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buckybeardreams · 3 years

Text

Unwanted

Chapters: 10/11

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes, Clint Barton, Harley Keener

Additional Tags: Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alpha Steve Rogers, Omega Tony Stark, Service Top, Dominant Bottom, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Virgin Steve Rogers, Brock Rumlow is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Romantic Soulmates, First Meetings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sappy, Romantic Fluff, Awkwardness, Drinking to Cope, Self-Worth Issues, Insecure Tony Stark, Insecure Steve Rogers, Age Difference, Harley Keener is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Bonding, Claiming Bites, Claiming, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Non-Explicit Sex, Light Dom/sub, Mutual Masturbation, Coming Untouched, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, Knotting

Series: Part 1 of Second Chances

Summary:

Steve is a soft Alpha and Tony is an in charge kind of Omega with no desire to find a mate. He doesn't want to find his soulmate and when he does meet Steve he's determined to stay away from him.

That is until he realizes just how right they are for each other.

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10 Ch 11

Can also be read here

Words: 1,583

Tony went to Brock's to tell him about winning the case against Obie and Pierce, and ended up making another less expected announcement. One that Brock followed up with good news of his own.

"Wait? You're pregnant?"

"Yeah, but don't tell anyone. We're not telling people yet," Brock told him.

"I'm sorry, what? If I hadn't just told you I was pregnant, would you not have told me?"

"Probably not."

"What the fuck, Brock? I'm your best friend!"

"Yeah, but you know I was an only child, Tony. Not from a lack of trying on my parents' part either. They went through three miscarriages before they finally used in vitro to have me. If this baby doesn't make it, I don't want to deal with a whole bunch of people pitying me while I'm grieving."

Tony reached over and pulled him in for a hug.

"Okay, I get it now, but can I at least tell Steve?"

"Honestly, it's inevitable. I went to the hair salon yesterday and my hairdresser told me that Jessica, some girl that lives in her apartment that I don't even know, was having an affair with her current lover's ex-lover, not to mention she's married with three kids. I spilled my guts the moment Sam got home. Keeping things from mates is practically impossible."

Tony bit his lip.

"I haven't told Steve."

"Of course you didn't. You just found out, Tony. You literally haven't even left the room and your phone is sitting on the coffee table. How would you have told him?"

Tony shook his head.

"No, not that. I mean that I'm pregnant."

Brock blinked at him for a minute before narrowing his eyes.

"Why?" He asked suspiciously.

Tony fidgeted nervously.

"I don't know how he's gonna take it," Tony admitted.

Brock rolled his eyes.

"Good God, you're pathetic," Brock groaned in exasperation. "Seriously? That boy lives to please you. He's gonna be thrilled that you're gonna need massages and foot rubs for the next nine months. Not to mention, now he's gonna have two people to order him around. He's gonna be so excited to spoil your little mini-me, Tony."

Tony glared at him halfheartedly.

"Yeah, I know, but I'm still anxious about it and I'm not entirely sure why. I know it's ridiculous and I know Steve's gonna be thrilled."

Brock eyed him for a moment.

"Yes, we've established that," Brock said, watching Tony carefully. "What about you? Are you excited about it?"

Tony bit his lip and looked over at Brock guiltily.

"I don't know. I know that I should be. I know that babies are like miracles and all that, but I never thought I'd have one. I never thought I'd have an Alpha and now I do, and now this. It's just a lot and I'm not sure if I'm ready. I'm not sure if I want a child."

Brock nodded.

"If you need someone to go with you to take care of it, Tony-"

"No, no, I'm gonna keep it. I already considered that, but I think I'll regret it if I do."

Brock frowned.

"There's nothing wrong-"

"No, I know, Brock. It's not that. It's just- I think I'm scared, because this wasn't part of the plan. Steve wasn't part of the plan and the plan has completely changed. It's a lot, but I was scared about Steve, too, and he's the best thing that's ever happened to me. Maybe this baby will be like that too."

Brock nodded.

"Okay, if it's really what you want then I'll support it and be happy for you. I'll support you no matter what choice you make, you know that right?"

"I do and I love you for that."

Brock rolled his eyes, but he smiled softly and pulled Tony in for a hug.

"Now let's talk nurseries," Brock said when he pulled back.

Tony grinned at him.

*****

"We're buying the bar," Tony said to the group.

He had invited everyone over to Steve's place, since his place was bigger and neater and just overall better for hosting people. He chose to do this on a Sunday night, the only night that the bar wasn't open, so everyone could be there. Everyone was so excited about having won the case, but also scared about what that would mean for them. They had all figured when they first decided to take their boss to court that they would be left jobless regardless of the outcome.

Clint raised his hand like he was still in elementary school and Tony rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Clint? Do you have something to say to the class?" Tony said sarcastically.

"Um... you're doing what?"

Tony sighed.

"We-" He said, gesturing between him and Steve, "Are buying the bar. This way we can all keep our jobs, have decent fucking pay checks, get the benefits we deserve, and just overall have a positive work environment. Sound good?"

There were murmurs and nods of agreement. Bucky stood up and grabbed the bottle of wine on the counter.

"Okay, well, I think we should all drink to that and to our new bosses."

"Yeah, um, we should clarify, that while I'm technically gonna be on the lease, it's really only because it looks good to have an Alpha on it," Steve said. "I'm an artist. Um, leadership? Yeah, that's not really my thing. Tony, though, he's gonna make a damn fine boss. So yeah, he's gonna run the place and work with you guys. I'm just gonna do the paperwork and manage schedules. That kind of behind the scenes stuff."

Tony giggled and kissed his cheek.

"Steve's gonna be a great co-owner and let me do whatever I want with the place, so I suggest you kiss up to me, if there's anything specific you want out of the renovations," Tony teased. "Steve will also be very busy raising our child and being a work-from-home dad while he paints and helps manage the bar.

Tony rested his hand on his flat belly and all the eyes in the room went wide and congratulations and cheers went off after a moment of shock. Steve was the most shocked though and it took him the longest to say something.

"Wait? Are you serious? Tony, if you're joking then tell me now before I get my hopes up."

"Nope, not joking," Tony told him with a grin, but a part of him was nervous that Steve would be unhappy about it.

"Oh my God. Oh my God! We're having a baby!" Steve practically shouted to the room in his excitement and scooped Tony up into his arms.

Tony laughed and wrapped his limbs around him, leaning down to kiss him.

"I can't believe it. This is amazing, baby! I'm gonna set up a nursery-"

"No, I'm setting up the nursery and Brock's gonna help me since he's also pregnant and we're gonna have matching nurseries."

"Right, right, then I'm gonna paint a mural on the walls."

"That's acceptable."

"Yeah and- Wait? Did you say Brock's pregnant?"

"Yeah, but you didn't hear it from me. They're not telling people yet," Tony told him with a wink.

Steve furrowed his brows.

"Who else would I have heard it from if they're not telling people?"

"I don't know. Sam?"

"But Sam would know that he didn't tell me," Steve pointed out.

Tony rolled his eyes.

"Not my problem."

Steve set Tony down when Bucky cleared his throat.

"Hate to ruin the moment, but I've got wine," Bucky said handing a glass to Steve before reaching for a glass on the counter, "and for you--"

"Oh, no, I can't--"

"It's grape juice, Tony," Bucky cut him off. "I wouldn't do anything to risk your baby."

Tony nodded his thanks and smiled at Bucky.

"Congratulations, by the way. On the mating and the pup."

The words seemed sincere enough, but Bucky's smile seemed off. Tony brushed it off though, letting everyone else come up and hug him and make him promise to invite them to the baby shower. It was a good day, everyone in high spirits, excited about the new baby and getting to keep their jobs.

*****

That night at home Steve sat on the couch with Tony's feet in his lap, rubbing them.

"I'll do this for you everyday until the baby's born," Steve promised.

Tony smirked.

"Only until the baby's born," Tony teased, wiggling his toes.

Steve laughed.

"No, I'll do it every day until we die, because I love you more than anything in the world and I'd do anything for you, Tony, my beautiful Omega.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but smiled.

"Yeah, well, don't let the baby hear you say that. I'm pretty sure your world is going to expand the moment I pop this thing out."

"Yeah," Steve said dreamily. "I can't believe we're gonna be parents."

"Yeah, this kid's so fucked," Tony teased.

Steve grinned at him.

