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noctumbra · 3 years

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𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞

summary ─ you were hypnotized. his handsome face was contorted with such emotions, he was so lost in the music, lost in the instrument, and it was mesmerizing to watch.

pairing ─ rockstar!bucky barnes x virgin!reader

warnings ─ smut, +18, language, dirty talk, pet names, fluff, so much fluff, bucky is an adorable dumbass, softdom!bucky, kissing, first date, natasha romanoff is a very good bro, drinking, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f receiving), virginity loss, light fingering

a/n ─ this happened because of seb. hope you like it. please leave a comment if you do, i really worked hard on this one! thank you <333 (this is worst banner i’ve ever made btw pls ignore it) [enjoy this 9.2k monster. this is officially the longest one shot i have ever written]

title is from def leppard - pour some sugar on me.

The lead guitarist had been eyeing you since the concert started. You were lucky enough to buy yourself a front row ticket, but you didn’t know you were that lucky to get the attention of the lead guitarist, James.

Commandos were your favorite metal band. Their music made everything better for you after you discovered them, and following the band for three years, you finally got to see them live. You were very excited while you made your way over the stadium where the concert was going to happen. Your friend, Natasha, accompanied you to the concert because she liked them, too, and even she could tell that James’ eyes were on you.

“Is he looking at you?” She hissed into your ear. You shivered with the excitement. You were bobbing your head to the beat, feeling every drag of James’ skilled fingers over the guitar strings deep in your bones. “Y/N, what the fuck, is he?”

“I don’t know,” you hissed at Natasha back. You didn’t want to get excited over something that was very unlikely to happen and just wanted to focus on the moment. “Let’s enjoy the concert, please?” Natasha frowned a little, but she nodded, both of you turned your heads towards the stage again.

You watched James getting lost in the song. His fingers were flying over the guitar; stroking the strings, hitting the notes and feeling every note he hit in his soul. It was so obvious that he loved doing this. It was written all over his face. You were hypnotized. His handsome face was contorted with such emotions, he was so lost in the music, lost in the instrument, and it was mesmerizing to watch.

Honestly, you didn’t understand how fast three hours passed until they announced that this was their last song and that they would be missing touring. You felt tears filling your eyes slowly. You loved them, valued their art and found yourself in their songs so much, it was hard to say goodbye to them now that you’ve seen them live.

“We’ll be back before you know it!” James said, sending the crowd a wink and making his bandmates and the audience chuckle. They waved and walked towards the exit, and with that the stage lights went off.

“This was a ride!” Natasha exclaimed. You nodded eagerly.

“It was better than I expected!” You were still shouting because your ears were howling. “I never wanted it to end!” Natasha pointed herself, meaning that she didn’t either. You held her hand, never letting go, because you didn’t want to lose her in the crowd. Both of you slowly made your way to the exit. Just as you stepped into the small corridor to get closer to the exit, you were stopped by a bodyguard.

“Miss,” the guy said, raising his hands in the air. “You were invited to the backstage with your friend, Miss.” You turned to your right to look at Natasha owlishly who was looking at you right back with the same expression.

“Us?” You asked. “Are you sure?” The guy nodded. You looked at Natasha again, hoping that she’d answer for you.

“Alright,” she said. “We’ll come.” The guy smiled, stepping aside, he showed you the way to the backstage. You thanked him. Tightening your hand on Natasha’s, you walked towards the entrance.

“What the fuck,” you hissed. Natasha just smirked and shrugged.

“He was looking at you,” she said instead. “He just proved it.” You gave her a disbelieving look, pinching her arm at the same time. Natasha chuckled. “James the guitarist has a crush on you,” she murmured. “It sounds good, doesn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes. Yes, it did sound good, but accepting their offer to get into the backstage? When it was passed midnight? God, you hoped you wouldn’t be fucked up tomorrow.

You slowly made your way inside, the bodyguard right behind you both to show you the way. All the guards you passed had smiled at you warmly. They were kind, hell, maybe even friendly, but you weren’t here to find out that. You were invited. Fuck.

“Walk straight, the main room will be on your right after you passed the number seven,” the bodyguard said, pointing at the number. Natasha and you thanked him. The guy just smiled at you both and bid you good night. After he disappeared, you took a deep breath and walked to the number seven that was winking at you at the end of the hall.

“Are you excited?” Natasha asked, sounding perfectly calm.

“Of course, Nat!” You hissed. “You said he was looking at me, and now, we’re invited to the backstage, and you’re asking me if I’m excited? Fuck yes, I am!” She grinned. Looping her arm to yours, she pushed you to walk a little faster.

“Maybe you’ll have sex with him tonight,” she said cheerfully. You whimpered. You wouldn’t dare. Would you? Who were you kidding, you would. “Maybe he asked you to come to him because it’d be a chaos for him to come up to you.” You huffed out a breath. She was right. You couldn’t even imagine the crowd that would be gathering around you if he were to come up to you.

“Yeah,” you murmured. Natasha pulled you towards the door on your right, and you realized you were about to pass the number seven. You stopped. “Nat,” you whispered. She squeezed your arm.

“It’s fine,” she said gently. “We’ll walk out if you don’t want to do anything with them. We could just say hi and bail.” You looked at her green eyes for a couple seconds, biting your lip. “It’ll be alright. Maybe, we’ll have some real fun. Come on.” You nodded. You weren’t going to back out. You weren’t going to miss this chance.

“Okay,” you said and continued to walk.

It took you half a minute to reach the door.

Tentatively, you stepped inside the huge room. It had three, different color, big couches, and one wall was covered with mirrors and make-up tables. The lights were yellow and dimmed; they weren’t hurting your eyes. There were a couple plants at the corners of the room. There was some chatter going on, chuckles and laughter were echoing from one wall to the other.

“Um,” you started. “Hello?” As soon as the word left your mouth, the chatter died. You tried not to cringe and get awkward with the silence. “W-we were invited?” You saw Steve’s, the vocalist, eyes widening and brows rising.

“Oh!” He said. “Bucky!” He called out, inclining his head backwards. “Your visitors are here!” You frowned. You didn’t know any ‘Bucky’, but when you couldn’t see James around, you assumed it was him. “Why don’t you girls sit down? He’s probably battling with his make-up.” He grinned.

“Sure,” Natasha agreed easily and pulled you to the couch with her. “Is he the only one who wears make-up?” She asked. Sometimes you were jealous of her making-small-talk ability, and right now was one of those moments. Steve chuckled.

“Sammy here also likes to indulge himself with some mascara,” he said. “Hell, I even saw him rockin’ white eyeliner once. It was dope.” You smiled. White eyeliner would look great on Sam, the bassist, you thought. “Thor likes mascara like Sam. Clint has his own make up with all the bandages he puts on his face,” Steve snickered when Clint protested. Natasha and you chuckled.

You looked around the room, at the people, and saw how tired but happy they were. Thor, co-guitarist, was sitting on a large armchair with his phone in his hands. Clint, the drummer, was sprawled on an empty couch with his drumsticks in his hands, spinning them aimlessly. Steve was humming, Sam was tapping his foot to some imaginary beat, and you could hear someone, probably Bucky, swearing in one of the dressing rooms.

“I swear to fucking God if Sharon fucks with my bag ever again─” Bucky stormed out of the room with anger etched on his face but cut himself off when he saw you and Natasha sitting in front of Steve. “Oh. Hello, girls.” He smiled warmly. You wiggled your fingers and saw Natasha smiling at him. “I hope they weren’t being assholes as usual,” he added, narrowing his eyes at his bandmates. Steve and Sam flipped him off simultaneously while Thor and Clint didn’t acknowledge him.

“They were nice,” you murmured, feeling your cheeks burning along with your body. Bucky smiled at you widely, making your stomach flip. He was so handsome, looked so pretty smiling like that, you sort of couldn’t believe you were sitting in front of him right now.

“As much as this is nice,” Natasha started. Her green eyes were narrowed, and she looked a little terrifying. “Did you invite us here just to have a small talk or…?” You saw Bucky blush, Steve smirking, Sam elbowing Steve, and Thor wiggling eyebrows at Bucky. You frowned. Something was going on for sure, but you didn’t feel alarmed yet.

“Um,” Bucky murmured. “Well, I was going to come up to you but didn’t wanna make a scene. I was just wondering if you’d like to accompany us to the bar? We’re gonna celebrate our last day, and I thought maybe you would like to… hang out… with us?” Bucky looked shy and a little embarrassed, a scrunch was sitting on his nose adorably. Natasha raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Are you asking me or her?” She asked, making you choke on nothing.

“Natasha!”

“What? I know you wanna bone him, and he doesn’t look like he’s going to say no to that.” She rolled her eyes. “Besides they are gonna celebrate, Y/N,” she added, wiggling his brows, sending you a wink. You groaned. Covering your face with your hands, you whined.

“I’m gonna disown you from friendship when we go home, just so you know,” you mumbled, making everyone in the room laugh.

Bucky cleaned his throat with a light cough. “I was asking her,” he pointed at you, “but Sam here really liked you.” He placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder, alarming the guy and making his eyes widen. “He told me so, and I thought he could ask you to hang out with us himself, y’know. I’m that kind of a wingman.” He winked at Sam.

“The fuck,” Sam grunted. You snickered with Steve. Natasha smirked, it was a dangerous, seductive smirk. Uh-oh, you thought gleefully. Natasha was going to seduce the hell out of Sam, and he wasn’t going to know what hit him.

“Brace yourself,” you said to Sam, causing him to frown and give you a questioning look. Before you could answer him, though, Natasha slid off from her spot on the couch next to you and perched herself on top of Sam. You heard him making a mix of choking and gasping noise, eyes comically wide, he looked at Natasha. Steve was trying to keep himself from laughing while Clint was recording the whole thing with his phone. Sam wasn’t going to live this moment down, you knew that for sure.

“She’s gonna ruin him for other women, isn’t she?” You heard someone ask you, and when you turned your head to your left, the spot Natasha was occupying, you saw Bucky. He was still smiling, looking friendly and non-threatening. He had his usual combo on: A black t-shirt and tight, black jeans. His sleeves were on display, you could see his tattoo neck, too, and the piercing on his eyebrow was shining with the lights around him. He still had eyeliner around his eyes albeit faint, but he didn’t seem like it bothered him.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “She has that effect on people generally.” Bucky snickered. He slowly sat down next to you but put some distance because he wasn’t an asshole like his friends loved to call him. “You, um, still have some…” You stammered, pointing at his eyes. Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes.

“I tried to wipe them, but they don’t come off for some reason. They might be waterproof? I need to scrub them, I guess,” he said. You nodded again. You hated these awkward moments because you just didn’t know what to do.

“You could try coconut oil, though,” you blurted. Bucky frowned lightly. “It, uh, it helps t-to remove the, um, waterproof eyeliner.”

“Oh,” he murmured. “I think I saw a small jar in one of the make-up bags. Will you help me?” You froze for a second. Of course, you would help him, but that would mean you were going to be close to him, right? You didn’t know if you could handle it─

“Yes, she will. She helped me with the same situation many times,” Natasha chimed in. “She’s gentle.” You side-eyed Natasha. You were so going to hit her with a pillow when you went back home. She saw you looking and blew you a kiss.

“Y-yeah, I did. I- I will,” you said. Taking a deep breath, you decided to just roll with it because you weren’t getting out of here anytime soon, apparently. “Come on.” You grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the room he stormed out earlier. You ignored all the whoos and cheers although they made your cheeks and body burn. “Show me the jar?”

Bucky nodded mutely. Without letting your hand go, he moved to one of the desks that were against the wall with big mirrors and lights all around just like the other room, he pulled out a bag. “Should be in this,” he said.

“Okay,” you agreed. “Sit down.” You let his hand go, missing its roughness and warmth immediately, you opened the bag to dig the jar out. You grabbed a small piece of cotton, dripped some oil onto your hand and turned to Bucky. He was on your level, now, sitting down. “Close your eyes,” you whispered. He did. Inhaling slowly, you stepped closer to him and slowly applied the oil on his eyelids.

His skin was soft, you realized. He had lots of small moles on his face. Most of them were hidden with his long hair and light scruff, but they looked beautiful on him. His lips had a pretty bow shape, their natural color pink-ish red. You suddenly wanted to lean down and kiss him to see if they were as soft as they looked. Blinking, you pulled your hand away and brought the cotton to wipe it off. The oil helped, of course, and soon, the cotton was all black with the make-up.

“There you go,” you whispered, signaling that you were done. Bucky slowly opened his eyes. They were dark and mesmerizing; his pupils were large and almost swallowed the pretty color of his eyes, and you felt stuck. You saw him licking his lips with the corner of your eyes. His hands came up to your waist, one of them moving to your face to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His thumb stroked your cheek gently, so gently that you sighed and nuzzled against it without thinking. You heard him letting out a soft sound, and then his lips were onto yours.

Moaning in shock, you stood there, trying to process what was happening.

You were being kissed by James Barnes. The lead guitarist of Commandos. Your favorite band. You were being kissed by him. You pushed him away. Your hands still on his chest, you looked at him, the disbelief visible on your face.

Bucky cursed to himself silently. He should have known better than just kissing you like this, he should have taken you out first and let you that he was thinking of asking you out for real because he had been watching you throughout the whole concert, and you were so fucking pretty─

“What─ Why did you do that?” You asked him, interrupting his inner panicking. Bucky swallowed and looked at you, the color of his eyes had returned slightly.

“I─” He started, but realized he didn’t know what he could say. “Wanted to?” He cringed. God, he was hopeless. “I’m sorry, I should have asked. I’m─ Look, I wasn’t trying to force myself on you, I swear. I’m really sorry.” He tried to stand up, but you stopped him with putting your hands on his shoulders.

“Why did you do that?” You asked again. Yeah, he might have wanted to kiss you, but you had to know exactly why. Bucky held his breath.

“Because I wanted to kiss you,” he said with a soft voice. “Because you looked so pretty singing along to the songs I wrote with your friend, looked so carefree and gorgeous, I wanted to know you, wanted to kiss you so bad. Because you felt right when you were close to me. Because I wanted to keep you even closer, so that no one would try to steal you away fro─ Mmfm!”

You cut him off with pressing your lips against his. Of course, you were attracted to him. He was this devilishly handsome, funny and charming lead guitarist of your favorite band. How could you not? Him admitting that he wanted to know you was dizzying, to kiss you so bad was definitely passing out material.

Bucky sighed into the kiss as he brought one of his hands to rest on the small of your back and the other on your face. Tilting his head to his side slightly, Bucky deepened the kiss. With the hand on your lower back, he pulled you to him, making you step into his personal space even more. You hummed. Your hands were on his cheeks, fingertips playing with his hair while your thumbs stroked his cheekbones.

He kissed so nicely.

His lips were as soft as they looked. They felt like silk onto yours as he kissed your breath away. His body heat was setting your own body fire. His hands on you were like a dream come true. The way he held you close to him felt so good, you wanted to cry at the feeling. You were a little touch starved, but he was feeding you well with his itty bitty touches.

“Mmm,” he hummed as he pulled back for oxygen. He opened his eyes, watching you nuzzle in his palm, kissing his wrist, Bucky felt immensely happy. “Darling love,” he whispered. “You feel so right in my arms.” You let out a broken sound as you buried your face in his palm, partially hiding in it. He chuckled softly. “You do.” You wiggled even closer to him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for another kiss.

Just as both of you were getting lost in the kiss, the knock on the door made you jump. “We’re leaving for the bar!” It was Clint. “Are you guys coming or not?” Bucky looked at you.

“Let me take you out?” He asked, hope shining bright in his beautiful eyes. “Let me treat you? Please, honey?” You nodded mutely. You were too stunned to answer him verbally. He smiled. “Alright,” he said and stood up. He, then, took a step back and extended his hand to you. “I’m James, but people close to me call me Bucky.”

You chuckled at his cheesiness. Holding his hand, you shook it. “I’m Y/N, but Natasha calls me dumbass sometimes,” you said, making him grin. Bucky held your hand in his as he brought it up to his lips, kissing your wrist.

“Can I take you out on a date? Buy you a drink?” He asked, then. You bit your lip as you grinned.

“Yeah,” you answered him. He beamed.

“Great!” He pulled you against him. “I know just the place.”

──

You’ve been at the bar with the band and Natasha for two hours now. You were having so much fun that you couldn’t stop giggling or cracking jokes sometimes. You felt incredibly lucky to get to know the band this way; they were a bunch of charming and funny guys who occasionally called each other asshole.

Thor was a weird one; he kept talking like he was someone from a Shakespeare play but he was a very funny dude. Sam was a sarcastic but a very charming guy; him and Natasha had kept the flirting going since she sat on his lap at the backstage. Steve was actually a pretty smart guy, but he loved fucking with others and playing dumb. He was almost as flirtious as Sam, but he kept the flirting to Thor only which you later learned that Thor and Steve had been dating for two years. Clint was… he was a real dumbass. He was a beast with his drums, but in general he was a walking disaster and the bandages on his face and arms sort of gave that away.

They were a good bunch.

Then, there was James. Or Bucky as he reminded you to call him that once or twice. He was funny just like the others. He was charming and actually a sweetheart. You learned that he was also the Mama Bear of the band while Sam had taken the Papa Bear role. They were the ones who kept the others doing shit. He was considerate, lovable and smart guy. He loved his music, loved playing his guitar whenever he could and loved exploring new things.

You might have been a little in love with him already.

“Aight!” Steve interrupted the chattering. He was a little tipsy, not drunk, and leaning onto Thor more than he probably should. “Round… four? Five? It’s on me. Who wants what?” Everyone placed their order with Steve and Thor, but you.

“Just water if they have such a healthy drink in here,” you said, chuckling. “I had enough.” You weren’t big on drinking your consciousness away, and considering this was sort of your first date with Bucky, you wanted to stay sober.

Steve and Thor nodded, not pushing you to drink when you didn’t want to, and made a bee line to the bar. Bucky was holding you against his side, his arm was either over your shoulders or around your waist, and you were leaning into him. He placed a soft kiss onto your temple, making your body heat up with the simple touch of his lips. With a sigh, you buried your head into his shoulder.

It was sort of surprising that you felt so safe and at ease with Bucky although it’s been only three hours since you met officially. Sure, you’ve known him partially from the interviews, but you spent three hours in his presence, and the closeness between you two felt like you’ve been like this, close and touching each other, for years. It was a weird but not unwelcomed feeling. In fact, you loved it a little too much.

“Are you okay?” Bucky whispered. His breath smelled a bit like beer, but you didn’t mind. Yours probably smelled the same. You nodded. “I can take you back home if you want or to a hotel? I… just realized I don’t know where you live.” You chuckled.

“I live around, don’t worry,” you assured him. “Like an hour or so away with car? I’m local.” You snuggled deeper into his embrace. “I’m fine, though, it’s been very fun so far.” Bucky hummed.

“Yeah, they are good guys,” Bucky agreed. “But say the word and I’ll take you home, alright?” He said, looking into your eyes.

“Okay,” you agreed, kissing his cheek. You have never felt like this with a guy before. Sure, you were a virgin, but you had boyfriends, you had dated. None of them made you feel this at ease around them. None of them but Bucky. You found that you loved this feeling. With a smile, you hummed happily.

After Steve and Thor returned with a new round of drinks, you’ve spent another hour and half laughing and talking with them. It was around 3 AM when all of you decided to call it a night.

“It’s technically morning, though,” Clint said, swaying on his feet a little. Everyone groaned. “Fine, geez. I ain’t makin’ any joke anymo’,” he grunted and flipped the bird. You snorted lightly. Clint got offended real easy when he was drunk, apparently.

“So, girls,” Sam started. “We can take you home if you want? Or put you in the same hotel we’re staying for tonight?” Natasha shrugged.

“It’d take us at least an hour to get home, I’ll take the hotel option,” she said, and you hummed approvingly. “We don’t need new rooms. I think it’s obvious where we’ll be staying,” she added with a smirk. You felt your cheeks burn.

“I’m so divorcing you when we go home,” you muttered, and Natasha snickered. You felt Bucky’s assuring squeeze on your arm.

“We can get you a new room if you don’t feel comfortable enough with sharing, though,” he said, ignoring Natasha. You frowned as you thought about it.

It wouldn’t make you uncomfortable, but you didn’t know what you’d do. Would you just cuddle and go to sleep or… You sighed. You wanted to take that step. You were in your mid-twenties and you wanted to get rid of your virginity already. It stuck with you for a long time. You didn’t want to push him for it, though. Frown deepening, you realized you wouldn’t mind whatever you chose to do when you shared a room. Even though you wanted to get rid of things, you really would like to cuddle with Bucky and go to sleep.

“It’s fine,” you murmured. “I won’t mind sharing a room if that’s okay with you.” Bucky shook his head, a smile playing on his lips.

“Of course,” he said. “Let’s go then.”

─

It took you fifteen minutes or so arriving the hotel and all of you quickly scattered your own rooms. You followed Bucky. He was holding your hand into his gently, you in front of him, his arms were around your waist and hands holding yours as you rode the elevator. When you were on the floor nine, you got off and walked down the hall.

Stepping inside the room 107, you felt nervous. It wasn’t Bucky who was making you nervous, but yourself, you knew that. You could come clean and tell Bucky; he had been so patient and loving with you all day and you knew he wouldn’t mind you telling him about your conflict.

“I can take the couch,” Bucky started. “I don’t mind. It’s actually pretty comfy,” he grinned. “Took a nap there before we hit the stage.” He wiggled his brows adorably. “I can lend you some clothes if you wanna shower, I’m definitely taking one. I have no idea how you put up with my stink for four hours.” You chuckled.

“You don’t stink,” you said. “You smell nice, actually.” Bucky tilted his head to his side and sent you a cocky smirk. Fuck, you thought.

“Nice, hm?” He laughed, then. “I half-showered with my perfume is probably why,” he added, rolling his eyes. “Anyways, you gonna shower?” You bit your lip. You were hesitating just a little, but you knew you had to take some steps yourself in these kinds of things.

“W-what if we take o-one to-ogether?” You stammered clumsily. “We, uh, both need one, anyways, right?” Bucky froze. His eyes snapped at yours, watching you carefully as he tried to see if you really wanted this.

“You really want that?” He asked. You nodded. There was nothing else you wanted more at the moment, you thought. “Honey,” Bucky murmured. “Do you know what you want? Do you wanna tell me?” Ye walked closer to him and placed your hands on his chest when you were close enough.

“I want to take a shower with you,” you said, surprisingly with a steady voice. “I… We don’t have to, but if you want, I, um, also want to have sex with you, too.” Bucky exhaled shakily at your words. They were affecting him, you could see it in his eyes. So, you thought, might as well drop the bomb. “I, um,” you continued. Your fingers were playing his exposed dog tags. “I really, really would like you to be, um, the first one to… you know…” You narrowed your eyes, looking at him and hoping that he’d understand.

“The first one to what, love?” He asked. His eyes were intense, now. They looked at you like they wanted to see through you. You shivered and licked your lips. Your mouth opened and closed, words wanting to get out but didn’t know how. “Y/N,” Bucky said when you didn’t answer. “Honey,” he called out. “Are you a virgin, love?”

You nodded. Your whole body was burning with embarrassment, burning under the intense look of his beautiful eyes. You fidgeted in your place, tearing your eyes from his, you gave your whole attention to his dog tags. You played with them until you felt his fingers gripping your chin gently and tilting up.

“Are you sure?” He asked. “Do you really want me to do that?” You nodded again. Words were hard for you, at the moment, you were beyond embarrassed. “Sweetheart, I’m honored that you see me worthy.” You snorted.

“Dork,” you whispered. He grinned.

“That’s me,” he said, making you snort again. “Alright, let’s take a shower together.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the bathroom. He left you by the sink to undress while he adjusted the water. You were stripping off your clothes one by one, not feeling so confident about your body, you had a strong urge to hide it.

It was Bucky, though. You may not have known for a long time, but you knew he wouldn’t mind. Still, you couldn’t silence the irritating small voice in your mind that had been whispering how different you looked from all the women Bucky had seen out with.

“Water is ready,” he announced, unaware of your inner struggle. He turned around as he yanked his t-shirt off his body. “Y/N? Are you okay?” His eyes roamed your body, moving up and down and up again. “What is it? It’s fine if you don’t want to do this─”

“It’s not that,” you muttered. “Well, sort of about it, not that exactly.” You shrugged. Your tears were on their way to fill your eyes, you could feel them, but you weren’t going to cry. “It’s just… I don’t have a model’s body, like, um, all the other women you’ve dated? I don’t have it, and um, it just makes me feel a little self-conscious?” You watched Bucky’s face going from worried to soft in a matter of seconds.

“Baby,” he whispered, stepping forward and getting into your personal space. “I don’t care.” He tucked your hair behind your ear, stroked your cheek and looked deep into your eyes. “I don’t care that you don’t have a model’s body. I actually like your body better than theirs because yours tell me that you’re happy and not starving yourself to look the way they do. You’re beautiful.” You whimpered. “It’s alright if you wanna back up, it really is, but please do not think that I won’t find you attractive because you don’t have a body like theirs, okay?” You sniffed lightly as you nodded.

You slowly got rid your t-shirt, dropping it on the floor like he did with his, and reached behind your back to unclasp your bra. He looked into your eyes all the while you undressed yourself. His eyes never flickered down once. They kept looking into your eyes, and his thumbs kept stroking your cheeks and your neck. Once you got naked, you fought with the urge to wrap your arms around yourself and cover your bits. Bucky liked your body, you reminded yourself. You were beautiful to him.

“There you go,” Bucky whispered. “That’s a good baby.” He leaned in and pecked your lips. “Let’s get under the water, alright?” You nodded. He quickly rid himself from his remaining clothes. His tattooed and pierced body’s naked glory was right in front of you, and you wanted to leave some marks. You wanted people to know that he was yours, now, no one else’s. “Come on, love.” He nudged you into the shower gently, pulling you out of your head. You carefully stepped into the tub, the water hitting your back immediately, you shivered with the warm water. Bucky walked in behind you and closed the glass doors.

Bucky plastered his front to your back, gently encouraging you to lean against him. His arms wrapped around your middle, he dipped down and placed kisses on your neck. The steam coming from the warm water warming your body, making his kisses feels even more sensual. You shivered.

“Let’s get you wet,” he murmured, eyes shining with mischief. You let out a soft snort and rolled your eyes. He grinned. He turned you around and stepped under the water with you still leaning against his body. You could feel his well-defined muscles on your back. His bulging biceps around your waist was giving you a nice feeling, too. His already warm body was even warmer now thanks to the water.

You sighed.

Bucky grabbed the shampoo and washed your hair, fingers massaging your scalp. After you were clean, it was his turn. He had to crouch down, later he went down on his knees since it was easier for you to reach all of his hair easily. As you washed his hair, Bucky held onto you, face buried in your stomach, he breathed calmly as you massaged his scalp like he did to you. You could feel the tension draining out of him. He must be exhausted, you thought, and suddenly felt guilty about springing this whole I-want-to-have-sex-with-you conversation. He needed rest, not more action. You huffed to yourself silently. Telling him to stand up, you grabbed the second loofah and dragged it along his body, washing away the dirt and sweat of the concert.

Washing away the shampoos and last of the dirt on your body, you turned off the water and stepped out, Bucky right behind you and still holding onto your waist. He grabbed a big towel from one of the cabinets. It was white and looked so fluffy. He smiled when he saw your wide eyes and wrapped it around your body, squeezing you into a hug with towel around you, he held you against his chest. You chuckled. Your face was right into the crook of his neck; his warm body was radiating heat even with a towel between your bodies.

“It’s so fluffy,” you said, amusement in your voice. Bucky snickered.

“Yeah, that’s what I love about fancy hotels.” Bucky wiggled his eyebrows and grabbed another towel from the rack to dry himself. Both of you walked back into the bedroom again with your naked bodies covered with fluffy towels.

“Hey,” you called out softly. “We, um, don’t have to do it now,” you said. “I know you’re tired, and you need some rest. So, it’s totally okay if you─” Bucky placed a finger on your lips and silenced you.

“I want it,” he whispered. “I am tired, I’m not gonna lie, but I want to do this, too.” Amusement shone in his eyes. “Don’t be surprised if I fall asleep on you in the halfway, though,” he said. You chuckled. Your hand poked out under the towel and hit him on the arm gently. Bucky grinned. He leaned in and kissed your cheeks; they felt warm under his lips.

Bucky started humming as his hands grabbed the hem of the towel that you’ve been hugging tightly. You frowned lightly, trying to make out what he was humming. While you were thinking, Bucky took the towel off of you gently. You barely felt the cold air hitting your body because of his body heat. It was coming off of him in waves and warming you in a weird way. He smiled as he pulled back a little. His face was so close to yours, his moving lips were brushing against yours as he continued to sing the song.

“Television lover, baby, go all night,” he sang softly. “Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet,” he continued and pressed a kiss on the corner of your lips, arms pulling your closer to his body. “Little miss innocent sugar me, yeah.”

You frowned lightly, face scrunched in a very adorable way. “What are you singing?” You asked, still trying to making out what song he was singing. Bucky grinned.

“Ooh, in the name of love,” he started and saw the light bulb going off. “Pour some sugar on me. C’mon, fire me up.” He swayed to right and left, making guitar sounds just to make you giggle. “Pour some sugar on me. I can’t get enough!” You laughed.

“Oh my God, Bucky!” you exclaimed, tears in your eyes. “I can’t believe you’re singing─”

Bucky grinned even wider. “I’m hot, sticky sweet. From my head to my feet, yeah!”

Both of you cracked up. Bucky was still humming the song as he, too, discarded his towel. He came closer, looking into your eyes and searching for a ‘yes’ in there, which you gave him while still giggling. Bucky crouched lightly to grab you by your thighs and hoisted you up. You squeaked. Your arms were quick to wrap around his neck as he carried you to the bed.

“Crazy little woman in a one man show,” he continued to sing. “Mirror queen, mannequin, rhythm of lovee!” You snorted. “Sweet dreams, saccharine, loosen up.” He kissed your cheek. He lowered you on the bed, lying you down gently. You smiled at him. Bucky winked and leaned in.

His lips found yours with a sweet sigh escaping from you. Bucky hummed. His lips stroked yours gently, pried them open to deepen it with a small tilt of his head, and suddenly, you were kissing heatedly. You moaned when you felt his tongue licking at your bottom lip, his teeth nibbling on the soft flesh lightly. You opened your mouth, allowed his tongue inside and moaned again. Bucky grunted. He dropped his body onto yours, minding his weight, and caged you under him.

“Baby,” Bucky moaned when he pulled back for oxygen. His lips moving from yours to your neck, he hummed appreciatively. The light scruff he had was scratching the skin of your neck raw, but you didn’t mind. It felt so good, so nice to have his warm body onto yours like this and to feel his lips on your skin. Your body was on fire. Between your thighs, you were aching and dripping wet; the urge to press them together was strong, but Bucky was in the way.

“Bucky,” you sighed as he nipped on your collarbones. His breath was hot on your already heated skin. The rough texture of his hands drove your body into the edge of oversensitivity as they brushed and stroked every inch of skin they could reach. Bucky hummed appreciatively at the sight of your breasts on his face. His eyes flicked up at yours, silently asking for a permission. Heart beating in your mouth, you nodded. Every breath you drew in was burning you in the best way, making your head rush.

You gasped loudly when his hot and wet mouth closed over your nipple. His tongue was teasing the delicate nip gently; cheeks hollowing as he sucked on it, he slurped. One of his hands had closed over your other breast; the rough texture that drove you crazy was on your boob now, and his calloused fingers were playing with your nipple. Your arched your back. Your hands wound tight in his longish brown hair, pulling on them whenever he sucked too hard and twisted your nipple in a very good way.

“Oh, shit, Bucky!” Eyes closed, you threw your head back as you thrusted your chest against his face more. Bucky just grunted and switched nipples. His hand was now playing with your saliva covered nipple while his mouth had closed over your other breast. When you moaned high and very feminine, Bucky scrapped his teeth over the sensitive bud, making your hips buck against his unintentionally. “God, I─ This─ Shit, feels so good,” you sighed, breath hitching.

Bucky let go of your nipple with an obscene ‘pop’ sound and placed a kiss on your sternum. He kissed his way down, tongue dipping into your belly button and placing a kiss there, too. You tried not to squirm away when he finally made contact with your dripping core. His hot breath was licking your mound, making you hyperaware of his presence there and also making you even wetter.

Feeling how nervous you were, Bucky looked at you softly and kissed your inner thighs. You breathed in shakily. His lips were covering your inner thighs with kisses, hands stroking your sides and stomach, fingers occasionally finding your nipples, Bucky calmed you down. Soon, you were melting under his soft and loving touches as he made his way to your pussy slowly.

First flick of his tongue on your clit had you gasping, bucking your hips and grabbing onto his hands on your stomach. Bucky shushed you and placed a kiss on your clit, sucking it just a little.

“Oh my God! Bucky!” You moaned. He shushed you again with grounding strokes of his thumbs on the back of your hands. He dove in.

His tongue flicked on your clit over and over again, lips closed around the tiny bud and sucked little hickeys onto it. His scruff was rubbing on your inner thighs and making this whole new experience even better. You kept moaning, whining and whimpering; your hands never letting of his, you held onto them tight as you arched your back and buried your face into the pillow with your eyes closed.

You could feel your slick running down, dripping onto bed, because the sounds Bucky was making while eating you out were so hot, it made your thigh muscles twitch around his head. He was burying one groan after the other into your pussy, humming and grunting at the taste of your slick and your tight hold on his hands.

At one point, he pulled back. Freeing one of his hands out of your hold, Bucky swiped a finger from your slit to your clit. You cried out. The colors were exploding behind your closed eyes; your body was taut with the expected orgasm. Bucky swiped his fingers a few more times before he slowly dipped it inside you. An audible hitch in your breath, Bucky stopped. He pulled his finger back slightly only to push it back in.

“James,” you whined. You could feel the pressure gathering in your lower belly. “Please, God, please─” You groaned when he continued to move his fingers in you as he pressed his thumb over your clit. You were close. You were so close, you could fucking taste it. You whimpered. Your free hand found his body, and you grabbed the meaty shoulder, digging your nails deep. Bucky hummed and crooked his fingers.

You screamed when you came.

Your body went taut, muscles cramping, you felt them relaxing at the same time. It was a bit weird and amazing feeling which you loved. It wasn’t that you’ve never made yourself come, you have, but none of them felt like this.

“Your fucking face─” You heard Bucky growl lightly. He climbed his way up to your lips and kissed you passionately. “The way you look when you come? Gorgeous.” He kissed you harshly, nipping your bottom lip. “The way you taste? Magnificent. Pouring out some sugar for me, there, don’t you, baby?” You felt your cheeks burn at his words as he ducked in for yet another kiss which you gave him happily. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him even closer. He pulled back just a little and started kissing on your cheeks and neck. “You still wanna do it?” He asked. You nodded. “Speak up, bubba,” he nudged your jaw with his nose. You squirmed happily at the pet name.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Still wanna do it. Still wan’it to be you. Please?” You looked at him with wide eyes, face open and excited.

Bucky wanted to hide you in his bed forever because you were too good to be true. “Alright, love, okay,” he whispered. He reached for his wallet that he left on the bedside drawer and pulled out a condom. Bucky was quick and efficient as he put on the condom, discarding its small package.

You gasped lightly when you saw his cock. It was a little above average, wasn’t too big that it might really hurt you. He was uncut, but you could see faint lines of veins throbbing there. There was a shining metal going through his cock head, but to avoid panicking, you diverted your eyes to his ball. They were big and looked full, and suddenly, you felt your body burning even more with the thought of them slapping against your skin.

“It’s might hurt at the beginning, okay?” He said, drawing your attention back to him. “Tell me, please, just tell me to stop if it hurts really bad or you just don’t wanna do this anymore, alright?” You nodded. He tapped on your lips. “Words, honey.”

“Yes,” you breathed. “I’ll tell you to stop if I don’t like it.” He nodded with a big smile on his face.

“That’s right,” he whispered and kissed you. Settling in deeper between your thighs, Bucky kept kissing you. One of his hands was on your face, gently stroking your cheek, while the other had grabbed his cock and lined it up.

The slide in was smooth, and Bucky was going real slow. He really didn’t want to hurt you, make this experience a bad one, so he was being extra careful. He could feel how your silky wet walls wrapping his cock slowly as he inched in, in and in. His eyes were rolling backwards behind his closed lids. It was addicting, the way you felt around him. Bucky never wanted to pull out, wanted to stay buried in you forever because you were so tight, so warm and so wet, it was like a dream come true.

“Sweetheart,” he croaked. “You feel so fuckin’ good.” Your breath hitched at his low voice calling you a sweet name. Between your thighs you were aching, hurting just a little it, too, but it wasn’t unbearable. You held onto him tight, reeled into the feeling of his cock sliding into you and just… felt.

You whimpered when his cock was fully seated. There was a throbbing pain, almost pulsating with the same beat as your heart. Bucky was panting in your ear. He wasn’t moving, was just holding you tight against him and trying to control himself until you gave him the go. You hummed a little as he pain subsided.

“You good, bubba?” He asked, lifting his head only a little to look you in the eye. You sniffed, tears had sprung to your eyes at the pain, but it was gone now. You nodded, hands tightening on his shoulders.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Move, please?” Bucky groaned. He gave you another kiss on the lips: A sweet, chaste and soft kiss. You sighed into it.

Carefully, he pulled out a bit and slid back in, stealing your breath. His breathing was shaky. You could hear his silent grunts and groans. His hands were fisting the bedding until you grabbed them and twined your fingers together. He kissed your neck as thanks. He continued to thrust into you slowly. Every drag of his cock, you could feel it in your bones, deep in your body, and it was so goddamn good.

“God,” you choked on a moan. “Fuck, faster, please─” Bucky growled.

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he hissed through his clenched teeth. Sweat was beading on his forehead, chest and back, making his skin glow. You whimpered as you turned your head to him where he buried his face into the crook of your neck and kissed his temple.

“You won’t,” you said. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, please!” You clenched your thighs around his hips, urging him to move a little faster. His growling increased; it sounded like he was almost snarling with each thrust of his hips.

“You want it hard, darlin’?” He asked, taunted. You whimpered again as you nodded. A wanton cry of ‘yes’ spilled out of your mouth. “You want me to fuck you faster, hm?” You let out another litany of yeses and tightened your hands in his. Bucky groaned deep and loud. His hips started to snap against yours. His balls hitting your slick covered skin, his cock started to move in and out of you at a rapid pace.

The pleasure it brought was fucking blinding.

You moaned when he gave you a particular hard thrust. You were moving up and down on the bed where you were lying on your back as Bucky thrusted in and out of you madly. You could feel the metal you saw through the condom stroking your sensitive walls, making the pleasure feel even better, and you knew you were going to come. You could feel how close you were.

“James,” you breathed, your face drowning in pleasure as he looked at you. “’m gonna come,” you whined. “’m so close, ‘m gonna come!” Bucky snarled.

Straightening up a bit, he leaned onto his elbows, still holding your hands. His thrusts were deeper now. He was hitting at a spot that got you choking on almost every moan that wanted to get out, stealing your breath with each thrust; you were delirious.

“Bucky,” you sighed. Your voice carried a panicking tone, but it was because you were so close to coming. “Bucky, fuck, I’m─”

“Come, honey,” he whispered, lips brushing yours. “Come for me, c’mon.” He ducked down to bite one of your breasts, sucking and licking at the same time. You gasped. Your thighs and walls clenched around him so tightly, Bucky’s eyes rolled behind his head, mouth open and he was almost drooling at the sensation. “Fuck!” He roared. The vice of your walls around his hard cock felt so fucking good, he started to move in and out of you rapidly. He was jackrabitting, so close to coming himself, and you didn’t mind. It still felt good albeit a bit too much.

“James,” you whispered. Your hand squeezed his and you lifted your head enough to peck him on the lips. Bucky moaned brokenly. He leaned down, fully pressing his lips on yours as he kissed you deeply. He was releasing moans and grunts and sighs into the kiss, into your mouth, and you smiled. “Come on, lemme see you,” you whispered again. Pecking his lips once and twice, licking his bottom lip, you bit it gently.

Bucky cursed. His thrust halted for a second. His balls jerked as he thrusted into you one last time, and he filled the condom with his seed, his face buried in your neck. You hummed. His weight on you was a welcomed one, it felt like a personal, living, weighted blanket and you hummed again.

“Oh shit,” Bucky whispered. It was quiet for a while. He silently and carefully pulled out of you and ditched the condom. He got up to get a wet cloth from the bathroom. When he returned, he gently cleaned the between your legs, taking away all the dirt and slight blood that he caused, and then cleaned himself. Dropping the cloth somewhere in the bathroom, he walked back inside the room, lay on the bed and gathered you in his arms, hugging you tight against his chest. You sighed contently. “How do you feel? Was I too rough?”

“Mm, no,” you murmured. Your face was squished on his chest. The barbells on his nipples were warm against your cheek. “It was perfect.” You smiled dopily as you pulled back. You kissed him on the cheeks and then on the lips. “Thank you.” He smiled at you back; the crinkles around his eyes showing themselves, he scrunched his nose.

“You’re very welcome, bubba,” he whispered, kissing your nose. You chuckled and settled back on his chest. You lay in the silence. Although both of you were tired, you didn’t feel the need of sleep immediately. Bucky was in agreement with you since he started to hum again. You frowned for a second until you realized he was still singing the same song from before. You chuckled. “Hmm,” he said.

“Same song still?”

