#shout out to soap finding out his soulmate used to have a different soulmate and feeling guilty as hell for some angst as a treat

[4me2knowandyou2wonder]

Thinking about a soulmate AU where Roach was Simon’s soulmate before Roba, but after Roba Ghost was such a fundamentally different person that their fates changed.

(String broke, marks faded, whatever the AU dictates)

They still love each other. They planned to take on the world together until death and nothing will change that. But the feelings are gone. They tried to make it work when Ghost got back, despite the fact that they could clearly see fate had changed its mind, but it just fell into an easy friendship with all the trust and none of the romantic need.

Maybe sometimes they miss the romantic love they used to feel, but they still have each other and still have love even if it’s different now, and that’s enough.

[untaemedqueen]

Finding My Pack

Alpha!OT7 x Omega!Reader

Genre: Fated Mates, Omegaverse, Smut, Angst, Fluff

Series Warnings: Omega Abuse (Not By OT7), Fated Mates/Soulmates, Scent Sympathy, Sunshine!FMC, Knotting, Smut, MMMMMMMF, MMMF, MMF, MF, Breeding Kink, Cursing, Dom!OT7, Sub!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Omega Abuse

A/N: This will be the only chapter posted to Tumblr. All future chapters can be found on Patreon~! See you there!

Chapter 1.

"You do not lock the goddamn doors in this fucking house."

The sentence was thick with a growl, one that if I was born correctly wouldn't have mattered in the slightest. Just hearing the sharp hit of his words, my insides clenched and coiled, dying to listen and make sure that he wouldn't be mad at me again.

"Sorry," I whispered softly, looking down at my bare toes that curled awkwardly under my gaze.

"You need to put on your scent blocker and try a little bit harder to fit in here. You're making all your brothers crazy with that fucking smell."

Swallowing thickly, I grabbed the bottle from him with a nod.

If my scent made my brothers crazy, they made me out of my fucking mind with sickness. Every one of them smells like acidic garbage with a hint of overpowering sweetness, y'know, like the way too fake soaps or body lotions you find in those hoity toity stores.

"You're a fucking Pangborn. Please act like it," my father grumbled, wrinkling his nose at the smell of my nervousness. "Jesus Christ. I can't believe your mother made you."

His words were a low blow but nothing I wasn't used to hearing now. Nothing any of the pack said got to me as bad as it used it.

Liar.

Okay, a lot of it hurt but I tried not to think of it all the time. It was my fault, really. I wasn't born right.

To be a Pangborn in Cypress City, you have to be an alpha. The Pangborns breed for one purpose and one purpose only, to give the city more alphas then they know what to do with.

Every Pangborn is expected to be a boy, to be an alpha and to take on the numerous betas that are practically beating down the door for them to be let in. So when I was born, disappointment was ripe in the air. It still is.

A small female omega with no qualities and no purpose.

I'm nothing.

Oh that's fun, what a great thought to have. Even if it hurts, it's true.

Since I was born I've been kept hidden like a secret. There's no fairytale here, there's no pack of alpha princes waiting at the bottom of my incredibly sterile, sad tower. There's no one that cares. Well, maybe Brady and MacKenzie but they pretend I don't exist half the time.

Looking down at the bottle of scent blocker, a sob threatened to well up in my throat.

"Weak omega bullshit." That's what my father would say.

It's so fucking annoying to be different. It's so painful. But the hope that one day I'd be accepted never ceased to creep into my thoughts.

So I sprayed the spray on even though it makes me feel sick.

I could smell him before my door opened. His alpha pheromones were bleeding throughout the long hallway that lead to my room.

He smelled of garbage, lemon juice and the slightest hint of boysenberry. Although the boysenberry is not his own smell. It's a betas.

"Oy!" MacKenzie booms, shoving open the door.

His bright red hair and forest green eyes searched the mostly barren room until he found me in the corner.

"He cornered you again?" he asked softly, stepping into the room like he's witnessing a hurt animal.

"It's okay!" I tried to beam a smile for him but it fell flat into some kind of grimace.

MacKenzie wasn't really my brother, he hailed from the Alban Pangborns so he's more like my very distant cousin but he's pack and that makes him my authority regardless. If he barked at me, I'd end up doing his bidding. Just like all my other brothers do. I'm grateful he doesn't do it but he still could nonetheless.

"You sprayed on the right amount," Kenz praised, giving me a small smile.

The praise made me want to preen, made me want to jump and shout for joy that I did something right but I kept it locked tight within me.

"You'll be pleased to know that your father and some of the others are going on a business trip soon. It'll just be some of us left in the house. You won't have to smell all this alpha shite around, you ken?"

His thick accent made me smile then. When he first came over from Alba I had not a fucking clue what he was talking about but now it almost feels like a secret language we speak.

"I ken," I nodded, setting the spray down on my dresser.

"Just wait a while to come down to get your dinner. The boys and I have been having a beta fucking feast," he wiggled his eyebrows and left the doorway without so much as a goodbye.

I wish I was a beta.

No, actually, I wished I was an alpha. I wished I was born an alpha so that I didn't have to be a disappointment and left out of everything.

Sitting down on my bed, I fluffed the uncomfortable comforter around me to no avail and since I know I'm alone I let out the most pitiful of whines. Whining wasn't allowed. My father told me that alphas hate whining more than anything.

Once I whined during dinner with the Landons and their alpha son looked like he wanted to tackle me from across the table. It was the one and only time I was able to go to dinner with my family. They never let me go again.

I apparently ruined their business merger dinner.

My family made a fuck ton of money. Too much money to count on your fingers, not that I'd ever see a cent. I wasn't worth a dollar to them. They own a vast majority of land across the globe, mostly farms or patches of free wilderness that people are begging to buy from them.

If only those vast patches of land would be able to buy me a soft comfortable comforter. This one is rough and itchy and I don't like it. I don't know much about being an omega but I do know that I don't like the blankets I own.

You see, omegas are rare. Like one in one hundred is an omega rare. Somewhere in history omegas just became a rarity and as such they're terribly hated.

Whenever I tried to ask the pack any questions they all shut me down with a growl and told me to go back to my room.

"Y/N!"

My father's bark was sharp and I tightened my terribly uncomfortable blanket over my shoulders at the noise.

If they are having a beta party downstairs I most certainly wouldn't be welcome to interrupt it. All the beta females that came into the house hated me. I tried to be friendly and smile, tried to make friends with other girls but they didn't want anything to do with me.

Probably feeding into the whole hate omega-kind thing, huh?

When my father shouted my name again, I had no choice but to get up. It was an alpha command now, filled with bite and fury.

If I saw one bare tit I was going to lose my goddamn mind. I'd been having these awful urges these past couple of months. It felt like something was boiling in my gut and itching beneath my skin, just begging to get out of me. What it was, I wasn't sure but it feels fucking awful and devastating just the same.

When I was starting to run a fever, my father would give me a few pills and lock me up in my room until the fever had passed and I was able to carry on with my chores.

My feet took me without thinking. The large home I lived in with the twelve others in the pack passed by in a blur. I tried not to look up from the wooden floorboards, I really didn't want to see anyone mating out in the open like I know my brothers loved to do.

I could hear the audible moans of the betas, probably in various states of undress all around me as I made my way to my father's office.

This had always been my home but I'd always felt like a stranger here. It's not just because my family wasn't welcoming, it just felt wrong. Nothing in this place is where it should be. The pictures on the cabin-like wooden walls weren't at all in the right order, the couches in the sitting room weren't staged properly, even the wood that goes into the fireplace smells horrendous.

Everything about this place made me feel sick.

That includes my father's office.

Once I stepped inside I was immediately smacked with pheromones, ones that made my stomach roll with nausea. I wonder if that's how everyone felt. I wonder if betas got nauseous with their families too.

My eyes scanned the room which was terribly out of order and then they caught on the one picture that sat on my father's desk.

It was her.

My mother. Whom of which I've never met. She was a beta that my father never bonded with but got pregnant anyway. He loved her…I think. But when she had me and I was an omega she was disappointed and left me here. She left me here alone. With these people.

Family.

She left me here with my family.

I hadn't realized I whined until my father cracked his hand down on his desk with a fierceness. "What did I say about that shit?!"

"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"Not that she ever does, eh?" my brother Riley laughed, elbowing me in the ribs as he passed.

Riley was an interesting case of smells. There's the cedar which makes sense because he spends a lot of time outdoors, there's the sharpness of spearmint like a powerful gum that makes your nostrils burn and…boysenberry?

He and MacKenzie have been sharing again. Definitely not uncommon for those two.

"Close the doors. She's gonna scare all the betas away. I'm not waiting another round for Hunter to have an alpha son of his own."

"Keep the lineage alive." That's the pack motto. What a terrible fucking bumper sticker that would be.

I stood there, looking down at my toes as my father and Riley talked and laughed with one another. Probably forgetting I was even in the room. Which happens sometimes.

"Alright, little O?" Kenz cheered, entering the office.

"Don't call her that," my father snapped, finally remembering I was around.

MacKenzie held his hands up in a gesture to soothe any frayed nerves and he sat down with a groan on the couch closest to father's desk.

"Y/N," my father began, not even offering the kindness to look at me. "Your brothers and I are going on a business trip outside of the city. Some of your brothers, like MacKenzie, are staying back because they have a dinner meeting at the house while I'm away."

My head lifts in surprise. Will I be allowed to go?! Can I eat dinner with my brothers?!

"There's many alphas in the pack, we can kill two birds with one stone. This business meeting is incredibly important for us."

My smile was megawatt and I nodded instantly. "Sure, of course! I can–"

"You can," my father interrupted with a sneer. "Make sure you stay in your room, take your pills and keep your scent blocker applied when the Euphoria Pack comes to the meeting. This contract will be our biggest one so far and I will not have your omega bullshit fuck it up for the rest of us. Do you understand?"

The disappointment and sorrow that swirled through me almost knocked me off my feet. "Oh, I see… I understand."

"See that you do. I won't stand for losing this deal because you couldn't handle yourself."

God, I wanted to curl up and die. I'm so pitiful. What a fucking waste. I wish I was never born an omega.

Trying to bury whines and suffering hurt sometimes and in this instance it felt like a red hot poker was shoved down my throat.

"She stinks like sadness," Riley chuckled, shaking out his long brown hair and looking me over with disdain dripping from every pore.

"Lighten up, brother. She's only human," Kenz laughed, stepping in front of me and waving his hand behind his back.

Get out.

That's what he was telling me.

"Dinner will be brought up to you. If you're feeling hot then take your pills. We're leaving in the morning and we won't be back for a few weeks."

Oh, thank God, I could do without seeing my father and half of my brothers for weeks on end. Maybe finally I would be able to walk around without getting yelled at.

Three days of the freedom I thought I would be acquiring went by too fast. I'd been left with my brothers that were the easiest to deal with. Brady, Ronan, MacKenzie, Dash and Hunter were, of course, the easiest to deal with because they never nagged me and they were always too busy fucking betas to really give a shit what I was doing.

The house stunk of sex and carefree fun but more importantly it smelled of my freedom. I was able to go out in the garden to read, to sunbathe, to smell something that wasn't garbage. It was heavenly.

I'd seen flowers I've never seen before, ones that weren't there the last time I was in the gardens. Apparently Leticia, one of the pack chasers, suggested sprucing things up. When I suggested it to my father I got sent up to my room with no dinner and pills because I was acting 'out of order.' I'm a person not a goddamn machine. How could I possibly be out of order?

But now with the three days of freedom gone, I'm once again left up in my room without a single thing to do. Defiance curled in my bones and I narrowed my eyes at the white little pills on my bedside table.

My father wasn't here, he wouldn't know if I took them or not. I'd rather get a fever then take them and feel even sicker than before. Those pills made me nauseous and I felt like reality was so far out of touch that I'd never get back to it. I did end up spraying the scent blocker, though. Just one little spritz, just enough to save the visiting alphas downstairs from my monstrous odor.

They shouldn't be subjected to a disgusting omega. An embarrassment to the family.

The sprawling cabin estate was large before our eyes but it pales in comparison to the mansion we just created on the outskirts of the state.

"I don't like the smell," Jin murmured to us.

The smell was honestly horrific. These alphas seemed to stew in the scents of sex and their own pheromones. You could smell the female betas like they were throwing out a wide casting net to repulse everyone around them.

"Why the fuck did we agree to this?" Taehyung grumbled, folding his arms.

"Because although they're disgusting, they're rich as fuck and they have the land we need to start up the center," Namjoon replied evenly, fixing his tie.

I couldn't seem to take my eyes off the enlarged wooden cabin in front of us. That's exactly what it was: a large, gigantic wooden house. It would be almost comical if it wasn't very real.

"I don't even wanna touch the door," Hoseok hissed, taking to kicking the front door insead.

Even in this day and age everyone lives with the one soul purpose of finding their person, their omega but this pack didn't seem to care about finding one. Not with the way their lodgings smelled.

Now, of course, finding an omega that's right for your pack is like finding a unicorn or finding gold at the end of a rainbow but packs do it. Not all the time but enough to keep packs hopeful, at least.

Once the door swung open, a red headed alpha before us smiled widely. "Gents, welcome! The Pangborn Pack is happy to have you!"

Namjoon gave him his typical killer smile and the alpha seemed to relax at it. Our pack leader was all killer charm and easy going… until you fuck with his pack.

The seven of us have only had each other for quite a few years now and our family depends on one another more than most.

"Thank you for having us," Jimin smiled, stepping into the home first.

His eyes bounced around the interior before nodding. Once I stepped into the entryway behind him, the need to look at the inside faded. In the air, apart from the alpha scents were the scents of dinner and something so deliciously sweet that it made my mouth water.

Fuck! What is that smell?!

"Made us dessert?" Namjoon inquired with a laugh.

So he can smell that too.

The scent was warm and sugary like a fresh out of the oven sugar cookie with vanilla ice cream slowly melting on top.

Why the fuck was I about to nut over dessert?

Casting my eyes to Taehyung, I could see him tugging at the collar of his expensive dress shirt.

It was getting increasingly hot in here, that I could guarantee.

The scent was so thick and practically viscous I could feel it wrapping around my cock and tugging sensuously. My knot was two seconds from expanding and the desire to rut until I was sated was pressing indecently on my brain.

"No dessert here, lads. The betas can barely cook a steak without it burning! We ordered out for dinner tonight! Dinnae ken billionaires like you would be opposed to that, eh?"

"Dinnae ken means didn't think," another alpha offered, slipping in beside the redhead. His hair was long and brown, shaggy even with a boyish smile that could probably charm anyone he laid his eyes on.

"That sounds great," Jin replied, unbuttoning his suit jacket and cracking his neck.

Whatever that fucking scent is, it has us all by the balls.

Namjoon gripped his hand into a fist, eyes glazing over all of us. "To the dining room, then?"

"Getting right down to business! I love that! We have betas to look after anyway," Red chortled, wiggling his eyebrows at us.

When the group of us moved with the two other alphas, my heart started to hammer as the smell became stronger.

I tried to temper my growl that wormed its way up my throat but Joon caught it. "I don't know what it is but fuck, I want it so bad," he agreed.

"Alright there, lads?"

"Just have to use the restroom. Would you mind sending me in the right direction?" I inquired, needing to find the words through a thick haze of want.

"Bathroom on the first floor is occupied for the betas. Second floor up that staircase there," Red pointed to the staircase from where the scent is strongest. "Fifth door on the right."

With a nod, I set off trying not to falter and stumble from the exquisite smell.

"We'll be waiting in the dining room. The pack is excited to make this merger," the brown haired man smiled.

Once they were out of sight I took the stairs two at a time, eyes searching for any indication of where the scent came from.

I let my senses guide me. Following the smell took me past the bathroom and past any rooms that smelt of the alphas. Stopping at the end of the hallway, the door before me was completely different from the others. It was metal, almost sterile in a sense. But the scent was there, it was so heady and present that my cock stood to attention.

"Oh fuck," I grunted, shoving open the door and barreling up the stairs.

The hallway I rushed down was bare of anything home-y and it looks like some sort of clinical hospital ward.

The door at the other end suddenly opened in a flourish and the sweetest little thing I'd ever seen stepped out with curious, glazed eyes.

"Omega," I groaned long and low, stepping toward her.

She was the maddening scent. She was what my pack was going crazy over.

"Oh! I'm so… I've never–" the sweet thing whispered, looking me over with hunger.

The perfect woman. Right before my fucking eyes. Those lips, those sweet eyes, that adorable, if not a little scared smile, that fucking body. Built just for me and my other pack brothers.

Mine, mine, mine! Every cell in my body screamed it with frantic need.

"Why do you smell so good?" she whimpered, lifting a hand as if she wanted to touch me.

Please fucking touch me. Holy shit, I was going out of my fucking mind from this perfect little thing.

"What do I smell like, sweetness?" I inquired, stepping closer.

"Like warm hot chocolate and marshmallows. Not like garbage at all!" she gasped, looking up with wide, innocent eyes.

A laugh tumbled past my lips. What an innocent creature.

"Does everyone smell like garbage to you, sweetness?"

"I just want to…" she groaned, a whimper slipping past her lips.

A purr started in my chest, rattling my bones with how thick and heavy it was. Oh fuck, I'd never purred for anyone before.

"What do you want?" I asked softly, holding my hands up to show her I mean no harm.

She gripped my wrist with a dainty hand probably thinking it had a fierceness she didn't embody. She lifted my hand to her soft cheek and my purr started up once more.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized, not taking her eyes off mine. "I know omegas are disgusting. I shouldn't bother you."

The sweet purr she pulled from me turned to a growl in an instant. "You could never be disgusting. Omegas are precious. Didn't your alphas teach you that?"

She stared up at me, eyes starting to brim with tears.

Oh my God, she was everything I could have ever wanted. My pants were so fucking tight, my heart feels like it was gonna combust and I'm pretty damn sure I just met my fucking mate.

"They're not really my alphas," she whispered softly, keeping my wrist close to her nose.

