#editing the tags to add a point: this au is not meant to be like. against mental disorders or even illnesses | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

euphoricfilter · 2 years

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Helping Hands || Min Yoongi

Pairing: Caretaker! Yoongi x Kindergarten teacher! Reader

Genre: Fluff || Smut || Strangers to lovers || Non-idol AU

Summary: Yoongi always had a knack for fixing things, and with producing getting him nowhere, he ends up working for the school his long-time friend Seokjin, teaches at. With his new job, he meets you, and although your first encounter hadn’t been the best; at least not in Yoongi’s eyes, he could have never guessed how your relationship would bloom. And Yoongi gets to show you his hands can do more than fix your faulty heating.

Word Count: 13.3k

Tags/ Warnings: fluffy, smut in the forms of: oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, protected sex (because that’s cool), they hold hands while they fuck, boobie play, squirting, boyfriends taekook, namjoon is a bit of an ick.

Notes: this idea was derived from a tiktok, but the original creator has deleted the video :’( but the idea of someone having a crush on you and helping fix up your classroom was too endearing to pass! when i thought about writing this i didn’t think it would be very long, and i thought how on earth am i meant to write a decent story from this vague-ish concept but here we are 13k words of two people falling in love. considering i’ve never had a s/o i don’t think i did too bad… but maybe this is just what i want from someone i like even if the idea of becoming a teacher makes me want to hurl. if there's mistakes, no there isn't.

edit: the tiktok that inspired this fic! thank you @devilonmyshouder for finding it! my savior 🥲

<3 <3 <3

“Have you asked for her number yet?”

“What?” Yoongi releases a long sigh, head turning so his eyes can meet Seokjin’s, who had a sly smile pasted on his annoyingly handsome face. And it’s at times like these where Yoongi wonders why he still puts up with Jin’s bullshit.

“The kindergarten teacher you’ve been staring at since we sat down” Jin points out, watching you as you laugh with a few of your co-workers on the other side of the cafeteria; in perfect eyeshot from where Yoongi sits.

“No? Why would I do that?” said man asks, stabbing a piece of meat with more force than it deserved. Yoongi has to will himself to not let his eyes wander back in your direction; like hell would he give Seokjin what he wanted. Yoongi doubted he had enough patience stored up to deal with the impending teasing that his long-time friend would surely thrust upon him if he were to prove his point correct. Plus, he was nothing more than being a little intrigued by you.

“Because you clearly like her” Jin tuts.

“Do not”

“Do too. You can’t deny your little crush. I’ve seen the way you look at her” Jin exasperates, flinging his arms above his head dramatically, catching the attention of a few other teaching staff scattered across the growingly scarce cafeteria.

Yoongi cringes, eyes squinting in distaste at his friend’s flamboyant antics that seemed to always garner the eyes of everyone around him. But Yoongi supposes with Jin’s face, it shouldn’t come as a surprise the attention always seemed to be on him, even if he was acting somewhat civilised. Yoongi had never thought of Jin as more than a friend, even if he did swing both ways; but, he could see why Jin’s face had such an appeal, even Aphrodite would have a run for her money if Jin were to rock up in those times, stealing the attention all for himself with his aggravatingly perfect face.

“It’s not a crush. This isn’t high school Hyung” Yoongi grunts, shoving his lunchbox back into his bag. Uncaring as he squashes a banana, already a little too overripe for his liking anyways.

You’d have to pay him millions before he dared touch the cafeteria food, in no way, shape or form would he risk growing a third arm from the slop they served. It’s offensive they had the gall to call it food, let alone serve it to the poor children. And he swears he saw one of the chefs spit in the pasta once, he doesn’t care if it adds flavour.

Now, Yoongi didn’t like children. Not in the slightest.

Thought they were disgusting, foul little creatures that had no sense of personal hygiene or self-awareness. With their sticky hands and voices that carried across miles, everything about children made Yoongi recoil.

And that may leave you wondering why on earth is Yoongi working in a school?

Money. That’s the simple answer.

Yoongi had a knack for fixing things, he’s good with his hands (interpret that how you will). And he really needed the money. His little ‘side hustle’ of producing only made him so much money, and as inflation increased, so did Yoongi’s bills, and slowly he had started finding it a little harder to pay bills and food for not only him but Holly; his cute little dog that he refused to believe wasn’t a puppy any longer. Jin had argued that Yoongi spoiled his dog, buying premium food and overpriced treats, but Holly only deserved the best.

Therefore, the job had to change and not his dog’s nutrition.

So, when the same Seokjin who complained about his pampered pup, had told him about the open position in the school he worked at, Yoongi was sceptical to say the least. He’d dropped out of college after a semester, taking on shoddy part-time jobs to pay for his producing equipment and clearly that had only brought him so far. So he couldn’t see any good reason to waltz back into a school.

Not only that, the thought of having to share space with tiny terrors for hours a day, 5 out of 7 days a week, the offer didn’t seem all that worth it. Until he saw the salary.

Not only was he now making 10 times more than he had been, basically teachers wages (still not enough but better than nothing), he got his own little office in the far end of campus, so he wouldn’t have to interact with any sticky babies and loud-mouthed teens unless absolutely necessary.

With his shiny new office, secluded from the crowd of teachers that gathered at lunch, Yoongi had zero intentions of sitting in the crusty cafeteria; even if his Jin Hyung had begged him for the first two weeks of his new job, to come and sit with him and his other teacher friends. He’d never enjoyed everyone gathering in one place to eat, crowds of people sounding more like squawking birds than hushed chatter that always ended up in arguments.

That was until Yoongi had met you. And suddenly the cafeteria seemed like the only place he wanted to be.

Pretty you who looked like a goddess among humans. Even with the splodges of paint staining your dress, and snotty babies clinging to you like nothing Yoongi had ever seen.

Yoongi had only been working at the school for a month, the start of the school year rolling by quicker than he had initially anticipated. And before he knew it, two weeks had passed by; and that second week on the jobs was when he had first ‘met’ you.

‘Met’ was generous. It was more a brief encounter where Yoongi couldn’t get the words off his tongue quick enough and had been left dumbstruck. Worried he had scared you off with how rude he must have been. You’d strutted out of your classroom, a model among the little children waddling behind you like little ducklings would their mother, hot on your tail as you led them to the bathrooms.

Yoongi had been fixing one of the fan units in the hallway, and you’d politely smiled up at him, making sure none of the children would knock the ladder Yoongi had been stood on, worried their little bodies would bulldoze into the wonky frame and Yoongi would be sent flying. And although that would make a memorable first impression, Yoongi didn’t want to be rushed to hospital with a concussion and his pride bruised.

‘Good morning’

Two simple words and Yoongi felt as if his heart would implode; he felt silly, coughing, and then only managing a curt nod as a reply, words sticky on his tongue like taffy. Clogging his throat as he holds his breath momentarily.

You see, Yoongi was prone to worrying, anxiety always laying under his skin like an itch that he could never get rid of, irritating but part of his life whether he liked it or not. And that night he’d laid awake, worried he hadn’t made a good first impression, scaring you away when he hadn’t even gotten the chance to learn your name.

And sure, he could have asked Jin, but that man had enough blackmail material already; he didn’t need to know about Yoongi’s budding interest in the pretty kindergarten teacher. If he hadn’t embarrassed himself enough then Seokjin surely would.

To Yoongi’s surprise you hadn’t seemed too offended by his reply, or lack thereof, as a week later you’d greeted him during lunch; even going as far to hold the door open for him as he languidly wandered into the cafeteria, in search of Seokjin.

This time Yoongi felt a little more prepared, muttering a short ‘thanks’, small smile stretching onto his lips as he points it in your direction. He doesn’t wait for your reply, legs already pulling him out of what could be another embarrassing encounter, a little disheartened that the day he finally decided to eat with the rest of the staff (secretly hoping to see you), your encounter had been so brief.