“Yup,” he grinned. “Lyrics fit, don’t you think?” You made a questioning sound. His grin widened. He was expecting you’d react like that. “You got the peaches, I got the cream,” he sang, and you snorted out loud as your face burned yet again. “Sweet to taste, saccharine.” You started to laugh. “Cause I’m hot, hot, so hot, sticky sweeet!” He started to crack up slightly. “From my head, my head to my feet, yeaah!”

“Oh my God, stop!” You cackled, face buried in his neck.

“Never,” he said and went back to singing. “Take a bottle, shake it uuup! Break the bubble, break it uuuup!” He stopted, looking at your with the corner of his eyes. You snorted and bit his neck lightly. “Come on, sing this part with me.” You shook your head. “Come ooon! Do this and I’ll shut up, I promise.” You looked at his grinning stupid face. Rolling your eyes, you murmured a ‘fine’.

“Pour some sugar on meee!” Both of you sang, trying very hard not to crack up. “Oooh, in the name of looovee! Pour some sugar on meee! C’mon fire me uup!” Bucky flipped your positions, taking you under him again, causing your breath to hitch and stop you singing.

“Pour some sugar on me,” he sang quietly this time. He leaned in and kissed you passionately, deeply, lovingly. His lips traveled your neck, peppering kisses and then came back to your lips again. He whispered the last notes of the song as he leaned in close enough for his lips to crush against yours before he engulfed you into another hot and loving round of sex.

“Ooh, I can’t get enough…”

Your grinning self was turned into a gasping and chanting his name with pleasure one real quick after that.

──

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagines #rockstar!bucky barnes #rockstar!bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes blurbs #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #pour some sugar on me

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gukyi · 3 years

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the art of the rom-com | jjk

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

{enemies to lovers!au, college!au}

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

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

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

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

Jeon Jungkook on February 12th at 9:53PM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lot of you respond with halfhearted smiles and waves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As long as you can pick your teammate.

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

Shit.

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

“And lastly, Jungkook and Y/N.”

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

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

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

Right above is your response to his comment.

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

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

Your fists tighten by your side.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You storm out the door.

[February 13th, 1:24PM]

Unknown Number: guess who ;)

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

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

You: Damn shame You: You done jerking off yet

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

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

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

[February 13th, 2:17PM]

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

You: Guess I don’t have a choice do I

Jungkook: unless you wanna facetime

You: Is that an option?

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

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

Jungkook: watch me

[February 13th, 2:21PM]

Jungkook: [screenshot sent] Jungkook: done

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

Jungkook: miss you already <3

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

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

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

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

In a way, you suppose it kind of is.

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

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

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

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

Well, she’s got you there.

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

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

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

To: [email protected] From: y/[email protected] Subject: what the freak

Dear Professor Pollack,

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

Cheers, Y/N

would be very professional on your part.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So I can’t change partners?”

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

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

“That’s life,” she corrects.

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

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

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

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

“You’ll find a way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then I guess I’m just a robot.”

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

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

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

You frown at him. “Does it matter?”

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

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

Yeah, right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“We’ll be the stars.”

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

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

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

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

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

You scoff. “Of what?”

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

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

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

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

Jungkook believes in destiny, right? Then he must know that the two of you are destined to never get along.

“You should be a car salesman,” you joke. Jungkook’s certainly excellent at pitches.

“So, you in?”

You narrow your eyes, still a little wary of whatever it is Jungkook’s putting down. But it’s not like you have any better ideas. And the sooner you agree on something, the sooner you can get this goddamn project over with and never have to sit in class with Jeon Jungkook ever again.

“Only because this’ll finally prove to you that not everything can be solved by finding love,” you say. It’s about as good of a ‘yes’ as he’s going to get out of you.

Jungkook grins, mischievous as always. There’s certainly something else he’s plotting, you just aren’t sure what. Maybe he’s in cahoots with Pollack. “Or,” he begins, lips curling upwards, “you’ll just fall in love with me.”

You scoff. “Yeah, right.”

“Well, then I guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” He holds out his hand, palm facing up as he waits for your response, that devilish glint that you hate twinkling in his eyes.

As if you’re going to fall in love with Jungkook. For this stupid project? No way. Just because it’s a filmmaking project doesn’t make it any more bearable than your other assignments. It’s a partner project. They are, by their very nature, excruciating. You’ll be surprised if you end this project and you aren’t even more irritated with Jungkook. Does he really think you’ll actually develop some sort of affection for him?

You take his hand on your own, palm pressed against his, and you eye him carefully. Just because Jungkook’s got something up his sleeve doesn’t mean you don’t. Finally, finally, Jungkook will see why love is stupid and manufactured and fake. Why it doesn’t bring people together but instead tears them apart.

Maybe then he’ll leave you and your discussion posts in peace.

You smile up at him.

“I guess we will.”

When Ruby Rhodes is not six feet deep in The Princeton Review’s MCAT test prep book, she can usually be found at the small bakery five blocks west and two blocks north of your little campus, a family-owned place passed down through three generations. It’s her favorite place, and yours, too, because the coffee is delicious and the pastries are even better.

Plus, hardly anyone from your school ever comes here, which means the wifi speed is eons better than the Starbucks inside the main food court.

She’s halfway through a tiramisu and a rerun of The Bachelor from two seasons ago when you sit down across from her.

“Any good?” You ask, pulling out your laptop and squeezing it onto the tiny marble table in between the two of you.

“The food or the show?” Ruby asks over a mouthful of cake.

“Either.”

Ruby swallows down the piece sitting on her tongue before responding. “The tiramisu is delicious, and The Bachelor is eh. I’ve seen this episode three times already.”

“Then why are you watching it again?” You ask, laughing. Does Ruby think something different is going to happen?

“Because we’re in between weeks right now and honestly, The Bachelor is kind of dry this season,” Ruby says with a frown.

“You’ve got some tiramisu on your cheek,” you tell her, pointing to the left side of her face where the bright mascarpone cream sticks out like a sore thumb against her dark skin.

“It’s just so yummy, I can’t help but stick my whole face in it,” Ruby jokes as she wipes her face with the napkin on her lap. The Bachelor rerun plays on in the background, and you can hear the gasps of the women through Ruby’s discarded headphones.

You roll your eyes. “Why do you even watch that show still? You know it’s all crap.”

“Just because you think it’s crap doesn’t mean I do,” Ruby insists, playing out an argument the two of you have had plenty of times over the course of your friendship. “Watching it makes me happy. So I do it.”

“But it’s all fake,” you say, frowning in disapproval. “The couples don’t even stay together in the end anyway.”

“It’s a totally pre-constructed show, but it’s not fake in the moment. And I don’t expect the final couple to stay together.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “Believe me, I’ve seen enough Bachelor seasons to know those odds. I just like watching the ride. It’s cute.”

“You say that about everything.”

“That’s because everything is cute,” Ruby says pointedly. “I like seeing the good in people.”

Ruby’s always been the exact opposite of you in terms of worldviews. The embodiment of a real-life fairy. She puts butterfly clips in her hair and buys herself bouquets of daisies and lilies. She sits in cafes with her headphones in and sketches the people she sees outside the window. She’s studying to be a doctor so she can spend the rest of her life helping others.

And you?

Well, the Oscars have always been a bit of a long shot.

The curiosity eating at you, you pose a question to her. “Hypothetically, if there were to exist a mockumentary on rom-coms and love, would you watch it?”

Ruby pauses for a second as she furrows her brows. Then she shrugs and says, “Only if the two leads fell in love at the end. Why?”

“No reason,” you say, looking away.

There’s no fooling Ruby and her eagle eyes.

“What is it?” She asks, a grin playing at her lips as she looks at you. “Come on, you don’t just ask me shit like that without a reason.”

“It’s for a final project,” you explain succinctly. No need to go into details.

“You’re making a rom-com for a final project?” Ruby sounds about as skeptical as you did when you spoke to Jungkook.

“It’s a mockumentary about rom-coms.”

“But… it’s a rom-com, right? Like, you’re going to be making a rom-com? Where people fall in love?”

Hopefully not.

“Sort of?”

Ruby squints her eyes, trying to process all the information. You’re not surprised that she has to take a moment to think—you are certainly the last person on earth to ever admit to filming a rom-com. But, as you’ve stated, it’s not a rom-com. It’s a mockumentary about them. That distinction is vital.

“Wait, is this for that class with Pollack?” Ruby asks. “I remember you telling me you were taking it. You said this was a partner project, though, right? So who are you working with?”

Curse Ruby and her knack for remembering things. She’ll make a great doctor, that’s for sure, but right now you wish she would just forget things like everybody else.

You sigh. “Jungkook.”

Ruby doesn’t need to think twice about who that is. “Wait, seriously? You’re working with him? Isn’t he the guy that responds to all your discussion posts?”

“Yes,” you say, rubbing your temples with your fingertips. You don’t even like thinking about him, let alone saying his name. The fact that he has to occupy any part of your brain at all gives you a headache.

“Damn, that sucks,” Ruby says, not feeling very sorry for you at all. “So you’re filming a rom-com with him?”

“It’s a mockumentary,” you specify, feeling yourself getting irritated. “It is fake.”

“Just like my shows, huh?” Ruby muses to herself, too analytical for her own good.

“Listen, you don’t need to fall in love to make a mockumentary about it,” you say, refusing to consider any sort of alternative.

“Don’t you?”

You sneer. “Just shut up and eat your tiramisu.”

Ruby lets out a laugh at that, this wonderful mix between a wheeze and a honk that makes you smile every time you hear it, even if it’s at your own expense. Ruby decides she’s had enough of mentally torturing you with the thought of feeling anything but extreme distaste towards Jungkook and goes back to her show, letting you brood in peace.

You don’t need to fall in love to make a film about it. Just like you don’t need to be a masterchef to film Gordon Ramsey screaming at someone who undercooked chicken. You’re a filmmaker. You can make a film out of anything. Including love. Even if it is with someone like Jungkook.

Can’t you?

Jeon Jungkook may be a disillusioned college student in love with the idea of love itself, but at least he’s not too shabby of a filmmaker.

Funnily enough, it actually sort of surprises you that you’ve never encountered each other before. Especially considering you’re in the same major program at your school, a program that only accepts about fifty students per year at most. You suppose that in whatever general program classes you had to take in freshman and sophomore year you just never crossed paths. Plus, he’s a filmmaking concentration and you’re doing screenwriting, so it’s very possible that you would have just never spoken had the two of you not registered for the same semester of FILM395.

Huh. Imagine that. A life without him.

Sort of makes you wish you had put this class off for one more semester.

As the two of you kickstart your project, you both immediately agree that you need a third person’s help. You and Jungkook can do plenty, but you are only two people. And there’s nothing in the final project guidelines that says you can’t enlist other people to partake in the production. But you don’t need help with the filming and editing. You need help with the interviews.

“Is this bedsheet good enough?” Kim Taehyung, a senior in the film program, asks as he’s Command-stripping a queen-sized black bedsheet to an empty wall in the living room of his tiny one-bedroom apartment.

“As long as it fits into the frame,” Jungkook responds from where he’s standing behind the camera, set up on a tripod to capture a specific angle. “You’re not going to be in the shot anyway. You’ll just be asking the questions.”

“Good, because I look really ugly right now,” Taehyung says with a grin. You roll your eyes. Taehyung must know he always looks good. Even you can’t deny him of that.

“This is ridiculous,” you say, seated on the singular couch in his apartment. You’re leaning on your elbow as you watch Taehyung fiddle with the bedsheet and Jungkook futz with the camera, the two of them repositioning themselves over and over again until everything’s perfect. “What are you even gonna ask us?”

“I came up with some… preliminary questions,” Taehyung says suggestively. “But I haven’t told either of you what they are so that your reactions can be more genuine.”

“Great,” you deadpan.

“Wow, someone’s excited,” Jungkook comments snidely.

“I know we agreed on periodic interviews for the sake of the mockumentary but I don’t know why we have to be so… so serious about them,” you say with a frown.

“We have to promise to be honest with what we say, alright? Like, actually honest. This sets a guideline for the rest of our relationship,” Jungkook says like it’s no big deal. Like the foundation of your relationship isn’t the fact that the two of you have been engaged in discussion-board war ever since the semester began.

“Our ‘relationship’?” You say with a scoff.

“Do you promise?” Jungkook says.

You roll your eyes. “Yes, I promise.” Whatever. “What do you even think is going to happen between us in the next few weeks?”

Jungkook smirks. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

You don’t like the sound of that.

Over the next ten minutes, Taehyung gets the sheet attached to his wall and pulls over two stools from his kitchen counters, old-timey wooden ones he got from a thrift store for five dollars a pop, one for him and one for the poor soul who has to be interviewed. You’ve agreed to do them separately but Taehyung’s apartment is only so big and you are only three people, which means that whoever isn’t being interviewed still has to be behind the camera, listening to the other person.

Makes you sort of nervous about whatever’s stewing up inside Jungkook’s mind. Wonder what the hell it is he’s plotting up there.

Once everything is settled, Taehyung looks at the two of you as he asks who’s going first.

You turn to Jungkook, who’s already grinning. “Ladies first.”

For someone who has spent their whole life watching and making movies, being in front of the camera feels weirdly uncomfortable to you. You’re so used to being behind it instead, directing others as they move around the frame, telling them how to feel and how to act and what to say, that having the spotlight shone on you is like picking through your thoughts with a fine-toothed comb.

You adjust awkwardly in the bar stool seat as Jungkook stands behind the camera, twisting the lens until he gives you the thumbs-up. Quite frankly, it doesn’t make you feel any better.

“You ready?” Taehyung asks as he takes a seat opposite you, just out of frame.

“Well, we’ve gotta start somewhere, right?”

“That’s the spirit. Alright, Jungkook, start whenever you’re good.”

“Okay,” Jungkook chirps up. “Three, two, one—” He points to the both of you.

“So, Y/N,” Taehyung begins, his voice suddenly much clearer. He sounds sort of like a news anchor. It’s oddly fitting. “Are you excited to begin the filming for this?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” You muse.

“That didn’t answer my question,” Taehyung points out. Good thing the camera can’t see the way his eyebrows raise.

“I suppose that there are worse things I could be doing,” you reason, which is about as good of an answer as Taehyung’s going to get. What was he expecting you to say? That you were thrilled to be filming this not-a-rom-com with your class nemesis? That you couldn’t wait to see what would happen?

“Loving the enthusiasm,” Taehyung jokes. You wonder what your classmates will think when they watch this back, hearing this unidentified deep male voice ask you and Jungkook questions about your relationship. “Let me ask you this: what’s your current relationship with Jungkook?”

“Uh…” you begin, nervous. Behind the camera, Jungkook has that same stupid, shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. You sneer. “It’s… it’s professional.”

“Can you explain what you mean by that?”

“I mean we’re classmates. That’s the relationship.”

“That’s it?” You can hear the skepticism in Taehyung’s voice, almost like he’s egging you on to say something more.

“We’ve had some personal disagreements on topics discussed in class. But yes, we’re just classmates,” you elaborate slightly. It’s not as if anyone needs reminding of that, anyway. They all see your discussion board posts.

“And how do you expect that relationship to change over the course of this project?”

“I don’t think it’ll change at all.” It’s the easiest answer so far. Requires no energy nor brain power for you to think about it.

Taehyung nods his head in intrigue. “And why’s that?”

“Because this is a project for a class, not a life lesson.”

“Who says it can’t be both?”

You frown. “Whose side are you on?”

Five feet away, Jungkook laughs.

Taehyung chuckles. “Alright, moving on. What do you expect from Jungkook over the next few weeks as you start working on building your relationship?”

“I hope he becomes less unbearable,” you say, though you suppose that’s more of a general life goal than one that’s project-specific. But it would be nice if he became a little more… palatable. Just so you don’t have to feel the urge to sock him in the face every time you speak to each other.

“‘Less unbearable’, excellent,” Taehyung repeats. “Anything else?”

“Well,” you say with a shrug, not sure what else to say. What do you want from Jungkook? Obviously the two of you are about to embark on your own rom-com adventure, no doubt most of it his doing, but it’s hard to imagine that he himself (or you, for that matter) will change. If anything, the rom-com setting will just exacerbate the worst parts of both your personalities. Like some sort of curse. “I guess I just hope that the project goes smoothly.”

“I hope that it does, too,” Taehyung says with a smile. “Okay, last question.” Thank God. This interview couldn’t have been more than five minutes, but it feels like an eternity to you. “Do you think you and Jungkook will fall in love at the end of this?”

“No.” You don’t leave any room for hesitation. “I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“We’re very different people with very different interests,” you explain succinctly. You’re sure Taehyung will grasp that once Jungkook has his turn and answers all the same questions. “He can try his hardest, but some things are just meant to stay the way they are.”

“Okay, thank you, Y/N, that’s all. I hope you found our conversation illuminating,” Taehyung says, his cue for the camera to stop rolling. You and Taehyung both turn to Jungkook, waiting for his signal, letting out a sigh when Jungkook gives you a thumbs-up.

“Thank fuck,” you say, hopping off of the barstool happily. You head towards the camera, ready to kick Jungkook off of it, because it’s your turn to stand behind it with an annoying look on your face as you react to every stupid thing Jungkook says. You find that you’re actually sort of looking forward to it. Being behind the camera is where you feel most at home. Making faces at Jungkook is just a bonus.

Jungkook’s still grinning that same goddamn grin when you approach him, making you narrow your eyes.

“‘He can try his hardest’?” Jungkook teases, voice all high-pitched to mimic yours. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“Ah yes, my mission in life,” you retort easily. Maybe goading him on isn’t the best course of action, but you’re so confident that you won’t change your mind you find yourself actually anticipating his efforts. “Think you have what it takes?”

“Believe me, I do,” Jungkook says with a devilish glint in his eyes.

You roll your eyes and kick him off the camera with a shove, pushing him towards Taehyung as he waits diligently on that chair of his.

“So, Jungkook, same questions,” Taehyung says as Jungkook gets ready in his seat, fixing the blonde strands of hair that curl around the side of his face, framing his cheeks.

“What? That’s no fair, he got to think about all his answers,” you exclaim, positively indignant.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Jungkook says, voice sickly smooth, honey falling off his lips. “I’ve actually been thinking about the two of us for a long time.”

You pretend to throw up on Taehyung’s hardwood floor.

As Taehyung promised, he asks Jungkook the same questions. And, as predicted, his answers about as far away from yours as the sun is from Pluto:

“Are you excited to begin the filming for this?”

Jungkook grins. “Yes, definitely. I actually took this class after hearing from a friend that the final project was a lot of fun.”

Taehyung beams. That friend was him. No wonder he was so happy to sign onto helping the two of you.

“And how would you describe your current relationship with Y/N?”

“We’re soon-to-be-lovers.”

“How forward of you.”

“Isn’t that my job?”

You have to stop yourself from bursting out into laughter behind the camera and ruining the interview. At least he’s not hiding anything. You’ll give him that.

“So I suppose you expect the two of you to fall in love over the course of the project?”

“Yes, that’s going to happen.”

“And you seem pretty confident when you say that.”

Jungkook smirks as he turns to the camera. Or, more accurately, you. “Confidence is attractive.”

You shake your head back at him.

The rest of the interview falls pretty much into the same vein as the first few questions. Jungkook is so brazenly determined and hopeful and optimistic it actually pains you in a way, watching him make all of these promises both to you and himself that this project is going to turn out the way he hopes it does. His answers remind you of his discussion board posts, always looking on the bright side of every movie you watch, always finding the silver lining, the light at the end of the tunnel. A movie could be total Hollywood crap, filled with cheating scandals and misunderstandings and betrayals, and Jungkook could still find beauty in it.

It’s strange.

For the sake of you not actually throwing up in Taehyung’s lovely apartment, you tune out the majority of the middle of the conversation, having zero desire to listen to Jungkook wax poetic about your non-existent relationship like he’s saying his wedding vows. Only when Taehyung finally remarks that they’re on the last question do you finally come to again, ready to turn the camera off as soon as Jungkook finishes his answer.

“Jungkook, do you think you and Y/N will fall in love at the end of this?”

“I do.” Wow, what a shocker. “I do, because I hope that by the end of this Y/N will have opened her eyes to the beauty of love, and will find joy in the feeling as something that makes her feel happy and warm. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure the things we do together are meaningful. And even if we don’t last, I hope that her memories of us together will be ones she can look back upon fondly and be grateful for.”

You purse your lips together. If only it were that easy.

“Alright, cut,” you say, voice distant as Jungkook thanks Taehyung for his time and hops off the bar stool. “Thanks, Tae.”

“Anytime, you guys,” Taehyung says with a grin.

Jungkook comes over to where you’re standing, possibly to grab his camera and tripod but most definitely to rub his obnoxious personality all up in your face.

“You really think you’re gonna get me to fall in love with you, huh?” You muse, an eyebrow raised as you look up at him. “Just so you can prove a point?”

“Believe it or not, Y/N, but I actually think that all people deserve the chance to experience love and that happens to include you, as well,” Jungkook responds easily.

The words put a sour taste in your mouth. “You think I deserve it, huh?”

Jungkook nods, face solemn as he looks at you, gazing into your eyes with those big brown ones of his own. It makes you feel something unfamiliar. Like he’s reading right through your chest, into your heart. You don’t like it. “Everyone deserves love.”

“You guys are coming back, right? So I can leave the sheet up?” Taehyung interrupts after he’s moved both of his bar stools back to his kitchen counter.

“Yeah, we’ll be back,” Jungkook answers quickly. “Thanks for setting everything up, by the way.”

“Of course. Plus, this is a good background for my nudes,” Taehyung says casually, like he’s mentioning what he’s having for dinner. “Looking forward to seeing you guys again.”

“Us, too,” Jungkook says. “Ready to go?”

“Only because it means I don’t have to see you anymore,” you retort pointedly, grabbing your backpack from where it sits on his couch as you head towards the door.

“Just you wait, Y/N,” Jungkook says as you leave Taehyung’s building, one of those old-timey Victorian houses that was converted into a whole bunch of apartments. “You’re gonna see that I’m right.”

“Really? About what?”

“About us,” Jungkook says. You come to the stoplight, where Jungkook keeps going straight and you turn right.

“Us?”

Jungkook grins as you turn in the direction of your own apartment. And, just as the light turns green, he says, “Just you wait. We’re gonna fall in love, you and me.”

If he says so.

“Hey! Y/N!”

You whip your head around at the sound of your name just as you’re opening the door to your local Starbucks, wondering who the hell is calling out to you at nine-thirty in the morning on a Wednesday.

As it turns out, you don’t have to wonder too much, because the moment your eyes adjust to the blinding sunlight coming from the east side of campus you see Jungkook hurtling towards you, heavy black boots stomping down on the pavement as he rushes to catch up with you.

“Can I help you?” You ask, thoroughly unimpressed, as you pull open the door, looking at Jungkook heaving beside you as he holds the door open for himself.

“Just glad I caught you,” Jungkook gasps out between breaths. “Figured this might make a good scene for the movie.”

“It’s a mockumentary,” you remind him easily, getting in the line.

“Whatever,” Jungkook says. “What do you normally get here? I don’t really go to Starbucks often.”

“Whatever will give me the most caffeine for the least amount of money,” you retort.

“How efficient,” Jungkook comments.

“You know that’s how I like to be,” you tell him with a pointed look.

Jungkook mumbles his acknowledgement as he fumbles around in his backpack, fishing through the large pocket until he whips out his Canon, holding it out in front of him like he’s a dad about to film an embarrassing shot of his child. You look down at the camera just as he pans up to you, a confused frown written across your features. Jungkook laughs.

“Do you really need to do that here?”

“I’m not even filming,” Jungkook says with a smile, like he just pulled his camera out so he could look at your unimpressed face through a different lens. “Look, you’re up.”

You turn around to find that the woman ahead of you in line has just moved towards the pick-up side of the counter, so you shimmy over towards the barista, ready to get this over with so you can dart out of the Starbucks as soon as possible.

“Just a grande Americano, please,” you request simply, fingers grasping for the wallet inside your coat pocket.

“Me too,” Jungkook chirps up from behind you. The closeness of his voice makes you jump, and suddenly you become keenly cognizant of how he’s practically pressed up next to you as he leans over towards the counter. You catch a glimpse of the debit card in his hand. “Here.”

“You don’t have to pay for me, it’s fine,” you quickly say, holding out your own card to the barista.

“No, it’s okay, I want to. Here.” Jungkook pushes your hand away as he tries to stuff his card into the reader.

“No, I won’t let you. I’m a big girl, I can pay for my own coffee,” you rebuke, feeling yourself growing oddly defensive.

Jungkook sighs from behind you. “Oh, come on, you can’t let me do one nice thing for you?”

“Will one of you please pay, you’re holding up the line,” the barista asks in a desperate tone, clearly too overworked and too underpaid to be dealing with two bratty college students like yourselves.

Jungkook manages to shove his card into the reader before you get the chance to do it yourself, pushing you to the side as he verifies all of his information and takes his receipt. Next to him, you seethe to yourself, feeling a personal loss even though you just got your coffee paid for. It’s not about the money. It’s about your pride. Never in your life have you wanted to so badly pay for an overpriced Starbucks coffee.

You and Jungkook mosey over to the other side of the counter, waiting for your identical drinks to be made as you try and calculate how much longer you have to stand in the same room and breathe the same air as Jungkook. Seeing him in class, on your discussion board posts, and for your arranged final project meetings apparently isn’t enough, so now he has to invade your personal life, too.

“What are you doing?” You huff out angrily, turning to Jungkook even as he holds his camera out in front of him, filming the Starbucks.

“Recording our first meeting, obviously,” Jungkook says like it’s some kind of no-brainer. Like you were in on that from the moment he called your name out on the street.

“What do you mean, ‘our first meeting’?” You scrunch up your nose in confusion. “We’ve known each other since the semester started.”

“I know, but…” Jungkook trails off unhelpfully, but you pick up what he’s putting down regardless. Right. This is supposed to be a mockumentary rom-com. And rom-coms always start with an introduction.

The barista behind the counter calls out Jungkook’s name as he places two same-sized cups down at the pick-up station. The cup is burning hot, even with the little cardboard holder wrapped around it like a leg warmer, so you immediately move over to the station up against the wall with all of the sugar packets and napkins and little green splash sticks. Jungkook joins you without question, whether it be due to the fact that he doesn’t come here very often or because he just wants to keep invading your space, you couldn’t say. Grabbing one of the wooden sticks, you tug the plastic lid off of the cup and give the coffee a swirl. Watching you, Jungkook takes the lid off of his as well.

“Are you just going to copy everything I do?” You deadpan.

“Not everything…” Jungkook trails off suspiciously, looking down into his coffee like the two of them are conspiring something.

“What are you talki—”

Without warning, Jungkook slams half of his body into you, and without a lid or one of those little green sticks, the coffee sploshes over the side of his cup and drenches the front of your exposed hoodie, hot liquid burning through the fabric of the hoodie and the t-shirt you have on underneath. You watch in horror as Jungkook plays it off like an accident, feet fumbling around on the hardwood floor like he had just tripped. But he didn’t just trip. He dumped half of his Americano onto the both of your fronts.

“Jungkook!” You say instantly, resisting the urge to scream because you’re in a public place but feeling your skin go as hot as the coffee against your torso as you look up at him, fuming.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I’m such a klutz,” Jungkook says, somehow able to regain his balance, hold his coffee cup, and film the whole adventure all at the same time. “That was totally my fault, let me help you with that.”

The camera is from his perspective, which you suppose is about as real as it gets for something grounded in reality like a mockumentary, but in this position he’s able to make conversation with his eyes, big brown ones wide as he tries to signify what exactly he means when he purposely spills coffee all over the two of you.

You get it. You’ve seen enough rom-coms to know why he just did what he did, but you still find your mouth agape as you stare up at him, smoldering and angry and a little shocked he would dare be so bold, especially in the middle of a Starbucks coffee shop.

“For God’s sake,” you say with an exhausted sigh despite it not even being ten in the morning yet. Unable to form any other comprehensible words, you settle for just pulling out napkins from the dispenser and dabbing the front of your hoodie as Jungkook looks at you apologetically. You can’t even tell if he’s truly sorry or just putting on another one of his shows.

“I feel so bad,” Jungkook says, and you calm yourself down enough to nod. At least he isn’t blatantly laughing. “Can I pay for dry cleaning?”

“You’re really gonna offer to pay for my dry cleaning?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

“It was my fault,” Jungkook admits. Now that you can agree on.

You shake your head. “It’s okay. It’s just an old hoodie, it’s no big deal.”

“I’m still sorry,” Jungkook insists, and the more he says it the more you actually find yourself starting to believe him. Even if he did just spill coffee all over you. “Here, let me give you my jacket—”

“That’s not necessary,” you say as he shrugs off his backpack and begins to remove the bulky denim jacket he’s wearing, fabric worn and soft from years of use. “Seriously, it’s okay, it’s just a hoodie.”

“Yeah, but now you have coffee all over your clothes and you probably have class soon, right?” He says, an apologetic smile lacing his lips. He tugs off his jacket and holds it out towards you.

“Jungkook, I’m fine, alright? I appreciate your concern, though,” you assure him. You throw away the last of the coffee-stained napkins in your hands and reach down for your backpack, which you had taken off your shoulders somewhere in the chaos.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, almost as if he was expecting resistance, and leans over you anyway. His arms extend outwards as he wraps his enormous denim jacket over your shoulders, the fabric draping loosely over your body. The damn thing was big on him, so on you it practically eats you up. You stand there, silent, as Jungkook adjusts the jacket on your torso, pulling underneath the hood of your sweatshirt as he makes sure it’s snug across your figure.

“There,” Jungkook says.

“Thanks,” you say, a half grin playing on your lips. The gesture makes you wonder if Jungkook really was planning on giving up his jacket this early in the morning for the sake of your movie. “That’s nice of you.”

“I hope it makes up for the fact that you smell like coffee now,” Jungkook says, a hand coming up to rub at the nape of his neck.

“I appreciate it,” you say.

“I have class, too, so I have to go,” Jungkook says, hoisting his backpack on his shoulders as he tucks his camera away. “I’m sorry again! See you around?”

Like you even have a choice.

“Yeah, see you around,” you say as Jungkook darts off just as quickly as he arrived, rushing out the door before you have the chance to change your mind and give him his jacket back.

When he leaves you, you find yourself at a loss for words. You stand there, lips pursed, coffee cold, as the weight of his jacket rests heavy on your shoulders.

It smells like him.

You should have known he would do something like this. Spill coffee all over the two of you, offer you his jacket, dash off like Cinderella at midnight. Like the opening of the world’s worst rom-com. The start of what is no doubt going to be the most unbearable final project you have ever done.

Plus, the other thing it’s ensured is a second meeting. How else is he going to get his jacket back?

And you know what the worst part is?

This is only the beginning.

This time after FILM395 ends lecture for the day, it’s your turn to catch Jungkook lounging around after class.

He’s lingering around the outside of the building, scrolling through his phone, a heavy leather jacket resting over a flannel that goes down to his knees and a baseball cap sitting firmly on his tuft of blonde hair. He’s obviously not paying attention to any of his surroundings whatsoever, because he doesn’t even notice you exiting out of the door he’s standing by until you say his name.

“Jungkook,” you say, arriving in front of him.

“Wha—oh, hi,” Jungkook says, jumping at the suddenness of it all.

“Here,” you say, holding out his oversized denim jacket in between the two of you. “Thanks for letting me borrow it.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were going to give it back so soon,” Jungkook says, looking a little surprised and… is he touched?

“I was going to give it to you a couple days ago but I thought I should give it a wash first,” you admit to him.

Instinctively, Jungkook brings the jacket up to his nose to sniff it. “Smells like lavender.”

“Yeah, it’s my detergent. Hope you don’t mind. It’s a little wrinkled—I let it air dry since I was worried it might shrink in the dryer.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook says, a genuine smile lacing itself across his features. It’s not one you see too often, and definitely not the kind of smile he usually flashes in your direction. Those are all so obnoxious, so full of himself. This one’s different. It’s appreciative. Kinder. Softer. In a lot of ways. “I was thinking, if you don’t have class now, do you wanna grab some coffee?”

You narrow your eyes. “Only if you promise not to spill it on me this time.”

Jungkook laughs, throwing his head back. “Okay, I got it. I won’t spill it on you.”

“Promise?” You prompt.

“Promise.”

The walk to Starbucks this time is in relative silence, but neither of you seems to mind it very much. You aren’t dashing to catch up with each other and heaving snarky comments as you catch your breath. Jungkook even notices you shiver in the cool March breeze and wraps his jacket around you again anyway, although this time you make a mental note to make sure he doesn’t leave without it. Even though a lavender scent wafts off of the denim, it still smells a little bit like him. That boyish sort of aroma. You don’t think any detergent would ever be able to get rid of that.

You and Jungkook both get americanos again because you’re predictable and creatures of habit, and Jungkook actually seems to quite like them. He pays and you don’t spend two minutes standing in front of the barista fighting over it. Jungkook seems so determined to pay the extra four dollars for your drink that you aren’t sure if it’s really worth arguing over it for the sake of pride anymore. What you and Jungkook put into making this project a success is what you’re going to get out of it.

He picks one of the longer tables in the back of the study space, empty because it’s just after the lunchtime rush and most people have classes now, sets up the camera at one end, and you sit down at the other.

“So,” you begin, not sure where to start because your coffee is too hot to take a sip from it.

“So,” Jungkook echoes.

Silence.

You purse your lips in that awkward, I-don’t-know-what-to-say kind of way. “What do you want to do?”

Jungkook grins. “This is the part where we get to know each other.”

“We already know each other.” You frown.

“Do we?” Jungkook poses, an eyebrow raised. “I mean, yeah, I guess we aren’t strangers, but I don’t know anything about you. Other than you’re a film major in a rom-com class who hates rom-coms.”

“I don’t hate rom-coms,” you object. “I just think it’s important to look at them from a critical lens.”

“Okay, whatever,” Jungkook says, shrugging you off. “The point is that we don’t know anything else about each other. Like, what’s your favorite color, for example?”

“Purple.” It’s an easy answer. You wore purple princess dresses when you were five, painted your bedroom lilac when you were ten, and still make sure to keep a purple highlighter in your pencil case now. “What’s yours?”

“Red,” Jungkook responds.

“Cool,” you say, effectively ending the rest of the conversation.

Jungkook, sensing that same awkward silence, suggests something. “How about you ask me something now? We can go back and forth.”

You shrug. It’s not like you have anything better to do. “Alright.” You think for a moment, but then you have the perfect question. “Why film?”

Jungkook was clearly not expecting something so loaded, because his brows furrow, knitting themselves together as he begins to figure out a good enough answer. “Hmm,” he says, lost deep in thought. “I suppose the standard answer would be that I’ve always been interested in it, but I think I chose film because I want to be able to have the gift to tell other people’s stories. Being a filmmaker doesn’t just mean you stand behind a camera. It means you immerse yourself in the lives of other people to create something new. And… I don’t know. I guess I really like doing that.”

You nod.

For once, you understand him. Understand why he chose to major in film, why he chose to be in this tiny little program. Because there is so much out there, so much that you will never know, people you will never meet and things you will never see. And it’s a filmmaker’s job to make them turn into things you will see, people you will meet. Who knows the world better than the people who study it? The people who have devoted their lives to learning all its secrets?

“What about you?”

“Same as you,” you tell him. “Film is an art but it’s more than that to me. It’s a new way to look at the world. It’s several new ways to look at the world, depending on what kind of film you want to create and what kind of story you want to tell. I think it’s important to show people that all of the things they see in the media every day are not always reality. And that real people deserve to have their stories told, too. I don’t know. That’s what I think.”

Jungkook grins, a twinkle in his eyes. “Real people like us?”

“This project is different,” you insist.

“I don’t think it is,” Jungkook says. “You said it yourself, we’re making this because it’s important to show people that the Hollywood entertainment they consume is not reality. This is. This is reality.”

You frown, kicking yourself in the shin because what was supposed to be a harmless conversation has now turned into an opportunity for Jungkook to try and convince you that you will, in fact, fall in love with him. You’ve dug your own grave and Jungkook was the one who handed you the shovel.

“You’re not giving up, are you?” You say, shaking your head, flabbergasted. “Reality is the fact that this project is not going to make me fall in love with you. Nothing is.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Jungkook warns. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“You mean like spilling burning hot coffee all over me?” You ask, an eyebrow raised, a grudge still held.

“We had to start somewhere,” Jungkook defends. “And you seemed to understand what I was doing pretty quickly.”

“It’s not the worst thing someone’s done to me,” you concede, only slightly. “Besides, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but throwing hot coffee all over me is not really a good way to start off your plan to get me to fall in love with you.”

Jungkook smiles. “All in due time, Y/N. All in due time.”

“I can’t believe Pollack actually paired us up together,” you say with a sigh. “You know she did it on purpose.”

“Of course she did.” It’s not really a surprise to either of you.

“I met with her right after she announced our partners,” you tell him, “she said it was because she wanted to see what kind of project we would come up with. How we would address our… differing views on love.” That’s one way of putting it. A rather nice way, if you do say so yourself.

“Speaking of which,” Jungkook says, something suddenly flashing through his mind, “what do you really think about love? You know, other than it’s unrealistic and ruins people’s lives.”

“You make me sound like Ebeneezer Scrooge.” You frown at him.

“I’m serious,” insists Jungkook. “Why are you so pessimistic about it? Have you ever been in love? Have you had bad experiences? You couldn’t have just developed this worldview over time.”

You scowl, feeling yourself getting defensive. “Well, maybe I did. Maybe that’s just what I think. Why do you care?”

“Because people don’t just hate love for no reason,” Jungkook exclaims. “Come on, there must be something.”

Your body stiffens. Who is he to be asking you this sort of shit? Why does he care so much? It’s not like it will have any effect on the outcome of your project. Not like you explaining yourself will change the way either of you look at the world.

“What’s it to you?” You challenge. “Why do you love love so much? Have you ever fallen in love? Do you think it’s suddenly going to solve all of your problems?”

“I love it because I think it brings people real joy,” Jungkook answers simply. “It makes people happy and it’s beautiful. I love love and I’m not ashamed to say that out loud. I believe in it. I believe in love, and in destiny, and in soulmates. I want that. I think everyone deserves it.”

You scoff to yourself. “You believe in soulmates?”

“I think we all have our people out there.” Jungkook nods. “Don’t you?”

You roll your eyes, arms crossed over your chest. This conversation has gone nowhere, and Jungkook looks as equally dissatisfied as you do.

“I think love can make us do stupid things,” you tell him succinctly, if a little jaded. No need to say anything else. Your explanation is right there. “We’re just different, I guess. You and I.”

Jungkook blinks at you, eyes wide and a little desperate. Your conversation has remained stagnant and there’s almost nothing left to say.

Almost.

“Don’t you ever want to fall in love?” He asks, like it’s a last-ditch effort to get you to believe.

You freeze. Let the words sink in for a moment. Before you push them out the door and toss them into the garbage. Just thinking about it gives you a headache. Puts a sour taste in your mouth.

Quickly, you push yourself out of your chair and stand up, grabbing your coffee with one hand and your backpack with the other. “I have to go, sorry. I just remembered I’m meeting up with a friend to help her with a photography shoot,” you fumble out quickly, the legs of the chair screeching as you scoot them across the hardwood floor. “Oh, here’s your jacket, too. Thanks for giving it to me again. I’ll see you in class.”

You whip around and head towards the exit, and only when you’re outside of the Starbucks and passing by the window do you dare look back. Do you dare let your gaze drift back to Jungkook, who is sitting there like he still doesn’t understand you. Still can’t.

You and Jungkook are final project partners and maybe, if you’re pushing it, acquaintances-slash-friends. But there are just some things better kept to yourself.

We’re reaching the halfway point in this semester and, as you all know, I don’t do midterms. That said, I still want you to reflect on what you’ve learned, discovered, and thought about thus far in this class. What portrayal of love did you find the most realistic? The least? How have they changed the way you think about love, both from a personal and a film perspective?

Y/N Y/N on March 3rd at 6:08PM

Purely from a film perspective, I really did enjoy watching Juno. It was funny and raunchy and just the right amount of vulnerable. It certainly felt the most real. So far, no film in this class has topped it for me. 500 Days of Summer, on the other hand, was in my opinion extremely unsatisfying and left no positive impression. The ending was a bore and Tom had absolutely no spine. It was a shame, because the direction and production was actually quite good.

I guess I’m starting to realize how real love is not pretty. It can make people just as sad as it can make them happy. Why don’t we show the sad sides of love, too? The sides where your room is covered with a pile of clothes because you can’t bring yourself to do the laundry? Where you cannot cook a meal because it reminds you of a breakup? Rom-coms are, obviously, not the most realistic. But why are there not more films that do cover what’s real? How can we love love if all we know is a lie?

Jeon Jungkook on March 3rd at 11:13PM

Of course, I thought The Big Sick did an excellent job of their portrayal of love, adult life, and the problems that plague us all in the twenty-first century. It was also just as emotional and touched on concepts of race, illness, and being in your twenties and having no idea what direction your life is going in. The Princess Bride, on the other hand, as much as I love it, I do think created a more circumstantial kind of love. Westley and Buttercup mostly fall in love because of their situations. But it remains a classic nonetheless.

I’m satisfied with the way the film industry has produced rom-coms and handles love. The beauty of it is that love is different for every person who goes through it. It can bring the greatest joy and the most painful sorrow. We do not just figure out what love is by what we see on film. We see it in our real lives, in our parents, in our friends, in couples in coffee shops and cars and on sidewalks. We can love love because we want that joy for ourselves. Because we know that true love will be worth any heartbreak we endure. Is it not impossible for the portrayals of love in these rom-coms to not be real? The way everyone experiences it is different. The only way you can know what real love is, and what it is not, is if you fall in love yourself.