I wanted to take this gorgeous woman and lock her away where no one but the pack can find her. Holy shit, my brain was turning to fucking mush.

"What are they then if not your alphas?" I asked, stepping closer.

When my chest brushed against hers, she perfumed the air for me and another purr ripped from my chest like it was an instrument being played purely for her.

"Brothers, father," she mumbled, lost in a haze of our own making.

"So you don't have a pack of your own, sweetness?" I whispered, coursing my thumb over her cheek.

"No one would want me. I'm useless," the omega replied so softly I might not have heard her if not for her keeping my attention ensnared.

"I highly doubt that, pretty girl. What's your name?"

"Y/N…"

Beautiful.

"I'm Jeongguk. It's nice to meet you, sweetness."

"I can't take it. I can't take it. I can't take it!" Jimin chanted, rushing into the hallway.

The omegas gasp was loud and frightened for only a moment until she laid eyes on the other alpha. I purred for her, watching her instantly relax at the noise.

"This is Jimin. He's a part of my pack. The Euphoria Pack."

"Oh no, I've…I've ruined dinner. My father will be so upset with me," she groaned, sounding not as upset as she probably would be if I wasn't purring up a fucking storm.

"Scent sympathetic. I thought it was like a fucking myth for people like us," Jimin laughed, stepping up beside me.

He didn't seem jealous or upset at all that my hands were on her. We've never tried for an omega, not really. Unfortunately, most omegas wanted us for our money and not for the connection. Not to mention most of the omegas we met smelled so cloyingly sweet that it gave us headaches for weeks. Most omegas wanted just some of us but not all of us and that doesn't bode well for a pack.

"You smell like calming tea and blueberries," Y/N breathed, blinking up at him.

"And you smell like a yummy dessert, sweetheart. How's such a pretty omega like you hidden up here away from everything?"

"Why are you being so nice to me? I'm just an omega," she whimpered, looking between us.

"'Just an omega'? Don't you know your worth, pretty girl?" I scoffed, tilting my head.

She opened her mouth to reply, only to shut it and furrow her eyebrows.

"I want to introduce her to the pack. I think this is it. I think we found our girl," Jimin beamed at me, allowing her to pull him closer.

She seemed to be a needy little thing. One we certainly wouldn't mind doting on. She also seemed completely out of touch with reality and it wasn't just because she was obsessed with our scents.

"Do you have a nest, sweetness? Would you care to show us?"

A nest is very sacred to omegas, it's one of the only places they can find comfort during heats and in times of stress. It was incredibly forward for me to ask but I wanted to know what she liked. I knew my hopes might be high but I wanted to set up the nest in the new mansion how she would like it. Because she was mine. She was ours. She belonged with us.

"I– What's a nest?" Y/N asked, eyebrows pinching innocently.

"Do not fucking tell me you're kept in the dark up here," Jimin growled deeply, his scent turning acidic.

Instead of turning tail and running, she started to… climb him?

She climbed him like a fucking tree. And the good looking bastard was all for it.

One arm snaked around her waist to keep her up and the other ran up and down her back in soothing motions.

She nuzzled his cheek and neck, whimpering and begging for his scent to be all over her.

"Good girl," Jimin cooed, purring for her. "Take what you want, sweetheart. We'll gladly give it."

There were rules to getting an omega, courting before mating and making sure your omega was happy and well looked after. In some cities omegas even went to Help Centers to find their perfect pack but Cypress City had no such thing. That was what we were trying to change. That was why we needed this deal with this pack.

"I don't know what's happening! I'm so sorry! I just feel so…"

"Overwhelmed?" Jimin offered, pulling back to look at her.

She nodded, whimpering and tucking her face into the crook of his neck.

"We need to talk to the pack," I told him, pressing my chest to her back and purring. I drifted the back of my hand over her bare arm and she seemed to thrive on not only praise but physical affection.

"I can't leave her," Jimin hissed over her shoulder, hugging her tighter at the thought of having to part.

"I don't want you to go! Please! I'm so tired of being alone! Please don't go!" she sobbed into his neck.

A growl ripped from my chest at her sadness and I was storming off before I even knew what was happening.

She's mine. She's mine. She's mine.

"Guk!" Jimin called but I was already barreling down the stairs with a fierceness building in my chest.

They kept that precious omega in a sterile fucking ward like she was some sort of disease. She didn't even know what a nest was! It was a disgrace! She'd been abused without even understanding anything!

She's mine!

If one more sob of hers entered my ears, I thought I might burn their oversized camp cabin down and dance on the embers.

Shoving open the dining room doors, I glowered at the pack that sat high and mighty at the end of the long dining room table. Once they saw me and smelled me, they all stood.

"Been wandering around our home, have you?" Red asked with the tilt of his head.

"Stupid girl can't do anything but get herself in trouble!" one of them sneered.

The insult made a growl rip from my throat and they all stared long and hard at me. I wouldn't stand for this. I couldn't stand for this.

"She doesn't even know what a fucking nest is. How dare you all treat an omega like this! This is abuse!" I boomed, widening my eyes at them.

My packs jaws fell open in shock and suddenly they were standing to surround me, to have my back.

"She's scent sympathetic with us," Jimin assured, entering the room with her still cradled to him.

I was happy she liked him. He's far more easy going and carefree then most of us and she'd enjoy his company.

My pack stepped toward her and she cried sweetly at all of their scents. They purred for her and my heart expanded. No one was left out and she locked eyes with all of them. She jumped ship from Jimin to Namjoon and he nuzzled her hair. He wrapped her legs around him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Would you like to leave this place, pet?" he inquired.

“She'll do no such thing!" Red boomed.

When she whimpered at the alpha bite, we growled in defiance.

"You think your bark is bad? Mine was given to me by the devil. If I have to force you to obey, I fucking will. It's the omegas choice. You can't keep her here like a fucking prisoner!" Joon boomed.

"She's not a part of the deal," one of the Pangborn's hissed through his teeth.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she gasped repeatedly, trying to set herself down.

"Do you want to get down, pet?" Namjoon asked, tilting her jaw to look up at him.

She reluctantly shook her head, burying her face back into his neck.

Oh fuck, she's so perfect and sweet.

"Then you stay exactly where you are," the pack leader whispered, giving her his wrist to be able to tilt his head and glower at the Pangborn pack.

"You expect me to pay? For a person?! Are you out of your small alpha minds?" Namjoon bit out, sneering at her brothers.

"MacKenzie… Dad is gonna flip," one of them breathed.

"I'm tired of always having to sneak Juliet around. Just be rid of her. Omegas are nothing but trouble."

Hoseok growled so loudly, something he never does, that it almost made my chest rattle.

"I know you don't know us very well," Seokjin breathed slowly as the other pack continued to argue. "But if you feel safe with us we'd like to take you somewhere you can be yourself and be happy. How does that sound, princess? You deserve much better than this shithole."

"I won't feel sick?" she inquired, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

Oh, she's killing me here.

"Do you feel sick in this house?" Yoongi growled, narrowing his eyes at the other pack.

Her nod was slow and sad.

"I'm getting her out of here. Now!" Namjoon boomed, pressing her face into the scent gland of his neck.

She seemed to love being held. We could do that for her. We could give her anything and everything she wants. We could be good for her.

"Give us a million!" Red or MacKenzie called back but Namjoon was already heading for the door.

"Get fucked!" our pack leader growled.

"Wh-Where are we going?" Y/N asked, taking a deep breath of fresh air.

"Home, sweetness," I promised. "We're going home."

[rons-wheezely]

Cedric || Congratulations

Genre: fluff, Cedric Diggory x reader

Summary: [B&W soulmate!AU] when everything is black and white until you hear your soulmates voice for the first time. “Congratulations, Diggory!” 

A/N: sorry for the lack of activity!! I’m trying to think outside of the box with these fics, so it’ll take some time :)

--x--

Everyone hooped and hollered at the new Prefects list. You were a year younger than the qualifying age, but you practically jumped out of your seat when people you knew were called. Fred and George looked at you incredulously as you joined the masses of excited cheers. You’ve always wanted to be a Prefect, despite what your friends thought about it.

“A Prefect?” George questioned when you told him afterwards. You two were walking in the hallways after the announcements.

Fred popped up on the other side,” --More like a prat.” The two of them snickered to each other, and you could only roll your eyes at their usual antics. 

Your eyes land on the new Hufflepuff prefects who were now making their way out of the Great Hall. You cupped your hands and shouted to them,“Congratulations, Diggory!” You smiled and waved at Cedric, who had a look of shock overwhelm him. Before he could call out to you, he was swept away by the other Hufflepuffs.

“How’d you even meet Cedric?” Fred looked at you and then at George. “He’s not in our house, plus isn’t Cedric a year older?”

“How would you know what house he’s in? All of the houses look the same.” You responded. The houses were various shades of black and white, so it was hard to differentiate or remember what house you were actually in. Knowing Diggory though, was a different story. You shrug, pretending to not get the hint,”...Everyone knows Diggory.”

“Okay, but how do you actually know him?”

You mulled over your words before casually responding. “He may or may not have passed me a note with answers to a potions exam.” 

The Weasley boys feign a gasp of shock and horror. “Our y/n could never!” Fred screeched and dramatically placed the back of his hand on his forehead like he was starring in a soap opera. 

“Y/n cheating? Merlin, that’s unheard of!” George added in.

They both had a look of agony as if the thought had tormented them for years,”A future Prefect who breaks school rules?” The two circle around you as you walked through the hallway. 

“I might as well auction my left pinky toe to potions...” Fred shakes his head in dismay. You know he’s only joking, but you wouldn’t be surprised if it ended up happening.

You laugh, amused by their usual antics. “It’s not that extreme, I can assure you. Cedric and I are friends; we pass notes sometimes during class is all.” You shrug again, but for the longest that had been a secret you kept to yourself. You had never really spoken to Cedric, but with how frequently you two passed notes, it seemed only right to be called friends.

“Cheating and passing notes?” Fred quirks

“We might as well be triplets, y/n.” George’s arm is slung around your shoulder. “We should head to Fortescue’s Ice cream parlor to celebrate our third twin; what do you blokes think?”

You agree along with Fred, already watering at the thought of Fortescue’s ice cream. When you arrive though, it seems that everyone else had the same idea. The shop is practically overflowing with customers who were eager to get their hands on some sweets. You sigh, already preparing yourself to leave before you even go in.

“Wow y/n, you think they’re celebrating too?” Fred smiles to reassure you when he sees your disappointed face. “They might be here for the prefects, but it’s better to think they’re here for little miss Weasley.” He hoots and hollers along with the crowd as he winks to you.

George and Fred guide you safely to the counter. The shop is loud and bustling with chatter, but you manage to order as you please and find a nearby table to wait. It comes soon enough and the sugary sweets fill your mouth. Fred and George are talking to a couple of other kids they knew when you make eye contact with Diggory from across the room. Has he been there the whole time? Nevertheless, you give him a small wave and a friendly smile.

He waves back and opens his mouth to call out to you, but the twins pull you (quite literally) into their conversation. “--and this is the lovely prat who won the bet! She robbed me of half my supply of joke inventions, didn’t ya?”

You laugh,” How could I forget! The look on your face when I used every single one of ‘em on you; you never even saw it coming!”

Ice cream and treat bowls were empty, and customers had started wearing thin. You turn to clean up after yourself while the twins try to bargain for more. Stuck onto the side of your sundae cup was a note. You immediately recognized it as Diggory’s writing, and picked it up gingerly. 

Can we meet in the courtyard? I’d really like to say thank you in person, but I understand if you have other plans tonight. See you at 9? :)

A quick glance at the clock on the wall reads as 8:32, so you start packing up your things in a faster pace. “--what do you say? My brother and I--”

“Fred,” you looked at the two,” George, are you ready to go?”

“We’re always ready, y/n.” the twins smirk, but they wave goodbye to Mr. Fortescue and leave minutes after you do. “What’s the rush?” They ask in their unsettling unison. You all arrive on campus when you turn to look at them.

“Curfew is at ten, boys,” you look back at them. “I’m going to need this extra hour to study, which you would understand if you actually studied.” 

They chuckle amongst themselves,”We’re just naturally gifted; built for wizarding already. I guess we’ll head back to our dorms then? Since joining you is out of the question.” Then look at each other and nod like they know exactly what they plan to do when they get there. “See you later, y/n!”

After you were sure they left, you turn the corner towards the courtyard. Of course you had to study, but you could always do it inside the dorms after call time. “...Diggory?” You called out. You spot him just on the other side of the fountain, and you walk over to meet up with him. “This is a little too ominous for a little thank you, don’t you think?” 

He was looking down at the floor with his eyebrows furrowed, but relief is washed over him when he sees you. You walk closer and watch as the moonlight highlights his features in a glowing hue. The courtyard is desolate, with the exception that you two were there and the usual nightlife that animals got up to. 

He walks closer to you and meets halfway. Cedric’s voice is barely above a whisper when he says,” I think we’re soulmates?” 

And just like that, the face you were looking at flushed with color. His house color was a soft, warm tone that accented his robes, and his hair was tussled with deep locks of a rich color. His eyes were still grey, but you’d love him all the same. He’s smiling at you as you take in all of your surroundings, breathing in the view of this new world.

The longer he smiled at you, the more desperate you’d become to knowing the name of the color on his lips. Maybe it was the same color of love, you thought to yourself. Dumbfounded, you find yourself closing the gap between you two, a hug filled with more vibrancy and warmth than you had ever known. This was just the beginning, and soon you’d know the taste of his lips too.

--x--

A/N: requests are open! I am working on a requested date with Ron, so stay tuned my loves <3

[milkcakejamun]

ShiVi X HP Crossover, Part I

“For the Japanese, who know so much and intuit more, human relations are predestined by a red string that the gods tie to the pinky fingers of those who find each other in life. Legend has it that the two people connected by this thread will have an important story, regardless of the time, place, or circumstances. The red string might get tangled, contracted, or stretched, as surely often happens, but it can never break."

----------Page Break -------------

His little finger interlocked with her own, “Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to find you?” He brought his other hand up to her face and gently caressed her cheek as she leaned towards him in comfort. “In any shape. In any form. In any world,” he whispered as his thumb brushed across her lower lip. “I will find you,” he leaned closer to her as she angled her body towards him, “because we are fated for each other.” — C. K. Rani

Raavi smiled as she lowered the book. Her eyes trailed over to the boy… no man, sitting right across from her. His hair was neatly combed and parted to the side, uniform was clean and well ironed, quills organized by size and shape of the tip.

He was Ved Pandya, and he was absolutely perfect.

As someone who believed in soulmates, Raavi knew that Ved Pandya was the one for her, perhaps from the moment she first laid eyes on him on Platform 9 3/4 at King’s Cross Station hugging his family. A warm feeling blossomed in her chest when she saw those happy smiles, and for the first time, she knew where she belonged… and that was with the Pandya family…

For that reason alone, she did her best to pursue a friendship with Ved, even though they were sorted in different houses, him in Hufflepuff and her in Ravenclaw. She would try to sit at his table, she would meet up with him after class asking about doubts, and she would try to be involved in whatever activity he was involved in (with the sole exception of Quidditch).

Slowly, but surely, her efforts paid off… Ved and her began a friendship in their third year of school, and now as seventh years, they were essentially inseparable. She knew every little secret of his, and he knew almost everything about her as well… and fairly soon, he would know the last truth she was hiding.

The truth that she loved him…

“If you spent as much time as you did watching me on your studies, you would’ve cleared all the exams with straight O’s,” she heard his soft murmur. He glanced up from his book with a frown adorning his face, and again, she was absolutely mesmerized by how good-looking Ved was… his soft eyes, the gentle curve of his cheeks.

She smiled lazily at him as she leaned over to close the book he was reading, “Grades don’t matter,” she stated as a matter-of-fact. Not when my goal is to be by your side anyway. “Not when I have a job, at least,” she mentioned with a smirk. The Pandya family already offered her a job after graduation, regardless of what her final exam scores were.

Ved rolled his eyes, “I might not mind, but my cousin—,”

Raavi scowled at the thought of working for anyone else other than Ved. Ved’s father, the sweet and charming Dev Pandya, would not allow her to work for anyone else. Most especially that “dreaded” and “tyrant” of a cousin… She’s never met that good-for-nothing cousin (and never even cared to inquire about him), but she knew he was not good news.

No man was good news when he sent her plastic lizards for her birthday… and that man even knew of her crush on Ved, as every birthday note included a small message of, “Do not even dare!”

Ansh Pandya… the beloved son of Gautam and Dhara Pandya, and the heir apparent of the wonderful Pandya Store… Someone with such a great legacy should have been a model citizen… instead, Ansh chose to be the bane of her life… the villain of her love story.

Even when he wasn’t there, he made her life miserable… suggesting Ved should get a girlfriend, and even offering a list of potential girls he could begin talking to…

“Let’s not ruin this afternoon by speaking about him,” she huffed.

“He’s not that awful,” Ved’s lips curled upwards in amusement. “He was the one to offer you a job, after all.”

And it was a halfhearted and insulting offer should she say so herself. Without even being there, he sent her an offer letter after Gautam Pandya made the initial offer. His letter claimed she would make the perfect addition to the company, as their next project was developing the operating system to their cell phone line. The Chipkali operating system… and as a “chipkali” herself, she would offer the perfect inspiration…

If he wasn’t related to the wonderful Pandya family, she would have throttled him years back when he sent her a toy lizard which came to “life” the second she touched it. The only good thing that happened with that was that Ved hugged her and stayed by her side the rest of the night.

“When you join company, you’ll understand,” Ved stood up and stretched. “His heart is truly filled with gold… and he honestly is the beacon of the family, especially after…,” he trailed off as his eyes were filled with anguish.

She swallowed, knowing to stay silent. A few years back, prior to Ved’s birth, the Pandya family suffered their greatest loss. They had been the most spoken about family, especially with the advent of their new wizarding products… a phone that rivaled the ones used by Muggles… computers that connected every aspect of the community… quills that were able to engineer anything from the imagination…

They had transformed the Wizarding World… and just as they celebrated their greatest success… the inventor of it all passed away…

“I wonder if he’s proud of us,” Ved murmured as he glanced out the window, gazing at the blue sky.

