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shuahoonie · 3 years

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out of love [tom holland]

PAIRING: tom holland x female!reader

SUMMARY: being close friends with your ex is fine, right? even if your love for them was unparalleled among others. even if you were still in the process of moving on from them. even if you know they’re happy with someone else. even if you have no clue whether they loved you like you loved them.

WARNINGS: foul language, so much angst, it starts ok at first then goes downhill from there. i literally write things on the go so i don’t know if this will have fluff at some point

(if it does and i didn’t state it here, send me a cute photo of tom and a message of: ok wow she pulled thru 🤪; and if it doesn’t have fluff, send me a meme and a message of: miss girl i simply cannot today ✋😃)

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

A/N: hello! tonight, we are going to be sad!!! i know i usually like to write about all things fluff, but this?? this is just for me because i am having one of those episodes. i just need to feel something again aside from the stress of writing 3 academic papers per week lmao. i’m def not expecting people to like this type of vibe but yannoe. i apologize in advance.

this is inspired by that one episode from new girl (season 6 x ep 16)

gif credits: @thollandgifs

vanessa’s masterlist | taglist form | part two - pandemonium

“You know, you can still live with us right?” Your friend Maia commented as she placed the box, labelled “fine china that mom gave me but will i ever use them?”, on the kitchen island.

“I know,” You murmured dropping the heavy case of pots and pans on the floor. “But maybe living alone will be good for me.” You replied, forcing a smile. “Besides, I don’t want to int—“

“Hey, Y/N, where do you want this?” Harrison asked as he held out a box that’s labelled with “books that my grandpa passed on. HANDLE WITH CARE!”

“Oh, just set it down on the living room—“ before you could even finish, Harrison dropped the box on the floor as if it was nothing. “Harrison!” You hissed, as you quickly rushed to check on the box.

“Y/N, babe, they’re just books. Surely they can withstand any amount of pressure, yeah?” Haz tried to reassure you.

“Haz, those books are from my grandpa—which I’m sure he got from his grandpa.” You sighed. “They’re really old and fragile, so I just want them to be in a well enough condition to stand in my bookcase.”

“‘m sorry,” He murmured, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s just, why do you have to move out?” Harrison asked, frustrated at the whole thing.

“Like I told Maia, maybe having my own place will be good for me.” You replied calmly, as you neatly put the box filled with your grandpa’s books in the corner room—the initial place where you want to build your bookcase. “It’s been a while since I’ve lived on my own.”

“Yeah,” Harrison acknowledged “But there’s absolutely no reason for you to move out. You can’t possibly leave me with her!” He pointed at Maia who let out an audible gasp. Harrison was being dramatic of course.

“Haz—“ You were trying to fight off a laugh. “You two are my constants and if I became dependant on having you two at my convenience, it’s going to be a huge problem.”

“In my opinion, I don’t see it as a problem.” Maia pointed out childishly. You shook your head in disbelief. You had to move out because you miss having a place to yourself— a place where you can be at your complete worst and you don’t have to think about your friends worrying about you.

Besides, moving out means you don’t have to see Tom that often and that was a bonus in your book. It wasn’t a sour breakup per se, it’s just really difficult to feel happy for your ex when he practically showcases how different he is now with his girlfriend.

You prided yourself as a mature and well-rounded person who could be complete friends with her ex as if that’s normal. You could only keep the façade for so long.

Four months. It’s been four months since you and Tom broke up. You lived with Maia soon after the breakup and that enough was a blessing. Maia couldn’t bear to handle the fact that you would be alone at a time like this. Harrison usually crashes at Maia’s so he was bound to move in with you two. In fact, he was always there more often than you.

That was the point where you were convinced that Harrison liked Maia and that Maia liked Harrison.

Conveniently, you and Tom never ‘officially’ moved in together so you could avoid him freely at all costs.

Of course, that was eventually going to end soon. You and Tom were in the same friend group so you were bound to see each other, much to your dismay. You couldn’t exactly make Harrison and Maia pick friends because it’s not fair for anyone.

You were all friends before you and Tom decided to date. Maybe that’s why people say to never date a friend—especially if they’re near and dear.

You were coming back from work when you found people in the living room, and as if the universe really wanted to test you, it was the least likely people you’d expect to see.

“Y/N!” Maia’s voice was pure panic. “I didn’t know you’d be home this early.”

Your eyes quickly flickered between the two people standing across you before you diverted your attention to Maia. “Uh—yeah. There wasn’t really much to do in the office so I came home early.”

Maia turned to Harrison who was equally lost on how to handle the situation. I mean, who wouldn’t?! What were you supposed to do when your friend drops in unannounced with their new girlfriend and to makes the matters worse, your other friend—whom your friend dated before— decides to come home early?

You didn’t know how what kind of spirit took over your body that prompted you to extend your hand to the girl sitting beside your ex and say: “Hello, I’m Y/N.”

The girl looked surprised but shook your hand in return. “Nadine,” Nadine smiled slyly “I—um, I’m Tom’s girlfriend.”

Tom looked mildly uncomfortable but you chose to ignore it. You were becoming good at that—ignoring Tom.

You returned the smile at Nadine. You could feel the burning stares from your friends, mostly Maia. You cleared your throat and said, “I’ll just be in my room to finish the papers I need to send to my editor if you’ll excuse me.”

Before you left completely, you gave Nadine another smile and said, “It’s nice to meet you again, Nadine.”

You don’t remember how you got to your room but that was the least of your concern. You were just undeniably overwhelmed with what just happened that you didn’t even notice that there was a knock on your door.

When you opened the door, it was the last person you expected to see standing in your doorframe.

“Can we talk?” Tom asked in almost a whisper.

You gave him a half shrug and opened the door slightly wider for him.

“We’re okay, right?” He asked, looking at you in the eye.

At this point, you convinced yourself that you were numb. You never talked about the breakup. You never overtly said anything about what you felt. You felt empty. You convinced yourself that you were empty.

You stared back at Tom and without missing a beat, you replied “Of course. Why shouldn’t we?”

“Just admit that you two will miss me,” You teased, grabbing another box from Maia.

“Only if you admit that you’re moving out for an entirely different reason,” Maia whispered carefully as her eyes flickered towards Tom who was also helping with your move out.

You pressed your lips together and acted like he wasn’t even there. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You said, you know, like a liar.

You weren’t a vocal person. The idea of talking about your feelings was really difficult for you so you try your best to avoid it. Actually, it’s worse than that. You’d go to extreme lengths to avoid confrontation.

Obviously, it wasn’t healthy. You would always distance yourself whenever you feel emotionally exhausted, and you really meant that distance. It wasn’t bad at first—maybe a day or two was all you needed before you felt comfortable enough to be around people again.

Then it became worse when you were in university. You were beyond unreachable. Aside from being emotionally exhausted, you were mentally drained too. You were always buried with papers and readings which was unavoidable but it took a huge toll on you. So whenever you get a chance to get a break, you completely shut off from people.

Your friends definitely noticed it and they tried their best to help.

Tom was among the people who definitely went out of their way to help you. He would always drop by at your dorm with food or coffee—he would literally just drop them off, most of the time. He would leave small notes that up to this day, you still kept and tucked away in a box.

Both Maia and Harrison followed Tom’s approach. They would all alternate on who’s dropping what and when. Some days, Maia would drop off a new skincare product she’s been using or a lovely box of macarons from your favourite patisserie.

On other days, Harrison would drop off some of his home-cooked meals or maybe a book he saw from a local bookstore—a book that reminded him of you.

Tom was very persistent though. He would sometimes wait out on the hall, just so he could see you and reassure himself (and your friends) that you were okay.

You found it taxing at first—you would often try your best to match the energy from your friends, which only left you exhausted at the end of the day. You wanted space and you clearly weren’t getting that from Tom. You did acknowledge that he only did it out of pure concern.

You often wondered why he did that, staying, but you didn’t ask him. You never did.

Maybe you were afraid that you’d come off as rude or that you’d seem ungrateful for dismissing someone when they’ve clearly taken the time off their day just to check on you.

However, every time you’d open that door, it always seemed that Tom would breathe a huge sigh of relief when you lock eyes. Even if it was just for a quick second. You wondered about that too.

Tom wasn’t really being intrusive. Most of the time, he will leave a few minutes after you’d open the door to get the things your friends would drop off. You’d always ask him if he wants to stay inside for a bit, but he’d always decline.

Except for that one time, though. That one time that you knew you were going to fall in love.

It was the week of midterms and deadlines. You were knee-deep with papers from different classes that demanded to be finished that week, one of which was a research paper that practically tied you to your laptop and made you consume an unhealthy amount of caffeine.

It wasn’t until 2 am when you were about to go on a quick drive to a McDonald’s but saw Tom dozed off in the hallway, his back pressed against the wall.

“Tom,” You shook him gently, trying not to startle him. “Tom, wake up.”

His eyes slowly fluttered open, seemingly disoriented at first but would soon fall into the warm familiarity that your face always brings.

“Why are you sleeping in the hall?” You asked quietly, careful not to make a fuss. The walls in your dorm were very thin and you learned that the hard way. You’d think they’d put a disclaimer about that in the lease when you’re housing a bunch of university students with raging sex drives.

It took Tom a minute to fully comprehend the question, seeing that the bright fluorescent light was being harsh on him and that he’s generally like that when being jolted awake.

“Oh, erm, I—” Tom was finding the right words to use. He can’t exactly exclaim ‘I’ve been worried sick about you!’ out of nowhere. Instead he said, “I was waiting for you to open the door, just to see if you’re alright.”

“All night?”

Tom scratched the back of his neck. “It seemed that way, yeah.” He muttered sheepishly.

You were dumbfounded. Surely this was the first time someone actually fell asleep outside your door, waiting for you to come out. It was sweet but highly unnecessary.

“I was just about to head out and get some McDonald’s, do you wanna come with?” You asked, giving him a hand to hoist himself up.

“I should get going—“

“Have you eaten yet?” You asked cutting him off, taking Tom by surprise. He shook his head no. “Then you should really come.” You said, jingling your car keys in front of him.

Tom was debating whether or not to go with you. It’s been a while since you hung out, but that was the same case for everyone. None of your friends have properly hung out with you ever since the semester started.

Tom should say yes, right?

“Let’s go, Tommy,” You said as you grabbed his hand and dragged him across the hall. “I’ve been staring at my laptop all day and I really need some unhealthy food to balance out the concerning amount of caffeine I’ve consumed.”

“Is that why you’re practically bouncing off the walls?” Tom asked amused, trying to keep up with your pace with your hand holding his.

“Totally,” You grinned at him. “I need to wear out the caffeine or else, I’d have to skip my morning class again.”

“French?”

You nodded. “They’re counting the amount of absences in that class and I really need to keep my shit together.”

“‘m not exactly sure why you took that as an elective,” Tom commented, properly wrapping his hand around yours with fingers interlacing each other.

You tried to ignore it, you really did, but the warm feeling that settled around your stomach drove you crazy.

“Why not? I think it’s cool to learn another language.” You nudged him playfully which he gladly returned.

“I know and trust me, I’m in awe that you’re learning another language! erm—I guess it’s just I feel like you’re overworking yourself too much.” Tom pointed out softly, hoping he didn’t come off as rude or intrusive.

“Eh, I don’t mind.” You replied “It’s what drives me to keep going and for me that’s more than enough. Even if it leaves me little to no sleep, even if it takes too much of my time—it’s enough reason for me to do it.”

Tom stared at you in admiration as soon as those words slipped out your mouth and you didn’t even notice it. You were walking towards the student parking lot, consumed by the twinkling lights from the neighbouring lanes near campus.

Maybe if you weren’t busy consuming the quiet campus grounds, you’d notice the very first time Tom fell in love with you.

“Besides, I know a phrase in french now.”

“Hm—and what’s that, then?”

“Je ne suis pas l’escargot”

“L’escargot? Isn’t that—“

“I am not a snail,” You giggled. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

Tom laughed, “I supposed so.”

Maybe if you weren’t so afraid of confrontation, you’d have an idea of when Tom knew that you were his person.

See, the thing is— you needed to face reality sooner or later and both your friends could see right through it.

“Honestly, Y/N, how on earth can your box of art materials be this heavy—” Tom appeared in front of the door frame, heaving as he carried the box from two flights of stairs.

You quickly averted your gaze from Maia, who was staring at you expectantly, and cleared your throat. “You can just set them by the door, Tom. I don’t know where to put them yet.” You said as you tried your best to act normal.

“You sure? They’re a tad heavy and I don’t want you to strain yourself.” Tom asked with furrowed brows.

All you could do was nod. The last thing you wanted was Tom’s focused attention on you.

“If you say so,” Tom sighed in defeat “I’m going to grab more boxes—Baby, you don’t have to carry that!” Tom was quick to disappear as he urgently dashed towards his girlfriend, Nadine.

“Oh, but I want to help, Tommy.” You heard Nadine say sweetly, assuming she was also pouting.

You could see Maia roll her eyes, urging you to give her a nudge and a taunting look. “Maia,” you called her out, silently pleading her to stop.

Maia settled down but she wasn’t exactly calm about it either. “I’m still not sure why she’s here.” She murmured. You and Harrison were close enough that you can hear her rambles—which was expected from her anyway.

Maia and Nadine go way back—like toddlers and playgrounds kind of way. Though that sounds figuratively adorable in a way, Maia and Nadine never got along.

Nadine used to date Maia’s brother, which already caused Maia a great demise. As one could expect, the relationship didn’t end well. She left him out of nowhere, saying she needs to find herself—or something along those lines.

A week after the breakup, what Nadine found was herself in the arms of another man. Of course, Maia’s brother was devastated—He truly loved Nadine. Maia had to be the pillar that her brother leaned on. It took Maia a great amount of time to help her brother pick up the pieces that Nadine left.

So yeah—Maia wasn’t thrilled when she heard that Tom was Nadine’s new boyfriend.

“She offered to help, Mai,” You whispered “Who am I to deny help?”

Maia looked at you as if you managed to empty your head while you were moving in between flats. “She’s been after me ever since we were kids. She’s also the reason why it took my brother months to get out of bed,” Maia deadpanned “and She’s Tom’s new girlfriend. Remember Tom? Your ex?” She said rather loudly.

You gave her a tiny pinch on her arm, causing her to yelp. “Maia, are you nuts?!”

Harrison left the two of you so he could grab more boxes, while you and Maia bickered silently amongst each other.

“You are thicker than I thought—Seriously, Y/N. Quit pinching me!” Maia aggressively rubbed her arm.

“They’re going to hear you!” You hissed. “The last thing I want is for those two to get involved.”

“Babe, they’re already involved. Tom, especially.” Maia remarked. “I see the way you look at Tom. I also see the pain you feel whenever he’s with she who must not be named.”

“I’m not doing this Maia,” you mumbled as you walked past her. Your objective was now to help Harrison with the remaining boxes. Your objective was anything but to talk about you and Tom.

“You have to face it sooner or later, Y/N.” Maia called out “I’m not leaving you or this apartment until you tell me what really happened.”

“What’s going on?” Harrison asked as he entered the apartment, carrying three sets of boxes. You grabbed one from him and actively avoided his question.

Before Maia could reply, Tom and Nadine appeared on the doorframe, with Nadine practically glued to Tom.

“Harrison got the last remaining boxes so we’re heading off now,” Tom announced as Nadine’s face painted with clear desperation to get out of your place. “Are we still going bowling tonight?” Tom asked before Nadine whispered something in Tom’s ear and left.

“I’m actually exhausted so I’ll pass,” You answered, obviously avoiding spending time with your ex and his current girlfriend. You’re not that pathetic.

“Same might actually have to just drink the night away,” Maia responded with a grin.

“Well, there’s no way I’m third-wheeling so I’m good,” Harrison said as he threw himself towards the plush teal couch that you snagged from a flea market.

For the tiniest second, Tom seemed disappointed but gave a tight-lipped smile. “Oh, maybe we can reschedule our bowling night, then?” He asked. “It’s not as fun to go bowling with just the two people.”

You, Harrison, and Maia all shared a look. You weren’t on board with bowling-night, to begin with, but you didn’t want Tom to feel as if you were avoiding him—which you were but no one needs to know that.

Maia looked at you, waiting for an answer because god knows she will solely depend on her decision based on yours. You don’t even have an answer, to begin with.

“What are you two supposed to do then?” Harrison asked Tom. Thank god for Harrison.

“I might take Nadine to this poetry jam event that she’s been dying to go to” Tom replied with a soft voice.

“A poetry night?” Maia almost wanted to laugh “You don’t even have the slightest interest in literature, Tom.” Maia didn’t mean to offend him or maybe she did? She wasn’t completely fond of Tom ever since you and Tom broke up—well, she wasn’t fond of the idea that Tom was dating her ‘arch nemesis’, but Tom was her friend and so were you.

“I know that, Mai.” Tom rolled his eyes “but Nadine likes it and I’ll do everything to make her happy.” That left a bitter taste in your mouth.

“If you say so,” Maia murmured before she took a quick look at you. She looked like she wants to give you the biggest hug. But you held a stoic look on your face—something that you picked up because you were afraid of confrontation.

“I’m serious,” Tom defended, lost in his feelings, which only irked Maia even more.

“I know, I heard you— we heard you,” Maia replied, her face showing only one emotion: annoyed. “God, read the room,” Maia grumbled to herself. Harrison had to reach for her hand, urging her to calm down.

“I really love her,” Tom whispered. That left a slap in the face.

It was a cold Saturday afternoon and it has been raining almost all day. It was one of the rare weekends that you weren’t really occupied to do anything other than to lay on your couch and consume a copious amount of entertainment.

Despite the spitting rain, you actually want to head out this time. Being confined to your desk and the university was torture especially since you couldn’t do anything about it—the four of you were graduating this year, no one could afford to slack off.

You and Tom were cuddled against the sofa— Tom was busy watching something on TV while you were busy scrolling on your phone.

“Hey, Tom?”

“Yes, my sweet girl?”

“Do you want to go downtown?” You asked, looking at your phone as you read the details of an event happening this weekend.

“Right now?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “There’s a book fair being held at the local theatre.” You rested your chin on top of his chest and gave him a pout. You were getting sick of being cooped up between your study table and the library. This book fair was a change of scenery and it’s definitely right up your alley.

“But it’s raining, darling” Tom tried to say in the softest way possible. It’s not exactly up in Tom’s interests though.

“I know,” You sighed “I guess I’m just getting sick of this place.”

“You’re getting sick of me?” Tom asked with a huge pout. He was kidding of course.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of you, Tom.” You chuckled softly.

“Okay,” He hummed, pulling you closer to him—if that was even possible. “Then can we stay like this for a while?”

“Anything for you, angel.” You whispered as you closed the details about the local book fair. Maybe next time.

Soon after Tom left, Maia pulled you to her side and asked, “You okay, babe?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You feigned innocence. It was clear as day that you weren’t okay, your friends knew that.

Knowing that you weren’t going to budge, Maia walked towards the kitchen and brought out a bottle of wine from the fridge.

Harrison raised an eyebrow at her and asked, “When did you manage to put that in the fridge?” All of you had been occupied with grabbing boxes that there was no way that Maia had the time to put wine in the fridge, let alone obtain them from somewhere.

“It was supposed to be a celebratory drink for Y/N’s new place,” Maia replied as she set the wine and three various mugs on the coffee table. “Obviously, that’s not happening now.” Drinking wine using the oddly designed mugs you collected over the years was a cry for help.

“It’s 4 pm, Mai.” You pointed out as you stared at the white LED clock that you bought off Amazon—another impulse purchase enabled from scrolling on Pinterest for way too long. “We haven’t even had lunch yet.”

“Oh please,” Maia snorted “If there’s one thing that I’ve picked up from university, it’s drinking with little to no food consumption.”

“And if there’s one thing that I’ve picked up from university, it’s cancelling all of my plans for the entire day because I have to tend your hungover-self, Mai,” Harrison remarked as he grabbed the bottle and placed it back on the fridge. “I’m ordering food and no one’s drinking until everyone has finished a meal.”

You heard Maia mutter a string of curses but most especially the part that she said, “This is not the version of daddy that I envisioned Harrison to be.”

All of a sudden Maia’s idea of binge drinking doesn’t seem like a bad idea, you thought.

Turns out Harrison had no intention of letting any of you drink. He was pretty adamant about not having to babysit two drunk messes in one night.

“As if babysitting one isn’t enough,” You recalled Harrison say. He was obviously pertaining to Maia, in which she just huffed the entire time. You often wondered if Maia and Harrison noticed the obvious tension between them, because personally you found it endearing. It was no question that they were meant for each other.

“Y/N, you still haven’t told us whatever happened between you and Tom.” Maia suddenly pointed out. You, Maia, and Harrison were still in the living room, silently watching TV.

You were actively avoiding this conversation for the longest time as you haven’t told anyone about it, and based by the curious faces of your friends, you figured that Tom didn’t tell anyone about it either. You’re still not sure whether that’s a relief or not.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You mumbled. It’s not like you were lying, there really was barely anything to talk about. Heck—You and Tom never got to talk about it properly either.

“We see the way you look at him, Y/N.” Harrison replied softly. “I think there is something.”

“Look—” Maia sat up properly “I know you’re not really vocal about your feelings, but the fact that you’ve never talked nor showed any emotion about your breakup terrifies me, babe.” Maia’s tone was laced with concern.

“I remember the day you told us about it too,” Harrison couldn’t hide his concern too “We were having brunch together at our usual diner and half-way through our meal, you promptly said “We broke up” when Maia asked where Tom was,” Harrison recalled it like it was a fever dream. He and Maia had already expected that you weren’t going to tell them about the breakup when it just happened. However, it baffles them that it’s been over a year since you and Tom broke up, and not one word has been said about it.

It was silent for a while, except for Criminal Minds that was playing on the TV. You blankly stared at the screen, hoping that you’d catch whatever the agents were saying. It was impossible, especially when all your mind could focus on was the recollection of the day Tom knocked on your door at 1 am to breakup.

You were relatively busy that day from volunteer work, so you haven’t seen any of your friends the entire day—or Tom for that matter. Actually, you haven’t seen Tom in a few days. He would send texts periodically throughout the day but they were always short and most of the time, you always forget to reply.

You figured Tom was busy with his own thing and both of you established early on in your relationship that texting—or lack thereof— shouldn’t account to your relationship, especially since both of you are equally bad at it.

You didn’t think any of it since you were bound to see your boyfriend and your friends tomorrow for brunch anyway. He will have your undivided attention by then.

So imagine your surprise when you heard a soft knock from your door at 1 am, only to find Tom in disarray. His eyes were bloodshot red, tears falling down his face. His messy curls were masked under the hood from his jumper.

At first you were in panic, you thought that something terrible had happened to any of your friends—his family even.

But as soon as Tom dropped to his knees and whispered, “I’m sorry,” you had a clear idea what was bound to happen next.

It’s been silent for a while. The door was still open and Tom sat out in the hall with his back leaning against your wall. You did the same thing except you were on the other side of the wall that Tom was leaning on.

You two were close enough to the door frame that you could hear each other, actually facing each other was a whole other thing. Tears kept streaming down your face as you kept your eyes closed and rested your head against the wall.

At some point in your relationship, you prepared yourself in case this happened— that you would accept whatever happens between you and Tom. You didn’t exactly anticipate that it would happen so soon.

“Was there someone else?” You asked quietly. It was the first time you spoke after Tom dropped to his knees. You hoped there wasn’t. In fact, you silently begged to yourself that there wasn’t someone else, because you knew that you couldn’t handle that.

“No, no—of course not.” Tom immediately answers.”I could never do that to you.”

It was silent again. You were starting to feel numb—you tried your best to gather your thoughts and forced words out of your mouth, but you couldn’t.

“Are we not worth fighting anymore?” You practically whispered. It was a gamble— you weren’t exactly sure if Tom had heard it and you don’t have enough strength to ask it again.

“Y/N,” Tom sniffled. “You can’t say that.” He placed his hand on top of yours. You had your hand resting on the floor and you didn’t exactly notice that it served as an invitation for Tom hold it again.

You love Tom with all your heart. He kept dismissing it but Tom made you a better person. He made you feel like love can be expressed through different forms of things—not just words.

You loved him by exclusively making time for him. You went on museum dates where he would make cheesy remarks, saying that you’re the most remarkable piece of art in the entire place. You went on dates to watch football games—you never understood it but Tom was happy, so you were happy.

You loved him through your touch. You would often massage his back because he had been tirelessly working himself to the core. He didn’t ask for it but you knew it would make him feel better. Your touch didn’t have to be intimate—though you expressed it through that way too

You loved him through mindless actions. Almost every time you would stop by at the local cafe to grab yourself some coffee, you would always recite Tom’s favourite order on autopilot.

You loved him through silence. Study dates were gems for you. Even if you didn’t talk for the entirety of it and even if you were the only one who studied for the most part and Tom was just playing on his phone, having Tom beside you was enough.

You loved him so much that it pains you to think that maybe you weren’t enough for him.

“I don’t think I can fight for someone who doesn’t even want to,” You muttered bitterly. “Just answer the question, Tom.”

He didn’t answer. All you could hear were the silent sobs that you two were trying to hold back. At this point, you knew you wouldn’t look at Tom. Your heart wouldn’t take it—it will crush you.

“Are you not happy anymore?” Your voice cracked as you broke into a sob.

“Y/N—“ Tom squeezed your hand even more. You’re going to miss it, but you had to let go.

“Tom, if I’m standing in the way of your happiness then we should end this.” You cleared your throat and pulled your hand away. There’s a ghostly feeling that still lingered from Tom’s touch.

“Please, Y/N, let me explain—“

“It’s okay, Tom.” You whispered. “I understand.”

“You know I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Tom.”

“But—“

“But maybe it’s best if we end it, I know. I got it.” You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down from crying. “Maybe it’s better if we stayed as friends.” Maybe it’s better to realize that whatever you and Tom had were too good to be true—that your love will never compare to the love he deserves.

“Do you want the truth?” You asked your friends, with tears forming in your eyes. You can’t even decipher how they looked at you because of the tears clouding your vision.

Were they looking at you in pity? Empathy? Sadness?

“The truth is—I’m mad.” You gritted the words through your teeth. This was the first time your friends had seen you like this. All of the pent-up sadness, aggression, and hurt you felt was starting to get the best of you.