Yoongi’s easy smile however, remained throughout the course of lunch, heart fluttering like little butterfly wings locked in the cage of his chest; and if Seokjin noticed his friend’s flushed cheeks he chose not to say anything.

The caretaker thought he was sly with his little crush, never mentioning you to Jin, only stealing short glimpses of you from across the cafeteria, that short half an hour a day enough to recharge his motivation to continue this job. And he has the gall to be surprised when Seokjin finally decides to bring it up.

“Might want to hurry up, Jungkookie might beat you to it” Jin calls out, and if Yoongi hadn’t seen a few kids running around the area, he would have flipped off the elder. But Yoongi does nothing more than wave him off, and he may have been worried if he didn’t know Jungkook was already seeing someone.

That someone being Kim Taehyung, the high school art teacher, who occasionally sat at their table at lunch. Most of his time hauled up in the art rooms where students were welcome to work during the lunch hour.

Yoongi wasn’t one to stereotype but Kim Taehyung was the very definition of eccentric art teacher. Style a little unusual, paintings so abstract Yoongi felt like he was on acid while trying to decipher the meaning.

He had seen how Jungkook looked at Taehyung, the little galaxies that shone in his eyes when he looked at his love, where each star represented one thing that Jungkook adored about his boyfriend, his gentle gaze enough to show the absolute adoration they held for one another.

Yoongi had complained, telling them to get a room on more than one occasion when they’d decided to lick into each other’s mouths during afterschool dinners. But truly he was happy they had something so precious, a love like a warm hug, infinite trust between the two of them; something that Yoongi secretly yearned for.

More often than not Yoongi felt a little misunderstood. He never meant to come off as cold or disinterested, he liked the silent company of a person as much as he enjoyed his time alone, you didn’t have to always be talking; silent comfort of another person enough for him.

Yoongi didn’t want to come off as rude, he just didn’t know what to say sometimes, happier to prove his love with acts of service than empty words that even he doesn’t know the meaning of. He doesn’t want to come off as unapproachable, but when you’re tired from work and lacking the energy to act like a ray of sunshine, much like the physical education teacher, Hoseok, Yoongi could only wallow in his own self-pity some nights. Wondering why only a select few seemed to enjoy his company, or why so many romantic relationships have been washed down the drain.

As the first semester of school progressed, the weather had started to get colder, autumn slinking by before anyone could comprehend the unusually warm summer.

Kids starting to layer uniform, and teachers turning to the heaters to defrost their fingers as they arrive early, grass still dewy with air that nips at your skin like little needles.

Yoongi jolts up from his seat at the gentle knock of his office door, his feet flying off the desk from where he’d been resting them; worried that it was his boss coming for his usual weekly check-up.

However, Yoongi was pleasantly surprised to find you stood in his doorway; soft-looking sweater cocooning you in its warmth, nose tinted red from the frosty morning air, tips of your fingers barely peeking out from where you try to warm them up from the confines of your sleeves. And it takes all Yoongi’s will, not to tell you he had more ways than one he would love to heat you up (though he supposes he should take you out on a date before that).

Yoongi thinks you must have been sent from the sky, pretty, even in the dim morning sunlight, kissing your skin like Yoongi would if you would let him.

“Good morning” you smile, nose twitching at the strong scent of coffee that permeates the air of Yoongi’s office.

“Morning. Can I help you?” Yoongi asks, leg bouncing up and down anxiously. He has no time to curse himself for how blunt he must have come off, tone anything but inviting, before you’re opening your mouth to answer him.

“Yes actually. The heater in my classroom isn’t working”

Yoongi nods, pushing himself from his seat, ignoring the piping hot coffee he was moments away from drinking as he picks up his little toolbox that sat beside his desk.

“Lead the way” he motions out of the room, not daring to make eye-contact with you; worried he were to drown in the depths of your eyes, calling him in like a siren would with song.

He watches your back as you walk him to your classroom, fingers itching to hold your hands, help you warm them up as the stupid heater in your classroom couldn’t do its job properly.

Yoongi didn’t exactly know what he expected your classroom to look like, never working up the courage to peek inside and take a look into such a large part of your life.

The flurry of colours was expected, paintings from what he assumes to be your classes over the years hung on the wall, with paints and pens stacked on short shelving by each wall of the room.

Your desk sits at the front of the room, little trinkets lining the edges, papers covering the surface like a blanket. And Yoongi has to stop the smile from pulling at his face from how disordered you are; just like him. And he can somewhat appreciate the beauty in the mess of your classroom, it showed it was loved, enjoyed by more than just the small group of children that spent nearly every hour in here every day, loved by you who clearly spent time lining the walls with letters and drawings all addressed to you, carefully printed and cut letters of the alphabet climbing the walls like vines and fairy lights hung like tree snakes lounging on a branch.

“This one over here” you point to the heaters under the window, and Yoongi cringes at the cool air that caresses his cheeks as he stalks the length of your classroom. Nipping his cheeks like little jaws trying to pull apart his skin.

As he kneels down, pulling his glasses from the front pocket of his hoodie, he takes a closer look at the pipes connected to the main framing of the heater. Yoongi tries not to pay attention to you as you shuffle through the mountain of papers on your desk, he tries not to focus on the way you bite your lip; the little devil that rest on his shoulder whispering for him to just kiss you.

Yoongi distracts himself with your heater, fingers a little shakier than usual as you wander around the room, picking up pots of paints off the shelves, brushes stored in separate drawers and laying them all on the little tables, perfect for the little toddlers you taught. Chairs so small they must have been the first bear’s that goldilocks had thought were too uncomfortable to sit on, they sure looked it; no amount of colour enough to mask the hard plastic they were made of.

Yoongi frowns when he finds the problem with your heater, somehow a bolt had gotten loose; he can only assume one of the children had fiddled with it. Little fingers always having to play with something, another thing he hated about kids. If it’s not meant to be touched, then don’t touch it.

He pulls a spanner out of his toolbox, fingers skimming over a screwdriver. He looks over at shelving unit by the heater, screws glimmering in the slowly growing sunlight that climbs its way over the top of the neighbouring school building.

And that same little devil on his shoulder whispers something a little naughty, something Yoongi knows he shouldn’t do. And maybe Yoongi was a little bit of a hypocrite, after just saying kids shouldn’t touch everything, but the screws looked so shiny, so inviting, a little accident that means he may get an extra half hour with you.

He peers over at you, sat at your desk, typing something on your laptop. And decides that what’s the worst that could happen? He quickly tightens the loose bolt to your faulty heater, turning the knob on the side just in case before he scoots his way over to the shelf that had been holding the paints you now had on the table.

He licks his lips, sucking in a sharp breath before he unscrews a few nails. Silently praying the shelf can hold up until he leaves the room.

You stay none the wiser, typing away on some blank document from what Yoongi can make out. He tucks his glasses back into the front pocket of his hoodie, dusting off the imaginary dust that clung to the knees of his jeans before he’s clearing his throat to catch your attention. You startle, eyes wide when they meet Yoongi’s, who thinks you look a little like a puppy caught doing something they were told not to.

He stifles his laugh, coving it with a cough, “Your heater should be working, I turned it up a little so the room should heat up quicker” he explains, motioning towards the offending object. Your shelves staring at him, and Yoongi worries you can see the guilt swimming in his eyes.

You nod, pushing yourself from your seat, you bow a little in thanks, “You’re the best” you grin, and Yoongi can feel his heartrate pick up; cheeks dusted in rosy red.

You were so pretty.

+ + +

Yoongi waits all day, ears perking up when footsteps echo down his end of the hall throughout the rest of work. Begrudgingly helping a few other teachers that seemed to have had heating problems in their classrooms too; a common theme it seems.

