight. “It’s also too late to change your major now, so you’re stuck.”

“Wow, thanks for the encouragement,” Jungkook chides, hand coming up to rub at where you held his jaw, rolling his eyes. “You should let me help you with your Astronomy work more often. Gives me a break from Python.”

“I would have made you help me whether you liked it or not,” you tell him pointedly, because he is your best friend and he doesn’t get out of things as easily as he thinks he can. “But thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“Of course,” Jungkook says with a good-natured grin, always so selfless and kind and giving. He practically signed himself up for a semester’s worth of TA-ing for Introduction to Astronomy despite the constant mountain of work he has himself. Just because it’s you.

“My very own personal genius,” you muse, wrapping your hands around his arm and snuggling into his body, a whisper of a language only the two of you share. It’s something the two of you have long gotten used to, pressing your fingers all over each other’s bodies like it’s second nature. One of the things that makes you feel so certain about having Jungkook in your life. About wanting him to stay with you for the rest of time. “I’m never letting you go.”

Jungkook smiles, a warm hand coming to rest atop of your own. He breathes, in and out, chest rising beneath your touch. “Like I’d ever let you,” he says.

There is no question about it. Jungkook is one hundred percent, absolutely, undoubtedly, positively, indisputably smarter than you are. It’s something that the two of you used to jokingly fight about (because Jungkook claims that he’s a bad essay writer, even though he’s not), but at this point it’s cemented in stone—he’s a damn genius. A genius who is inexplicably good at everything. A double threat. Triple, if you count the fact that he’s built beyond belief and could probably chuck you into next week if you really, really ticked him off.

The truth is that, ninety percent of the time it is you who is going to Jungkook for help. Whether it be an assignment you need assistance on (namely Astronomy, because Jungkook probably couldn’t help you on your Mesopotamian artifact and primary source analyses despite his best intentions), a date that was a lot worse than you were hoping it would be, or even just the right coffee to order from that expensive place on the corner. Jungkook knows how to fix everything.

So when Jungkook slides into the seat across from you in the food court after his Mastering Photography class with that I’m in trouble look on his face, you know something is horribly wrong.

“Are you alright?” You ask, concerned as you watch him devour the sushi takeout in front of him, stuffing the spicy tuna rolls into his mouth like they’re Skittles. His camera hangs haphazardly out of his open backpack, like he barely had enough time to stuff it into the pocket while he was making his way here. There’s a worried expression written all over his face as he fumbles with the chopsticks in his hand, losing his grip on them every ten seconds.

It’s not until Jungkook has finished the container of spicy tuna rolls in front of them that he finally seems to work up the courage to answer you.

“My Photography class is gonna be the death of me,” Jungkook exclaims, exasperated.

“I thought you liked it,” you comment unhelpfully. Jungkook had been so excited to be enrolled in it, because you needed a recommendation from a different professor and you had to submit a portfolio in order to join the class, making it one of those exclusive (and thus, much better) courses. Not to mention the fact that Jungkook is basically already a professional photographer if his Instagram is anything to go by. He’s going to walk out of university with a Photography minor whether he realizes it or not.

“I do,” Jungkook insists, even if right now it sounds like the two of you both need convincing of that fact. “But this project is ridiculous. I don’t even know how my professor expects us to have the time to finish it.”

“What do you have to do?”

Jungkook sighs. Just thinking about it seems to stress him out. “I mean, it’s only really a week long. So I guess it’s not too bad. But we’re supposed to compile a portfolio of the same subject, taken over the course of the week, with them in all sorts of different poses and lighting and locations, to express a personal theme.”

You scrunch your nose up in confusion. “I might be wrong, but isn’t that what photography… is?” You ask cluelessly.

“Yes,” Jungkook argues, “but also no. Photography is taking pictures of things just for the hell of it. Not because they necessarily speak to a part of your soul. You just like the look of it. You want to capture the scene. That’s it.”

“Oh,” You say dumbly.

“And our subject can be whoever or whatever we want, but he recommended choosing a person because taking pictures of our water bottles in different places is boring,” Jungkook huffs, though his professor does have a point there. Modern history wasn’t made out of photographs of store windows and miscellaneous items. It was made out of people, out of events in their lives that shaped the rest of the world, out of personal experiences that changed their point of view. “But I don’t even know anybody who would be willing to let me photograph them for a whole week! I’d basically have to follow them around like paparazzi!”

“I’ll do it,” you suggest casually, because it seems like the most obvious choice to you. There’s no one Jungkook spends as much time with as you.

Jungkook’s eyes pop out of his head. “What?”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “Think about it. You need a subject for your project that you can photograph in a wide variety of places and over the course of a week. Who else do you spend that much time with, other than me?”

“Well..” Jungkook begins, trying to fight your reasons with his own. “Would you even be comfortable with something like that? I mean, I’m literally going to constantly be taking photos of you.”

“Like we don’t already do that on our phones,” you tease, having amassed quite the album of terrible Jungkook pictures over the years.

“A camera is different from a phone,” Jungkook protests weakly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m just saying. It won’t bother me,” you say with a shrug. Why is Jungkook being so… weird about your suggestion? You thought he would be jumping at the offer, especially considering it means he won’t have to go out of his way to find and photograph someone else for this assignment. But he’s being rather hesitant. You watch as he glares down at his empty sushi takeout box, eyebrows furrowed in that thick, nervous way. “But you don’t have to,” you backtrack. “It was just a suggestion.”

He breathes in and breathes out, expression solid. Even from here you can see the cogs whirring in his brain, placing each and every potential result into a pro and con list inside his mind, trying to work out whether the benefits will be greater than the cost.

Quite frankly, you don’t know what all the holdup is about.

“You’re… sure about this?” He asks, looking up at you, determined to ensure your comfort. As if that’s even an issue. “You’re cool with being photographed and everything?”

“Only because it’s you,” you tease lightheartedly, expecting some sort of equally cheesy response. Instead, it makes Jungkook do something weird. He freezes in place, darting his eyes away from your gaze for a split second, collecting thoughts you can’t see. “Yeah,” you say loudly, trying to bring him back. “I’m fine with it.”

He inhales, exhales, closes his eyes, and opens them. “Okay then. I guess it’s settled. You’ll be my subject,” he declares, an almost unnoticeable wobble to his voice. It’s probably nothing, so you don’t think too hard about it.

“Can you at least pretend to be a little more excited about this?” You ask, jabbing him in the chest with a wooden chopstick. “It’s the first time we’ve ever gotten to be part of a project together!”

“Yay,” Jungkook says, lifeless.

“How about a photo to commemorate it?” You suggest, reaching over to pull the camera out of his backpack, pushing it into his hands. “This can be the start of your portfolio.”

“Fine,” he eventually caves, bringing it up to his eye as he turns it on, twisting the lens to perfect the focus. Even caught off guard like this, he looks like a professional, like someone who was born to be behind the camera. He’s a computer science major but you know that photography will always be something special to him.

You strike a dramatic pose, holding your chopsticks out, one in each hand, with a wide, excited smile on your face. “How do I look?” You ask, scrunching your eyes together.

Jungkook’s finger hovers over the silver button. “Perfect,” he tells you, voice soft and honest.

Click.

“So, how many photos are you supposed to take for this portfolio?” You ask as you flop around on Jungkook’s bed, pretending that the open tab on your laptop with your fifty-page reading doesn’t exist. You don’t even know why professors assign readings that long. Do they really expect you to read all of it?

From across his room, you can make out the top of Jungkook’s fluffy brown hair over his sleek gaming chair, one of the ones that look like high-tech airplane seats. “I don’t know,” he says. “He said at least twenty. And no more than fifty. Which really makes me wonder if someone once submitted like, one hundred photos for this project that he had to grade them on. But yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say. When you’re around a cute animal, you can easily take twenty photographs. Granted, they aren’t exactly award-worthy photographs, but it’s not a physically demanding task.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Hypothetically you could finish it in a day. But it looks really obvious.”

“Well, how many do you have now?”

It’s been a day and a half since Jungkook agreed to let you be his so-called muse, but already you’ve lost track of how many photos he’s taken of you. He loves his camera, you know that, but you didn’t realize exactly how much he loves his camera. And with you as the sole subject for his project, he’s practically letting it hang from his neck all day long, just waiting for the right time to snap a photo of you standing in line at the food court, frowning at your textbook, or waiting to meet up with him. Every time he sees you he snaps a picture, even if the lighting’s bad, even if you haven’t had your morning coffee yet, even if it’s midnight and you look like a zombie. In his mind, there are no bad pictures. Just memories.

You wonder what the hell he sees in you.

“A lot,” Jungkook answers unhelpfully, making no effort to elaborate on that statement.

“Have you counted?” You ask, getting off of his bed to join him at his desk.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to realize what you’re doing until you’re standing right next to him, placing a hand over his shoulders as you lean down next to him. He fumbles around for a second, the mouse slipping through his grip, and you catch a glimpse of one of the photos he’s taken of you, a sliver of your pursed lips, the wrinkles between your eyebrows.