“I’m angry. I’m hurt.” You snarled, furiously wiping the tears from your face. “I’m angry at the fact that I can’t seem to be genuinely happy for Tom. I’m hurt at the idea he seems to be a better boyfriend for Nadine, that he constantly makes an effort for her.”

“I don’t even know if he even loved me the way that I loved him,” Your voice became quiet “and it’s selfish for me to think that way because I never fought for it—for us. That’s enough reason to keep me up at night.”

That’s enough reason for you to wonder if you’ll be capable of loving someone so deeply again.

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@quaksonhehe @dark-infernal-instruments @trustfundparker @emsma11 @tomshufflepuff @spider-babe @goodgirlgonetom @tabi-toast

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland angst #tom holland x you #tom holland x fem #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fluff #tom holland fic #tom holland blurb #tom holland and reader #tom holland and you #tom holland imagines #tom holland x y/n #tom holland au #tom holland and y/n #the girl writes i guess #txmhoellandwrites

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keilemlucent · 3 years

Text

pretty eyes & starshine: iii

(Mostly SFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i || part ii || part iii (epilogue)

word count: ~2.2k

Nothing ever really ends. It just grows in different ways with different parts.

warnings: description of post-injury, reader and hawks being traumatized but coping, a soft epilogue

the ending folks :’^) thank you for reading this far. here is something gentle for all of us, with some future, past, and the present for sweet starshine and keigo :’^)

enjoy loves 💞!!

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Keigo doesn’t break promises.

He loves white lies, the silly kind where he can rib you for a minute or two before soothing any ruffled feathers with quick kisses. He never leaves big wounds, nothing gaping or jagged, just loving pokes in your sides to get you to laugh and quip back at him.

He never goes back on his words that count.

His journeys out of the house remain short and rarely surprising. He never leaves without a goodbye, whether that’s a sleepy fuck or two, or a hand-written, tooth-rotting note on a scrap of paper next to a steaming cup of coffee on the kitchen island.

Keigo’s used to the open skies, rolling forever. The curve of the horizon is his primordial friend that he never got to say goodbye to, but he still chases it a few times a week. Little drives he takes by himself, hikes, and things that he let him feel a bit of that free wind in his shaggy hair.

It takes you a while, but you don’t look forlornly at the door anymore.

The awareness that of his absence from your little bastion lingers as you move throughout your day, but you know he’s good for his word. He always returns, bearing a toothy grin, and usually an armload of snacks or takeout.

It’s better, and you’re both a bit more alive.

...

Spring in the mountains reminds you of something you can’t place.

The memory of it is foggy, far-off and untouched. Probably a bit dampened from, you know, a year of trauma, but the feeling of it makes your quirk burst to light without fail.

It comes when you notice the little patches of wildflowers that spring up in new grass that rings around the porch. Heat flares in your eyes when you see the little seedlings you and Keigo planted into the window boxes begin to bud and flower.

The days get longer, sweeter, and the summer comes easily.

...

The bad days never cease, but you both learn to cope to some degree.

Your scar... cracks one day. You’re doing some half-assed stretches in the living room (mostly arching your back so Keigo gets a good peek of your ass) when it happens. Your right leg bends at the knee, and a resounding ‘crack’ and shatter echo off the walls of the cabin.

You both panic.

Keigo instantly urges you on the couch, trying to soothe your own panic with little coos from the back of his throat. You feel numb as Keigo shoves up your pant leg, looking for any damage.

The scar looks relatively unchanged. It hasn’t writhed since your days at the hospital, and its edges have only faded a shade or two with time. It’s long, obtrusive, and something you still avoid looking at.

All the same, Keigo traces the gnarly flesh, nimble fingers searching for the source of the sound. Any bit of pain he can identify and soothe, ideally, remove. The pads of his fingers drift to the crook of your knee, pressing against the shiny, black seam of the scar.

His eyes go wide before awe shines through, without a lick of fear.

He warns you to take a deep breath, ‘breath with him’, before pinching at the glassy center and pulling. There’s a bit of resistance as he pulls, you’re not sure what he’s doing, and you see ‘it’ before you really put it together.

Keigo holds ‘it’ up for you to see.

The inky glass of the scar.

Literal rock. Inky obsidian pulled from your flesh, about the size of your pinky and painfully jagged.

“W-what is that?” You asked, grabbing his wrist to examine the bit. “That’s... the scar?”

Keigo nods his head, scrutinizing it with you, pinching at it, “Weirdest scab I’ve ever seen.”

Scab.

You have never thought about calling the ugly root of the scar a ‘scab’ but looking at the way it so easily was pulled away, it makes sense. After a bit of examination and tender prodding, the tissue around it looks healthy, albeit thick and burned. The scar goes deep into your flesh, feels raw to the touch, but the skin that’s beneath it is somewhat alive. Maybe too alive, given how sensitive it is.

Nonetheless, you marvel at the little piece of volcanic glass that Keigo had pulled from you like it’s the most precious stone in the world.

...

It takes a long time to convince both of you.

Keigo never receives another call from Suits, ‘president’, what the fuck her name is. Thank fucking god. His snap seemed to have scared her and her crumbling organization away. You can only hope that it was for good.

The potential return comes from kindness rather than demands.

Calls from both Endeavor and Miruko, ‘Enji’ and ‘Rumi’ as they insist you call them. Rumi chatters on the phone for hours with Keigo every few weeks, puts the phone on speaker, and has you give your piece as well. You like her, she’s funny and loud and Keigo smiles when he talks to her.

Enji actually visits.

Once or twice, maybe more. You stop counting when the extra bodies in the cabin don’t have you breaking into a cold sweat anymore. It had taken a great bit of coaxing, but you opened your cabin up for the former pro and his entourage.

He brings along his daughter and the ‘Three Musketeers,’ as the media calls them. The boys train in the mountains nearby, never lingering too far based on the shouting from the blond one that echoes against the hills.

The rest of you settle into the walls of the cabin whenever they come to visit. It feels warmer than normal; it makes sweat gather under your arms and in droplets on your forehead. Even if you wanted to attribute the heat to the old flame hero’s presence, it wouldn’t account entirely for your thumping heart.

You work through it, slowly.

You like watching Keigo and Enji. They both look worn. Keigo’s a bit too young for grey hair, but Enji has more than his fair share around his temples. The beard around his jaw glints silver in the lowlight of the cabin whenever he tilts his head to sip at his tea.

They smile like old friends, talk like it too.

You end up in the kitchen a lot during their talks, distantly cooking and observing. You’re always listening to their stories, the banter. It’s hard to keep up with, a lingering vestige of Keigo’s old persona that clings to him and his mannerisms.

You don’t mind it, even if it feels foreign.

...

“Can you pass me that honey, dear?” Fuyumi asks, voice sweet and close.

You nod, sliding her the jar across the corner top. She carefully spoons a glob of the thick liquid into the four waiting mugs, humming just under her breath.

The cabin feels warm, and it’s not just the ambient heat Enji gives off.

The ‘three musketeers’ plan to camp in the mountainside and ‘rough it’. You couldn’t imagine the freshly-greened hills giving them too much trouble. They bicker, you have found, constantly. Blunt jabs from Enji’s son, met by explosive remarks from the blond one (why is his hero name so long? You can never remember it well.) Consider your growing aversion to loud noise, you like Deku the best. He seems like the peacekeeper (and peacemaker) of the trio and compliments your cooking. What a gem.

The guest room has been polished into an actual guest room. Fuyumi takes it, and Enji, bless his heart, takes the creaky fold-out couch. He doesn’t mind, he tells you, something about enjoying tending to the hearth at night.

Keigo calls the nights where they fill the house ‘sleepovers’, and he adores them.

They’re a bit overwhelming for you if you’re being honest. But Enji is far less intimidating now that you’ve seen him nodding off and slack-faced on your couch. Fuyumi has patience you’ll never fully understand, and babies you a bit, which you don’t welcome but don’t refuse either.

She does just that, scooping up three mugs after pushing your own toward you. You regather and sit next to Keigo at the kotatsu, slipping your legs under the thick blanket and sagging with the heat. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he presses you into his side, pressing a few kisses to the top of your head. It’s an idle action, habitual and welcomed as the conversation flows.

(Something about one of Keigo’s old sidekicks. Another about Endeavor’s agency, still chugging along with him at the helm, albeit not as an active hero. The new hero charts, the new rules established, legislation. Things are getting... safer, a semblance of order being re-established now that much of the League has been apprehended.)

(Things are settling, as horrifying as the change is.)

The thought of so much makes you sleepy, long-standing exhaustion heavy in your bones. You nod off at some point to the kind, safe voices.

Keigo coaxes you awake once the conversation dies down.

“Love,” he purrs, rubbing your side, “let’s get up now and get you to bed.”

You follow him, the way he rises and guides you to the bathroom to help you ready for bed. Enji is settling on the couch, tugging a few throws over himself on the futon. You give him a shallow wave with half-lidded eyes, meeting his own.

Eye contact feels hard, but you manage to hold it for a few seconds.

In the bathroom, you pop onto the counter and slowly brush your teeth. Sleep clings to you, and you know it’ll return quickly, but the process of moving and interacting wears you down so easily. Your toothbrush almost slips from your grip.

“Just a little more, and then you can rest, dove,” Keigo urges, reverent as he finishes his own routine in tandem. You watch as he splashes water on his face, wetting the tufts of hair that fall around his face.

The cabin feels warmer.

You notice it as you enter the bedroom, Keigo already hopping into bed to assemble the ‘nest’ as both affectionately refer to it. The old throw, a few extra soft blankets, and a buttery soft duvet must be arranged just right before he is satisfied.

Keigo knows it’s a remnant.

He carries plenty of them, little chunks of him that are old and worn, old and unused. He can shake them, can’t bury them, they just simply are.

The birdish ones are nice, he thinks. He likes that he can preen you. He loves that you can preen him. That you’ll indulge him in that way, running your hands through his overgrown hair. You detangle any knots, soothe the snarls and rub at his neck until he’s liquid in your lap.

He likes nesting. The cold of the cabin can be almost forgotten in the little nests he makes. The mountains of bedding and pillows that you both can settle in. It’s peaceful, and it's shared, and things are okay.

It’s all slow, and a bit tedious, things that the remnants of ‘Hawks’ scream and thrash at. But, really? Keigo has no reason to listen to a ghost. He tries not to let himself be haunted.

He indulges himself for the first time in his life, probably.

As Keigo nestles you into the sheets beside him, he gives you a bit of room to get comfortable. Adjusts your pillows how you like, tangle your legs together in the comfiest way. Your own version of nesting that makes his palms sweat and his words turn to mush.

You settle together, chest to chest, Keigo’s chin hooked over the top of your head.

“Did you have a good day?” You ask, soft and sleepy.

Keigo nods easily, “I did. Enji doesn’t seem to quite as much of a square as he was a few years ago.”

You snort, muffling a giggle into his chest, “He’s definitely a little bit of a square. But I like him.”

“He offered to host us at the estate if we ever want to go back.”

You swallow, thick and slow, and try to bury yourself deeper in him, “... Do you want to go back?”

“No.” He pauses. “Maybe. Not yet, and not anytime soon. But the offer is on the table. It’s nice to have, even if we don’t take it.”

It’s insurance, somewhere else to tuck yourselves away if the mountains stop favoring you.

The thought of the future makes your head spin, as it tends to. The scar aches, but maybe it’s a tad duller than it was a few months ago. The pains only last a few moments, only stab so deeply. The place where the little chunk of obsidian fell out doesn’t feel quite as tender.

You lay your cheek on Keigo’s chest, your breath coming in time with his.

“‘M tired,” You murmur into his chest. “Can I sleep?”

“Of course, starshine.” He pushes back your hair, clears your forehead to press his lips to the skin, lightly. Little kisses piling up on top of each other. “Get some rest.”

“You too, pretty eyes.”

You both need it. For more than just a day with the folks who stuck around. You and Keigo need more rest than a being can responsibly accumulate during a human life. There are things to be stitched, worn parts of you that need tending to, and burns that’ll need salve until the day you die. It’s not any less than it was in the month’s past.

But it’s easier to manage.

You snuggle into Keigo’s chest, drifting off to the thought of fresh coffee and crackling heat.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

thank you for reading!!💞

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #my hero academia #mha fanfic #mha x reader #hawks imagines #wow :'^)#thank y'all for reading

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themadauthorshatter · 3 years

Text

This ball is rolling, and I want it to pick up speed.

PREVIOUSLY: While General Galeforce makes plans to save Charles, Henry makes his own plan to ensure he keeps his prize, which leads Charles to face the truth.

Synopsis-ing getting better and better, but I still recommend you read the previous parts for better context:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4 and revision

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

With all that done, LET'S KEEP GOING!!!

We're checking in on Charles this time, who's still hanging out in his suit and is staring out the window of his cell, at Earth. He's tired from a rough night's sleep and reeling from both dinner and the kiss from Henry, and the fact that he really might not be leaving and just snagged a knife for nothing(sorry for the lack of a shock moment, but, trust me on this).

He doesn't have long to think further on this because he gets a surprise visit from Ellie, who's smarter than Henry and thinks to stay leaning against the wall rather than standing in front of him.

"Sleep well?" She asks. "Behave yourself a little more like last night, and you might get to sleep in a bed. Maybe you'll get to take a little bit of medicine, too."

"Where is he?" Charles replies, tired and on edge.

Ellie simply shrugs. "Busy, so he asked me to check on you for him."

Charles laughs at that, more to himself and at the situation, but Ellie still takes notice.

"Something funny?"

Charles lifts his head and rests it against his arm. "Must be frustrating to be friends, when he's with me all the time."

Ellie laughs back and shakes her head. "Trust me. If you think we're just friends, you need that medicine more than you think."

Charles's grin drops. "What?"

Ellie smirks and gives a glance out the window. "What? You think he cares if you same way he does for you? Or even how you feel?"

"Does he cares about how you feel?" Charles counters.

"Of course he does. Why do you think I'm here-" Ellie points to herself. "-and you're there?" She points to Charles.

"And besides, we're more than friends, more than what you call whatever you've got back on Earth. Well, had on Earth."

The dig hits Charles harder than it should, and he's silent, much to Ellie's delight.

"What did he give you?"

"What?" Ellie asks.

"For joining. What'd he give you?"

Ellie only checks in her nails. "Call it an equal exchange, Dog. He's actually good to his word, you'll see."

Good thing they talk about Henry, because we cut to him looking thorugh Charles's file again, looking deeper for anything he missed. TV perspective, we don't see what he's reading, but we do see that he reads something that makes his eyes widen amd a smile grow on his face; if Charles still thinks about getting out and going back to Earth, what Henry's about to tell him will change his mind for good.

Cut back to Ellie and Charles as he scoffs.

"What word? What could he have promised that makes following him okay?"

"I'll repeat myself: Equal. Exchange. He got me free and let me join, so I make sure his plans actually work and get my fair share, when all is said and done."

Charles and Ellie glare each other, though Charles does the glaring, while Ellie smirks at him, giving him a look of 'Go 'head. Prove me wrong.'

They stay like that for a little while before Ellie tips her hat and turns to leave.

"Oh, and I'm just warning you now." Ellie turns and smirks at Charles. "Feel good at the fact that he kissed you first. Wonder what he'll do next, seeing as you're not leaving and no one likes a government dog sniffing around without a leash."

Charles blanches and Ellie leaves, the door open long enough for Charles to catch a glimpse of Henry who smiles as he meets up with Ellie. That smile only widens, when he spots Charles, waving at him as the door closes.

It leaves Charles in confusion, but Ellie turns to Henry, wearing a smirk that matches his.

"So what kept you busy?"

Henry gives her a look and head shake that says, 'Oh, you're going to love this,' and gestures for her to lend an ear.

She does so, and Henry whispers into her ear.

We don't hear what he's saying, but Henry's words make Ellie's smirk drop, eyes widen, and then smile grow, even when Henry leans back.

"You're joking!"

Henry shakes his head. 'Guess the General has a secret that he doesn't want Charles knowing.'

CUT TO THE GENERAL ON EARTH!

He, Victoria, the twins, amd Rupert are carrying in a crate, which is addressed to Galeforce, for Galeforce.

They all get it inside and set it down, sweating, tired, and panting from carrying it.

"How the hell can glass be this heavy?" Rupert asks as he rubs his forehead. "The thing weighs almost a ton."

"Good," Galeforce sighs. "That means it should keep them fooled for a little while."

Victoria digs around for a tool before finding a tool.

"Are we sure it's really going to trick them?" Calvin asks. "How good is this glass-maker friend again?"

"Professional," Galeforce replies as Victoria hands him a crowbar. He takes it and turns to the twins, Victoria, and Rupert. "You three use glass cups?"

All four nod, hastily, allbeit.

Galeforce gives them a slight shrug. "Fair chance that a number of them where made by my friend. Has this skill to him." He pauses to wedge the bar into the top of the box. "He's got this skill to him, kind of like a jeweler." With a stomp on the crowbar, the lid pops of and Galeforce throws it off. "With that, we'll give this to Henry and he'll give Charlie back."

They all look inside and Galeforce gives a small grin as the rest gasp.

It's a perfect replica of the sapphire and it fools them as they stand around it.

Galeforce lets himself take a breath and smile at the replica.

"Grit? Price? How're the prototypes coming along?"

Victoria snaps out of her amazement and offers a grin. "They should be complete by tomorrow and ready for testing."

"So..." Konrad begins as he and Calvin exchange glances. "Does that mean..."

"We're getting Charles back?" Calvin finishes.

Galeforce, Victoria, and Rupert all smile, though Rupert rubs the back of his head.

"Not to count out chickens before they hatch, but assuming all goes well..."

He trails off, mostly because the twins are grinning at him, barely able to control their excitement.

Being soldiers be damned, the twins glomp Rupert in a celebratory hug. He joins them, in spite of himself, because he's missed his friend.

Galeforce and Victoria watch them, glad everything's moving on course, but not exactly ready to celebrate yet, which we see as Galeforce walks over to a desk and picks up a camera, just in case Henry decides to make contact again.

He also catches Canterbury outside, who practically scrutinizes the crate from where he's standing.

Galeforce mutters for Victoria to keep an eye on the replica and the boys as he goes to talk to Canterbury alone.

"If this goes off without a hitch, you'd better do more than bring the kid back," Canterbury says. "In case you forgot, Henry's still up there. It'd be good, if we nabbed him, too."

"We'll see how it goes. If we can even grab him. If not, they'll always be back down here."

Canterbury stifles a scoff. "Right."

The two are silent for a second before Galeforce speaks up again.

"If that's all, Captain, excuse me. I have a rescue to plan out."

Galeforce begins to walk off, but Canterbury stops him, holding him by the elbow.

"Look. Regardless of how much he's broken rank or... screwed us over, I hope you get him back."

Galeforce's eyebrows rise, shocked by the Captain's words.

Canterbury nods and lets Galeforce go, walking away to let him plan out that rescue.

CUT BACK TO THE ORBITAL STATION!

Charles is still hanging out when the door opens and a perky Henry just about skips in, holding Charles's file behind his back.

To say Charles is not amused is such an understatement that it would be a meme.

"Evening, Charlie. How've you been hanging?" Henry asks, a proud smile on his face.

That unamusement grows and Charles glares daggers at Henry, which makes him chuckle.

"Sorry. Insensitive, I know, but you can't really blame me, can you? With everything that's going on."

"Make it quick," Charles groans. "I'm not in the mood."

Henry sighs and approaches Charles, his hand going to Charles's side, which unsettles Charles.

"How are your ribs feeling? Are they healing well?"

"Don't-" Charles barks as Henry lifts his shirt until he sees the light bandages that are on Charles's ribs.

Henry rubs his hand over the bandage, pressing with his thumb to test Charles.

He's not in pain, but Charles isn't okay with the Henry being close all the time, so he kicks him away. "Stop that!"

The kick sends Henry back into the wall and he drops the file.

Charles and Henry stare at each other, Henry standing straight and Charles glaring at him with his legs curled, ready to kick him again.

Henry only snickers and holds up his hands. "Sorry. Had to make sure you were alright."

"You really want to know?" Charles snaps. "You want to know how I feel about all this?"

Henry notices the file and picks it up, scooping up some papers that fell out. "I just wanted to be sure you weren't injured. Is it so bad that a friend is checking on another friend?"

Charles turns to stare out the window. "Stop saying we're friends. We never habe been and never will be."

"Why not?" Henry asks, playing coy and even tilting his head. "We have enough in common to be.

"We've both been to and are in space. We've both traveled abroad." Henry explains lightly before his smile turns to a smirk and his face darkens as he saunters toward Charles. "We've both been imprisoned. Both stolen something priceless. Both did things to keep ourselves and friends safe."

Charles keeps his gaze averted, even when Henry lightly grabs the side of his face and turns his head so they're face to face.

"We've been lied to by the people we've known."

Charles's glare sharpens. "Stop making things up."

Henry feigns a sympathetic look and holds up the file. "I wish I was."

Henry lets Charles go and flips through the file, reciting what he's learned to Charles.

"Charles Calvin. No middle name listed-odd. Age 25, height 5'8", weight 160 pounds, served the military for fourteen years, having passed through training and flight school before anyone else. Graduated top of his class, youngest of all the students. Mandatory medication for his Attention Deficit Disorder, but is otherwise of able body and mind, as proven by his efficiency in the air, i.e. pilotinga helicopter."

As Charles keeps listening, his glare drops into utter fear.

"Adopted by Hubert Galeforce at age 9, two weeks after the death of his parents, Connor and Raina Calvin, two renowned pilots that died in combat to stop a Toppat Clan attack." Henry closes the file and looks at Charles directly, glad he's got his attention. "Funny how a pair of brunettes with brown eyes and grey eyes had a blond with blue eyes, don't you think? And the General adopted you, so of course no one would question why you look the same."

For context, whenever I imagine Charles in human form, he's got blue eyes, that have a little bit of green in them, and messy blond hair, but it's like a mildly dirty blond; it's not a light brown, but it's not yellow blond, either. True to what Henry said, Connor and Raina both had brown hair, but Connor had grey eyes and Raina had brown eyes.

Back on track, it still makes Charles's stomach hollow. "What are you saying?"

Henry shrugs. "You tell me. Why do Connor and Raina Calvin have blood types A positive and AB positive while you're O negative?"

Charles shakes his head and grins. "Yeah, right. You're lying."

Henry raises an eyebrow and pulls a couple papers out of the file, two new additions to the file that are the medical cards of Connor and Raina Calvin, and taking a third out, before showing them to Charles.

Charles sees it for himself, right in front of him in black and white and he's not only confused, but also GUTTED:

All three papers are medical papers and Connor's blood type is A positive, Raina's blood type is AB positive, and Charles's blood type is O negative(and blood type, like hair and eye color, is genetic).

Henry puts the three papers away and inspects Charles, who's staring at the floor.

"I don't blame them for taking you in. Where some people will throw a child away, others find and take one in. Sounds kind of nice, don't you think?"

"Why?" Charles asks.

"Friends don't have secrets between each other, Charlie," Henry says. "At least I told you what the General couldn't, if you really didn't know."

Charles lifts his head, tears in his eyes. "Why are you doing this?" He barely whispers.

Henry's face drops until it's unreadable as he folds his arms. "Have you ever heard of Terrence Suave?"

Charles doesn't get time to answer before Henry starts speaking again.

"He didn't want me, either. Threw me away so he could continue leading the Clan. Granted, I got picked up and put in an orphanage, but still doesn't change the fact my father left me."

Charles, even in his restraints, clenches a fist as his gaze locks back to the ground.

"They... They didn't-"

Henry lifts Charles's head with both hands, using his thumbs to wipe away tears that roll down Charles's face.

"You're right. Connor and Raina didn't, but what about them? The people who left you?"

Charles tries looking away, but Henry holds him. In his mind, Charles is reeling even worse than Part 10's kiss. He's thinking of the fact that his parents aren't really his parents, which would be shocking to anyone, and the fact that it's about to happen again. His real parents left him, and there's a chance Galeforce is going to do the same, given what Henry told him during dinner and that kiss.

He gets caught on that. Galeforce.

Did Galeforce know? And for how long? Why didn't he tell him? Why didn't his parents tell him to tell him? Why didn't they tell Charles himself?

Henry sees this confusion and responds to it accordingly.

"Hurts to have no one to tell you the truth, let alone something I think would be important. You would think the General would be kind enough to do that."

Charles lets out a mix of a sob, groan, and that exhale people make when their kicked or punched in the stomach.

Henry sighs and caresses Charles's cheek again before leaning close again.

Charles turns his head away.

"Please," Charles weeps. "Just stay away from me."

Henry pulls him back, moving closer until the two are breathing the same air. "I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you."

Another heads up to Toppat!/Villain!Henry or Stickvin stans/fans, even though there is nothing positive or romantic about this whole thing, because Henry kisses Charles again, though it's much more passionate and leaves Charles tense and trying to kick Henry away.

At least he tries until he feels something cold and sharp against his stomach, and freezes and inhales sharply.

Henry pulls away and tilts his head slightly. "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

Charles's eyes dart from Henry to his stomach, where he can see Henry took the knife he stole and is now holding it to his stomach, and back at Henry; 'Go 'head. Try it.'

"You're despicable," Charles spits.

Henry's smirk returns as he presses the knife further against Charles's stomach. "You're too kind."

Henry re-engages the kiss, but this time, with incentive to not get stabbed, Charles plays along and it makes him sick.

After a while, Henry pulls away, and removes the knife.

Charles weakly glares at him as he steps back, and Henry can see that the whole 'telling him he was found rather than born' thing left a mark because his eyes are puffy and red from crying, and from fresh tears that fall, he's trying to keep his breath as even as possible(and failing), and is either fighting back the urge to cry or fighting to try and say something.

Henry doesn't give him the chance and holds his chin, his thumb on Charles's chin.

"You're right. We're not friends, not after that."

Charles quickly dips and snaps his teeth shut on Henry's hand as hard as he can, right between his thumb and index finger.

Henry shouts and immediately tries to pull his hand out, out of pain, before he throws the knife away to give Charlies an upper cut and kick to the stomach.

The upper cut doesn't get the job done, but the kick does, making Charles groan, cough, and gag.

Henry holds his hand close, glaring at him before slapping him in the face with his good hand.

Charles is somewhat seeing stars, but refocuses when he hears tape pulling and braking.