"We're gonna have the most spoiled, loved, and happiest baby ever. He's never gonna want for anything."

"He? What makes you think we're having a boy?"

"Or she," Steve amended. "I don't care either way. I just hope the baby's just like you."

"Well, jokes on you. This baby's gonna have blond hair and blue eyes."

Steve rolled his eyes.

"I didn't say the baby was gonna look like you, just be like you. You know, brilliant and stubborn."

Tony giggled and shook his head.

“Just focus on rubbing my feet, Alpha.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve teased.

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notsoguiltykpop · 6 years

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The Tenth Floor pt21

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader & Taehyung x Reader

Min Yoongi had gone through 34 secretaries in the past 24 months, and each one of them left in tears. This fact alone should have warned you against taking the job, but the pay was too good to pass up. Surely you could put up with a billionaires temper-tantrums, right?

Genre: Crack, Fluff, humor, some angst.

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: Strong language, smut talked about/implied, some dark themes

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20,

Jungkook opened his eyes to his familiar bland ceiling and the complete silence of his apartment. He sighed, reaching over to his nightstand to glance at his phone. He was running late, his phone was on 2%, and he’d slept in his clothes. Great.

Jessica called last night. He was so excited for all of twenty seconds, then he realized that she wasn’t calling to catch up or hear him out. She said you were acting weird, and wanted to know if it was his fault. He dragged himself into the shower, trying to push the conversation from his mind.

He supposed it was karma, or something of the like. It didn’t seem quite fair; here he was trying to straighten up, and things were worse now than they were before.

“No, that’s not right,” He thought, swearing as some shampoo dripped into his eye. “I was bored out of my mind a few months ago. At least life’s interesting now.”

He took his time shaving and messing with his hair to get it just right, figuring that as distracted as Yoongi was recently, he wouldn’t notice if Jungkook was late.

If anyone ever asked Jungkook what he ate for breakfast, he would tell them a smoothie with protein powder and a bowl of fruit on the side. He was a doctor, after all; he had to set a good example. But the truth was, he ate froot loops or a poptart to start his day most of the time, and liked it that way.

He was halfway through his cereal when someone started ringing his doorbell insistently. He considered ignoring it because the only person who ever bothered him this early was his landlady, but not only was he sure he remembered to pay his rent this month, he was also fairly sure she was out of town.

He sighed, standing from his couch and making his way over to look through the peephole.

“What the hell...” He muttered, blinking before looking again. Once he was sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, he opened the door a crack.

“What the actual--”

“Hey, Jungkook! Old buddy...” Taehyung smiled nervously, shifting the child held in his arms from one side to the other. A colorful bag sat at his feat with a teddybear sticking out. “How’s it going?”

Jungkook’s eyes flicked back and forth between the child currently pulling on Taehyung’s ears and giggling and Taehyung, noticing their matching jean jackets.

He had a million questions, but the one that tumbled from his mouth first was, “How do you know where I live?”

“Oh, ha, yeah,” Taehyung laughed. “Reverse phone look-up. Sorry. I just--I need a favor, and I thought I should ask in person.”

“Why would I do you a favor?” Jungkook asked, genuinely curious why Taehyung thought he was the person to ask.

“Because you’re a good guy?” Taehyung tried, and when Jungkook raised an eyebrow, he sighed. “I mean that. You seem like a decent person, and know I can count on you to put aside our differences and help me out.”

Jungkook suspected Taehyung was trying to manipulate him, because that was what Taehyung tended to do to people, but there was nothing in his eyes or mannerisms to suggest it.

“What--what do you want, then?” Jungkook relented. “I’m not saying I’ll do it. Just that I’ll hear you out...”

Taehyung smiled like he’d already won, and Jungkook suspected that he had. The little girl in his arms demanded to be put down, and shoved past Jungkook to get into his apartment as soon as Taehyung obliged.

“Sorry, Zoe can be a bit...” Taehyung’s voice trailed off as he watched his daughter sit down at Jungkook’s table and start eating his cereal. Jungkook’s eyebrows raised even further as he followed Taehyung’s gaze.

“Didn’t you feed her this morning?” Jungkook asked suspiciously, and was rewarded with a dubious look.

“Of course I did. She’s just going through this weird phase right now where she eats everything--It’s normal. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Just don’t let her have books unsupervised, that’s all. Or plants... Or anything else, actually.” He pushed past Jungkook into the apartment, picking up his daughter and placing her in his lap while gently telling her that she couldn’t just eat other people’s food as he moved the bowl away from her.

“Look, Taehyung,” Jungkook sighed, sitting across from Taehyung and pushing the cereal back towards Zoe. “As weird and interesting as this is, and as many questions as I would love to ask, I need to leave in a few minutes. So what is it that you want?”

“I haven’t gotten to spend time with Zoe in two months because of complications with the court,” Taehyung began. “And I won’t be able to again for a while unless I can convince the judge that I’m a fit guardian--to do that, I need a regular job, something with a pay-stub, you know? It looks better than investments that could potentially backfire.”

“Not seeing what this has to do with me...” Jungkook frowned, getting up to grab the box of cereal and put it in front of Zoe--she’d already finished what was in front of her.

“Ugh, don’t you have something healthier? She’ll eat anything, she likes celery just as much,” Taehyung complained as Zoe carefully poured more into her bowl, still managing to spill a good amount onto the floor in the process. “Anyway, today’s my first day on the job, I have to be there. But I can’t take Zoe with me...”

Jungkook’s eyes widened as he finally figured out where he came in. “Oh my god, do I look like a babysitter to you?”

“Yes,” Zoe responded suddenly. “You look like a baby.”

“Can’t you hire a regular sitter? What about your parents, I’m sure your mom would love to--”

“My mother doesn’t know about my new job for... Reasons. And I don’t trust regular sitters.” Taehyung ran a hand through his hair, and Jungkook thought this might be the first glimpse he’s really had at whoever Taehyung was underneath all his bullshit and facades. “But you’re a doctor--surely if she’d be safe with anyone, it’d be with a doctor, right?”

It took Jungkook a moment to process that it wasn’t a rhetorical question. “Uh, no. Not necessarily,” Jungkook said slowly.

“I found your records while I was at the office the other day--your background check, employment history... You did your residency at a children’s hospital, and you worked so well with kids they begged you to stay.”

Jungkook shifted somewhat uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “I don’t--I don’t appreciate the fact that you went through my file and I--”

“Please, just watch her for a few hours?” Taehyung cut in. “I wouldn’t be asking if I thought someone else would be better suited.”

“Please?” Zoe added, though Jungkook was sure she hadn’t followed most of the conversation, having been far too busy playing with Taehyung’s phone.

“I--” He wanted to say no, but couldn’t quite get the words out. “I guess. I’ll call in sick or something. But it’s only for today, and don’t you dare go around telling people about the residency at a children's hospital. That stays between us.”

Taehyung smirked, tilting his head to one side. “Why? Are you afraid it’ll ruin your reputation as a badass?” At Jungkook’s glare, he sighed. “I wonder what happened that made you think you aren’t allowed to have feelings or get attached to people. You’ll have to tell me some time.”

“Yeah, like I’d talk to you about anything...” Jungkook scoffed. “And don’t you need to get going?”

“Oh,” Taehyung blinked, searching his pockets for his phone before realizing it was in Zoe’s hands still. She handed it over without much fuss, hopping out of his lap to run around the table and ask Jungkook for his cell instead. “I’m late, shi--” He caught himself just in time, glancing at Zoe apologetically.

The six year old leaned up to yell-whisper in Jungkook’s ear, cupping one hand around her mouth. “He was gonna say shit.” She informed him gravely.

Taehyung looked pained as he stood quickly to leave. He kissed Zoe on the top of her head, which she ignored, and thanked Jungkook for doing this. “Her booster-seat is in the bag if you need to run errands, and I’ve got your number, so I’ll text you every hour or so to see how it’s going.” He called as he made his way out the door.

Zoe didn’t seem terribly bothered by his absence, turning to Jungkook with an excited gleam in her eyes.

“Do you know the finger-family song?” She asked, and Jungkook shook his head. “That’s okay. I’ll teach you.”

Two hours later, Jungkook felt like he was losing his mind. Zoe found a 10 hour version of the finger-family song that she insisted had to be played at all times, and Taehyung wasn’t joking when he said she tried to eat everything. She even bit him at one point, then claimed she didn’t mean to. It had been years since Jungkook read up on children’s psychology, but he was fairly sure it was a form of regression brought on by stress.