It’s from the library yesterday. You didn’t even know Jungkook had taken a picture of you there. You had a stupid reading to complete last night, one that made no sense and was terribly-written, and you spent an hour just trying to figure out what the damn argument was, and Jungkook captured it. You were there for an hour and Jungkook was there too, watching you like it was nothing, waiting for the perfect moment. He was there, sitting across from you, camera at the ready. You didn’t even hear it click.

He closes it before you get a closer look at the photo, frantically hitting the little red dot at the top corner of the window before you have a chance to ask why.

“What, I’m not allowed to see?” You chide, a little bit hurt but more confused than anything else. Why is Jungkook being so secretive?

“No,” Jungkook spits quickly. making you raise an eyebrow in alarm. “I mean, it’s a surprise. You get to see when it’s finished. I still have to… uh, edit. And stuff.”

“Edit? You think I’m that ugly?” You tease, knowing that he probably means color correction but enjoying the way that he gets all flustered when he hears your voice.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, like he just realized he made a wrong turn and is desperately backtracking. “What, no! I don’t—I don’t think you’re ugly.”

You laugh, letting the sound of your voice ease the tension in his shoulders, reveling in the way his big doe eyes seem to soften when he realizes you were just teasing. He looks like a kid caught stealing a candy bar from a gas station, looks like one of those boyfriends in the viral videos where the girl reveals that she got him a present or something instead, all nervous and full of explanations.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure him, rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him, calm his heart down. “You don’t have to show me. I’m just excited. No one’s ever taken photos of me like this before.”

“I would,” Jungkook speaks up softly. “If you asked. I would.”

“I know,” You say. You’re not sure if there’s a thing in this world Jungkook wouldn’t do for you, and you, him. If he asked, you would pluck the stars from the sky for him. Bring him back a piece of the moon. Stop time. Anything. Everything. Just for him. “I know.”

“What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, changing the topic as he whirls around in his gaming chair.

“Just another reading, like always,” you dismiss, because you’re positive the last thing Jungkook wants to hear about right now is your primary source reading on irrigation techniques in agrarian Europe. You don’t even want to hear about it. “But I could use some help on Astronomy.”

Without another word, Jungkook gets up from his desk and the two of you head over to his bed, where an untouched problem set waits on your computer. He grabs a notebook from his backpack along the way before sitting down next to you on the edge of his bed, bodies pressed together. Slowly, he begins to coach you through each problem, step by step, drawing pictures and diagrams if he has to, until you finish all ten problems.

The truth is, you didn’t really need help with this unit. Astronomy’s gotten a lot easier now that Jungkook has taught you the strategies to tackle it. But Jungkook sometimes feels like a ghost when he works, especially when he’s sitting at his desk, quiet and focused and almost invisible. And call you clingy, but you like it when you can look up and see his face instead of the back of a chair, a little tuft of wavy brown hair. You like it when he’s right beside you, in a place where you know you won’t lose him, where you can hold on if things get rough. Where you can see his stupid brown eyes and his goofy smile and know that he’ll always be there for you.

When he’s finished, Jungkook doesn’t get back up to sit at his desk. He flops down on his back, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, eyes tracing the cracks. You join him, side by side, pretending that there’s something there. Looking up at the sky would be nicer, but it doesn’t really matter, so long as you’re with him.

“I didn’t know you took so many photos,” you say.

“I never want to miss anything.”

“You should give me more warnings, next time. I feel like I look so ugly in some of them.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t say stuff like that.”

“You don’t think I’m ugly?” You ask him, for real this time. It’s not that you think he’s going to say that he does, it’s that you want to know what he really thinks. How he really sees you. You turn your head to him, back pressed against his comforter, barely a foot apart. And he turns back to you, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, big brown eyes wide and blinking. He’s right there, how could you miss him?

“No,” Jungkook says, honest and true. He looks at you, looks right at you, right into you, and he muses to himself, chuckling. “Why would I ever think that?”

At the end of the day, you can’t really be bothered to put on real pants in anticipation of Jungkook’s trigger-happy camera-taking tendencies. He’s seen you spill a boiling hot bowl of tomato soup all over yourself in the dining hall. He’s seen you at four in the morning in the library the night before finals begin, eyebags down to your knees and mismatched shoes on your feet. He’s seen you in the middle of a frat house, sweat dripping down your forehead and smelling of nothing but straight alcohol. Getting dressed up just for him would be antithetical to the very foundation of your friendship.

You have, however, become keenly more cognizant in the last few days of when Jungkook is about to take a photo of you. Mostly because you glance up at your surroundings every three seconds to make sure you aren’t getting sniped from across the food court. Nobody else needs to see a picture of you picking up three pieces of sushi with your chopsticks and stuffing them all into your mouth at once. And, from what you can tell, you’ve been pretty successful, which either means you’ve gotten better at telling when Jungkook might be taking a photo of you, or Jungkook’s gotten better at hiding it.

Either way, he’s got a lot more pictures of you reflexively flashing a peace-sign in his direction when you hear the telltale sound of his camera lens focusing, so you’re not really sure what that means for the fate of his portfolio.

Besides your newfound hyper-awareness of the sound of a camera lens adjusting, the strangest part of you and Jungkook’s little project is how quickly the rest of your friends adjusted to this brand new dynamic.

This is not to say this assignment is the weirdest thing you and Jungkook have done together, because there was once one week where you and Jungkook challenged each other to only eat bananas for every meal to see if anything would happen to either of you. Nothing did, but after that week you swore off bananas for the rest of your life and have had little appetite for them since.

It’s more that your other friends have just accepted the fact that ridiculous, extravagant shenanigans are a necessary part of you and Jungkook’s relationship and have simply chosen not to question them anymore. At least, most of them have.

“So, how’s you and Jungkook’s little photography fling going?” Maisie asks, and even through the phone you can hear the way she’s wiggling her eyebrows.

“It’s not a fling, and it’s fine,” you hiss back, trying to keep your voice down as you pack up your belongings, phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder. “Stop speaking so loudly, everyone else in the library can probably hear you.”

“Good, because they’ve all probably noticed the way Jungkook’s been following you around like an unrestrained fanboy for the past four days taking pictures of you,” Maisie says pointedly, voice so sharp it causes you to look around at the other tables to make sure no one’s listening in.

You frown, hoping your deadpan expression is audible through the phone. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Don’t you think it’s even a little strange that you’ve given Jungkook full permission to take photos of you like you’re a model and he’s some sort of weird, professional paparazzi?” You can practically see Maisie’s face in front of you, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows as she makes her point.

“No, it’s what we agreed on,” you remind her for the umpteenth time. There’s nothing weird about this. You’re helping him with a project, what more could it be? “Jungkook needed someone to take pictures of for his photography project and I thought it would be a good idea if I was that someone.”

“Hmm… wonder why…” Maisie trails off, deliberately vague and suggestive all at once.

“You’ve been going on about this ever since Jungkook and I met, Maise,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. “You know that Jungkook and I are just friends. Like we have always been.”

“Friends that take candid photos of each other under the guise of a project,” Maisie adds, and you can see the air quotes around the word “project” right in front of you.

“Friends that help each other out because that’s what friends do,” you correct. “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that Jungkook and I are always going to be just friends and nothing more. No matter how much money you’ve bet on us getting together.”

Maisie gasps. “I have not bet money on such a thing! This is slander!”

“Don’t think I don’t see you and Jimin’s damn Venmo history.” You pull up to the front desk of the library to check out a primary source book needed for one of your classes. It’s the first edition, and it’s battered beyond belief, but it’s better than paying for it. “Just this, thanks.”

“The only way you could convince me that you and Jungkook are just friends is if you go on a date or something,” Maisie comments snidely. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you romantically interested in someone else the entire time you’ve known each other. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“You want me to go on a date with someone?” You demand, determined to get Maisie to hop off your ass about this.

You and Jungkook are just friends. If swiping right with someone on Tinder and getting dinner and a movie with them is what will convince Maisie of that, then that is what you will do. It’s not as if being friends with Jungkook is mutually exclusive with you going out with other people. Should be easy, right?

The boy behind the counter tells you your book is due back at the end of the semester, and you nod your thanks before heading out of the library.

“Fine, I’ll go on a date with someone. If it’ll get you to stop trying to convince me that Jungkook and I are gonna get married and have babies,” you declare, pushing your body against the door handles as you leave, five minutes to spare before your next class begins.

“You guys would have really cute babies, I’m just saying,” Maisie points out like it’s nothing.

You roll your eyes, taking the phone away from your ear as your finger hovers over the red button. “See you, Maise.”

You’re barely three steps out of the library, still rolling your eyes at the Call Ended screen on your phone when a voice catches your attention.

“Y/N!”

You turn your head just in time to see Jungkook’s devilish grin disappear behind his camera, and you don’t even have time to blink before he begins snapping away, finger mashing the silver button at the top as your expression morphs from surprise to defeat, unable to counter his sniping abilities with a signature peace sign. Even from twenty feet away, you can hear Jungkook laughing as you take the opportunity to pose for a few moments, like you really are a model and he really is your personal photographer. The sound of his giggles fills the air, music to your ears, lingering between you like dandelion wisps, blown by the wind.

Another voice breaks you from your trance.