Even though he shakes and leans his head away, Henry still gets the tape over his mouth, making sure it's from one side of his jaw to the other.

Charles semi-glares at him, but Henry pulls him close by the jaw.

"Act like a dog, and I'll muzzle you like one."

Henry shoves Charles back and turns to leave, but not without asking a question:

"The General's coming in a month. If you had the chance, would you still go with him? After I told you what he didn't?"

No way in Hell is Charles forgetting what he just learned and it still hurts.

Henry only raises an eyebrow. "Think about it. "

With that, he leaves, and Charles stares at the knife on the floor, which is way out of his reach, replays what he's just learned in his head, and lets out a shaky breath.

What hurts the most for Charles, about learning he was found by his parents rather than conceived, is that at no point in time did Galeforce think to tell him.

He half wonders if he really should just stay, so then no one in the army gets hurt, and, who knows, maybe heists from the clan will slow. Maybe they'll be slow enough for the government to take care of.

That idea is shot down when he realizes that Galeforce is meeting with Henry, somehow, and there's a chance that either Henry can be attacked or he(Charles) can escape.

With that in mind, and his eyes staring outside at Earth, Charles's breath evens out

He's hurt, he's more than a little upset, he's bound and gagged, but regardless of anything, he's going to find a way out of the orbital station and back in Earth, and no one is going to stop him, not even Henry.

#henry stickmin #henry stickmim collection #completing the mission #completing the mission au #charles calvin #ellie rose #toppat!henry #stickvin #very one sided stickvin #forced kissing tw #threatened by stabbing tw #biting tw #slight violence tw #Charles is totally getting out

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lemonzestywrites · 2 years

Note

OOH stan + briefcase 👀

okay i took a leap on this one so stay with me

established stan, they’ve been together for a while now and have recently moved in together (with some help from the rest of 20 david)

now they have to get to the fun part of unpacking everything. the first night isn’t horrible, mostly spent getting the essentials out for their first night in their shared apartment.

the other days follow with a little more stress mainly cause they can’t decided which cabinet they should make the glassware cabinet- “no street it should be the one closest to the sink for when we wash dishes”

now comes to the end of their escapades when they finally hit the bottom of the last couple boxes left with all the memorial and sentimental items to decorate the apartment.

street is in the living room- their living room, halfway through a box of picture frames when he spots a…briefcase? placed at the bottom of the box?

curiously he takes it out, he knows for a fact it’s not his cause he doesn’t have anything nearly this fancy. he sits there admiring the nice brown leather and the gold fastenings on the side. it’s a little heavy which means something’s inside. he pops it open and is surprised to find what’s inside.

on the very top is a playbill, one from a musical he and tan went to go see for their last date. below that is a map from the history museum, another date the did three months ago. street digs a little further to find more and more date momentos, a paper menus from a taco truck. a hand sized stuffed bear street won for tan at the fair. a handful of plastic spider rings they won at the arcade one time.

street is bordering on overwhelming fondness and slight confusion, he’s not even sure if this was something he’s supposed to find. and then he finds it- a strip of black and white photographs, ones you get from those photobooths. it’s from their very first date, the first picture is of them laughing, arm slung over each other shoulders. the next is them both making the most ridiculous faces, the third one is tan planting a kiss on street’s cheek. the last one is of them kissing each other with the most giddy expression either can manage.

he must’ve been staring at it for a while because the eventually he hears tan pad into the living room, “that’s where it went, i was wondering where i put that box.”

“what is this?” street asks holding up the briefcase. tan smiles and walks over, taking a seat next to his boyfriend.

“its where i keep all the momentos from our dates. i like keeping them to remind me of all the things we’ve done together. all the memories we’ve made.”

“and you kept them?” he asks, no one’s ever done something like this for street.

tan smiles at him with so much adoration street is certain he’s falling in love all over again. “of course i did. they’re all memories of our time together and now that we’re together…” he takes streets hand, interlacing their fingers together, “i cant wait for us to make more.”

and well street can’t help kiss his boyfriend for that

#swat #s.w.a.t.#victor tan #jim street #stan #zestywrites

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years

Text

Light Fingers (The Umbrella Academy)

Diego’s vigilantism brings him repeatedly across the path of a young cat burglar. But as he finds himself developing feelings for the thief, he begins to wonder if there’s more to her than meets the eye, and whether they’re really on opposite sides. And as their relationship deepens, it brings with it a plot involving his estranged adopted father, and threatens to destroy all of them.

CHAPTER 1: CAT AND MOUSE

Word Count: 2406 Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Reader Warnings: Canon-typical violence Rating: T Cross-posted to AO3: here

Masterlist

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Twenty minutes. Maybe more, if the neighbors were particularly unobservant, but twenty minutes was a sure thing.

Gently, you tested the doorknob, shocked and almost a little insulted when the latch clicked and the door swung silently inward under your guidance. What kind of smug prick leaves home and doesn’t lock the front door behind him; sure, the neighborhood was nice, but it wasn’t that idyllic. Still, gift horses and all that. You shrugged and proceeded in, closing the door again behind you, no need to draw attention, and ghosting up the stairs to the third floor.

Keeping your light low, you looked around for something that matched the description of the painting that would be hiding your target.

“The painting contains three apples and a lemon,” your informant had said.

Unfortunately, nothing in the veritable gallery of this home office was one of those weird fruit still-lifes. Scanning all of the images for some fruit, especially with the variety of art styles on the walls, would take time. You cursed under your breath as you set to work systematically.

It wasn’t like you could hold it against your informant that much. She was a disgruntled and bitter but still scared and reliant employee telling you where to find maybe not all but certainly the most fungible of her shitty boss’s assets. You could permit her a little crypticness, so long as it didn’t blow up in your face in the end. Which, since this bloody fortune was made in arms deals, there was always the possibility of, literally.

Three apples and a lemon, three apples and a lemon, three apples and a...

“Gotcha,” you murmured, the first real sound you had made since entering the house.

The tall painting took up most of the corner where it hung, and the fruit was not particularly prominent, but there they sat, in a bowl on the table of the young couple featured in the image. That was good enough for you. The frame lifted easily off the wall, and behind it, set in was a small steel door with three combination dials in the center. It was cute that he thought that would protect him from you.

Within minutes, the last of the tumblers thunked into place and the door popped open.

“Hello my lovely,” you purred, plucking out a padded box, opening up and gazing briefly at the way the finely cut gem glittered beneath your fingers. “I have a new home for you.”

You snapped the box shut, reveling at the way it echoed through the empty house. It was reckless, but you had earned a little bit of that. There was no one close enough to hear and if there was a security system, all it would pick up was a blip of sound, a glitch. Tucking the gem, and several other treasures from the safe into your bag, you put everything back to the way it was with expert precision.

Nineteen and a half minutes. You should be smart and get out, you knew, but there was no sign of concern, interest, pursuit. And this was the sort of man you wanted to take more from than money. You bit your lip, hesitating. And then you made your way to his desk, which was scattered with files and papers, a treasure trove of corporate secrets and proprietary scandals.

Suddenly, the file you were reading was knocked from your hand and you jumped, startled by the heavy sound of something metal striking wood. Looking down, you saw the glint of a knife sticking out of the desk not more than an inch from your hand. You had been so engrossed in the numbers and figures, math and profits painted in blood, that you hadn’t noticed that you were no longer alone.

“Shit!” you shouted, recoiling.

Leaning in the doorway, another knife in hand, was a man dressed all in black, leather mostly, his eyes covered in a domino mask that really didn’t do much to hide his face. It might stop you from picking him out of a crowd, but if you were to try, you could probably figure out his identity. In fact, as you stared at him in the dim light, you were sure that he looked familiar, a fact you filed away for later, if he didn’t kill you.

“You know, solid black isn’t actually that great for creeping around in shadows,” you said, fighting back control of your voice. “And if you’re looking for Mr. Sullivan, I’m not him.”

“Good thing I’m not looking for him then,” he answered with a smirk. “But it does beg the question: what are you doing in his office?”

“Would you believe me if I said I’m his secretary and he asked me to stop by and pick up a file?”

“In the middle of the night, in the dark, dressed like that?”

“Yeah, I didn’t think I’d get that one to work. Listen, whatever you came here for, I won’t get in your way if you don’t get in mine. We can both walk out of here with no one the wiser.”

“I came here to stop you. Heard about a lurker on the radio and got here faster than the cops. But a lurker looks to me more like a thief.” His head tilted to one side.

“No point in denying it then. I was hired by one of his competitors to try and steal some blueprints for some new grenade design,” you lied, hoping he didn’t know enough about the man to know whether that could be true. “But I don’t see it here, and frankly the payday isn’t worth getting almost stabbed. So how about I just…go and we forget this ever happened, yeah?”

You kept your hands in the air where he could see them and slowly circled the desk, away from the man blocking the doorway, closer step by careful step to the window. You studied it out of the corner of your eye. Heavy, leaded glass. That was going to hurt, but you’d been through worse.

“I’m not going to let you just walk away after you broke in here.”

“Technically all I did was enter, there was no breaking. Asshole left the front door open. Practically an invitation.” You gestured as if to say you were helpless against the temptation.

“Oh in that case…” you couldn’t tell from the distance, but the tone of his voice made you fairly certain that he was rolling his eyes at you. “I’ll be nice and not pin you there,” he gestured again with the knife, pointing at the wall behind you. “But I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

“Oh I dunno…strong handsome guy like you, I might like you pinning me,” you smirked. “But I’ll have to take a raincheck on it. Places to be and all that jazz.”

You had managed to position yourself directly in front of the window now, the light of the full moon shining around you like a very misplaced halo. He was watching your every move closely, tensed like he expected an ambush. Instead, you blew him a kiss.

And then you turned and leapt, smashing through the window in a rain of shards which glittered magically in the moon. By the time he reacted, crossing the room in a flash to stare out into the night below, you were rolling to your feet and running, adrenaline letting you ignore the distance you had fallen and a miracle letting you escape without blood.

You encountered the mysterious man with the knives seven more times over the course of that year. It had become almost a welcome tradition, a warning that someone was onto you, with plenty of time to get out before the actual police showed up. No matter how many times he threatened it, he never hurt you, and he never quite managed to stop you (part of you wondered if this was intentional, as you had worked out early on that this was one of the members of The Umbrella Academy which you had grown up hearing so much about).

“Diamonds again?” he asked, leaning casually against another display case as you placed the glass back over where the necklace now in your hands had been.

“What can I say, I like shiny things?” you offered with a shrug, holding up the jewels before dropping them into the bag at your hip. “And in my defense, I checked the provenance. These were stolen long before they ended up in my hands.”

“So that makes it alright to rob a museum in the middle of the night?”

“Yeah, basically. Doesn’t it?”

“No.” His voice was flat but his face beneath that stupid domino mask was incredulous that you would even try such an excuse.

“What if I add in that the necklace contains blood diamonds and ethically, no one should have them?”

“But you have them.”

“Only until I can sell them. And then I’ll put the money to way better use…I’m thinking Thai food, first at least. Wanna come?”

“What?”

“I’ll fly a signal or whatever it is that summons you and we’ll get dinner. You can leave your mask on if you like.”

“I’m not getting dinner with you.”

“Breakfast then?”

He pointed at you, with the hilt of the knife, as he had started doing more often. “You’re just trying to confuse me so you can escape again. That’s not going to happen this time.”

“Isn’t it?” you cocked your head to one side. “I don’t think the saying goes ‘eighth time’s the charm.’”

“Even if you escape, you’re not in someone’s house or office this time. A museum will have a security system. You’ll get tracked down for this one.” He sounded almost sad as he said it, like he regretted that your game of cat and mouse was coming to an end.

You took a step closer to him. He tensed. A certain amount of distance between you had always been one of the unspoken rules. Another step. You watched him swallow nervously and found it hilarious, since he could definitely best you in a fair fight. Third step. His eyes flickered to the sides as if looking for an escape route. Maybe he knew if you ever decided to have a go at him you wouldn’t let it be a fair fight.

By the time you stopped moving, you were inches from him and he practically vibrated with tension.

“If I didn’t know any better,” you whispered, watching his eyes flicker down to your lips. “I’d say you wanted me to get away.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he snapped half-heartedly, licking his lips nervously. “You’re a criminal.”

“Then now’s your chance. Stop me.” You leaned closer, the motion with the double meaning of your words making your intention clear.

The knife he was holding clattered to the ground as his hand shot out to grab you by the wrist. But the gesture wasn’t used to restrain. No, he used it to tug you closer, making you stumble into his chest as your lips crashed together. And then, the kiss became a war. You were both all teeth nipping lips and tongues battling each other. One hand gripped bruisingly onto your hip, fingers digging into flesh and holding you against him. The other released your wrist and tangled into your hair, knocking aside the cap you used to keep it contained. For your part you wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer. The other clawed his shoulder, clinging to him to keep yourself upright.

Your head was hazy and overwhelmed with the taste and feel of him, with the wanting more of it. But, there was a tiny part of your mind that was still paying attention. Your hand danced, trailing touches easily disguised as passion, freeing the knives from his harness, collecting them quietly in nimble fingers. He released your hip, slid his hand down over the curve of your ass, making you gasp. You set the knives as quietly as you could on the top of the display case, just out of convenient reach or obvious notice. His hand hooked onto your thigh, an inviting gesture. Instead you pulled away.

“This…” you murmured, lips still just barely brushing against his, “…was a bad idea.”

He released you; you stepped back.

“It doesn’t change things,” he said. “I’m still not letting you get away again.”

“Of course not,” you smiled, soft. You knew the steps of your dance. “But I’m still going to try.”

You turned. Diego watched as you ran, sprinting over marble-tiled floors. He reached back to grab a knife, not sure what he was going to do to keep from hurting you badly, but needing to do something. He frowned, the sheath was empty. Your steps drew you further away, he moved to follow, reaching further, only to find that every sheath was empty.

He swore, shouting the curse after you, and you couldn’t help the laugh that echoed back to him.

Laying on his bed in the boiler room that night, Diego couldn’t stop thinking about her: the feeling of her hair beneath his fingers, the taste of her lips on his, her soft warmth pressed against him. But more than that, it was her smile, her laugh, the light-hearted way she had teased him from the very beginning, utterly shameless and unafraid.

Something tickled at the back of his mind that there was more to her than just a good thief, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. And every time he tried, instead he was assaulted with the memory of the way her flesh gave way to his touch and her hot breath tickled his face. He wanted to solve the mystery of her, but more than that, he just wanted her.

He got up with a sigh, knowing he’d be unable to sleep in this state. He loosely wrapped his hands before taking out his pent-up emotion on the punching bag hanging in one corner. As he worked, his mind seemed to clear, and a new thought occurred to him. The next time they encountered each other, and he was certain there would be a next time, at the very least he would get her name. A name to put to the face, and the other things, would be enough.

#Diego Hargreeves x Reader #The Umbrella Academy fic #pre-canon #Light Fingers #I might hate this title more than anything else I have ever written #or I might love it

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silvereddaye · 4 years

Text

Two Babies and the 501st

This is a WIP. I may not do anything else with it, but I’d like to. The concept is what if Luke and Leia as babies somehow time travel back to the Clone Wars in the middle of battle. The clones have to take care of these mysterious babies who are supposedly the children of their general. Hijinks ensue. (PS I haven’t proof read this at all. So there could be a lot of mistakes.)

-- -- -- -- --

Anakin walked into the base of the 501st after a successful battle. They hadn’t won the war for this planet yet. That was still quite a ways off. The Separatists had dug in deep. Luckily there weren’t many settlements here. The planet was mostly mining and lumber camps. There weren’t even large factories to process the raw materials. Everything was shipped off the planet as soon as they collected it. But the resource-rich planet was needed on both sides of this war and neither one wanted to let it go to the other. That was why General and Jedi Knight, Anakin Skywalker, was there with his clone troops. He would free this planet.

Well after a meal, a sonic shower, and some sleep. He didn’t want to look over reports. He didn’t want to send a report to the Jedi Council. He just wanted some rest. His body felt heavy. His Jedi robes were dusty and singed. He stretched as he walked through the base. Clones saluted or nodded hello. He had a good rapport with his men, but they seemed to be staring. Anakin looked himself over. He didn’t have any large bleeding wounds. He still had all of his clothes and his lightsaber. He patted his head. His hair was there. He slowed down his pace. Yes. The clones were staring at him.

He groaned and altered course. Something was going on or had happened and the rumor mill had already caught hold of it. He didn’t want to wake up several hours later having to deal with the fallout of old gossip or updated plans. He made his way to the command building but stopped as he noticed Captain Rex jogging over to him.

“General, sir!” Rex said as he came to a stop. “You’re needed in the medics’ hall.”

“Is something wrong? Is it Ahsoka? Did she--”

“Commander Tano is fine, sir,” Rex said. “But it’s uh . . . Well uh . . . the men on patrol in the east valley they uh . . . You need to come see this for yourself, sir.”

Anakin nodded and made his way towards the long thin building where the medics had set up. It was odd to see Rex so flustered. He wondered what could have possibly twisted the captain’s tongue up. The closer he got to the medics, the more the clones seemed to be staring at him. A few even whispered to a fellow trooper when they saw him. Oh. There was definitely something up. Something to do with him, but what had he done? He was almost tempted to spin around and demand answers from Rex, who was following directly behind him. But he kept walking.

He entered the medics’ hall. There was a row of thin metal medical beds lining one wall. Beyond that were tables and stations for the medics to work. There was a group of clones crowded around something back there. He could just make out the tips of Ahsoka’s montrals among the crowd.

“Alright men, what’s the problem?”

A hush fell among all of them at once. They all turned around to face them. Their eyes were wide. It wasn’t fear or concern, but curiosity? What in the Force was going on? Then he heard it. A cry. A very distinctive cry. A cry that clones did not and could not make. It was not a cry from Ahsoka. It was a cry of a baby. The clones parted as he rushed forward.

On the table were two babies dressed in off-white onesies. They were both fair-skinned humans. They were the same size and looked very similar. One baby had lighter hair than the other, but that was all Anakin noticed that was different. Everyone was silent and watching him. The only noise was from the lighter-haired baby.

“Where did these come from?” Anakin asked waving his hand at the babies.

Humans weren’t the colonizers on this planet. It was mostly Sullustans, Wookies, and a few Tarros. He hadn’t seen any reports of humans on the planet, but that didn’t mean they weren’t any.

“We found them in a box, sir,” one clone said. “In the east valley. All alone. No one around for miles.”

Who would leave two babies near an active war zone?

“There, uh, was a note sir. Addressed to you.”

“Me?”

Someone passed him a folded piece of flimsi paper. Written on it in neat handwriting he didn’t recognize was his own name: Anakin Skywalker. He flipped the paper open. The note read: These are your children. Luke and Leia. His eyes snapped back up to the babies. Babies! He absentmindedly put the note on the table as he placed both his hands down flat and leaned over. He looked down at the children.

It was . . . It was impossible!

“This is impossible!” he said as he leaned away. “These aren’t my children! I have never . . . never . . .”

“Never what?” Ahsoka asked with a huge grin.

Anakin’s cheeks flushed red.

“It’s impossible,” he repeated. It was! The only person he had ever slept with was Padme! And there was no way these were her children! She wouldn’t have left them in a battlefield! Plus she was never pregnant.

“We could do a quick DNA test,” a medic offers.

“Why would we do that?” Anakin asked. “There is no way these are my children!” It was clear no one else believed him. They were are skeptical. Even Ahsoka. “Fine!” he shouted. “Let’s prove they aren’t mine.”

The results stated that 1.) the babies were siblings and 2.) Anakin Skywalker was their father. Which was still impossible.

“I don’t . . . How . . . I mean I never have slept with . . . Who . . . “ Anakin rambled as he paced back and forth in the back of the hall. Ahsoka had the girl baby, Leia, in her arms. She was feeding her a bottle. Apparently, whoever had left the babies, had also thought to pack their box with formula and diapers. One of the clones had the other baby. The clone smiled as the baby nodded off. “They’re clones or something,” Anakin muttered. “Or somehow someone got my blood or genes and made some babies in test tubes because there is no way, no way!, these babies came about naturally. That is for sure!”

“Did you want to hold her?” Ahsoka asked.

Anakin froze as he looked at his padawan and . . . and . . . daughter? No. No, he wasn’t going to think of these babies like that. They were not his. There had been an error.

“No,” he said. “I uh . . . Gotta go make a report to the Council.”

He rushed past the babies without looking at them and out of the hall. It felt like every kriffin’ clone was looking at him. Did they know? They had to know. Juicy gossip travels fast. The officers and troopers in the command room were professional if they knew. No one gave him any long or odd looks. He didn’t pause. He marched straight to the comms room, told the officer on duty to leave, and immediately dialed up the council on the large blue holotable. It didn’t take long for the blue hologram of Obi-Wan to show up. He was thank-the-Force alone.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. “How did your attack on--”

“There are babies,” Anakin blurted out.

Obi-Wan blinked. “Babies?”

“Two babies. Twins. A patrol found them. They had been abandoned here. There was, uh, a note saying so. The clones brought them here. We can’t keep babies here. I need a transport to lift them out.”

“Anakin, the Separatists have put up a blockade around that system to prevent any supplies from reaching you and your men. We can’t get a transport in, much less out again.”

He knew that. He totally, completely knew that, but had just forgotten it for a moment. Kriff.

“What am I going to do?”

“Where is the closest settlement? You could drop them off there?”

“What? No! I can’t do that!”

“Why not? You said it yourself. You can’t keep babies there. They’ll be much safer in a camp. Probably someone will adopt them.”

His heart was tight. He didn’t want the babies, or well he did want babies. He wanted lots of babies with Padme, but this was a different matter. He didn’t want these babies right now, but he couldn’t stomach just giving them away. They were . . . supposedly his.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes. I’ll deal with it.”

He clicked the call off before another word could be said, because the only “deal with it” Anakin could think of was he was going to keep the babies. With his army. During a war.

#my writing #wip #Anakin Skywalker #501st #clones #Ahsoka Tano #babies

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missjanjie · 4 years

Text

As If We Never Said Goodbye | Jankie

Title: As If We Never Said Goodbye Summary: After their senior year of high school, a summer camp reunion is held when seven former campers return as counselors. While a lot has changed over the past six years, some haven't at all - especially for Jan and Jackie. Word Count: 1955 Relationship(s): Jankie (Jan Sport/Jackie Cox) Rating: G

read on ao3

The reunion among all the former campers was truly a heartwarming one. All of the girls were happy to see each other after six years, eager with curiosity to see how much had changed (and how much hadn’t). There was screaming and hugs all around as everyone was quick to get reacquainted, and they had a whole weekend to themselves before the campers showed up.

“Oh, well that’s just not fair,” Jan clicked her tongue and shook her head. “How did they all grow up to be models?” she asked, gesturing to Gigi, Nicky, and Jaida.

Rock nodded. “It seems like just yesterday I was fighting Nicky over pokémon cards while Jaida tried to stop her from convincing Crystal to eat glue again. Time flies.”

Jan nodded, but she’d stopped listening, instead, she was looking around, looking for something, someone.

As if she could read her mind, Rock tapped her shoulder. “Your girlfriend’s coming,” she said and cocked her head in that direction.

“Shut up,” Jan shoved her lightly. “Jackie was my summer camp bestie. I missed her,” she insisted.

Before Rock could call her bluff, Jackie ran over to them. “Jan! Rock! Hi!” She gave each of them a big hug - though Jan’s might’ve lasted a bit longer. “Oh wow, you guys look great,” she observed.

“You’re not even looking at me,” Rock retorted before she wandered off to get reacquainted with the rest of her old friends.

Not that Jackie noticed, as the world around her became nothing more than background noise when she laid eyes on Jan. It was hard to believe this was the same girl that picked her first every soccer game and sang the loudest every karaoke night. Her eyes sparkled with the same enthusiasm she seemed to get just from existing. In a way, Jackie felt like she was back home. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

Jan was grinning from ear to ear, practically bouncing on her feet. Memories of that summer never fully left her mind, it was some of the most formative months of her life, she had learned so much about herself, stuff she might have otherwise ignored for another couple years. And a lot of that was directly due to Jackie. “You too. It’s been way too long. And you, wow, you look amazing too.”

“God, we have so much to catch up on, I don’t even know where to begin,” Jackie mused.

Jan started to speak, then her eyes widened. “The time capsule!” She looked around, then began calling out for all the girls to gather back around her. “Guys! We need to dig up the time capsule,” she grinned.

The memory dawned on everyone around the same time, the group of them talking excitedly among themselves, trying to remember where it was buried, where they could get a shovel to dig it out. They settled on splitting out in two groups – Crystal, Gigi, Jackie, and Nicky would retrace their years-old steps to find the burial site while Jan, Jaida, and Rock went to find shovels.

“I know we’re close,” Crystal remarked. “I can feel it.”

“This must be it,” Gigi pointed to a spot where there was dirt piled up, standing out amidst the grass, with a border of rocks around it. “I remember Nicky and I spent ages looking for enough pretty rocks.”

Nicky chuckled softly. “We had very discerning tastes.”

Jackie was only vaguely paying attention, mostly waiting for the other group to return. “Do you guys remember what you put in?”

“I know Jaida and I both put our paper mache projects in there, so I hope they didn’t disintegrate,” Gigi mused. “What did you put in?”

“I remember what she put in,” Crystal announced, elbowing Jackie’s side and grinning far too broadly. She had watched Jackie work on her item for hours on end, she didn’t know it could take someone that long, and Jackie didn’t even let her see the final result.

Jackie blushed. “And you need to be quiet. I don’t want to ruin it,” she said pointedly.

Crystal just giggled. “Relax, she’s not even here.”

“Who’s not here?” Jan asked as her group returned with shovels.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” Gigi cut in, much to Jackie’s relief. “So, who’s doing the digging? Because I call ‘not it’.”

Jan chuckled and ushered her out of the way. “Rock and I got it, don’t worry,” she assured as the two of them started digging. “This shit is heavy though, no wonder Brooke and Kameron wouldn’t let us do it,” she recalled with a laugh.

“Aw, I miss them,” Rock hummed. “We should look them up on Instagram or something later.”

“I bet they’re still hot,” Nicky mused, causing some of the group to look at her oddly. “What? I couldn’t have been the only one thinking it,” she insisted, to which the girls reluctantly conceded to.