Or, the occasional pitter patter of kids running down the hallway like a heard of wild animals during breaktimes, or teens sneaking off to the bathrooms where they liked to make out, or a few other things if their dishevelled uniform meant anything as Yoongi wandered around for his afternoon walk.

He tries to spot you at lunch, his mood only souring when you never walk into the cafeteria, your melodic laughter not gracing the usual grating sound of stressed teaching staff, that all seemed to have a passion for complaining about their jobs.

Jin had tried to cheer him up, offering to share his homemade lunch just to get even a hint of a smile out of Yoongi, and usually the caretaker would love to bless his tastebuds with actual decent food; but it seemed nothing, but your pretty smile would suffice to sate his grumpy mood.

The minutes before the home-time bell slowly creep up on Yoongi, and on most days he would be ecstatic that he could finally escape this hellhole. He never understood why teachers would willingly return to the place that is designed to fuck over students; especially when the pay isn’t all that great. And most of them seemed to despise their jobs anyways.

Even after the bell rings, startling Yoongi from his own little reverie, he remains sat at his desk; a little quiver of hope still left inside of him that you would be stood in the doorway of his office once more.

He thinks it must be a daydream when you show up, unable to properly comprehend that you were once again stood before him. That would be the second time in one day.

He isn’t at all surprised when you give him a sheepish smile, “Do you have any spare screws? It seems my shelving has broken”

And a small flame of guilt licks at Yoongi’s heart and mind, but the pretty smile that stretches onto your lips when Yoongi only lets out a little laugh, picking up his little toolbox, is enough to expel any of his worries.

He once again gets to stare at your back as you walk back towards your classroom, pretty sweater still veiling your body; and Yoongi licks his lips at what you could be hiding underneath the layers you wear.

A blink of an image flashing behind his eyes of you sprawled across the sheets of his bed, his head tucked in-between your thighs. He knew he’d get addicted to your taste, surely with such a sweet voice, all of you must be just the same. Your arousal thick like nectar on his tongue as he pushes you over the edge to your own pleasure.

“Mr. Min?” you wave a hand in-front of his face.

Yoongi blinks, “Sorry?” he coughs, heat creeping up his neck, pinching the tips of his ears.

You point towards the mess of your bookshelf, paint pots and art supplies scattered across the floor from where the shelf had caved in on itself. A mound of mess that you would now have to tackle once Yoongi acts as your saviour; a dark knight that had secretly put you in this messy situation.

“I was putting the paint pots away when it sorta of just… collapsed”

Yoongi lets out a grunt of understanding, that same guilt from earlier tickling up his spine as he looks over the huge mess you’ll have to clear up once he fixes your shelving. He shouldn’t have taken those few screws that morning and should have just worked up the courage to ask you out instead of making your day harder. But he supposes what is done is done and now he must fix his selfish doings.

You remain sat at your desk, finger scrolling through your phone as Yoongi rummages through his little box of screws.

His fingers dip into the pocket of his jeans, shiny steel nails pricking the tips of his fingers.

“Do you need any help?” You startle the caretaker, worried smile on your face as Yoongi picks up a few of the fallen shelves.

“No, it’s alright” he waves you off.

“Would you like something to drink then?” you ask.

“Black coffee is fine, thanks” he shoots you a quick smile, gums on show.

Yoongi doesn’t notice the bristly heat that burns the soft skin of your cheeks as you wander towards a cabinet in the back of your classroom. Rummaging for the granulated coffee that a few of your co-workers stored by your kettle. Not your first beverage of choice but a few of your friends took advantage of your little drink station.

As the kettle boils your water, Yoongi can see you intently watching him from the corner of his eye; and he feels his palms get clammy from your attention set so closely on him. He would have compared your eyes to those of a hawk if you hadn’t been so utterly soft; tempting Yoongi to wrap you up in his pocket and dote on you.

“How did you get so good at this?” you wonder aloud, awe evident on your face as Yoongi easily slides a shelf back into place.

Yoongi pauses, “Honestly I’m not sure. Guess I’m just good with my hands”

Your tongue peeks out to wet your lips at that; body jumping when the little click of the kettle finishing boiling. You whip back around to finish Yoongi’s drink, said man finding it hard to stop a little smirk from tugging at his lips at your flushed cheeks, pretty even painted in red.

You place a rounded pink mug on the windowsill by where Yoongi is working, and he mutters a quick thanks before he’s focusing back on holding the panel of wood back into the right place, silver nail balanced between his lips.

“I never got your name” Yoongi says when you take a seat at one of the student’s tables, warm mug of hot chocolate heating your cold hands up.

“Y/n” you tell him, “And you are?” you ask, only knowing of him by his surname.

“Yoongi” he tells you, pushing himself up with the help of your now sturdy shelf.

You push yourself up from the desk, placing your cup of drink down before you start picking up the scattered art supplies. Yoongi follows, tucking his screwdriver into the back pocket of his jeans as he picks up the paint pots that brought him back into your room. The vibrant colours glaring at him; a reminder of his sins.

“You don’t have to, Yoongi” you tell him, but said handyman ignores you; brain replaying how nice his name sounded when it came from your lips, dipped in sweet honey, addictive in the way that makes Yoongi want to beg you to say it one more time. Something about your voice enchanting, pulling him closer like a snake charmer does a snake with its pipe.

Instead, he brushes you off, “I’ve stayed this late, what more is a few minutes?”

Your nose scrunches at that, “Sorry about that”

+ + +

“Have you asked for her number yet?” Seokjin asks.

“What?” Yoongi feels a sense of déjà vu as he sits in the corner of the cafeteria, you sat at another table with a few other teachers. Though today you seem more focused on your lunch than any of the baseless chatter the others on your table seem to be immersed in.

“You stayed after school with her, had dinner together after that and you still haven’t asked for her number?” Jin gawks.

“No?”

“Min Yoongi” Jungkook shakes his head, “Ask the poor woman on a date or something”

“What if she was just being polite?” he asks the youngest, chewing at the skin of his bottom lip.

“She must be interested; she went out for dinner with you after you’d fucked up her shelves”

Yoongi’s head snaps in your direction, worried you'd somehow heard Jungkook, “She doesn’t know that, keep it down”

Jungkook snickers, “Seriously, ask her out. Otherwise, someone else might” he nods in the direction of your table, a stupidly handsome male laying his hands on your shoulders. Green jealousy bubbling inside of Yoongi as he just watches.

You turn to look up at him with a smile, grateful as he places a bag on the table in-front of you.

Yoongi narrows his eyes, “Who the fuck is he?” he tuts.

“Kim Namjoon, works in the high school”

“Cute dimples” Taehyung pulls out a spare chair beside Jungkook, leaning over to lay a wet kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek.

Yoongi grunts dramatically pushing himself from his seat. His hands slam onto the table, “You guys are going out tonight, right?” he turns towards Jin who only nods, confusion evident on his face.

Yoongi storms over towards the table you’re sat at, and as he draws closer, he can only wonder where this burst of confidence came from; ignition slowly burning to nothing but warm embers as he pushes one foot in-front of the other. But when he makes eye contact with slimy looking Namjoon, a cursed smile being shone his way Yoongi’s anxiety seems to be the least of his worries.

“Y/n” he calls you, endeared by your wide eyes that flit to meet his own, happiness enveloping your eyes as you look up at him.

“Yes?” you stand when Yoongi makes it to your side, still having to stare up at him from beneath the veil of your eyelashes, ones that Yoongi finds very pretty.

“We’re going out for dinner tonight” he throws a thumb over his shoulder towards his table of friends, Taehyung waves, boxy smile an attempt to placate your worries, “And I was wondering if you wanted to… wanted to come with us?”