Not that knowing that helped his current situation.

“I’m going to make you into a beautiful princess,” Zoe said, chewing on the end of his comb. When Zoe suggested playing hairdresser, Jungkook thought it was a pretty good idea--at least it might distract her from biting things for a while. Now, as she pushed his comb covered in spit through his hair, he thought he might have made a mistake.

“I’ve always wanted to be a princess,” Jungkook chuckled. “Maybe we should turn off the music so you can focus--” He reached towards his phone that was still playing the finger-family song, but was stopped by Zoe’s glare. “...Or we can just leave it.”

A knocking began on the door, and Jungkook’s first thought was that it must be Taehyung back to pick up Zoe, but a moment later he heard someone punching in the keycode and the lock clicking.

“Hang on just a second,” Jungkook said to Zoe, who followed him quickly to the door. It opened just as he reached for the handle, and Jungkook felt like the world slowed down for just a moment.

Jessica stood there, purse in hand, looking the same way she had the other times she’d let herself into his apartment, save for the frown on her face.

“You didn’t change your lock.” She noted.

“I didn’t think you’d be back,” Jungkook shrugged. If he was honest, he’d hoped that she would be, and was somewhat in denial of the fact that he probably should change the code.

“You didn’t tell me you knew a princess,” Zoe accused, folding her arms in that way that only children did, as though she was doing her best impression of her parents.

Jessica opened and closed her mouth, looking nearly as lost as Jungkook felt.

“I came at a bad time,” She said finally, taking a step back. “I’ll just--”

“No!” It came out much louder and more desperate than Jungkook intended. “No, it’s fine. I’m babysitting, but... You can come in, if you want.”

Jessica had a million-and-one excuses for why she was there, but Jungkook wasn’t sure which one to believe because her story kept changing. First, she was there because she said you weren’t talking to her. Then, she said she was the one who wasn’t talking to you, but wanted to make sure you were alright. After that, it was because she thought she might have left her favorite blouse in his apartment, and then that she thought he might know why Yoongi hadn’t fired you yet.

Maybe it was all of the above, or maybe, by some miracle, she just wanted to see Jungkook. That’s what he hoped it was, anyway.

“Y/n keeps telling me you’re not so bad. That you’re just scared,” She said at one point. Zoe was still doing Jungkook’s hair as he sat on the floor, and Jessica sat on his couch watching.

“I thought you said the two of you aren’t talking,” Jungkook pointed out. He must have moved slightly as he said this, because Zoe hit the side of his head with her comb and told him to sit still.

“We’re not. She left a lot of voicemails last week.” Jessica said this quietly, as though she was embarrassed to admit it. “It’s stupid. We’ve been friends for years, and one stupid job does this to us? We’re better than this. I mean, sure we’ve fought before, but I don’t remember the last time we went this long without speaking. Usually Y/n tricks me into spending time with her and things just go back to normal... Both of us should have stayed far away from the Min corporation.”

Jungkook avoided Jessica’s eyes for a moment, looking down at his bitten nails as he tried to find the right words. “Maybe it’s selfish, but... I’m glad you didn’t. I wouldn’t have met you otherwise.”

“And Y/n? Are you glad she’s been put through all this?” Jungkook could only shrug. “How is she, anyway?” Jessica prompted after a moment.

“I dunno. We’re not really talking, either,” Jungkook admitted. He knew he’d said the wrong thing the moment it left his mouth, as Jessica’s eyes widened in horror.

“You mean she’s been dealing with all this crap by herself?” She balked. “She said you had her back! She said you were her friend, and you’re not talking to her?” Jungkook winced slightly, partially at Jessica’s words, and partially because Zoe had yanked on her comb particularly hard and it hurt. “How could you leave her to deal with Yoongi and Taehyung--”

“Who is Zoe’s dad!” Jungkook cut in quickly. No kid needed to hear strangers talking bad about their parent.

“Oh,” Jessica said, taken aback. “They don’t look alike. Also, why haven’t I heard about this before?”

Jungkook nodded. “It’s surprising, right?” Whatever Jessica would have said next was cut off by Jungkook’s phone ringing. He was about to simply silence it when he saw that it was from Yoongi. “Sorry, just a second...” Jungkook muttered as he answered.

“I know you’re sick, but I need you to come in for an hour,” Yoongi said, not bothering with any other greeting. “There’s been a mixup in marketing and no one here knows how to fix it.”

“I really can’t--” Jungkook started.

“You’re really going to have to anyway,” Yoongi cut in. “I’m sorry to ask you to come in when you’re sick, but this has to be taken care of. I’ll pay you double time, and you’ll be done before lunch.”

“Yoongi, I just told you--” Jungkook tried again.

Zoe’s eyes lit up. “Uncle Yoongi?”

“I’ll see you in an hour, then.” Yoongi hung up after that, and Jungkook glared at his dark phone screen. He supposed he could just not show up, but he suspected that Yoongi wouldn’t personally call unless it was important.

His eyes went to Zoe, who was currently bumping out the bag Taehyung had brought with them. Despite what Taehyung said, he had not texted yet, so Jungkook still didn’t have his number.

“I have to go to the office for an hour...” Jungkook started, but his voice trailed off as Zoe raised her booster-seat into the air.

“We’re gonna see Uncle Yoongi!” She cheered.

Jungkook could have sworn he hadn’t taken his eyes off of Zoe even once since they arrived on the tenth floor, and yet... She was gone. He sat her in a chair next to his at his desk and told her to sit tight for just a minute while he found out what was happening, while watching her out of the corner of his eye.

Of course that was a bad idea, he thought in hindsight. No six year old could sit still for any amount of time, it wasn’t reasonable for him to have expected it from Zoe.

His first thought was to check under his desk--she liked hide-and-go-seek, so it seemed like a good hunch. But once he was on all fours, he realized how many desks were in the office--she could literally be anywhere.

“Oh god,” He muttered, starting to panic.

“Did you lose a contact or what?” Jimin’s voice interrupted, amusement clear in his tone.

“Worse. So much worse,” Jungkook muttered. Maybe Jessica could help. She’d come along with them to the office saying she needed to straighten things out with you, and that if she didn’t now she might chicken out.

“Your phone, then?” Jimin guessed.

Jungkook shook his head distractedly. He had tried to tell Taehyung he wasn’t a babysitter, but he really should have tried harder. “Worse.”

“What’s worse than losing your phone?” The other man scoffed as Jungkook stood.

“A child. Misplacing a child is much, much worse.”

As much as Jungkook didn’t want to explain the situation to Yoongi, he didn’t see that he had any choice--it was better for him to be in trouble than for Zoe to potentially get hurt. Most people had already left for lunch, but within ten minutes the few people who were left were all searching for the six year old.

“You have a lot of explaining to do once we find my niece,” Yoongi warned as he brushed past. Jungkook nodded, but he still felt like he wasn’t the only one who owed people an explanation.

“Found her!” Jimin called a moment later, sticking his head out of the break room.

By the time Jungkook made it to the room, Yoongi was already leading Zoe to his office and saying that he would call Taehyung. Jessica was hovering near the door, peaking in as though she didn’t want the people inside to see her.

Jimin was laughing in a sort of relieved way, and over the commotion Jungkook heard you say, “I have so many questions.”

Taehyung seemed nearly at his wits end as he paced back and forth in Yoongi’s office for an hour. Zoe had quickly gotten bored and said she wanted to play with you, because apparently you were much more fun than Yoongi was. She then “helped” you reorganize papers as Jessica filled you in on what had happened.

Taehyung ended up taking Zoe home, and Jessica eventually admitted that she had a lot left to do that day and headed out as well.

This all left Jungkook quite unsure of what he should do. He didn’t avoid you the rest of the day like he had been, but didn’t go out of his way to talk to you, either. He wasn’t sure what to say, or how to even start a conversation. But what Jessica said you’d said about him made him think that maybe he should at least try.

It was an accident that night when the two of you left at the same time, taking the same elevator down to the parking level. He didn’t say anything until you started walking the opposite direction as him towards your car.

“Why did you lie to Jessica?” Jungkook asked, although it wasn’t anything like what he had prepared in his mind.

“What?” You turned back to look at him, a slight crease in your brow.

“You must have told her some pretty great things about me for her to show up today,” Jungkook clarified. “So why’d you lie?”