“Okay, we hit it!” Jan called out, she and Rock hoisting it out of the ground and setting it on the grass. “Oh, I’m so excited!” she said as if her whole body wasn’t nearly vibrating with enthusiasm.

Rock was the one to actually open the capsule (which was actually a toolbox they had all decorated), taking out the letter they had collectively written first, then squinted as she tried to read. “I’m gonna be honest, you guys, I can’t decipher any of this. We’ll have to go around and read our own entries later.”

Jan went to look through the capsule while Rock set the letter aside. “Let’s see… I recognize this little guy,” she cooed, holding up Nicky’s stuffed sheep.

“Meryl Sheep!” Nicky’s eyes lit up as she grabbed the toy. “Aw, my collection hasn’t been the same without you.” She looked back to Jan, gesturing for her to continue.

“We have Gigi and Jaida’s paper mache projects,” Jan continued, holding up the two crafts, one of a helmet that could fit the average baby doll, and the other of an apple with a comically angry face painted on. “And Rock’s Pokémon card,” she continued.

“Wait, gimme that!” Rock grabbed the sealed plastic pouch it was in. “D’you guys know how much this is worth?” She got blank stares in response, save for Nicky who shared her excitement.

“Smart move preserving it,” Jan hummed. “My mixtape!” she grinned, holding up a CD. “Miss Vanjie helped me burn a CD, and I put a song that made me think of everyone, like Burning Up for Crystal, Lady Marmalade for Nicky…” she continued looking down the list, her cheeks suddenly reddening. She didn't want to announce that she'd picked Alone by Heart for Jackie. “Well, you get the idea,” she summed up, reaching into the box and grabbing the next item, only to drop it. “Jesus Christ! Why is that there?”

Crystal picked the furby off the ground. The fur was partially singed on one side and had a bald spot on the other. “Oh yeah, I forgot I put Arson in there.”

Gigi pinched the bridge of her nose. “Tell me you didn’t actually name it ‘Arson’.”

“It survived being tossed into a campfire, Gigi,” she retorted as if the name choice should have obviously made sense. “There should still be another thing in there, right?”

Jan nodded, picking an envelope up from the bottom of the box. “Jackie, this must be yours, right?” she asked, holding it up and displaying the heart drawn in the center.

Even though it had been six years, Jackie’s heart started racing as soon as she saw that letter. Her throat tightened and her face flushed red. “I… Yeah… That’s mine,” she swallowed thickly, forcing herself to add, “read it.”

Jan looked at Jackie with a flash of concern in her expression, but obliged nonetheless, peeling off the Star Trek sticker the envelope had been sealed with and taking the note out.

“Dear Jan, I know we’re supposed to put something in the capsule that makes us think of our whole camp experience, but that’s actually why I’m doing this. My favorite part of the summer is you. I love how you pick me first every time we play soccer or kickball even though you know I can’t play. I love the way you spent your free hour helping clean all the paint and glitter off of me after Crystal’s project exploded (she’s watching me while I write this, I think she’s mad I told her she can’t copy my idea, and she’s probably watching you now, standing with Gigi anyway),” Jan looked up, noting that Crystal was standing with her arm around Gigi’s waist - all of them giggling at that before she continued.

“I love that you spent all week talking about how much you love horror movies, but wouldn’t go outside during Halloween night. I also love what happened that night, though I don’t know if it meant anything to you, or if you were just caught up in the moment. What I’m trying to say is, I don’t know where we’ll be when you read this, if we have girlfriends or pretend to have boyfriends, but right now, I love you. I love you a lot. Sincerely, Jackie.” Jan hadn’t realized tears were forming in her eyes until she finished reading and had to blink them away. The wave of emotion that hit her was hard to describe - twelve-year-old Jackie had poured her soul into this letter, and it made her heart swell.

It was clear that neither Jan nor Jackie were ready to say anything yet. “That was beautiful, Jackie,” Jaida offered, trying to ease the tension that had built up around them.

“Wow… I didn’t realize you felt that way,” Jan finally said.

“Really? Not even a little?” Nicky chimed in before Jaida elbowed her to get her to shut up.

Jackie let out a breath that vaguely resembled a laugh. “No, it’s okay,” she said to Nicky and Jaida before turning back to Jan. “It was one of those things that everyone else just knew.”

Jan chewed on her lip. “Everyone except me. I wish I’d known, though. Because I felt the same way - don’t say it, Nicky - the whole time.”

“I think you guys need some privacy,” Gigi said gently. “Why don’t you take a walk or something?”

Jackie nodded and already turned to start walking away. “Good idea,” she said, heading down the hiking trail with Jan doing a quick jog to catch up with her.

“So, um…” Jan cleared her throat. “Are you dating anyone?”

For the first time since the envelope came out, Jackie smiled and let herself look at Jan. “No, I’m not, are you?”

Jan shook her head. “I’m not either,” she said, then suddenly stopped walking. “Wait…”

Jackie stopped, turning back to look at her. “What?”

Wordlessly, Jan cupped Jackie’s face and kissed her deeply. It was nothing like the chaste peck they’d shared during the Halloween party six years ago. It was heated and fervent, both of them holding onto each other for dear life until their lungs begged for air. “Yeah,” she smiled as she stood upright, “the spark’s still there.”

“Did we just sign up for a summer romance, then?” Jackie asked with a light laugh.

“At least… Where are you going to college?”

“Columbia, finally moving out to the big city.”

“I’m not surprised in the slightest,” Jan chuckled. “I’m going to The American Academy of Dramatic Arts which…” her eyes went wide, “is also in Manhattan.”

Jackie’s face broke into a broad grin as she pulled Jan into a hug. “Isn’t that amazing?”

“Yeah,” Jan agreed as she melted into Jackie’s arms. “It’ll be nice to not have to say goodbye this time.”

#hi look what all that summer camp talk inspired lol #unbeta'd bcs i have no patience #jankie

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blarrghe · 3 years

Text

Twelve Nights

Modern au fic where BusinessMan McMoneybanks Dorian Pavus meets LocalArtist Outdoorsyguy Taren Lavellan whilst on a trip to a Fancy Ski Resort In The Mountains with his Terrible Family, and learns the True Meaning of The Holidays (it's love). Now with added subplots and a plan! This fic is my holiday obsession, it's going to be tropey and fluffy and sweet, and not terribly long. Set in some kind of vaguely Thedasian modern au, with Dalish elves and dwarves and the like, but no actual magic, only *~holiday magic~* Rated M for not-very-explicit sex. Excerpt under the cut. Read it on AO3!

The air was crisp, and perfectly still. The thunk of Dorian’s car door slamming shut sounded out soft, almost muffled by the quietness of the snow-covered street. There were no other cars parked in the tiny lot in the centre of it, which divided two rows of quaint little shops on either side. The street rejoined itself around the empty parking lot and wound away in either direction. The side streets that branched in awkward zigzagging patterns off of it, sparsely lined with picturesque little cottages with wide yards of snow between them, weren’t even plowed. The main road ran up and down; up, winding slowly through a forest of trees and disappearing into the mountainside, and down, towards a glowing town square lit up at its centre by a tall, festively decorated pine tree.

Dorian watched his breath form a cloud of mist in front of him, and pressed the little button on his keychain. His car’s lights flashed, and the horn beeped once, obnoxiously loud against the silent scene. For a moment, he glanced up the road, and then lifted his head higher, arching his head way back to take in the peaks of the mountains overshadowing the quiet town. The sky was fading into sunset, and pink light glowed through the trees and sparkled off the snow in the distant mountaintops. The mountains loomed quietly, shining in orange and peach with dark evergreen trees blanketing around their roots, and among them little golden lights from mountainside cabins were glowing softly through the snow. It was beautiful and serene, like a scene directly out of a holiday card, and Dorian hated every single thing about it.

He sighed, breath forming a long whispering mist from his mouth and disappearing into the air, and rubbed his hands together. He scanned the shops on the street before him, windows all dark, signs all turned round to ‘closed’, and then with another, more irritated little sigh, looked at his watch.

Half past four, said the large gold analogue contraption on his wrist. He sighed again, and strode forward across the street, his shoes slipping awkwardly against the packed down snow. He stepped up onto the sidewalk and frowned at the crunch of coarse salt under his foot. Then he glanced up and down the line of shops one more time, his eye landing on the only lit window on the whole street, and with one last heavy sigh, walked carefully towards it.

The buildings looked old; stone foundations with thick wood or brick walls, mostly two stories tall with little apartments slotted in above, and topped with high-pointed dutch roofs complete with smoking chimneys. He passed a dark-windowed chocolatier with displays of intricate candy ornaments and gold foil wrapped chocolates in the window, and a bakery with windows decorated with paper snowflakes and quintessentially charming gingerbread houses. All closed as of four in the afternoon.

"Ridiculous." He muttered aloud to the empty street.

The open shop, when he came to it, had a large sculpture of a wooden bear in the window, and a tower of suede moccasins on display. Lavellan's Crafts, said a sign on the door. Looking in through the window he could see more display stands; postcards and keychains and little animal figurines.

Fantastic, thought Dorian bitterly, a chintzy souvenir shop. Just what he needed.

He pushed the heavy wooden door open, and it grunted on its hinges as his feet stomped over the welcome mat. And it was a Welcome! mat, woven out of some coarse fabric and dotted with thematic pine cones and holly leaves, the happy greeting stencilled on in uncomplicated calligraphy.

The warmth and the smell of the place washed over him immediately. The walls were left unpainted, beautiful old wood varnished and shining in the warm incandescent light from an intricate wooden chandelier that hung overhead. A nearby shelf littered with artisanal scented candles and boxes of "genuine" incense sticks wafted out a mix of bold scents; patchouli, sage, maple, pine. He moved away from it, scanning the other shelves and displays.

Beaded decorations and windchimes hung in one window, and further into the shop, past the little rotating displays of animal figurine keychains and greeting cards, larger items stood out with hefty price tags. Large canvases displayed boldly painted landscapes of the local scenery in all seasons, and portraits of rustic looking elves engaging in various traditional activities. His eyes lingered on the paintings a little too long, caught up in the crisp lines and bright colours. The people all had joy on their faces; rosy cheeks and bright eyes, dancing in colourful dresses that very nearly looked to be moving. As he stood struck by their expressiveness, he almost forgot to remain unimpressed.

He picked up a bar of handmade soap scattered with gritty bits of lavender, sniffed it, and put it back down. Then he wandered over to a display of wooden tree ornaments, and spun it absently, watching the little wolves and caribou and bears sway about.

"Looking for something specific?" Said a soft voice out of a dark nook behind the counter at the back of the shop.

Dorian turned to look with a start, and before he could think better of it, he complained.

"Got anything that says 'happy holidays, thank you so much for dragging me out to the frozen middle of nowhere to spend the holidays working out of some stuffy old cabin that doesn't even get cell service. Not that it matters, since the entire dull little village shuts down at four in the afternoon and in all probability there won't be anywhere for miles to find decent company or a decent brandy’ ?" He asked. Then with a twinge of self-aware guilt for his attitude, he amended the rant with a vaguely apologetic "no offence".

Behind the counter, the soft voice was laughing. Then an elf came into view, leaning his elbows over the counter and looking at Dorian with sparkling green eyes. He kept laughing, chuckling mildly under his breath and shaking his head so that golden light danced off the messy curls of his dark red hair. His face was tattooed, like the elves in the paintings, and they glowed against his warm-toned skin. Dorian had never seen work like it in real life, and once again found his eye lingering a little too long.

"Sorry, I don't think so." The elf said finally, a sideways smirk resting on his full lips, "but the shop down the street sells chocolate truffles filled with brandy that are quite nice. They don't open again until ten tomorrow, of course. Can I interest you in a postcard of our dull little village, instead?"

Dorian's cheeks burned, and not half because of the chiding tone of the shopkeeper's rebuttal. Mainly, he was busy getting hot at just how striking those eyes were; how they glittered across the room at him with perfectly patient bemusement.

He sighed. "Apologies. Long drive." He muttered, quickly grabbing an ornament carved like two fish swimming after each other's tails, and a wintery postcard decorated with a photograph of the tree in the town square. He walked himself up to the counter and set the items down, hastily digging into his pocket for his wallet and avoiding the elf's still-penetrating gaze.

"If it's for someone you don't like, you should go with the wolf." Remarked the elf, still leaning his elbows on the counter and making no moves to ring him up, or stop smirking. "Around these parts, we tell stories about a Dread Wolf who tricks tourists into getting lost in the mountains." His smirk broadened.

"Then why put it on an ornament?"

The elf shrugged. "They're good stories." His soft voice lilted with an accent Dorian couldn't place, musical and sweet, but there was still a good deal of cheek to his tone. "Actually, the wolf represents strength and loyalty. The Dread Wolf is just a local legend." Then he winked at him, and slid the postcard across the counter to the register.

"Strength and loyalty." Dorian shook his head, "and fish?"

"Balance."

Balance. As in work-life? Ironic, given the intended recipient. "I'll stick with the fish."

"That everything?"

Dorian nodded.

"Hold on, I think I have something in the back that might interest you." The elf disappeared into his dark little nook and through a storeroom door, the teasing smirk never once leaving his face. When he came out again he was holding a single gold foil wrapped chocolate, and he nudged it across the counter with a friendly nod. "Happy holidays." He said, and the smile on his face shifted into one that was somewhat less amused, and more sincere.

Dorian took the chocolate tentatively, and finished paying for the ornament and card. It totaled more than he would have expected for some faux-Dalish tourist fare, and he took a second to properly look over the ornament before tucking it into his pocket. No factory logo, just the initials TL burned into the wood. So maybe it wasn't quite a chintzy souvenir shop.

"This all local?" He asked, suddenly feeling a new wave of guilt over his earlier disparaging comments.

The very obviously Dalish elf in front of him raised an eyebrow and nodded. "There's a collective."

He plucked two business cards and a pamphlet out of the brochure stand in front of his cash register, and slid them across the counter. The business cards had gallery names on them, and the pamphlet advertised the services of a local community centre, including an ongoing holiday craft fair. Dorian glanced over the rest of the brochures in the stand. There were a few other business cards for local shops, and pamphlets for companies offering various adventure packages; mountain climbing, horseshoe tours, trail rides.

The elf's gaze followed him with a faint degree of amused judgment, and the expression fell on his striking features in a way that made Dorian's throat dry. He cleared his throat, picked out a general ‘Village Businesses’ brochure from the stand and smoothed out his expression. It was entirely unfair, this striking elf looking at him like that. He could fix this.

"Well, now I've made a fool of myself, can I more humbly ask for a recommendation?" He passed the brochure over the counter with a gracefully apologetic smile.

The elf unfolded the page on the counter top. Then grabbed a pencil from somewhere out of that mess of hair, and flashed him a quick, toothy grin before bending over it and beginning to circle and scribble away.

"This might help keep you from getting bored, even without cell service. When do you leave?"

Dorian's heart jumped at the retort, and the elf glanced up at him with another quick flash of taunting teeth.

“In about two weeks.” He answered roughly, throat dry again.

The elf passed back the brochure, and tucked the pencil back into a braid behind his ear with a slight frown. “Not really enough time, but hopefully you can manage to enjoy some of it.” He said, leaning back and smirking again. Dorian went back to feeling flushed. “But we close in five minutes.” Of course you do, he thought. "If you want, I could show you where to get a good beer, if not good brandy.” Oh. Read the rest on AO3!

#pavellan #da fanfic #my fic #my writing #dorian pavus #taren lavellan #my ocs #the hallmark movie I deserve #holiday fic #fluff #gay holiday romps #subplots for socialists #dai #dai fanfic #modern au

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thisstableground · 4 years

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Okay, a bird gets in through the window of their apartment and can't get out (because it's panicked), and now it's flying everywhere *except* back through the open window. How do they deal with it?

(this is an early relationship fic bc i’m in that kinda mood right now)

edit: also on AO3! please leave a comment if you liked it!

“Looked like Vanessa was dolling herself up real cute for your lunch date when I went up on break,” Usnavi says. “And me stuck here at the store while you guys have all the fun without me.”

“You don’t mind, do you?” Ruben asks, concerned. “I don’t wanna, y’know, get in the way of things.”

“She’s your girlfriend too,” Usnavi says, charitably ignoring the panicked balloon-deflating noise Ruben makes: the g-word is still a very new development. “I just miss you both when I can’t come with you.”

“We’ll be done in a couple hours.”

“I know, it’s so long.” Usnavi says, tragically. He picks up his cell from where it’s vibrating insistently on the counter. “Oh! She misses us too! Hey, Vanessa!”

His smile disappears as she responds: from where he’s standing, all Ruben can hear is a bunch of incoherent yelling and shrieking from the other end. His heartrate instantly triples. It might have shattered a rib or two.

Usnavi grabs the creased piece of laminated paper under the counter that reads “back in five minutes/vuelta en cinco minutos!!” and is saying “ ¿qué pa—Vanessa, cálmate, I don’t – what’s happening?” as he runs to stick it to the door and click the locks closed. Even from several feet away, Ruben hears Vanessa’s voice yell “JUST GET YOUR SKINNY ASS UP HERE RIGHT NOW!”

He hightails it after Usnavi up the back stairs to the apartment. “What was that?!”

“No sé, I couldn’t tell, it sounded like she said someone came into the apartment-”

“What?!” He doesn’t even have time to panic about it: they crest the top of the stairs and almost crash directly into Vanessa standing outside Usnavi’s front door. She’s dripping wet and wearing only a towel, trying to look in through the peephole despite that decidedly not being how peepholes work.

“Vanessa!” Ruben goes instinctively to check on her then hastily averts his eyes to the ceiling when he registers what she’s wearing, because yes, he saw her naked last night but he’s still polite. “Oh, uh—“

Usnavi shrugs out of his shirt to drape around Vanessa’s shoulders and hugs her close. “Amorcita, what happened, are you okay?”

“No, I am not okay!” she says furiously. “I was in the shower and a fucking bird came in and chased me out here!”

“Wait, a bird? You were just screaming because of a bird?” Ruben catches Usnavi’s eye and both of them instantly burst into laughter, which is mostly from relief and is also exactly the wrong thing to do.

“Oh, so it’s funny is it?” Vanessa says, looking about as murderous as anyone with shampoo bubbles in their hair has ever looked.

“We’re not laughing at you, I promise!” Ruben says, undercut significantly by the fact that to be fair, he is still laughing. “We’re just relieved it wasn’t anything dangerous.”

“Not dangerous?!” Vanessa hollers. “It could have beaked me!”

“Heyheyhey, we’re cool, we’re cool,” Usnavi says soothingly, making cut it out eyes at Ruben. “Ain’t gonna let nothing run my girl out of my apartment like that. I’ll get the bird, you just wait here with Ruben. Who will not laugh any more,” he adds, severely.

“Laughing? Never even heard of it,” Ruben says.

“....You’ll be careful?” Vanessa says to Usnavi.

Usnavi stands just a little taller at her concern, glowing with chivalrous intent, and says, “no te preocupes, querida, I ain’t afraid of no bird.”

He opens the front door and pauses on the threshold. Ruben can tell there’s triumphant battle music playing in his mind right now, mostly because he’s humming it very quietly to himself while he adjusts his hat before he heads inside.

Three and a bit seconds later, there’s a brief crash and some hollered cursing from the apartment. Usnavi bursts back out into the corridor and scuttles over to the opposite wall, flattening against it like a shadow.

“Guys, I am so afraid of this bird,” he tells them.

“Did it beak you,” Ruben says dryly.

“It nearly did! I tried to ask it to leave and then it–“ Usnavi does a wild flapping motion with his arms and goes skraaaaaa!, his eyes all big in a way that implies see? Do you see how terrifying this is? Ruben tactfully does not inform him that it makes him look like he should be standing outside a car dealership in a heavy wind.

“It was never gonna work, babe, I already tried everything,” Vanessa says. “I tried yelling at it.”

They wait for the rest of it. There is no rest of it. Vanessa shrugs like I mean, what else is there?

“Well, I hope you’re not too attached to this apartment, Usnavi,” Ruben says, and both turn in unison to look at him imploringly. They’re wearing hopeful, expectant Ruben Can Solve Anything expressions, the ones they make before they ask him things about sports or Europe or other arcane and unknowable topics. It makes him want to shout hold on, I’m just a chemist, the only thing I can do to a pigeon is poison it or teach it how to run assays but it also makes him want to go and get a PhD in Please Get Bird Out Of Bathroom so that he can resolve the situation as comprehensively as possible.

He is, he reflects a little sadly, a sucker for providing solutions.

“Alright,” he says, in a firm voice, because it’s either that or let them down. “Usnavi, I need you to go get me a box from the bodega to trap it in.”

Usnavi nods once, solemn-faced like a soldier being given orders, and hurries downstairs. He’s back in short order with an empty Doritos box that he hands over. Ruben makes it all of two cautiously tiptoeing steps into the apartment before Vanessa grabs his arm and pulls him back for a kiss on the cheek that has the resigned air of impending doom to it: we only had the Ruben for two weeks before he was taken by the birds, he imagines her telling people after the fact. I knew we should have had him insured.

Inside the bathroom is much less carnage than he’d expected based on the other two’s reactions. There’s water all over the floor, probably from Vanessa’s hasty exit, and Usnavi’s toothbrush cup has been knocked down into the basin, where it’s clattering around under the feet of a pigeon that Ruben would, scientifically, describe as Oh Boy, That’s Pretty Big Actually. In itself it isn’t all that scary, but in the context of being a pigeon in a places that pigeons usually aren’t it really is quite unsettling. Like how he isn’t in the slightest scared of rats, but still jumps out of his skin and tries to keep a wide berth whenever he sees one in the stairwell of his apartment building. At least it isn’t actively flapping around at the moment.

Ruben casts his eye around but there isn’t a towel in the usual place on the radiator – of course not, Vanessa must have grabbed it on her way out. He sets down the box as he takes his sweater off instead, thanks it silently for its dedication to the cause, and then holds it up in the air, inching closer to the pigeon.

“You could just leave now,” he tries, just in case. “It’ll be easier for both of us.”

The pigeon shuffles around, its talons making scritchy noises against the ceramic of the basin. “Trrr,” it says.

“The window’s right there.” He takes another step closer. “Fine, I guess not. Sorry about this,” and in a quick movement he throws his sweater over it and, using the second of struggling confusion while it tries to get free, scoops the sweater-wrapped pigeon into the box in a move that is significantly more blind luck than animal handling skills.

“Sorry sorry sorry sorry!” he chants, shoving half his body and the box out the window and inelegantly shaking a very confused and unhappy pigeon out into the sky, where it luckily flaps off in distress rather than going right for his eyes so he can bring the box back in and close the window blessedly un-mauled. His sweater is mostly unharmed too, albeit in need of a wash, because pigeons have pretty much one reaction to stress, as evidenced by the rest of the bathroom. He tosses the knocked-over toothbrush straight in the trash because he knows Usnavi won’t even think about putting it in his mouth all covered in bird-germs later, and is bleaching down the basin when he hears a tentative “Ruben are you dead?”

“Somehow I pulled through,” he says.

Usnavi opens the door the tiniest fraction. “Is it still in there?”

“No, I caught it and let it out. No casualties, except your toothbrush.”

Usnavi opens the door properly, with Vanessa peeking over his shoulder, not even pretending she isn’t hiding behind him. When they confirm that the bathroom is safe she stands up straight and both of them beam at Ruben.

“You really did it,” Vanessa says, in a tone of absolute awe while Usnavi kisses him enthusiastically and Ruben, a man who has faced down pain, torture and death, has literally never felt braver or more heroic than he does right now.

#ship: usnavi/vanessa/ruben #fandom: do no harm/in the heights #sophia writes fic #belphegor1982 #im 99% sure i took that 'i tried everything i tried yelling at it' joke from somewhere #damned if i can remember where but its just very vanessa so i had to use it

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woodelf68 · 4 years

Text

Turn On, Tune In, Drop Out

My long-promised homage to @worryinglyinnocent‘s Playtime ‘verse, because she managed to write fifty installments without doing hippies, and I had to rectify that. Also my contribution to @rumbelleishope. Rated E.

***

The large cardboard box bearing items from the estate sale was like a time capsule from the late 1960s. Gold sorts through the items, fond memories of his early childhood stirred by such things as the beaded curtain and concert posters and the heavy stack of albums, their cardboard covers worn along the edges but still bright with the distinctive graphics of the era. The Who, Jefferson Airplane, Country Joe and the Fish, Iron Butterfly. Donovan, too, Glasgow-born like himself. He can hear them in his head, like a soundtrack to the Summer of Love, and he wonders if Belle will like any of them. He’s fairly certain that she’ll like the clothes, and holds up a loose, flowing smock with wide sleeves and delicate flowers embroidered around the neckline and hem. It’s a pretty thing, and he can easily see Belle wearing it, hopes that she’ll want to.

Methodically he sorts through the contents of the box, dividing everything into three piles. One to be priced and sold – the two posters were what had drawn him to bid on this lot in the first place, and he knows that he can sell them for a pretty penny – one of things he thinks Belle might be interested in, and one of a few items of clothing that he looks at doubtfully, unsure if he wants them to fit or not. But he thinks of Belle in the short dress, thinks of surprising her with a scenario they haven’t played out yet, knows he won’t regret any temporary feelings of silliness at wearing what are, after all, fairly normal clothes compared to some of the things he’s put on for her. Making up his mind, he goes into the shop’s small bathroom and locks the door.

Several minutes later he’s studying his reflection, and surprisingly not feeling too ridiculous. although he would die of embarrassment if anyone other than Belle were to see him wearing a suede leather vest adorned with long fringes. But the undyed linen shirt with the open neck and band collar is soft and comfortable, and if it’s a little too big, it’s not overly so, and he can roll up the sleeves. Same with the trousers, he’s sure that the flare-legged rust denim was originally meant to fit a bit more tightly than they do on his frame, but although he knows that Belle would no doubt appreciate that, he’s gotten used to more freedom of movement. With a belt and the cuffs turned up if he doesn’t want them to drag on the ground, the jeans fit well enough. The clothes remind him of his childhood, those years after he had been taken in by his aunts, where he had learned the feeling of security, and being wanted, and what it was like to be praised and encouraged instead of constantly belittled. Whether it’s the warm memories associated with the era, or simply the fact that he knows his ten year old self would have loved to have had a fringed leather vest, he’s satisfied with his image. Now all he has to do is suggest a scene. He thinks about it as he changes back into his suit and tucks the vintage garments into a bag. The shop is small, and would be easily decorated, but far too public for more than a quickie. The large Victorian house filled with fine antiques is not right at all. That leaves the cabin, he decides.