Yoongi knows you must be able to see the unease that swims in his eyes, and he worries that maybe he looks a little desperate, stalking towards your table unannounced; but with your small group of co-workers all staring at him like he’d grown a second head, he’s seconds away from scuttling out the cafeteria.

“That would be lovely, Yoongi” you smile.

“I’ll meet you at the gate after school?” he asks, eyes brightening in hope. You nod and Yoongi has to bite his lip to stop the huge smile that threatens to pull at his cheeks.

+ + +

“I swear he isn’t always like this” Yoongi shakes his head, turning his attention to look at you.

“I think it’s amusing” you turn towards your new friend, wincing when Seokjin, who had previously been dancing on a chair, falls onto a table. Both your eyes snap towards the eldest of the group, trying to gauge if he was okay or needed immediate medical attention.

Yoongi supposes the alcohol coursing through Seokjin’s veins was enough to help him stagger to his feet like he hadn’t just body slammed into a table, and Jungkook has to wave off a worried bar tender who had already pulled his phone from his pocket, moments away from calling for an ambulance.

Taehyung scans Jin’s body, trying to figure out if he had a concussion or not. And Jungkook tries to ask his hyung if he remembers who he is.

“This isn’t what I imagined dinner to be” you turn back to Yoongi who elegantly brings his glass of whisky to his lips, somehow looking like royalty in such a grimy bar, tucked away in an alleyway.

He hums, letting his taste buds soak in the refined flavour of the liquor before he answers you, “Me neither. Usually, we go to that shitty Italian place down the street”

“I like it there!” you exasperate, “Their dessert is really good”

“I don’t like dessert”

“What?” you breathe, “You devil, how could you not like dessert?”

Yoongi snorts, a little unattractive on his part but he couldn’t help himself, “Why stuff yourself more when you’ve just had a meal?” (Maybe you liked to be stuffed, but you thought it was a bit too soon for that conversation)

“Because you always have a second stomach for dessert” you tell him instead, “Honestly I got that vibe from you”

“What vibe?”

“Dessert hating vibes, I knew the moment you told me you liked black coffee, with no milk, no sugar that you were a dessert hater” you explain, dramatic shake to your head.

“I’m not a dessert hater, doll. I just have priorities”

“Really bad ones. I refuse to accept any dessert slander”

Yoongi opens his mouth, eyes widening a little in shock when you place a finger over his lips, “Uh uh” you shake your head.

Yoongi laughs at that, tongue poking out from between his lips to lick your finger. You recoil, nose scrunching at Yoongi who only laughs. (He had always preferred his own fingers in other people’s mouths, never really enjoying them in his own).

“Okay, lovers, we’re going home” Jungkook pushes between yours and Yoongi’s seats, “Jin’s about to pass out and I’m moments away from leaving him on the streets”

Both you and Yoongi turn to look over at Taehyung who holds up a very wobbly Seokjin, and you nod in understanding. But Yoongi feels his heart sink at the thought of having to go home already, he had started to enjoy your company, slowly peeling back each layer of your very being.

“I’ll walk you home” Yoongi places a hand on your shoulder when the five of you make it out of the bar. You nod, giving Jungkook a quick hug before he helps Taehyung lug their friend home.

You and Yoongi walk in silence, nothing uncomfortable; just the two of you basking in the company of one another.

Yoongi startles a little when you take a sudden hold of his wrist, “Yoongi, let’s go there” you pull him towards the familiar, drab Italian restaurant that he’s spent way too many weekends drinking in.

The lights at the front blink, bare wires hanging on for dear life to keep the neon lights hung about the windows of the restaurant. The fluorescent light momentarily blind the both of you as you wander inside.

Yoongi makes no fuss as you pull him into a booth by the window, encouraging you even, by handing you a menu. You flip it open, “My treat” you say, ignoring Yoongi as he opens his mouth to argue.

“You can treat me, next time”

Next time.

You wanted to see Yoongi again. Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through him, making him that little more delusional that you could feel the same about him as he does you.

“Fine” he drawls, motioning for a waiter to come to the table when you drop the menu with a little smile.

“Did you really have to order only dessert?”

“I got you black coffee as well” you argue, “if you don’t like them, then I’ll eat it”

Yoongi tuts, watching as the waiter brings over your tray of treats. More sugar than the mad hatter had at his tea party balanced on one rusting metal tray.

You wiggle happily in your seat, and Yoongi turns his head to look out the window, coving the blush that coats the skin of his cheeks in dusty red; and Yoongi wonders if this is what falling in love feels like, a new addiction worming its way into his heart. And Yoongi worries he won’t be able to stop himself, fingers itching to feel this again even if it’s only one more time.

“I got you tiramisu, because it tastes like coffee” you push the small plate towards him, eyes wide with wonder as Yoongi take a fork from one of the napkins, everything he does fascinating you as he holds himself with the grace and dignity a lot of people aspire for.

He awkwardly takes a forkful of cake, worried you were scrutinizing him for not eating this right. What if he hated it? And you got offended? What if you were turned off because he didn’t like the same foods as you? Is it a red flag to not like sweet things? God, Yoongi would shovel this cake into his mouth if it meant you’d give him a smile.

Yoongi thinks you must be able to read his mind, “You don’t have to like it” you remind him, picking up your own fork as you pull a plate towards your body, excitement of a child in your eyes.

+ + +

“What are you doing for Christmas?” you ask, turning towards Yoongi who dips his paintbrush into the can.

“Probably spend it with my dog” he shrugs, rubbing his gloved hands across his sweats, hoping to warm them up a little.

“You have a dog?” you gape, “Why didn’t you tell me?” you sulk.

Yoongi had told you he’d noticed the paint on your heaters chipping, a potential fire hazard (or so he claims), and that he would repaint them for you with heat safe paint. You’d nodded, offering to help him during the weekend, He’d shrugged, telling you it was your choice, that the room would be cold as you couldn’t paint on scorching hot metal, but you’d only giggled, telling him to pass his phone so you could add his number, and that you’d see him tomorrow. And Yoongi had felt dizzy when you’d brushed him off, determined to meet him that weekend and help.

Now he finds himself with you, both bundled up in coats, and woolly gloves to keep the both of you warm as you paint the morning away. The morning birds haven finished their songs for the day, probably ready to eat as lunch neared, afternoon sun squeezing minimal heat into the classroom through the windows.

“Do you have any plans?” he asks, foot tapping anxiously on the floor.

You shake your head, “I usually visit my parents, but they said they’re sick of white Christmases. So, my dad whisked them off to some tropical island until the end of February when it gets a little warmer”

“You didn’t want to go?”

“It’s not that, I just have a job, and I wouldn’t be able to stay all that long with work chasing me during the holidays”

Yoongi hums, “Want to spend it together?”

Your eyes widen, turning towards Yoongi who continues to paint, acting as if he hadn’t just offered to spend Christmas with you.

“Huh?” you breathe, “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude”

“On what? Me and my dog? Jin Hyung usually stops by, but I think he secretly has a girlfriend because for the last two years he drops off some cookies and then rushes out the door, without his obligatory kisses”

“What about Jungkook and Taehyung?”

“They spend the holidays together, probably fucking. They can’t keep their hands to themselves” you giggle at that.

“They’re cute” you tell him, happy smile pulling onto your face as you recall the ‘dinner’ you’d had together a few weeks ago. And how much Jungkook and Taehyung seemed to be drawn to one another; you think they must the definition of love. Just pure, unadulterated love between the two of them. Two little lovebirds who are mates for the rest of their lives, always drawn to one another.