Early on in your project development, you and Jungkook exchanged class schedules to optimize your productivity and skip over that stupid, terrible part of partner projects where you’re just going back and forth trying to pick a time that works for the both of you until you eventually settle on something ridiculous like eleven o’clock at night outside of the McDonald’s two blocks off of campus.

It’s been working very well. Neither of you have adventurous-enough friends to invite you out on spontaneous picnics and restaurant dates that fuck with your pre-scheduled meeting times, and Jungkook already seems to have mastered the art of screaming your name when he catches you on the sidewalk so that you can film something.

In fact, you’re actually beginning to wonder why you haven’t done this with all of your long-term partner projects. Send each other your schedules so that you can settle on a time in advance. No muss, no fuss.

You and Jungkook are supposed to meet up again tonight, after the two of you are finished with all of your classes, to discuss what scenes you should be filming next. Edited down, you’ve already got about ten minutes worth of footage, but it’s mid-March and the project is due at the end of April. So you need to get this show on the road.

The door slams shut behind you as you exit the business building, your film industry class having just ended a minute ago. You’ve got an hour to kill before your next class, just enough time to dash to the food court in the center of campus and grab something from the Japanese place in the back corner. You might even have time to browse the shelves in the bookstore if you’re fast enough.

You round the corner to the main pathway through campus when a voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

It’s not Jungkook. Instead, in the middle of the walkway are the Eighth Notes, one of the fifteen-thousand (you don’t know for sure, but if you had to estimate) acapella groups on campus. They’ve got mic stands and a table set up and everything. Maybe they’re promoting an upcoming show…?

You almost breeze right by when one of them, the one in the middle of the group, points right at you, a lopsided grin lacing his features. You aren’t one to normally stop in the middle of a crowded footpath, but when, one after another, all six of the boys start pointing at you, you have no choice.

“You’d be like Heaven to touch…”

“I wanna hold you so much…”

“At long last, love has arrived…”

“And I thank God I’m alive…”

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

Their voices are smooth like honey, warm and deep, romancing you through their mics as each one of them suddenly manifests a rose from behind them. Around you, people are starting to stare, gawking at you as they walk by. There’s even a small crowd starting to gather, and you swear you can see some people filming on their phones. The fact that this is happening in the busiest ten minutes of the day, as half the student body is walking from one class to another, isn’t helping. At all.

The rest of them singing in the background, each one steps out from behind the set of microphones to hand you the rose, smiling their classic, old-timey smiles like those old jazz singers from the 1960s, until you’ve got half a dozen in your hands as they continue to sing.

“But if you feel like I feel…”

“Please let me know that it’s real…”

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

And then, suddenly, all of them are shutting their traps and turning to the left, looking down the pathway as the song begins again, but from one-hundred feet away.

“I love you, baby, and if it’s quite alright, I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night…”

Your mouth drops. At the other end of the walkway is Jungkook, one of those wireless microphones in his hand, grinning as he saunters down the path like a prince at a ball, voice sweet and thick as the words dance off of his lips.

“I love you, baby, trust in me when I say…”

Your eyes lock from opposite ends of the path, Jungkook stepping closer with every beat the Eighth Notes gives him. It sort of feels like your impending doom and a wedding proposal, all at once. By now a rather substantial audience has gathered, lining the walkway with their phones out, filming Jungkook as he waltzes past them, occasionally turning to capture your gobsmacked expression.

Every step that Jungkook takes makes your heart race something fierce, cheeks warming in embarrassment, trapped in your least favorite thing in the entire world: a public serenade. You can’t really do anything except look at him in shock, feeling his steady gaze resting firmly on your figure, looking right at you. Into you.

“Oh, pretty baby, don’t bring me down, I pray…”

Oh, pretty baby, now that I’ve found you, stay…”

Jungkook, on the other hand, is clearly relishing in this. In the spotlight. In the music. Or maybe just in the fact that you’re on the receiving end of his over-the-top advances. His grin is wide as he takes those last few steps, microphone gripped neatly in his hand, the lyrics warm and weighty as they tumble from his lips.

“And let me love you, baby…”

One final step and he’s right in front of you, staring into your eyes, letting himself bask in the look on your face. He produces a rose himself—cherry red, like his favorite color—and holds it out in between the two of you. In the background, the Eighth Notes go quiet, leaving Jungkook on his own for the final line.

“Let me love you…”

The words drift above your heads, disappearing into the sky as he lingers on them, on that last note, beaming down at you. He looks at you, so hopeful, so happy, so endeared, and what else can you do? What else, besides taking the rose from his hand and smiling back up at him? Who are you to deny him of that?

The crowd around you cheers when you do, applauding both Jungkook and the Eighth Notes, with whom he is apparently in cahoots, before they all decide that they ought to get on with their day and head to class. No doubt you’ll be on several dozen Instagram stories by nightfall.

Only after everyone has dispersed do you notice Taehyung, who must have been here since the beginning, because he’s just turning off the camera dangling from his neck. Of course Jungkook got him to film. Other than your project, what else would this be for?

“Is that the best you can do, Jungkook?” You smirk up at him, only saying this because you can’t have him knowing that you actually kind of enjoyed it.

“You’re still here, aren’t you?” Jungkook responds easily. “Thought I would do something spontaneous.”

“And now you’ve taken up ten minutes of my lunch,” you say, shaking your head to yourself. “How spontaneous, indeed.”

“How was that, Jungkook?”

Behind the two of you, the Eighth Notes are packing up, clearly more than happy to have aided Jungkook on his quest for so-called love and getting to promote their group in the process.

“Great, thank you so much, Jimin,” Jungkook says to the one in the middle, the very first one to sing when you walked out of the door.

“Anytime, dude. Glad we could help,” Jimin responds. He waves hi to Taehyung, too, as they store their microphones and go on their way.

Jungkook bids them goodbye as they head down the path, smiling at all of them before he turns back to you, notices the distant, faraway look in your eyes as you twirl the rose between your fingers, press it to your nose to pick up its scent.

“You gotta admit, I’m a pretty good singer, eh?” Jungkook says with a nudge to your shoulder.

“You’re alright.”

Jungkook laughs to himself. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get a big head,” you warn.

“Think I’ll have to sing for you more, now, hmm? Since you liked it so much?” He suggests, eyebrows wiggling.

You roll your eyes. “Only if you can get Jimin and the Eighth Notes to back you up, again. Then maybe I’ll allow it.”

Jungkook grins. He’s far past the point of being deterred by your deadpan comments. If anything, they only encourage him more. But you, for obvious reasons, cannot give in. At least, not yet, anyway.

“Okay, go eat your lunch,” he says, nodding as you begin to part ways. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

You smile. “Okay. See you.”

“See you, too.”

The moment you get back to your apartment you put all seven roses in an old vase filled with water. They brighten up your bedroom instantly, soft scent freshening up the air. And when you go to bed that night, it is to Jungkook’s sweet, delicate voice, like walking on clouds, like satin and silk, that you fall asleep.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Jungkook greets like always, smiling at you as you walk in the door for FILM395.

“Good morning, Jungkook,” you say in response.

Then, you take a seat right next to him.

It’s an act that clearly catches everyone off guard, if the bewildered looks of your fellow classmates and Jungkook’s confused expression are anything to go by. Even Pollack, when she walks through the door, gets a bit of a shock, eyes widening when she sees the two of you seated next to each other.

You suppose all the fuss is understandable. After all, you both sort of hate each other.

Other than the sudden change in seating arrangement, however, the rest of the class goes off without much issue. Pollack lectures for an hour before you move into discussion, at which point it becomes a class participation free-for-all, with you and Jungkook almost definitely in the lead. Just because you’re now sitting next to each other doesn’t mean either of you are suddenly going to stop raising your hands to rebuke each other’s points. Some things never change.

Sitting next to Jungkook is not as bad as you thought it would be. For one, he is, for the most part, a rather diligent student. Other than his occasional flicks to his email, an essay he’s working on, or your discussion board, he mostly sits and takes notes and doesn’t do anything else. That, you can at least give him credit for. And even though your elbows almost always nearly crash into each other’s when you’re raising your hands to respond to a point Pollack’s made, discussion isn’t so bad either.

One of the perks of sitting directly beside each other is that whenever he says something stupid, or saccharine, or just overly unrealistic, you don’t have to just roll your eyes from the back of the classroom while you wait to be called on. You also get to kick his foot with your own, nudge your elbow into his side. And he does the same to you. You and Jungkook are like those neighbors in sitcoms that spend all their free time shouting at each other from opposite windows. Just because your seats have gotten closer doesn’t mean your viewpoints have.

A notification pops up on your laptop.

[March 17th, 11:05AM]

Jungkook: wanna meet at the tables outside after class?

You look over at Jungkook with a frown.

You: Why are you texting me? We’re sitting right next to each other

Jungkook: because we’re in class obvs Jungkook: dont wanna be disruptive

You: Since when has that ever stopped you before?

Jungkook: haha very funny Jungkook: tables sound good?

You: Only since you asked so nicely :)

Jungkook: thoughtful as always i see

After class, you and Jungkook both hang around, waiting for each other to pack up your belongings so you can walk to the tables together. Everyone else seems to sense this weird, uncomfortable tension in the room, because they all book it out of the door much faster than either of you do. You’re almost convinced Jungkook purposely takes extra time to zip his backpack, just because.

The tables are, as per usual, empty. But you don’t have a pile of receipts to spread out, this time. You and Jungkook take a seat at one of them as you pull out your laptops, ready to outline the rest of the project.

“We should probably meet with Taehyung a couple more times, too,” you suggest as you begin to brainstorm.

“Sounds good,” Jungkook agrees. “But we can’t meet at night on weekdays anymore. My dance group’s show is coming up and we have practice then.”

You stop typing and turn to him. “I didn’t know you were in a dance group.”

Jungkook shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “I don’t really talk about it that much.”

“You should.”

He looks up at you at that, eyes wide as he faces you.

“I don’t know, it seems like something you should be passionate about,” you say. In the same way that you promote the Film Club to every freshman you know, force all your friends to mark that they’re Interested in your event pages on Facebook. Jungkook should want to tell everyone about his dance group. Doesn’t he love it? Isn’t he proud to be in it?

Jungkook doesn’t look like he knows what to say to that. So he doesn’t say anything at all.

“We can meet on weekends too,” you say, adjusting to his new change of schedule easily. “This project isn’t as all-consuming as I thought it would be.”

“You mean I’m not as all-consuming as you thought I would be,” Jungkook corrects.

You shake your head. “No, you are.” He laughs. “But yeah, on weekends is fine. You know my schedule. What else should we do, besides talk to Taehyung?”

It’s like a lightbulb goes off above Jungkook’s head. “Let’s go on a date.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “No.”

“What do you mean, “no”? It’s the natural progression of our relationship! It’s the next step in the rom-com! We have to,” Jungkook insists.

“First of all, it’s a mockumentary, not a rom-com,” you say with a sigh, finding yourself having to correct him rather frequently. “Secondly, we are not in a relationship. I am not dating you and you are not dating me.”

“Okay, but at this point in rom-coms the two leads would definitely go on a date,” Jungkook says, punctuating every word for emphasis. “What’s the harm? It’s not like you’re committing yourself to a future with me.”

“Thank God,” you mutter.

“Oh, shut up. You probably haven’t been on a date in years, anyway. Why not spend a night out?”

You frown at that. “Who cares if I have or have not been on a date?” Why does Jungkook care so much about the history of your love life? He’s always saying stuff like this, always telling you things as if you’ve never been in a relationship at all, don’t know left from right, black from white. Who is he to be making those assumptions?

“Please, Y/N,” Jungkook begs, looking desperate. “Just one evening. And then if it really goes terribly and you end up hating me again, then we don’t have to do another one.”

You sigh, shoulders slumping. Well, what else are you going to do? You don’t have any other ideas. And you’ve already spent so much time with Jungkook this semester, what’s another evening? Just something else to cross off of your list of things to film. Maybe you can get him to take a cute photo of you to post on social media.

“Fine,” you concede. “One date. And I still hate you, by the way.”

Jungkook clearly does not believe you. “Really? You still hate me? I’m sure you do.”

“Okay, I don’t hate you. But still,” you relent again. Perhaps you’re just being oddly soft today. Too lenient for your own good.

Jungkook grins, cheeks little round circles as his lips curve up. “I know you like me. You just can’t admit it to yourself, can you? Can’t take that blow to your dignity.”

“Don’t think so highly of yourself,” you chide.

“Who knows?” Jungkook tacks on, just to be extra annoying. “Maybe you’re actually starting to fall in love with me.”

You scoff. “You wish.”

“Well, are you?”

Jungkook doesn’t ask the question the same way he’s asked all of the other ones. Doesn’t say it with a shit-eating grin on his face or that glint in his eyes. He’s asking because he’s curious. Curious if what he’s been doing has been working. Curious if this project is really accomplishing anything at all.

Funnily enough, you find yourself wondering the exact same thing.

Silent, you pausing for a moment to think, chewing on the inside of your lip. Jungkook’s looking back at you, lips curled upwards as he waits for a response. Ugh, you’ll just have to give it up. What else can you say? “I guess…” you begin, hesitating.

You aren’t sure why you’re so scared to respond. Maybe you’re just worried that things will change if you say something. If you tell him the truth.

But it’s just Jungkook. He’s sitting in front of you patiently, waiting for your answer. What could happen?

You confess. “I guess you’re not so bad after all.”

Even though this is not the first time you’ve ever been out on a “date” (you’re using that word tentatively), picking out what to wear isn’t any easier than the last time.

“Is black too, you know, sexy?”

Ruby shrugs on the other end of the video call. Her phone is propped up on her desk as she works on something on her laptop, glancing over every now and then whenever you prompt her to respond. “Well, that depends. Do you wanna fuck?”

“No.”

“Then it might be too sexy,” Ruby says easily. “What are you even doing? I thought you didn’t go out on dates.”

“It’s not a date,” you insist, although you’re not exactly sure which of the two of you you’re trying to convince.

“You’re asking me what kind of sexy dress to wear for a night out with a guy. It’s a date,” Ruby reminds you, economical as always. “Who are you even going out with, anyway? You just called and asked me to pick between two dresses I have literally never seen you wear before.”

“That’s because I don’t go out on dates, which this is not,” you tell her, even expending the energy to stare into the camera to hammer your point home. “And it’s with Jungkook.”

Ruby shuts her laptop at that. You can hear the sound of her keyboard clacking as the lid hits them. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Do I need to remind you that this is not a date and therefore, you don’t need to be acting like I just told you I’m getting married.” You frown at her. “It’s just for our movie. Jungkook wants me to dress nicely, though.”

“Wear that nice summer dress you have,” Ruby instructs instead, shooing away the two much sexier options you’re currently holding in your hands. “Just put tights on underneath if you’re cold.”

“This one?” You ask, shuffling through your closet until you produce the gingham dress, plaid a pale yellow that matches gold jewelry rather well.

“Yes, that one. I like that one,” Ruby says with a nod. “You look good in it.”

“I don’t know, I feel like it’s not appropriate.” You hesitate. It’s a cute dress, sure, but it seems too… casual. Too everyday. Jungkook’s taking you out to dinner, and no doubt he’s got something else planned for the rest of the evening.

“I mean, you did say you had no plans on fucking him tonight,” Ruby reminds you coarsely.

“I have no plans on fucking him at all,” you reiterate. “This is not a date. It is for our movie.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ruby brushes you off with a wave of her hand. “Wear whatever you want, but I like your yellow dress the most. It looks really nice on you. And if it’s not a date, then neither you nor Jungkook should care.”

“Ruby—”

“I gotta go. Enjoy your not-date!”

She hangs up.

You end up wearing the yellow dress. Jungkook knocks on your apartment door just as you’re closing the clasp to your necklace, a gold choker your mother had gifted you for a birthday a couple of years ago. It’s nothing much. You grab a jacket on your way to answer the door, wrapping it around your figure as you twist the knob.

On the other side is Jungkook, all decked out in black jeans and a clean-cut leather jacket, the black ensemble striking against his warm-toned skin and bleached, blonde hair. You hate to admit it, but he actually does look rather good. For Jeon Jungkook.

“Hi—whoa,” Jungkook says, doing a little whistle when he sees you, eyes bulging out of their sockets.

You chuckle. “‘Whoa’ yourself.”

“You, uh…” Jungkook stammers slightly, a hand coming up to rub at the nape of his neck. The movement lifts his arm up just enough for you to see the line of his waist, the seamlessness of his body. He’s always been rather fit. “You look nice.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” you chide, stepping outside and pulling the door shut behind you. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”

“Cleaned up just for you.” He grins.

You press a hand to your heart dramatically. “I’m touched.” You begin walking down the hallway of your small apartment building, feeling your hands brushing by your sides due to how skinny the corridor is. At least, that’s what you assume.

“Where are we going?” You ask as Jungkook opens the door to the passenger side of his car for you.

He winks, that same gleam in his eye. He grins something wicked. “Don’t you remember?” He asks. “It’s a secret.”

The secret turns out to be a small Italian restaurant on an off-road in the center of town, a family joint with those plaid red tablecloths and dark wooden chairs. You’d never heard of the place before tonight, but Jungkook insists that it’s delicious and says it has a four-and-a-half star rating on Yelp, which is obviously gospel when it comes to restaurants. It’s so empty that he even has room to prop up the camera a couple of tables away to get that wide-angle shot of the both of you, two souls in a tiny little restaurant, enjoying a night out on the town. You’re sure that by the time production and post-production rolls around you’ll edit out most of your dialogue, but you like the idea of keeping in snippets of the audio, overlaying the scene with a soft instrumental.

From a director’s point of view, of course. No other reason to romanticize your night with him.

It’s nice. Objectively, it’s definitely one of the more exciting things you’ve done in a while, even if it’s just a dinner out in town, away from campus. It’s new. Adventurous. Jungkook convinces you to try his vodka shrimp linguine and you offer up some of your truffle-flavored gnocchi, which he devours happily. One thing you do learn is that no matter how much time passes, no matter how much food is on his plate, Jungkook eats and eats and eats. He never seems to fill up. This is one of those restaurants that pile your bowls high with pasta, give you at least three servings, send you home with to-go packages that will last you for days, and he still somehow manages to eat every last bite. He even has some of your leftovers.

Jungkook pays because he insists and says that you shouldn’t fight on camera, which you have no choice but to agree to. However, you do look him up on Venmo and send him twenty dollars to cover your half of the bill, because the idea of him paying for you doesn’t sit right with you. It was fine with the coffee, a small token of repayment after spilling it all over you, but dinner just feels like too much. Like he’s carrying most of the weight and you aren’t shouldering enough. Like he’s putting in all of the effort and you are just bandwagoning off of him.

And partnerships aren’t supposed to be like that. Jungkook isn’t supposed to do all of the work. You aren’t supposed to do nothing. You and Jungkook may not agree on much but you both know that you are equals. That what you put in is what you get out.

It’s a lesson you think you learned too late, but you won’t make those mistakes again. You’ll get it right this time.

“That was nice,” Jungkook says after the dinner. You’re walking through the park just across the street now, the sun having set and the streetlamps illuminating your path. The city has strung up lights along the trees, draped them over the branches like stars, like snowflakes. It’s picturesque.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Thanks for taking me.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“How did you discover that place?” You ask, just out of curiosity. It’s not exactly the kind of restaurant that would be front and center on Google.

“I went out on a date in freshman year there,” Jungkook admits, lips pursed awkwardly. “Yeah.”

“Did it at least go well?” You ask, trying to be hopeful.

“If it did, do you think I’d still be here doing this with you?” Jungkook poses, an eyebrow raised.

You chuckle to yourself. “You don’t mean that. I’m sure you’ll find your person.”

“You actually believe in that stuff now?” Jungkook asks you, skeptical.

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “You do. I don’t wanna ruin it for you. Your person’s out there somewhere.”

“How do you know I haven’t already found my person?”

You stop in the middle of the path, feet coming to a halt on the pavement. Jungkook looks at you and you look back at him, letting his question sink into your skin, etch itself into your thoughts. He’s asking you because he wants to know. He looks so genuine, so patient, like he’s trying to find an answer somewhere in your eyes but you can’t give him one.

“Wouldn’t you be able to tell when you did?”

Jungkook sighs. “I don’t know if it always works like that.”

You smile, soft and small. Musing, you say, “well, when you figure it out, let me know.”

“Do you think you’ve found your person?” Jungkook asks you.

“You know I don’t think about love like that,” you remind him.

“Well, how do you think about it?”

You gaze up at him once more, that same soft smile playing on your lips. Who is he to be asking you these questions, you wonder to yourself. What would the point be in answering him? It’s better if you just both moved on. Especially since stuff like this has no relevance to your project.

“I don’t really think about love at all,” you say curtly.

“I wish you did,” admits Jungkook.

The look in your eyes is distant. “Yeah.” You wish you did, too.

“How about we do a couple of quick shots, right here?” Jungkook suggests, pulling out the camera. “Just here, the lighting’s nice.” He jogs back a couple of feet, lining himself up with where you stand, kneeling on the pavement with the camera held up to his eye.

“What do you want me to do?” You call to him, feeling like a fish out of water in front of the lens, thumbs twiddling.

“Just smile,” Jungkook requests simply. “Say hi to me.”

Sounds easy enough. Under the twinkling lights of the trees, in the haze of their warm yellow glow, you wave to Jungkook, smiling happily. You aren’t exactly sure what the purpose of these shots are, but you suppose you could always use some artistic frames in your movie. Grinning, you keep your eyes trained on him, on the way you can see him smiling back at you even from behind the camera. His eyes are covered, you can’t see those, but you hope they’re smiling too.

“Okay, my turn,” you say when a little too much time has passed, when it’s just past the point of filming for the sake of a movie and more for the sake of something else. “Get over here.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you idiot.” You scurry over to Jungkook, taking the camera from his hands and pushing in in the general direction of where you were just standing. Situating yourself, you kneel right where Jungkook was, bringing the camera to your eyes.

Through the lens, you can see the entire width of the pathway, the grass that borders it, the lights decorating the branches of the trees, and Jungkook, front and center. He looks like he has no idea what he’s doing there, waiting awkwardly as he gazes around, eyes drifting everywhere but exactly where you need them: you. He looks good like this, looks much taller, much more romantic. Like a real movie star. Like a model. His clothes make him blend in with the darkness of the night but his eyes are still shimmering, golden flecks twinkling, even from all the way over here.

You have to admit it. He’s beautiful.

“Smile,” you say, pressing film.

Jungkook grins your way.

Afterwards, you give him his camera back and continue walking, turning the corner as you reach the edge of the park, ready to circle around the perimeter.

“How about we hold hands, too?”

“Excuse you?” You say, an eyebrow raised.

“Come on, just for a second,” Jungkook pleads. “For the artistry. I’ll film us holding hands like all those Los Angeles boys do in YouTube vlogs.”

You look at him suspiciously. Is he sure it’s just for the artistry? “What a great example.”

“Please? Promise I always put hand cream on,” Jungkook asks, bottom lip turned outwards.

It’s getting harder and harder to say no to him.

“Fine,” you cave rather easily this time around. “Just for a minute.”

“Excellent.”

Jungkook lifts the camera up to his eye with his right hand as he holds out his left, palm facing the sky as he waits for you to rest your own in his. You narrow your eyes to the camera before your gaze drifts downwards to his open hand, almost like you’re afraid it’s going to jump out and bite at you if you get any closer. But it won’t, because it’s a hand. And it won’t, because it’s just Jungkook.

The first thing you realize when your fingers intertwine with his is how big his hands are. They are massive. His left one dwarfs your own, wrapping around it securely, enveloping it like a king-sized comforter. The second thing you realize is how soft they are (he must not have been lying about the hand cream). The third thing you realize is the way they send sparks up and down your body, send tingles through your skin, shocks through your veins. You seize up a little bit at the feeling before your body finds it in itself to relax, letting the sensation wash over you like a wave from the ocean.

It’s new.

It’s strange.

You haven’t felt that way in a long time. Felt those sparks, those jolts of energy. Like lightning has struck.

Jungkook moves so that your hands are held out in front of you, making sure to adjust the lens just so he can get the exact right angle, but all you can focus on is the way your fingers interlock, the way your hand settles into his.

You wonder what that means.

The moment Jungkook lowers the camera you pull your hand away, overwhelmed and scared and shocked all at once. Like you’re afraid that if you reach out to him again, your whole body will freeze in place, shake like the wind.

Jungkook looks at you, concern lacing his features. “You alright?” He asks, genuine and worried.

You shake your head, willing those thoughts away. “I’m fine, I’m fine. You get the shot?”

“Yeah, I did,” Jungkook says.

“And how do they look?” You ask because you can’t help yourself. Because you just have to know.

Jungkook pauses, not sure how to respond. He chews on his lips like he’s running through all the possible answers, trying to figure out which one is right. You almost think he’s not going to reply at all, but then he smiles, and he says this:

“Magical.”

It feels weird for you to be arriving at Kim Taehyung’s door without Jungkook by your side. Doesn’t sit right in your stomach.

Of course, Taehyung is as hospitable as always, welcoming you inside with his signature warm grin as he sets up the bar stools by the bedsheet, which you assume he will just not take down until your project’s over. Hopefully he’s getting use out of it otherwise, shooting nudes or whatever it is he said he would do.

“Thanks for having me,” you say, resting your backpack against the foot of his couch as you set up the tripod, arranging it in just the right spot. It’s not Jungkook’s fancy camera that you’ve got with you, just your own from a couple years ago, but it’ll get the job done. You couldn’t ask Jungkook to borrow his, anyway. You’d pass away before he found out you did this.

“We might not use this footage,” you warn in advance. “I just figured it’s safer to film everything just in case.”

“Why wouldn’t you use it?” Taehyung asks, genuinely curious.

“Because I don’t know if this conversation will really have a point,” you say nervously, fingers fidgeting with the settings until everything’s just right.

“I’m sure it’ll be important,” Taehyung assures you. You’re not so confident. “Ready to get started?”

“Yes, everything’s all set up,” you say, concentrating on your breathing as you make your way to the stool. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Why are you so worried?

“So, Y/N, how are you feeling right now?” Taehyung begins.

You sigh. “Confused.”

“And why is that?”

“I… I don’t really know what direction I’m going in anymore for this project,” you say, letting yourself be candid and honest because it’s just Taehyung, and because you may not even use this footage, and because Jungkook’s not here. He doesn’t know you’ve asked Taehyung to do this for you. He doesn’t need to.

“And is this because of Jungkook?”

“Yes.” Another easy answer.

“How are you feeling about him?”

“I’m…” you don’t know where to begin. “I’m not sure. I just know that something’s changed.”

“Your feelings have changed?” Taehyung isn’t reacting, just asking questions in response to your answers and pretending that everything is normal, that this is just another interview.

“I guess they have,” you admit. Even just saying that feels like a weight off your chest. A small one, five pounds out of a thousand. But it’s a difference. “I… don’t really know how I feel about him anymore.”

“In a good or bad way?”

Taehyung told you he would ask tough questions, but you don’t know if you can answer these anymore.

“I don’t know,” you say, feeling yourself growing desperate with impatience. “I don’t feel the same things about him that I used to. He’s different to me now.”

“Do you think he’s changed?”

“Something has.”

“Have you considered the possibility that maybe you’ve changed, too?”

You frown, caught off-guard by his question. No, you haven’t. You haven’t thought about that at all. Why would you? Your stance is the same. Your opinions on love haven’t changed. And neither have your convictions about this project, about the way it will end.

“No,” you say, nose scrunched up.

“Well, I’m no expert, but I think there might be something between the two of you that wasn’t there before,” Taehyung says, nodding. “I think that the ways the two of you have changed have brought you together.”

“I don’t know about that…” You trail off. You can feel yourself growing hesitant again, pulling back from saying too much because you’ve never been a very good speaker. Because you’ve always preferred being behind the camera to being in front of it.

“Don’t you think you should tell him how you feel?”

You scoff. At least that’s got an easy answer. A no-brainer. “No,” you say matter-of-factly, obvious because it is, stern because telling him was never an option anyway. Why else does Taehyung think you’re here without him? “Jungkook said he would get me to fall in love with him and I told him I would never. How could I ever let him think he was actually winning?”

Taehyung sighs.

You haven’t seen Jungkook since your class on Wednesday. Granted, it’s only Saturday, but it feels like it’s been a weirdly long time. Like you’re so used to him barging into your life on the daily that there’s something off about even going three days without seeing him. Maybe it’s just because you’re nearing the beginning of April and your project is finally picking up steam. Between the two of you, you almost definitely have more than two hour’s worth of footage, but the hard part will be paring it down and turning it into a forty-five minute documentary. No doubt you and Jungkook will be spending a lot of time together the week before it’s due.

Just out of curiosity, you text him. Because you have no idea what he’s been getting up to.

[March 28th, 1:05PM]

You: Hey, do you think we need to get together sometime this weekend?

Jungkook: i don’t think i can Jungkook: it’s my dance group’s show this weekend

You: Really? You: You didn’t tell me

Jungkook: been too busy

You: What time is your show tonight?

Jungkook: 7pm

You: Sounds good, I’ll be there

Jungkook: oh Jungkook: you don’t have to

You: I want to You: I’ll see you there!

That night, you drop by the grocery store beforehand to pick up a bouquet of flowers. You haven’t been a performing arts show for years now, especially not one where you actually know the people performing, but flowers are customary. Or so you��ve heard.

You don’t know a single soul who has plans on seeing Jungkook’s dance group either, but the theater is a ten-minute walk away from campus and you’re happy to make the trek alone, especially because you know you’ll find someone you know soon enough. Sometimes it’s nice to walk by yourself, letting the streetlamps above your head illuminate your path, a faceless figure passing by others. It brings peace. And it gives you time to sift through your thoughts, organize them into neat little piles and brush away all of the dust.

Admittedly, you are not much of a connoisseur of the performing arts. You aren’t even much of a consumer. In another universe, under different circumstances, you wouldn’t blink twice if you heard that one of the dance groups on campus was having their show. But this is not another universe, and these are not different circumstances.

Jungkook will be there. He is taking something he’s worked tirelessly on and presenting it to the world. Now that you think about it, it’s actually a lot like film. And if Jungkook has devoted so much time, put so much energy into this performance, what kind of person would you be if you didn’t go and watch his creation?

You pick a seat in the far back corner, the venue so cozy that even despite being the furthest away you’ve still got an excellent view, sit down, and wait for it to begin.

[March 28th, 6:58PM]

Jungkook: hey are you here?

You: I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?

Jungkook: always such a tease

You roll your eyes at that, turning your phone off and stowing it away in your pocket. Two minutes later, the lights dim.

The moment Jungkook steps out onto the stage, you recognize him instantly. He’s wearing all black again, but it’s not the same skinny jeans and leather jacket he had on when he took you out to dinner. It’s a loose long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants that hang low on his hips, highlighting the blondeness of his hair, the red in his lips. He’s one of at least a dozen people on stage but he’s the only one you focus on, the only one who your eyes follow. Booming throughout the theater is a Drake song, the beat thick and low, but it’s background noise when compared to the way he moves, the way he twists and turns his body on stage, angles sharp and crisp.

The whole song goes by so quickly that by the time you find it in yourself to blink the stage is already darkening as they move onto the next song, switching out the performers and changing the spotlight colors to a sultry red. Jungkook disappears for this one, vanishing behind the curtains and forcing you to pay attention to the performance as a whole instead of just him. But you have to hand it to his group: they’re excellent. You’ve been missing out.

Jungkook returns with the next song, having had just enough time to change into an all-white ensemble. He’s easy to spot even with that ridiculous bucket hat on, blonde hair bouncing with every step he takes, every jerk of his body. You can see it all the way from where you sit, see the way he loses himself in the music, lets the rhythm radiate through his blood, lets his heart match the beat that booms through the speakers. This, all of it, the music, the dancing, the energy—it’s all his. It belongs to him. Jungkook may love film but he is passionate about this. It is something that must bring him all the joy in the world.

The next hour and a half goes by quickly, the songs jumping from one to another to another, Jungkook dashing on and off stage, each time returning in a different getup than the one prior. Makes you wonder just how many clothes he has. But before you know it the final song is playing and every one, every single member is on stage, jumping and cheering and celebrating a job well done. And they should, because they deserve to.

When the lights in the theater come on, nobody leaves. Instead, everyone rushes towards the stage to say hello to everybody, congratulate them on their performance and take pictures with their friends. That’s why everyone else is here, isn’t it? Because the people they care about performed tonight.

Isn’t that why you’re here, too?

Jungkook has plenty of other friends already wrapping their arms around him, giving him high-fives and pats on the back, but you’ve got a bouquet of assorted flowers in your hands and you have no plans on bringing them home. So you squeeze your way through the crowd, push yourself in between bodies, and you shout,

“Jungkook!”

Jungkook looks up instantly at the call of his name, the round shape of his lips curving upwards into a smile when he sees you.

“Hey, you made it!” He exclaims happily. He’s so pumped on the adrenaline that he pulls you into a hug without either of you even realizing it, wrapping his arms around your torso and squeezing you tight for a few moments before the two of you remember just exactly who you both are. Quickly, you pull away, chuckling awkwardly. Jungkook scratches at the back of his head. “Thanks for, uh—thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” you say happily. “You were amazing.”

“What can I say, I’m a man of many talents,” Jungkook schmoozes, annoying as always.

You scoff slightly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Here, I brought this for you. It’s traditional, right?” You hold out the bouquet in front of you, pink plastic wrapping crunched up from where your fingers gripped the stems.

“Wow, thank you,” Jungkook says, in awe as he takes the flowers from you, pressing his face into the petals instinctively. “No one’s ever gotten me flowers before.”

“Really?” You say, genuinely surprised at his admission. He’s never been given flowers before? Not even for a performance? You didn’t know that, either. “Then I’m glad to be the first.”

“You know you didn’t have to do that,” Jungkook says, though he looks grateful nonetheless.

You shrug, acting casual. “Aren’t we supposed to be falling in love, or something?”

He grins.

“Did you guys film this? Maybe we could incorporate it into the movie,” you suggest, thinking it might be interesting to add in glimpses into your normal lives, into the things you do when you aren’t trying to one-up each other.

Jungkook shakes his head. “We did, but I don’t think we need to add it in.”

“Why not?” It seems like a perfect addition.

Jungkook pulls out a single flower from the bouquet, a pale yellow daisy, and hands it to you. You smile your thanks, twirling the stem in between your fingers.

“I don’t know,” he says, looking oddly soft, cheeks turning cherry red. He looks at you and it makes your heart flutter, quickens the drum of your chest. “I just think I’d like to keep this moment to ourselves.”

You suppose he’s got a point. You don’t think you’ll forget this night, either.

The bouquet you gave him sits on Jeon Jungkook’s bedroom windowsill, bathing in the afternoon sun. Taehyung gave him some plant food the morning after you came to his performance, a little bottle that he can spritz into the water whenever the flowers look a little droopy. Jungkook adds some every day, determined to keep them alive for as long as possible. He also makes sure he’s got a rather heavy book or two, something he can use to press one of them when they’ve all shriveled up.

It was really nice of you to come to his show, he thinks to himself. Jungkook can’t remember the last time someone outside of his group of close friends went to see him perform, not any of his past dates or even that one girl he was seeing semi-seriously for a couple months last year until she told him she wasn’t interested in him anymore. You’re the first one who’s made the effort, who’s told him that you would come and kept that promise. The flowers are just a happy reminder.

As a celebration for completing their last show, Jungkook and some of the other juniors in his dance crew decide to go out the following weekend, determined to waste away their Saturday nights at a bar just off of campus where they can take as many shots of as many different types of alcohols as they want. The place even has soju, which makes Jungkook’s heart happy.

Despite the temptation to drink until his brain is empty, however, Jungkook holds off. He’s got a lot of work tomorrow, most of it consisting of editing the footage you have for the project, and doesn’t really feel like staring at a computer for eight hours straight with a headache. So he limits himself. For the most part.

“Who was that girl that came to the show?” One of his friends, Andrew, asks as he downs another shot of what is undoubtedly vodka, if the smell is anything to go by. “With the flowers?”

“Is she your girlfriend?” Jesse pipes up, red in the face from the alcohol in his system. He’s always been one to turn into a tomato after drinking.

Jungkook chuckles awkwardly, shaking his head when the bartender offers him another shot glass full of soju. “No,” he says, forcing a laugh. “Just a friend.”

“I don’t know, you guys looked pretty close to me,” Andrew points out, like it wasn’t already obvious enough that Jungkook is head over heels for you.

“She and I are working on a film project together,” Jungkook explains, though that does absolutely nothing to convince his friends of your completely platonic relationship.

“Sounds fun,” Jesse says, swallowing another shot and wincing. “It was nice of her to bring you flowers. My girlfriend didn’t do that.”

“Shut up, your girlfriend is studying abroad in Paris right now,” Andrew says, giving Jesse a good-natured shove. “I’m gonna tell her you said that.”

“What, please don’t—”

“She’s not my girlfriend, guys,” Jungkook repeats himself, feeling his cheeks heat up the longer the conversation drags on. He chalks it up to the soju in his system and the fact that it feels like a sauna in here. “Seriously, we’re just friends. People can be friends and bring each other flowers.”

Jesse pumps his fist in the air. “Yeah!” He rounds on Andrew. “Where are my flowers, hey Andrew?”

The two of them start bickering as Jungkook laughs, shaking his head fondly. At least he’s not drunk, so he can remember nights like these, ones where he’s drinking with his stupid idiot friends, celebrating a show well done.

Jungkook stays at the bar until eleven that night before he makes the executive decision to go home and sleep, because as much as he would like to party until three in the morning, he’s got a pile of work that’s telling him to be a real adult. So he bids his friends goodbye and begins to make the trek back to his apartment, passing by the row of frat houses on his way.

Even though he’s out on the sidewalk, Jungkook can feel the ground rumble from the music, every frat on the block joining together to make some booming, bass monster. From here he can see the flashing blue and purple lights in the windows, see the brothers standing on the steps of each house and turning away whoever they deem unfit to enter.

In a weird way, it makes Jungkook nostalgic. Reminiscent of when he was a freshman, when he would group up with all of the people in his hall and parade around the frat row on Saturday nights like they owned the place, getting drunk on shitty tequila and jumping until they sweat out their body fluids. He remembers those nights in flashes, bits and pieces that make up his memory of freshman year as a whole. Remembers kissing other girls, other girls kissing him. Remembers the way he would lock lips with them for a second and then forget about it by the next day.

Jungkook wonders why he ever thought he would meet his soulmate at a frat party.

He’s just passing the last frat house now, nodding to the guy on the step when they accidentally meet eyes, when he hears you call his name.

“Jungkook!”

He whips around to see you on the other side of the road, waving at him excitedly while your friends all laugh, sending smiles Jungkook’s way.

Jungkook isn’t exactly sure what the protocol is for a scenario like this, so he does what he thinks is right and waves back.

“Come over here!” You shout at him, loosely gesturing for him to join your group. Jungkook is hesitant, not sure if that’s necessarily the best course of action because even from here he can tell that you’re drunk, leaning over to one side and giggling at nothing. But even if he isn’t sure what will happen he can’t help but fall into the way you’re beaming at him, waving excitedly because you saw him on the street and you wanted to say hello.

He’s never been able to resist you.

“Hey, what are you doing out here?” He says as he jogs over, greeting the rest of your friends with a patient smile.

“Went out with my friends,” you say. Jungkook can smell the alcohol on your lips. “And then I saw you, which made me happy!”

You stumble over nothing, shoes skipping as they drag along the pavement, and before any of your friends can react Jungkook is reaching his arms out, catching you before you fall flat on your face. Your hands press against his torso as he lifts you back to your feet, and all Jungkook can do is pray that you can’t hear the way his heart races, beat drumming in his ears. You giggle in his hold, disoriented but not at all uneasy, looking up at him as your eyes sparkle in the glow of the streetlamps.

“Thanks,” you manage to cough out.

“Sure,” Jungkook says, breathless. He stands you up and tries to let you go, but you keep your hands tight around his wrists. “I think we need to get you home.”

“Can you come with me?” You ask innocently, eyes wide.

“Y/N…” One of your friends says, voice hesitant. She places a hand on your shoulder, looking concerned. Jungkook doesn’t take any offense to it, he doesn’t know your friends well and imagines that they would much prefer being the ones to drop you back at your place.

You shrug her off. “No, it’s okay, Ruby,” you assure your friend, hand inching down Jungkook’s wrist until it rests firmly within his palm. “I’ll go with him.”

Ruby eyes Jungkook suspiciously and her gaze is so intense that it actually makes him doubt his ability to walk you home for a moment. But you seem intent on walking with him, and the sooner you go home the better, so Ruby relents and lifts her hand from your shoulder. “Alright, if you want to.” She keeps her eyes trained on Jungkook. “Text me when you’re back.”

“I will, I will,” you say, brushing her off and waving her away. “Let’s go, Jungkook. I’m sleepy.”

“Okay, come on,” he says. You smile happily at your friends as you say goodbye, cheerful and drunk and tired, all at once, and you begin to walk towards your apartment.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you tell him, positively filter-less.

“I’m glad I’m here, too,” Jungkook assures you. “What did you have to drink tonight?”

“Not sure,” you admit happily. “Just a lot.”

“I can tell.” Jungkook nods. “Were you at a frat party?”

“Several,” you correct him. “They weren’t that fun but at least the drinks were free.”