Saturday morning, he drops Belle off at the library and hands her a box tied with string that he’d stashed in the back seat of the Cadillac. “Don’t open it until lunchtime,” he says, knowing the pleasure of an anticipated surprise. “I won’t be in the shop today; I’ve got some other business to take care of.”

“All right; see you later.” Belle watches him drive off, mystified by the package in her hands. By the time lunchtime rolls around, she’s more than ready to tear off the box lid and find out what’s in it. A piece of paper sits on top of some tissue paper-covered contents, with the heading “Playtime?” She forces herself to read the rest before folding back the tissue paper and seeing what awaits her. “It’s 1968. Fibre artist and co-founder of Storybrooke’s new “Enchanted Forest” commune “Rumpelstiltskin” Gold has agreed to an interview with the hip young reporter from the local newspaper. Please confirm interview at 6 pm Saturday.” Intrigued, she folds back the tissue paper and nearly squeals with delight, instantly picking up the beaded, white leather headband that lays on top of the other items and tying it around her head. She gets out her compact mirror to admire how it looks for a moment before texting Rum back.

“Interview confirmed. Looking forward to it.”

He must have been waiting for her reply; his return message is swift. “Dove will have the car there for you at five; I’ll see you later.”

Dove arrives with the keys to the Cadillac before she closes the library at five, and as soon as she locks the front door, she retires to the restroom to change into her outfit. It’s a beautiful day, warm and sunny, and she drives out to the cabin as instructed, deciding what she’s going to say when she gets there. Parking, she starts to head for the door of the cabin when she hears music coming from around the side of it and alters her course. Gold is there, sitting on top of the picnic table, his spindle hanging down and twirling as he spins a smooth yarn from the basket of wool roving in the basket beside him. He is dressed – well, he is dressed to match her, obviously, and it suits him. It suits him incredibly well. He looks softer, younger, his dark hair set off by the off-white linen shirt, feathering out over the band collar, the open neckline displaying the line of this throat and a string of love beads, mostly black with a few white and sky blue ones mixed in at regular intervals. The rust-coloured denim of his jeans sits low on his hips and flares out below the knees and the fringed vest…she’d like to see him move with it on, see the fringes flare out. She kind of wants to borrow it herself, and thinks about what it would feel like to wear it with nothing on underneath. Preferably while she was riding him in bed, rocking back and forth, the open edges of the leather rubbing back and forth against her bare skin… She swallows hard, and pushes that image back to take out and play with again later. Gold looks both snuggly, and sexy, and she wants nothing more than to go over to him and slide her fingers into his hair to hold him still while she kisses him breathless, but she has a part to play first.

”Mr. Gold?” she asks, approaching. “I’m Belle French, with the Storybrooke Mirror. You agreed to an interview.” She holds out her hand and he lets go of the dangling yarn forming between his fingers to reach out and shake it.

“Call me Rum, please.” He goes back to smoothing the spinning fiber into a smooth, even yarn, and Belle can’t help but watch his hands.

“That’s a nickname, right?” She takes out a pen and notebook from her purse, ostensibly jotting it down. “For Rumpelstiltskin, because of the spinning.”

“It is. I quite like it.”

“How did you get into spinning?”

“My aunts taught me. We had a wee croft, a few sheep, chickens, that sort of thing. Turned out that I was quite good at it. I like the rhythm of it, and there’s a lot of satisfaction in taking a bit of dirty, rough wool and combing it clean and spinning it into a strong, even twist of yarn that can be made into things.”

“Do you use the yarn yourself? Make it into things?”

“Aye, we do a fair bit of that here, at the commune. Granny’s our champion knitter, ponchos and scarves and mittens, they always sell really well at the Miner’s Day Festival. And my son and his girlfriend like to make dreamcatchers with the wool; they’re another popular item. And of course we make things for ourselves as well.”

“So is that part of your goal here? To be as self-sufficient as possible?” Belle drops her bag on the grass and sits down beside it, cross-legged, resting her notebook on her thigh and glancing back up after scribbling a few things down in it. It’s a lazy sort of day, and for once she isn’t in a hurry to rush to the sex, instead interested in the unusually detailed background story he’s made up about himself, and hinted at in the letter he’d written. She wouldn’t mind being a journalist if she wasn’t a librarian, she thinks, and wonders if the Mirror might be interested in her starting a weekly column about books.

“Aye, I suppose. It’s cheaper to make your own bread than to buy it, for example, and better for you. You’ll have to talk to Anton, our crops expert, if you want to know more about that side of thing. He’ll talk your ear off about beans if you show even the slightest bit of interest.”

Belle grins, thinking of the gentle giant who ran the local health food store, and knowing it was actually true. “You mentioned your son; tell me about him.”

Gold smiles fondly. “He’s an artist. Does portraits when he can get a commission, freelance political cartoons, sign painting, anything really.”

Neal is indeed a good artist, she knows, even if he has chosen the steady paycheck that came with a job at the hardware store over any artistic dreams, preferring to keep it a hobby. “You sound very proud of him .”

“I am.”

“What about those other people you mentioned? His girlfriend, and Granny. Do they live here, too?”

“Aye, Emma and her parents are fairly new here. Her mother’s our respectable member of society – she’s a teacher at the school – and her father can do just about everything around here. Good with the animals, construction work, anything that needs doing. And I can’t even be jealous of him because he’s so nice, too.”

Belle laughs; it really is a good summation of David.

“And Granny, well, she’s been here since the beginning.”

Belle makes a note, and looks back up to watch the whirling spindle, his fingers never still as he forms the yarn between his fingers. “Tell me about the beginning. What made you decide to start a commune?”

“Well, we didn’t, not really, certainly not at first. When my son was young – “ he hesitates, and then continues. “His mother left us, and there I was, needing to go to work and having a wee boy to take care of at the same time. We didn’t have any family, or friends. But I knew the woman in the flat across from ours had taken in her granddaughter recently and was raising her on her own – there’d been some scandal with the mother, from what Milah had gathered. But the lass looked hearty enough, so I figured that the woman knew how to take care of a bairn and I was desperate. I went knocking on her door, thinking she might be willing to look after Neal for what little money I could offer her, since it would be in the convenience of her own home. And he was a sweet, well-behaved boy, no trouble at all.”

Belle looks up at him uncertainly, knowing that he was talking about his own real life here; at least as far as Neal’s mother leaving them went, and wonders about it. He normally never talks about that period of his life, maybe this was one way he could do so? She isn’t sure about the Granny part; they don’t seem to have that sort of relationship. She stops herself from asking if Granny had really watched Neal, though, not wanting to break character yet. Rum has gone through a lot of trouble putting together a backstory for this particular scenario, and she doesn’t want to break the mood. She realises that she knows even less about Granny’s past, or Ruby’s parents, and makes a note on her pad to ask later. She squints against the sun, positioned behind his head and outlining the locks of hair falling forward into his face, and tries to think what would be the next question that a journalist would ask.

“Were you working as a spinner then?”

“Lord, no, an accountant. It’s only been in the last few years that people have begun appreciating handcrafted items again, enough to pay a little more for them than mass-produced factory goods. It was when the last of my aunts died that I took it up again. They’d left me their cottage, and everything in it, including their wheels and a good stash of both raw wool and spun yarn. I would have moved back to Scotland and lived there, but Neal had his friends and his life here, and wanted to stay, so I sold the place and brought as many of their things home with us as possible, things that I remembered from my childhood, even though I had to place most of it in storage. But I made Neal a scarf for Christmas from the yarn, and his friend Emma then asked if I could make her a hat, and paid for it with her allowance money, and then Granny’s Ruby wanted one, and pretty soon the boutique in town contacted me about selling some of my stuff there. I took a leap of faith and quit my job, but if I was going to spend all day at home spinning and weaving, then I wasn’t going to do it in my tiny apartment. This cabin was for sale, needed a lot of fixing up, but Neal was old enough to help by then and enlisted a bunch of his friends from woodshop at school as well. We had it fixed up and livable in quite a short amount of time, and well, that was the start of things.”

Belle mentally sorts out the facts from fabrication. His aunts had been real, she knows, but the cabin has never been more than a weekend getaway place. She is saved having to think of another question by the music in the background coming to a stop and Gold putting aside his spindle and going over to the record player to flip over the disc. A new song begins playing, with what she thinks is a bass line, a deep, thumping riff that gets under her skin and makes her want to move. She stands up, leaving her notepad and pen lying on her bag in the grass, and goes to meet Gold. “I like this song,” she says, beginning to sway in place as he turns back around to face her.

“Do you?”

“Mm-hm.” She takes his hands, trying to get him to dance with her. “In-a-gadda-da-vida, honey, don’t you know that I love you,” she sings, and nearly laughs at the way his eyebrows go up in surprise, biting back the remark that Storybrooke does have an oldies radio station, and it’s kind of hard to forget a song that seems to go on forever. “In-a-gadda-da-vida, baby, don’t you know that I’ll always be true?” She lifts his arms up, spinning beneath him, and smiling; he helps twirl her, her lightweight skirt flaring out around her.

“Oh, won’t you come with me,” she sings, and her mind completely derails in a sexual direction. “Won’t you take my hand?” With a filthy smirk on her face she tugs at his hands, backing away, and he follows, entranced, helpless to do otherwise. “Oh, won’t you come with me and walk this land? Please, take my hand.” She stops as they reach the picnic table, putting her hands on his shoulders, swaying to the music, forcing him to move as well, his feet staying planted but hips and shoulders moving to the beat.

“That’s it,” she encourages, and he smiles, drawing her close with his hands on her hips, pulling her flush against his body. She loops her arms around his neck, playing with his hair, her gaze drawn to the open collar of his shirt. “You look good,” she says.

“Do I?’ He tilts his head, grazes his lips against hers.

“Mm-hm. You should wear light colours more often.” She dips her head, pressing a kiss against his collarbone, mouthing against the warm skin.

“Have we moved into the second portion of the programming?” he asks, amused, leaning in to run his tongue around her earlobe.

“New questions. Like, do you believe in free love?” She runs her hand up his back, feeling each bump in his spine through the soft shirt, and then back down again, slipping up underneath the sun-warmed fabric.

“Oh, most definitely,” he assures her, his breath ghosting over hers as the music throbs in the background, a primal beat that makes him want to move against her, inside her. He debates the practicalities of just lifting her up onto the top of the picnic table and taking her right there.

“And is there a reason for that picnic blanket that you spread out so thoughtfully in the shade of the tree over there?”

“There are twigs and bugs in the grass,” he says, and Belle snorts. “And I thought, if any visitors should wish to recline in comfort…”

“Well, then,” she says, and takes his hand, leading him behind her towards the blanket. She sinks down upon it and he sits down beside her, facing her, and she can’t think of anything else to say, because all she wants to do is touch him. She slides her hand beneath his hair at the nape of his neck and draws him closer and he tilts his head and then they’re kissing languorously, need slowly building between them. Belle slips her hands up under the hem of his shirt, then back out again, tugging at the hem. “Off,” she instructs.

Gold breaks away from the path he’d been nuzzling along her neck to grin at her. “Run out of questions, have you?”

“The only thing I want to know is what you’re going to look like spread out naked before me,” she says, her voice gone a bit husky.

Gold sheds his vest first and then reaches back and yanks his shirt off over his head, his eyes darkening. The light breeze rustling the leaves above them feels good on his heated skin as he shakes his hair out of his eyes, reaching out to splay his hands over Belle’s ribs before she can touch him herself, very much aware that she isn’t wearing a bra and grazing his thumbs over her nipples. Her breathing quickens and her head falls back as he rubs them, back and forth and back and forth, feeling them tighten and swell until she moans and reaches down to grab the hem of her own shirt. Gold obligingly drops his arms so that she can pull it off and cast it aside, the motion lifting her breasts and stretching out her taut belly. She kicks off her sandals and Gold takes the opportunity to remove his own low cut boots and socks, shifting more comfortably now onto his knees, and drawing Belle forward to straddle one of his thighs before kissing her again, more urgently than before.

Belle begins moving, riding his hard thigh, rubbing herself against him. His belt buckle digs into her stomach, and she reaches down, tugging it open and free impatiently, and then going for the snap and zipper of his jeans, wanting only warm skin against her, feeling Gold slide his hands up under her skirt, his palms smoothing along her legs. She slips her hand inside his jeans, palms his growing hardness, and Gold makes a desperate sort of noise, pressing up against her and then pulling back, scrambling to his feet to shove down his jeans and underwear together, while Belle makes quick work of removing the rest of her clothes and tossing them to the side, where she spots his discarded vest and, with a small smile, pulls it on over her bare chest. It feels as good as she had imagined, the suede soft but with just enough of a roughness to its texture to make her very aware of it as it shifts over her breasts, the edges grazing her nipples. Gazing up at Gold, she thinks it’s a good angle, his cock already half hard and lifting away from his body, and she thinks about rising back onto her knees and taking him into her mouth, but as she shifts onto her knees and curls a hand around his ankle, he braces his hands on her shoulders and lowers himself back down to the blanket, stretching out above her, one hand supporting her lower back, and she lets him ease her down, enjoying the weight of his hips pressing her down against the ground. They kiss, long and slow, and then he begins working his way down her body, touching and tasting, fingers and lips and tongue as her head falls back and her body arches into him.

She buries her fingers in his hair and gazes up into the branches of the tree as he suckles at her breasts. Something glints there, catches the sun and magnifies it. She closes her eyes briefly against it, becomes more aware of the pulse of the music in the background, the pulse of her blood in her veins. She opens her eyes again as his mouth leaves her and he moves further down, leaving her nipples wet and swollen and aching. She looks down at her body as she lifts her hands to cup her own breasts, to tug and pinch at the nipples and sees small rainbows dancing over her chest, her skin dappled in light and shade from the sun filtering through the leaves. She looks up in puzzlement, and then smiles in delight and reaches up as if she could reach the crystals she spots hanging from the branches of the tree, their prisms catching the light and breaking it up into the bands of colour that paint her skin and increase the dreamlike quality of the moment. She knows at once where they’re from, thinking of the box in the shop’s back room full of dismantled chandelier parts, but the knowledge doesn’t lessen their magic. She traces one along her skin, then takes one of the vest’s long fringes and shifts it back and forth over her nipple, sucking in a breath as it catches briefly before rolling over. Gold runs a hand along her thigh and she lets her legs fall apart and half closes her eyes as his fingers slip inside her, drawing out her moisture and using it to draw slow circles over her clit.

He watches her rolling the fringe back and forth over her nipple, the flesh visibly puckering around the hardening nub, and his own cock hardens in response. He longs to take her into his mouth, but cannot look away.

“You would fit right in at Woodstock,” he says huskily. “Imagine us there, listening to the music, and I’m standing right behind you, and we’re swaying to the music. You’re wearing nothing but your skirt and that vest, and it’s open, and I’m cupping your breasts in my hands, and playing with your nipples.“

Belle’s hips jerk, as the image goes straight to her core.

Gold dips his fingers into her again, and feels the effect his words are having on her. There’s plenty of slick now, for his thumb to glide easily over her flesh, that light, grazing touch that causes her clit to swell and harden in response. His voice drops in pitch, his Scottish accent strengthening without him being quite aware of it. “There’s people all around us, but it doesn't matter, no one does more than glance our way.” He searches his memory for images from the documentary of the famous concert. “It’d been pouring rain earlier, and your shirt had gone drenched and transparent in minutes. Other people were stripping off their wet things, and you’d boldly done the same; there’s no shame here, no constraints. Bodies are natural, they’re beautiful, there’s no need to hide them. There’s people with body paint, offering their services. Perhaps we’ll ask one to decorate your breasts; would you like that?”

Belle can’t keep from squirming, her eyes wide as they rake over his smooth, lightly tanned chest and lower, his cock blatantly erect for her.

“If we could paint you, too. What about you? Is your shirt off?”

“Oh aye, my chest is bare against your back, and my jeans are clinging to me like a second skin, and my cock is straining against the zipper; anyone who looks at me would know how much I want you. I want to take you away from the crowd and find a place to lay you out on the ground and rut into you like a wild beast, but I need you to come first, come on my hands, come for everyone to see – “ He slid his free hand up her chest, pushing the suede leather of the vest aside, completely baring her front, and cupped her breast in his warm hand, his hips shifting and pressing down against her pubis as he leans over her, thumb being replaced by middle finger, changing the angle, rubbing relentlessly. “Come on, sweetheart,” he urges, kneading her breast, his touch rougher here where she prefers lighter down below.

The music pulses in time with her blood and Gold’s hair falls forward to hang in his face. He blocks out the sun, he is haloed by it, sun and shade and the scent of grass and incense and she is here and she is there at the same time and his cock is heavy and stiff against her thigh and the hard knot of pleasure bursts within her and she comes with all her muscles clenching tight and her fingers digging into his skin where she’d reached for him. His finger stills against her, knowing not to move again until she relaxes, the tension sagging out of her body, and she feels good but it’s not enough, there’s an aching emptiness inside her that needs to be filled. She sits up abruptly, tumbling him onto his back, and straddles his hips, taking hold of his cock and stroking it firmly.

“We’ve gone away from the crowd now,” she tells him. “Found a place by the lake, behind some bushes. They offer us some privacy, but we can hear people nearby, going down to the lake, to bathe, to swim. Someone could easily come upon us, if they came in just the right direction.” She rubs her thumb over his slit, coaxing out a bead of moisture, and he lets out a nearly inaudible whine. “I don’t care, though. I want you, and I don’t want to wait. Are you willing to risk it? Willing to risk someone seeing me riding you into the ground?”

“Hell, yes.” He can’t wait, either. “Let them see. Let them see a beautiful woman like you wants someone like me.”

“You say “someone like me” as if I’m not dripping wet for you, as if I don’t want to have you buried inside me more than anything in the world,” she says, and rises up, positioning him at her entrance so he can feel the truth of her words. “You have to be quiet,” she warns, mischievously, and sinks down.

Gold swallows down the noise that wants to escape his throat as she engulfs him. “I don’t know if I can promise that.” He splays his hands out on her waist, just under the edge of the vest, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. Hanging open as it is, the vest only half covers them, baring a lovely wide strip of pale flesh right down the center of her body, adorned only by the love beads she still wore around her neck. As she shifts above him, the edges of the vest fall back, just revealing her nipples, and his cock throbs in response. He bucks up, everything feeling tight, and hot, and urgent. “That vest is a good look on you; we should keep it.”

Belle grins. “I’m glad you think so; I quite like it myself.” She leans forward over him, resting her weight on her hands, and begins to ride him, deliberately shifting continuously in a way that keeps the edges of the vest moving and rubbing against her breasts, her nipples staying hard and sensitive from the teasing friction. She undulates; rising and falling and pleasuring herself on his shaft, the long fringes falling forward as she lowers herself above his body.

Gold arches up as the leather fringes trail over his belly and swing forward to drag over his nipples, driving himself deeper inside her as he seeks more of the teasing sensation. He cups his hands over her breasts, rolling her nipples between forefinger and thumb, and Belle moans. He grins. “I thought we had to be quiet.”

"I never said I would be." She lifts herself up until just the head of his shaft remains within her, glancing down to see the hard column of his flesh joining their bodies. She tightens her muscles around him, squeezing as hard as she can.

Gold's whole body jerks as he cries out, his balls tightening and drawing up. He drags her back down upon him and rolls them over, pulling back out just enough to slam forward into her, rocking her backwards. He thrusts into her again, all control gone, feeling his climax rapidly approaching.

"That's it." Belle braces herself with drawn up knees and urges him on. "Come on, Rum, give it to me." He is all lean, wiry muscle, and dark hair falling forward and shielding his eyes from her view. She arches up into his next thrust, digging her fingers into his lean buttocks and feeling him long and thick and solid inside her. "That's it, so good, come on, come for me."

He snaps his hips forward, driving deep again and again until his body seizes with pleasure and he stills, braced on his forearms with his hips sealed against hers while the hot flood of his release spills inside her. After a few seconds his muscles unclench and he lowers himself to lay atop her, panting and letting his eyes fall shut as he savours the fading rush of ecstasy, his cock twitching a few times in aftershock as he softens inside her. He feels her fingers run through his hair and turns his face into her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin and the smell of crushed grass beneath the blanket, the air moving lightly over his sweaty back. A bird chatters above them, and he realises that the record had stopped playing at some point, unnoticed. He takes in a deep breath and rolls off to the side, blinking up at leaf-dappled sunlight and rainbows dancing in the air. He turns his head to the side and the corner of his mouth quirks up as Belle does the same and meets his eyes. She looks as debauched as he feels.

"So, Rumpelstiltskin," she says, reaching out to twine her fingers with his. She feels thoroughly well-used and it is about all she has the energy for at the moment. "Do you have any final words for the readers of our paper?"

Gold's smile widens into a grin. "Yeah. Turn on," He draws their joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss to her knuckles. "Tune in, and drop out." He lifts his free hand and flashes her a peace sign, feeling utterly sated and stupidly happy. He thinks of the box from the estate sale.

Best buy ever.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle is hope #worryinglyinnocent #ficwoodelf #turn on tune in drop out #AHAHAHA I FINALLY FINISHED IT #THE SMUT HAS BEEN FIGHTING ME FOR TWO YEARS #BUT I WAS DETERMINED TO GET THIS DAMNED THING OUT OF MY DRAFTS #i'll put it up on ao3 in the morning #i want to give the smutty half a better edit when my eyes aren't so burning and blurry #also i'm never writing anything in present tense ever again #but i wanted to match the style of the others #every read through i kept finding spots where i'd slipped back into past tense and had to change all the verbs #ugh

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today-we-will-survive · 5 years

Text

The Lucky Ones

Moodboard made by me.

Jungkook x Reader

Genre: University!AU, Soulmate!AU, Romance, Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 19K

A/N: This is the longest one shot I’ve ever written and my first soulmate au 😅

This one is for my girl, @dimpled-gukkie 💜

You’ve heard it all before. Patches, Raccoon, Bulls-eye…

People have made fun of the black mark staining the skin surrounding your right eye ever since it appeared the day you turned twelve. Everyone got their soulmate mark around that time. Some late bloomers received theirs when they were just a bit older than others but everyone got one, the mark signifying where their soulmate would touch them for the first time. Most people woke up in the morning with a black palm or a patch on their arm or their shoulder, maybe a small spot on their cheek. But you’ve never seen another person with one covering their eye.

Middle school was cruel to you. You went to school the first morning after you got your mark with your hair covering half of your face. Of course, that didn’t hide it well enough and by the end of the day, there was a rumor circulating that you were going to end up with someone abusive, your first physical touch from them being a punch to the face. Naturally, the thought terrified you and you came home that day and locked yourself in your room, refusing to come back out for a week.

The taunting followed you into high school and by the time you hit senior year, you’d developed a thick skin. The names, the rumors, the fake pitying looks at your unfortunate mark placement no longer bothered you. You became comfortable in your own skin again. You always wore your bangs back, your mark on display like a badge of honor. You tried not to think about the way your soulmate would someday touch you for the first time, instead focusing on the here and now. Living in the moment. Loving yourself.

Sure, you had your moments of weakness. Moments when the shield would come down and you’d notice the whispers, the curious looks, the laughter of little children that had no filter. But you tried not to let the world see. You tried to keep it in until you were alone. Only then did you let the tears spill.

You told yourself college would be different. You were going to one several states away and you hadn’t heard about any of your classmates getting an acceptance letter from them. This was going to be the new start you needed. Sure, you’d been pretending to be brave for the last several years, but now you were actually going to be. You were going to have a fresh start. Meet new people. And these people were going to know you as the girl that isn’t ashamed of her mark. Actually proud of who she is, not just someone who pretends to be in public then breaks down once she’s alone. In fact, you could be whoever you wanted to be at your new school. Were you going to be the mysterious artsy student? The vibrant, loud laughing, dance-to-the-beat-of-your-own-drum student? The dark and mysterious one that always wears black lipstick and headphones? Probably not that last one, but at a new school, the sky’s the limit.

But after going through your closet and deciding you don’t have the wardrobe to reinvent yourself just yet, you decide that the idea of becoming a whole new person is a bit overwhelming and more something that needs to be done gradually.

You didn’t want your parents to help you move into your dorm for fear of either of them saying anything to your new roommate that might give away any part of the life you’re trying to leave behind. You did let them help load your car, though, and gave them tight hugs, making sure they knew that you not wanting them to help you move had nothing to do with how you feel about them but rather their strange need to embarrass the crap out of you.

Now, you kind of wish you had accepted their help as you lug the first of many boxes up the two flights of stairs to your assigned dorm. The hall looks pretty nondescript and you figure they probably all look similar. If you weren’t so directionally challenged, this wouldn’t be an issue. Hopefully you won’t get confused too many times throughout the year.

Now your eyes scan the room numbers for the one that matches the number printed on the paper you clutch in your hand. You reach the end of the hall before reaching your room and when you turn the corner at the end, you freeze, almost dropping the box in your hands in the process. There’s 215, there’s 216 and then you can’t see the numbers on the next door because it’s already open.

You approach dorm 217 slowly, thoughts of who your roommate could be and what she’s like flooding your brain as you peer into the room. A girl is balancing on her knees on the bed to the right, her back to you as she tapes a large calendar to the wall.

“Uh…hi?” you utter, feeling a little like maybe you shouldn’t have interrupted her but also not wanting to just stand there in silence like some serial killer just waiting for her to turn around and acknowledge you.

Luckily she hears your tiny greeting and turns around, long, blonde hair swaying over one shoulder as she smiles at you. “Oh, hi!” she greets cheerily. “You must be my new roommate. I’m Lisa.” She scoots not-so-gracefully on her knees off of her mattress until she can scamper over to you and extends her hand for you to shake. After telling her your name, your gaze darts down to the bright purple glove covering her offered hand.

I mean, yeah it’s cold out but not enough to wear gloves. And one glove? Your eyebrow quirks up questioningly as you meet her eyes again. “Oh, that’s to cover my mark,” she says then tugs it down to reveal the patch covering her palm and disappearing up further under the glove. “I keep it covered so there’s no chance of my soulmate accidentally touching it. There’s too much I want to accomplish this year and I don’t have time for romance.”