Raavi smiled softly as she squeezed his shoulder. She had never known Shiva Pandya… and she seldom hears of him as well since he always invoked the tears from the family. But she knew, that regardless of who Shiva Pandya was, he would be proud of Ved and Ansh…

Ved placed his hand over hers and turned to her with a soft smile, “Anyhow, it’s time for us to part,” he slowly packed up his quills and belongings into his bag as Raavi turned to him curiously. “Sruthi and I will be practicing today for the big game next week.”

Raavi had nodded her head… until he had uttered that vile name from his lips… Sruthi… the woman that Ansh had come up with. She had thought Ved would break the connection, just as he had done so with the four other women… but, after going out for butter beer once, Ved and Sruthi had hit it off. They had been speaking to each other much more, despite Sruthi being an entire two years younger. And even though they were in different houses, they practiced Quidditch together…

She wasn’t one to become mad with jealousy… but there was something in Sruthi that brought the worst in her… that made her worry about the future she envisioned for herself.

“I want to come, too!” she announced as she quickly packed her belongings herself.

“You?” Ved raised a brow. Raavi nodded her head, ignoring the bewilderment in his expression. Even after nearly four years of friendship, she had hoped Ved would’ve known. How relentless she could be. “You do understand we will be riding our brooms,” Raavi raised her brow as Ved continued, “Playing Quidditch.”

After a moment of silence, Raavi crossed her arms, “So?” She was fully aware that she could not ride a broom… however, that doesn’t mean her eyes were not perfectly functional. She could sit in the bleachers and shout whenever they became too close. “I’ll watch!”

He rolled his eyes as he motioned for her to tag along.

Grinning with pride, she skipped along his side, briefly glancing over at his profile every now and then, admiring everything she could about him. He was absolutely perfect for her in every way. He was just about an inch taller—so he wouldn’t have to bend down and hurt his neck whenever they kissed. He had the most impeccable fashion when they did not have to be in their uniforms.

“Are you excited to join the company?” Ved murmured as their hands brushed.

Raavi felt a gentle tingle go up her arms as a smile split wide on her face. She gently rubbed the area that had touched his hand. Nodding her head, she felt a warm flush come over her face, “Yes,” she breathed out. Working alongside him was a dream come true.

“Ansh is excited as well,” Ved brought his hand up to his mouth as he tried to hide his smile. Raavi raised a brow as she glanced over in his direction. “Wait… do you not know?” he began laughing. “Ansh will be your supervisor once you start working.”

Raavi’s eyes widened as she stilled to a complete stop. Ansh? My supervisor? She could only see a dark cloud over her head… They were never able to meet because he had chosen to attend Durmstrang (thank Somnath, otherwise they would’ve killed each other), but from the small tidbits she knew of him, and from the letters he had sent her, he would be a brutal boss.

“Ansh is not bad, Raavi,” Ved whispered. “He would never hurt anyone. Most especially you.”

Me? She scowled remembering all the gifts he had sent her over the years. The toy chipkalis, the dung bombs, packets of oils and masalas (though she had no understanding of why he would give her such a thing… she was an absolutely wonderful cook!). Not a single gift was sweet… and she didn’t even know what she did to deserve this! They hadn’t even met before!

Which was why she began sending him inappropriate gifts as well. From sending him acid pops, frog spawn soap, bulbadox powder… unfortunately, nothing terrible had happened to him.

“Raavi.”

She glanced at Ved as Ved reached out for her hand.

“You’re Raavi… anyone can fall in love with you,” he smiled at her softly.

Warmth blossomed in her chest as she followed Ved to the Quidditch field. Anyone can fall in love with me… her eyes zeroed in Ved’s back. Does that mean he actually loves me? A smile found it’s way onto her face. Then I don’t need to wait to confess? I can just do it right now?

“Ved,” she called out at the same moment Ved’s face brightened with joy.

“Sruthi!” he called out as the happiness fizzled out of Raavi.

She turned to Sruthi with a glare… She didn’t even exist a few months ago, but now, she became a mainstay, an unwanted third wheel, and despite all the hints she was giving Sruthi… that girl really didn’t understand.

“Ved!” Sruthi smiled as she ran over to him.

Ved pulled her into a hug as Raavi bit her lower lip, feeling excluded. In all her years of being good friends with Ved, he had never taken the liberty to hug her in such a manner. Is it because he thinks I don’t want to hug him? How do I let him know that I do want to hug him? That I want to do much more with him like hold his hands and go to Hogsmeade with him on a date?

Sruthi turned to Raavi with a small smile, “Will you be sitting on the bleachers?”

Raavi nodded her head slowly, wishing she didn’t have to sit on the bleachers. Wishing she could ride a broom just as well as Sruthi, if not better.

“Could you hang onto this for me?” Sruthi handed her a gold necklace with a small hourglass in the middle.

“Time turner?” Ved asked excitedly. “Aren’t they all gone?”

Sruthi nodded her head, “Yes, but,” she glanced at Raavi briefly, and Raavi quite honestly felt very insulted. She and Ved shared everything. How dare this girl treat me as the outsider! “My uncle actually works in the Ministry, and after I told him about how I wanted to take extra classes… he kind of gave this to me,” a warm blush colored her cheeks as Raavi scoffed in annoyance.

Know it alls… She hated those people the most, and this “using a time turner to take as many classes as I possibly could” was yet another reason for her to despise dislike Sruthi. She’s just a fifth year student! She has a few more years…

“And because it’s so precious, I can’t let anything happen to it, so Raavi di,” Raavi did her best to not react to the ‘di’ that was spoken. “Could you hang on to it as Ved and I practice?”

Before she could utter a single word, Sruthi placed the necklace in Raavi’s hands. Ved and Sruthi, then, both grabbed their brooms, heavily engaged in their own conversation. What surprised her greatly was the chemistry they shared with each other. Sruthi was able to touch Ved’s arm, and instead of shrugging her off, like he normally does, he just stood there, smiling at her and whispering something that made her laugh.

V-Ved?

Raavi swallowed as she watched them zip through the sky. Sruthi’s dark brown hair zipped across the wind, and for a second, Raavi’s heart wavered. All these years, she reassured herself that she was the most beautiful girl in all of Hogwarts—and her long list of admirers only made that so much easier. But as the sun shone on Sruthi… Raavi wondered whether she was truly beautiful enough…

Ved’s younger sister had taken a liking towards Sruthi as well… and Ansh… he was the one who suggested Ved speak to Sruthi…

N-no Raavi… you can’t give up. You’re Raavi! The girl who can make anyone smile and laugh. No one can hate you…

Raavi bit her lip as she quickly ran to the storage closet, picking up a broom for herself. It doesn’t matter if I can’t ride a broom… besides how hard can it be? Whispering a small prayer, she gripped onto the broom as she mounted it, and gently, she tilted the broom up, eyes widened as she slowly rose into the sky.

Taking slow, steady breaths, her racing heart slowly turned normal again as she stabilized in the sky, “I-I really did it,” she cracked a small smile, ignoring the drop of sweat that was forming at the side of her forehead. She let out a few airy laughs, “And it wasn’t even that hard,” she began laughing a little more comfortably. “I don’t even know what I was so worried about.”

She patted her shoulder with the hand that held the time turner, “G-good job, Raavi.” Her eyes briefly glanced down, getting a glimpse of the small architecture that was underneath her and she instantly regretted it. “N-no, no, no… don’t think about it. J-just figure out how to g-go forward.”

Swallowing, she raised her head at the same time she heard her name be shouted.

Oh bugger… the blood from her face drained the second she saw the bludger coming towards her. She brought her hands up to her face, feeling a searing pain pierce through her abdomen as she was knocked off her broom. Her nails dug into her palms as she closed her eyes, embracing her free fall.

This was certainty not the end she thought she would meet.

At least you’ll be remembered as the girl who brought a smile to everyone’s face… I wonder what Ved will think… will he remember me afterwards? Or will he forget about me, too…

Warmth enveloped her as her head was cradled. Instead of feeling a searing pain rip through her… she was held by someone strong… someone well-built.

V-Ved… did you catch me?

A waft of masalas and oils drifted towards her as she clenched onto the uniform with trembling hands.

No… it can’t be him… then who…?

Even through the dull pain that was throbbing at her head, she slowly opened her eyes.

Sharp facial features, long hair, dark, smoldering eyes… He was the exact opposite of Ved. Manly… terrifying… not at all her type. Heaviness fell upon her eyelids as her face fell on top of his chest.

Who are you?

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Make It Through The Night (Part 5)

(x)

Summary: The reader and Dean address their feelings for one another and finally put their plan for Sam in action...

Masterlist

Pairing: Apocalypse!Dean x reader

Square: Kisses

Word Count: 3,600ish

Warnings: language, violence, implied smut (touching), angst, fluffy ending

A/N: Written for @spngenrebingo​​

_____

“Morning, sleepyhead,” said Dean as you stirred awake. You blinked open your eyes, Dean on the other side of the bed with a blanket over himself. “Feeling any better?”

“Yeah,” you said, nuzzling your face into his chest. “Much warmer.”

“Why don’t you go clean up some and I’ll find some clothes for you to change into and see what Benny left us for breakfast,” he said with a smile. He kissed your forehead and got out of bed, stilling when you sat up.

“Dean. Sam told me something about…” you trailed off. “Us. Both of us.”

“We’ll talk about it at breakfast,” he said, starting to move again when you sat up on your knees and caught his arm.

“We both know how much last night could have been a trap,” you said. He didn’t look at you but didn’t pull away either. “Why did you take a risk like that?”

“I hope if I went missing you’d come looking for me,” he said, moving his hand to yours.

“Of course I would,” you said.

“It’s that simple,” he said quietly.

“I don’t think it is. You seemed pretty upset last night,” you said.

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth,” you said. “Please.”

He dropped his head and sat back on the edge of the bed, his back to you. You scooted over beside him, his fingers lacing together with your own.

“I like you,” he said, a tiny smile appearing on his face. “I like you a lot, Y/N. You find the good in the world still. You’re who I wish I could be. Someone who’s been through shit but is still whole and still good and not some broken down piece of crap. I don’t want to kill my brother. I can’t kill him. I just can’t. You reminded me that maybe right now he’s a monster, a terrible monster, but he’s still my brother. I have to try and save him. If I give up on that, he already won. You did that and it was so easy to listen to you too. I don’t want you to go away.”

“Sam said we’re soulmates,” you said as you looked at him. He turned towards you, his face blank. “It’s why he wanted me, why those demons knew my name. He wanted to use me to break you.”

“We’re soulmates. I wasn’t expecting that,” he said, brushing his thumb over your the back of your hand. 

“You like me,” you said.

“Mhm.”

“I like you too,” you said. 

“Because I saved you?” he asked.

“Because you took care of me and reminded me that there are still good people out there too,” you said. “I like you.”

“Good. So we like each other and we’re soulmates. Good,” said Dean, nodding his head.

“I’m going to get washed up,” you said as you stood up, pulling on his hand. He stared for a moment before he got to his feet.

“Do you...want help with that?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “Unless you don’t-”

“No, I want to. There’s been enough dancing around this in my opinion,” he said. You walked slowly to the bathroom, Dean right by your side. He was quiet as he flipped on the light and you wandered in front of the mirror. Your eyes went a bit wide and he shut the door. “I forgot. You haven’t looked in a mirror yet.”

“I’m filthy,” you said, looking down at yourself, putting a hand on your arm, taking off the bandage. Your cut was gone and you stared at Dean. “What was that stuff Benny gave me?”

“It’s called grace. It comes from an angel,” said Dean, gathering up some towels from the closet. “Angels have the ability to heal. Their grace can help us recover. Benny chose to give you his.”

“How long was I gone?” you asked.

“About two and half days,” he said, stepping in front of you. “Is it warm enough in here for you?”

“Yes. I’m warm, Dean,” you smiled, starting to unbutton the flannel you wore. You slowed down as you got down farther, Dean putting his hands over yours and undoing the rest. “Your shirt’s toasty.”

“You can keep it,” he said as he finished. He pulled off his scarves and dropped them to the floor as you pushed the flannel off your shoulders. You reached behind yourself as he tugged off his shirt. You’d seen him without a shirt on before. Multiple times in fact. Never had you actually stopped and looked at him. 

He smiled and undid his belt, pushing his jeans off and taking off his socks, standing up straight and looking you over. You turned around and undid your bra clasp, shimmying out of your underwear when you swore you heard him gasp quietly. Once under the shower head, you heard him join you, Dean resting his hands on your shoulders.

“Can I?” he asked. You nodded and he reached for the soap, squirting a good amount in his hands before he put his hands on your arms and slowly slid down them.

He was unbelievably gently as he worked on scrubbing your skin clean. You worked on your hair as he lathered you up, slowly resting his hands on your hips. You put your hands over his own and moved them up your torso over your chest, large hands cupping your breasts. He was soft, not even teasing, but soft. He didn’t hesitate with cleaning your bottom half as you washed out the shampoo, getting some conditioner in it. He stood after a few moments, even making sure your feet were clean.

“Close your eyes for me, sweetheart,” he said. With a hum you nodded, another cap opening and soon Dean was rubbing something over your face and neck. It smelled clean and felt smooth, the gunk wiped away and something grittier being put over it. It was an exfoliator and you smirked.

“Are you doing a step by step skin care routine, Dean?” you teased.

“You deserve to feel nice,” he said. He cleaned off your face after a moment, your eyes peeling open. “You look better.”

“Thanks,” you said. You leaned up and kissed him, Dean wrapping his arm around your back. His lips were softer than you imagined they’d be, his beard too, some heavy weight disappearing from him for a few seconds. 

He backed you up against the shower wall and you felt his cock against your leg, Dean taking charge of the kiss now, breaking off and putting more force behind it. You opened your mouth wider, Dean dipping inside, mapping out the space slowly at first but turning it more heated. You slipped a hand behind you to turn up the water temp.

Instead, it went the wrong way and went cold, your eyes flashing open.

“Hey, hey,” said Dean against your cheek, quickly turning it warm again as he held you when you shook. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“No cold water,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut.

“No cold water,” he said, moving you under the shower head to heat up again.

“M’sorry,” you mumbled as he rubbed your arms. “We were-”

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. We got time,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, giving him a big hug. “Thanks, Dean.”

“For what?”

“Saving me.”

“I save you, you save me. How’s that sound?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you said. He kissed your forehead and took a deep breath. “Can I wash you up now?”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

One Month Later

“Y/N,” said Sam, grabbing you by the the throat and slamming you against the nearest wall in the bunker. You scrambled for your gun but he pulled it out of the holster and tossed it aside, inching you off the ground. You tried to catch a breath but he only smiled. “How’s the genius plan of catching me going? It’s quite obvious what you’re up to. Pity. If you had a darker side, you could have been useful to me in a different way. Now, you’re only good for one thing.”

He released you and you slid down the wall, coughing as he yanked you to your feet.

“Sammy stop!” shouted Dean as he entered the war room. Sam gripped your neck again and pulled you back against his chest, not giving you an inch of wiggle room.

“I don’t think so. You’re starting to annoy me Dean. You and your little friends,” said Sam. He squeezed harder and you couldn’t breathe, gasping as you looked at Dean. 

“Sammy, it’s the blood. Let me help you,” said Dean.

“Oh, there’s nothing that needs to be helped, Dean. I’m perfect. I’ve never been better,” said Sam. You saw Dean stare at him, his eyes pleading and you took that as your cue. You clenched your fists and all of a sudden you were in the safe room with Sam, his grip on you gone.

You sprinted for the door, almost getting past the devil’s trap when his hand grabbed the back of your vest.

“Uh uh,” said Sam, tossing you back inside. You swallowed and scrambled to get out of the circle, finding a small space in the corner he couldn’t reach you. Sam narrowed his eyes and you backed up as far as you could, Sam smiling at you. “Can’t stay there forever.”

“Don’t need forever,” said Dean in the doorway. You saw him shoot and Sam went down, giving you enough time to clear the doorway before Sam had reached up to his neck and pulled out the dart. “There’s supplies in here for when you start having human needs again. You will be staying in-”

Sam’s eyes went black as he stared at Dean, tilting his head and Dean made his jaw hard.

“I will snap your neck soon, big brother,” said Sam. 

“Get used to this room. You’re staying her for the indefinite future, Sammy.”

“Ow,” said Benny as you stitched up the cut over his eye an hour later. “Careful, cher. Donna likes this face.”

“Don’t be such a baby, Benny,” you said, tying off the last of it. “All set. Too bad you’re still ugly.”

“I could say the same about you,” he said, smirking as Dean came in the kitchen. “How’s he doing?”

“Oh, he’s pissed, as expected. We lost Jim and Julia,” said Dean, leaning against the door frame, poking his finger against it. 

“They knew what they signed up for. It could have been a lot worse,” said Benny.

“We’re on lockdown until Sam’s detoxed. His demon’s are loyal. They’ll try to get him out. We’re not even close to being out of the woods,” said Dean as he shut his eyes. “I’m going to work on cleanup. Garth’s watching Sam. Come find me if you need something,” he said as he left.

“Dean’s not okay,” you said, wiping off Benny’s face for the last time.

“Sam did try to kill him. It’s been a hard day,” he said. “Go be with him. I got the rest of this.”

“You sure?” you asked.

“Yeah. I’m sure,” he said. You nodded and left the room, finding Dean staring down at a dead demon in the hall.

“Want some help?” you asked.

“You should rest up,” he said as you stopped next to him. He touched a gentle hand to your neck. “Your voice sounds like it hurts.”

“A little. I’ll survive. How about you?” you asked. You wrapped your hand around his and he sighed.

“You saw him. I don’t know if there’s anything left in there,” he said quietly. “This is Sam. Even if we get him back to normal, he has to live with everything he’s done. I don’t know if he can or even wants to.”