“I didn’t,” You said without hesitation. “Everything I’ve said to Jessica about you was true.” When Jungkook scoffed, you frowned and took a step towards him. “Jungkook, you may not be ready to accept it yet, but you’re not a bad person. You’ve been a great friend to me, despite everything.”

Jungkook shook his head, feeling slightly incredulous. “I’ve been a complete ass all week! I’ve gone out of my way to ignore you, I--”

You shrugged. “You’re mad, I get it. But I’ve been hoping that when you cool off, we can talk about it and go back to being friends.”

He was speechless for a moment, then he remembered what Jess had said earlier. “You don’t give up on people, do you?”

“No, not easily, anyway,” You agreed. “And I haven’t given up on you, yet.” Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh slightly as he shook his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jungkook,” You said with a small smile, giving him a wave. “We’re having lunch together whether you like it or not!”

A/N OMG I’m back! Thanks for sticking around! Let me know what you think, and how you feel about it! I thought it’d be fun to give you guys a glimpse into Jungkook’s mind while also explaining how Zoe got to the tenth floor in the last part. Let me know if you’d like to see more similar like this, or if you’d rather just stick with Reader and Yoongi. <3 <3 <3

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pickalilywrites · 6 years

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Real Beauty

Jeankasa. Celebrity AU.

6412 words.

He’s always unsure whether if it’s good or bad news when he’s told to come into Mr. Smith’s office. While Jean’s sure his work is decent enough to prevent him from getting let go (or, you know, fired) from the company, there’s always something about the CEO’s office that makes him uncertain. The last time he had been called up it had been about his debut as the head photographer for Sina, the biggest beauty and lifestyle magazine in the entertainment business. He had received a pat on the back for his work and a rare smile from the enigmatic Mr. Smith, but that had been months ago and Jean’s not sure if his boss holds him in such high regard now.

“Sir? It’s Jean Kirstein from photography,” Jean says, knocking on the door with a quick rap of his knuckles.

The room is beautiful in an untouchably perfect way. Jean’s afraid of even breathing in here, but Mr. Smith tells him to come in and sit down across his desk.

Mr. Smith flips through an old edition of Sina, an unfathomable expression on his face. As Jean watches him, he thinks that it’s a shame that his boss had never become a model or some other sort of Hollywood star at some point in his life. He has the air of an old Hollywood god, someone who knew everyone and everything that went on in the entertainment business, and perhaps it’s because he does. Mr. Smith has an impeccable eye for what people want to see even before it’s a faint idea in their mind, and Jean admires him for it. At the same time, it scares the absolute shit out of him and he’s not sure how much longer he can sit in the same room as his boss before he cracks under the stress of not knowing.

“You said you wanted to see me, sir,” Jean says, resisting the urge to tug nervously at his sleeves.

Mr. Smith finally looks up as if he’s remembered that Jean is also in the room. He doesn’t look pleased, but he doesn’t look unhappy either. Instead, he closes the magazine he was reading and slides it across his desk so that Jean can see it.

“Do you know what that is?” he asks Jean.

Swallowing nervously, Jean leans over to look at the cover. A beautiful blonde starlet stares back at him, an infectious smile on her face as she gazes at the reader. He remembers seeing pictures of the same girl, her eyes dead and her face in a permanent frown. It was only after she had rejected her stage name Christa, the one she had since she was a child, and reinvented herself into her true self that she was able to smile like this. Everyone had believed she was going to flop after making her debut as a singer, tossing away her acting career as if it was nothing, but even Jean noticed that her smiles were more authentic in her paparazzi photos and her actions more genuine instead of planned and fabricated like they were when she was just an actress. He had been surprised when Mr. Smith called him in to take pictures for this girl in Sina’s next edition. He was even more surprised when he meets the girl as she extends her hand and introduces herself as Historia. Her smile was even more brilliant in person and it was during that first meeting that Jean knew she was going to be an even bigger star than she already was, and he was right.

Her first album sold one million physical copies within its first week, a feat that’s unheard of in this day and age. She’s currently going on her stadium tour and, the last time Jean checked, nearly all of the venues had sold out. Historia had sent him flowers just the other week to thank him for working with her on the Sina shoot, writing on the note that she couldn’t have gotten this sort of recognition without him. Jean’s never thought that his photos could ever make such an impact and he’s half sure that most of Historia’s success comes from her own hard work and talent, but he’s happy to be remembered by someone like her.

Clearing his throat, Jean replies, “Of course. Historia Reiss. My first piece as the head photographer. How could I forget? She was wonderful to work with.”

“Hm.” He’s never sure with Mr. Smith’s answers. Sometimes he’d rather have a negative response instead of all the ambiguously neutral reactions he’s received. “Many people were impressed with it, myself included. But one person in particular called and said they were interested in working with you after seeing Historia’s photos. An Ackerman. Mikasa Ackerman, to be precise. You know her, of course?”

Is there anyone who hasn’t heard the name “Ackerman” sometime in their life? The Ackerman family is a family of every type of celebrity anyone could ever imagine – models, singers, songwriters, actors, you name it. They were a big name when Jean was a child and they still are now. He’s sure stars were invented when the Ackerman family came into existence, but they’ve dimmed since their ascension. After multiple scandals – stories about cheating, lies, drugs, all the bad things that came with being a celebrity – began to plague them and the family began to fade out, disappearing from the public and only reminisced by older stars and fans like they were legends instead of people who were still living and breathing today.

One of the Ackermans is a girl named Mikasa, a rising starlet that was a model-turned-actress. Jean remembered many people admiring her beauty and quiet nature before they all turned on her unexpectedly for becoming involved with another star: Eren Jaeger, lead singer of band Wings of Freedom. Jean can’t recall if they were ever really involved or not, but he remembers the backlash she received from fans on social media. All her accounts were bombarded with messages harassing her to leave the musician alone, that she was no good for him, that she was a dirty slut for even thinking she could get near him.

That wasn’t even the worst of it though. It seemed to get worse every day. Despite being critically acclaimed in the few roles she had in movies, people would find a reason to despise her.

There were fake nudes leaked of her, accusations of incest with her cousin who happened to be another popular celebrity, and even death threats targeted at her and her family. The media was no better either, poking and prodding her for details about every scandalous affair she was accused of despite her obvious discomfort about talking about such topics. The paparazzi and news media outlets, hungry for anything that had to do with her, would chase her down, invading her privacy just to take a photo of her no matter how crappy it turned out. It was no wonder that she began to disappear from the media along with the rest of her family. There were jokes about her falling off the face of the earth, and sometimes Jean believed she might never have existed at all. But it seems she is still here.

“I know of her,” Jean says instead. He might know many things about her, but he can never say he knows her. He’s sure many of the rumors that swirl about her are fake anyhow.

Mr. Smith sits back in his chair, his fingers steepled. “She says she’s considering coming back into the spotlight after her long hiatus. She read Miss Reiss’ article in our magazine when it came out and said she enjoyed your work,” he tells Jean. “She thinks you’re talented, that you can capture a person’s true essence with your camera. Your work, she said, is ‘beautiful.’”

Beautiful. Jean mouths the word, not quite believing that Mikasa Ackerman had used it to describe his photos. He clears his throat. “And this is her first magazine interview since her hiatus?”

“Correct,” Mr. Smith says. There’s a rare smile on his face again. “It would be foolish of us not to work with her, especially since she’s the one who came to us. Wouldn’t you think so, Mr. Kirstein?”

“Absolutely, I’d love to work with her!” Jean says immediately. One would be a fool to disagree with Mr. Smith. There’s a reason why he’s been in this business for so long. “I won’t disappoint you, sir.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” Mr. Smith says, but he goes back to the paperwork on his desk, not even bothering to send Jean out on his way.

Jean mumbles a clumsy goodbye that he’s sure his boss doesn’t hear, scurrying out of the office as quickly as possible. It’s silly, but he breathes more easily once he’s out of that room.

Once he gets back into his own office, he scrolls through the internet for pictures of Mikasa Ackerman. As he remembers, she’s beautiful. It’s a shame that the world demanded that she hide herself away.