“And here we have our resident celebrity and her paparazzi,” Jimin says, motioning to the two of you as he speaks to an enormous tour group of potential applicants and their parents. Caught in front of them, the heat suddenly rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively cover your face, embarrassed to have been pointed out by Jimin, whose amicable, lovable personality is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to his part-time job as a tour guide.

The worst part is how some of the parents and students seem to believe him for a second, that you really are famous and that Jungkook really is your photographer, looking at the two of you inquisitively as you shrink beneath their gazes.

“I’m kidding,” Jimin quickly continues as Jungkook joins you where you stand, laughing at the way you look like a deer caught in headlights. “They’re just some friends of mine who we happened to catch outside the library, which is our next stop. But don’t they look so cute together?”

“Are you guys dating?” One of the students pipes up, asking what no one else dared to.

Your eyes widen at the notion, wondering if you and Jungkook really are cursed to always be mistaken for a couple when you two have never been, and most likely will never be one. Shaking your head, you force out a laugh, “No, we’re just friends.” Beside you, Jungkook is noticeably silent. You suppose he’s gotten just as sick of explaining as you.

“Bummer, right?” Jimin asks his group, earning a couple of disappointed nods from innocent high-schoolers that still believe in love. “But I’m working on that, so don’t worry. Anyway, this library will be your main destination for studying, book-reading, and everything in between, and is conveniently located two minutes away from the freshman dorms…”

The conversation finally drawn away from you and Jungkook, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding in. “Weird, right? Even high-schoolers think we’re together.”

Jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling with the settings on his camera just to keep his hands busy. The quiet makes you wonder what is going on up inside his head, makes you wonder what it is he’s thinking about, what it is you’re not seeing. Lately, it’s felt like there’s something on Jungkook’s mind you wish he felt comfortable telling you.

“Hey, you alright?” You ask, giving him a little nudge with your side. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Jungkook says, voice soft, barely audible. It doesn’t make you feel any better. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have class soon?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right, fuck,” you say, checking your phone only to find you have barely a minute to get to your next class. Guess you’ll be using one of your allotted absences today. “Thanks for reminding me. Dinner tonight?”

“I’ll text you,” Jungkook promises, and you nod your agreement as you dash off, determined to turn a five-minute walk into a one-minute one with the power of exercise. As you leave, you watch as Jungkook flounders outside the library, staring down at his camera and scrolling through his photos, and you still find yourself feeling like you’re missing something. What is Jungkook not telling you?

What do you not know?

By the time you reach your class, two minutes late and completely out of breath, tardiness is the last thing on your mind.

This project was just meant to be a friend helping out a friend. So why does it feel like you and Jungkook are losing each other?

Using Tinder is easy. Dangerously so.

You’re no expert in app design, but its simplified “yes or no” mechanic has you swiping through people like it’s an extreme sport, barely giving some of them a second glance if their Tinder profile description doesn’t make you laugh within the first sentence.

Tinder was, admittedly, not your first choice of potential date-finding methods. Call you old-fashioned, but whatever happened to asking someone in person if they wanted to get a meal with you? To showing up at their doorstep with a rose bouquet and a toothy white grin? Perhaps all of those old-timey movies you and Jungkook always watched have given you unrealistic expectations. But can you blame them?

Even if Tinder wasn’t your first choice, it was certainly the fastest. It takes a second to look at someone’s designated Tinder thumbnail, two to read their description, and three to decide if they’re worth a swipe right. Compare that to actively meeting up with someone, getting their contact information, and then continuing to dance around each other until you finally decide to get dinner together. That’s the sort of thing that could take weeks. Maybe months. And in some cases, years.

Besides, it’s not like you had very many options at your disposal. You don’t trust Maisie to set you up with someone because she’ll probably just choose one of the many boys from her management class and call it a day. Asking someone yourself is absolutely out of the question. And, for some strange, unknown reason, the idea of getting Jungkook to hook you up with one of his friends just doesn’t sit right with you.

So, Tinder it is. And as it turns out, chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just archaic.

An hour into your mindless swiping, you get a message notification. Two hours after that, you’ve got plans with a nice senior boy whom you’ve never met.

And for the first time in a very long time, there’s something to mark on your calendar for Saturday night.

The little blue block on your Google Calendar tab stares back at you from where your open laptop sits on your desk, the red line that signifies your current time slowly inching towards it as you fumble around in front of your mirror, more dressed up than you have been in weeks. Maisie was right. It’s been so long since you’ve gone out with someone that you’ve completely forgotten what the dress code is for something like this. A dress? Heels? Makeup?

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you will anyway. What if he’s wearing a hoodie and sweats while you look like you’re about to attend the goddamn Academy Awards? Maybe the eyeshadow was a little too much.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks it’s inevitable that you do. The door to your apartment swings open, and you can hear heavy footsteps making their way to your bedroom, that easy gait of his familiar as always.

“Hey, do you think we can just get some take-out and watch a stupid old noir movie, or something? I’ve had a day,” he shouts out, the sigh audible in his voice.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you definitely have when you turn around to see Jungkook standing right outside your bedroom in the floppiest sweater you’ve ever seen and jeans with holes in the knees, mouth agape as he stares straight at you. It’s impossible not to notice the way his eyes are blown wide at the sight of you, at the way they rake up and down your figure, like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible not to notice how he seems to flounder at the sight of you.

The only thing that breaks the both of you out of your stupors, frozen in place like two criminals caught red-handed, is the sound of his hulking black backpack thudding to the floor.

“Whoa.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” You ask, voice wobbly. God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Jungkook.

“Too much for what?” Jungkook blinks, deliberate and slow, as if he’s determined to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Where are you going?”

“I think we’ll have to do a raincheck for the noir movie and takeout,” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips together in fright as you force out a small, tense smile. “I’m… going out. With someone.”

“Like,” Jungkook begins, and even from here you can hear the way he stops himself, hear him breathe out every word, thick on his tongue. “On a date?”

“Yeah.”

It’s a one-syllable word and yet it takes nearly all of your willpower just to say it. Just to confirm what Jungkook’s already thinking. Just to tell him, your best friend, your ride or die, your number one, that you’re going out on a date.

“Oh.” Jungkook’s voice is lifeless. “Do I know them?”

“No, uh, it’s just some guy I met on Tinder. I don’t know, I just wanted to see what all the hype was about, I guess. And I haven’t really been on a date in a while, so I figured I might just take up the opportunity, so we’re probably just going to go out to a restaurant and maybe go to a club afterwards if we’re still in the mood, and—” You cut yourself off, so nervous that you’ve resorted to your terrible habit of rambling to try and ease the tension. “Why? Do you think it’s too much?”

“You use Tinder?” Jungkook asks instead. It sounds like he’s shocked to hear this.

“Yeah…” you trail off. “Why?”

Jungkook freezes at the question, but it’s not because it seems like he doesn’t have an answer. It’s because it seems like he does. Only it’s an answer he doesn’t want to share.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he eventually settles on, shaking his head. “You, uh, you look good.”

“You think? I feel like it’s a lot. I don’t know how to dress appropriately for stuff like this anymore,” you ask, palms sweaty as you furiously straighten out the skirt of your dress. “Should I change into pants, or anything?”

“No, no, I think that’s fine,” Jungkook says with an honest smile. “You look nice like this.”

“It’s probably been like, a year since you last saw me in a dress,” you comment mindlessly, turning back to face the mirror as you fiddle with your makeup, finger wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick or a stray bit of mascara. “I miss my sweats. Hey, whoa, wait, what are you doing—?”

You whip around to find Jungkook slowly fishing out the camera from his backpack, hand gripping it tightly as he brandishes it in front of you.

“I, um, I just wanted to see if I could maybe take a photo of you,” Jungkook says, a small, little grin decorating his features. “Since you’re all dressed up.”

“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief.

Jungkook nods, holding the camera out in front of him. “Just one.”

He looks so small, standing across your bedroom. He looks so small and delicate and intimate, body curled in on itself ever so slightly as he looks at you, the yellow glow of your ceiling light reflected in his hazelnut eyes, drowning beneath his clothes. He looks like he has never seen a moment more perfect, never seen an opportunity as clear, looks like he thinks that if he blinks he’ll miss it.

Looks as if a photo will be the only way to remember it.

And you nod. Because he is your best friend, and who are you to deny him of something so simple? Of a press of a button? It doesn’t feel like a project anymore. It just feels like a memory.

Jungkook brings the camera to his eye, and you smile at him, soft and gentle and warm. He grins back, focusing the camera lens before snapping away.

You wonder what he sees.

(You wonder if it’s as beautiful as what you see.)

“Have fun tonight, okay?” Jungkook asks of you as your Google Calendar notification sounds, letting you know you have approximately two minutes before he’s supposed to pick you up outside your apartment.

You nod. “I will. And if I don’t, then I’ll come over afterwards. And we can watch that stupid noir film.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, a shrug of his shoulders.

“But I want to. So I will. Okay? I’ll text you,” you promise. “Don’t think I’ll forget about you.”

Jungkook smiles at your little tease, at the way you cup the side of his jaw with your hand as you head towards your front door.

“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook sputters out, running after you. He reaches you right as you get to the door, hand grasping the doorknob. You turn to look at him, blinking. “I hope tonight is everything you dreamed of.”