“Why were you at a frat party if you don’t like them?” Jungkook asks you, nose scrunched up. You certainly aren’t the kind of person to hide your distaste for things. That is something that Jungkook is intimately familiar with.

You shrug. “It’s the cheapest place to get drunk.”

“Why did you want to get drunk?” This is seeming more and more out-of-character for you. Going to a place you despise, taking shots until you can’t walk straight, meandering around campus with Jungkook. All of these are things Jungkook could never in a million years picture you doing out of free will.

Well, all of them except maybe the last one. You did come to his dance show, after all.

You sigh. It’s thick and heavy and Jungkook has a feeling you won’t want to divulge any more. “I just wanted to forget.”

But the curiosity is eating at him.

“Forget what?”

Your grip on his hand tightens. Jungkook fully expects you to dodge the question like you’ve dodged all of the ones prior, say something else to change the topic so you can sweep this discussion under the rug like all of the other ones you’ve had. But you don’t.

Instead, you say, “You wanna know why I don’t love love the way you do?”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Jungkook quickly assures you.

“I had better options than this place,” you say, voice hollow and empty. “There were better universities that accepted me. Ones with higher-ranked film programs and bigger scholarships. I could have gone to any one of them and been just as happy. Maybe more.”

“But you didn’t,” Jungkook clarifies.

“My ex-boyfriend goes to school ten minutes away from here,” you say, words that are most certainly news to Jungkook. You had a boyfriend? “He and I dated all throughout high school. I thought I was gonna marry him.”

The words sound so sad. It sounds like they don’t even belong to you. Like you’re recalling the memories of a different person, someone you’ve killed and buried, someone you were certain you would never have to face again. Yourself. Your past self.

“And then he broke up with me at the beginning of last year and it was too late to transfer out.” Your words are slurred and garbled, like all you want is to get over with saying them in the first place. It’s not a dramatic revelation. It’s not something you’re crying about, sobbing into Jungkook’s chest as you remember, miserable, a time where you were once happy. You just sound lifeless.

Jungkook blinks at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue. It doesn’t feel right for him to speak up. Not when you’ve just revealed to him something so personal, so drunk that you probably won’t even remember saying anything when you wake up tomorrow morning.

What is he supposed to do with this knowledge? What is he supposed to say? To do? It’s not like Jungkook can change your past. It’s not even as if he can change the near future. Your project is almost finished—the semester is almost over. And then you will return to the time where you never even knew each other.

“You can say something,” you tell him.

“What do you want me to say?” Jungkook says.

“Something to make me feel better, because now I’m sad,” you request simply. “Seeing you made me happy.”

“Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut and smile, then,” he muses to himself.

“No, please keep talking,” you plead, leaning into his body with your bottom lip puffed out, eyes big and round and desperate. “Listening to you gets me to stop thinking about this stuff.”

Hearing that, Jungkook says the first thing that comes to mind. And that is, “You don’t have to think about that stuff anymore at all.”

“Hmm?” You murmur into his chest. Jungkook sees your apartment building up ahead. Just another block or so.

“Well, that was your old love story,” he begins tentatively. Jungkook’s almost fully sober by now but he feels like he won’t ever get another opportunity to say this, and maybe whatever soju is left in his system is enough to get him through this conversation. Enough for him to muster up the confidence to tell you what he’s been wanting to tell you for a while now.

Even if you forget it by tomorrow. He knows this is his only chance.

“And it didn’t have a happy ending, but that’s okay. Because ours will.”

You’re just coming up to your apartment complex, the rusted gold doors of the entrance sticking out against the beige of the building and the sidewalk, shimmering in the light of the streetlamps. You pause right outside, taking cover underneath the red awning above your heads. Looking up at him, you blink expectantly.

“How do I know you mean that?” You ask.

He almost does it.

Jungkook doesn’t really know what washes over him in that moment, what takes his heart and mind prisoner for a split second, grip tight and unforgiving. But he’s staring straight into your watery eyes, glossy and glimmery and glowing, lost in the way you press your lips together, the way you gaze up at him and wait for him to tell you what he’s always wanted to say, and he almost does it. His hands press at your sides, holding you close, like he’s afraid that if he lets you go you’ll vanish without another trace and this night will all have been for naught.

But he doesn’t.

He doesn’t for a lot of reasons. You’re drunk. When you wake up tomorrow, you will not remember this conversation. But Jungkook will. And if he does it, if he kisses you, if he presses his lips to yours it will be burned into his thoughts, carved into his heart, and you will be none the wiser. Jungkook can’t do that to himself. And he can’t do that to you, either. He will never take advantage of your company. He never has.

“Because,” Jungkook says instead, having hesitated for far too long. “I promise you.”

It’s good enough for him.

He tucks you into bed at 12:17AM that night, feet padding along your hardwood floor so he doesn’t wake up your neighbors, guiding you to your bedroom and reminding you to text Ruby that you made it home safely. Jungkook’s never gotten a very good look at your place, and even now it’s hard to make out most things without the main ceiling lights on, but he doesn’t really want to snoop. Even though you invited him in, he still feels like he’s intruding. You’ve always been so private. There were a lot of things said tonight that Jungkook is going to have to reckon with.

Once you’re curled up beneath your sheets, eyes drooping, Jungkooks turns off the light on your nightstand and nearly, just about nearly, presses his lips to your forehead. He manages to avoid doing that, too.

Instead, he pulls up your duvet and heads towards the main room, making a beeline for your front door. But before he can leave the room, he hears you mumble out his name.

“Jungkook?” You call, voice groggy.

“Yeah?” He looks back at you from where he stands in your door frame, one hand on the knob, ready to pull it closed.

You smile, eyes fluttering. “Thank you,” you say.

Jungkook grins.

The next morning you wake up with a pounding headache and three missed calls from Ruby, which undoubtedly means that something positively terrible happened last night. Unfortunately, you have no idea what happened at all last night, good or terrible, so whatever Ruby has to say will be news to you.

Rubbing your eyes as you wrack your brain in the hopes of figuring out how you even ended up back at your apartment (when you swear you told Ruby you would stay at hers), you press on Ruby’s contact and call her.

“Y/N? Hello? Are you there?” Ruby answers on the first ring.

“I’m here,” you mumble out, words jumped and barely intelligible. You wince as your eyes adjust to the harsh blue light of your phone screen, squinting as you look at the time.

Shit, it’s 11:43AM and you’re meeting Jungkook for coffee at noon.

“Good, I called you three times last night after you texted,” Ruby wastes no time diving into her interrogation.

“Why?” You ask, scrambling out of bed with your phone pressed between your shoulder and your ear. Your head throbs so you quickly take some Ibuprofen, splash your face with water, and start looking for something clean you can put on.

“Because texting me ‘home’ is not enough!” Ruby exclaims. “Jungkook walked you home last night, I wanted to make sure you were tucked in bed and feeling alright.”

You frown. You don’t remember that. Granted, you don’t remember a lot of things, but you can’t recall Jungkook walking you back. You saw him last night? You didn’t even know. Scratching your head, a part of you vaguely pictures him standing in your apartment in the dark, resting against the door frame to your bedroom in the warm yellow light of the lamp on your nightstand. Can just barely see him tucking you into bed, placing the sheets over your figure and making you text Ruby that you’re home. You thought you were just imagining it at the time, but it must have happened anyway.

“Jungkook walked me home?”

“Yeah, you insisted,” Ruby says. “You probably don’t remember, though.”

“No,” you say dumbly.

“Well, I appreciate you texting me that you were home but I would have preferred something more explanatory,” scolds Ruby. “I thought maybe Jungkook was gonna do something.”

“Oh my goodness, no,” you immediately interject, pulling on your shoes and stuffing your laptop into your backpack. Just the thought of Jungkook doing something like that sends your stomach for a whirl. “He would never do that. I trust him.”

“I mean, I see that now,” Ruby points out. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” you promise. “Everything’s good.”

“Alright, if you say so,” Ruby says, still sounding a bit like an overprotective mother. You love her, though. You know she just wants the best for you. “Take it easy today, okay? You had a lot to drink last night.”

“I will,” you assure her. “I’m just on my way to meet up with Jungkook now. Getting coffee.”

“Make sure to eat, too,” Ruby reminds you. “And tell Jungkook that I said thanks for walking you home.”

“Anything else, Mom?”

You can practically see Ruby frowning on the other end. “Oh, shut up. I’ll see you, okay?”

She bids you goodbye just as you’re dashing out the door, your usual stride quickening so you make it to the cafe in time, not wanting to keep Jungkook waiting. You make it there in a record five minutes, pulling open the door frantically just as the clock strikes noon.

Jungkook’s already there, of course, sitting by a little round table in the corner of the room with two americanos on the table. He waves when he sees you standing by the entrance, and the mere sight of him makes you smile, shoulders relaxing.

“Hey,” you greet, a little out of breath as you settle into the chair across from him.

“Hey,” Jungkook says back. “How are you feeling?”

“My head is killing me, but other than that I’m alright,” you admit, taking a sip of the drink. It’s piping hot but just the right amount of scalding, warming your insides after a night of filling them with pure poison.

“Good.” He grins. “It’s nice to see your face.”

“Oh, yeah, speaking of which,” you say while still on the topic, “did you walk me home last night? I can’t remember.”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, I bumped into you and your friends while I was on my way back from a bar.”

You wince. The fact that you don’t even remember that happening tells you enough. “I was super drunk, wasn’t I?”

Jungkook, nice as always, says, “I’ve seen worse.” It only makes you feel the slightest bit better.

“Hope I didn’t say anything embarrassing,” you say, knowing you have a tendency to lose your filter almost entirely when you get wasted, letting any sort of mental reasoning fly out the door the moment you down another shot. And the thought of having told Jungkook something deeply humiliating or personal, or even him witnessing something stupid, makes you feel weirdly exposed.

Jungkook freezes for a split second, almost like he’s buffering, like he’s about to say something but it’s just taking him an extra step to get the words out of his mouth. Then he takes a quick sip of his americano and shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. You were just very drunk. And clingy.”

“I’m so sorry you had to deal with that,” you apologize. You can’t imagine the hell you must have put Jungkook through last night.

Jungkook laughs. “It’s okay. I’m glad we got you home safe.”

“Me, too.” You nod. You send a grateful smile his way. “Thanks for walking me, by the way. I really appreciate it. Ruby says thanks, too.”

“Anytime,” Jungkook says. It doesn’t sound like something that people say just to say it. The way that people say ‘anytime’ just so they can be friendly and amicable. He says it and he means it, says it genuinely and honestly, like it’s a real promise that he’s making. That he would be happy to walk you home again. No matter the hour. No matter how drunk you are. No matter what he’s doing.

And that means a lot to you.

“We should probably wrap up filming soon, huh?” You say, getting onto the topic at hand. Of course, the project is the whole reason you’re even talking to each other in the first place. “It’s due in three weeks.”

“Yeah, I was thinking of another outing? And maybe one more thing with Taehyung?” Jungkook suggests.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “‘Another outing’, Jungkook? What exactly do you have in mind?”

He grins.

This time, Jungkook is the one with the flowers.

When you open your front door they’re the first thing you see, an enormous bouquet of an assortment of spring flowers in a variety of colors—pinks and purples and oranges and yellows—gripped neatly in Jungkook’s hand. They stick out against his otherwise rather formal attire, a simple black dress shirt and jeans, nice shoes that compliment his figure. Black truly is the world’s most slimming color, and Jungkook is no exception. He looks good.

“For you, m’lady,” Jungkook says dramatically as he holds out the bouquet in front of him.

“How thoughtful of you,” you muse to yourself, grinning. You take the flowers and press your whole face into them, breathing in the fresh scent. “The one I gave you wasn’t nearly this big.”

“Go big or go home,” Jungkook teases. “You look nice, by the way.”

“You always sound so surprised when you say that,” you comment snidely, shaking your head as you grab your bag from the shelf next to your door. “What are we doing tonight, Jeon? Gonna keep it a secret from me like last time?”

“That depends,” Jungkook says knowingly. “Do you like secrets?”

“You should know what I like by now,” you remark.

“Then prepare to be wowed.” He grins, taking your hand in his as he pulls you out the door.

The restaurant you go to this time does not require a ten minute drive to the center of town. Instead, it’s a five minute walk from campus and actually happens to be a place you’ve been to before. It’s a busy little thing on a Friday night, waiters bustling about with trays in their hands, people laughing and smiling under the dim light of the chandeliers. You’ve only been here once, long ago, for a club dinner paid for by the finance chair, and for good reason. It’s not the kind of place cheap college students looking to get the most food for the least amount of money go to.

“Isn’t this a bit out of budget for our rom-com?” You ask as the host seats you at your table, a little booth in the middle of the restaurant, lanterns resting on the corners of the seats.

“I thought this was a mockumentary,” Jungkook jokes.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, resisting the smile that fights its way across your face. Trust you to make that sort of blunder in front of him. “I mean it, though. This place is expensive.”

“It’s manageable,” Jungkook promises. “I’ve been saving up. Plus, I thought you deserved a nice night out.”

“How generous of you.”

“Oh, come on, I know you’re excited,” he narrows his eyes at you. “You don’t have to act like a stone-cold robot anymore.”

“Well…” you suppose enough is enough. Jungkook can see right through you anyway, so there’s no point in keeping up this indifferent facade of yours. “Only because you’re treating me so nicely.”

“Just please don’t order the steak,” he requests simply.

You laugh. “No problem. Maybe we could just share a couple of appetizers?”

Jungkook likes the sound of that.

Luckily, this is not one of those restaurants where the appetizers cost an arm and a leg and are the size of your pinky finger. You and Jungkook split three different ones, happy to scoop out portions for each of you and indulge in them together.

Dinner dates—of which this is only sort of one—are always awkward because you spend half of the time shoving food into your mouth, but you and Jungkook don’t seem to mind the silence at all. Only, Jungkook does look sort of like he’s holding back.

“Is this enough food for you?” You ask him halfway through, distantly remembering how he absolutely devoured a whole plate of pasta last time and still having enough room in his stomach to finish yours.

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks over a mouthful of vegetables.

“You ate so much at the Italian place, I just want to make sure you aren’t still hungry,” you point out.

“Oh.” Jungkook pauses, swallowing down the bite in his mouth. “No, I’m okay. Thanks for thinking of me, though.”

“Yeah, of course,” you say. You hesitate for a moment, not sure if you should say anything else. But what the hell, right? It’s Jungkook. It’s Jungkook and he walked you home when you were drunk, he gave you flowers, he let you borrow his jacket. And you feel as though you must return the favor. “Anytime.”

He smiles.

Despite the pure ecstasy you both experience when eating delicious food, Jungkook makes sure not to waste this time and grabs a few frames of you eating with his camera. He always seems to have that with him whenever he’s with you, hanging around his neck or stuffed into his backpack or crammed into his pants pocket. Sort of makes you wonder just how much footage the two of you have of each other.

He insists on paying but you send him some money anyway, just because letting him shoulder the burden of a place as expensive (for college students, at least) as this just doesn’t sit right with you. Whenever he receives the Venmo notification on his phone, Jungkook frowns and says that he’ll send that money back to you, but he never does and you can tell that he really does appreciate it.

You don’t think you have any plans on stopping that for a while.

The only downside of going to this restaurant is that there is no gorgeous, light-strung park in the vicinity the two of you can wander around. Just your campus, which you have no doubt walked a thousand times over, and the streets surrounding it, which you have memorized like the back of your hand.

It almost makes you think that Jungkook is just going to drop you back off at your place and the night will end there, but you know better than to expect something like that from Jungkook. Instead, as you’re walking, you point out the cafe that you and Ruby always go to, see that it’s closing in half-an-hour, and Jungkook decides then and there that it’s your next destination.

“You’ve never been here before?” You ask when you walk inside, eyes immediately drifting to the display of pastries beside the register.

“I’m not normally on this side of campus,” Jungkook admits. “You’re the only reason I’m ever here.”

“Then hopefully after finding this place, you’ll have two reasons,” you say cheerfully. The baristas behind the counter know you on a first-name basis, are happy to help you out even though they’ve no doubt been working long hours and are ready to close up shop and go home.

You split a tiramisu and sit at that same corner table you and Ruby always pick, empty now that it’s so late at night. Other than the employees, you and Jungkook are the only ones in here, a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the restaurant, filled to the brim with people, the smell of cooked food wafting through the air.

The tiramisu isn't as fresh as it would be bright and early in the morning, but you suppose that that just means you and Jungkook will have to come back. Besides, Jungkook obviously does not seem to mind, scarfing it down ruthlessly. You’re in and out just as they close up shop, the employees bidding you goodbye like old friends, sending you on your way. There’s not really much else either of you have planned for tonight, and Jungkook isn’t coming up with any new ideas as he checks his phone. Instead, you just begin to head back to your apartment, all wrapped up in each other. You place your hand in his own and feel yourself relax when he squeezes, a silent little reminder that he’s still here, and that so are you.

Funnily enough, holding hands feels natural to you at this point.

“Tonight was fun,” you comment, breaking the quiet.

“Yeah, glad we could do this,” Jungkook agrees. “Makes me kind of sad to know that this thing is almost over.”

“What, the project?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Yeah. And the class. And the semester. It’s kind of scary. We’ll be seniors next year.”

You chuckle. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I still have no idea what I’m going to do after we graduate.”

“You don’t have to know everything,” Jungkook reassures you. “As long as you’re happy with what you have now.”

“Are you?” You inquire, looking up to meet his eyes.

Jungkook beams down at you. “I am.”

The walk from the cafe to your apartment is short, just under five minutes, but it feels like it takes you an hour, footsteps slow and languid, like neither of you want the night to end. You hit every red light, round every corner, drawing out the evening for as long as you can. Unfortunately, there is only so much you can do on a five-minute walk, and before you know it, you’re home.

“This is me,” you say, stopping outside the gold doors of your apartment complex. “Thanks again for tonight.”

“Anytime,” Jungkook says, a common thread in your conversations.

“Really?” You ask, skeptical. “Our project’s almost over.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to stop doing this,” Jungkook says.

You narrow your eyes. “What are you implying, huh, Jungkook?”

“This.”

Before you know it, he’s wrapping one hand around your waist and pulling you in close to him, your palms splayed out against his broad, toned chest, pressing his lips to yours. You gasp a little into the feeling, somewhat shocked he would dare be so bold even after all this time, but find yourself sinking into the touch. He tastes like coffee and cream, like peppermint from his chapstick, like the wine you shared tonight. You cave into the way he holds you, hands wrapped around your body, palms pressed firmly against your figure. He holds you like he’s afraid to let go, like he’s trying to remind himself that you’re real and here and that you are kissing him back, like he’ll forget once the moment ends.

But he need not worry about that.

When you part, you don’t even bother wiping off the stupid smile on your face, kiss-drunk and filled with glee. It’s been a long time since you felt this way. And Jungkook makes you feel things you don’t even think you can explain.

“How bold of you,” you comment, noses touching, barely an inch away from each other.

“I figured I’d shoot my shot,” Jungkook says. He shrugs, pretending to be casual, but you can see the way he’s grinning, beaming, down at you.

“You scored,” you remind him.

“How observant of you,” teases Jungkook in return. You pout a little at his playful mockery, heart fond. “Think we can do it again?”

“Hmm, I would tone down the ego first,” you say, already leaning back in to press your lips against his.

“Never.” He smiles wickedly.

It’s a quicker kiss this time, a short peck against his cherry red mouth, but it still makes your heart beat something terribly fierce.

“See you soon?” You ask when you finally pull away, knowing that as much as you’d like to, you can’t just stand out here kissing each other forever.

Jungkook nods, cheeks pink and warm to the touch. He looks so sleek in his formal black outfit, crisp button-down and slacks, hair all styled, but the way he’s grinning at you makes him look so young, so sublimely happy. It’s nice.

“Anytime.”

“There’s my favorite couple!” Taehyung greets excitedly when he swings open the door to his apartment to reveal you and Jungkook standing on the other side.

“What’s it to you?” You comment snidely as he lets you inside, the black sheet still taped up along his wall. It looks a little more wrinkled than when you last saw it.

“Oh, nothing,” Taehyung singsongs. He definitely knows a lot more than he cares to tell either you or Jungkook, but whatever. The project’s almost over and he’s almost finished with university entirely. “You guys are just cute together, that’s all.”

“Like you even know the half of it.” You tell him with a roll of your eyes.

Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows. “Ooh, do tell.” He grins that greasy, comic-book-villain grin of his as he starts moving his bar stools back to where the sheet lines his cream-colored wall.

“Isn’t that the whole point of this?” Jungkook poses, making you laugh from where you’re seated on the couch, watching Jungkook set up his tripod in exactly the place he wants it. You smile at him as you recline against Taehyung’s poor old leather couch, so worn-down from use that the back cushions fold in when you press against them, and Jungkook peers out from behind the camera to blow you a kiss.

You send him one back without even needing to think.

Taehyung misses the whole scene, but no doubt he’ll be putting two and two together pretty soon. You and Jungkook agreed that for the last interview you would be questioned together, long before Jungkook actually managed to romance you off your feet, and there’s not a doubt in your mind that the two of you being interviewed side-by-side will make things much more interesting.

Nevertheless, Jungkook sets up the camera and sends a thumbs-up your way when he’s ready, Taehyung sitting on the bar stool just outside of the frame with a couple of index cards in his hand.

“Let’s do this,” you say, hauling yourself onto the seat. Jungkook does the same shortly after, scooching onto the one next to you as you stare at Taehyung, waiting for him to start.

“Looking forward to this one?” Taehyung asks knowingly.

You shrug nonchalantly. “Just a little.”

“Excellent. Shall we begin?”

You and Jungkook nod.

“Alright. Well, this is presumably the last thing the two of you will be filming for your project. How are you feeling about it?”

“It turned out better than I thought it would,” you admit. It will come as a shock to no one that you did not have very high hopes for this project when it was first assigned.

“Of course it did, I’m your partner,” Jungkook teases, poking you in your side. “Would you ever doubt me?”

“Always,” you say.

Taehyung chuckles. “Sounds like it’s been good so far. Did you enjoy filming it?”

You nod. “Yeah, it was actually kind of fun. Except for when Jungkook spilled coffee all over me, that was not cool.” You turn to face Jungkook directly, and all he does when you say his name is wink and point at you.

“It was for the rom-com, I don’t know what you expected,” Jungkook said. “I gave you my jacket, too.”

“How gentlemanly.”

Taehyung chuckles, warm and low. “I’m sure Jungkook learned his lesson,” he muses. “What was your favorite thing to film?”

Not when I randomly texted you five minutes before I showed up at your door to make you ask me questions about how I feel, you think to yourself. Jungkook still doesn’t know, but you think you’ll put it into the movie just for the hell of it, so he’ll find out then. Find out that you were grappling with your feelings for him long before you ever let on.

“The serenade was a blast, a special shoutout to the Eighth Notes for doing that for me,” Jungkook says immediately. Obviously that is at the top of his list. “Plus, I just like seeing Y/N all flustered.”

“Shut up, you’re so annoying,” you chide. “I guess the serenade was kind of cute. I liked going out together, though. On our not-date.”

Jungkook objects to that instantly. “It was a date, Y/N!”

You look back at him, equally as scandalized as he. “Whose turn is it to talk?”

“Mine, actually,” Taehyung interjects. “Did you like going out together?”

You sigh a little, wondering if you’re really about to turn into a softie in front of a camera for a movie to be shown to your twenty classmates and professor. “Yeah,” you say, real and true because that’s what you agreed on, you and Jungkook. To be candid. To be honest. To say how you felt. Really. “It was really nice. I hadn’t gone out with someone like that in a long time.”

“And were you happy because of the project, or because of Jungkook?”

“Well,” you begin, not exactly sure where to start. “I guess, it’s like… you know, I didn’t even know Jungkook before this project. I mean, I knew who he was, he would always respond to my discussion board posts and object to everything I said in class. But I didn’t know him as a person. But as we worked on this project together, planning and filming and editing, I started to. And we did so many things together. And I guess I just really enjoyed the time we did spend as a pair.”

“Would you say the same, Jungkook?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says easily. “That’s what I wanted. To get to know Y/N, to spend time with her. I was glad we had this project. Otherwise, we might never have done something like this.”

“You both seem very happy.”

“I think we are. This project was actually sort of a blessing in disguise. I know him a lot better, now,” you say. “I’m glad that I do. He makes me smile, and laugh, and I always feel happy when he’s around. I don’t know. He did it, somehow.”

“Jungkook?”

“It wasn’t just me. Y/N and I did this together. We made this. This project. Us. It wasn’t just her, or just me. It’s ours.” Jungkook grins.

“Are you glad you did this project?”

Of course. It was fun, and I liked filming it, and I feel like I got something really important out of it. I know it’s just a short rom-com mockumentary, but it really feels like there was a happy ending, you know? A happily ever after.”

“You seem really certain about that.”

“Well,” Jungkook says with a little scoff, “what else would you call it?”

“As you can see, obviously Y/N fell head over heels in love with me thanks to this wonderful project—”

“Why are you always so full of yourself—?”

“Hey, you’re ruining the voiceover! As I said, as you can see, Y/N fell head over heels in love with me, but that wasn’t just because of my dashing good looks and amazing singing skills.”

“The ends of your hair look like hay—”

“It was because we were honest with each other, and because we spent meaningful moments together, and because we kept our hearts open. And I guess that’s the truth of it all, isn’t it? Love, romance, relationships? If you close yourself off, you’ll never get to experience them. But if you take every opportunity with an open mind, then you never know what might happen. Like falling in love with your discussion board nemesis.”

“Who, me?”

“Just let me finish, come on. There’s like one paragraph left. I know this was a mockumentary, not a scripted rom-com with professional actors and screenwriters and a whole team of editors. But that was the whole point. To make it real. And to make it between two people who aren’t just characters on a screen. We’re real people, and this happened to us. And it makes us happy. And it can happen to you, too. I think we all learn something every time we watch a new movie. Whether it be about loss, or promises, or other people. This time, we learned about love. Real love. How it can be rocky and strange and come straight out of left field. But also how happy endings aren’t just for movies and fairytales. We all deserve them. And Y/N and I found our own.”

“Are you gonna say it?”

“And so… they lived happily ever after.”

You look up at the screen, expecting to see the credits roll, but instead it’s a shot of the two of you kissing outside of your apartment building, a shot of you wrapping your arms around him as you press your lips to his. It lasts for only a few seconds, but you find yourself entranced in the moment, shocked that Jungkook somehow managed to capture it on film. He didn’t even have his camera with him that night.

Pollack turns on the lights in your classroom as your fellow classmates applaud, all of them looking genuinely pleased that your rom-com had such a wonderful ending. Pollack herself looks rather proud, nodding to herself as she smiles at the two of you.

“You filmed us kissing?” You hiss to Jungkook as your classmates clap, hoping the sound of it will drown out your conversation.

“I got Taehyung to,” Jungkook whispers back. “Why?”

“I just… I thought that night was just for us.”

“The rest of it is. But I thought the kiss would be a cute way to end it. You know, happy ending and everything.”

Alright, if Jungkook insists. You nod, tensing up slightly. You hadn’t even noticed Taehyung down the street, standing behind some utility pole with the camera raised to his eye. Had Jungkook texted him in secret? Asked him to meet you outside of your apartment? Was he planning on kissing you from the very beginning?

You shake your head, willing away the thoughts as Pollack commends the two of you for a job well done. Jungkook and you stand at the front of the room for a few more seconds, getting stared down by your fellow classmates while Pollack speaks. The period ends just as she finishes up, the minutes changing the moment she closes her mouth. Within a minute or so, the whole class has emptied out, some of them congratulating you and Jungkook on the way out.

“I’ll meet you outside, okay?” Jungkook says, eyes bright and filled with that same wonder he’s always got.

“Yeah,” you say distantly, nodding to him as he disappears out the door.

“You did an excellent job, Y/N,” Pollack praises, and it goes right to your head, if you’re being honest. “It was brilliant.”

“Thanks,” you say, suddenly rather shy. “That means a lot.”

“Don’t tell anyone else this,” she says, voice quiet, “but I was secretly hoping the two of you would fall in love.”

“Pollack!”

She laughs. “What? I thought you’d make a cute couple. And you do, so clearly it all worked out anyway.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s against the code of conduct,” you say, even though you know you can’t be too mad at her. After all, you wouldn’t have Jungkook if it weren’t for her.

“Y/N, I’m tenured. I don’t care.”

“Wait…” you pause, eyes narrowing, “how many of your students have you set up with each other?”

Pollack grins. “I never reveal my secrets.”

Your mouth drops open.

She chuckles, shooing you out the door. “Go on, go be with your boyfriend. You can tell him you both get A pluses for your project. It was excellent. One of the best I’ve seen in a very long time.”

“Thanks, Pollack,” you say, smiling gratefully. “You’re the best.”

She points at you proudly as you head out the door. “So are you.”

Jungkook is waiting by the tables where you always sit, half a flight down from your classroom. He’s leaning against the edge of them as he scrolls mindlessly through his phone, so engrossed in the Instagram explore page that he doesn’t see you walk up.

“Guess what,” you say, getting all up in his face, just because you can.

“What,” Jungkook says, an eyebrow raised.

“We got an A plus on our project!” You exclaim happily, cheering. Jungkook laughs at your exuberant reaction, watches as you jump around, clapping loudly.

“Hell yeah, we did that!” Jungkook holds his hand up for a high five, one you gladly take. Your palms smack together and the sound reverberates around the hallway.

“You know, you and I—” you begin, placing your palms on his cheeks as you pull yourself in for a kiss, “we make a pretty good team.”

“Only because you’re so good at editing,” Jungkook says. You’re both not too bad, if you do say so yourself, but since Jungkook did so much of the filming you thought it would be better if you carried more of the weight when it came to post-production.

“Says you,” you tease, pressing your lips to his button nose. “The happy ending thing was a nice touch, I liked it. Makes me feel like I’m in a fairy tale.”

“I’m glad,” Jungkook says with a chuckle, admiring the way you beam at him. “You know, I was really worried that you might think we didn’t have a happy ending after all, especially after everything.”

“What do you mean?” You look at him curiously.

“Well, I just really wanted to make sure that we had a happy ending, because you’ve been through so much.”

You pause in place, eyebrows furrowing as you look up at him. Been through so much? Does Jungkook know something you don’t? Wait, no, did you… did you tell him—?

“You knew?” You ask, the realization piercing you like an arrow. “All this time, and you never said anything?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen.

“How long have you known?”

He winces. “Since I walked you home when you were drunk. You told me.”

You did?

Shit.

“And you didn’t think that maybe you should have told me that you knew? Especially when I asked you if I had said anything embarrassing?” You cry out, indignant. “What, were you just planning on never telling me?”

“I was going to, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to know that you had admitted all those things to me,” Jungkook admits, growing desperate. “They were really personal things, I thought you might react badly.”

“Oh, so you just decided to keep it a secret instead? Look how well that worked out.”

“What was I supposed to do, Y/N? I know you would have been upset.”

“Tell me!” You exclaim. “I asked you if I had said something embarrassing that night and you said I hadn’t. And I believed you. Better to have known then than now!”

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says.

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t just tell me. Didn’t we say we would be honest with each other? But instead, you just let me assume that all of the nice things you did for me were because you actually cared, and not because you felt bad for me?”

“I don’t feel bad for you!” Jungkook shouts. “I mean, I do, but that’s not why I took you out on dates and gave you flowers and held your hand. I do care about you.”

“Oh, so filming us kissing was just because you actually cared, too, right?”

“I don’t know why you’re so hung up about that,” Jungkook points out.

“Because I thought it was a private moment,” you remind him. “You hadn’t filmed anything the whole night. I thought we were just going out on a date like two people who cared about each other did. Us kissing was personal. But you texted Taehyung and told him to show up with his camera anyway, right? Because you were planning on kissing me from the very beginning. Because you knew, Jungkook. You knew and you had absolutely no intention of telling me.”

“Y/N, wait, I didn’t do those things just because I pitied you,” Jungkook says, reaching out for your hand.

You pull away. “You didn’t? Then why did you film us kissing, then?”

“Because…” he flounders. You aren’t at all surprised. “Because—”

“Enough, Jungkook. I get it,” you stop him, shaking your head. “Everything we’ve done since that first date we had, when we went to the Italian place, everything since then—it was all played up. Because you felt bad for me. I had a shitty experience with love and you wanted to make me feel better. Whatever.”

“Y/N, it wasn’t like that,” Jungkook chases after you as you begin to walk down the stairs, towards the exit. “I didn’t pity you. I still don’t. I did those things because I care about you, and I wanted you to be happy.”

“Well, you got what you wanted,” you say, arms crossed over your shoulders as you push your way out the door. “I was so happy when I was with you.”

“Wait, Y/N—”

“Bye, Jungkook.”

The door slams shut behind you.

“How many finals do you still have left? You finished your movie, right?”

Ruby is stirring herself a cup of earl grey tea as she sits down on the couch next to you, where you’re very obviously sulking as you scroll through the Feel Good Rom-Coms category on Netflix.

“I just have a couple essays and a presentation,” you mumble out. “You?”

“Ugh, I still have all of my final exams to take,” Ruby tells you with a thick, heavy sigh. Clearly, she doesn't feel like talking about them now. Or at all. “The life of a biology major.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wants to be a doctor, not me,” you remind her crudely. “You better know your shit, or I’m never taking my kids to your practice.”

“Rude,” Ruby says. “There goes my family and friends discount offer.”

You laugh to yourself, a small smile inching its way across your lips. Ruby’s always known how to brighten your day, even when you feel like absolute shit.

“What are we watching, hmm? I’m cool with anything.”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, flicking through all of the rom-com options and feeling very unhappy with all of them. “I feel like you’ve seen all of these.”

“Yeah,” Ruby says. “Whenever I’m not studying, I’m watching Netflix or The Bachelor.”

You nod. Maybe you’ll just settle on some old NCIS reruns and call it a night.

“Oh!” Ruby exclaims suddenly, a lightbulb going off above her head. “How about we watch your movie? The rom-com you did with Jungkook! I haven’t seen it yet.”

“I don’t know…” You begin, the mere thought putting a bad taste in your mouth. For obvious reasons.

“Come on, please? I really want to see it, you were so excited about it,” Ruby begs, getting all antsy as she climbs all over you, literally pulling your arm to get you to cave in. “It’s short, too, isn’t it? Like forty-five minutes long? We can watch whatever you want afterwards. Please.”

You huff out a breath. If it were up to you, you would move that film onto a flash drive and toss it into a dumpster on fire. But it’s not just up to you. Ruby has been asking you about it since the day you told her you were filming it, and now all she wants to do is see the final result. And it’s only forty-five minutes long. What’s that when compared to the rest of your life?

“Fine,” you relent, not wanting to fight about it any longer. “Let me get my computer.”

Ruby cheers.

You bring your laptop over to your coffee table, turning off the ceiling lights as Ruby tucks herself underneath a blanket, hands warmed by her steaming cup of tea. You pull up the movie file and, taking a deep breath, press play.

It opens with your first interview with Taehyung, a muted, royalty-free lo-fi hip-hop song playing in the background. You had edited it so that it would jump back and forth between your answer and Jungkook’s, highlighting the contrast between the two of you. It was mostly for comedic purposes, just because seeing you deadpan about how love doesn’t exist and then quickly switching to Jungkook wax poetic about it is amusing, but watching it now just makes you want to curl into yourself.

You should have known that this would have never worked out. Should have kept that same jaded attitude. You let your guard down for one second and look at what’s happened to you.

The next scene that Jungkook shows is, of course, the moment he spills burning hot coffee all over you in the middle of the Starbucks, comedically panning up to your positively-flabbergasted face just to add to the shock factor. Next to you, Ruby laughs at the mishap, obviously amused by the fact that the two of you are now drenched in coffee and scrambling to clean up the mess. You try to focus your energy on how peeved you were at Jungkook after he did that, but get distracted the moment he films himself wrapping his denim jacket around you, placing it over your shoulders and making sure it’s just right.

He didn’t have to do that, and the two of you both knew it. But still, he sent you off your class all bundled up in a jacket that smelled like him, smelled of that boyish aroma that you couldn’t get rid of, even when you put it in the wash with your lavender detergent. All of Jungkook’s clothes smelt like that no matter how much cologne he put on, always smelt woody and thick. It would consume you, that scent, a cloud surrounding your figure whenever you were near him.

The movie keeps playing, and you keep thinking about how much of a fool you must look like in it now, all giggles and smiles as Jungkook sings Frankie Valli to you while he hands you a rose, that same sly little smile dotting his features. Hearing the song again makes you feel like you’re choking, like something’s smothering you, and you’re not sure what it is until you realize that it’s the sound of Jungkook’s voice.

You haven’t heard him sing since he serenaded you.

Then it’s your first date, the one Ruby told you to wear the yellow dress to (“Hey, I told you you looked amazing in it! Wow!” Ruby exclaims when she sees you). You remember when you edited this, putting the clips together of you eating at the restaurant, wandering around the park, posing underneath the trees, holding hands. You were smiling so hard your cheeks hurt while you were editing, grinning from ear to ear at all of the things the two of you did together. They were so picturesque, those scenes, so perfectly shot, so romantici—t did a fine job of convincing you that it was all real.

You even put in the little clip of you and Taehyung talking. A mistake, now that you look back on it, of course. It was so vulnerable, so real, so candid and honest like you said you would be, and now it’s all blown up in your face. You must have looked like such an idiot to Jungkook when he saw this scene for the first time in class. You remember the wide-eyed look on his face when it popped up. Like he couldn’t even believe you had done this in the first place.

Scoffing, you shake your head. You either.

The rest of it you can hardly bear to watch. Just a wrap-up of your relationship, a compilation of all of the small moments you shared when you didn’t realize that Jungkook was filming, when you dared whip out your camera to shoot for a second or two. Little clips that jump from scene to scene, shots of you laughing and eating and skipping along campus as you held hands. It’s hard to reconcile the fact that it’s all over.

You don’t even listen to the final interview, not bothering to pay attention to what you or Jungkook have to say when you were there, when you can recall every word he’s ever spoken to you at the drop of a hat.

The truth is, you were always a goner for him.

And look how well that played out.

By the time the kissing scene comes up once more, you’re ready to set your whole laptop alight.

The screen turns black as it ends, fading away into nothingness, the instrumental slowly disappearing alongside the image. You shut your laptop when it’s all over, a little too angry for your own good, but you wrestle the scowl off your face as you take a drink of water from the glass sitting on the table.

“Wow,” Ruby says, speechless. She blinks at your closed laptop.

“Did you like it?”

“I—I don’t even know what to say,” Ruby says, which is a first. “It was amazing, Y/N. Seriously. Gorgeous. Like, cinematographically? Stunning. The shit on Netflix isn’t even as good as that.”

Even if you did have to sit through your stupid movie one more time, the compliments make you feel a bit better. “Thanks,” you murmur.

Ruby nods enthusiastically. “It was incredible. I’m just—I’m in awe. You and Jungkook have a gift, dude. It was seriously one of the best things I’ve watched in a really long time. And, like, not even in a cheesy, yucky rom-com kind of way. It was so… so genuine. So real. Wow.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“You’ll have to tell Jungkook, too,” Ruby says. “He did really well.”

“Yeah, he’s a great actor,” you say, a little too bitterly for your own good.

“What do you mean?” Ruby raises an eyebrow your way. “I didn’t think he was acting at all. It looked pretty real to me.”

You frown. “It did?”

“I mean, yeah,” Ruby says with an honest nod. “I mean, you did tell me it was a mockumentary and not just a run-of-the-mill rom-com. So wasn’t everything supposed to be real, anyway?”

“Yes…” you trail off, unsure of the direction of this conversation.

“Well, if you ask me,” Ruby says, all matter-of-factly, “I’d say he definitely fell in love with you.”

Something rushes through you. Something warm and bright and full of energy.

Hope.

Even though you have finished one of your finals early, finals week is still just as much of a slog as it always is. Three essays and two presentations deep, you aren’t finished any of them and the due dates are slowly creeping up on you, ready to pounce the moment the clock strikes twelve.

Eh, it could be worse. You could be Ruby and have six timed, proctored final exams on biology, anatomy, and chemistry. So you suppose you can’t complain too much.

Finals week sees you all holed up in your apartment like always, but more so this semester than any previous ones because you don’t feel like going to the library and risking seeing Jungkook there. Or anywhere, really. Since you presented on the last day of classes, you haven’t spoken since, and hopefully you can keep that streak going forever. You had made it until this semester without ever crossing paths despite being in the same major, so hopefully that luck will follow you.

It’s almost midnight when you finally decide to call it quits for the night, having at least gotten mostly through two of your essays (just have to edit and proofread!) and worked on about half of your two presentations. Sighing, you get up from your couch and stretch, feeling your bones crack from sitting in the same place for hours on end.

You lean over to the floor lamp by the edge of the couch, ready to flick it off and head to bed, when you hear something outside.

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

You freeze.

The voice is soft and mellow, a little muted because it’s making its way through your wooden door before it reaches your ears, but it is unrecognizable. Even without the acoustics of the Eighth Notes, you know who’s on the other side.

“You’d be like Heaven to touch…”

“I wanna hold you so much…”

“At long last, love has arrived…”

“And I thank God I’m alive…”

Unable to resist, you wander to your front door, basking in the sound of him, in the way the notes float through the air as if on clouds, dancing along the walls as they sink into your brain. He sounds so sweet, voice warm like tea on a cold night, just singing his song on this empty, lonely night. But it’s not just his song, is it?

It’s yours, too.

You pull open the door.