He’s a bundle of nerves the day of the shoot. He doesn’t know what to expect. In interviews and talk shows, Mikasa had always been very reserved, a perfect lady, but there are stars that act differently behind the scenes. He’s tried contacting other beauticians and photographers that worked with her in the past, but they don’t really say much about her besides the fact that she’s stunningly beautiful as if he can’t already see that for himself. It also doesn’t help that she’s flown under the radar for the past couple of years. Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised though. She had wanted to disappear, and she had done a successful job of it.

He stumbles into the room, disgruntled because he didn’t get the chance to talk to the hairdresser or makeup artist that worked on Miss Ackerman. They had merely rushed into his room, told him that Mikasa was ready for him, and disappeared. He had tried calling their name, running after them, but they had told him that she wasn’t anything special and that he would probably need luck to get anything out of her because she sure as hell isn’t sociable.

So he pastes on his professional smile and gets ready to be as civil as he can be. He prepares himself for stilted conversations with a brick wall, but once he sets eyes on her, he forgets everything.

Mikasa Ackerman, one of the mysterious Hollywood legends that disappeared out of the blue, is suddenly there in his studio and she looks magnificent in this brilliant red dress with its billowing layers of skirts and sparkles that Jean would think too extravagant on anyone else, but it looks perfect on her. When she hears his footsteps coming towards him, she looks at him with a cautious expression, a little lost and a little confused as if she doesn’t know how she arrived in such a place, but she gets up, holding onto her skirts, and walks to him. No, she doesn’t walk. It’s like she’s floating all the way towards him, gliding across the floor to him, and she extends a hand out to him. Her hand is so white and pretty that he thinks it must be made of porcelain, but her grip tells him that she’s made of something much stronger.

“You’re Jean Kirstein?” she asks, looking up at him through her thick black lashes. Her gray eyes aren’t cold; they’re cool, careful, cautious, and it makes him wonder why she had come in the first place. “Your piece with Historia…it was very beautiful. I spoke with her after I saw that issue and she told me that you have a natural eye for beautiful things.”

It doesn’t seem quite real, him talking to her like this. He’s surprised that her voice is so soft, delicate, and can’t believe that she’s said his name with those lips. When he had begun working at Sina, he had understood that there’d be a chance he’d speak with big celebrities, but Mikasa Ackerman isn’t like any of the actresses or Hollywood stars he’s met. She’s ethereal, some type of heavenly entity than one from this world.

He manages to stammer, “Thank you, Miss Ackerman. It’s an honor to work with you.”

She flashes him a wary smile, one he recognizes. It’s so different from the one she wore early in her career – beautiful, vibrant, genuine. This one is brief, forced, and polite. It’s the smile he’s seen in all the photos she’s been in before she completely disappeared, and he wonders if she even remembers the last time she smiled, really smiled.

Realizing that he’s been shaking her hand for a while, Jean clears his throat and guides her to the set where the lights are blinding. He hovers around her nervously, not quite sure how to speak with her. “This is where we’ll be working today. I’ll be taking a couple of shots – it’ll probably last until late this afternoon depending on whether or not you like the photos – but I understand you want this done in a day –“

“Will I have to look at the camera?” she asks him suddenly. Her eyes are cast downward, avoiding the bright light. Gone is the smile and it has been replaced with a frown. It worries him for a second before he sees that it is not one of displeasure, but one filled with worry. He’s sure that she’s done many shoots like this in the past, but perhaps she’s forgotten what they were like or she had never gotten used to them because she’s chewing so nervously on her lip that he’s afraid she’ll ruin her lipstick. “I know it’s strange but…would it be alright if I didn’t look at the camera?”

He’s about to open his mouth, confused and wanting to ask her why she would agree to a photo shoot even though she was unwilling to look at the camera, but he realizes the question is insensitive.

She’s been surrounded by cameras her entire life. Before she had even stepped foot on the red carpet, made her debut as a star, before she could even walk, she had been followed and harassed by the media and paparazzi. She’s been stared at and hunted down like a rare animal. She’s probably had enough of cameras and the spotlight to last the rest of her life. She might be returning to that life, but he can see that she’s reluctant to do so, so he might as well make it as easy as possible for her.

“No, not at all,” he finally says. He looks at her again, already thinking about how he wants to position her for this particular shot, and stumbles backward towards his camera, nearly stumbling over a wire lying on the ground because he isn’t looking. He sees that Mikasa Ackerman is looking at him, startled, but he waves his hand to tell her that he’s fine. “It’s alright. I do that all the time. Just sit down on that white box over there and we’ll get started.”

“Okay,” she says hesitantly, but she does what she’s told. The way she sits on the white box is stiff, more like she’s a robot than an actual human being. He remembers this too from the last photoshoots she’s done – her blank stare at the camera, her empty smile, her mechanical poses. She wears that same fake smile that she had when she first greeted him, and he wonders if he’ll even be able to get one photo of her smiling genuinely.

He remembers not to frown. If this is difficult for her, he doesn’t want to agitate her any further by pointing out things she’s doing wrong. It’s not as if she’s doing this on purpose, he’s sure. So he looks up from the lens and tells her, “If you don’t want to smile, don’t. You don’t even have to face the camera if you don’t want to.”

“Won’t that be strange?” she asks, but she turns away from the camera, looking to the right where the interns are flitting about to grab donuts and coffee and other things that the beauticians and makeup artists on standby are demanding.

“Not at all,” he replies, returning to look at her through the lens.

She doesn’t look as mechanical as she did when she had first sat down. It was probably the fault of the camera all along. He doesn’t blame her. His looks particularly intimidating, all black with his large lens and loud shutter noise. Looking away seems to ease her nerves somewhat though, and he hopes that he’ll be able to capture her more natural expressions before the shoot ends.

“What’d you do during your time off, Miss Ackerman?” he asks, still looking through the lens. He’s probably not the best conversationalist around – and he gets the feeling that Mikasa doesn’t talk very much either – but he doesn’t know how else to get her to become more comfortable. “Did you travel anywhere? Perhaps take up a hobby like scuba diving or hiking?”

She doesn’t answer for a while, perhaps surprised that he’s trying to strike up a conversation with her. At first, he’s afraid that she’ll just ignore him, not wanting to talk to him at all, but she finally replies, “I went to Europe with my cousin for a bit. It was very beautiful although the weather was dreary. I traveled to Japan as well to visit family members and stayed there for quite a while. The atmosphere there can be quite peaceful, and it made me feel at home.”

Talking seems to be working, so Jean decides to forget about his shoot, wanting to talk to her enough so that she feels comfortable taking pictures. Maybe he won’t get her to look at the camera, but perhaps he’ll get shots where she’s more relaxed and willing. Leaning against the camera, something he’s not supposed to do because the equipment is expensive but something he does anyway because the tripod it balances on is rather sturdy, Jean asks, “Japan, huh? I’ve never been there before, but I hear it’s beautiful in the spring. Do your folks live in the countryside?”

“They live in the Kyoto Prefecture,” Mikasa answers. She looks as if she’s remembering something pleasant. It’s not quite a smile on her face, but it’s a hint of one. “It’s magnificent in the spring when the cherry blossoms bloom. You should go visit if you ever have the time. If not Kyoto, then perhaps some other place in Japan. Tokyo or Osaka, maybe.”

“Maybe,” laughs Jean. Ah, if his work schedule ever allowed for it, although he could look into working for one of Sina’s other divisions if he really wanted a change of setting. “Would I like the food there?”

She sits still as a statue, and he thinks now would be a good time to snap a photo, but he doesn’t want her to stop talking. She’s lifted one of her eyebrows up. “Are you a picky eater?”

“A bit,” he admits, a sheepish grin on his face. “Is that bad?”

She shrugs. “There’s quite a bit of seafood, but there’s a lot of other things too. I’m sure you’ll be fine if you ever decide to go. I think you’d like it there since you like beautiful things.”

There’s the smile that he’s been looking for – an incomplete smile but the closest he’s gotten so far to her real smile. It’s similar to her old one – the bright and smiling one that she had when she had first started out before the world began to turn on her. Did she manage to find it after all this time?

He wants to run to his camera right now and snap the photo quickly before it disappears, but he finds that his finger hovers just above the button. It stays there for a while, but he finds he cannot bring himself to take the picture.

Lifting his head once more from the lens, he asks, “Would it be alright if I took the picture now? You can just stay as you are – you don’t even have to move – and I could just take it if, er, that would be fine with you.”

Mikasa stays there, unmoving, before finally saying, “Please take the photo then.”