Jin had showed up to your classroom with a box of chocolates to apologize on the following Monday, babbling how unprofessional the whole encounter was. You’d waved him off, inviting him for coffee or tea during break times if he ever needed a breather from the swarm of students that always seem to gather outside his office door. All hoping to spend a little more time with the good-looking language teacher, innocent crushes pushing them to work hard in class.

He’d thanked you. Apologizing once more before he’d scuttled away with a sheepish smile plastered on his face. Late for a meeting he had with the head of department, and he had already missed the meeting the month prior.

“They’re cute when they’re not sucking each other’s tongues” Yoongi grunts, nudging the sleeve of your jacket so it wouldn’t fall into the pan of paint, worried it wouldn’t wash out from your sleeves.

“Let them be in love” you whine, wiggling a little in place, “Could you imagine loving someone like they do?”

Yoongi shakes his head, “Never been in love”

“Really?”

“I mean I dated in high school but nothing close to love” Yoongi turns towards you, “What about you?”

Your cheeks flush, “I’ve never uhh—I’ve never dated. Like at all”

Yoongi blinks, “Not even that smarmy dick?”

“Who?”

“Kim Namjoon or whatever his name is?”

Your tongue wets your lips, and then your eyes widen, “God no” you let out a long breath, “He asked me out last year and I said no. Why on earth would a high school literature teacher ask me out?”

“Because you’re pretty?” Yoongi replies, avoiding eye contact by mixing the paint a little.

“That’s shallow of him” you scoff, “He’s a narcissist anyways, I would never be as good looking as he believes himself to be” you tell Yoongi, and the caretaker wants to bash his head against the table behind him with how oblivious you are.

“That’s shitty” Yoongi agrees, though he feels his heart constrict. Didn’t you know how perfect you are?

“You know he told me I should have studied for a more sophisticated profession, and asked why I wanted to work with kids below the age of 15” you frown, “I thought that was a little mean, so I told him to go fuck himself”

Yoongi laughs at that, “I always see him near your table at lunch”

You hum, nodding—“He’s been trying to win me over with cakes and cookies, I only smile so I get free stuff out of him”

“So, you’re leading him on?”

You drop your brush into the paint pan, “Is that what I’m doing? That’s really shitty” you look at Yoongi with guilty eyes.

“I guess if he’s a bad man then it’s a little more forgivable” he gently places his paintbrush beside your own, “But he doesn’t deserve you if he’s an asshole”

You nod at that, small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

+ + +

“Please Yoongi” you tug on the sleeve of his jacket, trying to veer him towards the ice rink.

He only grunts, “I don’t skate”

“But it’s Christmas” your shoulders fall, and Yoongi feels as though he just kicked a puppy with your sad pout.

“Fine” he takes your hand, pulling you towards the old woman at the rental booth.

Yoongi can’t help the laugh that bubbles up his throat, having just watched you fall onto your bottom only minutes after getting onto the rink.

“Hey!” you point an accusing finger at him, “It’s not funny”

“Just a little, darling” he tries hard to stifle his laugh, but fails miserably when you try to push yourself to stand; stood more like a new-born doe who hadn’t grasp the concept of walking yet.

Yoongi misses the devious smile on your face when he bends down to help you stand, your cheeks warming at the pretty smile the caretaker had, warm like a spring afternoon.

“When you offered for us to go skating, I thought you’d be good at it”

You cross your arms over your chest, instantly regretting the sudden action as you wobble. You let out something akin to a squeak when Yoongi takes a hold of your arms, helping stabilise you as your stomach tenses.

“My little deer” he laughs, hands skimming down the length of your arms to hold your hands.

You feel heat creep up your neck, burning the tips of your ears; feeling some relief knowing that your nose and ears were already red from the cold, so you only bite your lip, trying not to let your shuddering breath become known to Yoongi.

He, however, sees your eyes glaze over, something he hadn’t seen from you yet. And it only feeds into his little fantasy of you sprawled out across the sheets of his bed, his name clinging to your tongue, dripping like sweet honey as you beg for more. More of what? He has yet to decide. He’s imagined eating you out, sure that you’d recoil, shy, when he tries to go down on you. He wonders what you’d look like, bouncing prettily on his cock, begging for him to help you, legs shaking as he pounds into you, if your moans would be as soft as your voice, if you’d try to cover your mouth with your hands.

Yoongi coughs, bringing his attention back to you who wobbles, another attempt to skate towards him on your own. This time, Yoongi is ready when you stagger forwards, holding onto your waist as you tumble into his chest.

“Sorry” you whisper, “I don’t think I’m very good at this”

Yoongi laughs, “Nothing a little practice can’t fix”

+ + +

“Merry Christmas Yoongi” you beam, handing him the neatly wrapped gift, little cats printed on the paper.

“Merry Christmas” he takes you hand, pulling you into his warm apartment, heat enveloping you, cleansing you from the toe biting cold of the outside world.

You startle at the wet nose that prods your bare fingers, gaze flitting towards the floor where the fluffy little dog sniffs at your clothes, a cute puff of brown.

“That’s Holly” he tells you, placing your gift underneath the small tree into the corner of the living room beside the one he had bought you.

You crouch down, scratching Holly under the chin, giggling as the excited dog circles your legs.

You wander into the living room, not so subtly peeking at Yoongi’s home. You liked it; it was cosy, and ever so Yoongi. You take a seat on one of the couches, Yoongi following suit once he’d turned the tree lights on, green like vibrant dragonflies dancing from branch to branch.

“I hope you’re okay with takeaway, I looked up how to cook Christmas dinner online, and it’s a little too advanced for me”

You smile, “Don’t tell my mother, but I’ve never been a fan of Christmas dinner”

“Perfect”

“You make music?” you gawk, “That’s so cool”

“It’s a nice side hobby I suppose” he shrugs, not delving into how deep his love for music really is; he knew that if he started, he wouldn’t know when to stop. A little too passionate about his producing than he would like to let on, the last thing he needed was for you to leave when he was enjoying your company.

“You’ll have to show me one day” you tell him, nudging his shoulder as you sit beside one another. Knees pressed snug, body heat warming one another up.

Yoongi picks up another slice of beef, placing it on your plate, “maybe” he shrugs.

“You’re very secretive” you point out.

“Private”

You hum at that, “That is a good trait. More for me to uncover”

“Yeah?” he asks, smile tugging at his lips, “What are you trying to uncover”

Yoongi doesn’t miss the as your eyes flit down his body, straying a little at the waist band of his sweats before travelling back to his lips.

“Everything” you tell him honestly, and he can see the naked emotions that swim behind your eyes; raw need.

“I suppose you should get started then” he whispers, eyes flicking between both of your own.

“Right now?”

Yoongi nods, turning his body to face you; his hand coming to cup your cheek. You close your eyes, low moan reverberating up your throat as Yoongi presses his lips gently against your own. And as cliché as it sounds, Yoongi thinks he hears fireworks somewhere in the distance, lips tingling with want as he feels the warmth of you pressed along the length of his body.

Yoongi drinks in every little sound you make, spurring him to deepen kiss, his tongue flicking to part your own. As you both pull away, Yoongi leans in for a quick peck to your lips before he falls back into his seat.

“I guess I also have a lot to uncover, huh?” he whispers, fingers tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I really like you Y/n” he admits, hands clammy as he gauges your reaction.

“I really like you too” you tell him, and Yoongi smiles at the red hue that coats your cheeks; he can only imagine his match your own.

+ + +

“We should totally go on a double date” Taehyung grins, arm wrapped around Jungkook’s shoulder.

“We’re not dating though” Yoongi grunts, leaning back in his seat. His gaze flits over towards your table of co-workers, you more focused on something on your phone than what they were gossiping about.

“You went on a date, spent Christmas and New Year together, kissed, confessed and you’re not dating?” Jin gawks, astonished by what he was hearing.