There is something so distinctly sad in his voice. It makes you wonder who has broken his heart. Makes you wonder what you can do to fix it.

“Even if it’s not,” you say to him, taking his hand in your own and squeezing it tight, reminding him that, no matter what, you’re still here. “I know you’ll always be there to take care of me afterwards.”

Your phone buzzes with a message from your date, and you scurry out the door.

For some reason, there’s a part of you that wishes you never even left.

The date is okay. Not bad, but nothing to write home about. By the time you finished eating, it was obvious neither of you had any interest in continuing the night elsewhere, whether it be a club or a karaoke bar. He pays for your meal despite your insistence that you can handle the check perfectly fine on your own, thanks you for a nice night, and drops you right back at your apartment. And so goes your one and only Tinder experience, blowing away like a leaf in the wind.

You look down at your phone. It isn’t even nine o’clock yet.

[November 7th, 8:48PM]

You: you still game for that movie?

[November 7th, 8:50PM]

Jungkook: you finished your date already?

You: is that a yes or a no

Jungkook: my door is always open, you know that

You: you’re gonna get robbed one day and it’s gonna be by me You: i’m coming over

The walk from your apartment to Jungkook’s is six minutes and thirty seconds on a good day, and seven minutes and fifteen seconds on a bad day, which is usually dependent on if the traffic light over the main road has decided to be extra slow or not. You could walk the damn route in your sleep if you really wanted, having done it so many times in the last year and a half, ever since he moved out of on-campus housing and into his own place.

Tonight, it takes you nearly eight minutes to get to his apartment, but you mostly chalk that up to the heels you’re wearing. If you cared any less about your dignity, you’d probably take them off and walk barefoot like a defeated heroine in a romance movie, shoes dangling from your fingers as they hang low by your side.

But you aren’t defeated. You didn’t have the world’s most spectacular date, but the night isn’t over just yet.

Jungkook’s waiting at his front door by the time you arrive.

“Eight minutes, huh? You’re getting old,” he asks snidely, looking down at the invisible watch on his wrist.

“Your counting is just off,” you retort easily, falling into that same friendly rhythm, that familiar little beat that the two of you share. You push past him and into his apartment, instantly feeling more at home, shoulders sinking and heartbeat soothing as you soak in the scent of his room, of his home, of him.

“How’d it go?” Jungkook asks, eyes hopeful as they watch you tug off your heels. They were hardly three inches tall and yet you still want nothing to do with them.

You shrug. “Eh. It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Jungkook asks, sounding seriously upset for you. Upset that you didn’t have a good night even after you promised him that you would. Upset that it didn’t turn out to be everything you wanted.

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking over at him, dejected. “It just—I just had this feeling that it wasn’t going to work out.”

Jungkook scowls to himself, eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what exactly you mean by that. And the truth is, you’re not sure either. The date was fine, and he was nice, but even when you first met it felt like you weren’t going to get what you wanted from him. Like you were just going on the date to go on the date. Like you already knew that it would mean nothing.

Jungkook was going to be waiting for you at the end of the night whether it went amazingly well or terribly bad. And knowing that, strangely enough, almost made you want the date to be horrible. Like it would make seeing Jungkook afterwards that much sweeter.

“Oh,” Jungkook says lamely. “Well, I’m sorry. It seemed like you were really looking forward to it.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him. “Can we just watch this movie now and make fun of how sexist it is? Please?”

To that, Jungkook easily agrees. As he’s queueing up the movie, you raid his closet for a hoodie and sweatpants, desperate to strip yourself of your dress and tights and cozy up in clothes that are much more appropriate for your comfort level. At this point in your friendship, Jungkook doesn’t even question it when he sees you march into his room, fishing through his closet and drawers for your favorite matching set of his, this grey pair that he’s worn so much it still smells like him even after it’s come right out of the wash.

He only stares back in awe when he sees you emerge from his bedroom wearing them.

“Ready?” You ask, breaking him from his resolve.

Jungkook blinks wildly from where he’s seated on his dinky old couch, as if to clear his vision. “What? Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then hurry it up, Mister,” you demand, sitting down next to him and curling into his body. It’s instinctual, at this point, wanting to be close to him. To feel the warmth of his body radiate upon your own. To feel his chest beneath the palm of your hands, his arm wrapped around your side. “All good?” You ask, looking up at him.

Jungkook looks down at you, and you swear, you’ve never seen him more at home. “Always, when I’m with you.”

The movie is predictably good and predictably sexist, but your favorite part by far is when Jungkook reaches around on the coffee table in front of you for his camera, holding it up to his eye and snatching a picture of the television, the film grainy like an old polaroid, faded like an antique photograph. He clicks away at the scene in front of him before turning on you, the lens so close to your face you’re almost certain all he’ll manage to capture is your nose. You laugh, pushing yourself away from him as he snaps, and snaps, and snaps, image after image after image, until his camera battery has died and there’s no more room left on his card.

“Guess I’ll have to charge this thing, then,” Jungkook sighs as he declares his camera dead, screen black.

“You aren’t going to include any of those, are you?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

Jungkook shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t you have enough?” You deadpan, thinking back to the hundreds of photos Jungkook must have taken of you over the past week, and even more that you don’t know about. There’s certainly no shortage of them in his current camera inventory. That’s for sure.

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. He stretches out an open arm, and you don’t have to think twice about falling into it, letting him wrap you up in his hold, curling into his body.

The black television screen crackles before you, DVD player waiting for Jungkook to turn it off. There’s no need for either of you to look up at each other. Not when you’re strung together like this. Not when you already know exactly where he is.

“It’s due on Monday, right?” You inquire softly, fatigue slowly overtaking you.

“Yeah. I’m almost finished, just have to do some curating and editing.”

“I want to see it.”

“What? My project?”

“What else?”

“It’s just a project, it’s not that exciting.”

You pull away from him at that, looking up at him with furrowed brows and scrunched-up nose. “What do you mean ‘it’s not that exciting’? It’s your photography project. You’ve spent a whole week working on it.”

“Yeah, but it’s just you, you know?” Jungkook objects. “Like, you know what you look like. It’s just going to be a bunch of photos of you, like I said it’d be.”

“That’s exactly why I want to see it,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You took pictures of me for a whole week. Don’t you want to share them with me?”

“If you really want some of the photos, I’ll send you some, but you don’t need to see the whole portfolio, you know? It’s just for my professor,” Jungkook says stiffly, surprisingly resistant. What’s the big deal? It’s not like there will suddenly be new information about you that you didn’t know before. You want to see what Jungkook has been working tirelessly on this entire week. Where’s the harm in that?

“Why are you getting so hung up on this? It’s just photos,” you say with a frown.

“Why are you getting so hung up on this?” Jungkook challenges back.

You sigh, sinking back into him, defeated. Even a little disagreement like that is enough to knock the wind out of the both of you, so you decide not to push it much further.

“Do you promise to show me eventually?” You ask, hopeful.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you almost expect him to say no, considering how protective of his work he’s being. “One day,” he declares. “One day, I will.”

And that’s good enough for you.

You lose track of how much time passes after that, feeling your eyelids getting heavy as the warmth of his body envelopes you, drowsiness settling in. There’s just something about this moment, right here, right now, that makes you want to fall asleep.

You’re on the verge of slumber when Jungkook’s voice breaks through.

“Why didn’t you think your date would work out?”

“I don’t know,” you respond sleepily, barely even opening your eyes. “It just felt wrong.”

“How do you know what feels right?”

Good question. Perhaps if you had the energy, you’d answer it. But right now, all you can think about is how cozy you feel in Jungkook’s hoodie and sweatpants, how the scent of him surrounds you, that indescribable, boyish aroma that can’t be replicated. Right now, all you can think about is how easily your body molds into his, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. Right now, all you can think about is him.

The worst part about each and every week is when it ends. Because the end of one week signifies the beginning of the next, and when you’re in university, the beginning of the next week means a whole new batch of assignments that you have to complete and a whole new batch of due dates to meet.

So, yeah. The weeks have been blurring together for you lately. But what else could you expect?

Sunday evening, as per usual, finds you right back where you always are: Jungkook’s apartment.

The two of you have been regularly getting together on Sundays to study, ever since you both realized you work significantly harder when motivated by the other, determined to finish all of your work on time so you can spend the rest of the night fooling around by mixing Monster with as many unhealthy drinks that you can possibly think of. And it’s been working out well for the both of you so far. Jungkook powers through his coding assignments and you whiz through your readings, intent on keeping up to date with your tasks so they don’t all come crashing down on you at the end of the semester.

Studying with Jungkook has always been easy, largely due to the fact that it’s the one allotted time during your friendship where the both of you deem it best to not speak to each other for the sake of your work. The moment one of you opens your mouth it’s over, so you sit on opposite ends of the room and pretend that the other person isn’t even there.

Jungkook told you earlier today that he had already finished his photography portfolio, so there would unfortunately be no sneaky glances over his shoulder to see if you can catch a glimpse of one of the pictures. Which is fine by you, you’re just a little embarrassed that Jungkook had told you this outright. Not that you were planning to do exactly that, but you were planning to do exactly that.