“You’re just too good to be true,” Jungkook sings, a honeyed melody that calms the waves of your stormy heart, “can’t take my eyes off of you…”

But just because he’s here, serenading you once more, doesn’t mean he’s going to get it any easier from you. You fight to keep the smile off your face, pressing your lips together as you narrow your eyes at him.

“I love you, baby, and if it’s quite alright, I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night…”

“I love you, baby, trust in me when I say…”

He meets your eyes with his own, and they aren’t glinting in the way they normally do, the way that they do when he knows he’s doing something to grind your gears, when he’s got a trick up his sleep. They gleam like pearls as the dim glow of your apartment lights up his figure, warm yellow mixing with the caramel in his irises.

“Oh, pretty baby, don’t bring me down, I pray…”

Oh, pretty baby, now that I’ve found you, stay…”

“And let me love you, baby…”

From behind him, Jungkook brings out a single red rose, twirling it between his fingers as he holds it out to you.

“Let me love you…” He trails off there, voice delicate as vanishes into the chilly night air, disappearing between the two of you.

You can’t help but take the flower from his hand. What else are you supposed to do?

“So?” Jungkook asks, hopeful.

“Don’t think you can just show up at my apartment and woo me back by singing to me,” you chide, even though he definitely can.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says simply, because there really is nothing else to say. “I should have told you.”

“I watched our rom-com again,” you tell him. “I should have believed you when you said you cared about me.”

“I always did,” Jungkook says. “I just wanted you to know that love was real, and that it was there for you.”

“I should have known,” you agree. You look up at Jungkook through lidded eyes, musing to yourself. “You know what I learned?”

Jungkook tilts his head in curiosity. “What?”

“That love isn’t a feeling. It’s a person,” you explain, sighing pleasantly. “Love comes to us through the things we share with other people. That’s what it is.” Your thumbs twiddle in front of you, the pads of your fingers rubbing at the stem of the rose.

He takes a single step forward, reaching out to take your hand in his own. “And are you pleased with who you’ve found?”

You roll your eyes. “Just shut up and kiss me already, you idiot.”

Jungkook obliges without a second thought.

There is no one to film you this time, no project to work on. There is only you, and there is only him. And there is only a lifetime that the two of you share, a story that you have told together, piece by piece, frame by frame. Your movie didn’t end once you finished editing. Nor did it end the moment the screen went black in Pollack’s class. It wasn’t even over when you watched it a second time with Ruby.

No, it continues on. Forever and ever, so long as you are with him. There will always be something new to capture, to burn into a disk so you’ll have it for eternity.

He pulls you in for a kiss and it’s not the end of the film. It’s the beginning of a brand new part, a new installment in the series that is your life with him. That is the relationship you have created together. His lips aren’t the fireworks as the credits roll. They are the scene where the two characters meet for the very first time and know that they were meant to be. The scene that sets all of the other ones in motion. That is who Jungkook is. That is what you are sharing, right now.

A brand new frame.

When you part, you press your forehead against his, soft blonde locks framing his face as they tickle your face, dancing along the skin of your cheeks.

“You called it a rom-com,” Jungkook points out randomly, just remembering now.

“Well, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know…” Jungkook says, pretending to think about it as he rocks on the back of his feet. “Did it have a happy ending?”

You bring your lips to his once more, arms wrapped around his neck as you clasp the rose between your fingers. You make a mental note to press it later. Something else to remember him by. Something other than your movie.

Jungkook pulls you into him once more, hands resting firmly on your waist, letting his body press against yours as you stand there in the muted light of your apartment’s living room, letting the cool spring breeze wash over you. You smile against his lips, feeling your heart race when he grins back.

“Yes,” you declare proudly.

And so, they lived happily ever after.

↳ thanks for reading! don’t forget to let me know if you enjoyed it!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #jungkook college au #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #w: the art of the rom com #dudes this fic is so long my keyboard is lagging HAHAHA

4K notes · View notes

slightlymore · 3 years

Text

hardest to love

part of the ‘soulmates collection’

surgeon!doyoung x surgeon!fem reader

others: haechan, jaemin, jeno

genre: medical au (but the medical part is not heavy), romance, angst, smut, fantasy elements, “enemies” to lovers, mutual pining

warnings: +18, esplicit sexual content: doyoung is a hard dom and a soft dom in different scenes, short instances of sub doyoung, finger sucking (I know, I have a hand kink), spanking, raw, ice play, fingering, dry humping, thigh riding, choking, use of "sir", orgasm control and denial, edging, overstimulation, light degradation, oral f, brat taming, safe word, wine play?; lots of teasing; swearing; discussion around death; doyoung is a jerk but gets better

words: 13k

note: you can read this as a stand alone without having read the other works in the soulmate collection. what you need to know: haechan, jeno and jaemin travel different universes with the purpose of getting doyoung and yn be together. mark is trying to do the opposite. sometimes doyoung can remember past lives and sometimes he can't. this life takes place in a hospital. if you're confused by the three boys’ story everything will be explained in their backstory fics coming soon.

__________

Haechan let out a single deep sigh.

“Damn it. Doyoung is a fucking jerk in this life.”

The three young men were standing in the corner of the room watching two students trembling mortified in front of a pissed off Doyoung before he could turn around on his heels.

“I thought he was a jerk in all lives,” Jeno commented while dusting off imaginary lice off his jacket.

"I’ll be honest. When you said 'hell' I didn't expect the ER."

“Well have you ever been to-” Haechan continued but stopped when noticing Jeno not listening to him anymore but observing their third friend instead.

“Hey, Jaemin?” Jeno put one hand on his shoulder.

Jaemin was weak and paler than usual, eyes wide and with a slightly trembling chin. He then followed the direction of the younger gaze and gasped himself.

“Yeah,” Haechan grated the back of his head. “I’m sorry. I told you this one is going to be hard.”

Jaemin gulped, looking at himself walking around the bed and checking on the patients.

That Jaemin looked exactly like him.

The only difference was the clothes. That doppelganger had a doctor gown instead of a sweatshirt.

“How is this possible? I don’t understand how I can be here and there at the same time.”

Haechan sighed at Jaemin’s comment.

“You could consider it time travel. Now, listen to me.”

Jaemin let himself be grabbed by Haechan’s hands, pressing on both of his arms and looked at the other’s intense eyes.

“You have to avoid yourself while we work and-,” he stopped as if making sure to have Jaemin’s whole attention, “-you can’t talk to her.”

As if Haechan’s voice was a spell that summons people, Jaemin raised his gaze from him to look behind Haechan’s shoulder where a woman was slowly walking the corridor, eyebrows furrowed trying to understand the medical records she was carrying.

“Shit,” Haechan silently cursed and, placing one hand on Jaemin’s cheek, he indicated to keep quiet by putting one finger on his own lips.

If Jaemin weren’t so weak in the limbs upon seeing her, he would have felt the tingle on his skin coming from Haechan’s palm, or he would have realized that the woman walked past them as if they were all invisible.

Jeno, arms crossed on his chest, followed the woman with his eyes then nodded once as to indicate that the path was clear.

“Why can’t I talk to her?”

Jaemin’s head wanted to turn around and catch another glimpse but Haechan didn’t move his hand from his face yet.

“You might, I promise. But only when I say so.”

“Haechan and I can shapeshift and become invisible but you can’t and we won’t be around to babysit you all the time. Do your part and stay out of trouble.”

"You look mean,” Jaemin mumbled.

"I am. Now move."

__________

A breath.

A deep and heavy breath.

He was hearing it inside his skull. His own irregular breath inside his own skull.

Then a loud ringing suffocated every other sound in Doyoung’s ears. Like tinnitus, he thought, so used to elaborate information by classifying it into boxes.

The man was looking at his hands as if they were not his, fingers gripping the defibrillator pads, watching how the chest underneath them rose and fell.

Again.

And again.

A machine. The defibrillator and Doyoung.

And that body as well.

But it was too broken to be fixed.

And when he barely heard the nurse’s question he straightened his back. “Time of death,” he inhaled, his hands now uncovering the wristwatch, “2:41 am,” he exhaled.

__________

Doyoung felt it inside his hands, under the skin.

It was uncomfortable.

He looked at his left palm and wished it trembled.

"A surgeon," the announcement came in the form of a hard pat on the shoulders.

Doyoung blinked surprised and put his glasses back up on the nose.

"Great hands," the professor shook them with vigour, his eyes wide open and intense. "Steady," the old man continued his litany of compliments.

Doyoung let him wiggle his arms for a few more seconds before sighing as another student grabbed the professor's attention.

The young boy looked down at his hands as well after the man turned his back.

His eyes scanned every line in his palms as if seeing them for the first time.

"Those hands will do big things in the future" and Doyoung now, shoulders heavy, moist fringe patted on his forehead in the humidity of the terrace, felt like cutting his hands off.

Yes. Big things.

Like playing with life and death.

Didn't you just kill a man? he asked his hands, lower lip trembling instead of his steady fingers. Huh? and you're fine?

Doyoung tightened his fists with disgust and punched the air while letting them fall with force to his sides.

The rain intensified and he stepped in the front further until feeling the cold and heavy drops hit his face. Their sound was chaotic and it calmed Doyoung's heart.

Again.

I can do it again. I've done it before.

I do it again.

I can get over it.

He opened up his hands under the rain until he started to not feel his fingertips anymore.

Then he walked back inside the hospital.

__________

When you had to deal with the first dying patient, you were paralyzed.

It was very early in the morning. Your head was still full of the dreams you had just a while ago. Your heart was full of life and excitement for finally being able to work in the field.

"Get your shit together."

That voice startled you.

Doctor Kim, the most ruthless and cold person you've ever met, was your supervisor as an intern.

You looked up at him and caught his dark eyes on that spectrally pale face.

You just moved. You had no idea what you were doing. Terrified, you let your body work automatically.

Doctor Kim was calm and efficient while your whole mind felt out of place.

Oh, God. Oh God, please.

And when his voice finally reached your ears as if from far away you sunk down on your knees.

"Good job everyone."

The kindest thing he has ever said to his interns.

The other vaguely kind thing was his introductory discourse.

"I know that interning at the ER is dreadful, but that's life."

He was staring you all down, a short line of fresh out of med school trembling kids, no one having the courage to meet his eyes.

"You have to be ready to see all sorts of things here. Okay, let's go."

And that was it.

The encouragement of his introductory discourse.

You'll feel like shit here, welcome.

You hated him and you swore to yourself that you won’t behave the same.

Ever.

He was like a souless machine, walking around and tending to his duties. Lost in thoughts as your eyes scanned his figure walking busily around the hospital, you actually wondered if he had feelings at all.

The first time you saw Doctor Kim actually show some type of sentiment, was when he exited the surgery room one day.

You were walking around with the others and checking on the patients when he walked through the corridor like a storm. It was unclear what type of feeling that was but it made you unable to stop staring at his side of the face and back as he entered his office.

The anaesthetist came out soon after, slowly and sighing deeply.

And then you understood.

You've lived many of those days afterwards until you had to welcome your own row of interns.

You smiled and did a nice short welcoming discourse.

And at that moment you, unfortunately, got what Doctor Kim meant when he was brusque with you in the beginning.

It took you all three years of residency to finally get it: there were no actual right words to tell the students and there was no point in giving fake hope that everything is going to be alright.

Still, there was no point in being a rude ass like him. So you at least smiled kindly and encouraged your students.

God knew they needed it even more now.

You've never spoken much to Doctor Kim besides what was needed or the routine good morning sir and the short morning he would answer with.

So it was strange that on the first day of your career as a real surgeon, after your hands and those of Doctor Kim near each other worked, barely moving, his muffled voice ordering the tools, your muffled voice doing the same, you hugged him.

You hugged him that day for no reason besides the overwhelming feeling of being alive.

Doctor Kim, after every surgery, good or bad, would always walk out on the terrace.

You followed him that night and stopped behind his frame. You had to talk to someone about what just happened and he was the only one who might understand.

He was facing the city lights and the wind breeze ruffled his hair. He didn’t care to push it off his forehead.

"You did well today," he said quietly without looking at you.

Oh, you blinked fast.

Your first surgery was a success but your heart was beating so fast that you couldn't understand your feelings.

Were you happy? Were you about to cry? Did you want to scream and jump? What did you want?

But Doyoung just complimented you.

So again, you let your body work automatically and you looked at yourself, as if going through depersonalization, timid feet filling the space between you and Doctor Kim, your hands touching his waist and going around it until meeting each other on his stomach. You placed your head on his shoulders and closed your eyes.

"I was so scared," you whispered.

Doctor Kim's body was stiff, no reaction from his posture, no words coming from his mouth.

Was he shocked? Was he wondering what the hell were you doing? Was he about to tell you to get your shit together again like that first time three years prior?

But he didn’t do any of these things.

He sighed once and you imagined him closing his eyes and enjoying the warmth of your body.

Even if for a moment. Even if it was all in your head and he actually hated it.

Then he took a step forward and you had to let him go.

And when he turned around and placed one palm on your shoulder without looking at you in the face, you remained alone on the terrace, breathing the cold air deeply and longing for his hands to hold you a little longer.

__________

Doyoung didn't speak to you again after that night.

Nor did he look at you once.

While you found yourself staring at his nape every time he walked around. Or turning your head as if following the trail he left behind.

You couldn’t wear perfume in the hospital but it was as if Doyoung did because he’d pull your senses towards him by something invisible.

As if that first touch you shared connected you to him in obscure ways.

“Here’s the coffee that you asked for, sir.” You entered his office after his dry “come in”.

His expression was priceless and for a moment you felt the urge to look behind you and see if there were a ghost scaring him.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Bringing you the coffee?”

“I asked a student to do it, not you. You’re a surgeon.”

Your lips were dangerously trying to form a smile while you placed the coffee on his desk.

“Why does it matter? I am free while those students are busy learning how to be doctors.”

“You think that just because you hugged me once when you were emotionally unstable, now we’re friends?”

That question was so sudden and cold to make you snap your head upwards.

His eyes were darker than usual and you almost gulped.

“No, sir.”

Your voice came out as a tiny exhale and if he felt sorry for his sudden and out of place tone, you couldn't see it on his face at all.

"I was just being friendly as all colleagues would," you added a new note to your own tone, trying to perhaps make him feel guilty.

"You can give me up."

His reply shut you up and you furrowed your eyebrows. “What?”

"I'm saying," he spoke slowly, "that I don't want to be friendly with you. Now, please leave."

________

"I'm going to fucking kill him!" you threw your head back to drink your espresso shot as if it was alcohol and slammed the paper cup back on the counter.

Jaemin sighed pouring sugar into his coffee.

"Why did you even try? He's a jerk."

The man sipped on his drink slowly, the warmth of it misting his glasses.

“I just-” you huffed, crossing your arms on your chest. “We’re colleagues. It made sense for him to be a piece of shit with us when we were interns but now? ‘I don’t want to be friendly with you’” you mocked his deep voice. “Who the fuck does he think he is? I swear I’ll accidentally stab him with a knife!”

“Hm. Do you like him?” Jaemin asked with an unimpressed tone.

You almost grabbed the coffee from Jaemin’s hands and threw it in his face.

“Are you insane? What does that mean? Why would I like him? Kim Doyoung? Me-” you pressed your index on your chest, “liking that asshole? I hate his guts! I can’t believe you said something like this! What’s to like about him?”

Jaemin felt his fringe move around his forehead at your intense voice as if it were wind.

“No need to get so worked up about it. You’re just talking so often about him lately. Also, he’s objectively good looking. He’s also smart. I understand.”

“He’s the ugliest man I’ve ever laid my eyes on! And he’s an idiot! And I don’t talk about him! I have no idea what you’re all about.”

Jaemin rolled his eyes and finished the drink.

“Talking of ugly. What’s that shirt you’re wearing?” you asked.

The man’s head snapped down to look at it. “What’s wrong with it?”

You chuckled once. “Where did you buy it?”

“It’s a normal Polo.”

You laughed even harder. “A Polo you say? And what’s that? A knock off Holo?”

“What’s Holo?”

Jaemin’s face was genuinely confused and it amused you even more.

“Are you getting enough sleep? You’ve been acting weird lately.”

“Or,” he relaxed his expression, lifting one index up, “I come from an alternate universe.”

You chuckled once and hit his shoulder lightly as a greeting, liking his new joking side. “See you later then, alternate universe Jaemin.”

__________

Doyoung wanted to hit his head on the desk.

Your expression, hurt and shocked because of his stupid remarks made his heart tingle in a very uncomfortable way.

One thing was being severe and one thing was being rude for no reason at all.

But the thing is that you were everywhere and he hated it.

Doyoung hated that you were trying to get under his skin.

Like a scent. Like some kind of drug.

He’d scrub his hands and forearms even harder before going inside the surgery room as if with the water and soap he could get rid of the feeling of your arms around his torso under the rain too.

What were you even thinking? Asking for reassurance? From him? Reassurance from the most hated man in the whole hospital? What did you even expect? Why would you even try?

What a reckless person.

He noticed it the first time he saw you as well.

Eyes wide with curiosity and surprise, looking around the ER like it was the best place in the world. Doyoung hated your happiness but he also hated the fact that he would have to assist that light slowly die out with time.

Or at least he thought that would happen.

Days after days, months after months, he paid attention like a scientist looking at his object of study, taking mental notes and registering results. Doyoung would jolt with secret joy when his theories would reveal themselves to be true but then, like a rollercoaster, he’d feel weighed down with grief seeing you in the same state as his one.

Until he didn’t know what to desire to see anymore.

Until one day he lifted his eyes, head full of a soliloquy towards you. “How are you today? Tell me you got better. Tell me you still have your light because no one needs too many black holes in here.”

Until he realized that he couldn’t remember anything about his life before you.

And when you hugged him that day, he felt proud. For your success and your light.

You were a star and he bathed into that warmth for a little before remembering he was still a black hole and black holes attract stars until engulfing them whole with no turning back.

_________

“Why are you always around?” he blinked annoyed.

You straightened your gown that shifted after bumping into him and sighed loudly.

“In case you forgot, I work here.”

Doyoung sighed.

“This is the farthest yard from where you’re always playing with your friends.”

“I had business coming here.”

“What business?”

“That’s my business.”

Doyoung’s corner of the mouth twitched.

“It’s our business.”

“Are you a communist?” you placed your hands on your hips, tilting your head to the side.

“I’m your superior. What are you doing here?”

A few nurses whispered passing you by and you cleared your throat, trying to relax your face muscles. Doyoung rolled his eyes once upon seeing your new fake cordial expression.

“Apparently I’m doing such a good job that Mr Jung wanted to compliment me,” you raised your chin.

“Mr Jung?”

“Yes.”

His nostrils widened as if he had too much air to inhale and didn’t have time to get it little by little.

“He doesn’t just summon people to compliment them. Stay away from him.”

You scoffed incredulously at his innuendo.

“Are you hearing yourself?”

“Very well. Get back to work now.”

“Are you perhaps jealous?” the words slipped from your mouth before you could stop yourself.

But Doyoung, to your biggest surprise, smirked a little, lifting his eyebrows once.

“And if I were?” he asked, then walked around you, leaving you still for long moments in the corner of the corridor before being able to walk again.

_________

“And then he said, “and if I were?”

Jaemin gulped his food and chuckled. “I can’t imagine that.”

“I know right? Was he crazy?” you asked with your mouth full, swinging your knife.

“Maybe the director does have eyes on you. And-” he leaned in mischievously, avoiding your cutlery, “that’s why he acts as if he hates you. Because he has feelings for you.”

You chuckled nervously.

“He hates you too!”

“He doesn’t even know I exist,” Jaemin shrugged.

“Hey, Jaemin.”

“Like once I asked him something and he thought I was a patient and when I said that I’m actually-”

“Jaemin! I’m pretty sure I’ve just seen someone looking like you pass that door just now.”

The young man turned around quickly, right in time to see himself exit the food hall.

“Damn,” he laughed for a few moments. “Someone else copied my hairstyle. I guess I’m not that unnoticeable as I thought.”

You opened your mouth to comment on that since you were pretty sure it wasn’t only the hairstyle that the man copied when Doyoung approached your table like a storm scaring the shit out of you.

“What is it now?” he asked, eyes piercing through you.

You let out a long “uhhh” before talking, staring him up and down.

“Are you talking to me?”

Doyoung scoffed then sighed. “A doctor told me you were urgently looking for me.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Who?”

“Do I look like someone who knows people’s names?”

Jaemin shook his head.

“Well, I don’t need you,” you let him know.

Doyoung sighed again and the long look you exchanged made Jaemin awkwardly chuckle once.

“You can sit down with us for lunch, sir,” he offered and you inhaled sharply, kicking his leg under the table.

Doyoung looked firstly at you then at Jaemin then at you again as if not believing he was actually talking to people like you.

But the tray in his hands was getting heavy and there were no other empty tables.

He walked around Jaemin and sat down near him.

Then he rolled his sleeves and started to eat in silence.

But only for a moment.

“What?” he asked as you were both staring at him with hanging open mouths.

“It’s our first time seeing you eat,” you whispered.

Doyoung gulped the food. “I’m putting on a show for you guys. I’m a vampire that doesn’t need food.”

“See!” you hit Jaemin’s hand as if catching his attention. “He’s making jokes!”

Jaemin leaned back in his chair as if a little afraid.

“So you talk about me instead of working,” Doyoung commented.

His eyes were on you and you suddenly realized what you’ve just said.

“No,” you quickly grabbed your glass and sipped the water.

Doyoung looked at Jaemin and the young man secretly nodded a little.

And for the first time in years, you saw Doyoung smile.

Like a full-on smile. A big open smile with all the teeth out.

You blinked fast and before realizing your own lips were stretched in a smile too.

He was breathtaking.

You wanted to run away but also crash into him. You were at the top of the world and down in the dumps.

__________

The grunt you let out after hitting a hard surface resonated in the whole hallway.

For the second time.

"You are always where you shouldn't be."

You lifted your pained eyes while massaging your shoulder just to see Doyoung do the same.

"Where am I and where am I supposed to be then?" you asked.

"Around me and you should be far away from me."

"And if I say that I'm doing it on purpose?"

Doyoung's pupils trembled.

"To make you mad," you explained, the little smile creeping on your lips making him tighten his.

“You’re trying to make me mad?”

In your head, all of the conversations you would have with Doyoung sounded fun and risky in a good way.

In reality, you realized, it was so overwhelming that you felt your limbs shake.

“I’m joking, sir.” His intense eyes made you look over the windows.

“You don’t like to look at me in the eyes?” his voice was mellifluous just as his movements, getting slowly closer to you.

“Your eyes make me uneasy,” you replied honestly.

Doyoung tilted his head to the side, curious, inviting you to say more. You looked at him again.

“As if they don’t know fear,” your voice was tiny.

A little smile curved the man’s lips. “Oh, but they know what fear is.”

“And what is that?”

“What you’re feeling right now.”

"I am not afraid," you whispered.

"Then why are you stepping back?"

“I am not stepping back.”

Yet the air got softly knocked out of your lungs as you felt the wall on your shoulder blades.

Doyoung didn't reply and just got as close as to lightly brush your lower lip with his knuckle.

"You're cute when you pout," he whispered, eyes smiley under the strands fallen from his styled fringe.

You opened your mouth to talk but he walked away, leaving you alone and with an abnormally beating heart.

Again.

__________

If Doyoung’s newly humorous side was something interesting to share with Jaemin, his newly flirtatious side was something you felt the need to keep a secret.

Heated up, you walked the corridors like a storm.

Kim Doyoung?

Did your body really react that way towards Kim Doyoung?

Pulse throbbing in places you didn’t want to think of?

Because of Kim Doyoung?

Face buried in your wet hands, the cold water running in the sink, you imagined telling this to your younger self.

Then you lifted your head and turned it off, raising your gaze to look at your dilated pupils in the bathroom mirror.

_________

Doyoung didn’t care about people much.

Hours upon hours of surgery, he only needed to see his colleagues’ hands and hear their breaths while desperately trying to save yet another life. How they looked without the caps and masks was not something of interest to him, especially knowing superfluous details like their names.

Yet, when he briefly noticed the eyes of the second surgeon entering the room, Doyoung furrowed his eyebrows.

Those were not your eyes and those were definitely not your hands in the latex gloves.

And for the first time, he needed to know who that person was.

“I’m Lee,” the man whispered.

“I didn’t know you were on schedule today.”

“Yeah, heard about it last minute as well.”

Were you avoiding him?

If Doyoung’s body could show tremor, he’d had trembling legs under the desk he sat at after the surgery, and if he’d had the habit to bite his nails, he’d be ferociously eating them by now.

Unfortunately, he was stoically sitting in his office, elbows pressed into the hard iron surface, veins missing adrenaline but aggravated eyes.

Walking the corridors while people took a step back to make him pass, looking away when he’d look at them and whispering angrily behind his back, was a bliss.

The protection shielded Doyoung like a fuzzy blanket even if it sometimes felt itchy at night when he found himself the most lonely.

So when you did the same, passing him by as if hating him, he surprised himself at the sudden discomfort. Especially after

well,

after that.

He wasn’t sure himself what it was but it must have been something if it made you uncomfortable enough to not show up to a surgery.

He lifted the corner of his blanket for a moment and he fucked up.

__________

“Y/N.”

You stopped in place.

And so did most people around you.

Many found Doyoung scary but also interesting to observe when his spite wasn’t directed at them.

What did she do? you could almost hear the whispery words passing from ear to ear, amused voices, grateful for not being in your place.

“See me in my office,” Doyoung ordered after you slowly turned around.

His voice was low and no one could have heard it if the whole yard didn’t just collectively hold its breath.

“Yes, sir.”

“You all are surely not working enough if you have time to be useless,” his voice sounded louder and clean all of a sudden. “Do you want some hours assigned?”

Like a spell, everyone looked around and the buzz filled your ears back, leaving yourself and Doyoung the only still figures.

Then he moved as well, the swoosh of his cloak touching your hand when he passed near you.

You inhaled deeply and followed him.

_________

“I am sorry.”

You wished you’d accepted his offer to sit down because that single sentence floored you.

“For what?” you asked with a tiny voice.

“I know I often say things that I don’t mean. And I know that I might have made you feel uncomfortable. So I apologize.”

His eyes were round and filled to the brim with such sincerity to make you swallow hard.

“You don’t have to apologize. It was necessary to make me who I am,” you minimized.

Doyoung looked away for a brief moment. “I mean the corridor incident.”

You blinked at him.

“I made a mistake,” he added.

The first thing that came to mind was the urge to use that to your advantage.

Scold him. Make him feel guilty.

Kim Doyoung making a mistake.

Exhilarating.

The power suddenly surging in your veins went to your head so you suppressed the smile that so desperately wanted to bloom on your lips.

“Yes.”

His expression darkened even more at your reply and his adam apple moved as he swallowed. He actually hoped it wasn’t the case.

“I’ll make sure to keep the surgery schedules separated so you won’t feel uncomfortable working with me. You could have asked me first though before changing it yourself.”

The excitement died out with these words.

“What are you talking about?”

“Thursday’s surgery.”

“I was told you appointed another person yourself.”

“I did not.”

“Well, I didn’t either.”

“So-”

“It’s not like I’m trying to avoid you, no. But if you-”

“I’m not trying to avoid you either. But you said I made you uncomfortable, so-”

“I was messing with you.”

He finally went silent.

“You looked so guilty that I wanted to get a little revenge,” your voice came out a timid whisper.

Doyoung sighed, closing his eyes a little, then he stood up.

“Did I seriously cause you that much pain all of this time?” he walked towards you as if actually concerned.

“You made me cry almost every day.”

He opened his mouth like a fish before closing it. The shocking confession made him lift one hand to cup your face.

You both looked at it with fluttering eyes as if it wasn’t his.

He tried to put it away quickly but you pressed your palm on it to keep it in place.

“I’m joking. I only cried a few times.”

Doyoung’s pupils danced around just like his brain trying to process the information you were giving him. His face, confused and not knowing anymore what was a joke and what wasn’t, amused you a lot.

“I’m sorry I’ve been harsh. I’ve been-”

“A jerk.”

He gulped, his thumb slowly brushing your cheekbone.

That little gesture made you close your eyes for a moment. And when you opened them, you just leaned in and placed a quick and chaste kiss on his closed lips.

“If the corridor thing was a mistake for you, I just did one too. Don’t be too hard on yourself. We can pretend nothing of this happened."

You let his hand go and moved to take a step back just to feel his hold on your face tighten.

Pulling you towards him again, he added the second hand.

His lips were not closed anymore, but very much open to welcome your lower lip between them.

Your hands flew to his hair and pulled him towards you too. He hummed and you whined. And when you both needed air, you let yourselves go, panting against each other’s lips.

A little smile curved your lips, eyes unable to look up. Fingers on his neck, you let them slowly descend to his chest and you took a step back.

You took your lower lip inside your mouth for a moment, as if still trying to taste him and walked a few steps back.

Doyoung followed you, unable to let your body go until you touched the door. His eyes were blown out and he kissed the corner of your mouth again, and again, and again, until kissing you fully on the lips for the second time. Hands on the glass behind your head, you heard his nails grating at it slowly as you let your tongue twirl with his. Then you breathed out and he couldn’t do anything else than just moving his arms away for you to slowly open the door and leave in silence.

After the door closed, Doyoung pressed his forehead on the cold window.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, the fuzzy blanket he carefully wrapped himself with all of those years slowly slipping away to his feet.

__________

It didn't surprise you to see Doyoung pretend nothing happened between you as you passed each other in the corridors.

But his avoidance felt weirder than usual, even to external eyes, as if something happened indeed and he tried so hard to conceal it.

"Perhaps it's the 5th coffee talking right now, but doesn't Doyoung look weird?"

Jaemin asked lazily as he rested his body on one elbow placed on the little resting room counter. Said man passed in front of the open door and the furtive look he took of you was interesting enough for someone bored like Jaemin to notice.

You shrugged, quickly stirring the sugar in your own coffee.

"Hm?" your friend smiled at your silence, getting closer.

You sipped the drink.

"Hmmm?" Jaemin put his face into yours.

"Oh my God, get away," you tried to push him away.

"You had sex."

You spat the little coffee you still had on your mouth. Jaemin giggled and took a step back before it could land on his own.

"We did not have sex! What's wrong with you?"

"Okay. So you at least kissed," he looked up to you under his wiggly eyebrows as he handed you a few napkins.

"We-," you wanted to deny but your lips formed a frustrated smile instead. "Shit. I can't believe it either."

"Wow."

"He was- so delicate," you murmured.

Jaemin winced amused.

"But also intense you know? Like it felt-"

"Okay wait. I didn't ask for a full-on description," he made a puking expression at you.

You lightly hit his arm.

"I was just so surprised. I've never seen this side of him."

"Him liking people?" Jaemin giggled. “Yeah. That’s weird.”

__________

"So it's done. We're done. Let’s get the fuck out of here. Seeing myself around is creeping me out."

Haechan sighed, rolling around in his chair. "Not so quickly. They only kissed."

Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows.

"They have to confess," Jeno explained with a sleepy voice, sprawled on his own chair.

"But they love each other."

"They have to say the words."

Jaemin put his hands on the hips. "That's so stupid."

“Tell this to Doyoung. This is what he wrote in the contract,” Haechan mumbled amused, patting his chest where the Book was snuggly packed near his heart.

Jaemin grabbed another chair and sat backwards on it, resting his chin on the folded arms.

“So you know the job is done when they confess? What if they break up afterwards?”

“It has never happened before.”

“And what if it does happen?”

Jeno opened one eye. “Don’t manifest doom.”

“I’d probably have to come back and get them together again,” Haechan replied.

“I still don’t know why you’re doing this. Can’t you just recede from that contract?”

Haechan sat up properly and grabbed his water bottle. “And do what? Go back to the pits of hell?”

His eyes twinkled with mischief.

“I’ve never had this much fun in a very long time.”

__________

He brought it upon himself, he could admit that.

Ignoring you was more difficult than he anticipated and the first reaction he managed to put out when you talked back to him in front of all of the other surgeons was his usual skin cutting one.

You didn’t like it, he could see it.

You’ve never liked it and, honestly, Doyoung could not think of a single person that enjoyed being on the other side of his table.

Perhaps you were getting a little comfortable with him though because you leaned back in your chair and smiled. As if for once he couldn’t get to you.

It made him even more eager to scratch that nonchalance.

So he did.

Until the meeting was over and he got back to his office with a weird sensation on his shoulders. It somehow tasted like defeat.

And when you opened his door with a loud bang and got in, he inhaled and took a few steps back, imitating the steps you took forward.

You pushed him down on the chair, your gazes mixed together just like your breaths as you leaned down.

Only the sheer anticipation of you touching him made him lose his mind a little.

One hand on his thigh and the other going down from his lips to his extended neck and chest, dragging your nail on his shirt until reaching his stomach and belt.

Then you hit one of his feet to the side with yours, making him open his legs even wider.

He jolted and you could visibly see the way his breath stopped for a moment.

"I don't think someone else tried to put you in your place before."

Your voice was dark and his eyelids fluttered before his pupils could fall on the way your palm brushed his crotch. It twitched under his dress pants and he inhaled deeply.

"Unfortunately, it has to be me."

"We're at work-," he tried to speak but the words died in his throat as you cupped his balls.

"Sorry? Didn't hear that."

"Shit Y/N-," Doyoung closed his eyes, jaw muscles tightening as you gently massaged him.

"Hmm, Doctor Kim is at a loss of words?"

You cooed, leaning down even more until almost brushing his lips with yours.

"So cold and composed while you spit venom all day. I really want to see you lose your mind for once."

He opened his eyes right when he started to pant lightly and you gulped upon seeing his dark gaze.

"You'll regret this."

"Can't wait to feel regretful."

"Be careful."

"Don't want to."

His smile grew suddenly wicked and it threw you off as he suddenly stood up, grabbing your wrists and pushing you gently backwards.

"You’ve been loving fighting with me lately. I think that you just need to get laid."

You smiled. "Do you want to help me with that?"

Doyoung scoffed once. "I can't stand you."

"Then sit down."

He put his tongue inside the cheek, staring at your raised chin.

Then his hands suddenly crept around you and grabbed your ass. They squeezed, pulling your hips towards his, making you pant and palm his chest in the meantime. Body pressing on his and his low voice buzzing into your ear made you light headed.

"Arguing with you turns me on so fucking much."

You gulped and noticed the way Doyoung’s eyes fell on your open mouth.

“This is a very pretty shade of lipstick. Makes me want to ruin it.”

His thumb opened up your shocked lips even more by tugging at the lower one, your eyes getting hazy from his expression cutting you in half.

“Suck.”

The order made your legs buckle a little. Your pupils trembled when you slowly let your tongue touch his fingertip. Doyoung got impatient and pushed it until it was all in. You fought the urge to gag and just whimpered, grabbing his shirt into your fists as he watched you hollow your cheeks on it.

“I’ve always wanted to make a mess out of you,” he murmured, his other hand cupping your face and feeling your jaw, going down to your neck and wrapping it into its warmth. You raised your face to give him more space and your hooded eyes trying to look at him as he pressed around your throat made him smirk.

“You like that?” he watched your squirming body trying to get closer to him. He took a step back and rested his hips on his desk, pulling at you until you felt his thigh between your legs.

“What a slut,” he took out his thumb and spread the saliva on it on your lips. “Bet you wanted to suck me off under the desk, didn’t you? Fuck your superior?”

You started to breathe through your mouth, the hand wrapped around your throat making it difficult for you to form any thoughts.

“Or you wanted me to bend you over it?” he murmured, eyes glazing over your breast, his free hand painting one line from your collarbones to the cleavage of it. And when he suddenly squeezed one, feeling its softness in his palm, you almost cried out and dug your fingers into his shoulders.

“Yes, sir.”

Doyoung’s corner of the lips lifted as if curiously surprised.

“And if I don’t do any of those things?” his eyes were on your face now and it made you want to hide away or just beg him to just please do all of those things.

“What are you going to do?” he asked again.

The pool of wetness inside your panties was so embarrassing that you pressed your forehead on his shoulder.

"Then just let me go," you whispered in a tiny voice.

"You're free to g-" he caressed your jaw with one thumb.

"No. I hate it," you went on, lifting your gaze on him, and he exchanged the look, slightly taken aback.

"I dream about you every night. It's not about sex, it has never been just about it. Everything about you makes me go crazy. I hate it and I want you to just let me go.”

Doyoung blinked and cupped your face with both hands.

You just breathed out, ignoring the little voice screaming inside your mind to shut up, palming the back of his hands with yours, suddenly unable to raise your eyes on him.

"I just can't understand and I hate being like this," you added after a quick gulp.

The man opened his lips and you noticed the way you started to breathe in unison.

"There's something so darkly attractive about you," the tiny sigh coming out of your lips made their way on Doyoung ones and he licked them once, his own breath warm on your skin.

"No matter how much I try to know you, there's something that escapes me. I can't pinpoint you and it keeps me up at night."

Doyoung gulped and his hands twitched as they palmed your arms, going down to your hips and pushing you down, gently.

You gasped silently, your core so swollen that the feeling of the friction of your bodies as you rubbed on him could have been enough to make you orgasm.

"Sir-," you found the force to talk but he took his tongue out and you just dove in, catching it inside your mouth and sucking on it the way you sucked on his finger. Your eagerness made his hold even tighter, guiding your body rolls, loving the way you squirmed in his arms.

When you pulled away to whine he raised one hand to bury in your hair.

"You haunt me too," he confessed. "Sometimes I feel so pulled towards you to make me question everything I know about myself."

Your eyes fluttered and your exposed throat looked so vulnerable in Doyoung's eyes to make him lean in and bite on it.

The little moans escaping your lips caressed his ears and when he licked the spots you shivered, your hips not stopping for a second.

It was intoxicating and you didn't dare to speak again but your thoughts were seeping through all of your pores.

"I want you to tell me what you want me to do," you whispered, words broken.

"Don't cum," Doyoung ordered and it snapped something in you.

Your breath grew irregular and he chuckled.

With a little groan, you forced your hips to still but he looked down and clicked his tongue, pushing his thigh upwards and making you bounce on it a few times.

"Don't stop."

"But you said-"

"Don't cum and don't stop."

"I can't last," you mewled, twitching against his body and he pouted.

"Baby girl can't keep that in?"

You shook your head, feeling all dizzy as his hands squeezed your asscheeks, making you rub against his leg again.

"But I said what I said. Are you going to be a bad girl?" he accompanied his last word with a harsh slap on your ass that made you inhale through your teeth.

"Sir- I am begging you."

His hand dropped under your skirt that moved to your thighs in a single movement, the coldness of it on your hot clit making you cry out.

He hummed amused, slowly pressing into you and circling your sensitive bud until your legs started to twitch.

"If you want to cum," he stopped, "you'll have to do whatever I say. Is this an agreement?"

You nodded quickly, so close to orgasm that you started to ride his fingers by yourself.

He retrieved his hand and pressed it on your stomach, making you step back until you barely could keep your balance.

"You know where I live, right?"

You nodded confused.

"See you later then," he smirked and gestured to leave the office.

You inhaled deeply, the arousal so high that you considered just finger fucking yourself in front of him.

"Cruel," you whispered.

"And you love it," was his amused reply.

__________

Timid feet in front of Doyoung's entrance door, you questioned if you actually lost your mind.

Were you really willing to go this far for a single orgasm?

Or multiple, you considered.

Okay. Well, perhaps it was all worth it in the end.

Your eyes darted upwards to take in the view of his house.

The windows were lit on the first floor and it looked like a place you'd love to spend your life in. It was too huge for a single person anyway.

When he opened the door after the ring announcing your arrival you didn't expect to see him in casual clothing. It looked so off that for a moment you couldn't speak, eyeing his feet in warm socks instead of rubber shoes.

Then you hit yourself in your mind. Of course, he won't wear his doctor gown at home.

"Good evening," you finally smiled and he eyed your body with a relaxed gaze, stopping when noticing the bottle of wine you carried in your hands.

“Good evening,” he gestured to you to come in and you walked the distance from the doorstep to the hallway. His hands draped your shoulders and you sighed when he took your wet coat away.

You put in a lot of effort in your appearance, choosing the right clothing and accessories.

And he put a lot of effort into arranging his house for you, lighting up the right candles, you noticed after he indicated a room to the left.

Yet all you wanted to see was him.

And all he wanted was to see was you naked.

Venturing in slowly, you turned around looking at what you figured out was the living room. With the corner of your eyes, you saw the grey of Doyoung’s sweatpants disappear upstairs and it suddenly got silent, safe for the crackle coming from the chimney and the hard rain hitting the windows. You took off your shoes and cautiously walked on the dark wine-coloured rug, close enough to warm yourself. A black glassy mirror was hung on the wall in front of you showcasing the pitiful state you were in because of the storm. Then you looked at the piles of books scattered around your feet placed down in a chaotic path leading to the velvet couches behind you as if someone read them while circling the room and suddenly let them fall on the ground when bored. You followed the spines with your gaze trying to figure out the language they were written in when two feet made their appearance in your peripheral vision, making you snap your head up.

He approached you with a little smile, getting closer and closer like a black cat.

New thick energy made it difficult for you to breathe too deeply so you resorted to short inhales and exhales especially after he stopped so close to you.

Doyoung's hands wrapped yours as he took the wine away and placed it on the coffee table on his left. Then he sighed and you found yourself shivering under his gaze.

"Take this off," he lightly felt your shirt's material with his fingertips.

What? You inhaled, mind buzzing at how easy it was this time. No dinner and fancy courtship?

He did look like someone that'd rather take you into seclusion and have you for himself as quickly as possible though.