You want to mention to her that that’s not how it works. That your soulmate has to deliberately touch you for your mark to change color and even then, theirs won’t until you deliberately touch their mark, but what’s the point? That seems to be the least of your roommate’s worries as she continues rambling, finally reaching out to take your hand to shake. You fumble with the box in your arms.

“Oh, sorry,” she says quickly and takes the side closest to her, helping you guide it onto your bed. “Anyway, I’m running for student body treasurer this year and I’m going to need to focus on campaigning. I won’t have time to deal with a soulmate. Hence the glove.” Then she sits down on her bed, bouncing slightly from the momentum. “So, tell me about yourself.”

You’ve already been in your dorm for about five minutes and haven’t even uttered a word other than “uh” “hi” and your name and now she sits there, expecting you to recite some sort of autobiography. Maybe new confident you is going to have to come on more gradually than you originally thought.

“Uh, well,” you stutter. “I’m an English major.”

“Oh! So you like writing?”

You nod, pulling the cuffs of your sweatshirt down over your hands, a nervous habit you’re going to need to break. “Yeah, nothing too serious yet, though. I want to be published some day but right now I’m more of a hobbyist.”

“So what do you write?” Lisa asks.

You take in a deep breath and look up at the beige ceiling. Beige, everywhere beige.

“Mostly…fan fiction.”

You actually have a pretty large following on Tumblr and you’d never be ashamed of something like this but just sharing the fact with a stranger makes you feel bashful all of a sudden. Your love for fan fiction has really only ever been expressed online and now saying it out loud just seems…weird.

Lisa nods as if she’s trying to be supportive but doesn’t really know what to say. “That’s cool,” she says. “What kind of fan fiction?”

Ugh, you can feel the heat creeping up your neck and you’re sure your face is bright red by now. “It’s mostly…uh…Bangtan fanfic.”

“Is that that one boy band that’s really huge right now?”

That one boy band. You blink back at her. They’re so much more than just a boy band. You’ve been with them since the beginning. Since their debut when they were still figuring out their sound. When they still didn’t know what the future held. You followed them on their rise to the top. You’ve memorized every one of their songs—which isn’t easy with how fast they can rap—watched every one of their videos. They’re not just that one boy band. They’re THE boy band. They’re legends.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“I haven’t really been listening to much music lately. And I definitely won’t have time this year. Gotta stay focused.” Then she spins around and gestures at the giant calendar she just hung above her bed. “My goal is to have that filled with clubs and activities that’ll get me close to as many potential voters as possible.” She spins back around again. “There’s a club fair going on tomorrow and I plan on hitting every booth. You should join me. I’m sure there’s a writing club or a BigBang fan club or whatever.”

“Bangtan,” you correct her.

“Right.” Lisa says then lets out a heavy sigh. “Well, need help bringing up the rest of your stuff?”

The speed at which she changes the subject gives you whiplash and for a second you just stand there in a silent stupor before finally remembering that, oh yeah, your car is still sitting on the street with fifty million boxes inside that somehow need to make it up to room 217.

“That would be great,” you finally say with a smile and a nod. “Thank you.”

“No problem, roomie,” she says the last word with a cute quirk of her shoulders before bounding out the door and down the hall.

As you trail after her, a thought suddenly hits you. She didn’t even mention your mark. You’re so used to people commenting on it or staring at it—you can always tell when their eyes are just centimeters off from meeting your own—when they’re talking to you, but her eyes didn’t even linger. You shrank back into your shyness so quickly when you met her but already you can tell things are going to be different. Maybe the new you won’t be as gradual of a change as you thought it would be. And you can’t tell if you’re excited or terrified.

The first couple of weeks of classes fly by. When you went with Lisa to the club fair, you actually did find a writing club to sign up with and you’ve already attended a couple meetings. Of course, these meetings mostly consist of everyone sitting in silence. Apart from the occasional discussion to help someone work through a plot hole, the only sound is the tapping of fingers on keyboards, but there’s something about being around other writers, even if you’re not talking, that keeps you focused. You’ve been writing and posting fics regularly, even with your busy schedule, and your followers have been as happy as ever. Some of them have even sent you asks congratulating you on making it through your first few weeks of school without imploding, which is something you stated you were afraid would happen in an “end of summer recap” post.

You met the neighbors in room 216 and one of the neighbors in 218—or maybe they’d somehow managed to get the room to themselves because you’ve never seen another person go in or out of that room. You like all of your classes well enough and campus isn’t so confusing. In fact, you could walk from your dorm to any of your classes or the library that your writing group always meets up at, with your eyes closed. Speaking of eyes, not one person has made a single comment about your mark. You see it every morning in the mirror so you know it didn’t magically disappear from around your eye and yet no one has uttered a word. It’s almost like there’s an air of maturity that comes with attending college. People are so much more accepting here than they were in any of your younger years of school. For that, you’re grateful. And it makes it that much easier for you to reinvent yourself. Which you have. Kind of.

You’ve come to terms with the fact that you could never completely change into a different person. You still have your same likes and dislikes. You still love to write and love Bangtan and you still hate waking up early and the taste of coffee sans sugar or cream. You still gnaw at the inside corner of your lip when you’re nervous or thinking deeply about an idea for a new fic. You still have these quirks, but to completely change would be lying to yourself. So you don’t mind that even after almost a month at university, you’re still undoubtedly you. Though maybe just a bit more comfortable. You 2.0.

One Friday evening, you find yourself surprisingly without any homework—at least none that’s due any time soon—and you’ve just settled on your bed, your back propped against the wall, laptop—with your new black marble case because somehow or another you managed to actually chip the corner of it—nestled on your lap and fingers resting on your keyboard when Lisa bursts into the room in a flurry of blonde hair.

“Get dressed,” she says with a bright smile. “We’re going to a party.”

You’re taken so off guard, you can only blink in response before looking down at yourself a little confused by her first comment because you are, in fact, fully clothed. But then the second part of her statement sinks in and you gulp loudly enough for the people out in the hall to hear. “A what?” you choke out.

“A party,” she says and makes her way over to your shared dresser and wrenches a drawer open. “If I’m going to be running for student body treasurer, I need to meet as many potential voters as possible and make a good impression,” she says as she rifles around in the drawer. “I’m running with the Liber party, which is a pretty popular party on campus but as a first year, I’m the underdog,” she pauses thoughtfully. “But that might actually make me look even better.” Then she turns to face you. “Wouldn’t it?”

“Uh, sure?”

“Rooting for the underdog is a thing now, right?”

“I think it always has—”

“Needless to say,” Lisa interrupts as she spins back around and continues digging for an apparently very specific article of clothing. “I’m going to a party and I refuse to go alone, therefore, you’re going too.” Finally, she finds it, a bright yellow sweater, and tugs it on over her head. “After all, the handbook does say we should use the buddy system as a safety precaution when traveling around campus, especially at night and especially as females.” You watch as she pulls open another drawer and pulls out a box full of gloves. She pulls off her green one then plucks a navy blue one out and tugs it on. “I’m not a huge fan of whoever wrote the handbook implying that we females can’t handle our own but nonetheless,” she takes a deep breath and sticks her now blue gloved hand in your direction, “you’re coming with me.”

How can you even argue with such an impassioned and tiring speech? You can’t, so instead you just take her hand causing Lisa’s smile to widen as she pulls you to your feet. Her eyes rove over your face and then the rest of you. “I think you look decent enough. You’re one of those girls that can pull off the super casual look. You know, the ones that don’t even have to really try? I wish I could hate you,” then she reaches up and pulls the clip off the back of your head causing your hair to spill down over your shoulders. She cocks her head to the side. “I really wish I could hate you.”

“Um…thanks, I guess?” you say pulling the cuffs of your sleeves down over your fingers.

Lisa hums in satisfaction before taking your sweater paws in her hands and tugging you with her out the door.

The party is at one of the more well known fraternities on campus, Beta Tau Sigma. For being such a popular frat, you’re surprised to find that the house is actually pretty small.

“I’ve done a lot of research on the different fraternities and sororities here,” Lisa says as the two of you walk up to the house.

“Of course you have,” you say, not taking your eyes off the place.

“Apparently, Beta Tau Sigma is known for throwing some wild parties. And I guess you could say it’s pretty exclusive. There are only ever seven members of the frat living here at any given time.”

Only seven? No wonder the house is so small.

“Only the seven with the top GPAs get to stay here. The rest live in other housing. Interesting, right?” Lisa asks as she tugs you closer to the house.

“Very,” you utter.

Even with how small it is, you still feel like it towers over you. The whole front of it is washed in bright purple light and you could hear the music vibrating down the block before you even stepped foot on it. You’ve never been to a party before—unless classmates’ birthday parties count, which you don’t think they do—so you’re feeling extremely nervous as Lisa pulls you closer, still rambling off facts about this fraternity that apparently throws ragers.

As she leads you, you find yourself shrinking back into your old, shy identity and ducking your head so your hair covers the right half of your face. When you realize what you’re doing, you immediately snap out of it, straightening your back again, holding your head up high and running your hand back through your hair to push it all out of your face. This is not the time to be afraid. This is the moment you’ve been preparing for. This is the moment that counts. Sure, you’ve been around campus, among the other students already, but they were in the same boat as you, too busy navigating their way around this foreign campus to notice the girl with the soulmate mark over her eye. This party would be the beginning of the newer, better version of you. The confident you. The one that’s not afraid to be seen.

It’s hard not to imagine that you’re only pretending to play the part of “college student” in some cheesy coming-of-age movie as you step inside the house. There’s so much to take in, you don’t know where to look first. Whether at the crowd of people surrounding a game of beer pong, or the many bodies dancing in a tangle in the middle of the floor, or the boy doing a handstand with the help of two other boys holding his legs while a fourth pours beer into a funnel that leads down through a tube into the first one’s mouth. The whole scene screams college party and for a second, you feel yourself backing again out the door. Lisa, unfortunately for you, catches on quickly and reaches out to grab onto your wrist.

“Uh uh,” she yells over the music. “We’re here to mingle.”

“You’re here to mingle,” you shout back. “I’m just the victim you dragged along for the ride.”

“You need to mingle too,” Lisa says pulling you along. “I bet you were shy in high school.”

How’d she guess? “Not on purpose,” you say in defeat as she leads you deeper into the house. Bodies bump into you on every side and you bunch your shoulders up, trying to make yourself as small as possible so you can fit through the tiny spaces.

At last the two of you emerge in the kitchen which, to your relief, isn’t as packed despite the fact that this is where most of the alcohol is.

“What do you want?” Lisa asks you.

“I’ll just take a soda,” you say.

“Keeping a clear head tonight, good idea,” she says. “Two sodas then.”

As Lisa makes her way over to the bar to grab your drinks, you lean back against the counter, letting your eyes drift over the scene. From this vantage point, it doesn’t seem so intimidating. If you focus on each person instead of the entire party, you notice little things. A boy with a mark on his arm and a girl with one on her shoulder inching subtly closer to each other, nervous glances exchanged between the two. You see sweat glistening on the forehead of one of the boy’s holding up the one doing the keg stand, as if he’s struggling to support the weight. Sure enough, his grip weakens and the one upside down tumbles to the floor in a fit of laughter. A loud cheer erupts from the beer pong table and a girl has her fists in the air, one stained black, a victorious smile spread across her face. These people are just here enjoying themselves. You should too.

Your eyes travel further and catch on a couple of dark figures in a corner. It’s obvious that the two are making out and you quickly look away.

“That’s Park Jimin,” Lisa says from beside you and presses a cup into your hand. “I’ve done a bit of research on him.”

“Really?” you ask, unable now to avoid looking at him again as he shoves his tongue down the throat of whatever girl is pressed against the wall. Your mouth bunches in disgust. “Why would you care about this guy?”

Lisa takes a drink of her soda and rolls her eyes. “He’s the current student body treasurer and he’s planning on running again.”

You watch as someone comes up behind him and puts a hand on his back causing him to break away from the kiss and turn around. He’s definitely good looking, you won’t deny that, with his dark hair and white smile. He looks like your typical frat boy. The kind that was probably class president throughout high school. The kind that uses his good looks to his advantage. You watch as he raises his arm, palm black, to slap hands with the guy.

“Apparently he’s pretty popular,” Lisa says.

“Apparently,” you utter but Lisa doesn’t hear you as she’s already putting down her cup and running her hands over her hair to smooth it down.

“—which means I need to work twice as hard,” she says pulling on her glove. “Starting now.” Then she turns to you. “Will you be okay here?”

You shrug. “Yeah, I guess,” you say and are about to ask how long she plans on staying so you can leave with her but she’s already weaving her way across the living room. Well, alright then. You sit back again against the counter and take a nervous sip from your cup as your eyes scan the party again.

“That’s kind of lame of your friend to just ditch you.”

When you turn your head to the left, you find a boy leaning against the counter a few feet away from you. He’s not looking in your direction but you’re guessing by the comment that he was talking to you.

“Oh, she’s not really my friend,” you say and then have to stop and think. Wait, is she? “She’s my room—”

He finally turns his head to look at you, his dark eyes locking on yours, set in a sort of uninterested stare. You can’t help the way your heart speeds up a bit when he looks at you. The boy is incredibly good looking and the way he stands is much too confident for him to be a first year. His lean body is curved inward, his broad shoulders slumped, but not in a shrinking sort of way, more in an I-could-be-doing-something-so-much-more-productive-than-this sort of way. He carries himself like a cocky frat boy, but his style reads more 90’s punk than collegiate with his distressed red and black striped sweater and ripped black skinny jeans. His dark hair hangs just barely in his eyes and silver rings adorn the ear that you can see.

“She’s your room?” the boy asks lifting a dark eyebrow.

“—mate,” you spit out then turn away again, automatically trying to shield your soulmate mark from view.

“Well, still,” he continues and you can’t help but peek back at him again out of the corner of your eye. “Kind of crappy to just walk off like that and leave you here by yourself.”

You shrug and fold your arms self-consciously over your stomach. This whole “You 2.0” thing is not going very smoothly. “Yeah, well, she has potential voters to canvas.”

The boy chuckles and stands up straight so he can also fold his arms across his chest. He does it, of course, in a much more confident way than you did. “Ah, so she’s the one running against Jimin.”

You can’t help turning to face him again. “School’s barely even started. How does everyone know so much about everyone else?”

“Your friend, er—roommate—is going to find out very quickly that Jimin doesn’t play nice when it comes to competition. He’s a third year and no one goes up against a member of Beta Tau Sigma and wins. Especially, not a freshman.”

This boy is full of it. “Sounds like you’re not a big fan of first years,” you say. You barely notice how your own gate has changed to match his, your feet planted firmly on the floor and your head held high. He doesn’t look so intimidating anymore.

His mouth curls up on one side into a smirk and he faces you full on now, leaning in a bit too closely. “I have no problem with freshman,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “Park Jimin, however, doesn’t take too kindly to underclassmen trying to steal his spot.”

You narrow your eyes. “I may not know Lisa very well but if there’s anyone that can go up against someone like Park Jimin, it’s her.”

His smile widens and he leans back, his hipbone resting against the counter again. You can feel his eyes lingering on your mark but his expression stays the same. Finally, he sucks in a breath. “I’m Jungkook” he says and extends his hand to you.

You stare at it for several seconds, your eyes raking over the skin of his palm and the back of his hand. No black anywhere on it. To shake his hand would be your first deliberate touch, which means he’s not your soulmate. Sure, it’s a weird thought to have about someone you literally just met, but your mind always seems to go there. Physical contact between strangers has never really been a practiced thing, especially since there’s so much significance in a soulmates’ first touch. Some would say it’s more intimate than a first kiss.

“JK!”

Both of you turn your heads at the same time to find a boy with sandy brown hair coming your way. Immediately, Jungkook swings his hand around, now offering it to him. You watch awkwardly as the two exchange high fives and bro hugs. Only then it seems the boy notices you there.

“Oh hi,” he says and his mouth spreads into a boxy grin.

Jungkook throws an arm around the boy’s shoulder and gestures to you with the other. “Tae, this is…” he squints at your face for a second. “Kitten.”

Kitten?

“Nice to meet you, Kitten,” the boy says with a polite nod.

“You can’t call her that.”

“Then why did you introduce her as Kitten?”

“Because that’s what I’m calling her.”

“Well, how was I supposed to—”

You blurt your name out quickly, both boys turning their attention to you again causing you to swallow hard. “It’s, um, nice to meet you too.”

The boy’s smile widens, his large-eyed gaze holding yours for a few more lingering seconds before Jungkook tightens his hold on his friend’s neck. “I’m guessing you didn’t come over here to chat with a freshman.”

“Well, actually—” his words are cut off by another squeeze from Jungkook. “I mean, Jin wanted me to come get you to help us bring the other kegs in from out back.”

Jungkook snakes his head around slowly to look at you again. Just the gesture alone oozes confidence. Who even is this boy? “I’ll be right back,” he says. “Don’t go anywhere.”

You tilt your head in a small nod and take a sip of your drink.

“I’ll be right back too,” Tae says with a waggle of his eyebrows and Jungkook elbows him in the stomach.

“No you won’t,” he says before grasping onto the back of the boy’s neck and pulling him away from you.

You let out a breath you very cliché-ly didn’t realize you were holding and slump back against the counter. What is even happening right now? You never would have gotten the attention of a boy back in high school. At least not the kind of attention you would welcome. Did something change? Did you suddenly become attractive overnight? Because why else would not one, but two ridiculously good looking upperclassmen take an interest in you?

You tip your cup back, taking a final swig of soda before setting the cup down and pushing off the counter. You make your way through the crowded house, peeking in each open door until you find one with a toilet and a sink then slip inside and latch the door. The loud music pulses through the walls, completely surrounding you and at first it’s overwhelming and you have to take a few deep breaths, but once you’ve managed to get your pulse back down to a manageable rhythm, you step toward the mirror and gaze in. Just as you thought, nothing has changed. Still the same face. Same mouth, same nose, same mark. But maybe there is something different. Something in your eyes that wasn’t there before. Could it be the surety you lacked in high school? Never in a million years would you gain as much confidence as this Jungkook kid has, but the spark is unmistakeable. Maybe there is something more to you than just a big black mark on your face.

A loud pounding on the bathroom door causes you to jump and you quickly fumble with the knob, wrenching it open and immediately shrinking back when the stench of booze hits you like a wall.

“You done?” the boy slurs and you can only nod as you squeeze past him and back out into the hall.

You don’t want to stick around in case the smell of vomit is about to join the already pungent scent of alcohol and you make your way back toward the kitchen with a slight hope that Jungkook is waiting there for you. Sure, the boy is cockier than anyone should be, but there’s something about him. Something that makes you want to get to know him better. If anything, just to find out what kind of person dresses like he listens to Nirvana. But when you get back into the kitchen, he isn’t there yet. Or maybe he already was and saw that you weren’t so he moved on. There are so many people here, you probably won’t see him for the rest of the night. So much for that.

“Another soda?”

You turn around eyes landing on a familiar face—hardly familiar but still. He holds out a red cup to you and you take it, holding it under your nose first and catching a whiff of rum. You hand it back to him. “I don’t drink,” you say giving a polite smile. “But thanks.”

“Ah, sorry,” he says and offers the one in his other hand. “Got them mixed up.”

This one, you can tell is just soda but still you shake your head. “You take a sip first,” you say.

Jungkook tilts his head curiously.

“I don’t know you,” you explain with a small shrug. “Not well enough to accept a drink I didn’t watch you pour.”

You can see him mull your words over in his head for several seconds before he nods. “I can respect that,” he says then brings the cup to his lips and takes a drink, swallowing as he holds it out to you again. You take it, tapping your finger against the plastic before at last setting the cup down on the counter beside you. Better not risk it. Then you face him again.

“Why did you call me Kitten?” you ask.

His eyes have been glued to the cup you just ditched on the counter but now they flick back up to you. “Hmm?”

“The nickname. Why Kitten?”

Jungkook smiles as if he’s just heard a joke and leans back against the counter. You find yourselves in the same positions as before, as if the two of you never left. “I had this cat when I really young. A white one that had one black patch over its eye and you just kind of reminded me of it.”

You can’t help the way your heart warms in your chest at the mention of this fond memory. “You named your pet cat ‘Kitten’?” you ask with an amused grin.

“I wasn’t a very creative five year old,” he says bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. Are those nerves you detect? “Would you rather I didn’t call you that?”

You shrug. “I don’t mind. It’s refreshing after the other names I’ve been called in the past.”

“Like what?”

You look down at your shoes. “Bulls-eye, Dalmatian, Shiner…” When you lift your head to meet his eyes again, Jungkook is staring intently, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “People used to joke about how I’m going to find out who my soulmate is when they come up and punch me in the face.”

“That’s not a very funny joke,” Jungkook says furrowing his brow.

“No, not really,” you say. “But I’ve gotten used to people making fun of my mark. It’s in kind of an unusual place. One that I can’t hide very well.”

“You shouldn’t have to hide it,” Jungkook says and tilts his chin up to meet your eyes full on.

You feel your mouth tug up into a shy smile. “I don’t anymore,” you say. “I think I’ve embraced my mark now. I’m done feeling sorry for myself over something I can’t change.”

Jungkook gives a satisfied nod. “Good.”

The two of you spend the rest of the night standing in the kitchen talking. You don’t catch sight of Lisa again until she finally makes her way back to you, obviously tired from going around meeting everyone there. There are a lot of people crammed into this small house. You really don’t want to stop talking to Jungkook and before Lisa can drag you out the door, he takes your phone, inputting his name and number, and saying goodbye with a flash of that lofty smirk.

“You didn’t do much mingling,” Lisa says as the two of you slowly make your way back to your dorm. Luckily it’s only a couple blocks away.

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t leave the kitchen for the whole night. One person doesn’t count as mingling. You’re supposed to meet people.”

“I met enough people.”

“You met one.”

You feel your mouth lift into an intrigued smile and your fingers wrap tighter around your phone. “One is enough.”

You don’t see Jungkook around campus but the two of you have been texting each other a lot. It has turned into one continuous conversation, never really ending even when the two of you go to sleep at night. You just pick up where you left off when you wake up the next morning.

You can’t help being drawn to the boy. Something about that gleam in his eye when he looked at you at the party. That cocky smirk, that confident gate. Even the way he called you Kitten and the reason behind it made you want to know more about him. But he’s not your soulmate. You have to keep telling yourself that. This is all a waste of time. Dating in general may still be common practice in the world but people really only do it for fun. What’s the point of being romantic with someone if you know they’re not the person you’re going to end up with? At least that’s how you’ve always seen it. You’ve never had a boyfriend—though that could just be because of the big black deterrent on your face—but you’d like to think it’s because you just never saw the point. Maybe there’s something to it, though.

Of course, this whole thing could totally be one sided. You’re not the best at interpreting subtext and signals so you could be way off base when it comes to the meaning behind this sudden attention from a second year. Maybe he’s just being nice—in his own bratty way. Maybe he felt obligated to stick by you at the party because Lisa had left you alone and giving you his number was just the nice thing to do. But then again, you can’t help but remember the way he smiled. The way he told Tae that only he could call you by his little nickname. Either way, the boy is still texting you a week later and so far, there’s no hint of him losing interest. At least not that you can detect.

Your work load is beginning to pile up. Writing group has become more of a study group and your Tumblr has fallen by the wayside. At first you hope that none of your followers will notice that you haven’t posted a new fic in three weeks but before long, the asks start trickling in.

Are you working on anything new?

When are you going to post a new fic?

I miss our boys! When are you going to post again?

Has college taken over your life?

It has. It really has taken over your life. You barely see Lisa since she’s out campaigning, trying her hardest to give Park Jimin a run for his money, and you know she is—just like you thought she would—because Jungkook has been giving you a bit of a play-by-play of what’s going on in the Beta Tau Sigma house. Jimin isn’t bringing home a new girl every Friday night anymore, he’s spending the evenings making posters, writing speeches, setting up rallies and promotional parties.

Y/N: Lisa’s roommate probably wouldn’t be invited to one of these parties, would she?

Jungkook: besides her, you’re public enemy number one.

Y/N: 😛 ah it doesn’t matter anyway. School’s been so crazy, I haven’t really had time to do anything but homework. Are you sure that party a month ago wasn’t a figment of my imagination? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve been doing nothing but writing this essay for the past five years.

Jungkook: Lol. If it was then so am I.

Y/N: well…

Jungkook: ?

Y/N: I mean, it’s been so long, I don’t even really know if I remember what you look like.

Jungkook: are you busy now?

Y/N: didn’t I just say I’m working on an essay?

Jungkook: eh, you’re working too hard. Take a break.

The knock on your door a few minutes later has you thinking that Jungkook was actually on his way over to your dorm while you were still talking to him. How convenient. With a sigh, you get up from your bed, tossing your textbook onto your comforter and shuffle to the door. It’s a very short distance. In fact the two beds and two desks as well as the shared dresser take up almost the entire space, making just enough room in the middle of the floor to maneuver. If both you and Lisa lay on your own beds and stretch an arm out, you could hold hands while you drifted off to sleep. Not that you want to but the ridiculous thought had crossed your mind that first night when you realized just how tiny the room really is.

You don’t need much space though since you do most of your homework and your writing on your bed. You have it set up the same way you did at home which makes it much easier for you focus on your work. It’s hard not to feel a little claustrophobic though in the room. Especially since, when you swing the door open, it actually hits the corner of your mattress. Now it makes a hollow thunk.

Jungkook is leaning back against the opposite wall in the hallway. Staying true to his 90s grunge style, he’s wearing dark skinny jeans, combat boots, a flannel shirt and green army coat peppered with patches. Who is this boy and why does he pull off this style so well?

“Hey Kitten,” Jungkook says as he pushes off the wall and steps closer.

You can only stare at him at first. You haven’t seen him since the party over a month ago and you weren’t lying when you said you couldn’t really remember what he looked like. You forgot how attractive he is. But then his mouth spreads into that bratty smirk and you snap out of your daze.

“I have a paper to write, Jungkook,” you say folding your arms over your chest and leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s Saturday night,” he says. “Surely, you don’t have to be working on it right now.”

You glance back at the alarm clock sitting on your desk. “It’s technically Sunday morning,” you say when you notice that it’s past midnight.

“When is your paper due?”

“Thursday.”

Jungkook’s head tilts to the side and he cocks an eyebrow.

You shift awkwardly onto your other foot. “You’re part of Beta Tau Sigma. Isn’t there a party you should be at?”