Part of you. more than anything, wants to know why Jungkook won’t just show you himself. Why he’s being so secretive, so protective of his photography project when you both know already exactly what’s in it. For God’s sake, he just spent the entire week taking photos of you non-stop. It’s like not as if any part of this is a mystery to either of you. What more could he have done?

Whatever. You aren’t going to force it if he doesn’t want you to. You suppose that maybe one day, far into the future, he’ll finally decide that the time is right.

“I’m so fucking tired,” Jungkook declares lifelessly as he gets up from where he’s sitting on your bed, dead inside. “I need a break.”

“Are you going to the kitchen? Can you make me some tea, please?” You ask him, looking up from the laptop on your desk.

Jungkook nods wordlessly before disappearing out of the room.

You and Jungkook’s best study practice to maximize productivity is the taking of each other’s cell phones so that the other cannot be tempted to look at it. It’s worked plenty of times before and will probably work plenty of times again, because as they say, out of sight, out of mind.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to pretend that your phone is out of sight when it’s been buzzing on your bedside table for the past five minutes, and your fingers have been itching to get over there and answer your damn notifications. So, while Jungkook is out of the room, you decide to cheat a little by dashing over there just to see what the heck is going on in the rest of the world.

As it turns out, nothing much. Just Maisie texting you as she binges yet another television show, giving spoiler-free updates anytime anything remotely dramatic happens. You have a couple of new emails as well.

The thing that actually catches your attention the most, is Jungkook’s laptop screen.

There’s just a Word document open on it, but a Word document is a far cry from his usual coding program or Photoshop. Because you can’t help yourself, you peer over to see what he’s written.

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Hard to say that I have. I don’t think I learned something about myself so much as I confirmed what I already knew, cementing it as a real thought in my brain, rather than just a daydream. Nothing changed in the way that my best friend and I interacted, and I can almost confirm that nothing changed in the way that she feels about me, just as nothing changed in the way I feel about her. I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.

What?

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Not as a reference but to remind myself of this very moment in my life—a single week over the course of my life that I felt was worth saving. I imagine that there will come a time, far in the future, where my best friend and I have separated a little bit, found our own lives and created our own families with our own people. And when that happens, I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now.

This feels personal. Maybe you should stop reading. But there’s just one more question left on the page…

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. If it meant getting to spend more time with her, take more photos of her, see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over.

“Y/N?”

You hadn’t even heard the kettle whistling.

“Jungkook,” you say, breathless, caught red-handed.

“What are you doing?” He asks, placing your steaming cup of tea down on the desk as he stares back at you in horror, in surprise, in worry, in something. Something that gives you this imminent sense of impending doom.

“Uh—”

“Were you reading my computer screen?”

It’s not like you could say you were doing anything else.

“I couldn’t help myself, I came over here to check my phone since it’s been buzzing like crazy and your computer was right there and I just…” you sputter out, thoughts swirling inside your head.

(I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now.

If it meant getting to see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over.

I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.)

“What do you mean, how you feel about me?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. Because the sound of his voices echoes in your head like the beat of a drum, over and over and over. Because you’re staring back at him and even if he just caught you snooping through his computer you can never be worried when it comes to him. Because everything he has ever done puts you at ease.

“Y/N, that is private, why would you read something like that?” He asks, each word a sucker punch into your heart.

“Because I just had to know, okay?” You shout back. “I had to know what you were hiding from me.”

“So you decided to snoop through my computer to see if you could figure it out yourself?” He demands, storming over to you.

“So you are hiding something?”

“That’s not the point, the point is that—”

“What are you not telling me, Jungkook?” You cry out, watching as he approaches you, dark eyes piercing your gaze. “Why won’t you show me your goddamn portfolio? If there’s really nothing to be afraid of, why are you keeping it from me? I’m your best friend, I’m the fucking subject of your project? Don’t I deserve to see it? Why won’t you show me?”

“Because then you’d know!” Jungkook shouts back, leaving deafening silence in his wake. You look up at him, blinking. In front of you, Jungkook is out of breath, chest heaving.

He looks so strained. So tired. Like he’s been carrying around this secret for months now, maybe even years, and this is the final straw. This is what has sent the both of you crashing down upon each other. This stupid fucking project. You’ve known Jungkook ever since the beginning of your freshman year, and never before have you seen him so hopeless.

“Jungkook—?”

“You’d know, goddamnit,” Jungkook says, hand coming up to rub at his forehead, dragging down his cheek. “And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.”

“Know what? What would I know?”

Jungkook closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words drift in between the two of you, hovering in the air like feathers. You see them, clear as day, in front of you, hear them echoing in your head, over and over and over again. Feel the way your blood is pumping, the way your heart is beating.

“You’re in love with me?” You ask him.

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Jungkook admits. “Or at all, really. But I have been, for a while now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid that I’d lose you.”

You chuckle, a small, little thing from the back of your throat. “You must have known I’d never let that happen, hmm?”

Jungkook smiles softly. “I was scared. Can you blame me? You’re my best friend.”

“And you are mine,” you remind him.

“It’s just—” Jungkook begins, like the gates of a dam are opening up. “We’d known each other for so long, and we have such a good thing going as is, always texting and calling and hanging out together, studying together on Sunday nights and seeing each other during the week, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. And then my professor assigned this project, and the only person I could think of to take photos was you, but I didn’t want to ask that of you in case you thought it was weird, but you suggested it anyway so I said yes, but I knew. I knew then that the moment I took one goddamn photo of you it would be obvious, and that if you ever saw you would just know. Stuff like that is easy to pick up in pictures, because a camera is like, tunnel vision for whatever it is you want to focus on most, and that’s you, that’s always been you, so I—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, reaching out to him, pressing a soft hand to his cheek. “Just, shut up, okay?”

And then you cup his head in both of your hands, and press a kiss to his lips. A small one, if nothing else, but a kiss nonetheless. You press your lips against his own and immediately you feel the sparks rush through you, this flash of heat that settles into something softer, something sweeter. It ignites and soothes you all at once, like a stray lightning bolt out on the open ocean. Like a single clap of thunder and the pitter patter of rain.

You press a kiss to his lips and when you pull away, Jungkook’s eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly. And for a moment there, you almost think you did the wrong thing.

But barely a second more passes before he’s scooping you up in his arms and pulling you in close to him, his lips finding yours like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He holds you tight, hands pressed against the small of your back as he kisses you, warm and fiery and full, as if he can’t get enough, as if this is his only chance. You gasp into it before relaxing in his hold, cold hands on his warm cheeks, body melting at the feeling of him, of him all over you, of his hands and his mouth and his chest, this perfect, solid figure.

He kisses you and it sends heat shooting through your body, filling you up from the inside out, like your heart has burst and filled your bloodstream with fire, with sparks of warmth that tingle all over. He kisses you, and everywhere his hands press is another sizzle to your skin, an electric shock that makes you giggle into his mouth.

He kisses you and it feels like a storm has settled, feels like gentle rain after a hurricane, feels like waves crashing against the shore. He kisses you and it is the only thing you can think about.

By the time you part once more, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook so blissed out.

“See?” You point out softly. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Jungkook looks positively dazed. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Ooh, was I that good?” You tease.

“I’m dreaming.” He shakes his head. “I’m definitely fucking dreaming.”

Jungkook sinks onto your bed, hitting the mattress with a thud. He stares mindlessly in front of him, like his brain needs time to process.

You smile to yourself. He can have all the time in the world.

“Is this real?” He mumbles when you sit down next to him, press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you real?”

“Just like you,” you promise him. “I didn’t know this is what we had been missing, all this time.”

“It wasn’t missing,” Jungkook assures you. “It was just hidden.”

“I love you,” you whisper, watching him swallow the words like a glass of wine. “I think I always have. You just needed to say it first.”

“Oblivious as always.” Jungkook grins, smiling against your lips. “But I’m glad. If this is what it would take, then I’m glad.”

“You wouldn’t change anything?” You ask him, eyes wide and curious.

It’s hard to know how long you and Jungkook have been secretly pining over each other. Hard to know how long Jungkook has known that he’s loved you, how long it’s been since you started to feel the same, even if subconsciously. It’s hard to know how long you would have kept going if not for this project. It might have been months. Years. Years that Jungkook was willing to spend holding back, if only it meant keeping you by his side.

“No,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “I have you now. Why would I?”

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Previously, I had responded to this question by saying that I hadn’t learned anything, and felt that nothing changed in my life. Then, some things happened. And after those things, I learned that I am the luckiest man alive. To know my best friend is one thing. To love her is a privilege. To have her love me back is nothing less than a miracle.

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Every day for the rest of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been as thankful to receive a homework assignment as I am, right now. I owe everything to this project. It is the reason I have her.

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. I want to take photos of her for the rest of my life. I want to save every memory we ever share together. So that far into the future, we can look back on them together and say, “Remember that?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #w: the love project #yes i am finishing this at 6am on the day its meant to be posted... MIND UR OWN BUSINESS

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wandsandwheezes · 3 years

Text

Hermes | G.W

WARNINGS // 2k // SMUT 18+, Hermes!George AU, God!George AU, Betrothals, Dirty Talk, Innocence Kink, Corruption Kink, Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink, Belly Bulging, (a very lowkey) Size Kink, Premarital Sex.