Yoongi had asked after your little Christmas escapade, if you wanted to spend New Year together as well. He took you out for lunch, and then the two of you milled around a little market on the outskirts of the city. He’d met a few of your students, their happy smiles when they spotted you, warming Yoongi’s heart. And God forbid he didn’t hate children as much as he used to. (They could be cute sometimes, but only when it comes to you.) As well as conversing with a few parents, more than a few commenting on how cute you and Yoongi were together.

Nothing much more than kissing had happened, and you’d found the excuse for a few more kisses when you’d spotted little brushes of mistletoe hanging from the market huts, left over from the Christmas market that plagued the streets only weeks prior. And who was Yoongi to deny tradition?

The two of you had sat on a hill on New Year’s Day, Yoongi with his coffee, and you with piping hot, hot chocolate, both a little hung over from your little festivities the night prior (with a kiss when the clock hands struck midnight), and the both of you talked about the future. Your individual futures, and the future you want to have together.

You’d both agreed to take it slow, neither of you needed to rush into this relationship. You both knew you liked each other, that much had been established, and there was a mutual understanding that you had all the time in the world to learn more about each other before defining your relationship. You both understood what you had was exclusive, but neither of you felt labels were necessary. The unnecessary shadow that would loom over your shoulders, creeping up on you until your relationship evidently crumbles under the pressure of societal labels and standards of what a ‘good’ relationship is.

“So what?” Yoongi turns towards Jin, “We’re taking it slow”

“Slow my ass, you both act like you’ve been in a long-term relationship”

“Do not” Yoongi argues, feeling stupid that his reply had come off so juvenile.

“Yeah?” Seokjin challenges, and Yoongi knows he shouldn’t take the bait.

But he does, “Yeah”

“Whose lunchbox is that then?” he points at the prettily wrapped lunch that sat before you on the table. New shiny bento box that Yoongi had ordered online especially for you, with enough layers to make sure you would eat a nutritional lunch. With how many sweets you ate, Yoongi worried you spoiled yourself, so he took on the role of your chef; making sure you were eating healthier.

Yoongi coughs, “Mine. What are you gonna do about it?”

“Tease you” Jin laughs, pushing himself from his seat when Yoongi shoots him a hard glare. Waving at the small group before he makes his descent back to his classroom, a small group of students having filled in what was meant to be an easy lunch.

“I think you’re doing great, Hyung” Jungkook soothes, smiling over at Taehyung who nudges his side.

“Kookie is right, you don’t have to rush into these things. As long as the two of you are happy, that’s all that counts” Taehyung nods.

“Plus, Jin Hyung is definitely projecting, he’s hiding someone. I just know it” Jungkook nods, head falling onto his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Yoongi!” you call as you skip towards his lunch table, perking up at your voice.

“Yes?” he pulls out what was once Jin’s chair, pulling you to sit beside him.

“What do you think about these for Holly?” you shove your phone into his face, “I really like the blue one” you mutter.

“They’re lovely, doll” he smiles, taking your phone so the bright screen wasn’t blaring in his eyes, the images more of a blur of colours, messily mixed like paints on a pallet.

“Personally, my favourite is the purple one” you scroll down when Yoongi places the device on the table. He looks down at the little sweater you have on a website that specialises in dog clothes.

“It’s cute” Yoongi agrees.

“But Yoongs, Holly would look good in like red or something” you sigh dramatically, prominent frown pulled at your pretty lips, begging Yoongi to kiss it away.

Yoongi scrolls up, eyeing the other dog clothes they had on the website, “Why not get both? One for you and one for Holly” he shrugs, “There’s still a few weeks left of winter”

You nod, small smile now tugging at your lips and Yoongi feels somewhat accomplished. He ignores the intruding stares of his two friends sat across the table, kicking Taehyung’s shin when he opens his mouth to surely make a comment on Yoongi’s somewhat soft behaviour. Emotions on display for everyone to see.

“Okay!” you push yourself to stand, “I’m going to find my credit card” you announce and Yoongi grunts at that.

“I’ll pay” he also stands, but you push him back into his seat, shaking your head.

“No, you won’t. It’s my gift”

“Doll” Yoongi stares up at you, and he thinks he sees a crack in your resolve. He smiles when you cover his eyes with your hand.

“Don’t look at me like that” you whine, skin prickling with goosebumps when Yoongi skims his fingers down your arm, blindly seeking out your touch.

“Like what?” he asks, teasing lilt to his tone.

“Like you can tell me what to do”

“Is that so?”

You pull your hands from his eyes, frowning down at the caretaker, “I’m leaving” you tell him.

“I’ll take you out for dinner then” Yoongi calls when you turn away from the table.

“Okay!” you call over your shoulder, “text me later” you wave at him.

Yoongi turns towards Jungkook and Taehyung who have two annoying smiles plastered on their faces.

“Neither of you say a word” he points between them, “Not one”

+ + +

“Y/n!”

You startle, Yoongi using his hand to cushion your elbow before you could whack it on the edge of the table.

Both you and Yoongi turn towards where the honeyed voice came from, and Yoongi let’s out a low grunt when Namjoon saunters towards the table you’re sat at.

Yoongi had asked you out on a little coffee date, nothing too fancy, something to help the two of you wind down from another hectic week of work.

Yoongi had bought you a cake, getting the one that had little cat ears cut from sugar paper, and got himself a black coffee. You got sweet tea, and then you told him everything you’d been up to, talking of parents that had given you gifts at the start of the semester, and that you’d have to give him one of the funnier mugs for his coffee in the morning.

Everything was serene, perfect even. And Yoongi couldn’t have asked for anything more. His favourite girl by his side, with a perfect cup of coffee. Until Kim Namjoon decided to ruin his good mood.

“Namjoon” you greet, empty smile being thrown at the high school teacher.

“Fancy seeing you here” he laughs, inviting himself to your table. Taking a seat opposite Yoongi. Said man places his hand on your thigh gently, silent reassurance that he is there for you just in case this unplanned meeting goes south. And as much as you wanted to tell him to go away, you knew you would see him around work and the last thing you needed was an awkward encounter in the halls, you could feel your skin crawl at the thought of it.

“Yes, funny coincidence” you squeeze out, turning to look at Yoongi who gives you a curt nod.

“And who’s this?” Namjoon motions towards Yoongi, acting as though he was the one who had just barged into his café date. Eyes narrowing in slight distaste.

“Her boyfriend” Yoongi tells him, smug smile unmissable when Namjoon’s smile drops.

He turns to look at you, as if asking for confirmation. You nod, only deepening Namjoon’s frown. Yoongi’s fingers tighten on your thigh, and you feel a dull throb between your legs when he does, squirming a little in place, and if Yoongi notices, he doesn’t make it apparent.

“I didn’t know you two were—” he wags a finger in your general direction, “a thing” he finishes, the words leaving a bad taste on his tongue.

“Not everyone drones on about their relationships, Namjoon” you point out, finding it hard to fight off the smug smile that threatened to show. You see, Namjoon had a track record of bragging about his escapades, either it be a quick fling with a woman who worshiped the ground he walked on (his words, not yours), or short-term relationships where he would boast about every detail of his sex life. Something you had no interest in.

“If you’ll excuse us, I was enjoying my date” you motion to Yoongi beside you, a bored expression taking over his features.

“You heard her” he adds, motioning for Namjoon to leave. Translation: Fuck off.

Yoongi thinks he sees the tips of Namjoon’s ears flush red, slithering its way down his cheeks and neck, and Yoongi feels his heart swell when you lean against his shoulder; Namjoon glaring at the two of you as he stands up.

“Boyfriend, huh?” you ask when Namjoon is out of your general vicinity.

Yoongi turns to look out the window, his silent wish of you not bringing that up clearly not being heard by some higher power.