With slightly trembling fingers that you'd never get in the surgery room, you started to unbutton your top. Doyoung tilted his head to the side with a little smirk as if enjoying the show.

And when you actually found yourself with only your bra on he smiled, even more, eyes grazing your skin slowly until you felt a heatwave shake your limbs.

“This too.”

He slowly touched the bra fabric and you gulped.

“Take it off yourself.”

Doyoung chuckled once and went around your torso, unclasping it with quick and expert fingers.

You jolted and you felt your eyelids flutter as it slowly fell down your arms.

Doyoung grabbed the front part of it and dragged it down to the floor, adding it to the weird maze of books making the eccentric design of his living room.

His eyes caressed your perked nipples and you tried hard to resist the urge to cover yourself.

“Pants,” he ordered and his voice was deeper than usual.

You wavered a moment and he lifted his eyebrows once. Do it.

You inhaled and slowly opened the zip.

He bit his lower lip when you bent down to discard the piece of clothing and when you straightened your back he hummed.

“Wear this,” he gently threw a piece of fabric towards you which you caught quickly. It was soft and it smelled like him.

He looked at it, then slowly raised his eyes to meet yours, not moving a single muscle.

You inhaled in again, trying to calm your nerves, desperately wanting to ignore the way he was dressed himself. A white and see-through shirt with the deepest neck you’ve ever seen, barely covering any of his chest. You barely could see his sweatpants as well, but his bare ankles were fully on display, just like his forearms that you could catch glimpses of as he absentmindedly revived the locks blocking his pupils with one hand.

A raw playfulness made his features even scarier in the dim lighting.

“I want you wet. But not from the rain,” he explained, eyeing your confusion.

“You could have just told me to change into it and end it there,” you mumbled, buttoning the shirt up. It was deep blue and oversized, short on your thighs but hiding whatever you had to hide.

“Why? Did you hate that I made you undress in front of me?”

“It was embarrassing to stand naked like that.”

You wanted to sound offended but the pout your lips formed on its own betrayed your secret amusement.

“Nothing that I won’t see up close soon.”

His voice was a whisper that forced you to look away. You wanted to reply but he turned around walking towards the kitchen.

"Besides, I made some spicy sauce. You don't want to spill it on your nice clothes."

“Who said I was going to spill food on myself? I have steady hands.”

You walked over him, taking the plates from his hold and placing them down on the dining table yourself.

You wanted to look unbothered by him just like he looked unbothered by you, but the truth was that you just had to do something to not feel that overwhelmed.

“You don’t,” he argued following you near the table.

You scoffed lifting your head to look at him. “Excuse you? I’m a surgeon.”

“Your hands don’t look like the hands of a surgeon when you’re around me.”

You scoffed.

“I think that the biggest thing in the world is your ego.”

“You haven't seen my-”

“Don’t say it.”

He closed his mouth as the little smile he had on kept lingering on his lips.

Domestic and flirty. It was getting to your head and you hadn’t had the opportunity to sip a single drop of alcohol yet.

As if reading your mind, he grabbed the bottle of wine you brought and fumbled slowly with the cap.

"That's my favourite shirt. And I want to fuck you in it."

The shivers that travelled down your spine almost made your body twitch and your hands stopped in mid-air as you were placing the cutlery.

He smiled at you when you looked at his expression.

His lips. His eyes and cheekbones. His skin under the lights.

Fuck. You really needed a drink.

And after he popped the bottle open with a loud sound that disrupted the silence, the red wine erupted out of it, dripping off his hand up to the wrist you had your drink right off his fingers.

Doyoung’s pupils trembled as you leaned in like a cat and his lips opened to breathe better seeing you lick the drops off his fingertips. Rested with his hips on the table, it creaked when you came forward, even more, hands pressed on his open thighs and reaching for his face. You finally caught his lips in yours and you let him taste the wine on your tongue.

It was rich and slightly sour, then it became sweet as only Doyoung’s taste remained lingering on his lips.

“Delicious,” he commented after the slow kiss. “You have good taste in wine.”

“And men.”

His expression was hidden under his long fringe but you could sense that he was smirking.

Then he raised his head a bit and had a gulp out of the bottle himself.

You had the first row to the show that his adam apple moving up and down gave you. Then your eyes naturally fell to his collarbones and bare chest, his white shirt barely covering anything.

Your fingers gently darted to his skin and you palmed it, then to his prominent collar bones, feeling the warmth of his chain around his neck.

He hummed, letting his head down to catch your hand with his lips. They kissed your fingertips then he finally dove in and let you taste his tongue again, hands quick to let the bottle go and grab your body instead.

Closer closer closer you needed him more and more.

“I need to feed you dinner first,” he grabbed your wrists as your hands tried to unbutton his shirt.

“If you won’t fuck me, I can find someone else to do it,” you whispered.

His eyes tightened and he exhaled once.

The movement was so quick that your head spun and the spank that arrived at your ass made you jolt on your toes before you could lean down on the table, fingers trying to grip the tablecloth.

“Yeah? I want to see you get fucked by someone else while my name spills out of your filthy mouth.”

His voice was raspy and it made you bite your lower lip, ass eager to push back and to rub against Doyoung's crotch. He hummed at your movements and lifted the shirt up to your waist, palming your skin and looking down at the way your ass cheeks engulfed your pretty lingerie. You strained your neck upwards at the feeling of his fingers slowly caressing your lower back, feeling the lace of your panties, then you whimpered as he grabbed the material and stretched it towards him before letting it go.

"You want this little hole all filled up, don't you?" he murmured, hand sliding between your thighs to rub on the soft and thin fabric. Your legs shifted in place at the sensation and you arched your back for more. The little 'Doyoung' making him exhale.

"And I thought you'd keep calling me sir."

You tried to turn your head towards him, wondering if his suddenly absent hand meant that he wanted you to actually call him that.

But then you saw that hand around you, reaching for the bucket of ice prepared for the wine on the table in front of you. And at that moment you realized that it was for you instead - his drink for the night.

The ice cube wetted his fingers when he took it out and he first placed it on your open lips. You sucked on it for a moment, the warmth of your skin already melting it, strands of water slowly descending on your chin and inside your cleavage.

"Say 'blue' and I'll stop," his voice was deep near your ear.

You nodded breathlessly and you shivered feeling his hand hover over your back.

And when you first felt it on your spine, your fingers independently grabbed the edge of the table. Then it went down and down, forcing goosebumps out of you.

Doyoung’s palm soothed your skin, warming it up before reaching to the front to grab at your hard nipples poking through the fabric. And when the cube reached your clothed core you mewled, lifting yourself on the tiptoes.

“Shit-shit-,” you curled your neck down, jolting under his touch, wanting more of it and running away at the same time.

Your panties were all wet and you were unsure if for the ice or your own body and when Doyoung took away the cube, giving you a break by gently pressing his own wet fingers between your lips you wished for the fabric to not be there anymore.

“More?” you whined, chest rising and falling at a crazy speed.

Doyoung snickered once, his hands grabbing your sides and turning you around.

Mind hazy, you didn’t have the time to wonder where the ice cube went, the only thought roaming your head being the need to pull him closer to you.

And you did just that, wrapping his waist with your thighs after he lifted you on the table with a thud, making all the cutlery and glasses jingle.

And you clasped your fingers into his hair while his hands roamed your naked body under his shirt.

It was when he pressed his cold, open lips on yours that you finally mewled, feeling the ice cube travel from his tongue to yours.

It got smaller and you sucked on it, giving it back, hearing him hum deeply into the kiss.

Then he broke it suddenly as if unable to control himself from kissing your neck instead, biting and sucking on your skin as hard as he did on the ice cube. You rolled it on your tongue until it became nothing, finally opening your lips to moan, feeling his cold touch on your breasts as his quick fingers unbuttoned the shirt.

The material of your panties grazed your legs at Doyoung’s rough pull. You watched them fly and land on the lamp behind him.

Then you felt his fingers finally rubbing your clit and you inhaled deeply. You were so horny that you were embarrassed to admit that just a few rubs would be able to throw you over the edge.

Doyoung saw it and from his expression, he was enjoying himself maybe too much.

“Come on love, cum for me,” he murmured on your open lips. You whined, nail digging into his shoulders and you shook your head.

“You’ve been begging me for an orgasm and now you want to be a brat about it?”

His hand worked quicker and when he inserted one of his long and slender fingers inside, you actually moaned loudly.

“Sir-” the title slipped from your shaking lips and he chuckled against your cheek, pushing another one and curling them both, pressing into you and trying to find the sweetest spots you had.

“Right here?” he whispered amused.

You start swearing, moulding his biceps under your tight grip, the table and everything on it shaking at the fast pace of Doyoung’s pumping.

And then it was too much and it overflowed.

The gasp you emitted made you fall forwards. Your arms wrapped Doyoung’s body tightly as you came in spasms, legs trying hard to meet each other around his wrist but pressing into his sides instead.

Doyoung let you whine a little bit more, hand slowing down but never stopping, fucking you through your orgasms as long as he could. Then your jaw got grabbed by his other hand and he lifted your face to meet his gaze. His eyes caressed your fucked up expression before kissing your lips.

"Good girl. I know you can give me another one."

You gripped his shoulders for dear life as Doyoung's fingers came back outside to desperately rub at your over-sensitive clit.

“Doyoung-Doyoung-” you writhed in his hold before he could slip away from your arms and fall on his knees.

You’ve gotten head before, but this time, maybe for the overstimulation or your secret feelings for that man, it felt like the first time ever.

Not knowing what to grab to steady yourself as his tongue danced in circles around your engorged clit, you buried your hands in his hair. His hands pressed into the softness of your thighs just as hard and when he raised his gaze up to look at you from underneath his messy fringe, you felt like falling.

And you almost fell when he resorted to quick short licks that drove you insane, making you cum for the second time in such a short time to make you lightheaded.

The single fuck got prolonged as much as the orgasm Doyoung gave you and when he started to kiss your inner thighs, coming up towards you, on your stomach, pressing his wet open lips on your skin until meeting your breasts, you were ready to admit that you were madly in love with him.

His kiss felt as if you were underwater, unable to breathe and understand space. You felt his arms around you and suddenly you felt weightless and he carried you around until you felt the velvet of the couches underneath you and his body pressed flushed on yours. His waist got automatically wrapped by your legs again as if that were their place and they weren’t aware of it before.

He slipped his hands on your hips, grabbing your ass hard as he murmured against your lips. “Are you going to be a brat with me again?”

His voice was calm but deep as if a storm was incoming, making your knees feel weak.

“Words,” he spoke again, pressing himself a little more between your legs.

You breathed out.

“I don’t know,” you managed to say before pushing him away. He fell to the side, grip softened mostly for the surprise than your strength.

“Are you going to be a brat to me?” you asked, straddling his lap and pressing your palms on his stomach, going up on his hot skin and lifting his shirt until he couldn’t do anything else than take it off.

Then his hands found their way on your skin too, unmercifully squeezing your soft breasts. He didn’t care to be gentle and lifting himself up he sucked on your skin so hard until it was almost painful. You wrapped your arms around his torso and threw your head back, stretching out your neck. He left bites all over it, travelling down, tightening his teeth grip around your nipples, making you pant softly.

“I don’t know,” he finally replied.

He looked at you from underneath his fringe and you smiled at each other. You caressed his stomach from below his belly button and going up until reaching his collarbones and he leaned back on his elbows to support his weight. He followed your hand going down on him then his eyes shifted their focus to watch how your pelvis started to move back and forth on his sweatpants, right on top of his hard cock.

“Mm,” he exhaled as finally getting some relief and you imitated him. You placed your hands on his shoulders and closed your eyes and Doyoung flexed his thigh muscles.

He was enjoying seeing you like that, vulnerable and whiny, needy and horny, while he did nothing to help you with it and leaving you desperate.

His eyes caressed your whole body, his lips parted slightly at the sight of your breasts bouncing softly, at how you were spreading yourself on him. You felt hot and plump, your thoughts were blurry and foggy.

"Look at you," he talked. “What a cute little slut.”

You replied with a whine, locking eyes with him but not being able to do that for a long time as his gaze pierced through you, adding to the sensation his pants gave to your raw clit.

So you kissed his lips, messily and sloppily, breathing on his mouth and he finally caressed your thighs and ass, pressing you down even more and closer to him.

Your arms got tighter around his neck and he buried his face into your chest. His hair tickled your chin and you intertwined your fingers into his locks.

So close to cum, you closed your eyes and just let yourself go, your rhythm lost, your muscles aching, without expecting Doyoung's fingers to suddenly get inside of you.

You squeezed yourself onto him with a cry.

"I repeat. Are you going to behave again as you did today?" you heard him ask as his fingers pumped fast into you.

"No, no, oh fuck, please, no," you managed to answer while gasping for air.

"I'm going to-" you whimpered about to orgasm and Doyoung at that moment got you off of him, pushing you down on your back and lifting your legs around him, edging you.

"You're going to cum when I say so," he commented. "You're lucky I'm even giving it to you at all today," he added.

You bit your lower lip frustrated.

"Babe, please-" you begged.

He smiled brightly at the sudden pet name, shushing you as he began to kiss your legs from the knees down, going lightly on the inside of your thigh, making you twitch as he approached your dripping pussy. But he passed over, nudging at it with his nose just to make you jolt and kissed your lower stomach, passing his tongue on the spots he bit before and continued until reaching your lips.

Then, getting on his knees he finally got rid of his pants and underwear.

You felt your core pulsing at the sight and breathed heavily. He tugged at your legs, dragging you until the back of your thighs touched his hips and holding himself he nudged at your entrance. You let your arms fall around your head and bit down on your hand as his tip caressed your clit.

"Doyoung," you whined as your muscles jolted intermittently. You then felt his fingers drag on your leg until grabbing your knee and putting it on his shoulders he humped your folds.

You let your head fall back into the couch, exposing your neck and making your breasts tighten.

It was too much. You just wanted him to penetrate you and to make you scream.

"I want to cum so badly, please," you begged again.

But he acted as if not being able to hear from you.

Your muscles twitched in pain and you lifted yourself to meet him. He pushed you down and distanced himself.

"Behave," he warned.

You looked at his half-closed eyes and plump lips as he bit it with his teeth.

He was suffering as well. He couldn't take it anymore, you could tell.

And when you took your hand to your mouth and licked two fingers, slowly, without breaking eye contact he gasped.

You were about to suck on them, you wanted to see him going crazy, but you didn't manage to as he penetrated you right at that moment, quick and deep, with a grunt.

"Fuck," he swore picking up the pace until the wet sounds overwhelmed the storm.

_________

It was dark. The only light came from the fireplace bathing the living room with a red and yellow hue.

You were both sprawled on the rug under fuzzy blankets.

"Come sit on my face. Show me where I belong."

Doyoung’s voice was a low buzz, imitating the storm still going on as it has been the whole night.

You rolled your eyes to the side amused, ignoring his warm hand palming your knee, nudging you to come closer.

“You still want to go? I can’t cum again,” you pouted.

“But I want you to cum,” he pouted as well.

You sighed and gently got on top of him with the intent of ignoring him and finally fall asleep.

But his expression changed when you were near enough. “I want you to be completely fucked up when I’m done with you.”

You lifted one hand to cup his cheek and kissed his nose.

He blinked at you amused.

“I love it when you smile like this,” you whispered.

The dying flames danced on his face as he stared at you for a few moments.

Then you clicked your tongue.

“Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t get all dark and distant.”

Doyoung exhaled. “I am not.”

“There’s so much to be proud of, don’t you think?” Your fingers gently started to draw patters on his forehead, going down on his eyes as he closed them, then on his cheeks. He opened his eyelids again after the touch and you talked again.

“Like striving to do good. Trying. Surviving.”

His lips opened to let out a small puff of warm air. Then he hugged you tighter and hid his face in the crook of your neck.

You exhaled too, closing your eyes and lulling his exhausted soul.

“I am so proud of you,” you whispered but you didn’t know if he heard you.

_________

You woke up in Doyoung's bed.

It was huge, warm and it smelled like his laundry detergent. The sheets were soft and luscious, caressing your naked body as you shifted underneath them to look to the side.

Your eyelids fluttered and your lips turned their corners up.

Fighting the urge to squeal and hide your face inside the pillow, you resorted to admire Doyoung's sleeping face.

Resting on his stomach with raised arms thrown around his head, only his eyes and ruffled hair poked out behind his bicep and shoulder. And when he slowly opened one puffy eye you giggled and it curved, showing that he was smiling too.

"Good morning," you whispered.

Doyoung sighed once first. "It's probably afternoon."

His sleepy voice made your body heat up and without thinking you just got closer. He turned on his side and wrapped your body with his arms, pulling you closer to his chest.

"Did you sleep well?" he murmured.

"Like a baby. You exhausted me enough."

The little kiss he placed on top of your head was so unexpected to make you lift your face.

He smiled.

"You inspire so much tenderness in me,” he explained timidly.

You smiled back, resting your chest on his. His hands automatically wrapped your sides as if they've always belonged there.

"I'm glad I'm softening your edges. Now you need to behave like this with everyone else too."

"You want me to kiss the whole hospital on the forehead?"

"Metaphorically."

"Also, I thought you loved my hard edges," he purred, shifting your body to fully rest on top of his.

His hard cock deliciously poked your clit with its tip as his hands slowly made you roll on it.

You exhaled and leaned down, rubbing your lips on his as you whispered. "I do."

His smirk was lazy just like your movements.

"So you want me just like this?"

“I want you. I want everything you are. I want everything that you hide.”

Your hands caressed his chest and came to cup his face. His expression wavered and you found him so vulnerable all of a sudden to make your guts twist.

“Unleash the darkness that you have inside. Engulf me with it. I am not afraid. I want it.”

Doyoung wrapped your body tightly and pressed you down on himself even more.

"There's no darkness inside of me anymore. Not when you're around me."

__________

From “I will not vanish” - Haechan’s backstory

The heavy door opened and closed.

Doyoung looked over his shoulder to see a stranger approach him with slow feet. He raised his eyes and gave Doyoung a small nod.

The other did the same and when the stranger aligned himself with Doyoung, looking over the cold city, they both exhaled.

The silence was so deep, safe for the ambulances screaming in the distance that Doyoung found himself restless.

The stranger leaned on the rail, resting his weight on the elbows and sighed again.

“You know,” he started.

Doyoung looked at him with the corner of his eyes.

“What I like about life,” he paused, “is that you can die.”

The stranger bit his lower lip for a moment then looked over to the other. His gaze felt so heavy that Doyoung’s arms skin got goosebumps.

“Imagine being immortal,” the man continued before letting out a dry snicker.

“Around forever. A pathetic being with no reason to exist besides existence itself. Forever and forever and forever. With no purpose. Until you’d beg someone to kill you but they can’t.”

Doyoung’s fingers twitched on the cold metal of the terrace rail and for a moment his rational mind wanted to ask that stranger just what nonsense he was talking about.

But lately, Doyoung and rationality didn’t match well so he didn’t.

“Immortality sucks only if you’re the only immortal one.”

The stranger smiled bitterly. “Do you want to be immortal?”

Doyoung put his hands inside the gown’s pockets. “I’d die tomorrow.”

“But you wish immortality was a thing.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t have a job anymore,” Doyoung smiled. “But yes. I wish people didn’t die.”

“You’re very selfish.”

That remark made Doyoung frown. “How’s that selfish?”

The stranger turned around and rested his back on the rail instead.

“Why do you want people to not die?”

“Because-,” Doyoung started but didn’t know what to add. “Because it’s painful.”

“For them or you?”

Doyoung sighed. “Okay. I see what you’re doing here.”

The stranger smiled a little.

“It’s not like I think only of myself when others die. I think how unfair it is when I know they didn’t have the chance to do everything they wanted to do first.”

“And what’s that?”

Doyoung thought about it for a moment. “Just- living. Experiences. And most of them actually had enough time to do it. They just took it for granted. And it’s so- painful.”

“And what about you? If you said that you’d be ready to die tomorrow, I guess you’ve been living your life to the fullest with no regrets.”

“Actually, I don’t know if I’ve been living all of this time.”

The stranger shrugged. “Just start now.”

“You make it seem so easy.”

“Living? Hell yeah. You just need to give less fucks.”

Doyoung didn’t reply.

“If you’re ready to die tomorrow, then you should not be afraid of living.”

The stranger’s tone deepened and Doyoung looked his way.

“Who are you by the way?”

“Oh,” the stranger straightened his back and extended his hand. “I’m Haechan. Nice to meet you.”

Doyoung imitated him and shook his hand.

It was warm and in a moment so many thoughts came to Doyoung’s mind to make him breathless.

"I thought I had my life figured out and yet after meeting you I got shocked into awareness."

"You inspire so much tenderness in me."

“I became obsessed with you and it scares me.”

“You could have just told me. You could have told me that you fell apart. Instead, you acted like it didn't bother you at all.”

“You are worth the wait.”

“I can't let go of you.”

Doyoung took away his hand so quickly to almost fall backwards.

He took a few steps on the concrete of the terrace as if trying to get as far from Haechan as possible.

“You good?” the other asked but his face wasn’t mirroring his question.

Instead, a plain expression was adorning his feline features and for an instant, Doyoung felt terror.

“You’re not Haechan,” he found himself whispering.

The man in front of him cracked his knuckles once. “And who’s Haechan?”

“My friend.”

“Friend? Is someone that uses somebody else a friend?”

“He’s not using me.”

“Isn’t he now?”

The man started to walk towards Doyoung slowly, one finger on the rail, grating at the metal with his nail.

“Do you believe in soulmates, Doyoung?”

Doyoung flinched at his name on that man’s lips and started to retreat slowly.

“I do.”

“Soulmates are people that always find each other regardless of everything, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“And are you and Y/N soulmates if Haechan is always there forcing you together like some sort of cheap mismatcher?” the man spit out the last words.

Doyoung gulped and his brain tried to remember how he punched him in some past life and actually win. His surgeon hands would definitely get broken in a second.

“Don’t you want to break this cycle? Find your true soulmate?”

“That’s Y/N.”

“Because you say so.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your orthodox theory, Archangel.”

The man stretched his neck to the side and Doyoung didn't have the time to run away.

#doyoung #doyoung smut #neosmutcollective #nct-writers #nct smut #doyoung angst #nct angst #nct fanfiction #doyoung fanfiction #nct doyoung #doyoung scenarios #nct scenarios #soulmates collection #doyoung doctor au #nct doctor au

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snelbz · 3 years

Text

Life As We Know It {Chapter 30}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Written with @tacmc.

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

A/N: Wow. The final chapter. Tara and I are so glad you've come along on this journey with us. We've absolutely loved writing this story for you all and we hope you've enjoyed it as well.

Nesta looked around their home.

It was decorated to perfection - at least, that had been Nesta’s goal. The theme for Nyx’s second birthday was space cowboy, which had happened when Cassian wanted a cowboy theme while Nesta wanted an outer space theme.

It had been a challenge to perfect the space cowboy theme - especially when it came to a two-year-old’s birthday party.

There were aliens with cowboy hats and paper cows on UFO balloons. In the corner of the living room, there was a horse wearing an astronaut costume - a decoration that Cassian had created, and one he was quite proud of.

Nesta herself wore a “space-like” outfit that reminded her fondly of Zenon: Girl of the 21th Century. When Cassian came down the stairs, however, it looked like he had just walked out of the Wild West.

He wore chaps over his jeans, and Nesta found her mind wandering on those chaps alone.

She hoped he kept them.

They would be useful in the future.

He also wore a plaid button down and a cowboy hat.

She thought he should keep the cowboy hat, too.

Nyx, however, looked like the cutest little mess Nesta had ever seen. His onesie looked like a spacesuit, but on his head, instead of an astronaut helmet, he wore a teeny little cowboy hat. On his feet were genuine cowboy boots.

Nesta laughed as they reached the first floor landing, and Cassian’s grin widened.

“Now introducing our two-year-old space cowboy,” Cassian said, unable to control his laughter.

Nyx’s grin was wide as he clapped. “MAMA!”

Nesta laughed, taking Nyx into her arms. Yeah, he looked ridiculous, but he also looked oh so cute. “Happy birthday, sweet boy.”

Nyx took Nesta’s face in his hands and gave her a big, sloppy kiss.

With a chuckle, Nesta said, “Thank you, that was very sweet. Now, let’s go make sure everything’s ready, yeah? Our guests will be here soon.”

“Dada,” Nyx said, pointing to Cassian. “Hi-hi.”

Cassian laughed. “Hi, bud.” He went straight for the corner and adjusted his astronaut-horse.

Nesta just shook her head and brought Nyx into the kitchen.

It smelled delicious.

Nesta had spent the entire morning cooking.

At first, she had no idea what to make for a space cowboy party, but she really felt like she nailed it. She had a taco bar, which worked for every type of party, and baked and decorated a cake that looked like Cassian’s horse in a spacesuit.

It was ridiculous.

And absolutely perfect.

Nesta looked at the clock. “We have twenty minutes, Nyx. We have to make the homemade tortillas and get out the salsas.”

“What about the alcohol?” Cassian asked, sweeping into the kitchen.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “It’s our two-year-old’s birthday.”

Cassian blinked. “So, no whiskey, just wine?”

Nesta clicked her tongue. “Check the wine cabinet.”

“Yes ma’am,” Cassian winked, tipping his hat before he left the room.

Nesta snorted, even though she found it deeply charming and handsome as hell.

Yeah, she definitely hoped he’d keep that outfit.

Nesta took the dough out of the fridge that she had rolled earlier that morning and a rolling pin. When she had countless flat, doughy circles she dropped them in the oil-filled skillet one by one. Fifteen minutes later, she had a giant stack of flour tortillas and was carrying them, alongside a tray filled with different types of homemade salsas, to the table she had set up in the living room.

There was a quick knock on the door and it cracked open before Nesta could even turn towards the door.

“Oh, my.”

She laughed at Azriel’s reaction to the house, turning to see him carrying in a stack of presents, Elain’s camera bag and Persephone’s diaper bag. “Go big or go home, right?” She chuckled.

“You decided to go big at home,” he replied, shaking his head.

Nesta wasn’t surprised to see that Azriel hadn’t dressed up, wearing his traditional all-black attire instead, but a little space princess in cowboy boots ran in right after him and she couldn’t stop the grin as she looked at Seph.

Elain was a just a few steps behind, and as she came in, she dropped a black cowboy hat atop Azriel’s head. He rolled his eyes, but said nothing as he adjusted the hat, and was off in search of Cassian.

“Okay, you’ve outdone yourself,” Elain announced, beaming as she looked around the house. “This is awesome.”

Nesta shrugged. “He only turns two once, right?”

“I’ve got the wine!” Cassian announced, pushing through the kitchen door with two bottles of wine and a glass of whiskey.

Nesta chuckled. “I thought we said wine only?”

“We did,” Cassian said, setting the bottles on the table. “For the guests.”

“Am I a guest?” Azriel muttered.

Cassian snorted and motioned to follow him into the kitchen.

In the middle of the room, Nyx and Persephone were dancing to the techno space playlist Nesta had put on.

Elain laughed, quietly. “I need to get out my camera. Anything I can help with?”

Nesta shook her head. “You’re good. Take pictures and send them all to me.”

Elain promised she would, and Cassian and Azriel came back out with their full glasses of whiskey. Nesta looked around.

Elain was right.

They had done well.

Nesta hoped the rest of the guests thought so, too.

Before they knew it, the house was full, people were laughing and eating and drinking and Nesta couldn’t help but smile from where she stood to the side watching it all.

What a difference 365 days could make. Nesta couldn’t believe it as she watched Nyx and Persephone play with Viviane, who had also come dressed up, much to Nyx’s delight. He kept stealing her hat, and she let him, donning his tiny one instead, though it didn’t fit on her head.

She couldn’t help but think of the two people who were missing though. The two people who should have been here. Her eyes drifted to the cross Cassian had made, where it sat on the mantle, it’s permanent home.

A set of strong arms wrapped around her waist and she leaned back into Cassian’s embrace.

His chin was resting on her shoulder, and he said, “Nyx is happy. We’re happy. But… It doesn’t feel right without them here.”

As always, he knew exactly what she was thinking. She gripped his arms over her abdomen and held him there, letting him know she understood.

“They’re here, though,” Cassian whispered into her ear. “They’re here and they’re watching us, watching him. They wouldn’t miss today.”

Nesta nodded and held onto him tighter. If she would have tried to say a word, the tears would have come.

Sad tears because she missed her sister and brother-in-law.

Happy tears, though, because she loved Nyx, and she loved Cassian, and she couldn’t believe how far they had come in the last year.

Clearing her throat, and wiping a tear that had snuck out, she announced, “Let’s open gifts and have some cake!”

Cassian kissed her cheek before he was on the floor, Nyx climbing on top of him, and helping the two year old open his gifts.

It only took one or two gifts before he was completely distracted by trying to play and wasn’t even paying attention as Cassian opened his gifts one by one. But they made it through the pile and Nesta carried in the astronaut horse cake, which had Nyx on his feet and chanting, “Cakecakecakecakecake!”

With Cassian’s help, Nyx blew out the big “2” candle and narrowly avoided a smash cake for the second year in a row.

“Not this year, bud,” Cassian chuckled, carrying a confused Nyx to his booster seat in the kitchen. “We’re all going to eat this one. Not just you.”

His irritation disappeared as soon as Nesta sat a piece down in front of him, but he made nearly just as big of a mess as he had the year before.

“Nesta!” Elain called, and she turned from where she was cutting more pieces in the kitchen. “Come here, I want to get a picture of you guys.”

Her eyes found Cassian’s and they softened, thinking back to the picture they’d been forced to take a year before.

“Still think you’ll burst into flames if you brush arms with me?” He asked, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Maybe,” she said, and he chuckled as she wrapped an arm around him. “But I’m not as bothered by it as I used to be.”

Cassian grinned, and Elain took a picture of their little family.

It was the day after Nyx’s second birthday and all three of them anxiously waited in the living room. It wasn’t that they were scared about the visit, but after last time, there was a little bit of nervousness surrounding them all.

Well, everyone but Nyx.

He was giddy as he played with all of his birthday toys.

Nesta was pacing, while Cassian watched a hockey game around the path she was wearing into the carpet.

“Come sit down, Nes,” he said, reaching for her hand. “They told us it would be this afternoon, but that could be anytime.”

“I know, I know,” she said, biting her nail. It had been a horrible habit of hers when she was younger, but now it only appeared when she was nervous

He caught her other hand in his. “Sit,” he repeated, tugging her towards. “You know what the doctor said about stress. It’s not good for—.”

A knock on the front door had Nesta bolting for it, and Nyx asked, “Hello?”

Cassian couldn’t help but chuckle as he stood and walked to him, crouching down in front of him. He smoothed Nyx’s dark hair back from his face and said, “I need you to be good today, okay? Be a good boy and daddy will take you to get ice cream after dinner.”

He nodded and repeated, “Ice cream.” Or he tried, but he couldn’t quite pronounce it.

Cassian could only grin down at him.

“You’re taking too long,” Nesta chastised, hurrying toward the door.

Cassian rolled his eyes but said nothing more as Nesta reached the door, smoothed down her non-wrinkled dress, and opened it up.

Alis Birch stood on the threshold, a folder in her hand, and, surprisingly, almost wearing a smile. “Nesta, it’s a pleasure.”

Nesta nodded, hesitantly. “Yes, you too. Come in, please.”

Alis crossed the threshold and nodded at Cassian. “Good afternoon, Mr. Nazari.” She looked at Nyx. “And glad to see you wide awake for one of my visits.”

Nyx smiled as he waved, and said, “Hi-hi.”

“Ah, he’s talking,” Alis said, going into the living room and smiling at the toddler.

“Oh, he hardly ever stops,” Cassian snorted. “Picks a new word up every day, I swear.”

“Sit,” Nesta said, sitting in the chair. “Please.”

“Thank you,” Alis said, taking her place on the couch. “I hear someone just had a second birthday.”

“Yesterday,” Nesta said, nodding. “We had a party. He had fun.”

“Good, plenty of toys and excitement, I assume?” She asked, watching as he played with a chunky, wooden puzzle made of farm animals. As if it were a gift from the gods themselves, he slid the cow into the right hole, and grinned up at Cassian. “Mooooo!”

He chuckled as he sat on the arm of Nesta’s chair. “Good job, bubba. Cows do say moo.”

He kept on grinning but went back to his puzzle.

“So,” Nesta said, clearing her throat. “What sort of questions do you have this visit?”

Alis didn’t say much, just looked around at the living room and kitchen. Cassian’s astronaut horse was still set up in the corner, as he’d insisted it was a work of art and as such, deserved to be displayed for at least a few more days. “Honestly, I don’t have many today. You two have made it very clear that Nyx is your main focus, and I can tell that he’s very happy and is thriving under your care.”

Cassian doubted she knew it, but Nesta released a breath she’d been holding and nodded. “We love him, more than anything. We— We’ll always miss Feyre and Rhys, but it’s not just about doing right by them anymore. Nyx has…” She took Cassian’s hand and continued. “He’s become our son, and we’ve become a family. And we couldn’t imagine it any other way at this point.”

Alis nodded and jotted a few notes in her binder. Nesta could have sworn a hint of a smile was on her face. “And, as far as the relationship between the two of you goes, where do we stand? It’s been a few months since we last discussed it.”

Cassian was the one to answer. “We’re engaged. We have been since Christmas, and, since Nyx’s birthday just passed, the wedding planning will start soon. And actually, we’re also—.”

“We couldn’t be happier,” Nesta said, interrupting him, holding up her left hand and showing the sparkling diamond on her ring finger. She gently squeezed his hand, and he didn’t ask, but nodded. “We couldn’t be happier and neither could Nyx.”

Alis looked from Cassian to Nesta to Nyx, and nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ll put in a good report, and you have nothing to worry about. Truly, I wish you all the best.”

Nesta smiled, and it was genuine. “Thank you, Mrs. Birch. Thank you.”

“I’ll leave you all be,” Alis said, standing. She closed her binder. “If you ever need anything, please reach out.”

“We will,” Cassian said. “Thank you.”

With one last smile, she said her goodbyes and was gone.

Nesta leaned against the closed doors and sighed a loud sigh of relief. “We did it. We’re done.”

Cassian pulled her into his arms and hugged her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I never had any doubts.”

She pulled back and looked up at him. “I sure as hell did. Who knew an old woman could be so terrifying?”

He chuckled but shook his head. “What now?”

“We wait for Tarquin to reach out to us. There’s some official paperwork that will have to be signed after she submits her report and findings, but…” She looked over at Nyx who was still engrossed in his puzzles. “We’re officially a family.”

Smiling, Cassian leaned down to kiss her. “And we didn’t tell her about this one because…?”

His hand brushed over her abdomen, over the life that was growing inside.

“I’d say we’re entitled to a few secrets of our own,” she replied, smiling. “Besides, they’re more focused on ensuring Nyx is taken care of. We’ve proven that time and time again.”

They’d found out Nesta was pregnant just a few weeks before. Not even ten weeks, and for that reason, they hadn’t told anyone, not even Elain and Azriel.

“Fair enough,” he muttered and kissed her, again.

Nyx had walked up to them and was tugging on Cassian’s pant leg, begging to be picked up, which is exactly what he did.

They hugged him tight, and felt an overwhelming amount of peace.

A year of ups and downs and chaos had passed, but they had made it.

They were a family.

All four of them.

#snacmc lawki #life as we know it #lawki #snacmc collabs #nessian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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1kook · 4 years

Text

commercial break ; THREE

this is a netflix & chill drabble kook’s pov during their argument in d&b !

summary; But Jungkook loves the sun. warnings; post-fight, drinking, heart ache :( miscellaneous; everyone say thank u kim namjoon 🤩 word count; 1.5k

notes; a lot of people wanted to know his thoughts during the iconic d&b fight scene so here’s the closure we all needed </3

He knows he’s said the wrong thing the second the last syllable departs from his lips.

Jungkook doesn’t mean it, that much he knows right away, but even still… there’s a silent moment of shock between the two of you, one where even he is surprised by his own tongue.

You move first, phone whipping across the room.

Now Jungkook has seen a lot of scary things in his life. He’s seen horror movies and walked through a cemetery at night once. He’s come home way past curfew and had to face the wrath of his normally lenient father. He’s sat front row in his first ever college seminar. Yet none of that fear, that anxiety, that dread, compares to the level of emotion he feels wrap around his throat the moment you get up.

“___, wait,” he calls out frantically, hands shaking the further and further you get. He has to tell you he doesn’t mean it, that he would never mean it. But how do you follow up a statement like that? Even when he catches your eyes, beautiful irises colder than the bottom of the ocean, he doesn’t know what to say. He stutters through an excuse he wouldn’t have believed himself and watches you slip further away.

Jungkook can’t let you leave, not when you’re so hurt and he’s so confused, but what else can he say? He doesn’t know, and when you angrily send him back inside he feels every bit the scolded child. Funny how that works.

He calls and calls until he realizes the muted hum from upstairs is the phone you left behind. He’s crazy and in love, desperately scouring through your social media accounts for a sign you’re safe and home. (You were on Twitter three minutes ago, so that’s a relief.) But even then he can’t relax, turning his own words over and over in his head.

Jungkook values a lot of things in your relationship. There’s a beautiful understanding that comes with being in love, a new sense of comfort he’d never felt before. You make him feel warm and in love, keep him grounded when the world threatens to swallow him beneath its surface. You care for him and he for you.

Where those thoughts had come from, he didn’t know. All he knew was that one minute you were picking at the edges of his patience, and the next he was shooting a dagger into your chest.

Self-reflection, Namjoon had always said, the key point to understanding oneself. Usually, that’s followed by some tips on yoga, on calming the mind, but his leg won’t stop bouncing and there’s a boa constrictor wrapped around his throat so that zen mentality will have to wait for now. A harsh exhale, foot thumping against the floor.

Carefully, he unscrambles his thoughts.

There were times you were childish and, for the most part, Jungkook didn’t mind. You brought out the most beautiful things in life with just your laughter alone. You roped him into doing things he never could enjoy growing up, which made him rekindle his love for old hobbies. If sunshine was a person, Jungkook is sure it was you.

You were bright and ever-burning, always with a mission in your head, even if it was something as small as cleaning your windows that day. A star, he thinks, except your smile alone garners the power of ten supernovas combined. The amount of joy and euphoria you’ve brought him this past year was immeasurable. You made him smile, even when you were tired, rising every morning and setting every night dutifully just like the sun.

But too much sunshine could be hot, scorching even.

His mom had mentioned it once, very early into your relationship, how you were a little too childish for Jungkook. He had angrily defended you, stormed out of his parents' house like he was ready to leave them all for you. (Would he? He likes to think so.) But a mother’s advice always haunted one the most.

Yes, your youthful outlook made his life colorful and bright, but there were times he found himself wondering what it would be like to have someone… not as outgoing.

Someone plain and always collected. Someone who would gently remind him of his deadlines, and watch all his favorite documentaries with him. Someone like him, he supposed, who matched his interests perfectly.

It sounds awfully boring.

It sounds terrible to be damned to such a dull life, especially now that he’s had a taste of you. You, who brings laughter and sunshine everywhere you go, his amazing other half. He’d hate it if you always did what he wanted— he loves when you pick at everything he likes because you let him do it back! Jungkook’s head was a never-ending spiral— that much he’s known from a young age. But with you in his life, it became fun and exhilarating. Gone was the dark tunnel and in its place was a twisty slide with loops and turns that defied all laws of gravity. It wasn’t a scary place anymore and it was all because of you.

You, who he might possibly lose forever. His own negligence was to thank, an inability to voice small issues until they piled up and became this big, warped monster that no longer pertained to his original frustrations. It was an ugly thing, so twisted and vile, taking the thoughts he seldom had and weaponizing them against you.

Was that it? Had those mindless thoughts been the root of today’s brash decisions. Jungkook wants to blame it on that, but part of him knows it’s his own inability to share his feelings that led to that spontaneous outburst. There were obviously some things he still needed to work on, but pinning it all on you, his dazzling ray in the sky, was the worst move he could have made. Self-reflection, he repeats to himself.

His heart is still pounding in his ears, drumming obnoxiously loud as if it wants to torture him for his actions. His phone rings across the room and Jungkook lunges for it, hoping and praying it’s you.

It’s not.

It’s just Namjoon calling to wish the two of you a happy anniversary. “You two having fun?” he teases before Jungkook can get so much as a greeting in.

“Hyung,” he chokes out hoarsely, glancing down at the ground. “I-I said something to ___,” he whispers even though there is no one here to hide from but his own crippling thoughts. “And I don’t think she’s coming back.”

His voice cracks a little. He hides it with a gulp so dry it hurts. “What?” Namjoon asks. “What do you mean?”

Jungkook sighs, running a hand over his eyes. “Are you busy right now?”

—

“You need to go to bed,” Namjoon tells him, ambling the two of them up the stairs. Jungkook snorts, sliding against the entire wall on the way up.

“I refuse,” he announces. He has to pause on the next step because he’s pretty sure there’s about four of the same step whirling before his eyes. Beside him, Namjoon sighs. “Hyung, I can’t see.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes, deciding the stairs are too much of a hassle and guiding them back to the living room instead. “Couch,” he informs him before rather carelessly dumping him onto it. “Listen,” he begins, crouching down beside Jungkook. “It’s like, 4 AM… and I have work tomorrow. So I’m going to leave,” he says, slowly pointing in the direction of outside. Jungkook nods, even though Namjoon is definitely pointing upside-down backward. “Okay, JK?”

“That’s me,” he agrees, letting his head slump back against a throw pillow. Namjoon groans.