“We’ll help him,” you said. “We’re not the monsters after all.”

He half-smiled, giving you a small nod. You gave him a hug, Dean returning it. 

“It’s gonna take a while. Let’s just ride it out. Sam’s going to need us when he gets through the other side of this thing.”

One Month Later

“Sammy,” said Dean, opening the door to the safe room. Sam was lying on his cot staring at the ceiling. “How you feeling today?”

“Go away, Dean,” he said, turning his back to him.

“We know you’re clean. We let you stay in here longer than you needed to,” said Dean.

“I should stay in here forever,” he mumbled.

“Hey, Sam,” you said, stepping inside the room. You walked around the cot, giving him a smile. He shut his eyes and moved his pillow over his face. “You still won’t talk to me, huh.”

“I tortured you,” he said. “So no, not in the mood to talk.”

“Sammy,” said Dean as he walked in. “Sam. Look at me please.”

Sam shook his head under the pillow and Dean squeezed his eyes shut.

“Well the door is staying open from now on,” he said. “You can go anywhere you want.”

“Go. Away.”

Dean sighed and left. You didn’t blame him. Once Sam had gotten everything out of his system, he was quiet and barely spoke. Dean had tried talking to him, tried just sitting there with him but Sam wanted to be punished and if no one did it to him, he was going to do it to himself.

“Sam,” you said, sitting on the edge of the cot. “Dean’s gone so it’s just us. Honestly, what do you need right now?”

“I don’t deserve to be here,” he said. “Or maybe I do. I made Hell on earth. I deserve to go to Hell.”

“I asked what you need, Sam.”

“I need to be left alone and live in this room for the rest of my life, that’s what I need,” he said, shoving his pillow aside as he sat up. “Go away.”

“No,” you said as you shook your head. “You tortured me. I get what I want for that. Now answer the question. What do you need?”

He closed his eyes and dropped his head, his shoulders shaking. You moved closer and gave him a hug, Sam trying to pull away but he gave in and let his head drop on your shoulder.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I forgive you. Dean forgives you.”

“You shouldn’t,” breathed out Sam.

“Come on, Sam. What do you need?” you asked. He was quiet but hung onto you for a few minutes, swallowing a few times.

“Can you make me forget?” he asked. You leaned back and he lifted his head, his eyes red. “Can you make me forget the last year and a half? I can’t remember this. I need to not know that I caused all of this, that I killed people I care about. Dean won’t let me give up. I know he won’t. So that’s the next best thing, right? Make me forget it all? Hell, make me forget everything. Please.”

“No,” said Dean, turning back into the room from where he was hiding outside. “No, Sammy, you can’t forget.”

“Please,” he said. “Please.”

“I said no. I fucked up too. We both have to live with what we did or didn’t do. I wasn’t there for you and this is what happened. You caused the world to be the way it is. We both did. We don’t get off the hook for that. We fix it. So you take a few more days and get yourself together because you and I have work to do. You don’t get to get out of it by forgetting who you are. We don’t pick the easy road. We pick the right one and the only reason you are even alive is because I didn’t pick the easy one. You can show me the same courtesy.”

Sam nodded and shut his eyes, Dean walking inside and pulling him to his feet.

“Take a shower and eat something that isn’t an MRE for once,” said Dean.

“What if-”

“Sammy,” said Dean, cupping his brother’s cheeks. He gave him a gentle smile and Sam sniffled. “Sammy, we’ll fix it. It won’t happen overnight but we will.”

“I have an idea,” he said, glancing at you. “But odds are it doesn’t work and you’ll never meet Y/N.”

“I’ll find him,” you said as you walked over, Dean taking your hand. “We’re supposed to be together. It’ll happen. What’s this idea of yours, Sam?”

You gasped as you blinked your eyes, standing in the dungeon. You shook your head. Sam had an idea and you knew he told you about it but you just couldn’t remember. A spell? Maybe that’s what he wanted to try?

You wandered out to the library, catching Dean and Sam standing in there.

“What just happened?” asked Dean. Sam looked around and found a computer, tying on it for a second before he smiled. Dean moved around behind him and he cocked his head. “That’s the news. From today.”

“Time spell,” said Sam. “It never happened, the apocalypse.”

“How’d it never happen then?” asked Dean.

“I talked to the other Sam and Dean and I found the other Y/N, which is basically all of us from about a year ago and basically told them the truth of what would happen if they didn’t listen to me,” said Sam.

“So why are we still around?” you asked.

“There are two separate timelines now, aren’t there,” said Dean as Sam nodded. “One where it never happened with other versions of us and this one, where it also never happened but we’re still us. The question is why we’re still here. We should have disappeared along with everyone else.”

“You don’t deserve to be erased from existence,” said Sam. “It was dark magic but it got the job done.”

“What do you mean dark magic?” asked Dean as Sam grabbed his torso and knelt over. “Sammy.”

“I fixed it. We fixed it,” he said. “It’s okay. It was worth it.”

“What is going on-” said a voice you didn’t recognize.

“Cas,” said Dean with a smile. “Sammy’s hurt.”

“Move,” said the man in the trench coat. You stared at Dean as he put a hand on Sam. Sam shot up like a bullet, gasping a few times before he shut his eyes. 

“Thanks, Cas,” said Sam. 

“Angel,” you said, Cas nodding.

“Would someone care to explain what is going on?”

“Sam looked like he was doing better,” you said when you got to your room that night. “Castiel is going to keep an eye on him.”

“He fixed it but he’ll still have to live with it. We all do,” he said as you joined him in bed. “Y/N, your family is alive now. I’m sure they’re worried sick.”

“Not going anywhere,” you said.

“I love you,” he said, his lips in a gentle smile.

“I love you.”

He rolled over and kissed you, letting out a deep breath.

“I’m pretty sure this is the best night of sleep we’ll both be having in over a year,” he said.

“Agreed,” you said.

“I was thinking of shaving the beard in the…” he trailed off as you leaned up. “Or I can keep the beard.”

“I like the beard,” you said, smiling as you snuggled him.

“Alright. I’ll keep it for now,” he said, turning of the lamp. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Yeah, Dean?”

“Thank you for giving me my brother back, sweetheart.”

“We all did it together. I’m even gonna miss Benny,” you said.

“I ain’t dead,” said Benny, suddenly standing in the doorframe. “Geez. I was in the bunker too when Sam did his thing. Making me feel like-”

“Good,” you said as you got out of bed and gave him a hug.

“Aw, you got a soft spot for me, cher?” he teased.

“You did it first,” you said.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m gonna go check on our boy before hitting the hay,” he said.

“Hey, Ben. You still human, right?” asked Dean.

“Still human,” he said as you released him and waved before he took off.

“I’m glad you two became friends in the end,” said Dean as you got back in bed.

“Me too. I’m glad Cas is alive again and Sam’s gonna be okay,” you said. “What about you though. You okay?”

“Yeah. For the first time in a long time, I’m okay again.”

______

[outroshooky]

waiting for the sky to fall | jjk

⇢ genre: series; part one (i-saw-you-on-the-subway-every morning-this-week-and-i’m-possibly-in-love-with-you!au) (fluff)

⇢ pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

⇢ word count: 6.3k

⇢  warnings: brief instance of anxiety; probably too much rambling about how pretty jeongguk is when he exists like that

⇢ a/n: a dearest birthday present for the love of my life and platonic soulmate @guksheart. cait, i cannot believe we have been a part of each other’s lives for over a year now. i adore you so so much and i am so proud of the bold, compassionate, wonderfully gay, fierce yet gentle, considerate, accepting, lovely woman that you are. i would not trade our sisterhood for the world, and i still cannot believe that you are coming to new york in a mere matter of months. i can only hope that we’ll have adventures like this one when you do.

this is heavily inspired by the commute i took to visit my friend in the city over the summer!! kudos to columbia university for loaning me some much-needed inspiration, although i never fell in love with anybody on the way there.

part one of the verses and vibes series. part two will be uploaded on december 20, 2019.

“bright star, would i were stedfast as thou art—   not in lone splendour hung aloft the night   and watching, with eternal lids apart,   like nature’s patient, sleepless eremite,”

⤷ “bright star, would i were stedfast as thou art”; john keats

10:57pm.

Call it 11, it’s close enough.

Eleven o’clock in the evening.

A sacred time, those great appreciators of the universe would say. It is amazing how, as the wind caresses your hair with breezy fingers, there are some who walk the city streets below without pause. Some who cannot understand the sanctity of such a time, the security that comes with the blanket of nightfall— if you could call it nightfall in the heart of such a metropolis.

Below you beats a rhythm akin to the one in your soul, beneath the skin of your merely human chest. A home you’d heard so much about, fallen in love with before you’d even met, and god it couldn’t have felt more right. Over the edge of the balcony is utter chaos: taxi cabs honk an irregular staccato, the open! sign of the ramen shop one block over flickers its own neon melody. People shout, brakes screech, doors bang, dogs bark; to anybody else, it would be utter madness but to you- to you, it is simply home.

The ambient light mutes the glow of so many stars that pinprick the sky millions of miles above, arcing across the heavens in so many celestial designs. If you squint, you can pick out Casseopia, maybe even Ursa Major through the dim haze. The stars are far and few between, but it’s a quick glance to your left and right and you’re surrounded by majestic masterpieces, this time of a manmade design.

When you were younger, you used to muse that skyscrapers not only scraped the bright blue sky so far above, but supported the very cosmos itself with the slight curve in their arching backs. They bore the weight of the world, shouldering the immense task of keeping the stratosphere aloft. For a skyscraper to crumble was for the sky to fall, and yet you’d never seen one even waver in the wind.

Later, of course, you would learn that this was not the case. Earth herself kept the stratosphere in good health, and those wonderfully tall buildings existed as testaments to man’s great ability. However, there was a quiet part of you that still entertained the fantasy (as all of us do, in one way or another). And why not? It's moments like this, where you are surrounded by the dizzying breadth of the world out there and you can taste the sweetness of the universe’s ambrosia, that have you thinking twice about it all. Who says that we can't hold up the sky? Who says we don't spend our lives wondering, even if just a little bit, when the pillars will collapse and the sky itself will cave in one shuddering breath? Who decides when the Sun will burn, the Moon will freeze, when life as we know it tumbles to ash and dust?

“Baby?” His fingers interlock over yours, warm against the cool of the balcony railing. “Everything okay?”

His chest is warm against your back, grounding in its familiarity. You could name the planes and angles of his body like you could name the asterisms that freckle the night sky. He smells like cucumber soap when you turn and nuzzle into his neck, the damp locks of his hair tickling your forehead. You usually tease him when he’s post-shower like this, the bangs that tumble past his cheekbones giving the impression of a shaggy mop, but you spare him tonight. He squeezes over your hand, palm flush against your knuckles as your cheeks heat against his neck. 

“I’m fine,” you murmur. “Just taking a moment.”

Jeongguk tilts his head skyward, but he’s already got the universe in his eyes, wide and fawn. His chest rumbles when he speaks, soft velvet, a little gritty. “It's so beautiful out here.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” you raise your head to reply, brushing your nose to the column of his throat.

He’s got good composure but he's blushing now, between the lateness of the hour and the softness of your skin. He may smell of Dove and there’s a pimple dotting his cheek, but you’re stunning in the light and there’s a faint air of something sweet; if it’s your skin or your soul, he can’t decide. Perhaps both but he can’t help himself; his lips find your forehead and your eyes flutter shut. Contentment so simple, so lovely. 

His arm slides around your shoulders and the way you fit into his side is divine insistence. The other half you never knew you had, and yet at one time, it wasn’t this way. Hard to believe, but that’s the reality of it, and you never even knew he filled a gap in your heart until the deed was done, and there was nothing you could do to unplug the hole.

He kisses your temple and you kiss his shoulder, exposed by the dip of his t-shirt. “Come to bed, baby.”

“But it’s so nice out here,” you whine. 

“It’s late and you have class in the morning,” he coaxes quietly, his accented English gentle in your ears. “Come on.” His fingers slip from your own and you sigh, giving in.

“But you have to carry me inside.”

His eyes roll but he’s already stooping, and when he scoops you into his arms to press a kiss to your nose- he just can’t help himself- you poke his cheek and he grins a smile as warm as the lazy afternoon sun. “I love you.”

“I love you twice that amount.”

Jeongguk takes the balcony in stride, nudges the sliding door open with his foot. “Yeah, well I love you fifty times that amount. Squared.”

He kicks it closed behind him as you raise an eyebrow. “Cheater.”

“I’ll throw you on the bed, swear to god.”

“You’re mean,” You retort. 

“No I’m not.” He turns the light off on his way in, bumps the bedroom door shut with his impossibly slender hip. “I’ll be the big spoon if you take that back.”

Bedsheets under your fingertips. “Fine.”

It is hard to believe that, merely a year ago, you would be coming inside to an empty bed. Merely a year ago, your world would be silent, save the busy hum outside your apartment windows. Merely a year ago, you hadn’t a clue that your world was about to turn upside down, flipped on its axis and spun into chaos in ways you’d never even considered possible. Merely a year, but a lifetime spent sitting, waiting, wishing- twiddling your thumbs, chewing on your fingernails, anxiously hoping for something, anything.

And that’s when, exactly three-hundred and sixty-four days ago, the columns gave out in a rush of dust, the cosmos itself unraveling at the seams of early morning.

 Momentary silence, a stifled yawn. “Come cuddle.”

A sleepy, breathy, near-whisper. “Will you be the big spoon?”

Jeongguk chuckles, breath soft. “Always, baby girl. Always.”

one year before

There’s no better alarm clock than a caramel macchiato, sipped through tired lips and bleary eyes on the chaos of a Monday morning in the subway. You are far from a morning person, as evidenced by the death grip on your Starbucks cup, but you feel just a little more human with the help of four espresso shots and a pump of hazelnut. Having an off-campus apartment means it’s a roughly twenty minute subway ride between home and school, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when there’s not much of a difference between the two.

To be frank, the city is home- a comfort you never expected, the subject of a thousand love letters never to be written but in the deepest cavities of your soul. The grime of the sidewalks, the gritty rumbling of the subways, artful graffiti and corner bubble tea and a little bit of pride, thrumming in the deepest recesses of necessity. The city in which you grew up is merely a square foot to the square acres that are your romping ground now.

The wires of your headphones snake around your scarf, bundled up around your shoulders. It is that wonderful time before fall bleeds over completely into winter, a lingering cool breath, and arguably the best season of all. Thus, you are perfectly comfortable underneath a warm jacket, backpack slung across your shoulder as you swipe your card, pass through the turnstiles and on to the waiting train just across the platform.

The subway car rattles beneath you with a groan, darkness rushing past in so many variants of orange from the neon lights that dotted the tunnels. Around you, bodies press tight on the morning commuter train; in any other circumstance, it would make you anxious, but there’s an odd feeling of security it grants. The train slows, pulling into the next station, and you focus your attention on the page of Madeline Miller’s latest bestseller.

At the next station, the car decompresses as travelers shift, and you are left a moment to breathe before the train will inevitably fill again, two stops from now. Next to you, a purple jacket brushes your shoulder. Just above the top of your book, a pair of black Timberlands pauses before turning towards you and settling. 

There really is no reason at all why these Timberlands would be special. There's no reason at all why your eyes find it necessary to track upwards, no reason why you should have glanced up from your delightful novel for the sake of one commuter’s settling. No reason at all why, as your eyes followed skinny jean-clad thighs to a leather jacket, and further, further.

His caramel-streaked hair brushes his cheekbones, styled in a way you’d typically call bedhead, but on him looks like art. His brow is soft yet defined, much like his jawline, cutting narrow. His lips are perfectly pink, a gentle pout, and his graceful nose a button. His shoulders are broad, the taper of his waist impossibly slender but hidden under the folds of his ridiculously oversized t-shirt. 

And his eyes- his eyes. 

You have poured over literature for hours upon hours, soaking in poetry and epics and novels alike, yet you have never understood what the poets meant until this very moment.

His eyes are the café au lait you sip on sunny afternoons, the sweetness of a chocolate bar, the warmth of a woolen blanket in wintertime. They glint with the light of a thousand stars but shine with the depth of a thousand galaxies, each and every one a testament to the great work of the universe. It is as if he holds the very cosmos in his pupils, and your breath is stolen from your lungs without a second thought. 

He is stunningly beautiful but goes completely unnoticed by everyone else in the car, it seems, as the train picks up speed. There is no greater punishment than tearing your gaze away from him when you realize you've been staring too long to be socially acceptable. You force yourself to return back to your novel but end up reading the same line five times over, too distracted by the shift of his heels, the way he toys with the straps of his rucksack. 

Part of you aches every time the train car fills, obscuring your view of the handsome stranger. Each time, you’re left wondering if he's moved, but each time, the crowds part to find him still seated on the garish plastic bench, glued to his iPhone. Your stop is the next and you can't help but feel anxious about getting up, about turning face and walking out of the train car. Your heart rattles an irregular tempo as you snap your book shut (still on the same page as twenty minutes ago), gather your things, and carefully stand amid the gently rocking car. He doesn't even look up at your sudden movement, and there's a part of you that is somehow irrationally crushed. 

The train grinds to a halt and the doors slide open, and you spare one last longing look before striding across the grimy tile, minding the gap between the train and the platform. Foolish of you to want to stop your day for the sake of an attractive stranger. Foolish of you to think his day would stop, either. 

With a muffled curse behind you, footsteps thud and voices grumble as a mop-haired boy with a rucksack on his shoulder bursts his way out of the train car, having nearly forgotten that this is his stop, too. When something brushes your arm as you jog up the stairs, you nearly drop your Starbucks with the realization that he is unintentionally keeping pace with you across the stairwell, lost behind the curtain of his fawn locks. 

Anxiety melts to curiosity as you weave through the station, matching pace all the while as you’re spit out onto the street from underground and walk the mere half block to your university gates. He hesitates under them, a touch of nerves, but shakes his head and continues on under the tree-covered path of the quad. You lose him somewhere by the Economics building, heading towards the library as you turn towards Hamilton Hall, but the excited thrill in your veins outweighs any and all disappointment.