“Only if that’s okay with you” he mutters.

“Is this you asking me out?” you laugh, head falling backwards, and Yoongi turns, wanting to catch your smile.

“Y/n?” he calls, hand coming to hold your cheek as you tilt your head back down to look at him.

You hum.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

+ + +

“Okay!” Seokjin claps his hands, “News for this week. Yoongi first”

And all three pairs of eyes land on the caretaker. Now that the weather had started to warm up a little, the sun no longer shying away behind fluffy, cotton candy clouds, lunch times were spent behind the school. Away from students, and the beady eyes of other staff that had a habit of eavesdropping on everyone’s conversations. And then before you knew it, the whole faculty knew about your secrets.

Yoongi places a hand on his chin in thought, “I helped Y/n build a new desk for her classroom and put up some new blinds that she bought. Oh...” he drawls, “And she’s now my girlfriend”

Seokjin’s jaw drops, and Yoongi wants to make a snide comment, being cut out by a loud gasp from his hyung. Jungkook and Taehyung laugh from their spot opposite Yoongi, nodding their congratulations as Jin pinches the bridge of his nose.

“And you didn’t think to text me?” he mutters, mock offense lacing his tone.

“What about your partner Hyung?” Jungkook prods, not missing the wide eyes of the eldest.

“How did you know about that?” he whispers, leaning across the table.

“You were kind of obvious” Taehyung placates, wrapping his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“So? Who are they?” Yoongi prods, having waited years for his friend to finally spill the beans on this secret relationship he’d been trying to hide (and clearly failed).

“I met her in the town over, she already has a kid, but the father left. We’ve been taking it slow, but I really do like her” he admits, and Taehyung can’t help the mushy smile that takes over his features.

“On the topic of children…” Jungkook trails off, giving a look to his boyfriend, who only nods in encouragement. “We’re planning to adopt”

Yoongi’s eyes widen a little in surprise, it’s not as if the two hadn’t fiddled with the idea of adopting; he just never expected it to be so soon.

“Oh my god” Seokjin cried, “I’m going to be an uncle��

“That’s a really big decision” Yoongi nods, a small smile toying at the edge of his lips.

“It is” Taehyung agrees, “But we both have stable jobs, and a home. Neither of us plan to go anywhere anytime soon”

“What about the wedding?” Jin asks.

“A wedding can happen any time. We both know that we want to spend the rest of our lives together, so there’s no rush really” Jungkook shrugs.

“What about you Hyung? When are you getting married” Taehyung points his attention towards the caretaker.

“He only just asked me to be his girlfriend” your arms wrap around Yoongi’s neck, leaning down to press a featherlight kiss on his cheek.

Yoongi scoots over to make room for you on the bench.

“Not with your friends?” he asks, hand coming to rest on your thigh as you pull your own lunch (courtesy of Yoongi), placing it onto the table.

“Nope” you shake your head, handing him a neatly cut triangular sandwich, “Namjoon came over, so I lost my appetite” you tell him, and he hums in understanding. Muttering a short ‘bastard’ under his breath.

+ + +

Perfect didn’t seem like the right word to describe your relationship with Min Yoongi. It was beyond anything you could have ever asked for. Something that not many people had during their first relationships; trial and error finally pulling you down the path of your soulmate. However, you seemed to hit the jackpot, first try.

Before you knew it a year had flown by, memories floating by like the wind would, caressing your cheek in the morning on the way to school. Days merging into weeks and weeks into months. And even with a mush of weeks and days, Yoongi always made you feel the most special, like you were the only one he had eyes for.

Yoongi had never been the most vocal man, but you’d learnt that he loved you all as much. He would pack your lunches in cute little boxes, and on Friday’s he would slip a little note into your bag with plans for the weekend or a shopping list so you could both wander around the supermarket as soon as the home time bell rigs. He would come to your classroom after school with cold drinks in the summer and overly sweet hot chocolate in the winter.

Although he would never admit it, he really did like the tiramisu from that shitty Italian restaurant at the end of street, and he thought it was ridiculous how many dates the both of you had spent in there. He’d voiced out a concern one evening, you sprawled across his bed like a dream, with your favourite candle lit, and Holly filling the gap between your bodies; he worried he wasn’t doing enough. You had told him you really didn’t care, as long as you were together, even lounging in bed for the day made you happy. And as if to prove a point, you and Yoongi had spent the whole day in bed together, binging your favourite shows (amongst other things).

You walked around fair grounds together, shared secrets between kisses, and it was the small things that he would do for you, that reminded you that Min Yoongi really did love you. Like washing your face of an evening or picking up snacks from the convenience store because he knew you’d ran out.

You remember the evening he opened up about his music, not just a silly little hobby like he had initially told you. He told you about how cathartic it was for him to produce. He showed you notebook upon notebook of lyrics that he had written from his teens through to his adult years; a little window into the man you were dating.

You know he likes dogs more than cats; you know he adores Holly. You know he hates sweet coffee, the bitter taste on his tongue somewhat of a comfort for him. You know he liked to stay home rather than melt within a crowd of rowdy people. And if the two of you ever found yourself trapped with too many sounds and too many bodies, Yoongi would place his hand on the back of your neck, reassurance that he was still there, helping ground you from all the overflowing number of stimuli that were trying to scratch at your brain.

Min Yoongi liked to cook, liked to experiment in the kitchen and he loved it even more when he could cook for you. He liked watching your face light up when you liked something, he liked the way your nose would scrunch up in that cute way when a taste was unfamiliar or too bitter.

Yoongi liked the curtains in your apartment, thin in a way the sun would caress your skin as it woke before you. As he would lay there, fingers trailing over the naked skin of your back, loving the way you’d slowly start to become conscious of the world around you. And the smile that would stretch onto your face, unconditional love mingled with tired eyes as you woke up to the sight of sleep roughed Yoongi first thing in the morning.

Yoongi liked the winter more than he did the summer. Maybe it was because that is when he first worked up the courage to talk to you.

Yoongi liked wearing the colour black, something so simple but looked so good on him. He, however, adored when you’d wear colourful shirts, dresses that complimented the tone of your skin, and he thinks if he were to turn this into a metaphor, you were the one who finally brought colour into his monotone life. An endless cycle of loneliness that he hadn’t realised he was drowning in before he had met you.

Yoongi liked that when you had moved into his home, small parts of you leaked into his, your, living space. Canvases of unfinished paintings, and photos from your childhood. His closet was no longer half empty, overflowing with a concoction of both your clothes. Odd pieces of furniture that you hadn’t wanted to let go of now filling the gaps of his once arguably scarce apartment.

Min Yoongi loved you.

He loved everything about you.

He loved how kind you were, patient in a way that only a kindergarten teacher could be. He liked that with others you always seemed a little reserved, shy in your actions, but with him you had no qualms about what you said or how you acted. Min Yoongi loved you because you always thought of him as much as he thought of you. He would feel his heart flutter when you would leave coffee on the desk in his office or help him pick out what shirt to wear to work.

Min Yoongi loved that you were the last thing he would see before he went to sleep, with his arm slung around your waist, and he loved that from the minute he would wake up, there you were, right by his side.

Min Yoongi loved that you were the last missing puzzle piece of his life. Fitting ever so perfectly in the gap he never knew was missing.

+ + +

“Yoongi, hold on” you gasp, head falling back into the plethora of pillows he had thrown onto the bed.

‘So you’re comfy’ Yoongi had frowned. And if you could think a coherent thought maybe you would thank him. Your head rocking up into the pillow padded headboard; pleasure licking up your spine.

You feel Yoongi’s tongue flick at your clit, a mixture of his own spit and your arousal dripping down his chin like liquid honey. And Yoongi makes sure to try and save every delicious mouthful of your essence. Something so uniquely you, so sweet, something that only Yoongi gets the pleasure to taste; because he had no plans of letting you go anytime soon.