“That is you,” he concedes. “And you need to sober up before you try talking to ___ again.”

The mere mention of your name turns a switch on inside him. “Can’t,” he whines, features twisting up together. “She hates me. Will cut my balls off.”

Namjoon goes to protest but eventually stops himself. “Yeah, well. Probably.” Jungkook wails at his friend’s poor attempt at consoling him. “Sleep a little and then head over to hers, okay?” He pats him on the cheek once before finally making his exit.

Jungkook can’t believe this. How embarrassing. If you saw him right now, you’d clown him for getting this drunk off wine. But he truly understands it now. It was the devil’s drink, so sweet and cooling only to suddenly slap him across the face with his own insobriety. Oh, his head was going to ache badly later.

Well, that was a problem for later’s Jungkook, he decides as he slinks off the couch and back into the kitchen. There’s a new box of cherry vodka he’d bought just for tonight—or last night, technically—because he knows it’s your favorite. And well. He misses you so much he’ll do anything to feel close to you again.

He’s not sure how long he sits on the floor, swing after swing going down his throat until he’s got three extra fingers and a new middle name. Just that when the sun finally filters through, so warm and bright, he finds himself missing you again. His feet take him out the door before he can think twice.

The morning rays bring with them a wicked headache that almost has Jungkook throwing up into his bushes. Part of him, the last droplet of reason, tells him he should change. He’s wearing the same clothes from yesterday and they reek. Furthermore, the sun is hellbent on soaking up every inch of his black clothing.

He should change if he doesn’t want to suffocate in this heat, under this blazing sun in the sky.

But Jungkook loves the sun.

He walks on.

—

#goldenclosetnet #bangtanhq #jungkook fic #jjk fic #mine

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hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

As per our convo, Newt getting set up with Hermann via Hermann’s father’s binder full of pre-approved suitors for his son...

(from @k-sci-janitor 👀) easily one of our funniest concepts yet. I was going to end on newt coming over for dinner scenario but I like the ominous open ending. I'm not actually sure when kaiju attacks fall in the PR timeline so excuse my handwaveyness, LOL

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

Hermann’s relationship with his father is what one would call strenuous at best, but—Hermann must admit, to the man’s credit, and in spite of his many flaws—he took the news of Hermann’s sexual orientation as unflinchingly as if Hermann had told him the day’s weather. It was a bit annoying, in fact. Hermann had agonized over the proper way to breach the subject for months, certain it spoke to some sort of personal ruin (whether ostracization from the Gottliebs or being forbade following through on any attraction he may feel whilst still living under the family roof, he wasn't sure), before finally simply announcing it one day at the breakfast table on a whim.

It had been a long-standing tradition that Hermann’s parents compile a binder—effectively of dossiers—on all the most eligible bachelors (for their daughter) and bachelorettes (for their sons) to aid in the choice of the latest Gottlieb mate. It was easiest this way, or so Hermann and his siblings were told. Parental approval was already secured. The histories of each were already secured, which bypassed any nasty shocks that might emerge in the courtship stage. Most of them were children of his father's colleagues or bright minds in their own rights: surgeons, and dentists, and mathematicians. Poets were strictly forbidden.

The occasion of Hermann’s breakfast table announcement had also been the day Hermann’s father presented him with his very first binder of prospective mates—a few days after his eighteenth birthday, and shortly before he was to go off to begin work on his PhD. His father had slid him a hand-written binder of names, no more than a dozen, and all with accompanying photographs. “All are accomplished young women,” he assured Hermann. “We can arrange any meetings of your choice over your winter holidays.”

Hermann glared down at the row of frozen smiles. He stabbed his fork into his cooked tomato wedge. “I don’t want to marry any of these women,” he said, and turned his glare on his father. He still had a rebellious streak in him at that point, something nurtured by a charismatic young man he used to trail after in boarding school, who pierced Hermann’s ear with a sewing needle in the boys’ toilets and listened to songs about setting things on fire. In late this streak had manifested itself in Hermann in nicking packets of cigarettes from his father’s study, one of which was in his pocket now. The weight of it made Hermann feel bolder. “I don’t want to marry any woman,” he continued. “I like men.”

The binder was drawn away in silence, and Hermann was free to eat his toast and tomatoes. The next morning a binder of young men was in its place.

(In a way the acceptance infuriated Hermann. It meant he could not blame his father’s obvious dislike for him on an unfounded, homophobic prejudice; rather, it was a result of Hermann’s own personal failings.)

The binder was placed at Hermann’s breakfast plate every day until he left for his studies. It was placed at his plate when he returned from them five years later. Not even the emergence of the kaiju from the bottom of the ocean shortly after Hermann turned twenty-four dampened his father’s hopes, nor turning all their scientific efforts towards the new jaeger program: some names were removed from the binder (the reasoning Hermann shudders to think at), more still were added, though Hermann is expected only to consider it once a week now on account of his busy schedule. This was one of such days.

“Your brother is very happy with his wife,” Hermann’s father reminds him. “She was one of my first suggestions for him, in fact.”

Hermann is not fond of his sister-in-law. Too rude—too cold. Though perhaps that makes her perfect for Hermann’s brother. “Haven’t we got bigger things to worry about these days than whether or not I’m going to marry?” Hermann says. He adds milk to his tea. “I’m sure they’re all, er, marvelous selections, only—”

“Your sister, too, with her husband,” father says.

Hermann sighs. He hasn’t got much of the rebellious streak he used to in him anymore—too stressed. Not fancying a fight before they’ve even begun today’s coding work, he picks up the binder and begins flipping through it. Sons of engineers working on the jaeger program with them, prominent young chemists, many of whom Hermann has been presented with since he was eighteen. Plenty of them are even handsome. Half of Hermann wonders if he should just pick the least-unappealing one of the bunch and be done with it already. He turns the page over and freezes. “Oh,” he says. “This one is—new.”

“Hm?” father says.

Hermann holds up the binder, tapping at a new entry. “Newton Geiszler.”

“Dr. Geiszler,” father says, nodding. “A child prodigy from Berlin—he’s made tremendous strides in kaiju science in such little time. And,” he adds, “three PhDs. Two of them before he even turned twenty.” The unspoken implication was that Dr. Geiszler far surpassed Hermann in intelligence and Hermann should feel ashamed for not skipping as many grades as Dr. Geiszler.

Hermann feels he ought to resent Dr. Geiszler for it, but he's finding it difficult to summon up any animosity towards him. It's likely because Hermann finds Dr. Geiszler to be strikingly handsome in his photograph: cheeks which haven’t quite lost their baby fat (giving him the appearance of being a scruffy hamster), large, thick glasses, tousled hair, an easy grin. Three PhDs, and German at that. And a child prodigy? “I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned him to me before,” Hermann says. He seems precisely the sort father would. Geiszler’s photograph is black-and-white and a bit grainy, but Hermann swears he could make out the lightest bit of freckles across his cheeks.

“I’d not heard of him until he published an article last week on kaiju biology,” father says. “Besides—he’s moved to America.”

Geiszler has three piercings up the side of his left ear. “I am going to write to him,” Hermann declares.

Father nods, and picks up his newspaper, clearly already disinterested. They speak no more of it that day.

It is not hard to find Dr. Geiszler online (his name is not the most common, and his field of study certainly isn’t), nor is it hard to match his photograph to his faculty page on MIT’s website. From there, Hermann retrieves Dr. Geiszler’s email address. He takes the evening to read over Geiszler’s publications spanning back to 2003 before he gathers up the courage to type out an actual email.

Dear Dr. Geiszler,

You do not know me, but I have recently been made acquaintance with your work and find it—Hermann pauses—scintillating. My father and I are—Hermann backspaces this—I am currently working on the development of the jaeger program…

There’s a response waiting for him the next morning. It’s as enthusiastic as it is brief. Dr. Gottlieb- That’s so awesome!! Believe it or not I’ve been following your work too. I have a million questions for you about the jaegers. If it’s classified info I promise I won’t tell. -Newt

It makes Hermann smile like nothing ever has before.

Hermann’s correspondence with Dr. Geiszler does not transgress beyond the professional until the following January. By that time, Hermann and his father have successfully completed the coding for their first jaeger prototype, and Hermann has been offered his fair share of tenured university positions to pick from as he likes. He finds himself oddly disappointed that none of them are in America with Dr. Geiezler. This, which leads to the realization that he’s grown rather fond of Dr. Geiszler, is perhaps what drives Hermann to uncharacteristic sentimental extremes on January 19th: he orders Dr. Geiszler a birthday present. The first email Dr. Geiszler sends him after that addresses him as Hermann. The first email Hermann sends Dr. Geiszler after that addresses him as Newton. Things move rapidly after that.

“Are you still writing to that young biologist?” Hermann’s father asks him in March. Hermann has spent the last two months devouring every bit of information Newton has seen fit to divulge about his personal life: his dexterity with no less than three different instruments, his favorite loud monster movies, how he’d love to get a kaiju tattooed on him one day. Hermann suspects he might be falling in love with Newton. In hardly five months! These are war times, Hermann supposes, so it would make sense. People are meant to do such extreme things.

“I am,” Hermann says.

“I’ve asked around about him,” Hermann’s father says. His expression is stern—unimpressed. “About his character. I’m not sure it’s wise to continue your correspondence.”

The reasons are this. Dr. Geiszler’s methods are unorthodox. Dr. Geiszler is loud and uncouth, and has little respect for his intellectual superiors. Dr. Geiszler was thrown out of a convention once for storming up on stage and stealing a microphone from an engineer to shout about the destruction coral reefs. Dr. Geiszler was in a distasteful band for several years. Dr. Geiszler was once arrested for egging a politician’s house. Dr. Geiszler has gone on record as describing the kaiju as “kinda cool”. Almost none of this is news to Hermann; in fact, that which is only causes Hermann’s affection for Newton to grow. “I will consider your advice,” Hermann says, knowing he won’t. Besides, it's not as if his father really has Hermann's interests at heart—Hermann knows he merely wishes to preempt any scandal Newton Geiszler could possibly bring upon the Gottlieb name.

In April Newton goes on television and declares that he’s sure the kaiju are extraterrestrial in origin, on account of their great size and his brief examination of a sample from the second kaiju to make landfall. He’s laughed off by his older peers before he can get another word out. The email he writes to Hermann afterwards is furious, capslock-heavy, and expresses that Hermann is the only one who takes him seriously in the whole world. It leaves Hermann certain that he is in love with Newton.

“Dr. Geiszler was interviewed on some American television program,” Hermann’s father says a few days later.

“I know,” Hermann says, proudly. Newton was on television. “I watched it.”

“He made some extraordinary claims,” Hermann’s father says.

But Hermann is thinking only of the outfit Newton wore (skinny jeans and an oversized leather jacket, so out of place compared to the suited other scientists sitting around him), the shade of his eyes (hazel), his short stature (hardly taller than Hermann), and the cadence of his voice (high, but not unappealing). He’d been so confident, and carried himself with a self-assurance that was foreign to Hermann. It was marvelously attractive. “I’m sure they're correct,” Hermann says. "Every single one. Newton is a terribly brilliant scientist." All bold claims are met with derision at first, are they not?

Newton’s theory is proven correct after the next kaiju attack, when experts other than him get their hands on kaiju samples and validate his claims. The general consensus after that is that the kaiju are not of this world. And Newton was the first to propose the theory! Hermann sends Newton an email full of congratulations, and Newton responds with a heart emoticon in his sign-off. Newton isn't just a brilliant scientist. “Newton is a genius,” Hermann tells his father, dreamily.

The binder reappears on Hermann’s work desk a few months later, Newton’s page torn conspicuously from it. Hermann tips the whole thing straight into his trash can. He has more important things to worry about—arranging a meeting with Newton, perhaps. Hermann ought to have him over for dinner.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous #the new post editor is weird but I like that I can make things pink

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serenasoutherlyns · 3 years

Text

Not a Summer Crush Part Five

a/n: i haven't been doing this on purpose, but i keep alternating, long chapter followed by short chapter. i think the longest is 6k words and this one is 2.5k-ish, my apologies for its shortness. but!! this one has everyone's favorite Rita Calhoun, jealousy, Serena Southerlyn's meddling tactics, middle school, and even graduate school. enjoy, and remember any feedback is appreciated more than you all could ever know.

Part Five

When Alex got home from work that evening, she finally had a moment to process that day’s moment on the courthouse steps. She texted Serena, trying to fit all the pieces together in her head.

Alex: What the hell?

Serena: ?

Alex: Serena!

Serena: Yes?

She gave up on coherent texting and decided to call her friend instead.

---

Casey was confusing herself again. Having second thoughts was not how she would put it. No, she was still sure of what she wanted (as sure as she was going to be, doing something very new and all), it was the methods that were bothering her. Namely, that she felt like she had none.

Alex had been difficult early on. The beginning was, in most respects, the most difficult time of their relationship. They had both been in rough patches, trying to be different people than they’d been before, and Casey thought, hoped, they’d both been successful. Alex had found a sense of balance and justice that guided her to powerful places. And Casey could look around her life and point lots of little things out: the tennis racquet beside her softball bat, their well-stocked kitchen, the literary journals lined up in a row on her bookshelf, little markers of stability and self-assuredness that reminded her how she’d changed and stayed the same over the years. She hadn’t felt this untethered since she kissed Alex for the first time.

“Casey, it’s called having a crush,” Rita said after she explained herself over a scotch.

---

“What’s going on, Alex?” Serena’s voice came over the speakerphone as Alex set it down on the countertop.

“Do you want to tell me why you asked my second chair out on the courthouse steps in the middle of the afternoon on a Wednesday?”

Serena laughed at her. “I don’t think I did,” she said.

“Hey, Caroline,” Alex mocked Serena’s slightly husky voice, “Won’t you please reserve me a spot on your dance card this weekend?” She said as she popped the cork out of a bottle of wine with an angry pop as punctuation.

“I don’t talk like that,” Serena said. “And all I did was tell her I wanted to dance, I don’t think I asked her for anything, in fact.”

“I don’t remember it like that.”

“So it’s on your mind, huh.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh my god.” Alex thought of what to say as she sipped.

“I mean,” Serena filled the silence, “If you aren’t going to, I will, you know?”

“Serena!” Alex all but yelled into the phone.

“Uh-huh,” she replied, “that’s what I thought.” She paused for a moment, then said, “I wasn’t

asking her out, I was giving you a reason to go dancing with her again.

“I don’t follow.”

“Sure you don’t. Look, I’ll make a groupchat with you, Casey, me and Caroline, and make plans in there, thus implying that all of us are going. It’s simple.”

“What?” Alex asked, actually not following her friend at this point.

“Just let it happen, Lex. Where is Casey, anyway?”

Alex swirled her wine around. “Rita absconded with her after work today. She said it was something about a case.”

“I don’t think they’re opposing one another on anything right now,” Serena said.

“I’ve learned not to ask questions,” Alex said, referencing the schemes Rita and her wife liked to pull occasionally. Then, realizing what she might be implying, she said, “Remember Sophie’s birthday last year?” and was answered with Serena’s light laugh from the other end of the call.

---

Casey’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I guess so.” Rita was surprised that Casey didn’t fight her on it. She decided to push.

“So, when are you going to ask her out?” Casey looked at her.

“We haven’t like, set a date,” she said. “Do people usually set dates for that kind of thing?

“They usually have a plan of some kind, I think. I mean, I do.”

Rita’s phone buzzed three times, two texts and a photo from Pippa. She didn’t hide her nerves fast enough for Casey to miss it. She shot her friend a look over her glass, saying, “you have a plan, right?”

Rita rolled her eyes. “Stop deflecting.” This time it was Casey’s turn to get the notifications.

New Groupchat (4)

Serena: So, Saturday night, right? Where?

Caroline: Why don’t you meet me at my apartment? The place is kind of hard to find.

Serena: Works for me. Alex? Casey?

Casey had no idea what the texts were about, suspected Serena of some kind of scheme.

Casey: Sure? But what are we doing?

Serena: Dancing!

Caroline: Dancing. Ashley’s on the road so I needed another partner.

Alex: We’re going dancing on Saturday.

Casey looked up from her phone to find an expectant Rita looking at her. “Apparently, I’m going dancing on Saturday.

“With Caroline?”

“And Alex. And Serena.”

Rita smiled wryly. “Good luck.”

---

“Okay, okay, order, order,” you said quieting the room of middle schoolers at the end of practice. “Remember, I can’t be there with you this weekend at the competition, and I have to leave early tonight,” you said, to a chorus of sighs, “I know, I know, I’m sorry. But you’ll all do great, I know it. Listen to your teachers, stick to your plans, and do your best.” The adoring eyes of the team were all on you. “And, if you win, I’ll buy you pizza. Deal?”

Nothing motivates tweens like a pizza party, but you weren’t worried about their performance. If nothing else, you knew Ophélie was a zealous team captain, putting it delicately. She had learned to be persistent from you, which was great at a competition, more annoying when she had chores. You gave her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek as you said goodbye to the team, despite her “no affection in public rule” (because the nature of the adolescent is to be embarrassed), and sent a text to Casey letting her know you’d be out soon.

When you saw her waiting for you outside the school building, your heart skipped a beat. It was that same feeling that you’d felt when Alex was in your apartment-- an intimacy that should’ve felt unusual, out of place, instead felt perfectly natural and comfortable. You hugged in greeting, grateful that you’d all decided that would be acceptable affection for colleagues.

“You know,” you said, “You really didn’t have to come meet me here.” Casey shrugged.

“I wanted to. Nice sweater,” she said, teasing you. It was one of those summer evenings where the sunset had brought a cool breeze with it, and you’d stolen one of Ophélie’s uniform cardigans. It was simple and navy blue, but the school logo embroidered on the breast gave it away. The two of you walked together towards the nearest subway station.

“Thanks,” you said, in an unserious tone. “Where’s Alex?”

“She’s already at the bar,” Casey replied, “I was told to retrieve you before the announcement.”

“It can’t be any big surprise,” you said, wondering. “She’s been agonizing over these applications forever.”

“She’s Gillian. She agonizes.” You looked up at the buildings, lights beginning to come on in the apartment buildings and off in the offices. Casey looked at your lifted head and the way it created a line, sloping and elegant, jawline to neck to collarbone. She pushed one palm with the opposite thumb and bit her lip, thinking about her conversation with Rita. She was right, they needed a plan, or one of these days she was going to kiss you without thinking.

Your voice snapped her out of it, but she didn’t hear what you said. “Casey?”

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you were excited to come dancing again this weekend.” The two of you walked down the stairs to the subway station, you in front, looking over your shoulder as Casey answered you.

“Oh! Yes, I definitely am. I didn’t know that Serena could dance, Alex told me it was her idea.”

“Apparently she studied abroad. I’m glad she asked, though.” That gave the knot of jealousy in Casey’s stomach a tug. She had no right to be jealous, but she couldn’t help but feel it. Serena is beautiful, and single, she doesn’t work with them, she’s super smart and funny, and apparently she knows how to dance.

“I’m glad we’ll have enough people to switch up partners a couple times,” Casey said, assuaging the jealousy.

“That’s the best part,” you agreed.

---

You made it to the table just in time to hear the announcement.

The third announcement. It would appear that Rita had somehow gotten ahold on all of Gillian’s acceptance letters and was withholding them from the rest of the group (except, of course, for the honoree herself, who was happy to go along with the plan, not that she had much of a choice). Glasses were raised and congratulations expressed as Rita said, “the third acceptance is… Yale!”

Polite applause came around the table. Gillian smiled bashfully as everyone told her how proud they were. Of all of you, she was the only person smart enough (or crazy enough) to go back to school after navigating the complex legal world of New York City.

“Which ones did we miss?” Casey said as the two of you slid into the two open seats.

“She got into Columbia,” Serena said, “which means she could stay in Manhattan. A few glasses around the table were raised again, encouraging her to stay close.

“And Stanford,” Alex added. You shot Gillian an excited look, happy at the mention of your alma mater.

“How many more letters are there?” You asked. Rita checked the pile of envelopes in her hand.

“Two.”

As soon as Sophie noticed that neither you nor Casey yet had a drink, there were whiskeys in your hands. As soon as Serena remembered that you were returning from coaching a mock trial team, and remembering what she knew of Casey’s feelings about kids, she began to ask you questions. How was the team, what case are they presenting, do they love you, (truly who wouldn’t). She was almost tiring you out.

“Is she always this persistent?” you asked Alex, smiling at Serena as you did so. You had to know if your eyes were deceiving you, your wishful thinking getting the best of your powers of observation yesterday when you saw her jealous look.

You were correct.

Almost faster than could be perceived, Alex’s eyes narrowed, looking into Serena’s, not yours; as if to say what the hell are you doing. Raised shoulders, her fingers pressing slightly into the table, her tongue in the back of her throat: you’d seen enough jealous boyfriends (of women you were about to dance with, if you’re honest) in clubs to know what it looked like.

Well. That was going to be good information to have at your disposal. If nothing else, for

confirmation: that you weren’t crazy, that there was something there to notice, from both of them.

---

You would’ve considered your offer of your apartment more thoroughly had you initially understood that there would be four of you going out that Saturday night. You weren’t sure, at first, if Serena had been asking you out. Honestly, you would probably not turn her down if she did. It would certainly be a simpler path to take, and there was no denying that Serena was beautiful and smart. Of course, your affections were otherwise engaged.

But, since she had invited Casey and Alex along, you considered it more likely that she was “creating some amount of opportunity,” (a real thing you’d really heard her say once) than making a double date. It would make sense, you thought, if Alex had told her how she was feeling; and the more days that went by, the more little tender interactions, the more often you noticed her resting her eyes in your direction, the more confident you were that you weren’t making up the chemistry.

Casey was a little harder to read, but you had noticed she’d seemed slightly… preoccupied the last few times you’d been alone together. One thing you knew: their marriage was rock solid. Neither of them would do something without the others’ approval. You could only hope they had a plan. You didn’t-- unless trying to seem as desirable yet appropriate as possible could be considered a plan.

There were four people in your apartment. You couldn’t remember the last time you had people over to your place rather than Ashley and Ramin’s, so it felt especially cramped. You were each drinking a glass of wine (from Ramin’s fancy stash, you were not going to let them know just yet that the only wine you bought was two buck chuck), you and Serena were sitting on the barstools at your counter while Alex and Casey sat on the couch. You had your music collection on shuffle, which led to a few laughs at the funny combinations.

It was your turn to feel jealous, or maybe to yearn. You hoped that one of them would see the new collection of books sitting on your table: Marriage and Other Alternatives, More Than Two, and What Love Is (and what it could be). A quiet buzz of anticipation (or was it the wine?) pleasantly lodged itself in your mind as the four of you slung your bags over your shoulders and headed out for the night.

---

Pippa Cox touched her lipstick up in the mirror before returning to the table she was (finally) sharing with Rita Calhoun. For such a smart woman, Pippa had often thought, Rita was prone to running from her feelings. Having gotten her on this date was a feat indeed, even though she knew (the glances, the blushing, the way she would drift into her space, natural as anything) that they shared feelings. As Pippa sat down, Rita smiled.

Unfortunately, as Rita reached for her glass, her phone buzzed in her purse. She shrugged-- what was the point of texting when she was on a date? If it was a client, they would call her secretary who would call her. No need to fret.

“It’s nothing, I’m sure,” she said, reaching across the table to take Pippa’s hand in her own. She knew how difficult it had been for her to get back into dating, to trust anyone with her heart, which was part of why she had been so apprehensive to pursue her even though the attraction was there. She’d pinched herself when Pippa had been the one to ask, happy to be the pursued for once.

“Good,” Pippa said, “because I want you to myself tonight.” Rita nodded, bit her lip, and smiled. There was another buzz, then another, then another. Three in a row? The only people she knew who texted like that were Casey and Serena, both of whom had plans tonight.

Plans together, with Alex. Involving Caroline. She sighed, hoping that she wasn’t about to do something to hurt Pippa’s feelings. Pippa, to her credit, looked curiously at Rita’s bag as she opened it.

Notifications: 4 new messages.

Serena: This experience is simultaneously adorable and infuriating.

Serena sent a photo.

Serena sent a video.

Serena: I’m tempted to leave and let them figure it out.

Rita laughed to herself. The picture was a selfie of you four sitting at a booth, you and Alex on one side and Casey and Serena on the other. Serena had her head leaned on Casey’s shoulder, who looking across the table, while you were pressing a kiss to Alex’s cheek. Alex had a contented smile, and your table had evidence of more than a couple drinks for each of you. The video was one of you and Alex. You were holding one of her hands with the other wrapped around her waist. Alex looked terrified, poor thing, every body part was flying in the opposite direction. The sounds of Casey and Serena encouraging you both mixed with the horns and drums coming from the stage. Rita agreed with Serena, it was adorable and infuriating.

Rita: Well, that’s cute and maddening for sure.

Serena: I’ll send updates.

Rita: Tomorrow. Please don’t interrupt *my* date again, thank you.

Serena: OMG did she finally ask you out!?!??

Rita: TOMORROW.

Rita put her phone down, answering Pippa’s curious look with a wave of her hand. “Serena drama,” she said, and Pippa gave an understanding nod. “I made her promise to leave me alone for a while.” Pippa leant across the table and pecked Rita’s lips.

“Good.”

---

tags: @addictedtodinosaurs @nocreditinthestraightworld @cmmndrwidw @hi-i-1 @lesbianologist

#There you have it folks #maybe one day this will be finished #svu fanfic #law and order svu #not a summer crush #Serena southerlyn #Rita Calhoun #casey Novak #Alex cabot #Calex #Alex cabot x reader #casey Novak x reader #Alex cabot x casey Novak x reader #“Serena drama” ok Rita #god this was hard to write I don’t even know why #forgive typos #no beta we die like men

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spencer-reid-in-a-pool · 3 years

Text

Three’s a Crowd

Summary: When Geralt leaves you and Jaskier behind to go hunt, you are pulled into spending the day in town with Jaskier. Fluff and mischief ensues.

Warnings: None!

Pairings: Jaskier x genderless reader *(see A/N)

Square Filled: Kissed to keep quiet

Word Count: 2,595

A/N: Here is my second submission for the 2021 Witcher Bingo! @thewitcherbingo While this is a genderless reader fic, there is a scene involving the reader with jewelry, so that could be seen as “feminine” if you really squint. Of course, boys and theys can wear jewelry too! Also, thank you to @toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account for letting me use a hilarious phrase they came up with!

Tags: @ayyyyitswednesdaymydoods @blackjay04 @mxsmwndr @bravelittlesunflower @weaselbee04

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

Truth be told, I was glad when I realized Geralt had left without us. Were my feelings hurt? A little. But I forgot about it when I realized it meant I got to sleep in.

However, I was only a few minutes into my next bout of sleep when the door to my room came crashing open.

“(Y/N)!” the cause of the commotion yelled. Jaskier.

I didn’t even open my eyes. I should have known this would happen. Sleeping in? Never heard of it.

“What?” I snapped.

The door closed and I heard footsteps coming closer. Then all of a sudden, the covers were yanked off my body and I felt his rough hands shaking me.

“Geralt left without us! Can you believe him?”

My eyes shot open and I pulled the covers back over. But not before glaring at Jaskier, who looked genuinely concerned about the whole thing.

“Yes, actually, I can believe him. And I was trying to sleep in. Do you mind?”

Jaskier scoffed and took a few steps back, raising his hands in an apology.

“Fine, fine. I see that I am more worked up about it than you are. Although normally it is just me that you two tend to leave behind,” he said, a bit of a sad look gracing his features. But in a split second it was gone and replaced with a much happier one. A mischievous one. Oh no.

“Come on, let’s go find something to do! I cannot simply sit in this dusty old inn, wasting away as the hours go by,” said Jaskier as he fell onto the foot of my bed dramatically. “I am far too beautiful and talented for that.”

I sighed. “If I come with you, will you be quiet?”

“Absolutely not.”

Well, at least he was honest.

The town was far more active than I expected it to be at this time of day. I wonder what there was to do.

Currently, I trailed behind Jaskier through the groups of people crowding around the shops and stalls in the market. At least he was easy to spot with his lute strapped to his back.

“Jaskier,” I called to him. I didn’t think he would hear me, but he stopped and turned to look for me.

Once I caught up, I huffed and said, “Do you honestly carry that thing everywhere we go?”

He gave me a look as if to tell me I was insane.

“Of course! You never know when musical inspiration might strike.”

I rolled my eyes, but honestly it was one of my favorite things about him. His antics never failed to make me laugh.

“So do you have a plan for us, or are we to wander aimlessly through the town square?”

“Does this not suit you, my friend? Oh please, do tell me what sits so heavily on your heart!” Jaskier announced dramatically.

I laughed and he smiled back at me. How childish.

“Fine. I want to find some food. Lead the way, lute boy.”

Jaskier gasped indignantly. But there was a twinkle in his eye that let me know he was happy. We often played this type of game with each other. Feigning annoyance or being dramatic or something of the sort to make the other laugh. It was almost a contest, although there was never a clear winner. Simply spending time with the other was enough.

“Anything for Your Majesty,” Jaskier declared with a bow.

Eventually we came to a stall that looked to be selling sweets. The colors and textures of the food caught my eye from afar, and as soon as I saw it I grabbed the sleeve of Jaskier’s doublet to pull him over.

“Oi, this was very expensive you know. Try not to rip it, hmm?”

Ignoring his comment, I continued to pull him over until we were in front of it.

“Ohh, I see. Finally found something you’d like? I knew you would come around.”

I let go of his sleeve and he turned to the man selling the sweets.

“How much are your goods, fair merchant?”

While Jaskier talked to the man, I looked around at other stalls in the area. A jeweler’s stand caught my eye next. I knew anything over there would be too expensive, but I wanted to look anyway.

As I turned back to Jaskier, he had bought both of us a piece of candy from the man, and I took mine from him with a smile.

“Thank you, Jaskier. You didn’t have to pay for mine.”

He unwrapped his candy quickly, and glanced at me with that crooked smile that makes women and men alike weak in the knees.

“I wanted to. Now- where to next?”

My eyes betrayed my mind, settling on the jewelry that I knew would be too expensive to even consider purchasing.

Jaskier followed my gaze across the square to the bits and baubles I was focused on, and a forlorn look fell onto his face.

“Darling, I don’t mean to put a damper on things, but I can smell how expensive that place is all the way over here.”

I sighed and looked up at him.

“I know, but I just want to look. Can we, please?”

His face softened, and he gave me a small nod to signal it was okay. I didn’t even try to hide my happiness when I grabbed his hand and pulled him around the square for the second time today. Not once did he complain, which I felt very undeserving of.

I realized how large his hand was in mine, and I truly couldn’t remember if I had ever touched him in this way before. Of course, I had imagined it countless times. It felt nice.

I think that both of us knew we were crazy about the other. We were both just too scared to say anything. Or maybe we were just comfortable with the way things were, without a label.

Either way, I couldn’t suppress the tingling feeling in my fingers as I let go of his hand when we made it to our destination. And gods, it didn’t live up to any expectation I had formed in the past few minutes of wondering.

There were rows upon rows of every kind of jewelry you could imagine. Necklaces, rings, bracelets, barrettes, brooches... there were simply too many to name. Numerous golds and silvers alike glistened in the afternoon sunlight, enough to take your breath away if you weren’t careful.

“Wow,” Jaskier breathed next to me.

“I think this shop is worth more than both of our lives put together. Especially yours,” I murmured so only he could hear.

“I- what does that even mean?”

Before I could comment something smart back, the lady caught us in her sight and came over with a smile plastered across her face, ready to try and sell us something.

“How can I help you two today?”

Jaskier and I glanced at each other, not sure of what to tell her.

“Uh, we’re just looking for now. Thank you though,” I said in a bit of a hurry.

She seemed content with that, nodding slightly and then walking away to help someone else who would probably actually buy something.

Once more I couldn’t help but stare at all the rows in front of me. I think I could look at them forever, imagining myself wearing all the pieces to some fancy ball or banquet.

The only thing to drag me out of my thoughts was a small, timid tug on my sleeve. I turned and saw Jaskier looking at me. But he wasn’t really looking directly at me. His mind seemed to be elsewhere.

“We should go,” he said in a low tone.

“What? What’s wrong? Five more minutes. Let me dream a bit longer.”

He looked over me and around me before looking behind himself.

“No, I think we should really go, okay?”

“You’re acting weird, Jaskier. What’s got your doublet in a knot?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the merchant woman walk towards us once more. Everything seemed fine until Jaskier turned to see what I was looking at, and then the woman seemed a lot less friendly.

“Hey!” she yelled loudly, drawing attention to us.

My eyes widened and I looked at Jaskier, who was now stock still next to me. It was then I noticed that a gold chain was dangling out of his pocket that wasn’t there before.

“Shit,” he hissed.

Without another word he grabbed my hand, and we took off running. We weren’t the only ones however. Behind us, I heard thundering footsteps and the sound of metal on metal. The guards were after us.

“Jaskier, did you really swipe something off that woman’s stall?”

He turned over his shoulder slightly to look at me as we ran, but didn’t say anything. Maybe I was crazy, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

He had a death grip on my hand, and it didn’t let up as we ran through the streets taking twists and turns trying to lose the guards behind us. It was exhilarating, to be honest. So much so, that a laugh bubbled inside me and burst out before I could stop it.

“You’re crazy!” I yelled to Jaskier over all the noise and the rush of the wind.

He chuckled breathlessly, exhausted from the sudden sprint we had started.

“Just keep running! And don’t let go of my hand- I don’t want to get separated.”

I smiled to myself and looked down at the ground where my feet met the dirt in a rhythmic sort of way. And once again, I laughed. Only this time, Jaskier laughed with me, out of breath and unashamed. Running this way with him, hand in hand, was freeing. I felt so alive. I didn’t care where he was leading me- wherever it was, I would follow.

Jaskier pulled me around one last turn, and then into an alley. The guards were significantly farther behind us now. Even so, we cowered into a dark corner of the alley, and tried to catch our breath. However, when we looked at each other, a fit of giggles overtook us both.

“That was..”

“That was-”

We both spoke at the same time and stopped at the same time, causing us to giggle once more. My chest and stomach were aching from the lack of air, but it was a small price to pay for how happy and carefree I felt right now.

“So, what in the gods names did you take, Jaskier? And why?”

His smile fell a bit before he dug into his pocket where I had seen the gold chain earlier. But before he could get it all the way out, a familiar sound of thundering footsteps began to get closer.

“Shit,” Jaskier hissed, shoving the chain back down into his pocket like before.

He suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me farther into the corner, but there wasn’t much room left.

“Jaskier, we’re gonna get caught!” I whispered.

His eyes scanned the area frantically and then came back to settle on me. By the sounds of it, the guards would be on us any minute now, and we would be caught.

In a split second, his mouth fell open a bit and he looked as though he had an idea. Without saying anything, he reached up and pulled the hood of my cloak up on my head, before shedding his doublet, leaving him only in his white undershirt. He threw his doublet into a passing carriage, and grabbed me roughly by the shoulders before turning me around and placing me roughly against the cold, stone wall.

“Jaskier, what the f-”

Right as the guards rounded the corner, Jaskier shoved his face onto mine and kissed me feverishly, pushing his body against mine until my back hurt against the hard wall behind me. Needless to say, it threw me off a bit, especially when he pulled my hood to the side so that it shielded both of our faces from the guards who were now running directly past us, paying us absolutely no mind.

Only when the sound of their feet faded into the distance did he pull away, eyes wild and hair sticking up in every direction imaginable. The only sounds that could be heard now were our heavy breaths, though we were still so close together it could have easily been mistaken as just one.

“Um, Jaskier...”

“I’m sorry,” he croaked in a hushed whisper.

“Uh, well, actually. I think the guards are coming back. Don’t you hear them?”

For a second, a look of utter confusion overtook his face. But almost as soon as it had come, a devilish grin replaced it.

“Actually yeah, they’re quite loud, aren’t they? Just to be safe...”

This time, both of us met each others lips at the same time, and it was much more pleasant than the first one. Our mouths moved in sync, in perfect harmony, as they had meant to all this time. His hands came up to hold the sides of my face tenderly, causing my hood to slip away and a rush of cold air to make me shiver. However, as soon as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders to bring him closer, the coldness was replaced by warmth, and I smiled into the kiss. Not once did he break from his aggressive, almost hungry kisses, and neither did I. We had both wanted this for so long, and neither of us wanted it to end.

Unfortunately, I had to pull away for air, so I begrudgingly stopped kissing him. But that didn’t stop him. He continued kissing me, on my cheeks, down my neck, and finally on my forehead, one last, gentle time.

“Why hadn’t we done this before now?” I gasped.

“Well,” he said in between kisses down my neck and face, “Geralt is usually around and...”

He stopped to place a gentle, final kiss on my lips, much different from the desperate ones before.

“Three’s a crowd after all.”

I smiled dumbly at him, still panting, and he mirrored my euphoria.

“Oh, right,” he muttered, pulling out the chain from his pocket.

“I got this for you.”

He reached out to me, danging a gold chain off his fingers. It was decorated with my favorite stones and colors, and it almost brought a tear to my eye. He remembered my favorite things?

“Jaskier, you stole that for me?”

He opened and closed his mouth several times before scratching the back of his neck.

“Uh, yes? I just- I saw how badly you wanted something from there and I couldn’t help but imagine how beautiful this would look on you. Before I knew it, I had it in my hands and was making to put it away.”

Rolling my eyes, I gave him a laugh and took it gently from him.

“Thank you so much. Truly... it’s wonderful.”

Jaskier smiled shyly at me, not at all matching the fierceness I had seen on him moments ago.

“Shame about your doublet though. I seem to remember you saying it was quite expensive.”

He chuckled and kicked at the dirt, flipping his hair out of his eyes.

“Yeah, well, there will be others. Now, let’s go. We probably shouldn’t hang around here.”

I smiled before placing the necklace around my neck, making sure it was covered by my clothing.

“Lead the way, lute boy.”

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incorrect-wow-quotes1 · 3 years

Text

Banshee Movie

Narrator: According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way that a banshee should be able to fly. Its tendrils are too small to get its fat tits off the ground. The banshee, of course, flies anyway because banshees don't care what the living think is impossible.

*Cut to Undercity*

Sylvanas: Purple, black. Purple, black. Purple, black. Purple, black. Ooh, black and purple! Yeah, let's shake it up a little.

Banshee Lireesa: Sylvanas! Breakfast is ready!

Sylvanas: Coming!

Val'kyr: *Starts vibrating*

Sylvanas: Oh, hang on a second.

Sylvanas: *Slaps Val'kyr's ass*

Sylvanas: Hello?

Val'kyr: *Opens mouth, causing Velonara's voice to pour forth*

Velonara: Sylvanas?

Sylvanas: Velonara?

Velonara: Can you believe this is happening?

Sylvanas: I can't believe it! I'll pick you up.

Sylvanas: *Slaps Val'kyr's ass again to hang up*

Sylvanas: *Sharpens claws*

Sylvanas: Lookin' sharp.

Sylvanas: *Flies downstairs*

Lireesa: Sylvanas, why don't you use the stairs? Your other mom paid good money for those.

Sylvanas: Sorry. I'm excited!

Lireesa but in a player 2 color scheme: Here's the graduate. We're very proud of you, comrade. And a perfect report card, all B's.

Lireesa 1: Very proud. *Touches Sylvanas' hair*

Sylvanas: Ma! I got a thing going here.

Lireesa: And you've got some lint in your hair.

Sylvanas: OW! That's me!

Lireesa 2: Wave to us! We'll be in row 118,000.

Sylvanas: Bye! *Flies off* Sylvanas: Hey Velonara! Velonara: Hey Sylvanas! Is that hair gel? Sylvanas: A little. It's a special day, finally graduating. Velonara: Never thought I’d make it. Sylvanas: Yeah, three centuries grade school, three centuries high school. Velonara: Those were so awkward... Sylvanas: Three centuries college. I'm glad I took off one century in the middle and just hitchhiked around the Undercity. Velonara: You did come back different. *A banshee calls out as they fly past* Banshee: Hi, Sylvanas. Sylvanas: Hey Anya. Shaving your head? Looks good. Velonara: Hey did you hear about Aeriel? Sylvanas: Yeah. Velonara: You going to her funeral? Sylvanas: No, I'm not goin' to her funeral. Everybody knows you sting someone, you die. You don't waste it on a squirrel. She was such a hothead. Velonara: Yeah, I guess she could have just gotten out of the way. Sylvanas and Velonara: *Both make banshee screams as they turn a corner* S and V: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! Velonara: I love this incorporating an amusement park right into our regular day.