You're practically glowing during 8am lecture, dancing on air through your lunch break when you think you spot him across the dining hall, but in fact it's just that guy from your math gen-ed. You’d never admit to a stranger consuming your thoughts, but here’s a nagging feeling at the back of your skull as you zip up your bag at the end of your day and head towards the corner station. 

A typical Monday indeed?

Anything but. 

It was certainly unconventional, the way you launched yourself out of bed the next morning in favor of tripping into a pair of jeans and dashing to fix your hair in the bathroom mirror. You haven't put so much effort into getting ready in months, and factoring in time for a dab of makeup left you skipping breakfast in favor of slinging your bag over your shoulder to rush out the door on time.

An iced Americano restores breath to your lungs, but does nothing to soothe the jitter in your bouncing knee as the train doors shut and a voice crackles over the intercom, unintelligible. A chocolate croissant is light on your tongue, memories of the flaky pastry crossing your mind only to be drowned out by thoughts of the next station and the promises it holds.

With no novel in hand, it is easy for your eyes to flick to the crowd as the train slows coming into the station. Effortlessly, you pick him out even with the white mask across the lower half of his face obscuring his nose and mouth. His visage is scrawled, it seems, on the inside of your eyelids; it danced throughout your Human Behaviors class, teased you through the late night of cramming for midterms. You hoped the concealer would cover the dark spots under your eyes, but you couldn't be certain.

As the doors slide open and the crowd surges forward, you lose him for a moment in the streams and flows of people coming and going. He appears just down the car, button-down rolled at the elbows, and even from a distance you feel your cheeks heat as he finds an empty seat just across the aisle.

Yesterday, his jacket hid him to the knuckles under the security of worn leather. But today, pushed sleeves reveal the ink snuggled tight around his wrist, curling its way up his forearm to snake hidden under the folds of the unbuttoned dress shirt he so casually threw over another plain black t-shirt. Sunflowers and daisies and blossoms you can't even name bloom in color across his skin, geometric designs etching sculpture into living marble. He is a magnum opus through and through, bearing so many works of art on the canvas of his flesh.

The white wires of his headphones leave him oblivious to the world, the galaxies in his pupils twinkling under the stark white light. He is wholly unbothered by a group of high school girls tittering to his left, the judging eyes of the older gentleman to his right. He simply exists in all of his beauty, whether the world wishes to love him or not.

And then his eyes find you.

It is only for a moment, but his gaze renders you breathless, mind spinning, pulse racing. He blinks owlishly, staring only for a second, two, but it's long enough to feel your heart ricochet around your chest, caged butterflies in your chest soar against the crest of your ribcage. They dart in tandem, beating their fragile wings with a fluttering pulse; you swear you’re reduced to a mere teenager at the sight of him, and that’s just ridiculous. The train car around you is suspended; it is hard to believe you are breathing the same air merely a few paces away, but you are and it is him and the depth of his soul is staring you blind in the face.

You don’t know him but you know him, all at once. He says a thousand sweet nothings with the shine of the lights in his eyes, promises commandments to keep when his lashes flutter against the apples of his cheeks. He is a complete stranger but somehow, someway, a known companion. His fingers twitch against the fabric of his jeans and you wonder what they would feel like wrapped around yours, memorizing every divot with a careful reverence. How they would brush your hip when he pulls you against his side, how they would pull at you craving more, more, more— 

A spice of cologne curls under your nose, a little floral, a little sweet. Perhaps it’s his, the scent that clings to his pillow in the morning and his jacket in the evening. The tap of the woman’s foot to your left is the beat of his footsteps on the creaky apartment floor as he announces he’s home, he’s brought dinner; life is simple and content—

He nods his head to the beat that flows quick through his headphones, eyes shut, in his own world. You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to share on your morning commute, fingers entwined with coffee in one hand but music in your heart—

Bodies around you ebb and flow, but the flurry is nothing compared to the images that swirl in front of you. Tracing his tattoos with the lightest touch, laughing till his nose scrunches at a shitty pun, early kisses and late-night touches. The warmth in his eyes when you do something stupid, the comfort in your arms around his shoulders when he’s doubting himself—

It’s a misplaced elbow to your ribs that jolts you out of reverie as the older gentleman seated next to you creaks to his feet. You wince and open your mouth to complain, but not before taking in the empty seat across the train car, devoid of leather and ink and beauty.

Where did he g— 

That’s when the car doors slide shut and you, all too soon, come to a stunning realization:

The handsome stranger whom you have just spent twenty minutes daydreaming about is gone, nowhere to be seen, lost in the crowd of chaos that is the city.

And you have completely missed your stop.

Well, it’s a damn good thing taxi cabs exist.

Your alarm does not go off on Wednesday morning. Perhaps a fatal mistake, because by the time your dreary eyes crack open at the suspicious amount of rest you’re getting for the middle of the week, you are supposed to leave your apartment in eight minutes— shower, breakfast, makeup, and all.

Perhaps there is a god looking out for you after all, because you manage to make it out of the house only two minutes later (although just about all of the above had to wait). Your stomach grumbles as your feet trod down the littered stairs of the station, an insistent reminder that the last meal you had was ten hours ago, and you really need to eat sooner rather than later. No time meant no coffee meant cold hands, an unfortunate consequence, and you’re shivering your way through the turnstiles onto the train as the wind bites cool at the back of your neck.

You’re still drowsy from sleep, a ten page paper having kept you awake, so it is no surprise that you nod off on the train. You’re not sure when your mind clears of soporific fog, but when your eyes flutter open, the one person you’ve been waiting for is seated in front of you with his elbow slung across a backpack next to him, propping up his head as he too drifts off. A raven cloth mask covers his nose and his mouth, his eyelashes brushing the curve of his cheeks, a bit crimson from the chill. A binder slips crooked under his arm, threatening to topple to the floor. Squinting at the train board means you’ve got two stops left and you force yourself upright, rubbing your eyes only to wince at their dryness.

Though your eyes ache and sleep tugs at your bones, he is worth staying awake for as his body sways with the rhythm of the car. Around you, everyone is immersed in their own little slices of the world, completely oblivious to another tired traveler. There’s a scar on his cheek and a tiredness about him, and your heart, two sizes too big, aches for something you don’t quite understand. One station passes without interruption and he is still asleep, draped over his backpack with his notebook slipping further, further. 

The train rounds the final bend, brakes screeching as it pulls into the station. The sudden deceleration is enough to send the stranger’s binder, packed with papers, spinning to the floor of the train just as you stand to gather your things. A few index cards here, some loose green and white papers there, and he is somehow still asleep through all of this, surrounded by oblivious minds and occupied hearts.

You have approximately five seconds to make a decision before the train fills with a swell of new passengers.

You don’t have to think when you’ve already made your choice.

Forgoing the cleanliness of your jeans, you stoop to the floor, scrabbling the spilled contents of paper and a pencil and a spare Chapstick into the mouth of the binder. People are already beginning to spill through the door, but you’re pushing your way through without a second glance, feet pounding the steps underneath you. You follow the beam of light that pours underground, cutting corners and rushing staircases until you are facing a narrow city block and the buildings that reach on tiptoe to kiss the heavens. The sun’s caress is warm on your cheeks as you stride through the gates, ever stony in their stoicism, and find a shady bench to sit and organize the mess in your hands.

It is a simple black binder filled to the brim with notebook paper, neat handwritten ideas that dissolve into simplistic sketches and jotted thoughts. You don’t mean to read it, you really don’t, but as you tuck the pencil into the neon green case looped through the rings, a single form catches your eye: an advertisement for the show in the greater library this weekend, set up by the architecture majors showcasing their designs in conjunction with the fine arts students.

He does fine arts? That must be the sketches in these pages. But perhaps it’s a casual hobby for him? Maybe he’s only interested in it and not actually pursuing it as a major. There’s Korean on this too; is he an international student? How long has he been going here? Why isn’t he dorming on campus with the others—  

A cough in front of you, and when you glance upward, you nearly choke in surprise.

Hazel shines russet when his eyes catch the light that filters through the trees, twinkling with something unknown when they meet your own. His hair is tucked under a beanie, vivid red against the muddy brown of his oversized sweater. His mask is pulled down to his chin as he fidgets in front of you, twisting his fingers with almost a childlike nervousness. His lips part, plush, a little chapped. “Can I have that?”

His English is sweet, accented on the ears, a softer tone than you’re expecting, but you don’t mind it. Curse your nerves and your sweaty palms! “Oh! Yeah, sure!” You nearly shove the binder at him and he blinks owlishly, taking a moment to examine its contents, making sure nothing is out of place while you ramble on and on. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get it back to you on the train, but you were asleep and I didn’t want to bother you, especially since here that’s typically just not what people do, you know how they are- Oh, your pencils and things are inside the pencil case, I figured they would be too much to try to carry around before I found you, you know? And I didn’t want anything to get lost; I hate when things of mine go missing and I tend to be so scatterbrained.” You chortle nervously as he hugs the binder to his chest.

A small smile blossoms on the stranger’s face and you get the feeling there’s more he wants to say, but doesn’t know how. Instead, he bows graciously, a little pink in the cheeks, and states simply, “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, really! Don’t worry about it. It’s what I’d want someone to do for me and since I’ve seen you only recently on the morning train, I didn’t quite know if you’re new to campus or you’ve been here a while and just moved or something like that-” He’s still staring, eyes wide, and you realize you’ve been talking for far too long. “But ah, I’m sorry! Continue on, yeah? Have a good day!” You ramble, internally kicking yourself. Damn your loose tongue and damn this man for being so infernally, unfairly attractive.

He blushes even deeper, face flushing crimson, and shoulders his backpack. “You too…?” When he trails off, you realize he’s waiting for your name and nearly trip over your own tongue getting the syllables out. He repeats it once and nods, extending a hand. “My name is Jeongguk.”

The way his fingers brush yours is ingrained in the softness of your skin for the rest of your day, in the touch of cologne that lingers in the autumn air long after he’s gone to class. He is the sweetness of your afternoon Starbucks and the freckles of the night sky, dotted through the ambient fog that settles over the city with all the comfort of a blanket. Somehow, someway, there’s a name to the face.

A very handsome face, to boot.

You wake early that Thursday, early enough that you have time to wrap yourself in the fuzziest blanket you own and pad to the window to gaze out upon the city as it wakes slowly, block by block.

The city is sleepy too, rosy glow hanging lazily over the skyline, reluctant to slip into the brightness of daytime. It slumps against the skyscrapers, vibrant fingers brushing the glass with the softest caresses, whispering sweet nothings to the minds that rest just behind the other side. Perhaps dawn enjoys pampering her city like this, with the kindest affirmations and the prettiest, warmest eyes. 

From your apartment window, it is as if first light is melting away, slipping lower and lower as the cracked-egg yolk of the sun leaks over the harbor, spilling over the urban jungle. As you stand, blanket around your shoulders and bathed in the beauty of early morning, a thought strikes you, a minute snippet of profound reality.

It is still on your mind as your feet cross the platform an hour later, effortlessly stepping over the gap into the narrow confines of the train car. It’s busier this morning and thus your usual seat is taken, leaving you to stand and cling for dear life to the pole. A stranger brushes your arm and someone pushes against your backpack, your throat tightening in response. Oh, how you hated busy days. Anxiety blurs your surroundings, swirling in color and breath and heat around you, an unfocused Polaroid. It is blurry and nothing is right, and the doors are opening and closing, opening and closing, and then there’s a new face pressing to your left, and your entire world melts at the very seams.

It is him. Him! He is here and real and in front of you, and has opted to completely ignore his usual (empty) seat in favor of standing with you, a kindly smile gracing the corners of his lips and he ducks his head into your field of view. His eyes flick to yours and the bokeh clears, your heart thrumming happily at the warmth they contain. His fingers grip above your own as he shifts to make sure others can flow around him; you take in that little scar on his cheek, the moles that dot his neck just under the folds of his jacket, the subtle lick of ink that dips into his collarbone. You can just make out the hum that trickles from his headphones over the rattling of the train, a melodic undertone, and his head dips to check his phone.

You’re the one to nudge Jeongguk when it’s your mutual stop, him flinching with surprise when he realizes how fast the ride has gone, and as you follow up through the station, you find that you are no longer trailing him, but instead by his side. He opts to walk next to you; when you tilt your head, asking the silent question, he merely smiles and pushes the pace just a bit. When you’re chasing sunlight on stone, borne out of the street into the mouth of the day, you find yourselves under the university gates, side by side. He takes out his earbuds, fidgeting with the wires as one foot taps the sidewalk. He’s nervous. “I just wanted to say thank you for getting my book yesterday,” he begins. “Properly thank you.”

“It’s nothing, Jeongguk!” You grin, perhaps a little flushed. “Anytime, really.”

Now it’s his turn to redden, shuffling in place. “Ah, is there anything I can do to return the favor?”

“Jeongguk, don’t be silly! Well…” you trail off. “Answer me one question. What’re you majoring in?”

He beams a little at this, glancing at the sidewalk. “I’m studying architecture here for a year; I’m from Seoul. I’m also learning English.” He winces. “Or trying to.”

“Well, I think you’re doing a great job. It’s amazing that you’re learning architecture in an urban environment like this!” You gesture above as a flock of pigeons flutters past. Like a damn Disney film. 

His eyes follow the birds as they swoop above the street, ducking under lamps and through scaffolding. “It’s different from Seoul, but also like Seoul. I like it,” he confesses. “I really like the city. Any city is my city, not just Seoul. You know?”

God, he is so cute, it hurts. Hearing him talk is flowers blooming snug in your chest, winding around your nerves, soothing their live-wire ends. You can’t help but smile at him. “I know.”

“I don’t want to keep you too long…” Jeongguk hesitates as the bell in the clocktower resonates down the commons. “Class starts soon.”

You frown. “Too soon. Want to grab lunch over at Fourteenth?”

His brows furrow. “Fourteenth?”

“Fourteenth and Tenth, yeah. There’s a cute little cafe on the corner, great for people watching and Americanos. And bubble tea. There’s ramen a few shops down, too.”

“Ramen!” Jeongguk practically vibrates in excitement. You swear your face will crack from how hard you’re grinning, from shyness or joy or both. His nose scrunches; your stomach flutters. “Can I have your number? Wait, is that too direct? May I have your phone?” He shakes his head but you’re already handing him your device, a new contact at the ready.

“Text me when you get out of class. I’ll show you how real ramen is supposed to taste.”

Jeongguk raises a hand in farewell, slipping his own phone back into his pocket. You’ll never know that he saved your contact under 귀여운 여행자, nor that he suddenly has a reason to stay awake through his 8am.

And when he spots you sitting there under the Alma Mater a few hours later, his heart skips a beat in its chest. His phone vibrates in his hand.

Ready to eat?

He was born ready.

There’s a poetry book you like to read on Friday morning subway rides, one that filters breath into your lungs and stirs the lyrics in your heart. You soak up the comforts of literature with a mocha in the other hand, lo-fi in your ears, and obnoxiously colored plastic supporting your back. How wonderful life could be in all of its simple joys.

There’s warmth at your side in the form of a boy, a boy with the stars in his eyes and the galaxy in his heart who asked if he could sit next to you and with a pounding in your chest, you gladly accepted, moving your bag to your lap and returning to your Keats, singing cants of yearning all these years later.

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--

Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night

And watching, with eternal lids apart,

Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,

The moving waters at their priestlike task

Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,

Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask

Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--

No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,

Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,

To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,

Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,

And so live ever--or else swoon to dea—

A note is tucked into your open page, a folded piece of cream-white paper, smooth at the edges, unwrinkled. You glance up at him to find his gaze steadily fixed on a grayed gum stain, knee jumping up and down, up and down as he fingers the rip in his frayed jeans. You unfold the paper slowly, carefully.

Are you busy on Sunday afternoon? Because I’d really like to take you to an art exhibition on campus, and I think you’d look right at home among the masterpieces.

Jeongguk’s focus is on the floor and the floor alone as his stomach twists. Butterflies beat their wings against his ribcage, darting here and there, and he swears that if the train sways one more time, he may throw up his bagel right there and then.

He feels something at his right jacket pocket and flinches, only to notice it is your hand that retreats from it a second later.

He produces a familiar looking scrap of paper from his pocket with trembling fingers, unfolding it anew as he reads a new line of scribbled letters, squinting a little at the cramped figures.

An art exhibition? Sounds like a perfect first date to me.

And that’s how this beautiful thing begins.

an epilogue (of sorts): one year and one day later

There is a thought you had many moons ago, in the heart of a child but nestled in a timeless soul. A thought that was purely fantasy: of mankind supporting the weight of the heavens with the structures that scratch the sky around your tiny little apartment, shared not by one soul, but two. Never before had someone so fallen into your heart like he had, cradling it in his palms with sweet, sweet adoration. Jeongguk was yours and you were his, and that was simply how things were.

You had moved in shortly after you began dating, a decision some criticized but had felt purely natural to the both of you. It was easy to fall into a rhythm with him, easy to let him into the world you had built for yourself now expanding to fit one more.

He introduced you to Korean barbecue and held you when things wouldn’t go your way; you dragged him into the vortex of John Mulaney’s comedy and cried together while binging all seven Harry Potter movies in two days. He taught you some Korean while you polished his English, supplementing it with words he perhaps didn’t need to know, but you couldn’t help laughing when he mashed profanities in brand-new combinations. He loved tea and quiet nights on the couch; you craved the intimate moments high above it all, watching your city rush beneath you in all of its gritty, grimy, wonderful glory. Jeongguk’s pen scratches the page of his sketchbook as you gaze out at the lights that flicker in the apartment buildings seated securely in midtown, downtown, beyond.