A/N // The third?? instalment of mine, @darthwheezely and @amxrtentias Gods!AU collection/series/etc <3 i lovs u both and i hope you chikas enjoy <33

Hermes is the ancient Greek god of trade, wealth, luck and fertility. One of the cleverest and most mischievous of the Olympian gods, he is, above all, the herald and messenger of Mt. Olympus, symbol of the crossing of boundaries in his role as a guide between the two realms of gods and humanity.

Locking eyes with him from across the rowdy dining hall, the Grecian God, whom you knew you were to be betrothed to. You knew from the moment you set your eyes on him that he was something of wonder and yet the thought of you being deflowered by him didn’t put you in as much worry as you thought it would have. You truly hadn’t expected to attract the attention so easily of the most gorgeous being you had ever laid your eyes upon.

When your parents had forced you to come to the celebration, arranged especially for the purpose of yours and his meeting, you wanted nothing less than to be in and out of there as quick as Zeus’ lightning but yet when you caught the way his hair shone like a beacon of light as it glimmered in the Grecian sun, you couldn’t bear to pull yourself away.

His jaw was prominent, obviously sculpted by the gods as he leaned over the table to grasp at a handful of grapes, his eyes not leaving yours for a second as he popped them one by one past his lips, tongue dragging along his fingers with every intent of turning you to a pooling mess.

It was unfamiliar, the way your tummy erupted with the flight of a thousand butterflies, a feeling of confusion filling you as you noted the growing wetness between your thighs. You had never taken a lover, nor even shared a kiss with another man, yet the moment you had locked eyes with George, it’s as if you became tethered to him, under the spell of his allure.

He found it fascinating, the way baby bunnies like you shone bright with purity. He liked that about you, he hardly knew your name, but one thing rang true; your untouched innocence was daring to be claimed.

You thought he had disappeared, leaving your first meeting to be nothing more than fleeting glances. Taking yourself away from the drunken laughter to wander the open halls, fingertips grazing over the pure white stone of the castle that stood tall, proud and dominant.

“My, my.. aren’t you a wonder.” You hadn’t expected his voice to be so deep, startling you from your own thoughts so rapidly that you found yourself spinning on your heel only to crash directly into the chest.

There’s something intoxicating about the way George held you, as if his touch was electric, rendering you completely and utterly dumbfounded, his eyes once again burning into your skin as he took in every inch of your untouched skin he could muster in your close proximity.

George had never seen such a doe-eyed beauty like yourself. You were a tiny, sweet little thing compared to him, the way he towered over you made you feel safe, secure and protected, not intimidated like any other man had made you feel, but he wasn’t just any man, he was your betrothed, a intricately chiselled God whose freckles had been hand picked for him and created to be one of the most wondrous sights to behold.

Looking up at him you felt an overwhelming desire like never before, to press your lips against his beautifully crafted, rosy red lips. Of course you wanted to kiss him, especially when his feather light touch had brushed your hair off of your shoulder, leaving your collarbone, neck and chest bare and exposed. His large hand cradled your neck, ghosting a thumb over your lower lip as he inched himself closer to you, almost feeling his hot breath against your chin before his eyes sought out yours again, searching in them for a sign to stop. “Tell me if this is too much and I’ll stop.”

You shook your head gently, only pushing his thumb across your lips once more before you found yourself leaning in again, truly on your toes to reach his lips. They connected together in such a heated passion that you had practically been knocked back, hands rapidly hoisting you up onto the ledge to kiss you easier. He tasted like magic and eloquence all wrapped into one, the sweet hint of grapes lingering on his tongue as it slipped past your lips.

You found yourself breathless as you pulled away from his kiss, forehead pressed against his as you squeezed your eyes closed. Already desperate for another you whimpered, your whole body leaning into him as he watched your chest heave.

“I want to absolutely devour you and it’s taken everything within me not to do so already.” He sighed, fingertips dancing over the white abundance of fabric that was cinched in at your waist, noting how irresistibly innocent you looked before him.

“Devour me?” You whispered through a shaky breath.

“I want to drink you in like the sweetest wine to ever pass my lips, you are the divine, untouched nectar I crave, a goddess in human form.” he hummed, smirking to himself at the way you avoided his gaze, overwhelmed by the full attention of a God like himself.

“A little thing like you never imagined being touched by a God, hm? I would bet your virgin cunt is throbbing just at the thought of me kissing you,”

He could read you, like the pages of never ending parchment, see through you like crystal clear waters. You couldn’t find the words to counter him, let alone to tell him to touch you.

With a sharp inhale, you felt his thumb brush over your fabric covered nipple, unaware of just how hard and sensitive they were until awoken by his touch. You let out an involuntary whimper, although it seemed more like a breathy moan at the first touch of a man you had ever before experienced.

“I just know you’re already dripping down your thighs for me, is that what you want, for me to fill your cunt up, stretch you out to fit me?”

All you could muster was a faint ‘please’, looking up at him through your lashes just in time to catch his pearly white smile before his arm had wrapped around your waist, whisking you away to his bedroom on a more secluded part of the grounds.

It was at this point that his soft touch began slipping the pathetic fabric from your body, leaving you naked before him as it pooled at your feet. He didn’t dare stare too long, instead stripping down the same way he had left you bare. His hands were quick to reach out, gliding all over your skin as he murmured praise into your ear, the vibration of his low voice humming against your ear, making you cave into him.

You were completely in his hands, thankful he knew what he was doing. His hand trailed down, reaching slowly between your legs, fingers quickly becoming slick with how wet he had already made you, much to his pleasure. You didn’t know how he did it, how when he dragged his fingers over a sensitive area, he was able to pull such a wonton moan from your lips.

He had laid you down upon a bed of comforts, hand pushing your chest down to lay fully back before slowly parting your legs so that he could nestle between them, he wanted to paint a picture of the way you were right in this moment, hair splayed out messily with your thighs either side of him, cunt dripping and clenching at the mere thought of wrapping around his cock. He wanted to paint in detail the innocence you held before he fucked it out of you, before he claimed you as his.

Your moans were greater than any tune or melody that had graced his ears, satisfied enough with seeing you squirm as his fingers sank in and out of the tightest hole he’d ever felt wrapped around his fingers. His thumb circled your clit, keeping you nice and wet as he stretched you out as best as he could with his fingers alone. “That’s it, cherub, no need to be quiet for me, let me know how nice it feels.”

He wanted you to feel comfortable when it came to the moment he and you would become one, lining his length up before pushing in ever so slightly. He found your hand, lacing his fingers with yours as he gently guided as much as you would take from him, slick walls allowing his inches to fit with ease until he was fully inside of you. It was almost as if your cunt were made for him, his cock fitting perfectly like lock and key.

He leant forward, forehead pressed against yours as he checked in with you, making sure that you were okay for him to move before he set a slow pace of passionate fucking. “Such a pretty Pearl you are, doesn’t that feel nice, finally having cock fill that tight cunt?”

“Oh, George, you’re so big, feels so, so nice the way you fill me.” You moaned loudly, unaware of just how much he could make you moan, whimper and writhe. With every movement, you thought you’d moan louder, thumb dragging across your clit to help build that beautiful sensation he wanted to give you.

Leaning back up to watch the way your cunt greedily swallowed every inch of him as he fucked you, he noticed the way a small bulge appeared with every thrust. He stilled while fully sinking inside you, chuckling slightly to himself as he ran his thumb over the bulge, smirking at the feeling of his touch against his cockhead through your skin when he realised what he was doing.

“Look at you, so greedy for me already. See how I’m in your belly, bet I could split you in two if I tried.” He chuckled, pulling your body up to make you watch the way the outline of his cock swelled your abdomen. “Watch for me, my little bunny, look how much I fill you up.”

He kept thrusting, grabbing your hand to push down against the bulge, letting you feel the rhythm of his cock hitting your hand. He then guided your hand down to your own clit, his large hand swallowing yours as he moved your own fingers against your clit. His fevered touch was drawing you closer and closer to euphoria. When it hit you, the feeling was unlike anything you had ever experienced, like every single moment of happiness, excitement and joy you had experienced in your life had hit you all at once, finding yourself screaming out his name for all to hear.

“That’s it, Pearl, you look like a goddess right now, absolutely glowing.” He groaned, continuing in his thrusts until he felt his own high approach, growling in your ear as his sensitive head hit your back wall as he bottomed out over and over. “I’m gonna fill you up, make your belly swell when I breed you, little one.”

As if you had become a goddess yourself, he filled you up with his release, well and truly in the clouds for the first time in your life.

He had covered you with a silk sheet quickly to protect your modesty, brushing sweaty hair from your eyes as he lay beside you, taking in your beauty once again.

“And to think you’re mine to devour, human woman made for the gods.” He rambled, his hands never leaving your skin.

“George?” You whispered.

“Mhm?”

“Thank you for being so gentle with me, I’m sure you weren’t expecting your betrothed to be a virg-”

“Hush now, little one, I’d rather you know my touch alone than the touch of another because the thought of anyone else ever coming near you makes me feel like my brother, just full of rage.”