Sylvanas: I guess that’s why they say we don’t need a vacation. Sylvanas: Boy, quite a bit of pomp... under the circumstances. Sylvanas: Well Velonara, today, we are Dark Rangers. Velonara: We are! Sylvanas: Banshee Dark Rangers. Velonara: *Starts banshee screaming again* Sylvanas: *Joins in* Announcer: Students, faculty, distinguished banshees, please welcome Dean Blightcaller. Nathanos, the normal human: Welcome, New Hive City graduating class of... 9:15! That concludes graduation ceremonies. Nathanos: And begins your career at Plaguex Industries! Sylvanas: Are we gonna pick our jobs today? Velonara: I heard it’s just orientation. Sylvanas: Huh. Woah! Heads up, here we go! Announcer: Keep your hands and tendrils inside the vehicle at all times. Mantenga sus manos y zarcillos dentro del tranvía en todo momento. Sylvanas: Wonder what it's going to be like? Velonara: A little scary. Sylvanas: *Starts banshee screaming again* Velonara: *Joins in* Banshee Vereesa, the tour guide: Welcome to Plaguex, a division of Plagusco and a part of the Geneva Group. Sylvanas: This is it! Velonara: Wow! Sylvanas: Wow! Vereesa: We know that you, as a banshee, have worked your whole unlife to get to the point where you can work for your whole unlife. Plague begins when our valiant apothecary cucks bring the slime to the Undercity. Our top-secret formula is automatically color-corrected, scent-adjusted and bubble-contoured into this soothing sweet syrup with its distinctive green glow you know as... Everyone: Plague! Velonara: That girl was hot. Sylvanas: She’s my sister! Velonara: Really? Sylvanas: Yes, we’re all sisters. Velonara: Right, you’re right. Vereesa: At Plaguex, we also constantly strive to improve every aspect of banshee existence. These banshees are stress-testing a new hood technology. Velonara: Ooh what do you think she makes? Sylvanas: Not enough. Vereesa: And here we have our latest advancement, the Krelmann! Sylvanas: Wow, what does that do? Vereesa: Catches that little strand of plague that hangs after you pour it. Saves us millions. Velonara: Uh, uh, can anyone work on the Krelmann? Vereesa: Of course. Most banshee jobs are small ones. But banshees know that every small job, if it's done well, means a lot. But choose carefully because you'll stay in the job that you pick for the rest of your unlife. Sylvanas: The same job for the rest of your unlife? I didn’t know that. Velonara: What’s the difference? Sylvanas: Huh? Vereesa: And you'll be happy to know that banshees, as a species, haven't had one day off in 27 million years. Wooh! Sylvanas: So you’ll just work us to true death? Vereesa: We’ll sure try! Everyone: *Laughs, which quickly descends into banshee screams* Velonara: Wow! That blew my mind? Sylvanas: "What's the difference?" Velonara, how could you say that? One job forever? That's an insane choice to have to make. Velonara: Well, I'm relieved. Now we only have to make one decision in life. Sylvanas: But how could they never have told us that? Velonara: Sylvanas, why would you question anything? We're banshees. We're the most perfectly functioning society on Azeroth. Sylvanas: Yeah, but Velonara, you ever think maybe things work a little too well around here? Velonara: Like what? Give me one example. Sylvanas: I don't know. But you know what I'm talking about. Announcer: Please clear the gate. Royal Apothecary Society on approach. Royal Apothecary Society on approach. Sylvanas: Wait a second. Check it out. Hey, those are apothecary cucks! Velonara: Wow. I’ve never seen them this close. Sylvanas: They know what it’s like outside the Undercity. Velonara: Yeah, but some of them don't come back. Really roided up apothecary: You guys did great! You're monsters! You're surface freaks! I love it! I love it! Sylvanas: I wonder where those guys have just been. Velonara: I don’t know. Sylvanas: Their day's not planned. Outside the Undercity, running around who knows where, doing who knows what. Velonara: You can't just decide one day to be an Apothecary Cuck. You have to be bred for that. Sylvanas: Right. Sylvanas: Look at that. That's more slime than you and I will ever see in a lifetime. Velonara: It's just a status symbol. I think banshees make too big a deal out of it. Sylvanas: Perhaps. Unless you're wearing it and the ladies see you wearing it. Ladies in the distance: *Banshee scream* Velonara: Those ladies? Aren't they our sisters too? Sylvanas: Distant. Distant. Lilian Voss: Look at these two. Lilian with a player 2 color scheme: A couple of City Sallies. Lilian 1: Let’s have some fun with them. Lady: It must be so dangerous being an apothecary cuck. Sylvanas: Oh, yeah. One time a worgen had me pinned up against a mushroom! He had one paw on my throat, and with the other, he was slapping me back and forth across the face! Lady: Oh my! Sylvanas: I never thought I’d knock him out! Lady, to Velonara: And what were you doing during all this? Velonara: Obviously, I was trying to alert the authorities. Sylvanas: I can autograph that if you want. Lilian: A little gusty out there today, wasn't it, comrades? Sylvanas: Yeah. Gusty. Lilian: Yeah, we're gonna hit a sunflower patch about six miles from here tomorrow. Sylvanas: Six miles, huh? Velonara: Sylvanas! Sylvanas: It's a puddle jump for us, but, uh, maybe you're not up for it. Sylvanas: Maybe I am! Velonara: You are not. Lilian: We're going 0900 at the northern elevator. Velonara: Woah! Lilian: What do you think, screamer? Are you banshee enough? Sylvanas: I might be. It all depends on what 0900 means. *Later* Sylvanas: *Watches city from balcony* Lireesa 2: Hey, Plaguex! Sylvanas: Oh! Mom. You surprised me. Lireesa: Have you decided what you're interested in, comrade? Sylvanas: Well there’s a lot of choices. Lireesa: But you only get one. Sylvanas: Mom, do you ever get bored doing the same job every day? Lireesa: Comrade, let me tell you about stirring. You grab that stick, and you just move it around, and you stir it around. You get yourself into a rhythm. It's a beautiful thing. Sylvanas: You know, mom, the more I think about it, the more I realize the plague field just isn’t right for me. Lireesa: And you were thinking of what, making balloon animals? That's a bad job for a girl with tendrils. Sylvanas: Well, no... Lireesa: Lireesa! Your comrade’s not sure she wants to go into plague! Lireesa 1: Oh Sylvanas, you are so funny sometimes! Sylvanas: I’m not trying to be funny. Lireesa 2: You're not funny! You're going into plague. Our comrade, the stirrer! Lireesa 1: You're gonna be a stirrer? Lireesa 2: Wait til you see the sticks I have for you! Sylvanas: I could say anything right now. Sylvanas: I’m gonna get an Alliance tattoo! Lireesa 1: Oh, let's open some fresh plague and celebrate! Sylvanas: Maybe I’ll pierce my tongue. Lireesa 2: To plague! Sylvanas: Shave my head. Lireesa 1: So funny. Sylvanas: Shack up with a gnome. Get a gold tooth and start call everybody "dawg"! Lireesa 2: I’m so proud. *The next day* Velonara: I can't believe we're starting work today! Sylvanas: Today’s the day. Velonara: Come on! All the good jobs will be gone. Sylvanas: Yeah. Right. Nathanos the normal human: Slime counting, stunt banshee, pouring, stirrer, front desk, hair removal... Alina: Is it still available? Nathanos: Hang on. Two left! And ... one of them's yours! Congratulations! son, Step to the side, please. Alina: Yeah! Velonara: What’d you get? Alina: Picking the bones out! Velonara: Woah. Alina: That is stellar! Velonara: Wow! Nathanos: Couple of newbies? Velonara: Yes, sir! Our first day! And we are ready! Nathanos: Well, step up and make your choice. Velonara: Do you wanna go first? Sylvanas: Uh, no, you go. Velonara: Oh, my. What's available? Nathanos: Restroom attendant’s always taken, by me. Velonara: Any chance of getting on to the Krelmann, sir? Nathanos: Sure, you're on. Nathanos: Oh, I'm sorry, the Krelmann just closed out. Velonara: Oh. Nathanos: Wax monkey's always open. And the Krelmann just opened up again. Velonara: What happened? Nathanos: Well, whenever a banshee dies, that's an opening. See that? She's dead, dead, another dead one, deady, deadified, two more dead. Dead from the neck up, dead from the neck down. But, that's unlife! Velonara: Oh, this is so hard! Heating, cooling, stunt bee, pourer, stirrer, humming, inspector number seven, lint coordinator, stripe supervisor, antenna ball polisher, mite wrangler.... Sylvanas, what do you think I should... Sylvanas? Sylvanas! Lilian with a player 3 color scheme: All right, we've got the sunflower patch in quadrant nine. Geranium window box on outside the Scarlet Monastery... Val’kyr: *Vibrates* Sylvanas: *Slaps its ass* Velonara: What happened to you? Where are you? Sylvanas: I’m going out. Velonara: Out? Out where? Sylvanas: Out there! Velonara: Oh no. Sylvanas: I have to, before I go to work for the rest of my life. Velonara: You're gonna die! You're crazy! Hello? Sylvanas: Oh, another call coming in. Sylvanas: *Slaps val’kyr’s ass* Lilian 3: If anyone's feeling brave, there’s a Worgen outpost that gets some roses today. Sylvanas: Hey, guys. Lilian 1: Well look at that. Lilian 3: Hold it, comrade. Elevator’s restricted. Lilian 2: It's okay, Lilian. We're gonna take her up. Lilian with a player 4 color scheme: Yeah. Lilian 3: Really. Feeling lucky, are you? Crew banshee: Sign here, here. Just initial that. Thank you. Lilian 3: Okay, you got a rain advisory today, and as you all know, forsaken cannot run around in rain. So be careful. As always, watch your brooms, hockey sticks, dogs, birds, bears and bats. Also, I got a couple of reports of root beer being thrown at us. Lilian's in a home because of it, just babbling like a goblin! Sylvanas: That’s awful. Lilian 3: And a reminder for you rookies, forsaken law number one, absolutely no talking to the living! All right, positions! *Everyone just, goes to stand on the elevator* Lilian 1: You ready for this, hot shot? Sylvanas: Yeah, yeah. Bring it on. Varok: YOU HAVE NO HONOR!!!!!!!!!!!! Varok: *Runs in and smashes up the movie set* Sylvanas: Oh for the love of... Great everyone, Undercity’s first ever movie production, and this happens! Sylvanas: I’ll be in my trailer. Varok, in the background: HONOR!!!!!! *smashes more stuff* Sylvanas: I should’ve stayed a night elf.

#read the ending #if nothing else #happy april fools #source: bee movie #sylvanas windrunner #dark ranger velonara #vereesa windrunner #lireesa windrunner #lilian voss #Nathanos Blightcaller #varok saurfang

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thecandywrites · 3 years

Text

The Beginning of Stormbreaker Part 1

So, my treat to myself, for Orctober this year. Is going back to Heaven and Fire, how Warchief Drad and Warchieftess Rhosland got to be the head of the clan. Now there is an overview of this story that is in Of Heaven and Fire. But I wanted a chance to really tell this story that would explain a lot about Brock and his upbringing through his parent’s eyes.

So lets go around and introduce people shall we? Top row from left to right. Top left- Tar, next to him, Orcoth, Middle- Esri. Over towards the right- Sarg.

Next row down, Shadi, middle- Our Gurl, our Queen- Rhosland.

Bottom row, left bottom corner, Baka, and then to the right Drad. handsome, handsome Drad.

The Beginning Of Clan Stormbreaker

Part 1

Rhosland was washing the pearls she had collected that day from the oysters and other shellfish she and her sister had gotten while her mother was cooking yet another seafood stew with the meat from the shellfish while Esri took what meager tools she had to carve and shape the shells, shaving off the ugly sides and shaping up the pretty sides of the shells into jewelry for the Warchief’s eldest son Tar and his two wives Baka and Shadi since they were both due to give birth in the next couple of weeks since Tar's other brother's wives and even Tar’s sisters had already given birth in the last few months and all the previous births had produced daughters and Tar's wives were the clan's last hope for a male heir this year.

However Rhosland took the fact that all of the pearls collected not just today but all summer were green or a pale yellowish green as an omen of the opposite since in orcish culture, green was associated with girls, because green signified the goddess Angja, the goddess of fertility and her primary colors were black- signifying black, fertile soil and green- the color of rich foliage and food. Red was associated with males, and specifically Zighorh, the god of war and the battlefield- since orcs were a warring species and red signified the color of blood that the male would spill onto the ground, making it extra rich and fertile which in turn would be a blessing for Angja.

Rhos and her twin sister Esri had even searched far and wide for pearls that would either hopefully be white which was neutral, or any shade of pink or red. But all they had found all summer was green pearls and thus all their gifts to the new mothers in the warchief’s family had been green, which was appropriate, but disappointing and all Rhosland could feel as she washed these was dread because if Shadi and Baka gave birth to daughters again, she knew Tar would get another wife, as his brothers had done, while their wives were still healing from the births and therefore could not give or receive carnal pleasure, had taken more wives and whether those wives were with child, was still too soon to tell but it had stirred quite a bit of contempt between the elder wives and the new.

Shadi and Baka were supposed to be birthing males for their husband Tar, they had done all kinds of rather bizarre rituals and ceremonies so that they believed that they had conceived sons and would succeed where their sisters in law had failed and Tar would finally have at least one, if not two male heirs to continue his lineage after the last five years of having only daughters by Shadi and the last three years of just having daughters by Baka and he was getting desperate to have a son besides his combined eight daughters, all of whom he did not care for at all and was beginning to take offense that his wives had only given him daughters so far while others in the clan were having sons, everyone except himself and his brothers and other sisters.

Tar’s father, the Clan Chief- Zash was equally desperate for at least one of his five sons to have a son themselves because his shaman had foretold that the Skull Screamer Clan would die under a lone Clan Chieftess or even a Warchieftess. So male heirs to continue the clan was of paramount importance.

Once Rhosland would be done washing the pearls, she would need to sort them and arrange them by size and hue of color and would be using a special needle to pierce each one to go on thread or cords for a necklace or earrings before there was a knock on the door before Rhosland’s mother Shari left the cooking fire to answer it to find Tar there.

“Well hello! Welcome Warlord Tar.” Shari greeted him respectfully.

“Thank you Shari, is Rosey here?” He asked hopefully as Rhosland looked at her mother’s back with disgust, she hated that nickname almost as much as she hated the man that gave it to her, who was her current caller and suitor and has been after her for the last thirteen years of her already 18 year old life and she had been repulsed by him since childhood, and into her teens and now into adulthood.

“Yes, she’s here, won’t you come in, we’re making a seafood stew for dinner, won’t you stay and have some with us?” She offered hospitably before she showed him in as Rhosland quickly tried to wipe her disgust off her face and put on a pleasant, respectful smile when he came into their mud brick hut and smiled at Rhosland as Esri was just grateful he wasn’t here for her this time as she stayed in the corner and paused in her working to keep from making any noise or movement and therefore attract any attention, wanting to blend in with the walls.

“I’d love to, the smell is what drew me. Did Rosey make it?” He asked.

“Of course!” Shari answered as Rhos had just rinsed the soapy water off of her hands and got up from the washing basin where the pearls were, grateful the soapy suds on the surface of the water concealed what was in it.

“Rosey has always made the best stews.” Tar praised as Rhos begrudgingly took her own meager wooden bowl filled it for him and handed him her own wooden spoon so he could eat the stew her mother had spent the last several hours making as he sat down and helped himself and quickly scarfed it down and then had seconds and then thirds so that he ate over two thirds of it all by himself and of course most of the meat in it, leaving some broth and chunks of vegetables behind.

“Oh it’s amazing. Well this is a good sign, the day after tomorrow, we will be going on a raid and I came by to inform you all that when we come back successfully, my father is stepping down and making me Clan Chief's Warchief, and my wives should be delivering sons to me in the next couple of weeks and I wanted to inform you that when I come back, I will give you all the spoils that I will be taking on the raid and it should be more than enough gold especially to give you Shari- for supplies for a proper house that I and my captains and commanders will make for you so that you can live in a proper house of timbers instead of a house of mud and mud bricks because no mother in law of a Clan Chief Warcheif should ever live in a mud house.” He announced and Rhos felt like she was being put into a coffin and Tar was the one driving the nails of the lid in as panic and dread filled her as she looked pleadingly at her mother to please decline the offer but her mother’s own excited smile told her that her own mother would not rescue her from this fate this time.

“Oh that’s wonderful, of course Clan Chief Warchief Tar, which of my daughters will you be taking?” Shari asked as Esri practically shrunk down as Rhos was too frozen in fear to move, much less blink or breathe.

“Why Rosey of course since she is the eldest twin because she is by far the prettiest in the clan, but if I am to elevate her I must also elevate your whole family and then once your house is built, then I will happily take Esri after that.” He answered happily.

“Oh happy day, may you know nothing but victory on the battlefield then!” Shari offered as she elbowed her eldest daughter as Rhos offered a polite smile but inwardly she was panicking.

“Well I know you’ll be successful, you should take your Rosey home with you so that she can be with child before you go!” Shari suggested as she tried to push Rhosland towards Tar but Rhos was rooted into the ground she was standing on.

“No!” Rhosland blurted in a booming voice as Shari and Tar both looked surprised by her objection.

“Please, no, Clan Chief Warchief Tar, I would hate to aggrieve your wives who are due to give birth soon and I would hate to give them any reason to be jealous of me and chance them going into labor too soon and something bad happening to your future sons. I think it would be best if we waited until you’re back and my mother’s house is built to her comfort and by then your sons will be born and your current wives will still be healing and will not be able to receive their pleasure from you at that time so you’ll need us then.” Rhosland offered desperately grasping at anything she could think of to give him a reason not to take her right then and there.

“Oh that’s a good point, yes, for now,” Tar said before he forced a kiss onto her lips as Rhosland forced herself not to bite his face and endured it before he did the same to Esri before he left and they both quickly wiped his kisses off their lips as spit out onto the ground in disgust.

“What is wrong with you girls?” Shari asked her daughters.

“He has no affection for me outside of feeding him or draping him and his family with pearls.” Rhosland bit out hatefully as she washed her bowl and spoon so that she wouldn’t taste any more of him than she absolutely had to.

“And he is selfish for claiming both of us at the same time and eating most of our dinner.” Esri complained.

“But you two would only be only the third and fourth wives of the Clan Chief Warchief who would be second only to his father, your father in law, the richest and most powerful family in the whole clan, it’s not like you would be the sixth and seventh or 12th and 13th or anything. And he promised to elevate our whole family, that means that all of us would be taken care of and all we have is what’s around us which isn’t much of anything. Why must you fight this so insistently?” Shari urged her daughters as Esri and Rhosland both shared a meaningful look.

“Esri? It’s getting to be fall, we need to go on a hunting and gathering trip, try to get something for the winter, we should leave first thing tomorrow and since Tar is going to Rush Fang which is to the Southeast, let’s go in the opposite direction, Northwest, over in the neutral land between us and Hurricane Breaker, they would take no quarrel with two women gathering and fishing there, especially unarmed ones.” Rhos pleaded with her younger twin sister who nodded yes emphatically.

Then Rhos gave herself a third of what was left of the seafood stew and quickly ate it then left again to go for a walk to cool her head and try to see the positives instead of feeling like she was going to die as she found a little stream near the estuary and sat on one of the rocks on the shore and stuck her feet into the cooling waters and just cried into her hands, surrounded by a cocoon of tall marsh grass as her crystal tears came flooding out of her eyes as she did her best to catch them all and put them into her little and mostly empty coin purse.

Meanwhile Drad was feeling panic grip his own chest as Tar was proudly bragging in the town hall about his latest soon to be conquests of “his Rosey”, and after he would come back, he was going to actually be taking both Rosey and Esri, as he continued to eat the roasted wild boar on the spit as Drad and his brother Sarg both looked guiltily and worriedly at each other before Drad could hear no more of it and got up and left, and went to his house and got his old bow and set of arrows. Since he had just made himself a new bow with new arrows just for this raid and went looking for Rhos, letting his heart lead him to her and found Rhos sobbing in the thick tall grasses that the little streams flowed through and knew just by the sounds, it was Rhos and it broke his heart to hear her be so upset as he wanted nothing more than to go to her and soothe her hurt and take her far away from here.

Because Rhos had made it abundantly clear to everyone that she was not interested in Tar since childhood and Drad had loved her from afar ever since they were toddlers and was just waiting on Tar to lose interest so he could move in on her himself because she was not just the most beautiful woman in the clan in his eyes but the most excellent one as well.

She danced with more grace than any water sprite and sang better than any singer and played wonderful music on any instrument she picked up and she was a natural healer and had healed Tar and himself and their warband on so many previous occasions and even though she was in one of the poorest families in the clan and lived in a mud and mud brick hut, it was always clean as were her clothes and her person. She was also the most humble, unassuming, discrete, modest and meek and mild but didn’t let others trample on her either.

But she had dignity and grace and self respect and he held her in such high esteem and always took her excellent council when he sought it and they had always been good friends and he had always been attracted to her and he knew in his bones that she must have felt the same way at least a little bit, because she looked at him differently than she looked at anyone else. Because she had admitted to him that she had always admired him and especially the loving and caring way he treated his own mother and the other elders in the clan and always treated her with respect and dignity even though she was of a lower station and class than him.

She smiled more at him than anyone else, she laughed with him more than anyone else and she sought out his company just as much as he sought hers and they got along amazingly and had so much natural chemistry but because of Tar, he couldn’t claim her as his own and thankfully no one else could either and vowed he would never marry unless she did. And now that she was officially betrothed to Tar, he felt he was going to swear off women forever because if he could not have Rhosland, no other would do.

He had even flirted with the idea of swearing off the clan and taking her away and start a new clan or join another. They would be alienated from the rest of their families but they would have each other because right now, even at his position of First Commander of Captains to Tar as Tar was Warlord of his own warband, it didn’t matter as much as losing Rhos to Tar and he resented Tar more in this moment than ever had before. And he felt if he didn't at least make an effort now, he was going to regret it forever.

“Rhos?” He called out as he was a little ways away and saw her head bolt up but the tears were streaking down her face as she tried to use her sleeves to wipe them away after she put the crystal tears away.

“Who’s there?” She asked.

“It’s just me, Drad.” He answered before he came over and saw that she was curled in on herself as her hair was down to cover her face, that gorgeous gold neck tattoo on the back of her neck glimmering and shimmering in the sea of green and tan seagrasses as her dark curly hair was a curtain of soft black silk.

“I take it you’ve heard “the news”.” Rhos croaked as even more tears welled in her eyes.

“I have, I’m sorry.” Drad offered as he came and sat down next to her and took his boots off to put his feet in the water with her and smiled sadly at their wavy reflections in the water side by side, wishing he could capture this as being one of the few moments they could be together.

“That’s a weird way to say “congratulations”,” Rhos tried to tease as she tried to wipe her new tears away and force herself not to cry and was failing miserably.

“If those were happy tears, I would be offering congratulations, but since they are clearly not, I will offer my apologies and sympathies.” Drad stated simply.

“Please don’t say anything…” Rhos tried pleading.

“About what to who? I take it he didn’t give you a choice this time.” Drad gathered.

“No he did not, neither did my mother, he offered her more than she could refuse. He offered her all the spoils of the raid you’re all going on so that she could buy enough wood for a timber house and have all of his commanders and captains help build it for her, because ‘no mother in law to a warchief should live in a mud house’.” Rhos paraphrased in a condescending tone as Drad frowned deeply and if only he had known that that was her mother’s price, he would have done that for her a decade ago when he was building his own house for himself.

Orcs aged quickly, they were considered grunt sized at 10 or 11 which for them were their teenage years, adults by 12 or 13, fully mature by 15 and middle aged by 17 or 18 and getting old past 20. But because Rhos was only half orc she grew and matured at a much much slower rate, being a child still at 13, barely a teenager at 14 through 17 and only in the last year had she seemed to physically mature and “finish” growing up, just in the last year, finally getting her last big growth spurt so that she wasn’t less than half the size of everyone else, she was now only about 20% smaller than everyone else, getting that final growth spurt at 17 instead of at 12 for all the other orcs, which is why Tar had not claimed or mated with her yet cause she had been too young and way too small before now, but with her finally getting that last growth spurt and her previously barely budded breasts getting larger growing fuller along with her hips too so that her shape was now perfect and voluptuous even though she was still on the petite side, that must have been what Tar had been waiting on as was Rhosland’s own mother as well it seemed. But for Drad, for her to take so long to mature as a child, teen and young adult, that meant that, provided no one killed her off and cut her life short- she would live much longer as would her children after her because obviously whatever her father was- was also something that lived long too and such a long life would surely lend to stability.

“So what will you do?” Drad asked.

“Esri and I are going on a hunting and gathering trip, I’ve heard Tar talking about going to raid Rush Fangs, so my sister and I will go in the opposite direction, over towards Hurricane Breaker since there’s another estuary that’s neutral land between us that might have some good fish or shellfish in it or even some game, last winter we all froze so if we could get a deer hide, at least we would get leather for decent boots this year, or if not, I can still hold out hope that a bear will come and eat me so I won’t have to marry Tar.” Rhos answered as she looked at their shared reflection and sadly much preferred this reflection to Tar’s ugly face and even more hideous personality.

“Then take this, I hope it serves you as well as it has me.” Drad offered his bow and arrow and even his good hunting knife to her.

“Why are you giving me this?” Rhos asked suspiciously as she looked at them but made no move to take them.

“Because you’ll need it. I just got done making myself a new bow with new arrows, I have no need for it and you do. It’s not that I’m at all happy about your match with Tar, because I’m not. And I’m not condoning it or celebrating it or encouraging it in any way because you have never liked him and always made it abundantly clear that you never wanted him and you’re being forced into it and it’s wrong and I’m sorry. But you shouldn’t give up hope, not yet anyway. There’s still a dangerous raid between now and then. Plus Tar could always fail in the raid or fall to his death in a sink hole or something on the way there and he hasn’t come back successfully yet and he hasn’t mated with you yet so there’s still hope that you won’t have to go through with it. So take the bow and arrows, and use them and show Zash, Tar, Shadi and Baka that you’re not one to mess with or dominate and they are the ones who will have to watch out for you. And if anyone else asks though you can always say it’s a gift. Aren’t new brides supposed to receive gifts from the future Warcheif’s family and stuff? And if you do face off against a bear and can kill it, Tar’s wives might think twice before being domineering or aggressive towards you.” Drad tried to console, wishing he had the balls and the guts to say more but his hands were figuratively tied at this point, had been all his life. Because once a Warlord even claimed a woman in name, all others were forbidden from taking her and Tar had had his eye on Rhosland since they were kids and she had managed to keep Tar at bay until now because of her slow maturity rate.

“Thank you Drad.” Rhosland thanked him as she took his gift and put the bow and it’s quiver of arrows into her lap and put the knife in its sheath on her belt.

“You’re welcome Rhosland.” He answered as he gave her a lopsided grin because even when she was in pain, she was beautiful.

“You’re not going to be calling me ‘Rosey’ too?” Rhos asked, trying to be teasing but all that came out was bitterness and resentment.

“Nope, because that’s not your name. It’s either Rhosland or Rhos. You’ve never liked that particular nickname so I would never use it because you don’t like it. Because even though you’re prettier than any flower I’ve seen around here, you definitely don’t smell like a rose, you smell like creek water or river water or seawater most of the time.” Drad tried to tease her which got her to laugh away the last of her tears.

“Thanks, I appreciate your honesty. Well I wouldn’t say no to any rose scented soap if anyone ever found any.” Rhos hinted as she gave him a fond, adoring, appreciative smile.

“I’ll keep on the lookout then.” Drad offered as he returned her smile.

“Rosey! Rhosland! Where are you?!” They heard Tar’s wives Shadi and Baka hollered for her.

“Oh for fuck’s sakes.” Rhosland growled under her breath before she stood up.

“Over here.” Rhos waived them over as both of them waddled over, their heavily pregnant bellies wavering with their steps on the uneven land.

“Shouldn’t both of you be in bed?” Rhos asked as she closed the distance between them and met them halfway to keep them from seeing Drad alone with her to keep Drad out of trouble.

“No, Tar told us to go ahead and give you welcome gifts, so here.” Shadi spat particularly hatefully as she pulled off her own pearl necklace that Rhos had made her as tribute instead of accepting the last attempt Tar had made to try and marry Rhos and put it over Rhos’ neck but used it to pull Rhos closer.

“If you ever come between Tar and I, I will see to it that you never leave the water and sleep with the fish you’re so fond of swimming with- permanently.” Shadi growled as Drad was still sitting in the grasses and just shook his lowered head in shame. If only Tar could hear that as Baka did the same as Drad wanted to burst out of the grasses and confront them but stayed where he was because he didn’t want to make trouble for Rhos.

“Why do you have Drad’s old bow?” Baka asked Rhos after Rhos had assured and reassured them that she would never dream of coming between them and their husband.

“Because as Tar’s First Commander, he wanted to be the first to offer me a present for joining the warchief’s family. I’m also going on a hunting and gathering trip tomorrow, and he didn’t want me to lose my life to a bear or whatever.” Rhosland explained.

“Well then there’s still hope. Don’t forget if you shoot down deer, to save all the tenderloins for Tar and all the backstraps for us and all the roasts for our sons.” Baka and Shadi smiled smugly as they each tenderly rubbed their heavily pregnant bellies before they turned around and walked each other back before Rhos made an ugly face at their backs and walked back to where Drad was still sitting and waiting.

“That was a really nice warm reception.” Drad sarcastically quipped.

“Oh you heard that, did you? Well no point in saying you did. Tar would believe them over you. Because they are the mothers to his children.” Rhos sighed tiredly as she slumped back into her spot she had previously taken up, her shoulders sagging in defeat.

“And that’s exactly why I didn’t want to marry Tar because he has such lovely wives, how could I possibly compare?” Rhosland sarcastically quipped right back which got Drad to bark a laugh.

“Yeah, they’re real sweethearts.” Drad muttered before he made a gagging noise which made Rhosland laugh.

“Well I can tell you what, no son of mine would ever court or marry a daughter of theirs on the off chance they would turn out anything like their mothers.” Drad muttered lowly as he leaned over to her so he could say that softly so the whole world wouldn’t hear him.

“Me either.” Rhosland shook her head no.

“Thanks for the gifts though. I will put them to good use, good luck on your raid Drad, I hope you come back safe, if not for my sake, then at least for your mothers.” Rhosland offered before she left him be and walked back home, much happier and more at peace than she came to the marsh feeling. If only she could marry Drad instead.

Meanwhile Esri had left the house and walked in the opposite direction to do the same thing as Sarg found her already in the stream, staying under for way longer than normal, almost as if she was trying to drown herself as her own crystal tears fell to the bottom of the stream before she noticed he was on the shore and came up for air.

“I don’t see any...shellfish in this stream, so...what are you diving for?” Sarg asked awkwardly.

“For practice, to exercise my lungs to make sure I can keep staying under the water’s surface long enough to catch them.” Esri easily excused as she swam over to the edge and got out and sat on stream’s edge but simply sat there and sulked before Sarg came over and sat beside her.

“Have you heard the news?” Esri asked with a huff.

“About your impending betrothal to Tar? Yeah, the fucker won’t stop bragging about it. I’m sorry, I know you didn’t want this.” Sarg answered.

“That pig came and ate almost all of our dinner, told my mother that he was going to be giving her all the spoils from the raid so that she could get a timber house and then tried to take Rhosland tonight and will be taking me when he gets back. Thankfully Rhos bought us some time and we’re going away on a hunting trip tomorrow in the marsh between us and Hurricane Breaker while you guys go to Rush Fang. If my sister and I had been able to sell those god damn pearl necklaces instead of having to give them as tribute we would have been able to buy axes and cut down our own trees to make ourselves a timber house. But instead everything we have that’s good, Tar and his wives and the rest of the Warchief’s family just help themselves to and call it “tribute”. It’s not fair. I don’t want to be Tar’s fourth wife, or any wife to anyone in the Warchief’s family period, which is just another slave in his house and neither does Rhos, but Tar is Warlord and is so entitled and no one dares to go against him.” Esri complained as she scanned the area to make sure no one else was around to hear her as she sniffed and hugged her knees.

Sarg felt like an idiot for not realizing how much worse off they were than he realized and if he would have just traded a carved shell totem for an ax. Her mother wouldn’t be so desperate to give her daughters away for just one raid’s worth of goods for such a simple thing as a house of timbers. He should have done that years ago. He should have spoken up and said something years ago. And because he waited, he was losing her altogether because just being friends was all he could manage until now and just like Drad had been waiting for Rhos, he had been waiting for Esri and now that Tar was taking her, he had never felt more anger or resentment towards Tar. Because Tar and all of his brothers were just being greedy now in their quests for sons.

“You’re right, it isn’t fair. What if…” Sarg began before he stopped himself.

“What if what?” Esri asked curiously.

“What if I don’t go raiding, and instead go with you on this hunting and gathering trip? That’s still a dangerous area, I’ve seen bears over there. I don’t want you getting hurt.” Sarg offered.

“If you were to do that, Tar would demote you or pug you and call you a traitor for not supporting him. Plus your mother depends on what you and Drad bring home especially since your father died. Your mother is a widow just like mine. At least your mother had sons instead of daughters to help take care of her and go on raids and support her in the clan. It’s not worth the backlash.” Esri gently argued.

“I appreciate the thought though.” Esri offered as she reached over and squeezed his hand as he gently held her hand, wishing he could be holding all of her and just about the time he was mentally saying ‘fuck it’ and would be throwing the hierarchy of the clan out the window and take her anyway because he wanted her more than he wanted his place as Drad’s First Captain in Tar’s warband, he wanted to spend these last moments giving Esri the greatest pleasure he could because he knew for a fact that Tar was a shitty lover and Esri deserved to recieve so much more than he could ever give her before they heard Shadi and Baka hollering for Esri.

“Stay here,” Esri whispered to Sarg before she let go of his hand and got up and waived them over and went over to them so they didn’t need to go too far and see that she was alone with Sarg and possibly get him in trouble.

“Ugh! Why are you always wet? You’re betrothed to the Warlord and future Clan Chief Warchief, you can’t go around with your clothes sucked to your body, it’s inappropriate and unseemly or do you just like to walk around like a whore?” They chastized her as Esri bit back her argument because she didn’t want to start anything with them especially if she was going to be sharing a roof with them.

“Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” Esri asked.

“Yes we should but Tar insisted that we needed to give you bride gifts, so here, the totems you made for us. I’m sure they’ll be just as prosperous to you as they have been to us.” They said as they grabbed her wrists roughly and put the leather ties that had the carved shell totems on them and tied them to her wrists.

“If you ever get between Tar and I, I will see to it that you carve your own fingers off.” Shadi hissed.

“And I’ll see to it that you go swimming and never come back up for air if you ever come between Tar and I either.” Baka growled before the two of them left and went back home, happy that they had dealt with Esri and Rhosland and made their points in private and if Rhosland and Esri were smart, they would never say a word about it to anyone.

Sadly, once a betrothal gift was given, the potential bride was never allowed to sell or trade it or else it was seen as bad luck.

Sarg though was practically seething in the grasses as he obediently hadn’t moved but had heard the whole interchange. If only Tar had been there to hear it but he also knew that if he tried to say anything Baka and Shadi would most likely kill him themselves and get away with it too because any word said against a Warlordess or Warchieftess was seen as disrespectful.

“Is it too much to hope that they get eaten by wolves?” Sarg offered to Esri when she came back and sat back down in her original spot.

“Is it too much to hope I get eaten by a bear so I don't have to marry Tar? Probably. So don’t invite bad luck or ill fates, they will reap what they have sewn soon enough.” Esri countered even though the thought did bring her delight, except that they were both pregnant and no baby deserved to die or suffer on account of their mother.

“But they are spoiled brats!” Sarg argued.

“I know they are, and I have to be subordinate to them because they are the first and second wives. I can’t afford to offend them or give them any cause to treat me any worse than they already do. Besides, it would be a bad reflection on my own mother who has suffered from their own mothers. Too much is at stake. Just...good night Sarg, I hope your raid goes well and you come back home safely, especially for your mother’s sake.” Esri offered before she got back up and went back home only to find that word had spread to the whole village and every family had come to give their “bride gifts” as suddenly their little mud hut was full of food and goods for the first time in their lives as Esri began going through it and taking what would be useful to Rhos and herself and packed it into the rowboat to use on their trip as their mother was so happy and at ease to finally get something instead of always giving when she had so little to give.

“Where did you…?” Shari asked when she saw Rhosland come home with the bow and the quiver of arrows around her back.

“Drad gave me the bow and arrows and the hunting knife, as my bride gifts, also just in case we run into a bear or something, we have a fighting chance.” Rhosland readily defended.

“Oh good, that will be very helpful.” Esri smiled happily.

“It will be.” Rhosland readily agreed as her mother was telling her girls who had given what to them before she started making bread dough to rise overnight so she could bake it first thing in the morning as Esri was getting things packed up and loaded up into their little row boat with two mismatched oars.

Meanwhile Sarg and Drad had met back up and brain stormed about what they could do and how they could help Rhos and Esri and were now buying two special stone timber axes from the blacksmith since Sarg had already bought a really good fishing net from the best net weaver and extra fishing lines with hooks on them for fishing and special poles for them to be tied to as they did their best to think of things that Esri and Rhos would need and like to use on their hunting and foraging trip to make it as easy and successful as they could since all the other men in the raiding parties and warbands were in the clan hall eating and drinking and not noticing their absence at all, before they seemed to be satisfied that what they had managed to collect would be good enough for Rhosland and Esri before Sarg went home since he still lived with his mother, being the younger son while Drad was on his way to his own home and found a wounded shaman stumbling into the clan village and immediately came over to help him.

“Do you know anyone here?” Drad asked as he helped carry this elderly man down the village’s main road.

“Oh I know you are Drad, son of Grat and Wolvish, and that in less than a week’s time you will mate and pairbond to the most beautiful woman your eyes have ever been on and she will bear you many children, the first of which will be a son.” He answered before Drad brought the shaman to his own home that he had built for himself, it was basically a one room hut of timbers, it wasn’t much but it was all he had and all he needed because he was a bachelor. It had the basics, a stone firepit that had a chimney of stones up around it in the middle surrounded by a bed on one side, a kitchen on the other and on the back wall was where he stored his clothes and armor and weapons.

“How do you know that?” Drad asked as he helped the shaman into his chair at his little table in his kitchen.

“I saw a vision of you and knew I had to make my way here to you, to tell you myself, but my hip has long since been injured for many years and the path to get here was much more tiring than I thought it would be.” He answered.

“So...how can I help you?” Drad asked.

“If you will allow me to rest for a short time, and permit me to stay here while you raid. I shall adopt you as my honorary son since my own sons have left this world without me.” He offered.

“Of course, you’re more than welcome to stay. What is your name?” Drad asked him.

“My name is Orcoth.” The shaman stated.

“Well my name is Drad, First…” Drad began.

“Oh yes, First Commander of Captains under Warlord Tar Skull Screamer, first born son of Clan Chief Zash and Clan Chieftess Zorba.” Orcoth finished for him.

“So what is the beautiful woman’s name?” Drad asked Orcoth curiously.

“You already know her name. Here, the rose scented soap you promised her in your heart. She will be better to you than seven wives and is smarter than seven wisemen because you have already discerned that the other half of her that is not orcish, is in fact a very special being, known for long lives, extraordinary gifts and wisdom beyond age and experience. Her natural instincts are enhanced, as is her intellect. She will be best for you as your only wife, and as long as you treat her as the cherished companion she is and not a slave, you will make her happy and capture her heart and loyalty forever and she will see to it that you not only prosper, but live longer than any other orc you have ever heard of, for you know she is a long lifer, and being paired with her, will lengthen your own life considerably. Her betrothal gifts will be beyond perfection and without equal and they will set the standard until your own daughter in law sets a new standard of perfection when she gives betrothal gifts to your son- in time of course.” Orcoth offered as he pulled a bar of rose scented soap from his satchel and handed it to Drad whose eyes got wide as he took it reverently and sniffed it as his pupils got wide and smiled when the scent was something he had never smelled before but it smelled better than anything else he had ever smelled in his life.

“When you come back from the raid, build her a house where you find the wild roses growing, whose scent is in the soap- so that she can make her own from now on.” Orcoth advised as Drad took the bar of soap and wrapped it in the nicest piece of cloth he had, wanting to get at least some silk to wrap it up in for her as he felt so happy and pleased that Rhosland, the most beautiful woman he had ever known was going to be his wife and would be courting him and giving him courting gifts as he knew that this would be the first of hopefully many courting gifts they would exchange in the future.

“How do you know such things, are you a mage or a shaman of some kind? Practice some kind of magic?” Drad asked.

“I am a shaman.” Orcoth confirmed as Drad noticed that Orcoth’s eyes were that of dragons and could plainly see that Orcoth was wearing dragon wool.

“Then since your sons have left you, will you take me as your adopted son since my father has left me also?” Drad requested.

“Of course, that is why I came Son.” Orcoth smiled proudly as she clasped Drad on the shoulder and gave him a proud smile.

“Thank you, I am especially honored to have you as my father then. I will take your council all my days.” Drad promised.

“And you will reap the benefits of it. When you go raiding, there will be a very thick fog, where it will be almost impossible to find your way through, death will be all around you but will not take your life, follow the scent of the smoking venison and smoking fish, it will lead you to safety and will be your salvation.” Orcoth advised.

“Thank you father, I will do as you say.” Drad vowed.

“Good, so what will we be having for dinner Son?” Orcoth asked curiously before Drad immediately got to work feeding Orcoth what he had, giving Orcoth the better and greater portions which Orcoth appreciated before Drad put Orcoth in his own bed and took his camping roll and rolled it out onto his own floor to sleep as Orcoth waited until Drad was asleep before giving him a sweet prophetic dream of Drad’s house that he and Rhos were going to be building together and the family that they would be having in it and the happiness that would be found in his own home. All the peace, joy, love and contentment he would have in it and how handsome his sons would be, especially his eldest son, how smart and amazing and great he would be, but always saying that he was only following in his father’s footsteps and how proud Drad would be of him and how he would look quite a bit like his mother as he set a spell to give Rhosland the same dream while giving Sarg a similar dream about Esri and gave to Esri - Sarg’s dream as well along with giving Drad and Sarg’s mother Grat a dream of her own so that she would know what to do while they were gone on the raid.

#Of Heaven and Fire Prequel.#The Beginning of Stormbreaker #The Beginning of Stormbreaker Part 1 #orc love story #orctober 2021

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