He’s afraid that her smile would have faltered by the time the shutter clicks, but he reviews the photo and it’s still there. He can’t quite believe it – how perfectly her hair falls into place, how hesitant but beautiful her smile is, or how elegant she looks as she gazes off into space – and he looks up at her, opening his mouth to ask her another question, this time about how settling back in Shiganshina was for her.

That’s what they do for the majority of the shoot – he asks her questions and she answers, letting her guard down slowly and becoming more natural, and he asks every time before he takes a photo. It takes a much longer time than normal. Most of the interns and those standing around leave despite their earlier excitement at seeing one of the elusive Ackermans. Jean doesn’t mind taking a long time if that’s what it takes. Besides, talking to her is actually quite pleasant. She’s kinder than he thought she would be and very interesting, telling him about all the places she’s traveled and the things she’s seen during her time off. Before he knows it, he has dozens of photos of her to pick and choose from.

Jean looks them over while Mikasa is in the changing room, flipping through them one by one. She doesn’t look at the camera in any of them, but she’s beautiful all the same. He’s seen shoots with celebrities in extravagant dresses or suits, smiling with their pasted-on smiles and empty beauty. Mikasa isn’t like that in any of these photos.

A picture is worth a thousand words, yes, but there aren’t enough words in the world to describe her ineffable beauty. To capture her in a frame, to freeze her, should be a crime because it does not allow the viewer to see the elegance with which she holds up her head or the angelic atmosphere about her. True, it’s easy to see her wide cheekbones, her sculpted brows, and the effortless way that her hair falls to shape her face, but it’s still not enough if the viewer cannot witness her careful, cautious gaze as her eyes look across the room or even the grace she has in even the smallest of movements. It makes him want to delete all these photos at once because, while they’re stunning, they’re not enough.

“Are you alright?” a voice asks, and he looks up to see Mikasa looking down at him. She’s finally out of the fancy designer dresses she was made to wear for the shoot, clad in a simple dress with a black top and colorful patterned skirt instead. It’s much simpler and more casual than anything he thought she’d wear, but it’s a good look for her. It’s a nice change from the overly formal things he’s seen her wear on the red carpet. “Are we going to pick the photos now?”

“It’s fine. It’s better if we take a break from all this. We’ve been taking these photos for hours after all,” he says. Jean stands up, turning the camera off quickly so that she can’t look at it. In truth, he doesn’t want her to look at them. He doesn’t want her to be disappointed that the photos aren’t perfect; they’re as perfect as he can make them, but it’s still not good enough to satisfy him and he’s afraid she’ll feel the same way. It’s not a lie that he thinks they should take a break though. While he knows Mikasa’s a professional, she’s been away from doing photo shoots and other things typical of her career, so he’s sure she’s tired after all this. “Want to go out to the balcony? The city looks pretty amazing around this time.”

There’s that smile again. Each time she smiles, it looks a little more brilliant than the last. He’d snap a picture right now if he hadn’t already turned off his camera.

“I’d love to see it,” she says.

He leads her to the balcony that overlooks the city. While he sometimes tires of living in the bustling city and its cramped quarters, working in a towering skyscraper is one of the perks of living in a big city. He sometimes takes a breather here after particularly bad shoots with moody starlets who believe they’ve already made it big or grumpy actors who aren’t quite happy with how their photos came out. It’s high enough up to make everyone in the city look like ants as they drive away in their toy vehicles through the crowded streets. Mikasa seems to like the view too because she has such a serene smile on her face.

And it’s that one, Jean realizes as he stares at her wide-eyed. It’s that smile that he’s been chasing all day, the smile he hasn’t managed to see until now. Fumbling for his phone, he curses as he almost drops it, but he taps in his password before looking at her desperately, breathlessly.

“Can I take a photo of you right now?” he asks. He’s already tapped on the camera app, opening it up, but he forces himself to point the phone downwards until she gives her consent. “It’s not for the shoot, but you just look so perfect right now. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to say yes, but I just want you to see it. You don’t even have to look at the camera either. You can just look somewhere else if you want.”

“Yes.”

He’s babbling so hard that he almost doesn’t hear her. Pausing for a second, sure that he’s just imagining it in his crazed desperation, he asks, “What did you say?”

She purses her lips a little bit, amused, but the smile returns to her face. “I said yes,” she says again. The wind is blowing her hair every which way, so she tucks a lock of it behind her ear so that it doesn’t fly into her face. “I’d like to see it afterward.”

Blinking because he still can’t quite believe his ears, Jean shakes his head to snap out of it and raises his phone, not wanting to lose this moment. It only takes a second to snap the photo, and he shows it to her immediately afterward. He lets her hold his phone in her hands, looking at her carefully as she inspects the picture.

Looking at it over her shoulder, he knows that this picture is a lot messier than the ones he had shot in the studio. Her hair is in disarray and her clothes are so much plainer than the ones she had worn for the shoot. Still, he thinks it’s the best shot they’ve taken today because none of those photos has this smile. It’s not the one he had seen in the earlier days of her career. This smile is not as wide or carefree, but it has another sort of happiness to it. A fearless happiness, a brave smile that dared to exist even though the rest of the world tried to take it away.

She’s silent for a moment as she observes the photo, touching her own face as if she can’t believe that she’s the same person in the photo. At first, he thinks she hates it because she doesn’t say a word, but Mikasa turns to him suddenly, thrusting the phone back into his hands and asking, “Would it be okay if you sent it to me?”

“Sent it to you?” Jean asks, startled. He clumsily taps away at the keys, opening up his e-mail so that he can compose a swift letter to her agent with the attached photo. He’s tapping on all the wrong keys though and he curses under his breath. “I’ll send it to your agent if that’s okay. If not, I can send it to your e-mail too-“

“No,” she interrupts him, putting a hand on his wrist. She looks at him, biting her lip again in that nervous way she has. “You can just send it to me. I’ll give you my phone number. I just…I didn’t know I could look like that.”

He never thought he’d ever head the photoshoot for an Ackerman. Getting the phone number of one just makes this seem like it’s all a dream, but he gives her his phone so she can tap in her phone number and hit “send” so she can see what she really looks like.

“Thank you,” she says, beaming at her phone once she receives the photo. There’s that same brilliant smile on her face. He can only hope that it doesn’t fade away when she finally makes her return.

They go back to the studio after that and pick out her photos. Out of the many dozens that he’s shot, she picks out ten, but he e-mails the rest of the photos to her agent in case she changes her mind. She isn’t smiling in any of them; the closest she comes to smiling is the ghost of a smile she had when talking about her trips to Japan and Europe. It’s certainly pretty, Jean thinks, but he thinks even those who pick up the next issue of Sina won’t fully appreciate her beauty. They didn’t before and there’s a part of him that worries that she’ll be taken for granted again, beaten down, and thrown away.

“Thank you again, Jean. It was lovely working with you,” Mikasa says, extending her hand before she leaves.

“Likewise. Take care, Miss Ackerman,” he says, and he takes her hand in hers.

When she grips his hand, shaking it firmly, he thinks that he shouldn’t worry at all. She’s stronger than anyone gives her credit for.

Jean doesn’t expect to be called to Mr. Smith’s office so soon after the photo shoot. The last time he had headed a photoshoot, he just sent in the photos to be touched up slightly, got them approved, and then received a copy of the magazine as soon as it was published. He had thought it would work the same way this time, but the call from Mr. Smith’s secretary said that his boss wanted to speak with him about something.

Like he did the last time he had come to Mr. Smith’s office, Jean rapped his knuckles on the door nervously and said, “Sir? Jean Kirstein from the photography department. You said you wanted to see me about something.”

“Come in.”

When Jean walks in, he sees Mr. Smith sitting at his desk. A manila folder sits on his desk, opened. The contents are in Mr. Smith’s hand – Mikasa Ackerman’s photos. His boss’ face is expressionless as it flips through the many photos, both the ones that were chosen and the ones that were rejected. After Jean had been seated for a while, Mr. Smith finally looked up, giving Jean his full attention.

“So, Jean,” Mr. Smith says, putting the photos down. Jean thinks he liked it better when Mr. Smith would only half pay attention to him. The intense stare of his cool blue eyes makes Jean want to fidget in his chair. “How did the shoot with Miss Ackerman go last week?”

“Er, it went well, I think,” Jean answers. He hates that he tacked on the “I think,” but talking to Mr. Smith always makes him feel so unsure about himself. “She was charming to work with and seemed pleased with how the photos came out.”