We will never know when the sky decides to fall, to come crashing down to earth in all of her heavenly splendor. It is something known only in the fabric of the universe, stitched together in cosmic threads we cannot even hope to unravel. Not yet, anyways. It will come to us eventually, when it is time, comfortably so. In the meantime, you’ll look out over the balcony railing of your little studio apartment uptown, the night air breathing clear, with a blanket wrapped around your legs and Jeon Jeongguk by your side, unceasingly himself.

And that is everything you can ask for in this life and the next.

[beronicahugs]

Bruised - H.H (Soulmate AU)

Prompts: Reflecting in the mirrors is the appearance of your soulmate

If you and your soulmate possess the same item, it’ll glow

Bubbles gives you a blurry glimpse into your soulmate’s world (visions of possessions, friends, family, laughter, crying, etc)

Villain ‘Parent’ : Mother Gothel / Rapunzel

Word Count : 1k

~~~

Ever since you were younger you could remember your mother telling you about soulmates. How when you had a similar object, like the rings of your parents, they would glow. Or if you looked into something reflective, like a mirror or a bubble, you could see into your soulmates world.

For years you would carry around a mirror with you, but would only see your reflection. Your mother would give you a small smile with her green eyes and simply say “It’s not time yet”.

It didn’t last long though, because on your 8th birthday, you were looking out your window, onto the horizon. The sky was hues of pink and orange, the sun setting in the distance. Your wish hadn’t changed since you knew about soulmates. It was always the same. Take me to find them. Please let this be the year.

Your wish came true, however not in the way you wanted. That night, when you slept, dreaming of the prince who would sweep you off your feet, you were instead whisked off to the ile of the lost by none other than mother gothel herself.

~~~

Unlike when she took your mother, gothel never left the tower. She didn’t treat you with the somewhat politeness she did with her mother. She fed her small meals, forced her to use her hair to make her young and made her clean. She beat you, to the point where you would get some bruises littered around your face and arms.

The princess felt weaker everyday, gothel had taken her necklace her mother gave her as a young child. She also rid the tower of any mirrors, forcing you to have no idea or concept of your soulmate. Who they were, what they looked like.

On the rare occasion when you were washing the floors, through the bubbles you could sometimes see apparitions of waves with a flash of red.

Your mother always told you when you meet your soulmate for the first time, your whole body feels warms. You want to run into their arms and talk all night.

~~~

It was late at night. Mist hung in the sky, and a light hue of village lights could be seen from a distance. Fresh bruises littered your cheekbone and your jawline. If there was one thing gothel wouldn’t take from you was your window. It showed you how close you were to civilisation, and possibly your soulmate. But you had already tried to escape. That didn’t end well.

So you sat on your window sill, watching the lights flicker. “Y/n!” You could hear her shout.

You scrambled downstairs. Gothel stood by the kitchen counter.

“I’m going into town…You stay here and clean the floors. Don’t even think about leaving.” She glared, opened the trap door, then shut it with a key. You rushed over to the window, to see her figure disappear into the woods and to the village. She knew the weight of her threat, and therefore got out your bucket and got to work. Pouring the soap in, you watched wistfully outside, feeling a tug at at your heart, when suddenly you dropped the bottle in the bucket, spilling soap everywhere.

“Shit”

You went to the sink to rinse off your hands, before moving back over the soap bucket. Inside it was fully of bubbles, including a large one in the middle that started to show an apparition.

A night sky was formed, as your soulmate walked through a dimly lit street. A sigh that read ‘Curl up and Dye’ could be read above as it seemed they were headed there. 

They looked around as they walked, to different shops and people, who seemed to slink away when they looked at them.

You let out an audible gasp and you saw the familiar, curly headed witch, walking through the streets. The city wasn’t far. Your soulmate was here. Only a few minutes away.

In previous years, you wouldn’t risk it. The bruises that would form later, and the harder your heart would break was not worth it. But now, your soulmate was so close, and you had to run to them. If you didn’t you probably would never have another chance.

Slipping on the only shoes you owned, you quickly fumbled with the trap door, before rushing down the stairs and nicking your arm on the rusty door. Your feet touched the grass for the first time in years, as you marvelled at the feeling. But you didn’t have the time, so you ran blindly into the woods. Sure enough, a few minutes later you were in town, watching as the villains lurked around the shops. How could you be so close to civilisation without anyone noticing?

You tried to stay inconspicuous, but with the hair length you inherited from your mother it was hard to stay hidden.

The shops looked worn down, some that hadn’t been used in years. One had a slightly cracked dusty mirror. Wow. You looked rough.

Bruises were all around your face and arms. The dress you were wearing was in no better shape. Your eyes were dull. A glimmer shone in the mirror before a clear view of a ship deck was seen, and a view of Aradon. “Excuse me” You stopped an old man who was walking by, “Could you tell me where the docks are?” “Follow the lights”

~~~

You ran for another ten minutes. Your feet ached, but you had to find your soulmate.

As you were just approaching the docks, you heard your name. But it wasn’t in longing, or in a recognizable way.

Turning around you saw Mother Gothel, her face red, seething with rage. Her food was tossed onto the ground as she charged towards you. You bolted ahead of her, running onto the nearest ship you could find. “HELP!” You shouted.

“I told you, you’d regret it. you know you’ll never escape” she shouted. “Hey!” A female shouted “who are you?”. She had teal hair, and a menacing look on her face.

“Please,” You ran towards her, “Help”

You guessed she could see the crazy look in your captors eyes, because she called for more crew, and someone now stood between you and Gothel. As soon as she saw the other pirates, she flipped a switch and acted like the sad mother.

“Please…It’s my daughter. She’s lost and she needs to come home” “I doubt she’s your daughter, she looks pretty scared of you. And even if she was. I still wouldn’t let you near her” The teal headed girl argued.

“You don’t even know her!” A door on your left flew open, although with the many people in front of you you couldn’t see who it was.

“I think I know her pretty well” An accented voice spoke. “And I don’t appreciate you treating her so cruelly” “She hasn’t talked to anyone in years, how the hell would you know her?” The voice came closer towards you, and people shuffled to move out of the way.

“How do you think? You locked her up with nothing. No mirrors, no lockets, no communication” Your breathing quickened, but you had no idea why. I’m going to be fine. These Pirates are going to save me and then I’ll probably have to pay them back by scrubbing their floors. At least I’ll be able to see the ocean.

The accented voice got closer, before being right next to you. “You treat a princess like that? I mean I’m no kind soul either, hell I steal from little girls shops, but you don’t beat someone. Especially not her” You looked up to see the voice defending you. Wow.

Standing next to you was a tall pirate, with a crooked hat sitting on his head. Some brown locks peaked from underneath the hat. He wore a red jacket, and held a hook in his left hand, which he hooked onto his belt. Around his eyes were slight remains of what looked like eyeliner, that looked like it had been smudged off not too long ago. His eyes were ice blue, and a soft smile was stretched onto his face.

Holy shit this was your soulmate.

You could remember what your mother had told you when she explained soulmates to you. When you meet them your body is all warm and fuzzy, and you want to hug them and talk with them all night. 

Now was not the time though, as your seething ‘mother’ grabbed a dagger from a nearby stool. All the pirates around you pulled out their swords, but watched as the woman hunkered over to the pair.

“You think you can save her? She’s already broken. And crazy for thinking she can actually get out of this” She seethed at the pirate.

He showed no change, except the once soft smile was now a Cheshire-like grin. He grabbed your hand defiantly, as to test what she would do. You felt the cold rings press into your hand, and tightened your grip. “Now..Y/n. I know it might be tempting to stay here. But think about it, would you rather be with your lovely mother. Or these nasty pirates.” She paused. “You might think he can love you, but he can’t. No one can because you’re broken, and useless. So how about you and I-” “I’m just as broken as her”

You pirate nudged you behind him, broadening his shoulders. “And if you think I’d hurt a hair on her head, you’re wrong” The teal haired girl from earlier tossed him a sword, and he effortlessly caught it.

“So…You can either go back to your tower. Leave peacefully. Or we can fight. But I’m not gentle” Seconds after everyone broke out into a fight. 

You were ushered into another room, away from your ‘mother’ and the boy. You could hear swords clashing and some people jumping around.

The door was kicked open, and Gothel ran over to you. She held the knife to your throat and spoke in a cold voice.

“ You will come back..You have no other choi-”

She was knocked off you in a matter of seconds, your saviour pushing her out of the way.