He shrugs. “I wanted to see you,” he says and you can feel your ears get hot. “Like you said, we haven’t seen each other since the last party you came to.” Then he leans through your doorway and peers around. “Besides, I was curious to see what a first year’s dorm looks like.”

“Okay, let’s go,” you say putting a hand on his solid chest and pushing him back into the hall before he can get a good enough look.

Jungkook stumbles back with a laugh. “Was that a Bangtan poster over your bed?”

If your ears were hot before, they’re on fire now. “Maybe.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” he says putting his hands up in defense. “I just didn’t peg you as the type.”

Now your eyes narrow as you step back to slip on your shoes and grab your coat off the hook just inside your room before pulling the door closed behind you. “And what type is that?” you ask.

Jungkook shrugs, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t know. The type that would put posters of a boy band up on her wall. I bet you have more back at home, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” you say and start down the hall as you tug on your jacket. He trails after you, continuing his pestering.

“Do you have all their albums? T-shirts? Bobble heads? Ooh, do you have one of those body pillows with their faces on it so you can pretend you’re cuddling with them every night?”

You spin around so quickly he falls back against the wall in surprise. “I do happen to have their albums, I do own several Bangtan t-shirts and I don’t have all that other stuff, but even if I did, it’s none of your business.”

Jungkook’s face breaks out into a grin. “You’re a feisty kitten, aren’t you?”

With a roll of your eyes, you turn around again and continue down the hall, not looking back when you reach the stairs. You know he’s following though because you can hear his peppy footsteps behind yours. The boy is such a brat but the cutest brat you’ve ever met and you can’t help but mull over the way he called you a “feisty kitten”.

Only when you get out onto the street do you realize that you have no idea where you’re going. So, finally, you turn around to face him.

“Where to?” you ask.

He digs into the pocket of his army jacket and pulls out a keyring. “You’ll see,” he says then starts toward a crappy looking black Honda sitting on the curb.

“You expect me to get into that junk pile with you?” you ask him.

“Hey now,” he says making his way around to the driver’s side. “No need to insult Black Betty.”

You let out a quick laugh through your nose. “Okay, now I’m definitely not getting in that thing.”

“It’s an awful long walk to get where we’re going,” he says and yanks his door open before leaning against the roof. “And it’s pretty cold out.”

“But where are we going?” you ask.

Jungkook just smirks and waggles his eyebrows before climbing into the driver’s side. You watch him through the window as he reaches across to unlock the passenger door and push it open. “Come on, Kitten,” he calls.

You duck down so your eyes can meet his. “If I get in, do you promise to never use the word feisty in a sentence directed at me again?”

“Cross my heart,” he says.

With a sigh and a slight flutter of your heart that you’re trying really hard to ignore, you slide into the passenger seat and close the door. For an old junker, his car is actually pretty clean. It even smells nice. Not at all what you would expect a college boy’s car to smell like. Something like pine with a hint of citrus, but not in the sickly sweet car freshener kind of way.

“So, where are we going?” you ask again after putting your belt on.

Jungkook just smiles as he starts the car and pulls away from the curb. Music starts pumping from the speakers and it takes you only a second to recognize the song.

“Is this Mayday Parade?” Jungkook nods, the corner of his mouth lifting more. You fall back against the seat with your own smile as your heart swells with the nostalgia of hearing your old favorite band.

Jungkook reaches over and turns the volume up a bit so you can hear it better. You feel your smile get bigger. “I haven’t listened to them since middle school. I kind of forgot about them actually.”

“Well, I mean, who has time for good music when you’ve got Bangtan, right?” He flinches away with a giggle as you reach across and swat his arm.

“No more making fun of my taste in music.”

Jungkook nods. “So no more using the word feisty and no more mentioning your poor taste in bands. Geez, Kitten, the list of demands just keeps growing. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to remember all this,” he says.

“Why are you like this?” you ask with a shake of your head. “Did someone hurt you? Were you never held as a child?”

“I’m damaged goods, Kitten,” he says in a fake sad voice. “Might as well run while you still can.”

“Well, I should probably at least wait until you stop the car.”

“By then it’ll be too late,” he says.

Now you shake your head. “Dang, I guess I’ll just have to be corrupted then.”

Jungkook can no longer keep a straight face, his mouth spreading into a grin, his eyes still focused on the road. At last he pulls into a parking lot and you duck your head so you can read the sign that’s lit up atop a tall pole.

“Wendy’s?” you ask him.

“It’s the only place in town that’s open 24-hours,” Jungkook says and pulls into the drive-thru. “Plus, frosties always taste better after midnight.”

“Is that a scientific fact?”

“You don’t believe me.”

You shrug.

“I’ll prove it to you,” he says then rolls his window down.

“You know, I kind of hate that you’re right,” you say before sticking a spoonful of chocolate frosty into your mouth. It really does taste better after midnight.

“Why’s that?” Jungkook asks as he swipes a french fry through his own and bites the tip off with his front teeth.

“Because the last thing you need is an ego boost.”

“I’m hurt, Kitten,” he says. “Genuinely hurt.”

“I’m sure.”

Though you’re freezing and eating ice cream, you kind of like sitting out here with him, the traffic noise from the freeway muted by the distance, the air a bit foggy from the cold. The two of you are the only ones out there sitting across from each other at one of the cement picnic tables. Apart from a couple of cars belonging to the employees, Jungkook’s car is the only thing in the parking lot. It’s just quiet and peaceful. You can’t help but feel a hint of sadness when you look down and see that there’s only a little bit of frosty left in the bottom of your cup. Should have gotten a large.

“So where’s your mark?” you ask as you dip your spoon in to retrieve the last scoop.

“Don’t have one,” he says studying a fry.

You pause with your spoon halfway to your mouth. What? “You don’t have a mark?”

“Nope.”

“But everyone has one,” you say.

Jungkook just shrugs. “Not me.”

You’ve never heard of someone not receiving their mark. He must be wrong. “Maybe it’s somewhere you can’t see. Maybe it’s covered up by your hair or something.”

“I don’t think so,” Jungkook says and scoops up more of his frosty with a bundle of fries before shoving them all in his mouth. “It’s fine, though,” he says. “This whole thing is a load of crap anyway.”

You’re still astonished over this new bit of information so it takes you a minute to respond. “What’s a load of crap?”

“This whole soulmate thing. I don’t buy it.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You do realize it’s how life works, right? There’s nothing to buy.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Jungkook utters. “I mean, to have the person you’re supposed to spend the rest of your life with already chosen for you just sounds stupid. What if you’re not compatible? What if you hate each other? And who even decides who that person is?”

You use your spoon to scrape up the last melted bit of your frosty. “Your guess is as good as mine,” you say before popping the spoon into your mouth.

“But you seem a lot more okay with it than I do,” Jungkook says.

You shrug. “It’s just how it is.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“Obviously,” you say and then the two of you are quiet. You can’t help but watch him as he inspects the inside of his now also empty cup. Finally, you let out a sigh and drop your own on the table. “It’s not like anyone is forcing people to fall in love.”

Jungkook furrows his brow and looks up at you. “That just makes it seem like we’re a bunch of mind controlled robots. I’ve seen my friends change completely when they meet their soulmate. I don’t want to turn into a mindless robot.”

“Well, then I guess you don’t have to worry about that since you don’t have a mark, right?”

Jungkook chews the inside of his cheek and focuses again on dragging a fry around the inside of his cup. “Yeah, I guess,” he utters.

His whole world is yellow, the sun in the morning, the cabs that run by his window, even his wallpaper, all yellow. But one day he enters the cafe you work at and nothing can prepare him for locking his eyes on a pair as—

The door blasts open, smacking hard against your mattress causing your whole bed to shake and you quickly look up from your laptop to see Lisa stomp inside in a huff.

“I HATE PARK JIMIN!” she screams throwing her book bag and then herself onto her bed.

You close your laptop and set it down beside you. “What did he do?” you ask cautiously.

Lisa mumbles into her pillow and you have to ask her to repeat herself. Finally with a growl, she lifts her head, her face still covered by her wild blonde hair. “He’s been running a smear campaign against me!”

Your mouth falls open. “Are you serious? And people are actually buying it?” It’s hard for you to believe that someone that has a good enough reputation to have been re-elected for student body treasurer for two years would do something so dirty.

“I don’t know if it’s working or not,” Lisa says with a groan and flips over onto her back. “I just saw a poster with my face plastered on it with the words ‘unreliable’ and ‘emotionally unstable’ written below and then everything just kind of went black.”

You shake your head and try not to let her see the smile you feel tugging at your lips. Sure, your roommate is dramatic but she’s definitely not emotionally unstable. And as far as “unreliable” goes, the girl has been making promise after promise to the different club heads and has managed to keep every one while also maintaining top grades. The girl’s a saint. She doesn’t have an unreliable bone in her body.

Lisa lets out a forlorn groan and throws her arm over her eyes. You know she could use some cheering up, or at least something to distract her, but—your eyes drift back to your laptop—you finally started finding time to write again after over a month now of not posting anything. And this latest one shot is going much better than the last three you attempted and then ended up deleting. What’s more important? Helping you roommate in a crisis or appeasing your followers that have been waiting to read your next Bangtan fic?

“Hey,” you finally say. Lisa turns her head, her eyes peeking out from under her arm to meet yours. “Want to go get some food or something?”

Lisa sighs and drops her hands back down at her sides. “No, I have a project due on Monday that I need to redo. Besides, don’t you have a date tonight?”

You lower your head, your eyes now fixed on your fidgeting fingers. “It’s not a date,” you say quietly. You and Jungkook have been going out for after midnight frosties every Saturday for the past three months now, sitting and talking at the table just outside the restaurant. It’s become a tradition of sorts. One you look forward to every week.

“Well whatever it is,” she utters and then rolls off her bed and lands on her feet. “I’m going to head to the student lounge and work on this stupid paper. And maybe tear down as many of Jerk Jimin’s posters as I can find.”

“Good luck,” you say and she gives you a halfhearted wave over her shoulder before she slumps back out of your room.

You wait until the door latches behind her before reaching for your phone that’s charging on your desk.

Y/N: Hey, do you know anything about Jimin’s smear posters?

Jungkook: …maybe

Y/N: And you didn’t tell me so I could warn Lisa?

Jungkook: Hey, Jimin’s my best friend. I’m not going to betray his trust!

Y/N: Well, you could have at least mentioned that your best friend plays dirty!

Jungkook: I told you at the beginning of the year that Park Jimin is a force to be reckoned with.

Y/N: Well, so is Lisa.

Jungkook: Yeah, apparently an unstable, unreliable one.

Y/N: Have fun sitting out in the cold eating your frosty by yourself tonight!

Jungkook: Wait, really?

Y/N: …

Jungkook: aw come on, Kitten. You know I was just joking.

Y/N: …

Jungkook: Will you go with me if I convince Jimin to take the posters back down and play fair?

Y/N: Alright. But you’re buying me a large frosty.

Jungkook: Anything for you, Kitten.

It’s the middle of January and much too cold to sit at your normal table outside the restaurant so the two of you are sitting in Black Betty, the heater on and some acoustic song coming through the speakers. You’re still not sure why you and Jungkook always choose to eat frosties even in the middle of winter. But at the same time, this is your weekly after midnight frosty. It would be sacrilege to get anything else, no matter how cold it is outside.

The two of you have been talking pretty much nonstop since you climbed into his car back at your dorm. You never really see each other on campus since your classes are in different buildings and you haven’t been to another Beta Tau Sigma party since that one near the beginning of the year, which means the two of you always have something to talk about. He’s an easy person to talk to anyway. Someone you wish you had in middle and high school. You would have been a lot less lonely during those years.

By the time you reach the bottom of your cup, it’s well past two o’ clock. The last half of your frosty had been soup but you wanted to eat it as slowly as possible so you could stay here in the empty parking lot talking to this boy. You try to keep reminding yourself that you don’t date. That there’s no point when he’s not your soulmate. He’s. Not. Your. Soulmate.

But the more you talk to him, the more you’ve gotten to know him, and the more you find yourself missing him whenever you aren’t with him. You miss the citrusy, piney smell of his car, miss the nostalgic, middle school emo music, miss his bratty remarks, his cocky smirk, his sparkling eyes. The laugh that seems to explode from him whenever you say something funny. Which is a lot, apparently. He brings out your sense of humor, makes you want to make him laugh because it’s such a beautiful thing to witness.

And now the sound of your spoon scraping the bottom of your empty cup just brings with it an ache in your heart that you can’t ignore. He’s not your soulmate. With a deflated sigh, you look up at Jungkook. He’s sitting sideways in his seat, his back against the door, one foot propped up on the middle console, staring at his own empty cup in his hand and twirling the plastic spoon around in it.

“So,” you finally say and he looks up to meet your eyes. “We should probably get back, then, right?”

Jungkook nods slowly. “Yeah, I guess we probably should.” Then he shifts around in his seat and turns the engine over. It’s already been idling for a while now so it sputters and he has to turn the car off and try again before it catches. The sound of the engine roaring to life is a sound you don’t really ever like to hear. It signifies the end of the night and the only thing you have to look forward to is your tiny dorm room, another one of Lisa’s tangents about Jimin’s latest antics and a long week of classes before you can do this again.

“Hey, are you doing anything tomorrow?” Jungkook asks all of a sudden.

A while back he told you he always had study group on Sundays—for someone that acts like he doesn’t care about much, he sure is a good student—so you figure Sundays are never available. Plus, as long as you don’t have a ton of homework, Sundays are usually spent at a coffee shop on campus so you can write. You’ve finally fallen back into the habit of posting your fics regularly and your followers have been very grateful for it. You know you need to keep it up if you want to keep them happy but…

“Uh, no I don’t think so,” you stutter out and you want to smack yourself for sounding so nervous.

Of course, this causes Jungkook’s mouth to lift into a cheeky smirk and he gives a small nod. “Want to do something? Study together or something?”

You try not to fuel his ego trip any further, just giving your own nod and a small smile. “We could do that. Though I don’t really have anything I need to study for, surprisingly.”

“Well, then you can just sit there and tell me how pretty I am,” he replies causing you to laugh as he drives to the entrance of the parking lot.

Just then the intro to a song you absolutely despise starts playing and you reach out to change it.

“No wait, I like this one,” Jungkook says and suddenly his hand clamps around your wrist just above the hem of the sleeve of your sweater, his skin mere centimeters from touching yours. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at the hold. It’s not tight and he’s not hurting you but just the fact that he’s so close to touching your skin causes panic to flood your body for a split second. You’re just not used to the contact and immediately, you wrench your wrist back and clutch it to your chest.

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “Did I scare you?” His words come out quick. “Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you say with a shake of your head. “I’m sorry, you just startled me.”

“I just didn’t want you to change the song. I didn’t mean to—”

“No, really, Jungkook. It’s okay,” you say again.

Jungkook’s brow furrows as he studies your face. “What are you afraid of, Kitten?” he asks. “I’m obviously not your soulmate.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I don’t have a mark.”

“I still don’t believe that,” you say shifting in your seat.

The concerned look falls from his face, a curious one replacing it. “If my first deliberate touch was on your wrist, wouldn’t your mark be there instead of over your eye?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I mean, I could always…” he reaches his hand up toward your face and you instinctively pull back.

“Jungkook, stop,” you say, your heart pounding in your ears.

Jungkook drops his hand onto his lap and peers at you again. “Why are you so scared?”

“I’m not scared. I just…don’t know that I want a boy that I know isn’t my soulmate to touch my mark.”

He gives a small nod. “Fair enough.” Then he presses his hand, fingers splayed, against his thigh. “What about your hand then?”

You chew the inside of your cheek thoughtfully. What’s the worst that can happen? He doesn’t have a mark on his hand and neither do you. He’s not your soulmate. You have to keep telling yourself this. Though every time you do, you feel another stab at your heart. You really wish he was.

“Alright, fine,” you say with a sigh and hold your hand out to him, palm up.

Jungkook’s eyes dart down to it and he sucks in a breath. “What’s that?” he asks and you notice his voice suddenly sounds tight.

Now you look down at your hand too. “Oh, it’s just a scar,” you say using the thumb of your other hand to trace around the raised line on the heel of your palm. “I cut myself really bad on a piece of glass when I was younger. It looks worse than it was though. I didn’t even need stitches.”

“Interesting,” he says then finally pulls the car out onto the street.

Why does he seem so tense all of a sudden?

Neither of you say a word as he drives you back to school. Even when he pulls up to your dorm, he’s quiet, his eyes glued to his hands where they grip the steering wheel. Before you shut the door, you duck back down so you can see him. “Jungkook?”

“Yeah?” he asks quickly and turns his head finally to look at you.

“Uh...did you still want to hang out tomorrow?”

Jungkook pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and looks back down at his hands again. “I, uh, just remembered that I have to help Jimin with something tomorrow. I’m not going to be able to hang out. Sorry.”

What did you do? Why is he acting so strange? “Oh, okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you later then.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “I’ll see you around.”

He doesn’t look your way again and you find there’s nothing for you to do but shut the passenger door and step back onto the sidewalk. His car pulls away from the curb and you watch his tail lights until they disappear around the corner. Even then, you stand there, listening to the sound of his car’s engine fade to silence.

Jungkook doesn’t text you. He doesn’t answer his phone when you try to call him. After a week of silence and your first missed midnight frosty run, you’re kind of tempted to go over to the Beta Tau Sigma house and confront him face to face. But that seems like a lot of effort to put into this when he’s not even your soulmate. You told yourself that you couldn’t date him, that this couldn’t go any further and now that it almost did the other night—even if it would have been just a touch—you really wish it hadn’t. You wish you would have just let that stupid song play. Wish you wouldn’t have even started going on those stupid weekly midnight frosty runs, wish you wouldn’t have met him, wish you wouldn’t have gone to that stupid party in the first place. You knew it would have to end eventually. And now it has, and you can focus on other things. On school, on writing, on Bangtan.

Over the course of the next month, you’ve posted a new fic almost every day. Where they were once sweet, fluffy, member x reader fics, they’ve turned angsty, depressing, filled with internal conflict and heartbreak. Of course, your readers are eating it up. They have no idea what has made you switch gears so suddenly but they love it. You’re even enjoying watching your follower count go up, the number increasing faster than it ever has. You’ve gained over a hundred in just the past couple of weeks. Though you’d trade all of that in a heartbeat just to know what happened to make Jungkook shut you out all of a sudden.

You’ve been spending a lot more time at the coffee shop near your dorm. That’s where you go now on Saturdays and stay usually until close. What’s the point of sitting in your tiny dorm if Jungkook isn’t going to come knock on your door anyway? It’s a good distraction. The people, the noises, the conversations drown out your own thoughts and keep you focused on the task at hand, whether that be a paper you’re writing for whatever class or a new Bangtan fic. Tonight, it’s the latter.

You shouldn’t have trusted him. You tell yourself that now from where you lay half buried in the snow, the only evidence that you’re down there is the skis sticking up out of the you shaped hole. Your boyfriend, the brat that he is, isn’t even trying to hold back his giggles as he bends down to pull you out. “Are you okay, Y/N?” he asks, his smile almost too wide for his face. You glare at him and brush the snow off the back of your snowsuit.

Now what? You think to yourself as you tap your fingers against the keyboard. This is your first time writing anything fluffy in a long time and you can tell you’ve grown a bit rusty. With a sigh you look up from your computer screen, your eyes scanning the cafe for a moment before settling on the few people standing in line in front of the register. Then they lock on a familiar person.

Tae stands there, head bent, face lit up by his phone screen. You don’t want him to see you. You don’t want him to call you over or mention Jungkook or ask you how you’re doing—because honestly, even though it’s been over a month, you still aren’t feeling that great. Whatever he’s doing on his phone, he seems distracted enough for you to be able to get out unnoticed so you slowly close your laptop and slip it into your backpack before picking it up off the floor and getting up from your chair as quietly as possible.

Of course, right at that moment, the barista behind the counter decides to call out your name, holding your drink up for you to retrieve, and of course, Tae recognizes it and turns around, his eyes locking with yours. Crap. Now your name is called a second time, this time by the boy you were trying to avoid.

Perfect. You smile and wave back, trying not to look like you’ve been caught trying to escape as he steps out of line to grab your drink for you before making his way over to your table. You smile and utter a thanks.

“Oh, were you just leaving?” he asks you, tilting his head toward the backpack hanging off your shoulder.

“Well, I was going to just head back to my dorm to finish writing this…paper.” It’s still too weird for you to tell people that you write fan fiction. When you told Jungkook, he teased you a bit at first—surprise surprise—but once he’d read some—much to your horror—he said it was actually really good. You’d smacked him on the arm for sounding so surprised and using the word actually.

“Well, would you want to come to a party instead?” Tae asks you with a shrug.

“Oh, I don’t know, Tae,” you say looking down at your shoes.

“Come on,” he says. “You haven’t been to one since our first this year. You can’t tell me you’d rather write a paper than come back with me.”

“What were you even doing getting coffee if there’s a party going on back at the house?”

Tae shrugs and now it’s his turn to look down at his feet. “I may have heard you frequent this cafe.” Then he looks up again at you shyly. “So I figured I’d see if I could find you and convince you to come.”

You can’t help but feel flattered. The boy is adorable and he seemed sweet the one other time you interacted with him. Maybe he would be the key to getting over Jungkook. Of course, the fact that he lives in the same frat house as Jungkook makes your insides churn with conflict.

“I don’t know, Tae,” you say. “Things are weird between me and Jungkook and I just really don’t want to run into him—”

“Oh, he’s not there,” Tae interrupts with a smile. “He’s at study group tonight and he usually stays there pretty late.” Then he puts a hand on your arm, the warmth seeping through the material of your sweater and causing goosebumps to raise on your skin. “Just please come to the party with me?” His wide, pleading eyes peer up at you from beneath his sandy brown hair and his mouth curls into a small smile. He’s too adorable, how can you refuse?

At last you let out a sigh. “Yeah, okay,” you say. “But I can’t stay too late. Just a couple hours.”

Tae’s smile widens until his bright white teeth are on full display and his eyes have almost disappeared. “Awesome,” he says then takes your backpack from you and swings it over his own shoulder to carry. “Shall we?” he asks gesturing toward the door.

You can only smile back and give a small nod. Your heart skips but something deep in your chest keeps the butterflies from turning into a full frenzy. Maybe it’s because you know Jungkook isn’t going to be there. Maybe it’s because you wish he was.

You find yourself experiencing deja vu as you and Tae approach the home of Beta Tau Sigma. This time the light reflected on the front of the house is a deep blue but the street is still vibrating with the bass-heavy music blasting from within it. You take a deep breath telling yourself over and over that Jungkook isn’t here. That he doesn’t even have to know you came. You’re here with Tae.

It’s like walking into a memory when you step inside. The room is wall to wall people and you reach forward, hooking a finger through Tae’s belt loop so you don’t lose him in the crowd. There’s the beer pong game in the corner, the keg stand happening by the stairs and the dancing bodies surrounding you. You’ve done a pretty terrible job at completely reinventing yourself this year but the progress you did manage to make is completely gone now as you shrink into yourself, pushing up against Tae’s back so you don’t get separated.

You only let go of him when the two of you reach the kitchen and he turns around. It was hot in that front room with all those bodies and when he turns to face you, your breath catches in your throat at the way his golden face flushes a bit pink from the warmth. You’re already hot since you’re wearing a sweater—why didn’t you think to go back to your dorm to change before coming here?—but now you feel a slight sheen of sweat break out on your forehead.

“Did you want something to drink?” he asks you, his voice lower than it was when you were talking on the walk back from the cafe.

You can only nod your head and then watch as he makes his way over to the bar. You didn’t mention that you don’t drink but for some reason you don’t call after him. Maybe it’ll help you get through this night in one piece.

“Here,” Tae says pressing the cup into your hand.

Thanks,” you utter and lift it to your lips. The smell of alcohol burns your nose but you tip the cup back anyway, tears springing to your eyes the moment the liquid touches your tongue. Don’t cough. Don’t cough. Don’t cough. You take a small drink.

“Kitten?”

Okay, now you do cough, slapping a hand over your mouth to keep from spitting everywhere as you spin around and come face to face with Jungkook.

“JK, I thought you were at study group,” Tae says from behind you, his deep voice tinged with panic. Well, good, at least he’s caught off guard too.

“I was,” he says not taking his eyes off you. “But now I’m not, so…”

“Jungkook,” you say but he turns away, heading back into the living room before you can say anything. You look back at Tae and press your cup into his hand. “I’ll be right back,” you say before diving after Jungkook into the crowd.

You catch him in the hallway that branches off into the rest of the house, your hand clutching his sleeve. To add to the deja vu of the whole night, he’s wearing his red and black striped sweater again. “Just wait a second.”

He turns to face you with a roll of his eyes. “Tae? Really?” he asks with a humorless laugh. “I mean, I guess I can’t blame you. He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he sure is the shiniest.”

You furrow your brow, anger making your stomach churn. “You’re not allowed to be mad. You’re the one that’s been completely ignoring me for the past month. What did I even do?”

“Nothing,” he utters. The music is still loud so you only barely hear him but you can tell he’s frustrated.

A burst of laughter echoes down the hall and you let out an irritated growl before pulling Jungkook into the closest empty room for privacy. It’s some sort of study.

You slam the door and whirl around to face him again. “You can’t completely ignore me and then get mad at me for moving on, Jungkook,” you say louder now.

“I know, but I mean, Tae? Really? Why not someone else? Like Jin or Namjoon? Do you really think Tae is soulmate material?”

You didn’t even think about the possibility of him being your soulmate. You don’t even know where his mark is, plus before tonight you’ve talked to him once. The fact that Jungkook is the only one you’ve actually thought about like that and now he’s mocking you makes you even angrier.

“What does soulmate material even mean? And why do you care who I’m with, Jungkook?” you ask, blinking rapidly because you can feel angry tears welling up and you refuse to cry in front of this boy. “Maybe Taehyung is my soulmate.” He laughs at this. “But even if he isn’t,” you continue, “it’s none of your business. You don’t even have a mark so why should you care?”

Jungkook stares at you with narrowed eyes for a long minute, his teeth working his bottom lip, his thick eyebrows furrowed so harshly, deep lines have formed in his forehead. At last he lets out a puff of air through his nose and leans back. “You’re right, Kitten” he utters. “It’s none of my business.” Then with a shake of his head, he turns and slips back out into the hallway, leaving you alone in the empty room.