“Her agent called earlier this morning. They want to pull her out of this edition,” Mr. Smith says. He looks at Jean carefully.

“Excuse me?” Shocked isn’t even the right word for what Jean feels. It feels a little like betrayal, like she had come over and ripped his heart out even though he had known that her return to the spotlight was a tentative thing. Still, she had seemed so ready at the end of the day. She had helped him pick the photos, she had shaken his hand, she had told him that it was lovely working with him. Why then would she decide against being featured in the magazine after having done the photoshoot?

But Mr. Smith seems to already be done talking about it. He’s picking up the photos off his desk, stacking them up, and putting them back in the manila folder. “Her agent says that she’s given it more thought, and Miss Ackerman believes she isn’t ready just yet to return to the spotlight.”

“I see.” Jean numbly takes the folder that Mr. Smith hands him. It really was too good to be true – the photoshoot, those conversations between photos, that last picture on the balcony. In the end, all his work – his photos and his words – meant nothing.

Mr. Smith must have excused him at some point because Jean stands up to leave and is heading towards the door, his hand hovering on the doorknob, when his boss calls him one last time.

“Jean,” Mr. Smith says. When Jean turns around, Mr. Smith is looking right at him again with those piercing blue eyes. “You did great work. Those photos were incredible. The reason why she decided not to do this in the end had nothing to do with you, I’m sure. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Praise from his boss is rare, but it still doesn’t make him feel better. Still, Jean feigns a smile at Mr. Smith and mutters a quick “thank you” before disappearing to his office.

---

What had he done wrong? Was it letting her not look at the camera? Was it because he had been to personal in asking her questions? Or was it perhaps that last photo on the balcony? Jean doesn’t which it is, and he nearly drives himself mad thinking about all the possibilities that caused this to happen. He stares at the printed photos, scrutinizing them closely, but he doesn’t quite know what’s wrong with them.

It’s hurting his eyes to look at them for so long, so he drops them down on his desk and rubs his tired eyes.

After he thinks about it for a while, this was bound to happen. He’s far from experienced and the shoot with Historia Reiss was just a stroke of luck. To think he would find the same success with an Ackerman was pretentious of him. Of course, she would pretend to like them and then quickly change her mind as soon as she was far enough away. He would have done the same thing. If Mr. Smith ever allows him to stand behind a camera again, Jean would be lucky.

His phone rings and Jean picks it up without looking at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Jean Kirstein?” says the person on the other end. It’s a female voice, soft and delicate. It sounds so familiar, but Jean doesn’t dare to think about who it might be. It would be too good to be true.

“This is he,” he says cautiously.

“This is Mikasa Ackerman,” the speaker says.

“Mikasa?”

He can hear her smiling on the other end, can imagine it without having to look at her, and he wishes he had a camera with him right now so he could run over and capture it.

“That’s the first time you’ve called me by my first name,” she laughs. Jean realizes that he’s never heard her laugh before. It’s a short laugh, like a burst of happiness, but it’s beautiful like the rest of her.

“Yeah, I just…I’m really surprised that you called,” he says, laughing himself. He’s still confused and hurt, but hearing her voice makes him feel better. Perhaps he had overthought it. Maybe it really does have nothing to do with him.

“It’s fine,” she assures him. There’s a pause on her end and she finally says, “I’m sorry I changed my mind after everything. The pictures were amazing. I showed them to my agent and he said they were the best he’s seen in a while.”

Jean wants to ask her but wonders if he should. He has a right to know though. After all, he had been the ones to take the pictures in the first place. He’s not even upset about his photos not being featured on the front page. She had just seemed so happy that day and he wants to know what changed her mind. So he asks.

“I guess it’s because…it’s been a while since anyone has ever really seen me, the real me,” Mikasa says. He wonders if she’s chewing her lip in that way she does when she’s nervous. “And I really want people to see me in the same way that you do, but I’m not sure I want them to just yet. For now…I think I’m just satisfied if you can see me that way.”

The way she says that, so earnestly, makes him blush even though he’s sure she’s just being kind. But her explanation makes perfect sense to him. After being hurt by the world before, it’s not like she could return so easily. The fact that she had even thought to return at all is amazing to him.

“Well,” Jean says, no longer feeling upset. Rather, he feels hopeful that this isn’t the end – for her, for him, and for the two of them both working together. “The world better be ready when they see the real you.”

She laughs again and he closes his eyes, soaking in the sound of her happiness. “Yeah…I look forward to working with you again soon, Jean.”

“Likewise…Mikasa.” He sets down his phone once the call has ended and leans back in his chair.

The world isn’t going to be ready when they meet her again. That’s fine, Jean thinks as he opens up the photo of her he had taken on his phone. She smiles brilliantly back him, radiant as the sun. They’ll be blown away when they see Mikasa next, her in all her real beauty.

#jeankasa au weekend #jeankasa weekend #jeankasa #jean kirstein #mikasa ackerman #snk #celebrity au

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kittenshift-17 · 7 years

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Hey Kitten! I was wondering if you're majoring in writing? I'm a high school student who's applying to college right now and am also really interested in writing (potentially to the point of considering it as a career), and was wondering if you had any tips ^^

Goodness.... How do I answer this without sounding terribly cynical and crushing your hopes and dreams and ideals about the world?

I’m actually already finished studying, myself. I graduated with a BA majoring in Writing and Publishing 3 years ago. And without blowing holes in all of your plans, I’ve got to be honest as I tell you about how useful I’ve found my degree.... which is to say that it was completely useless and a waste of money.

Maybe it’s my country’s outlook, but having a BA isn’t really the big deal it used to be and everyone I know who got an Art Degree basically wasted their money. I mean, those in productive arts and theatre and such find them handy due to the practical classes, but a writing degree is..... Well, it’s a lot like high school English/Literature classes. You get given texts and articles and asked to dissect them and write essays about them. It’s.... god, it’s boring. The books are about as interesting in college as there were in high school and the teachers aren’t that much more competent on the grasp of what they want in the essay, and tend to have a biased and ridiculous analysis of the stories. Sometimes the author writes the curtains as being blue just because we like blue, not because the character is depressed, ya know?

When you say you want to consider writing for a career, I assume you mean that you’d like to be an author, and if so then my advice to you would definitely be to forget about majoring in writing for a university level degree. They don’t teach you how to write in those classes. They teach you how to draft essays, and unless you want to take after George Orwell, you don’t want an essay style of writing if you’ve aspirations to be an author.

If, on the other hand, you mean you want to look at writing as a career option for other fields than fiction or non-fiction writing, then it can definitely be useful. If you wanted to get into writing as someone who drafts up those silly example stories you see in school textbooks (you know the ones, where Sally has five apples and sells Billy three before turning purple) then they come in handy because the classes teach your how to dissect such a story for meaning and the language tool you’re focusing on, and you work backwards (which is why those things rarely makes sense).

The point is, college is expensive. And so you have to weight the options of how much you’ll get out of a degree against how much money goes into paying for it and how much real-world use it will be to you once you’ve graduated.

Me? I have a Bachelor of Media and Communication, majoring in Writing and Publishing.

Do you know what I use it for? Nothing. I don’t use my degree at all. I work as an Administration Manager for a Commercial Laundry and spend my days inputting data and trading polite, yet curt emails with clients regarding their linen hire. The only useful part of my degree is my grasp on the English language that allows me to very professionally tell someone to go fuck themselves without once cursing, or even crossing the line into being rude.

Look, of everyone I know who went to college that got a BA, do you know which ones are doing well? The ones who did a double major, one is business, law, or science, and the other in languages. Seriously, if you can major in languages, do it. Pick a core language and study it like your life depends on it. Two of my friends who studied language (both of them studied Mandarin) now have some super cool jobs. One is a high level special intelligence officer for the military. The other is a financial advisor for a Chinese conglomerate and, I believe, is currently living the high life in China.

Everyone else I know who got an Art degree, either in writing, music, communication, advertising, history, social studies or anything else pretty much had to go back to uni after they graduated, do a Diploma in education, and use their skills to become school teachers. Seriously, all of them. I know talented musicians, talented writers, history-buffs, and more, and they’re all teachers now. Teachers, or doing what I’m doing and wasting their degree by working in a job where the degree has no meaning beyond showing an ability to commit to something for 3 years.