“You don’t mean that-”

“I do, you deserve to feel protected. Betrothed or not y/n, you are something even a God like me is lucky to have.”

taglist // @pansydaisy @feetoffthetablee @darthwheezely @http-caitwo @omghufflepuff @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @loony-loopy-lupinn @theweasleytwinsgirl @pandaxnienke @turtletaylor98 @freds-slut @whizboyhalo @georgeweasleysbabe @mitsukui @lumos-barnes @valwritesx @lumosandnoxwriting

#Gods!AU #george weasley fic #george weasley #george weasley x reader #fred and george #george weasley smut #george weasley fluff #harry potter #harry potter fic #harry potter smut #harry potter writing

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silverstarlightwrites · 3 years

Text

ah yes, the idea for yet another variant of this au chain

Team Seven take the mission to the Land of Waves. On the bridge, they fight Zabuza and Haku.

On the bridge, Sakura dies.

For a moment that lasts forever, everything seems to freeze. It’s shock, initially, on every face. Haku’s mirrors are in the midst of cracking apart, Naruto and Sasuke standing bloody and back-to-back between them, while Haku lunges across the expanse of stone to protect Zabuza from the shrill and deathly lightning in Kakashi’s hand.

Even Sakura herself seems stunned, rotating midair as if in slow motion. She seems unsure of herself, or how exactly she got where she is - bolted from one end of the bridge to the other, abandoning her post as Tazuna’s bodyguard to intercept Haku on their way to Kakashi.

And she’s made it, to her credit. Caught Haku just before they reach Zabuza, tagged them with her kunai. There’s blood on their clothes, a stark red streak against pale skin and fabric.

They’ve spun at the contact, reflexive, defensive. Somehow, even with the Chidori roaring in Kakashi’s palm, the world goes silent as Haku’s senbon sinks into Sakura’s neck. It’s all too slow as the strike transfers momentum, as Sakura’s feet lift from the ground and the senbon tears out of her throat. Sasuke stares on with Sharingan ablaze, unable to breathe, unable to look away as his eyes dutifully and traitorously record Sakura’s death in minute, excruciating detail. He doesn’t know, just yet, what the cost of his clan’s power truly is.

But Kakashi does, only too terribly well, and as time catches up with itself and Sakura goes crashing into the bridge, he strikes. His hand punches straight through Zabuza’s ribcage, tearing through his heart until Kakashi’s fingers protrude from his back. The surprise on his face is overlaid with the relief on Rin’s, and Kakashi yanks back, turns away, refuses to look at her ghost with the blood on his hands.

Sasuke is frozen, unblinking, struggling to breathe. He can’t drag his gaze away from Sakura’s body, and she looks so small where she’s crumpled on the bridge, utterly motionless in an expanding puddle of her own blood. He can’t see colours, except for the crimson, as if everything else has been spontaneously switched off.

She’s still breathing, barely, a weak flutter that-- Gods, Sasuke thinks he might be imagining it, actually, he can’t tell, and her body is outlined in white fire that he knows isn’t real, Sharingan whirring, head spinning. The world rotates.

It ruptures, all at once, as Naruto lets out an ear-piercing scream at Sasuke’s side. Whatever was holding it all snaps, and Sasuke whips around to check on Naruto, and sees the menacing red bleeding into blue eyes, sees the way his teeth are cracking and elongating in his jaws, the fangs that are too big for Naruto’s skull, the ink creeping out from the birthmarks on his cheeks, winding back along his temples and down his nose.

There’s a shout, Kakashi’s voice, but Naruto has already vanished in a blur of sticky red chakra and the shattering of the stone under his feet, and by the time Sasuke can find him again he’s already torn into Haku like a wild animal, cracking bone and shredding flesh. Their head rolls away from their body, before Naruto pounces on it.

The skull pancakes under Naruto’s hand, a splatter of brains like a water balloon bursting, a tongue poking from between his fingers and an eyeball popping into the air and arcing away. Naruto is snarling, glowing, and there’s blood dripping from every footprint he leaves, his skin melting and boiling as fast as it heals under the cloak of-- of-- oh gods, and Sasuke doesn’t even know, can’t even comprehend what it is that he’s seeing. A Naruto that isn’t himself, isn’t even human, and there are ethereal tails forming and lashing from the dark red chakra itself, two-- three. Long curves that look like ears, deep gouges in the stone as his nails-- claws, they’re claws, wickedly sharp, and they look more like bone than fingernail, like the animal is too big to be contained by Naruto’s real body.

Haku is in pieces under Naruto’s attack, and he won’t stop slashing and biting and shredding. Nausea boils up, fear and panic and Sasuke doesn’t fucking understand but he’s pretty fucking sure that he doesn’t want to, and it’s almost a relief when he has to turn away to vomit.

Kakashi’s voice is in the air, and every fibre of his body wants to help ruin the people who’ve killed Sakura right in front of them, wants to sprint to her side and try to save her - but he can’t, he knows, and he can’t lose control like his kids are. He’s the leader. He’s the adult. There’s too much blood under Sakura already, her carotid artery sundered by the attack, and she’s just a child, she’s beyond help, beyond Kakashi’s rudimentary skills in medical ninjutsu, she’s already gone and there’s nothing Kakashi can do to save her. Because there’s never anything he can do to save her.

But he can’t lose control, and he needs to triage the situation as best he can. If he fails to act, then he’ll lose Naruto too. He’ll lose Sasuke. He’ll lose all of them. So he sprints to Naruto, tackles him to the ground, ignores the sudden searing agony of the Kyuubi’s chakra biting into his skin. Naruto is wild, lost in the onslaught of his demon and grief, but where the Kyuubi’s domination brings with it new and unique strengths, it also brings weaknesses.

It takes more chakra and effort than Kakashi has, but he makes Naruto look him in the eye, brings as much of the Sharingan’s power to bear as he can. For a minute, struggling to keep Naruto down while he howls and snaps his teeth and tries to bite through Kakashi’s wrists, nothing visibly happens. Kakashi is shaking by the time Naruto finally stills, takes a deep breath, lets out a noise like a dying animal.

When Naruto slumps, the Kyuubi locked back into its cage, Kakashi goes down with him.

Sasuke’s approach is slow, shuddering, uncertain. His eyes are burning, and he can’t tell if it’s from chakra or from tears, but he doesn’t care. Naruto and Kakashi are breathing, tangled together in an unconscious pile, and Sasuke can’t even begin to think what to do with them so he ignores them. Goes to Sakura instead. She’s sprawled, her skin scraped and raw from her impact and tumble against the bridge, her throat torn open. Sasuke’s never seen what the inside of a larynx looks like before.

He turns away as he gags, but there’s nothing left to come up except a violent ache so deep that Sasuke thinks, for a moment, that he might be about to die as well. Sakura is limp when he tries to pick her up, warm and pliable and lifeless in his hands. He can’t get them to stop shaking, makes a mess as he tries to wipe her hair out of her face. Smears blood everywhere. It’s matted in her hair, the normal pink warped into a blurring crimson.

It’s the ninken who actually take control. Pakkun sets Bull and Shiba to guard Tazuna, even though the threat to him is gone. The cold reality is that they’re acting more like prison guards than bodyguards; Konoha has lost a genin and nearly lost her whole team, and it rarely forgives such offences. Guruko establishes a small parameter around the scene, and Akino keeps the remaining civilians in a tight group. Urushi comes to sit vigil with Sasuke, and they let him cradle Sakura’s body to his chest and cry.

With only a few words, Pakkun has Ūhei unsummon herself, and she vanishes in a puff of smoke to report to the Hokage and get a rescue team sent after them. With Bisuke’s help, Pakkun himself sets to untangling Naruto and Kakashi and ensuring they’ll live through this. Shiba, the only ninken with a lightning affinity, is pulled off Tazuna duty to give Kakashi a chakra transfusion; he jolts and moans when it’s delivered, but it’s a necessary agony and he doesn’t fully wake.

When Gatō makes his appearance, Bisuke vanishes and reappears on his shoulders, and his entourage is sent fleeing in panic as she rips out his throat too with delicate, savage fangs.

By the time that Ūhei returns with a rescue squad at her side, Naruto is awake again and he refuses to let anyone take Sakura’s body from him but the masked Anbu simply picks them up together. Gai is firm but gentle as he carries Kakashi - not quite awake, but beginning to stir. Sasuke tries to stand - he’s numb and hollow, and he thinks that he should feel like he did when he found Itachi over the bodies of their parents but he doesn’t. He doesn’t feel anything.

Perhaps he should feel guilty for that.

His legs fail him, however, and maybe he should feel pathetic for not even being able to pick himself up from the ground but he can’t bring himself to care as he’s carefully lifted up by Asuma. Sasuke wants nothing more than to stop existing while he watches his team over Asuma’s shoulder, stares unblinking at the way Naruto shakes and begs Sakura to wake up. She won’t.

She won’t ever again.

The ninken make the trip back with them, and if it is a quick affair then it is also a haunting one. Naruto doesn’t shut up the entire time, alternating between talking to the girl who cannot hear him and muttering quietly to himself. If Sasuke looks closely enough, he can see the flash of fangs in Naruto’s mouth that never quite flatten again.