“She’s staying here” He growled. “Now get off my ship”

~~~

After she had left, with much resistance, your soulmate had given you one of his 

shirts and you rinsed off in the shower. Stepping out of the shower and pulling the t-shirt over your head, you rung out your hair in the sink.

As you splashed cold water on your face, you looked up to see your reflection. The bruises on your face were still purple but healing.

The door creaked as you entered the dimly lit bedroom. Your soulmate lied on the bed, smiling.

“Took you long enough” he spoke, raspy with an accent.

You smiled sheepishly back and walked closer to him.

“Come on” he grabbed his wrist, “I dont bite” he pulled you down to his bed, you fell beside him. “Unless you want me to”

You squeaked, “That’s okay...”

He brought a hand up to your face and you flinched. He softly rested his hand on your cheek, looking at you with sad eyes.

“I’m sorry doll...I wouldn't hit you..”

“What’s your name?” You asked, quietly.

He flashed a grin, “Harry Hook, nice to finally meet you soulmate”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: Interconnect (ao3 link) - Chapter 4 Fandom: Flash, DC Legends of Tomorrow Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart

Summary: Fate has decided that Leonard Snart and Mick Rory are soulmates.

Yeah, okay, they’re good with that.

(for @coldwaveweek2017)

A/N: Instead of doing different fics for coldwave week, I decided to do one with multiple chapters, each based on the various days.

Chapter 4: Alternate Universes/Alternate Earths

—————————————————————————————–

"- and no cursed!"

Len stops day-dreaming very abruptly. "What was that?" he mutters to the guy next to him.

"Oh, the boss just don't like cursed folks," the guy replies with a shrug.

"Neo-Salemist?"

"Nah, he's not that much of an asshole. Don't think any of the guys here are -"

"There's literally a neo-Nazi across the room that I'm planning on stabbing once this job's done," Len points out. "It's basically the same thing. What's his problem with the cursed? Not like it's their fault."

"Yeah, well, apparently the first time he got thrown in the can, it was 'cause some bad-luck cursed fucked up his timing."

There's no such thing as a bad-luck curse, as far as Len's ever heard, but there are always people who fuck up.

"And, what, he's pissed at all of them?"

The guy shrugs, indifferent. "Who cares?"

"Not me," Len lies. "It's just weird, and I don't like weird."

"It ain't that weird."

"If the world's greatest safecracker walked up and said he'd do your job for only five percent of the take, you get the rest, but, hey, he's cursed with technoshock, would you turn him down?"

"Obviously not."

"Would the boss?"

The guy frowns. "Well," he says slowly. "I mean. Technoshock's such a mild curse, y’know - I know plenty of people who are shit at using electronics without technoshock curses -"

Len rolls his eyes. "Bias is stupid," he says. "That's all there is to it."

He misses Mick.

Normally, when he misses Mick, he gives him a shout, but -

Well.

Len's on a job, which he told Mick he wouldn't do, and it's with the local Family, which he doubly told Mick he wouldn't do, and the local Family Don apparently hates the cursed, which makes it in Len's best interest not to bring it up.

He'll just have to fake it.

Len can pick-pocket, steal, and con so effectively that he's talked himself out of an arrest while ditching his gear in the policeman's own pockets. How hard can this be?

The answer, of course, is horrifically.

"People singing in the shower is for themselves," Len hisses to a bar of soap, his voice gargled by the shower. "Did you know that?"

"I'd heard," Mick says, but he sounds dubious. "I did tell you they couldn't all be soulmated..."

"Yeah, but still. It's dumb."

"You gonna tell me why you suddenly decided to go on radio silence?"

Just then someone walks in - goddamn Family couldn't even shell out for private showers - and Len has to shut up.

Len shutting up, of course, has nothing to say on Mick shutting up.

Do you know how hard it is to keep a straight face while your very scary Family boss is talking to you when his paperweight is singing Bohemian Rhapsody at you?!

And Len can't even retaliate with a set of horrible puns.

Mick is definitely suspicious now.

Oh, well, if he'd wanted Len to behave, he shouldn't have gotten himself thrown in jail right when Lewis was sulking around asking for money and threatening Lisa's schooling if he didn't get it.

Yes, Len's aware that Lewis being around while Mick's in jail isn't Mick's fault, but damnit, Len's having to not make puns right now and it's his own damn fault, so he's going to be immature and push it off to other people.

He's only twenty. He can do that for a bit longer before it starts getting stupid.

Len nearly makes a comment to Mick four times the next day, but only twice the day after.

He's getting better.

The plan is totally working.

"I think you should go to therapy," the boss's hat says. "I found a good one. You'll like her."

Len ignores him.

"You can talk about your daddy issues."

"Oh fuck you," Len says.

Everyone in the room turns to stare at him. "What did you say?" the creaky old-but-utterly-terrifying assassin, who had apparently chosen this moment to break his silence of several days running.

"...have you ever heard of alternate universes?" Len asks.

"What?"

"Alternate universes. Like ours, but not quite," Len explains. "Where all of us are the same, but with minor differences. Differences like - you're left-handed. Or three inches taller. Or a ginger -"

"Anything but a ginger," some asshole in the back says automatically. Half the Irishmen in the room – Central’s got plenty of them – glare at him on equally automatic instinct.

"Take me, for instance," Len says. "In another universe, I might not be a thief. Or a Jew. Or half-black. Or be able to keep my mouth shut." He pauses. "Or not be cursed."

The boss scowls. "You're cursed?!"

"I am," Len says. "And proud of it. You know what else I am?"

"What?" he growls, standing up. They're all standing up.

"Leaving," Len says, and runs out the door he's backed himself up next to.

They give chase, but this is Len's city, and they can't catch him or find him.

They all end up getting arrested two days later, so it's all for the best, but damn. That was no fun.

Mick still laughs for half of forever about it.

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

"I still can't believe you," Mick says to the rock. "You ditched me."

"Oh, shut up," the rock-Len grumbles back. "You agreed."

"Yeah, yeah," Mick says. "Do you remember how to do radio silence? Assuming you ever learned?"

Len carefully doesn’t respond.

"Uh-huh."

"Shut up. I don't talk all the time."

"Just most," Mick taunts. He watches the fire on the hill below him spread. It's a real beauty, and normally he'd be happy to sink into it, but he's got a job to do.

Time pocket or no time pocket, someone's going to notice a pile of ash where there should be a forest.

It takes another four hours for the Time Masters to show up.

Mick charges them, less for any prospect of success than for the fun of it.

"Seize him," the leader orders, his eyes greedy. "I know precisely how we can use - ugh! Is that the corpse of a rat?!"

Mick had just thrown it into his face. And yes, yes it was.

"He must've been eating them," one of the Time Masters says.

A local fox had, actually, but Mick's not going to quibble. The good thing about a time pocket, they'd figured out from Gideon, is that even the Time Masters don't know how long you've been there.

They take him back to their base. It's shittier than Mick would've thought, what with them being Doctor Who rip-offs and whatnot. Space station stuff has always been Len's thing, not his; it was one of the ways they kept their personalities distinct from each other.

"He's the cursed one, isn't he?" the Time Master they hand him over to asks. "Soulmates?"

"Yes, Master Declan," the one delivering him says respectfully. "He's the one, alongside Leonard Snart."

"Good," Declan says, and smiles. "That just makes him easier to break."

Mick hates Declan already.

But at least he's predictable. Oh, there's a few beatings, disrupted sleeps, that sort of thing, all while he's still dazed and angry, but they're Time Masters. They know all about deprivation chambers, and what they do to people like Mick. But Len had been right useless for a good long while after his experience, and they don't want that. They're impatient.

They put him in a curse-breaker.

Curses might be curses, but if you don't break them by their own very particular parameters, the sense of loss and despair is practically overwhelming. A literal part of your identity is missing, all of a sudden, and you're vacant without it.

That didn't stop the government from inventing standard-issue curse-breakers, of course, ones that could work on anyone. Ones designed to cut off any curse, no matter how powerful.

When Mick comes out of it, he's vacant and ready to be filled with new thoughts, Time Master thoughts.

"Perfect," Declan says, and gets to work creating Kronos.

Or, at least, that's what he thinks happens.

"He can't take too long on the training," Mick slurs into a pillow after a long day of pulse-rifle training and obedience commands. "Wants to avoid time-lag. He'll send me out on a few mission runs, spread rumors of my reputation around younger Rip's time, and then send me after you."

"Fuck them," the pillow grumbles.

"Shhh," Mick says, his mouth filled with feathers as he tries to muffle himself. Stupid down pillows.

"Gideon, what's time lag?" the pillow asks. Mick can't talk much, of course, he's supposed to be curse-broken, but Len can. Barry gave him the overrides to make sure Gideon won't report to Rip on him. "Huh. Yeah, okay, that makes sense; there's no point in grabbing you if you show up an old man that I don't recognize."

Mick nods.

"Any luck on the primary mission?"

Mick doesn't respond.

"That bad, huh. Well, nothing going on my side, neither, except for the fact that they all think I killed you."

Mick grunts.

"Yeah, even Jax, but at least Jax is on the warpath over it."

Mick snorts, amused.

Honestly, he's not sure why.

You can't break a curse that wants not breaking, after all. The only reason the curse-breakers ever worked on the unwilling is because everyone wants their curse broken, just a little, and the curse-breaker sneaks in that way.

But Mick learned at a witch's knee how to defeat a curse-breaker, an old lesson with Sung-hui's sister to defeat his and Len's terrible fears of loss, and he fears no evil.

He smiles.

The Time Masters are in for a very nasty surprise.

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

“Mr. Mayor, were you just talking to your lamp?” a hesitant secretary asks, as she shows his guest into the room.

“My eyes just fixed there,” Len lies.

He’s going to murder Barry for getting him into this whole alternate earth bullcrap. Murder, murder, murder –

“Is it budget season again?” Len’s guest asks, chuckling and taking a seat. “You only ever get that look in your eyes when taxes are involved.”

“You don’t say, Mr. Ramon,” Len says, smiling with teeth.

Cisco – sorry, Francisco was his preferred name on this earth – shrinks back into his seat. “Uh, Francisco is fine,” he squeaks, true to form.

“Are you sure I can’t get you a glass of water?” Len asks, leaning forward and pinning him with his best Mick-intimidating-a-Family-goon impression. “Some coffee, maybe?”

“Will it be poisoned?” Francisco asks.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing! I just – uh –”

“In that case, we should just get down to business,” Len says. “You know, ever since the Zoom crisis, I’ve made my feelings quite clear on the subject of…vigilantism.”

Also, that damn Spiderman is up to no good again.

They don’t even have comics on this earth. No wonder Cisco was forced to go into business and become a multi-millionaire.

“Uh,” Francisco says. “…yes?”

“Of course, I’m not against it per se,” Len says, leaning back and weaving his fingers together. His old lawyer used to do that; that's who he's mimicking now. He always thought it made her look appropriately super-villainous, though. “As long as the vigilante in question is willing to come here and answer some questions first, of course – nothing as crude as registration, naturally, but a certain cooperation between the government and the local superheroes seems beneficial to avoid any future Zoom incidents.”

“Right.”

He’s sweating.

And he hasn’t even kissed Len’s sister this time.

Wait, has he?

Damned if Len knows.

Stupid alternate earths.

“You see, therefore, why I’m…concerned,” Len draws it out. He’s starting to have fun with this, actually. Even when he actually was a crime boss, he never got to do the whole intimidating crime boss thing. He just hates dealing with people too much.

This is totally like being Shere Khan in Talespin.

…not that he watches that. Really.

He'd say he's pretending to be Lex Luthor, but that's a lie and also, that guy's an asshole. Fuck that guy.

“Uh,” Francisco says. “Yes?”

“So we’re on the same page?”

“We…are?”

“Then why don’t you tell me the problem,” Len says. “Us being on the same page and all.”

“The…problem?”

Len pins him with a look. “Do you think this is funny, Mr. Ramon?”

“No!” Francisco squeaks. “No! Not at all! Oh god, you’re related to King Shark, aren’t you?”

Len stares.

“…please forget I said that,” Francisco whimpers.

“Sure,” Len says, deciding to just give him that one. He remembers that shark. It’d been stuck back on Earth-1, guarding ARGUS’ toys that one time he and Barry had had to break in; Mick had been his watch and had sniggered the whole time. “Tell me, Francisco, what you know about – Reverb.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yes, I agree it’s a terrible name,” Len says, because he can’t help himself.

“If you don’t stop hamming it up, I’m going to kick you,” Len’s lamp says.

Len ignores him.

Francisco looks ill. He has him right where he wants him.

“I’m sorry,” Francisco says. “This – this may be a weird question. But did your lamp just talk?”

Goddamn vibe powers.

They’re different on each Earth, Len should’ve remembered that.

“Do you often hear inanimate objects talk?” Len asks, arching his eyebrows, because if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s keeping calm and covering up for any flubs Mick makes on jobs. “That’s a cause for some concern, Mr. Ramon – I’m sorry, Franscisco –”

“No, no! Just – I – er – forget I said anything.”

“Good,” Len says. “Now.” He stands up. “Why don’t you and me go for a walk?”

“To a short stop and a long drop?”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Len says soothingly. Then he pulls out his best sharp-toothed smile again. “We’re just going to have a little chat.”

Francisco looks like he’s seriously wondering whether or not he’s updated his last will and testament properly.

“C’mon,” Len says.

Francisco doesn’t move.

“Now.”

Francisco moves very quickly when properly motivated, it appears.

Fixing the effects of Earth-2’s Flashpoint might not be as hard as it seems, Len reflects.

“Follow me,” he says. “And we can talk about that talking lamp…”

A nearby chair sniggers.

Len ‘accidentally’ kicks it as he walks Francisco out.

[doingthingsishard-blog]

Polychromers Part 2 - Holly

Part 1

A universe where everything is black and white until you touch your soulmate for the first time…

Was this alright? Holly was staring into the mirror, wielding a mascara wand and frowning at her reflection. She didn’t often wear make up this heavy, but tonight was the gig. A rock band called The Hallucinations. Honestly, it wasn’t really her thing, but she’d promised her flatmate she’d go, and it was too late to back out. Anyway, that would do. Any more and she’d end up looking like a panda.

“Holly! Are you ready?” Katy bounded into the room, her hair backcombed into a mane, eyes outlined in solid black.

Holly twirled, showing off the clothes she’d borrowed from Katy’s wardrobe. “What d’you think?”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe that top looks better on you than me.” Katy pulled a face, and prodded her friend’s arm. “You’ve got enough boob to fill it.”

Holly made a dismissive noise, pulling on a jacket. She was a little self conscious about her boobs, and Katy knew that. This was probably her way of trying to make her feel better, but Holly didn’t feel like putting herself on show - even if they did have standing tickets for a big rock concert.

The concert itself turned out to be pretty great, actually. Holly had followed Katy to the front of the venue. Her tiny friend had the perfect pointy elbows for pushing through crowds, so all Holly had to do was stay in her slipstream.

With each new song, Holly found herself enjoying the gig more and more. She couldn’t deny the lead singer was worth the hype, and she was impressed that the band was as good live as on the album. By the time they were returning to the stage for an encore, Holly was shouting with the rest of the fans, euphoric even though she was being pressed against the barrier.

The final chorus began, and all the fans threw their hands in the air, singing along at the top of their voices. Holly didn’t know all the words, but she shouted along the ones she’d picked up, and stuck her hand out as Asher Sparks reached down to connect with his fans.

There were a lot of people reaching out to touch him, and Holly could feel all the other hands knocking against hers as Asher ran his hand along for high fives.

Then something changed suddenly, and Holly felt her chest do a somersault. Everything was so bright, and… and…

Oh my god.

Her head was swimming. And her eyes… they hurt.

Colours. They must be. With each new colour she saw - and there were so many shades - she felt something new. A joyful leap in her stomach, excitement, a little fear…

Who could it have been? Who else had she touched? Holly’s eyes searched her immediate surroundings, searching the faces of the people around her as best she could. But it was dark, and people were moving so fast, and how was she going to figure out which one of these people had triggered this?

As the last notes of the song faded away, Holly looked up to catch a glance of Asher staring into the crowd with a startled expression before the lights went out.

“Katy….Katy..!”

Maybe it was the adrenaline from the concert, or that she couldn’t find her friend, or the fact that she was seeing colour for the first time ever, but it was a little too much for Holly, and the last thing she remembered was closing her eyes against the sudden onslaught of visual information.

—

When she awoke, she was lying on a couch in an unfamiliar room, with Katy sat beside her, talking rapidly into her phone. “No, she just passed out!” she was saying, flapping her hands and looking very distressed. “I don’t know. They said she could stay here whilst they cleared out everyone else, but the medic seemed to think she was alright.”

“Katy..?” Holly raised her head to get a better look around. They were in a room with couches, mirrors, and… instruments…

“Oh my god, Holly, are you okay? What happened? Did someone knock you out?” Katy flailed her arms widely, accidentally throwing her phone half way across the room in the process.

“No I… Did you see who touched me?” Holly looked down at her hands, then back up, her eyes darting around the room rapidly. “Katy I can see… colour.”

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” Holly jumped as her best friend squealed in her face, and tried to back away, prevented by the solid arm of the sofa.

“Shhh.” Honestly, she’d just passed out, her head was hurting. “Where are we?”

“We. are. in. the. DRESSING ROOM!” Okay, Katy clearly couldn’t help, she was hysterical. “The BAND let us in here. They’re out signing autographs. But they’re gonna come back.” Katy looked like she was about to hyperventilate, so Holly decided she should probably interrupt.

“Everything looks so…” Holly trailed off. She didn’t have the words to describe what she was seeing.

“Colourful?” Katy suddenly leaned forward to stare into Holly’s eyes. “What’s it like? Was it immediate? Who WAS it?”

“I don’t… know…” Holly managed, staring right back at her friend. “Katy, your eyes are… I didn’t know eyes were so… Wow.”

Katy laughed and sat back down. “Well we need to find your soulmate.” Holly braced herself. She knew Katy was about to launch into another hysterical rant about how excited she was, but Holly couldn’t process that right now. She was busy with this entire new experience.

But the rant never came. Holly looked at Katy, and followed her frozen gaze to the door, where The Hallucinations had just entered. All four of them. Led by Asher Sparks, who’s expression was decidedly different from his usual entitled smirk. He looked… confused, a little shell shocked.

“Ash, what the hell, are you okay?” The drummer followed the frontman into the room, clapping Asher on the back.

“Yeah I’m fine…” Asher looked over at Holly. “You feeling better?”

Right, so apparently by fainting she’d made a big show of herself. Great. “I’m fine…”

…

Okay, so she hadn’t even managed to convince herself with that. She wasn’t fine. She was confused.

“She just saw COLOUR!” Katy finally piped up, the excitement of her best friend finding a soulmate was apparently too strong for her celebrity related anxiety. “And she doesn’t know who it came from.”

Good lord, Katy. My life is not a soap opera. Holly nodded, wishing her friend would shut up.

“Wait, are you serious?” Asher crossed the room in a flash, crouching to be eye level with Holly. He reached out with one hand and touched hers. “It’s you…”

Holly felt a tingling sensation at the spot where Asher’s fingers touched her hand. The rest of the world melted away, and she was staring into the most wonderful face she’d ever seen. It wasn’t just that he was gorgeous - which he was, not just because he was famous either - she found herself fascinated by the freckles next to his mouth, the angle of his jaw, even the smeared black eyeliner. She almost didn’t notice Katy chattering excitedly to the bassist.

“OhmygodIcan’tbelieveitisthisactuallyreal!!!!!!!!!!” she was squeaking, as the bassist sipped from a beer.

“Maybe we should… give them some space?” The drummer finally intervened, and ushered everyone else from the room. With difficulty.

“HOLLY TEXT ME I’LL STICK AROUND!” Katy yelled, just as the door closed.

“You can see the colours too?” Holly asked, realising she hadn’t spoken in some time. Her mind was running in circles. Was this real? She didn’t even KNOW him. She hardly even knew his music! He was a celebrity!

“Yeah… I…” Asher cleared his throat, then finally got up from his crouching position and sat down next to Holly on the couch. “I couldn’t see you. I had no idea who…” He kept trailing off, and Holly knew why. It was distracting, being able to see a whole new spectrum of colour.

Holly nodded. “Me neither…”

They both just sat there for a moment, Holly’s eyes were focused on the shirt she was wearing. There were a few neon splashes in the design, and she couldn’t take her eyes off it.

A few minutes passed, and she felt Asher’s hand on hers again. “Can I…” he hesitated, retracting his touch for a second. “It’s just… if we can see…”

Holly almost laughed. Was Asher Sparks, renowned rock and roll frontman, being shy? “Then it means we’re soulmates?” Finishing his sentences already. Must be love. She nodded, and took his hand. “We should probably… get to know each other…”

Asher smiled, squeezing her hand as she took his. “Yeah. Probably.” Wow. This wasn’t supposed to be awkward. “You go first.”

“Is Asher Sparks your real name?” Holly had been thinking about this since it had all really sunk in.

He seemed confused, and shook his head slowly. “Ash is. Well, Asher. Ash Thompson… You didn’t know that?”

“Sorry… I don’t even really um… I just came with a friend tonight.”

“You don’t like my music?”

“Oh, no, I mean, yeah. I had a great time tonight, I’m just… not a fan.” Holly felt bad. Mean, even. She’d basically come to his gig and told him that his soulmate didn’t like his music.

But Ash started to laugh. “Of course… my soulmate. You were put on this earth to humble me.”

“I wasn’t put on this earth just because of y-… you’re joking.” He nodded, and Holly grinned at him. “Do you need much humbling?”

Ash clutched his chest, and then pretended to swoon. “You wound me. I can’t believe you don’t know all about my conceited, bad boy persona.”

Maybe it was the pre-drinks. Or the high she was feeling from all these new colours. Or the fuzzy, tingling feeling that was still dancing around on her skin. But this silly, dramatic show made her laugh, and she felt a rush of affection. He wasn’t conceited and weird. He was… a dork. He was silly. “Obviously just a persona.” she pointed out.

“Oh, really?” Ash flashed a smirk at her, and almost immediately, the atmosphere changed. Holly’s heart fluttered, and her eyebrows raised just a little. That was the sexy frontman she’d seen on all the tour posters.

Trying to pretend she wasn’t flustered, Holly blew a stray hair out of her face. “So you can smirk. Big deal. Not exactly a bad boy. I bet you d- eep!”

Holly had been interrupted.

By Ash’s lips on hers.

Not the first time she’d been kissed, but absolutely the best. It was like the colour had invaded her head too, she felt sparks of electricity from her head to her toes, and then Ash’s hair between her fingers, holding his head close when he tried to pull away.

This moment couldn’t end.

[guitar-pyck]

Speak to my Soul

Summary: Maggie discovers that soulmates are really more complicated then they should be. Soulmate AU

Pairings: Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer

Rating: T

Link to AO3

When Maggie is nine there is a scandal two towns over that somehow makes its way through the rumor mill and straight to their house. She is yawning hugely when she enters the kitchen that morning, her younger sister is already halfway though a bowl of oatmeal and is talking with her mouth full of the other half.

“I heard that Mr. Jenkins, that farmer ‘bout 45 miles east, his wife left him for somebody else! They said she found her soulmate through the Internet and he woke up one morning and all her stuff was gone!” Maggie is quite sure that Amelia has no idea who Mr. Jenkins is or even how far away he lives so she must be spouting this information directly from memory. Probably overheard it when she and her friends had ridden their bikes to the nearby gas station without their parents knowledge.

“Mia, please stop inhaling your food! And for God’s sake, stop talking with your mouth full! I don’t wanna see it after it’s passed your lips.” Their mother admonishes as she places a bowl in front of Maggie, although after watching her sister chew and talk at the same time, she’s not sure she’s hungry anymore.

“Sorry Mama, just wanted to keep you updated on the news.” Mia grins cheekily and starts on her toast at much slower rate by her own standards.