At the risk of sounding condescending, and potentially confusing you all the more when you’re already at a place where all of life’s big decisions seem laid at your door, I’m going to give you a list of the things I wish I’d known when I was in high school.

TIPS:

1. Be single. Seriously, if you’re currently in a relationship, I urge you to end it. I don’t care how in love you think you are, or how painful the idea of breaking up might be, you WILL regret being in a relationship when you’re in college. And I don’t just mean because you’ll be meeting new people and could be bouncing into bed with some sexy stranger(s). There are so many things that I didn’t do in college because I was too busy trying to make things work with my boyfriend (whom I dated for 6 years before we broke up, by the way). I mean, I missed out on a bunch of college events because instead of being on campus, I was driving home to my small-town to see him. I missed out on so many life experiences, ranging from skinny dipping with strangers, to wild parties, to experiencing life WITHOUT worrying about someone else and how they would react to my actions. I cannot tell you how much I regret not just ending things with him and figuring out who the hell I was because I was too busy focusing on who WE were.

2. If you’re going to study something, pick something that will give you practical experience, not just theoretical experience. Pick something that will give you life experiences. Study a language - hell, spend a semester abroad if you can. Study something that has a real-world use. If I could go back to being in high school, do you know what I’d do rather than studying a BA? I’d become a Veterinarian. Or a doctor. Or maybe a scientist of some kind. Hell, I might even forgo college and get an apprenticeship as an electrician or a hairdresser, or maybe even a builder. I reckon I’d have made a kick ass engineer, actually.

3. Push yourself. Don’t rest on your laurels and coast through the course. Go to every class. If you go, and you consistently find it boring, or awful, then you’re probably in the wrong course and should drop it for something else. I mean it. I have a BA. I spent 3 years studying it. Do you know how much actual course-work I engaged with? Roughly 50 hours worth. Total. I never went to class. I holed up in my dorm writing fanfic whenever I wasn’t partying, hungover, or feasting. I literally went to about 5 classes throughout my final year, despite having been enrolled in courses that asked for 10 hours a week minimum face-time in the classroom and living on campus. And I still graduated. It was way too easy and I wish I could go back and pick a different course - one that would make me WANT to go to class every day.

4. Recognize the fact that, no matter how it seems like you’ve got to figure everything out RIGHT NOW, you really don’t. Be decisive, and if you have a career goal in mind, work toward it, but please, PLEASE approach a company that offers that career and ask them if you can observe for the day. They might say no, but they might not. Tell them you’re in high school and you’re thinking about angling toward a career in that field and you’d like to get a look into what that career is like. Ask if you can shadow them for a day, or a week, or even a month. Ask them questions. Don’t just tag along if they let you observe. Ask for their motivations. Ask how it all works. Ask if they’re happy. Find out what the drawbacks of that career are. You’re at the age where you can find out who you are and who you want to be.

Me? When I first enrolled in college I was training to become a Registered Nurse. I spent a buttload of money on books and uniforms and courses to be a Nurse and then I did a practical-training stint and do you know what happened? I found out I fucking HATED it. I couldn’t deal with all the bodily fluids, and showering old people, and being coughed on and struggled against, and bossed around by doctors. And I quit. I called my parents and I told them how studying it was exciting in theory, and that I enjoyed the course-work for my essays, but I couldn’t stand the practical part. And I told them that it was fucking me up and that I’d stick it out if they wanted me to, because they were paying my accommodation for living on campus. But I found out what it was like, and I hated it. And if I’d gone to my local hospital and volunteered BEFORE applying to be a nurse, I’d have known it wasn’t for me. You haven’t got to get it right the first time, you know? You can make a mistake. But they’re expensive. If you can do things BEFORE money gets involved and figure out what you like and don’t like, do it. Always do it. Go to you local hospital and ask if they need an AIN for the week. Go to your local shelter and volunteer. Volunteer in a soup kitchen, or at your local library or youth centre. Ask companies if you can help them out for a few days and be willing to do it WITHOUT being paid. If you expect money, most will turn you down, but if you paint it as them helping you figure out who the hell you’re going to be and saving you from making potentially the worst mistake of your life if you pick the wrong course, most people are decent enough to give you a go.

5. Travel. I mean it. If you can afford to travel, and it won’t cost you a scholarship, take a year off between high school and college, and travel. See the world. Take a bestie, or go alone, but travel. I would be a completely different person if I’d travelled before college, and gone alone, rather than waiting until the summer between my 2nd and 3rd year and going with a boyfriend. Your perspective on life will change, I guarantee it. Hell, take a working holiday and work bar-jobs or cafe-jobs, or anything to pay the bills while you see the world, but for the love of god, get out of your home-town or your city. Meet new people. See new things. Learn how things work in another country by experiencing it first hand. I can’t stress this one enough because my number one biggest regret in life is that when I was in high school, I was offered a place in an exchange program to live and study in a country of my choice for a year, and I turned it down because I was in a relationship that was “going to last forever”. It didn’t last, and I was an idiot, and I insist that anyone who can travel MUST do so. I don’t care if you’ve got to backpack your way across Europe on $10 a day, if you can do it, PLEASE do it.

6. Learn how to take advice and criticism without seeing it as a challenge and without immediately being spiteful and doing the opposite. Listen to people who know better. If I’d listened to my parents, I’d have ditched the boyfriend, travelled, seen the world, and been a whole different person. If I’d listened to my Aunt, I’d have known that nursing was going to be horrible and that I’d hate it and quit. If I’d listened to family friends who ran local businesses in my town, I’d have been able to take them up on offers of things that, at the time, sounded awful, but things I’d have likely really enjoyed.

7. Don’t listen to your friends. They don’t know what’s best for you, no matter how well they know you or how close you are. If they’re your age, then they’re as clueless as you right now and they don’t have any idea how to offer you actual advice that will help change your life for the better. If you want to try something, and your friends disagree, do it anyway. Learn to be independent of them. One day, all too soon, that bestie you’re so close with will be someone you see or speak to once or twice a year and - here’s the kicker - you’ll be okay with that. You might even PREFER that. The point is, you need to grow as a person and you need to figure out exactly who you are. It’s not as easy as it sounds, and it’s not always as rewarding as you might hope, but it’s important that you do it. And I know that being told to figure out who you are tends to bamboozle teens. Hell, it confused the hell outta me because I was all, “I know exactly who I am.”

I didn’t.

Ask yourself the hard questions. Figure out where you stand politically. Figure out what matters to you. Do you care about religion? Current Events? Does the opinion of your peers matter to you? Does it really? At the end of the day, when you go to bed, do you CARE if you offended someone who deserved it? Do you prefer chicken or beef or vegetarian? What would you look like with a nose ring? A shaved head? A tattoo you can regret later? Do you like boys, or girls, or something in between? Both? Neither? Are you a wool sweaters girl, or velvet jumpsuit girl? Sneakers or scuffs? Dyed hair or natural? Tea of Coffee? Boy or girl? Do you want to help the environment or end world hunger or fix the economy? Do you want to hide under a rock and never talk to anyone again? Do you want to make a name for yourself? It’s all relevant and it sounds silly, but if you’re aspiring to be a writer, find a character questionnaire of all the things you’d want or need to know about a character to write about them in a book. Fill it out about you. You might be shocked by what you learn.

8. Don’t give terribly long winded answers like this one.

9. Never settle. You’re more than settling. Don’t settle for a partner, don’t settle for a job, don’t settle for a town, or a city, or a friend, or a life that you’re not happy with. If you aren’t happy, figure out why and make changes. You’re allowed. No one is going to stop you, and if they try, direct them to me so I can lecture them on how to be a better person. *winks*

10. Use your imagination. If you want to be an author, you’re not going to learn how in a classroom. You’ll learn by diving into a book and entering a whole new world. Practice your writing. Write fanfiction and share it to see what people make of it. Listen to the suggestions of those offering constructive criticism. PRACTICE. Read. For the love of god, read everything. Push yourself to learn how to write better, not in the classroom, but in the real world. Write whenever you can. Every day. I mean it. Literally, every day. If you don’t write, you won’t improve. You’ve got to do it. Set a goal. Tell yourself you’ll write 100 words a day, build on it from there. Be like me and write thousands of words a day, when you’re up for it. If you don’t keep your imagination alive and trying to think of new ways to tell the same story, you’ll struggle and you’ll fizzle.

xx-Kitten

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