The report to Hiruzen lasts for a lifetime, and is over far too soon. Kakashi is lucid by then, standing on his own feet but with Gai’s continued assistance. His report is... empty. Perhaps that’s as it should be - he does not cry, for death has already wrung from him as many tears as he could ever give it, but his voice is icy and his gaze is bitter and grim. He recommends, as emotionlessly as he explains all the rest, that Konoha execute Tazuna for his crimes.

Naruto finally surrenders Sakura’s body when her parents arrive. He and Sasuke will never forget the way they break when he does, the collapse and the howling and the way that Sakura is stiff and pale in their arms. Her eyes are still open, glazed and green and unseeing.

Why are her eyes still open?

Afterwards, after Sasuke and Naruto are released from Team Seven’s trip to the hospital but Kakashi is coerced to stay, two of the ninken stick around. Ūhei sticks to Sasuke’s side like a parasite, a warmth and stability that Sasuke finds himself loathing, while Bisuke trails Naruto at a short but definitive distance.

Naruto doesn’t let Sasuke wander home alone. He wants to, desperately, wants to hide away in the ocean of death that he lives in and-- gods, and what, exactly? Showering is an option that should be appealing, but it’s not. Even the thought of washing Sakura’s blood off himself - of erasing the last tangible evidence of her life - is sickening. They’d been cruel to her, in life. Sasuke had expected little of her at all, and he hadn’t cared if she’d known it. Naruto, with his puppy-love, hadn’t been better.

Except she was dead, and in the end her strength hadn’t mattered at all. Any one of them could have been caught the way she was - and it was bravery that had killed her, not weakness. She’d left the safety of distance and thrown herself in the way, in between their sensei and an incoming attack, and there was no way of knowing if Haku could have hurt or killed Kakashi in the attempt but Sakura had prevented it from even being an option.

Had she known? Had it been a decision on her part, or had it been instinct and desperation? Had she ever realised that-- gods, had she ever known that her team loved her?

A glare isn’t enough to discourage Naruto from following Sasuke home, as it never has been, and there’s a chance that Sasuke could make him leave with words but--

He can’t bring himself to speak. Not once, not at all. His voice feels like a weight in his throat, like he’s swallowed marbles, and that’s fine, really, because what right does he have to fucking use it anyway? Sakura’s voice has been stripped away. She’ll never speak again, and Sasuke deserves to far less than she does.

Did.

The dogs never leave their sides over the following weeks. Ūhei and Bisuke are their most common company, but all eight of the ninken rotate in and out. Naruto refuses to go back his own home, wherever the fuck it is. At first Sasuke hates him for it, hates everything, but eventually Naruto is absent for half a day - training, he says when he gets home - and Sasuke panics.

So much is gone. Almost everything is gone. Sakura is gone. And gods Naruto is annoying - but he understands, actually, Sasuke can see now, despite the absurd and cheery exterior he’d worn before. He’s always understood, and the cheerfulness was a lie. Or, perhaps, a choice. And the fear of losing him to is so overwhelming that Sasuke simply never asks him to leave.

They attend Sakura’s funeral. It’s... eerie. Too many people and too few people at the same time. Some that Sasuke doesn’t recognise - too many that he does. Sasuke stands between Naruto and Kakashi, and Kakashi doesn’t say a word to them, to anyone, and Sasuke lets Naruto hold onto his hand with a crushing grip. Ino approaches them, afterwards, and habit has Sasuke bracing himself but there’s no admiration in her eyes this time. She snarls at them. “It should have been you.”

It’s hard to argue with her.

Sakura’s parents are... unbearable. The agony in their expressions is so familiar, so intimate, and yet they’re so kind to Sasuke and Naruto despite the fact they let their daughter die. When Mebuki learns that they’re living on their own - not a parent between them - she begins visiting them. They’re not social calls, not really, and she doesn’t linger too long, but her visits are scheduled and regular, and bring with them meals put together for Sasuke and Naruto and whatever cleaning they haven’t managed between them. After the first week, she brings small snacks for whichever of the ninken are with them as well.

Kizashi gives them two stuffed animals and Sakura’s hitai-ite. The toys are generic - a very round bird and a fox, both worn by time and use - but they were hers, and beloved when she was small. Naruto tries to refuse the hitai-ite, because surely her parents want to keep such an important thing, but Kizashi insists. He doesn’t want it, he tells them. He would rather remember Sakura as his daughter, and not as a Konoha soldier.

Perhaps there’s merit in that, but Sasuke and Naruto set it between her toys on the dresser in their room, next to their team photos, and they can’t bring themselves to work out the bloodstains in the fabric, but the plate is kept perfectly polished. Maybe her parents just don’t understand - but Sakura was proud of her position as a Konoha-nin, and she died fulfilling it.

It’s a little shameful, of course, that Sasuke is sharing his room with Naruto - but Naruto disagrees, and Sasuke can’t bring himself to care. Sleeping alone has proven... difficult. And pride is worthless.

The dogs never leave, but Naruto and Sasuke don‘t see Kakashi after Sakura’s funeral. There are meetings with Hiruzen, visits from some of the other jōnin, and no matter how vehemently they protest, they’re assigned a new sensei. It’s hideously uncommon, and it’s not Kaede-sensei’s fault, but Sasuke can’t help but hate her too. She can’t replace Kakashi, and Sasuke resents her for even trying, no matter that Kakashi-sensei has abandoned them. At least they’re not given a new teammate. As if anyone could possibly replace Sakura.

“The dog-Anbu is back,” Naruto says one day, while they spar under Kaede’s watchful eye. “I think... I think it might be Kakashi-sensei.”

And Sasuke knows about the dog-Anbu, of course. Though he rarely speaks himself, Naruto has no such compunction, and his chatter has become a familiar comfort. A Naruto who’s talking is a Naruto who’s alive. He’s told Sasuke all about growing up, about the loneliness and the dread. About the hatred of the village. The dog-Anbu had been the most familiar regular amongst the quiet tail of Anbu who’d watched Naruto his entire life - and yet never intervened. Had it been willful, or were they under orders? Hard to say, given that they were almost never given direct trouble anymore. The civilians who saw them out and about - on the rare occasion they were - were either too sympathetic or too wary to confront them. There was no opportunity to intervene even if the dog-Anbu wanted to.

That the surreptitious Anbu presence was back should have been concerning, but... Naruto had always found comfort in the recognisable dog-Anbu. Maybe it was contagious.

And if Kakashi was still watching them, then he hadn’t abandoned them. Somehow, it made Kaede’s training more welcome.

Jiraiya becomes part of their lives. He’s an irregular and brief presence, but he drifts in and out. They meet him early, and Naruto refuses to leave Sasuke’s side to fulfill whatever task Jiraiya has for him, and so they learn together the truth of the beast caged inside Naruto’s skin. Jiraiya works on the Seal, repairs what he can from the damage Naruto did on the bridge, ensures its continued integrity. He’s hard to like on a personal level, but they don’t begrudge his visits when they happen - making sure Naruto has control of the demon is imperative. He can’t use a power he can’t control.

Because that’s their secret, of course. In the dead of night, in the quiet of the Uchiha compound, when it’s just them and the ghosts. Naruto practices, with Sasuke on hand - Sasuke who’s learnt from Jiraiya that the Sharingan can manipulate the Bijuu, who finally understands what it was Kakashi did to bring Naruto down when Sakura died - and Sasuke practices with him, and forces back what power slips beyond Naruto’s grasp when they break open tiny cracks in the Seal.

And Naruto helps Sasuke too, offers a barrier of stolen demonic chakra that is the only thing, they’ve found, that can provide any resistance to the sticky black flames Sasuke can conjure. It makes his eyes bleed, and the chakra cost is like ashes in his veins, but creating and controlling the Amaterasu gets easier every time he does it.

They’re going to need it. Sasuke isn’t sure if Naruto simply needed the context of Sasuke’s quest for vengeance or if Sakura’s death made him understand the purpose of revenge, but they’re in it together, now. Naruto refuses to leave Sasuke’s side - and if that means following him down the path that leads to killing Itachi, then so be it. His power, despite what Sasuke had once thought, is immense and - somehow - at Sasuke’s disposal.

It’s strange, he thinks. How Naruto can still have faith in people, the differences in how he talks to Sakura’s ghost as if she’s watching them, as if she’s not simply gone, as if she might be proud of them, and how Sasuke can never bring himself to say a single word. Stranger still, how easily Naruto throws that faith away when Sasuke asks him to.

Strange, but comforting. Love, perhaps, if Sasuke lets himself dare to contemplate so fragile and dangerous a thing. And if Naruto will forsake his morals at Sasuke’s behest, then the least he can do is hold true to them. Because one day, when they’re ready, when they’re so strong that nobody will ever be able to rip away a life they love ever again, they’ll hunt down Itachi and make him pay for the lives he tore down.

But first - and maybe it’s practice, or maybe it’s vengeance, or maybe it’s both - they’ll return to the Land of Waves, once they’ve got enough control of their strength, and they’ll burn the Great Sakura Bridge to the ground.

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