“Hey, everything alright?” Tae asks when you make your way back into the kitchen.

You grab your cup back from him and take a drink, wincing as the alcohol burns its way down your throat. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you say.

“Jungkook can be a jerk sometimes.”

You take another drink. “Yeah, I guess.”

You know he feels bad for putting you in the situation and you know he wants to make you feel better, but you just can’t bring yourself to smile again. Even as you look at him and his own mouth lifts into a charming grin. Ugh, this boy is beautiful. With a deep breath, you tip your cup back again, gulping down the drink until your cup is empty. It’s already starting to take effect, making you unstable on your feet, but at least the anger and sadness is melting away. Now when you look at Tae again, you find it easier to return the smile.

“Do you want to dance?” you ask him.

He nods his head quickly, pushing off the counter and offering his hand. The alcohol may be clouding your brain but not enough to keep you from wondering “what if he is my soulmate?” Instead of taking his hand, you wrap your fingers around his wrist where it’s covered by the cuff of his long sleeved shirt and tug him with you toward the crowded living room.

You’ve never danced with a boy before, at least not one you weren’t forced to dance with by your parents, so you aren’t quite sure what to do once the two of you reach the middle of the tangle. Tae, luckily, has done this before and he puts his hands on your hips, his shoulders hunched in and it almost feels like he’s surrounding you. The alcohol in your system helps keep your nerves at bay and you find yourself moving along with him to the music. This isn’t so bad. In fact, you’re actually enjoying yourself.

You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck and feel his hands tighten on your hips. What if Tae is your soulmate? Even if he’s not, what if you were to give dating a try? Maybe he’s not the one that you wanted to try it with but who’s to say he can’t be?

Your eyes begin to wander, your head turning slowly as you scan the room over Tae’s shoulder. His body heat radiates through your clothes and the music pulses in your chest and the alcohol clouds your brain and suddenly your eyes stop on Jungkook where he leans against the wall staring back at you. His head is down, his hands in his pockets and he’s peering at you through his dark hair. You can’t tell if he’s deep in thought or angry at what he’s seeing, either way, a wave of guilt crashes over you and you feel yourself stumble, your chin bumping into Tae’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asks looking down at you, his forehead creased with worry lines.

“Yeah,” you say quickly. Though not quickly enough since the alcohol in your system seems to be making your tongue heavy. “Sorry, I’m just...clumsy.”

Tae smiles. “No, it’s okay,” he says. “It’s cute.”

Cute?

“You think I’m cute?” you ask.

His smile widens. “Yeah, really cute,” he replies biting his bottom lip.

Your eyes shift back to Jungkook and he seems to be staring at you even more intensely. As if he’s trying to speak to you telepathically. Why is he doing this? Why is he trying to ruin your night? Tae is a sweet guy. One you could see yourself getting closer to. And he thinks you’re cute! You return your gaze to Tae and smile back.

“I think you’re cute, too,” you say shyly. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck and you can’t help but glance one more time past his shoulder.

But your eyes only settle on a blank wall. Jungkook must have left. Good. You don’t need him being a distraction anyway. Though even as you dance with Tae, you can’t keep the memories from surfacing in your mind. Of that first night meeting Jungkook. His cocky smile, how it faltered for a split second when Tae called you Kitten. Of that first time he came to your dorm and saw your Bangtan poster. How he laughed as you swatted at him for making fun of you. Listening to Mayday Parade on the way to Wendy’s. Sitting at that outside table surrounded by the cold and darkness—frosties really did taste better after midnight. The way he looked at you that last night, like he wished he were your soulmate as much as you did.

You pull away from Tae. This is wrong. He looks down at you a bit confused. This is wrong. This is wrong.

“This is wrong,” you say out loud and then look up to meet his concerned expression. “I’m sorry, Tae,” you say. “I have to go.”

Then without waiting for him to respond, you turn away, pushing through the crowd until you reach the wall. You make your way around the perimeter of the living room, eyes searching for a glimpse of that black and red striped sweater. It’s hard to make out colors with all the bright, flashing lights and the alcohol causing your vision to blur a bit but you’d know if you saw it. He’s not there.

After circling the living room, you step into the kitchen. Maybe he’s getting a drink. Not there either. What if he left? Panic starts to set in as you stumble back toward the living room. Upstairs, maybe? You’re about to head for the stairs when you spot him back by the entrance to the hallway. With a cry of relief, you approach him, ignoring his protest as you grab him, once again, by his sweater and tug him down the hallway and into the room from earlier. You pull the door shut behind you then spin around to face him.

“Kitten, what the—”

“I need you to touch me,” you say cutting him off.

Jungkook blinks back at you several times, still in shock over the fact that one minute you’re yelling at him and the next, you’ve dragged him back into the study. Finally, he opens his mouth. “Um, what?”

“Please, Jungkook,” you utter. “Just touch me. Touch my mark.” Then you step toward him.

Reflexively, he moves back and you feel your heart drop an inch in your chest. “Wait a second, Kitten,” he says and holds his hands up. “Why do you want me to touch you? I thought Tae was your soulmate.”

You rake your hands down your face and let out a frustrated groan. “I don’t know if he is,” you say from behind your fingers.

“Well, there’s an easy way to find out,” he says and moves around you to try and get out of the room.

In a rush of panic, you quickly step in front of him again, blocking his path. “I don’t want him to touch me,” you say.

“Why not?” he asks irritatedly and grabs your arm to move you out of the way.

“Because I don’t love him!”

Jungkook freezes mid-step, his hand still warm through the material of your sweater. Your head is pounding, your blurred vision pulsing with every rapid beat of your heart. The two of you stand in the dim room, the sounds of your breathing amplified by the tense silence. At last you feel his fingers curl around your arm before he steps back again to look at you.

“I don’t want him to be my soulmate,” you whisper. “I don’t want him to touch me.” You can feel the tears welling up more and threatening to spill over. Your throat begins to close up. “I want you to.” You take a shuddering breath. “I want you.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen for a split second before darting back and forth between yours. As if he’s waiting for you to take it back. As if he’s waiting for you to say you didn’t really mean it. But you won’t take it back. And you did really mean it. At last, he lets out a heavy sigh. “That’s not how it works, Kitten,” he says. “It doesn’t matter who you love or who you want. That’s why this is all so stupid.”

You tilt your head down as you feel your heart slip from your chest and shatter on the floor. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, instead favoring keeping your eyes glued to your shoes. This just makes the tears spill over but you know that crying in front of him won’t change a thing and at last you lift your head. A pained look crosses Jungkook’s face when he sees the despair written on yours.

He steps closer to you. “Don’t cry, Kitten,” he whispers.

It’s too late for that. You sniff again wishing you could fall into him. That he would wrap his arms around you and hold you against his warm chest and you could just listen to him breathing. Listen to his heart beating. Even if it’ll never belong to you.

“Please don’t cry,” he says again then takes his hand off of your arm and brings it up to swipe his thumb across your eye, catching a tear as it falls.

You gasp a little at the feel of his skin brushing yours, a new sensation that takes your breath away. Jungkook seems to realize what he’s done at the same time because he pulls back suddenly as if he’s been burned. When you open your eyes, you’re met with his own astonished expression. His mouth is open, his eyes wide. You sniff self-consciously and bring a hand up to swipe your sleeve under your nose. “Jungkook?”

“I have to go,” he says quickly then rushes past you and out the door before you can say anything.

It’s almost midnight and the only light in your room is from the white lights you and Lisa strung up at the beginning of the year. The small lights make it pretty dim, but there’s still no mistaking that the mark surrounding your eye is now a bold crimson. Your gaze lands on Lisa where she sits at her desk over your shoulder. She’s been staring at you for as long as you’ve been standing there staring at yourself. You can’t help it, though. You can’t help fixating on your soulmate mark. The patch of skin that was once black and now red.

“So you can’t get ahold of him?” Lisa finally asks.

You left the party an hour ago and Jungkook hasn’t answered your calls or texts.

You reach up to touch the deep red skin, for some reason expecting it to feel different. Warm or something. But no, it feels the same as it always has.

“No,” you say with a sigh. “I should just give up.”

You can’t help feeling confused. He told you he doesn’t even have a mark. Why would yours change color when he touched you as if he were your soulmate, if he doesn’t even have one? Does that happen? Can an unmarked person have a soulmate? You’ve never even heard of someone not having a mark.

“Maybe it’s some weird allergic reaction or something,” you utter, though both of you know that’s complete crap. Nothing could turn your black mark red other than a touch from your soulmate. There’s no other explanation. “Or maybe he just doesn’t want me.”

Lisa’s mouth lifts into a sympathetic smile. “Well, maybe you could—”

A sharp knock has you stumbling backward from the door and bumping into Lisa where she’s jumped to her feet. Neither of you are expecting anyone. In fact, you’re both in your pajamas, Lisa’s hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head.

“Should one of us get that?” Lisa asks from behind you. Even as she says it, you feel her push against your back, forcing you to step forward.

This is ridiculous. It’s not like an axe murderer would knock and wait for you to answer the door before coming in swinging. With a deep breath, you take the few steps it takes to cross the room and pull the door open. Your heartbeat falters when you see Jungkook standing there in a black zip hoodie. His eyes lock with yours.

“Hi,” you say, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious at your reddened mark on full display. Your blush deepens and you tilt your head down at the fact that he’s the one that made it that color.

“Hi,” he utters and shifts from one foot to the other. He seems as nervous as you feel.

You sense a presence behind you and you turn to find Lisa standing there. “Well,” she says. “I think it’s time for me to go and do…something.” Then she slips past you, squeezing around Jungkook before marching down the hallway.

“You’re in your pajamas!” you call after her.

“It’s fine!”

“And you’re not wearing shoes!”

“It’s fine,” she calls again, waving an arm over her shoulder before turning the corner.

You and Jungkook stand there in your doorway for several more tense seconds, the only sound being your uneven breathing as each of you wait for the other to speak. The silence drags on until at last you both open your mouths.

“About the party—”

“Why did you—”

You clamp your mouth shut and nod, urging him to go first.

“Look, Kitten,” he says. “I know I ran off, and you have every right to be mad at me but I kind of freaked out and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“So you just left me?” you ask weakly. You can’t help the way your voice cracks. You’ve been in a bit of a daze ever since seeing that your mark had changed and now that Jungkook’s here, it’s all seeming to catch up with you. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“I know.”

“I thought you didn’t want me.”

“I know.”

“I thought you said you didn’t have a mark.”

“I know.”

“Well?”

Jungkook sucks in a breath, his eyes tearing away from yours to look down at the floor. You just watch him as he works his bottom lip between his teeth, until at last, he looks at you again. Instead of speaking, he reaches up to grasp the zipper of his hoodie then tugs it down, revealing a long strip of golden skin. When he pulls one side away, you can’t help but gasp at the sight.

It’s not just the sudden expanse of smooth skin that startles you—or the fact that he’s not wearing a shirt—but the black mark in the shape of a handprint staining the spot over his heart. The creases on the palm and fingers are perfectly etched out, and on the heel just below the thumb, is a thick line, devoid of black. A scar in the exact mirrored shape of the one on your own palm.

He doesn’t lift his head but closes his eyes as if preparing for your outrage. After all, he did blatantly lie to you about having a mark. With how long the two of you have been friends, with how close you’ve gotten and with how much you’ve shared about your lives with each other, maybe you should be. But you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but pure astonishment as your eyes trace the handprint. It’s so perfectly clear. Like no mark you’ve ever seen before.

You feel your hand twitch down at your side, the need to place it over the print too strong for you to resist. As if some force is guiding you to it, your arm raises, your fingers brushing up Jungkook’s sleeve before you reach up and place your hand directly over his heart, covering the mark completely. Jungkook sucks in a breath at the feel of your bare skin against his. He’s so warm.

Neither of you move. Your eyes stay glued to your hand where it sits over his mark. You can feel his heart hammering in his chest under your palm, seemingly matching yours which pulses in your ears. It’s all you can hear until Jungkook opens his mouth to speak at last.

“I didn’t want a soulmate,” he says. Your eyes finally shift to meet his. “I could have gone my whole life without one. At least I thought I could. And then I met you. And I feel like this is…different. I wanted you even when I thought you weren’t mine. And maybe that’s how this whole thing works but I don’t even care anymore. I’ll be a mindless robot if it means I get to be with you.” Then he reaches up to wrap his fingers around your hand and pulls it from his chest. A deep red handprint stains his skin.

You let out a heavy sigh of relief. “That could have been really awkward if it stayed black,” you say shakily.

Jungkook can only let out a broken laugh before taking your face in his hands and pulling you to him. Your mouths collide in what you can only describe as the most beautiful thing you’ve ever experienced. The relief flooding your chest is such an overwhelming feeling that you have to clutch onto Jungkook’s sides for dear life to keep from drowning in it. Tears trail down your cheeks, sliding over his fingers and when the two of you pull apart at last, you can see his own dark eyes glittering.

“What time is it?” he asks breathlessly.

You crane your neck around to glance at the clock on your desk. “A little after midnight,” you say turning again to meet his eyes.

The corners crinkle as his mouth lifts into a bright smile. “Frosties?”

The room is way too small for how many students are crowded into it. A temporary stage has been erected in the center and now it’s surrounded by an ocean of people in yellow and dark green waiting to hear the results of the student government elections. You, of course, stand next to Lisa and the rest of the candidates in her party. You’re already sweating from jumping up and down and screaming in celebration every time someone from Lisa’s party wins for their senate category. She’s been running under the Liber party, their color’s bright yellow and navy blue, so of course you’re sporting a canary colored shirt in support. Even if she wasn’t your roommate, the values her party stands for are right up your alley. You would have voted for her anyway.

You look across the stage at the Optimate party, the crowd decked out in dark green and white. Jimin stands in the forefront in a forest green blazer, his palms pressed together in front of his face in silent prayer as he stares up at the Supervisor of Elections. The senate seats have all been announced, the majority going to the Optimates. Jimin isn’t very good at hiding his satisfaction and even from where you stand, you can still see the determination in his eyes. But then your focus shifts a little to the left and you feel your mouth tug up into a smile.

Jungkook smiles back from where he stands a bit behind Jimin, mouth stretching wide to show his teeth. You feel your heart swell in your chest and you imagine his is doing the same. The V of the white t-shirt under his dark green cardigan is deep enough that you can see a bit of a red fingerprint peeking out. It’s bright against his golden skin and the fact that it’s on display for the world to see—though not as obvious as yours—makes the butterflies already fluttering in your stomach work into a flurry. It’s been months since the two of you made it official but even still you can’t believe that this beautiful boy is yours forever.

An elbow jabs into your ribs and you jump a bit.

“Stop making googly eyes at the enemy,” Lisa hisses. “They’re announcing the results for the executive ticket.”

“Right, sorry,” you utter glancing quickly back at Jungkook. He gives you a wink, sending the butterflies into a whirl again and you look away quickly as you feel heat tinge your cheeks.

“For position of treasurer,” the boy on stage says into the mic. That’s Lisa’s category. You paw at the space next to you for a second before your hand comes in contact with your roommate’s gloved one and you grip it tightly. You can feel her fingers bruising your own and you know your hand is going to be sore tomorrow but you couldn’t care less at the moment. The whole crowd is holding its breath.

Then the tension in the room bursts like a bubble as barely the first syllable of the Liber party comes out and the crowd descends into chaos. You’re jumping up and down and screaming as you clutch onto Lisa for dear life, the two of you suddenly at the center of a heap of bright yellow bodies. Your ears are ringing from the shouting around you and you’re sure your whole body is going to be sore from the onslaught of elbows and shoulders but they don’t even register now as you hug your roommate so tightly, you’re surprised she doesn’t snap in two.

At last you pull away from her, tears streaming down both of your faces.

“You did it!” you yell over the cheering.

“I did it!”

“You beat Jimin!”

“I beat Jimin!”

At that, you turn your head to face the other side again. Jimin’s back is to you, his face tilted to the ceiling and Jungkook has an arm over his shoulder, his big hand on the older boy’s back, giving him a few supportive pats. His eyes meet yours again for a split second and he flashes a small smile. You can tell this one is different than before. A bit sadder, disappointed, but still congratulatory. You smile back before turning around again to continue celebrating with Lisa.

The president and vice president end up going to the Liber party as well so the two of you are ecstatic by the time you make it back to your dorm. Lisa goes straight for her bed, throwing herself onto the mattress and screaming into her pillow. You laugh as you shut the door then spin around to face the mirror hanging on the back of it.

Jungkook is supposed to pick you up any minute so you don’t have much time to redo the makeup that has been sweated and cried off. You rip the band out of your hair and shake your head, letting it spill down around you. Just then there’s a knock on the door and, with complete disregard for how crazy you must look, you reach for the knob and yank the door open.

“Hey Kit—HOLY CRAP!” Jungkook falls back against the opposite wall hands up in defense.

With a roll of your eyes, you blow a stray strand of hair out of your face. “Come on, I can’t look that terrifying.”

“I beg to differ,” he says straightening back up slowly.

You swing the door around so you can see your reflection again and wince. Okay, so you do look a bit like an escaped psychopath. Quickly, you swipe your hands down your cheeks to clear away the smudged makeup then reach up to smooth down the mess on your head.

“Here, let me do that,” Jungkook says with a smirk before reaching forward to rake his fingers through your hair. He pulls you to him, tilting his head to mold his mouth to yours and you giggle against him.

“Okay, I know you’re soulmates and all but do you really have to do that here?” Lisa asks and you break away startled. Admittedly, you kind of forgot she was there. But then again being with Jungkook tends to do that to you. Makes the rest of the world disappear.

“Sorry,” you utter as you step back from your boyfriend, a blush rising to the surface of your skin. You turn away from him before he can tease you for it. “You should join us,” you tell her.

“Oh no, it’s okay,” Lisa says pulling her own hair back into a ponytail. “I was just going to study for my exam on Tuesday.”

“You just won your election and you’re going to study?” Jungkook asks.

Lisa looks up from slipping the navy blue glove off of her hand. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt your date.

You glance down at her now exposed black palm and then back up to meet her eyes. “It’s not a date,” you say. “We’re just going to hang out. Come with us.”

Lisa shakes her head. “No, I could—”

You don’t let her finish, instead grabbing her arm and pulling her off her bed and dragging her out the door after you. “Come on, student body treasurer,” you say. “We’re going to celebrate.”

“You’re going to celebrate,” Jungkook corrects you as he trails behind. “Don’t forget, my party lost.”

“Well, you can live vicariously through us then,” you say as the three of you make your way out of the dorms.

The restaurant is close to campus so of course it’s packed when the three of you get there. It’s a sea of yellow with a bit of dark green sprinkled throughout, everyone there either celebrating their victory or mourning their loss.

“There’s Jimin,” Jungkook says tilting his chin toward a booth in the corner.

You spot him hunched over a beer bottle, his fingers tangled in his hair as Tae and the other four Beta Tae Sigma brothers talk with him. Poor guy hasn’t lost in two years. He’s probably a wreck. Especially losing to a freshman. The last thing he needs right now is to see Lisa.

“Hey, Jimin-ah!” Jungkook calls, the boy lifting his head as Jungkook waves.

You elbow him in the ribs. “Really? Why not just rub salt in his wounds?”

“Ah, he’s a big boy,” Jungkook says grabbing your hand and pulling you toward them. You, in turn, grab Lisa so she doesn’t get separated in the crowd. “Besides, we’re never going to get a table of our own. They took the biggest one. We’ll fit.”

“Jungkook,” Lisa says from behind you. “I really don’t think this is a good—Jimin, hi.”

Jimin lifts his head, his eyes scanning the three of you slowly, starting on Jungkook and finally resting on Lisa. Your stomach drops a bit when you see his eyes narrow to slits. “Hi,” he says coldly.

“Want to make room?” Jungkook asks and gestures to Jin, Hoseok and Namjoon to make their way around the circular booth. They squeeze in closer to Tae and Jimin.

You’ve spent a lot of time over at the Beta Tau Sigma house since dating Jungkook and have come to really like the other members. Each of them gives you a friendly smile as you slide in after your boyfriend. Tae smiles at you too from across the table and you smile back. Things were awkward with him for a while but he couldn’t blame you for going back to Jungkook. After all, he is your soulmate.

“Did you really have to bring her with you?” Jimin asks, jutting his chin toward Lisa where she sits across from him.

Lisa sits back in her seat and crosses her arms over her chest. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, it’s literally been an hour,” the boy continues as if she isn’t there. “Give me time to lick my wounds, at least.”

“You’re just butt-hurt because you lost to a girl,” Lisa says and the rest of you exchange uneasy glances.

Now it’s Jimin’s turn to sit up and cross his arms. “I couldn’t care less that you’re a girl,” then he leans forward again so he’s halfway across the table. “I just don’t take too kindly to losing to first years.”

You watch anxiously now as Lisa leans forward too, a smile playing on her lips. “Well, you did, so you better get over it. It was probably that smear campaign you tried to run against me the did you in. People don’t take too kindly to playing dirty.”

You look at Jungkook where he watches beside you. This was a bad idea.

Jimin’s whole face scrunches up in anger as he sucks in a breath and sits back again. Then with a heavy sigh, his expression softens. “You’re right,” he says at last “I shouldn’t have called you unreliable and unstable.”

“Thank you.” Lisa says with a nod.

Jimin grabs his beer off the table and takes a swig. Once he swallows, his lips spread into a smile. “More like childish and incompetent.”

“Uh oh,” Jungkook utters beside you.

“I’m incompetent?” Lisa exclaims with wide eyes. “You do realize I just beat you, right?”

“How about you go celebrate somewhere else then?” Jimin asks loudly, pointing his beer bottle at her.

“How about you go shove that bottle up your—”

“How about the two of you just shake hands like adults?” Jungkook asks cutting Lisa off before she can finish. The two of them turn to look at him, indignant expressions on both of their faces. “Look, Lisa won fair and square. Jimin, you need to stop acting like a toddler and accept the fact that there was finally someone better than you for the position. Alright?”

The two rivals turn their heads to look at each other again, Jimin’s eyes still narrowed and Lisa’s eyebrows cocked as if daring him to continue. The rest of the table, you included, is watching this whole ordeal and you kind of wish you had some popcorn right now because this is better than any drama you’ve ever watched.

Jungkook tilts his head down, looking at the two out of the tops of his eyes. “Come on, shake,” he urges gesturing toward the center of the table where he expects their hands to meet.

Lisa lets out an exasperated sigh and Jimin rolls his eyes as each of them reluctantly extend an arm. In a blur of black, their palms collide, fingers wrapping around each other’s hands and then simultaneously they both let out a gasp. As you stare down at their joined hands, it finally dawns on you that Lisa had taken off her glove back at the dorm and didn’t have a chance to put it back on before you dragged her here to the restaurant.

The two of them open their mouths at the same time to speak.

“No way.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Ha!” Jungkook exclaims clapping his hands together once in excitement. “I knew it!” Then he turns to you. “See? I called it. You owe me a large frosty.”

“I honestly didn’t think you’d be able to pull this off,” you say with a shake of your head. “To get these two doofs to be civil? I’m impressed.”

Jungkook slips his hand around your waist and pulls you closer against him. “Anything else I can do to impress you?” he asks and waggles his eyebrows eliciting a laugh from you as he buries his face into your neck.

It takes you a minute to realize that everyone else at the table has gone silent, the rest of the boys still watching Jimin even as he just stares at Lisa, their hands still clasped.

“Actually,” you say pushing Jungkook’s face out of your neck and motioning toward the center of the table. “It hasn’t been confirmed yet.”

He furrows his eyebrows, his eyes darting between Jimin’s hand and his face. “Hey, Jimin,” he says and at last his friend tears his gaze away from Lisa to look at him. “What happened there?” he asks with a knowing smile.

It seems as if the two finally realize that they aren’t in their own little world and break out of their daze, letting their fingers fall away from each other’s grasp. Now their palms are exposed, each a bright red.

“Boom. Large frosty,” Jungkook iterates before placing a quick kiss on your cheek.

“Do you think your parents are going to like me?” you ask as you draw swirls in your frosty with the tip of your spoon.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jungkook says with a shrug. “They’re stuck with you.”

You nudge him hard with your elbow eliciting a smile and a laugh from him. “Hey, I’m just kidding,” he says and leans over to press a reassuring kiss to your lips. “They’ll love you.”

With a stomach fresh full of butterflies, you swivel on your seat sideways and settle back into the space he’s made for you between his thighs. The two of you are enjoying your weekly after midnight frosty at your usual table. Being almost summer, the air is warmer now. Finally, warm enough for you to not have to cuddle up to Jungkook, though you do anyway. You lay your head back against his chest, drawing your knees up so you can prop your feet on the bench as you tip your cup back and let the last bit of frosty drip into your open mouth.

“I see what you meant, now,” you say pointing your spoon up at him.

He peers down at you, pulling his own spoon out of his mouth. “What do you mean?”

“You weren’t a fan of soulmates because you were afraid it would happen for you the way it did for Lisa and Jimin, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he says.

“That’s not how it happened for us though, right?” you ask tilting your head up so you’re looking at him upside down. “I mean, I liked you when I didn’t think you were my soulmate. It felt…different than what would normally happen.”

Jungkook takes your empty cup and sets both of them on the table then brings a hand down to brush your hair back from your forehead. “It was different,” he utters. “I guess we’re lucky in a way.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

Jungkook smiles down at you. A strand of hair escapes from behind your ear and he brushes it back again, his fingers sliding further down your face to gently trace the red mark around your eye. You’ll never get tired of the feel of his skin on yours. “I don’t know,” he says thoughtfully. “I feel like if I had the choice, I would’ve still chosen you.”

You let out a loud laugh. “I think that may be the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Well, get used to it, Kitten,” Jungkook says hugging you tightly against him. “My parents used to make me watch cheesy romance movies with them so I’m chock-full of em.”

“Can’t wait.”

“I am, though,” he says and you look up at him again. The amused glint in his eyes is gone, replaced with something else. Something softer.

You can feel your heart melting in your chest, all warm and tingly. “What, full of cheesy lines?” you ask.

“No,” he says. “Well, yes, but no.” Then Jungkook smiles before tilting his head down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Lucky,” he says.

You close your eyes, feeling his lips on your skin, his heart beating against your back. “Me too.”

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