Her mama simply hums in response and pointedly turns back to the newspaper laid out on the table. Maggie eagerly waits for her to finish with the boring stuff so she can grab the comics before Mia. They’re all startled when her papa begins to grumble and dig into his breakfast with a little more gusto.

“Something wrong dear?” Mama asks.

“She left him for another woman.” His grumbling is only slightly louder then before but Maggie hears him as if he had shouted. She seems to be the only one affected by this news because her mama’s response is to glance back down at the paper and Mia uses the distraction to swipe a piece of toast off of Maggie’s plate. Maggie is too busy trying to process the information that she doesn’t even engage in the argument she knows Mia is aiming for.

“But, if she was her soulmate then…” her question is cut off by a loud scoff from her papa.

“She ruined a marriage - a family - because she was being selfish.” He doesn’t elaborate any further before getting up to wash his dishes. Maggie isn’t sure why his dissatisfaction is bothering her but it is.

Before she can say anything however, Mia pipes up.“A soulmates a soulmate, Papa.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment while he finishes washing away the soap suds from his breakfast bowl. She can see he is thinking through his response. He grabs a towel and begins wiping his hands dry before he goes back to his seat. Maggie loves this about him, that he discusses things with them like they were worthy of explanation. Nearly every other kid she knows gets brushed off or shouted at by their parents.

She and her sister are lucky enough to have parents who work to get them on the same level.

“Yes, like you said; a soulmate is a soulmate.” He pauses and grins adoringly at their mother and both girls groan in disgust. Mama merely chuckles and winks back before he continues. “But this woman probably had quite a few years of contact with her soulmate before she decided to marry Mr. Jenkins. And she waits until all this time later before she makes the decision to abandon all that?”

“What if she suddenly realized that it wasn’t a platonic soul bond?” Mia asks and Maggie nods beside her, the same question had crossed her mind.

It’s not at all uncommon, in fact there are nearly as many platonic soul bonds as there are romantic. It’s just people found romantic soulmates more interesting and that’s what was displayed in nearly all the movies, TV shows and books Maggie had ever been exposed to.

To her surprise, her papa is laughing quietly to himself. It almost seems condescending.

“Well I guess now-a-days that’s a thing, but I still stand by what I said earlier. She was being selfish by waiting this long. She’s ruined multiple lives now.”

“But how do you know which way your soul bond goes?” Maggie tries to mask the desperation in her voice. This conversation is making her uneasy in ways she can’t really explain.

“You’re a bit young now to really get it,” Her mother answers, placing a comforting hand over her own. Mama isn’t trying to be mysterious or belittling. “You haven’t had enough communication with your soulmate to really know but in a few years it will start to click. One way or the other.”

This seems to be the end of the conversation for their father. He gets up and places a sweet kiss on their mothers cheek and both girls groan again at the affection; but Maggie’s groan of disgust is a little half-hearted.

She’s still confused and she wishes that soul bonds were less complicated.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Maggie adores her soulmate.

And yeah, she supposes that is kind of the point but still. In her totally biased opinion she has the best soulmate in the world.

Before any bonded pair meets, anything they draw on their skin appears on the others. Only pictures and numbers. No letters, no names. Not even if the words are drawn in such a way as to appear picturesque; doesn’t show up. After they meet, well then one could write a novel and it would decorate the skin of the (probably irked) other person. Maggie looks forward to that day but for now she and her soulmate are stuck communicating through pictures of stick figures and deflated looking soccer balls.

Or mathematic equations.

She is pretending to scratch an itch to move her sweater sleeve out of the way so she can study the neat little numbers her soulmate has mapped out on her forearm. They aren’t answers per se, more like the method she would use to get the answers.

See Maggie is smart, or at least too smart for this school district. The kind of smart where if she isn’t engaged, she gets bored. And if she gets bored, she stops paying attention. And if she stops paying attention, she falls behind. It’s a vicious cycle she can’t seem to break herself out of.

Luckily, for as smart as Maggie is, her soulmate is smarter. Her mama likes to brag about having a junior rocket scientist as a future-son-in-law. Maggie always rolls her eyes at the sentiment but she can’t help but agree that it is a lucky turn of fate. But perhaps her mama wouldn’t be so proud if she knew what they were doing with her soulmates boundless knowledge.

Taking another peek at the next set of rules, Maggie works through the final test problems and flips her booklet over. She’s the first one done and she slips a pen out of her sweater pocket to draw an extended fist. Only a minute passes before her soulmate responds with another fist bumping with hers.

Maggie grins and leans back in her chair, it’s the final test of her 6th grade year. She is so ready for the summer holiday and to be upgraded to the high school building next fall. She daydreams of being the youngest soccer player admitted to the school team while she waits for her classmates to finish. She doesn’t care if they don’t allow players to tryout before 9th grade, she’ll find a way.

The ringing bell startles her out of her musings and she’s out of her seat before the teacher can finish wishing them all a good summer. She checks her arms to make sure her soulmate has wiped the equations away before she slides the sweater off her shoulder with a sigh of relief. It’s a miracle that her teacher didn’t notice the unseasonably warm clothing, but she supposes that teachers of Blue Springs Elementary aren’t known for their great detection skills.

She makes her way to the 4th grade wing to try and catch Mia before losing her in the jumble of excited, summer bound kids. Maggie spots her engaged in a very serious looking game of four-square. Her sister waves to her in acknowledgment before focusing back on her task and Maggie decides they might be here for a while.

Settling against the wall in a cool patch of shade, she pulls out her pen again. She’s surprised to see that her soulmate has already started a drawing. A little stick guy surfing on a way too tiny board. Maggie laughs and watches as her soulmate adds details like water, sand, the sun, long hair on the surfer.

Maggie’s heart nearly stops at that last detail. As close as she is to her soulmate, there are very few details she knows about them. It’s kind of an unspoken rule that before becoming an adult, soulmates share as little as possible with each other. This helps to prevent people from searching for the one they are bonded to, because sometimes meeting the one who holds the other half of your soul can be damaging if it happens too soon.

Until now the only thing she really knew about her soulmate was that they were close in age. She’s seen a billion photos of herself as a baby with marks up and down her arms as if scribbled by a young toddler. And although they are by no means exceptional artists now, they seem to have developed skill at the same rate Maggie has.

Maggie had always secretly taken this as a sign that her soul bond was a romantic one, and she knows her parents are hoping for it too.

But now she stares down at this newly revealed detail and tries to rationalize it. Maybe her soulmate is trying to draw her? Not likely, they used a mixture of red and brown markers, thats too specific to be a guess of her hair color. Maybe this is a boy who has long hair? Could be, but she has a gut feeling that that isn’t right.

As she’s busy going over different scenarios her sister finishes her game.

“Hey Maggot!” She plops down next to her sister, startling Maggie out of her reverie

“Geez Worm! What is wrong with you?” Mia merely laughs at her irritation and leans over to look at Maggie’s arm. Maggie reflexively pulls her arm to her side so her sister can’t see.

“You and your buddy cheating again?” She asks, bumping shoulders with Maggie. She shrugs at Mia’s question and doesn’t bother correcting her. She doesn’t want her sister privy to this piece of information just yet.

“You ready to go? Mom says if we finish our chores tonight we can go to the lake tomorrow.” Mia whoops in excitement and practically drags Maggie to their bikes. Maggie tries to share her sister’s enthusiasm but she takes one last glance at the picture on her arm.

She is distracted on the ride home. She can’t help but recall the family breakfast a couple of years prior; of her fathers disappointment in the woman who left to be with her soulmate. She tries to reassure herself that his anger was only because of the amount of damage caused by the womans selfishness. But now she can’t help but wonder - was her father perhaps angry because she left for another woman?

She knows that being gay is very much frowned upon, that people still wouldn’t accept a same sex soul bond as anything other that platonic soulmates. She’s heard the things whispered about those who claim their bond is romantic. Maggie wonders if her papa is one of those people.

Shaking her head she notices her sister is quite a bit ahead of her, she pedals harder to catch up and all the while she reminds herself that her papa loves her. He reminds her all of the time, she is the product of a very strong soul bond and she is precious to her parents, to her family.

Besides, she can’t even be sure if the picture was of her soulmate. And even if they were a girl, well it was probably a platonic soul bond anyway.

Despite her self-reassurances, Maggie still fights down the doubt.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Summer is well on it’s way when they get Maggie’s final report card. Along with it comes an application for the preparatory school over an hour away. Maggie is quite uninterested in this possibility but puts on an appeasing demeanor as her mama gushes.

“Look Maggie, they even included scholarship opportunities!” Mama is pointing excitedly to a section in the pamphlet labeled ‘Financial Aide’. Maggie wants to point out the almost offensively diverse photo they’ve attached to this section when the rest of the pamphlet is obnoxiously white. But her mama is absolutely beside herself with pride, so Maggie just rides the waves as they come.

She distracts herself by doodling with her soulmate. She still hasn’t been able to decisively determine their gender, but Maggie is starting to care less and less. All she knows for sure is that she feels most comfortable when she is sharing her skin with her soulmate.

On days like today she feels like there is just too much running through her head, too much energy zipping along her limbs and she cant get comfortable. She fidgets and scrapes her nails against her jeans, clenches her teeth and chews on her cuticles, but she just doesn't seem to fit in her own body. Not until her soulmate starts marking lines along her skin. Some days it’s the only thing that calms her.

And she can’t imagine giving that up, even if the world might frown upon whatever they have going for them.

Her mama is still making plans when Papa and Mia come home from cheerleading practice. Maggie should have guessed her sister would be the Ra-Ra type. She certainly had the vocal chords for it.

“Look at this!” Mama practically shoves the application into her fathers face before he’s even through the door. “Maggie is excelling academically, they want her to apply to Wentsworth!”

“Yeah, I’m sure she did it all by herself.” Mia mutters loud enough for Maggie to hear. She shoots her a glare worthy of Superman’s heat vision.

Their parents are too distracted to notice the exchange as her mother continues to point out different opportunities for Maggie to utilize.

Maggie sees her fathers jaw tighten and knows immediately that she will NOT be attending Wentsworth Preparatory.

Mama must notice it too, “There are scholarships she can apply for, and tuition isn’t so bad. Just think of how many doors this could open for her!”

“Jessie’s kids are going there.” Papa interrupts before Mama can go into any further detail. The effect is instantaneous, Mama’s lips purse and she turns to organize all of the displayed paperwork into a neat little pile.

Maggie and Mia share a confused glance. She doesn’t know much about her aunt or her twin cousins. She has vague memories of the three of them hanging out before Mia was even allowed out of the playpen. She can barely remember what they look like. She wasn’t even aware that they lived close enough potentially attend the same schools.

“I didn’t realize you were still talking to Jessica.” Mama’s word are clipped, Papa shrugs in response.

“She sends me letters from time to time, when something exciting is going on for her or what not. Haven’t replied yet.” And that is the end of the conversation as he slips off his shoes and heads further into the house. Mama starts preparations for dinner and Mia is apparently uninterested in the turn of events as she practically skips off to get out of her practice clothes.

Even though Maggie had no desire to attend a prep school, she can’t help but feel a little irritated by her parents attitude. Why shouldn’t she be allowed to attend a school just because her estranged cousins were also students?

She’s not even sure why her papa and aunt were at odds with each other, she knows there was a fight quite a few years back, shortly after her uncle’s death but the details are hazy and she recalls her mama ushering the girls into the car before many details could be revealed.

Maggie doodles absentmindedly on her wrist, cracking a smile when her soul mate joins in until they’ve created a rather lopsided dog. When she turns her attention back to her surroundings she notices that the application forms and school brochure are gone. She has a sneaky suspicion that they’ve found a new home in the trash.

With a heavy sigh, Maggie drags herself away from the dining room. She intends to spend the remainder of the afternoon catching up on her summer reading when she has the sudden urge to visit the study.

It’s not really a study per se, just a converted walk in closet they stuck the family computer in so it wouldn’t take up space in the living room. But Maggie knows that this is also where her parent store old bill stubs and important documents. If her aunts letters are going to be anywhere, they would be in this room.

She spares another glance behind her to make sure that no one is watching before easing the door closed. It takes less time then she would have thought to find what she’s looking for. The letter itself is gone, probably used as fire kindling over the winter, but the envelope is still there. It’s ripped in two pieces but the senders address is still quite legible.

Maggie isn’t sure what she intends to do with this information but before she can change her mind she stuffs the pieces in her pocket and puts on her best innocent face.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Its a deceptively calm day when her soulmate cuts off contact with her.

She starts the day off like any other, doodling a smiling sun to keep her soulmate up-to-date on the local weather before preparing for a full training day. She had of course not been allowed to tryout for the soccer team in 7th grade but still showed up to practices and games regardless. By the time summer rolled around again they were already including her as an unofficial part of the team.

Oddly enough her soulmate doesn’t doodle back with their own weather report. With a shrug, Maggie assumes they’ve slept in and goes about her day.

A few hours pass and she is getting anxious. She’s desperate for contact with her soulmate to ease the tension in her muscles but it never comes. She starts doodles at every training break, but the go unfinished. During lunch she carefully transcribes the mathematical equations her soulmate had taught her over the school year, making sure to get every number correct. There is still no response.

Near the end of the day she is pushing her muscles to dangerous levels but the extra adrenaline helps dispel the excess energy from her body. Still there is no contact.

She has never gone a single day of her life without some form of contact with her soulmate and she thinks this must be what withdrawals feel like. Ignoring the protest of her muscles she bikes home and makes a beeline for the shower, dodging her family's probing questions.

The water is almost too hot and it soothes the aches from her body. She breathes the steam in deep gulps to help coax her lungs to take in more oxygen.

The hot water is almost gone when she feels a pressure on her palm. This one feels different then the marks usually do. This one feels like goodbye.

She waits until the spray goes frigid and she is forced out of the shower before she finally looks at the picture.

It’s a crooked little heart, no bigger than her thumb nail. In all of their many artistic conversations they have never once drawn hearts for each other.

Maggie wants to cry but she doesn’t even know if this is just an overreaction. For all she knows her soulmate was busy all day and this is their way of apologizing.

Still she dresses quickly and finds a marker in a pocket of her work-out pants. With shaky hands she draws a matching heart on the opposite palm. Minutes pass and nothing happens. It’s so anti-climatic that she wants to laugh at herself.

Instead she joins her family for dinner, answers questions about training, evades remarks about her arms bare of pictures and retires early for the night claiming exhaustion from a hard days work.

In the morning even the crooked heart is gone. Maggie doesn’t bother giving a weather update.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Not Your Dean (Part 9)

Summary: One day Dean shows up and moves back into the bunker. The only problem is he’s a demon and he’s hiding something…

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Pairing: Demon!Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,600ish

Warnings: language

A/N: Welcome to the rollercoaster of emotions...

“Nice sweetheart, I’m sure Sam and Wings never saw that coming,” said Dean, the two of you standing in a never ending white space.

“By the time they wake up, we’ll have found it and be ready to leave,” you said, spinning around, taking in the cage. You’d visited the outer shell of it before but thanks to some spell work, you’d broken farther in this time.

“This way,” said Dean, taking your hand, leading off toward nothing. You were sure he thought he could feel it but as soon as you took a step in that place, you knew he was going the wrong way.

“Let’s split up, cover more ground,” you said, shaking your hand free. Dean squinted an eye but released you.

“Great idea,” he said, giving you a once over as you smiled to himself. “See you soon, Y/N.” He paused a beat before turning and taking off, you breaking into a run the other direction. You had no idea what he was after but you could feel your soul down there, knew exactly where to go. In no time at all you came to a lone white door, a bright light emitting from underneath it.

Strangely, it didn’t hurt to get your soul back. It tingled for sure but there was nothing on top of that, no pain or memories. For some reason, it found a safe little corner of the cage to hide in until you came and got it. 

“You found it?” asked Dean, suddenly running into view, probably already sensing a shift in you.

“Yeah, you lose,” you said, Dean’s face souring. “And Dean?”

“What,” he said, already turned away, heading towards where you came in to wait for your pick up.

“This is going to hurt,” you said, quickly pulling the cuffs from behind you and placing them behind his back.

“You bitch, you’re going to leave me here?” he asked, falling to his knees easily. You nodded your head as you pulled a zip tie from your backpack and tied his feet together.

“Nope,” you said, pulling the cooler from your pack, opening it so he could see what was inside. Plenty of blood, ready to go. “I’m going to cure you in here.”

“Let me go right now or I swear-”

“I want my Dean back,” you said, throwing a hand over his lips as you pulled out something to put over his mouth. You could hear the snarl under the material as you pulled away and grabbed the first syringe. You stabbed it in his neck, Dean growling and shouting curses you imagined at you. You pulled out your clock and took a seat next to your pack, watching Dean look as if he were in pain.

He looked at you with pleading eyes. Green eyes that could be Dean’s if you didn’t know any better. But with your soul back, you could sense he was all wrong, his was twisted and needed you to fix him. 

“Only seven hours, fifty nine minutes to go,” you said, Dean’s face turning hard as he shouted again. 

This was going to be the longest eight hours of your life.

“He hasn’t woken up yet,” said Sam, rubbing your arm as you waited outside of the dungeon back at home. You didn’t like the idea of Dean waking up human, tied to a chair in the bunker but you were already in enough trouble for sidelining Sam and Cas earlier.

“Guys,” you heard Cas say, both you and Sam rushing in. Dean was starting to stir, his skin still pricked with the red marks from where you’d stabbed into him. Your heart raced and you forgot how to breathe for a moment. What if he was still a demon?

Dean let out a groan as he lifted his head. He blinked a few times before his eyes landed on you three. Fuck, they were still black. You nearly broke down but then they started to clear, Dean shaking his head and blinking as the black disappeared and Dean’s worried green eyes replaced them.

“Hey,” he said to no one in particular. Then his gaze fell on you and he gave a tired smile. “You got your soul back.”

“You too,” you said, walking over to untie him. Finally it was over, everyone was back with nothing demon in them. You were going to be okay again.

“Need anything?” you asked Dean, running a hand through his hair as he lay in bed that night. He was beat but he didn’t want you to baby him, your old Dean. You’d missed him so much.

“Just you,” he said, holding your hand, his touch so much kinder and loving than the demon version, no fear whatsoever. “Where’d your stuff go? Did you move out after you thought I...”

“No, I uh...when you came back as a demon you kicked me out to my old room,” you said, running your hand over his arm.

“Guy sounds like an ass,” said Dean, reaching up to stroke your cheek. You leaned into it as you put your hand on his. “Everything I did to you, I’m so sorry,” he said, only stopping when you kissed him. This was the one you’d been waiting for, the kiss where he was kissing you back.

“He wasn’t my Dean,” you said, lips close to his. “You are.”

“Someday when I’m not so tired and thankful at how amazing you are...” said Dean, finding the strength to pull you down into your old sleeping spot. “I’m going to be mad about you going in the cage alone.”

“You knew we were soulmates and didn’t tell me,” you said, turning on your side, Dean chuckling.

“I guess that makes us even then,” he said, turning his head, offering a large smile. “I didn’t want you to think you had to stay with me, that you had options to find someone better.”

“Nah, I’d rather stay here with you,” you said, wrapping an arm over his chest, curling up against his side. His arm found it’s way around your shoulders but again you were hit with the feeling that this was how it was supposed to be, safe and good with your Dean, not that other one. “We’ve got this connection you see.”

“Good one,” said Dean, his lips finding yours, lingering a long time before pulling back. “Tomorrow, I want to know what happened while I was...different. Promise you’ll tell me the truth?”

“Of course baby,” you said, already having written this speech in your head. There were definitely certain parts he would never find out about, more so for his own good but you’d tell him most of it.

“I’m going to fall asleep any second,” said Dean, yawning as he snuggled into you. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” you said, Dean smiling as he kissed you good night. “Never leaving your side again.”

When you woke the next morning, it was perfect, exactly how you’d hoped. Dean’s arm around your waist, soft snores on the back of your neck, his warmth all around you. He made his way to the kitchen with you, helping a little with breakfast as he was still recovering but happy as could be. Sam and Cas joined you and you ate your meal together, like old times. Eventually Cas got called off on angel matters but he promised he’d be in touch and wouldn’t stay away as long again.

You got Dean in the shower and helped cut his hair back to how it normally was, a smile on your face as you saw him throw on some nice plaid. He looked so similar to the demon version but there wasn’t a trace of that thing left in him. 

“Go take care of yourself for a little while,” said Dean, spinning you back around when you tried to leave the bathroom. “Sam can take over making sure I don’t pass out in the hall and hit my head for a few hours.”

“You sure?” you asked, Dean smiling.

“Yeah. Plus I might get to see you naked this way,” he said, your eye roll evident but your smirk apparent as well.

“We’ll save that for when you’re all better, Dean,” you said, patting him on the chest, Dean laughing as he left you be. You were positive the smile on your face would be a permanent feature as everything felt so right again, like you could feel Dean better than ever. You were so happy you even sang as you stepped in the shower, something you rarely did and never when the others were home. But nothing could kill your mood.

Except for that flash you knew you’d imagined as you washed your arm. You waited, sure that you had just gotten so used to it that you were seeing things. You counted the sixty seconds it had always taken for it to pass through.

“No,” you said, falling to your knees, the water pouring down over you as you saw that black trickle appear for a brief moment before disappearing. “No.”

You were still infected and it suddenly made sense why demon Dean went the other way. He wanted you to have your soul back, wanted you to be the one to find it. He must have known it wouldn’t cure you of him.

“I turned him human,” you said, backing up to sit against the shower wall. “I did exactly what Dean wanted.”

“Hey, so I used up most of the soap...Y/N?” asked Dean, coming in and noticing your panic, instantly rushing to your side. “What happened?”

“We have a problem.”

A/N: Read Part 10 here!

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