Your boyfriend prods his tongue at your entrance, your legs shaking as his thumb gently brushes over your overstimulated clit. You see, Yoongi had this game, he liked to see how long he could eat you out, and how many times he could make you cum before he fucked you senseless on his cock. Leaving your clit to throb in a mixture of want and denial, swollen from being toyed with.

“One more, baby” he takes a deep breath, wasting no time in diving his tongue into you, molten arousal coating his lips, and as much as Yoongi loved it when your thighs would clamp round his head, today he wanted you bare. Spread out prettily just for him to devour. So, he holds your thighs open, straining them as he tries to push his head as far between your thighs as physically possible, lips pulling into a grin when you thrust your hips to meet his tongue; chasing your own pleasure.

He feels your fingers thread with his hair when he pushes his tongue in a little deeper, thumb still strumming at your clit. And he wonders if he could make you cum from just playing with your clit alone. He’d made you cum just from toying with your nipples once, the picture of you, flushed face, a sheen of sweat coating both of your bodies as his teeth clamped down on your puffy nipples, red raw from his mouth, and he remembers the surprised moan you’d graced him with when you had come.

“I can’t” you moan, mouth falling open.

Yoongi grunts, pulling his face away from your cunt, his index finger sinking into your entrance.

“Yes, you can” he tells you, fingers delving, eager to find that spot which will make you see stars, groaning at the sound you let out when he sinks a second finger into your greedy cunt.

He uses his other arm to hold down your waist as you try to eagerly buck into his fingers, little whimpers tumbling from your lips, and Yoongi thinks that was his favourite sound. He had asked once to add your moans to a song, your cheeks had flushed, laughing like Yoongi had been joking. And then your boyfriend had fucked you in his home office, with your hand clamped over your mouth, a little game to see how long you could stay silent.

He was surprised how long you’d been able to keep it up, and it had become his own personal goal to make sure you moaned his name every time he played with you.

“Please, please, please” you whine breathlessly.

“Please what, baby? I can’t help you of you don’t tell me what’s wrong” he frowns, tone mocking as he slows his fingers to a gentle thrust.

“No, no, Yoongi faster please” you cry, tilting your head to look at him, and Yoongi leans up to brush the stray tears from your cheeks, sadistic smile on his face.

“Yeah?” he asks, watching as you nod; pitiful as you rock your hips to try and push his fingers deeper inside of you.

Your boyfriend leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your pouty lips, your sad frown enough for him to finally give you what you want.

He trails his lips down your body, stopping to press a gentle kiss to your nipples, tongue flicking out to toy with them as you wiggle underneath him, shuddering breath reverberating around the otherwise silent room.

“Cum one more time and then I’ll fuck you” he mutters, “Okay, baby?”

You hum, and Yoongi pushes himself off your body.

“Words” he reminds you, and you have to wrack your brain.

“Yes”

“Good girl” he pushes his head back between his legs, something comforting about being here; like Yoongi belonged, sandwiched between your thighs.

Two of his fingers strum at your clit, a breathy chuckle fanning over your sensitive cunt when he laughs as you moan. His tongue lapping up the arousal that had started to dribble from your hole.

“You’re really wet, baby”

You hum, not quite sure you heard him or not. But Yoongi laps up another string of your essence, acting more like a starved puppy than a man, but he supposes he always was a little feral around you.

“Think you can squirt for me?” he grunts, exchanging his tongue for his fingers as the wet muscle in his mouth now plays with your clit.

He suctions the sensitive pearl, teeth grazing it as he sinks three fingers into your hole. You moan into a pillow, thighs once again shaking as Yoongi thrusts his fingers into you in quick succession. He can feel your walls clench around him sporadically, tips of his fingers nudging that spongy tissue as he curls them upwards.

“Cum, baby” he grunts, wrist straining as he tries to keep a steady pace.

He feels his fingers being pushed from your hole as you squirt, his shirt soaking through with your juices. Your thighs shakes as he pushes his fingers back into your cunt, thrusting them in a couple of times before more of your arousal leaks onto the bed sheets.

“How messy” he tuts, pulling his shirt from over his head.

“Your fault” you argue, chest rising and falling, uneasy as you catch your breath.

Yoongi pushes himself up your body, arms flexing as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips; a lot slower, more passionate than those from prior in the evening.

Yoongi brushes a wet piece of hair from your face, your forehead glazed with a thin layer of sweat.

“You did so well for me” he whispers, hands trailing down the sides of your body, an attempt to ground you a little. When he sees a little more clarity in your eyes, legs not still shaking where they rest against his thighs he presses a gentle kiss to your cheeks.

“Think you can take my cock?” he asks, “We don’t have to do anything else if you don’t want to” he reminds you.

You nod, “I’m okay, I don’t know if I can cum again though”

“Guess we’ll have to check” he pushes himself to sit on his knees.

Yoongi ignores you as you eye his sweats, hard shaft hardly veiled by the grey fabric. And you think you are moments away from jumping the man. With how perfect he looked in the orange glow of the lamplight, chin shining in your arousal. It was hard to stop your pussy from leaking, and it would have been a little embarrassing just how wet you were if you didn’t know Yoongi absolutely loved when you got like this for him.

You watch as he leans across the bed, lithe fingers tugging the drawer open. Your fingers toy with the waist band of his sweats, and Yoongi lets out a breathy chuckle when you tug on them.

Your boyfriend sits up, shiny foil packet held between two fingers, those same two fingers that had brought you to your high twice already tonight.

“Can I help?” you push yourself to sit up, biting your lip at the dull throbbing between your thighs.

Yoongi hands the condom to you, scooting himself off the bed to discard the rest of his clothes. You watch as he pulls off his sweats, having foregone any underwear that evening, and your eyes train on his cock.

You think that your boyfriend maybe had the prettiest cock, he took pride in grooming himself; always making sure to be clean. You can only wonder how long it must have been erected for, cockhead an angry red, shiny with Yoongi’s own arousal, little beads of pre-cum cascading down his length.

You lean forwards, taking the girthy cock into your hands, the familiar weight making you salivate a little. You run the tip over your lips, coating it in Yoongi’s pre-cum.

“No teasing, doll” he grunts, and you smile, pulling back.

You roll the latex over his shaft, leaving it to bob uselessly against the skin of his stomach as he climbs back onto the bed.

“You sure you’re, okay?” he checks, helping lay you down comfortably, lifting the lower half of your body by your ankles, his other hand grabbing a pillow to cushion your hips.

He drops your legs back onto the bed, watching as you smile up at him.

“Come here” you tell him, and Yoongi obliges, humming into the gentle kiss you place on his lips, your own cum still staining the taste of him.

He wraps your thighs around his waist, one arm holds him up as he lines himself with your entrance.

Your mouth falls open into a silent ‘o’ when he pushes the head in, and Yoongi always makes sure to watch your face when he finally fucks you; not only as reassurance that you like what’s happening but so he knows just the right spot to drill into you.

Yoongi holds your hips as you try to rock forwards, his own hips stuttering in anticipation; but he holds himself back, liking the intimacy of having you sprawled out beneath him, fully trusting that he’ll take care of you. There had always been something so fulfilling to Yoongi about these intimate moments with you, your bodies joining to become one, your body pliant to his every move.

His hands leave your hips, skimming up your body before lacing his finger between your own.

“You good?” he whispers, unsure if he could utter anything more with how warm and wet you were, cunt clenching rhythmically around his length.

“Yeah” you whisper back, fingers tightening around his own when he gently pulls out before thrusting back into you.

Something akin to a squeak, tumbles from your lips when Yoongi picks up his pace, hands never letting go of yours as his hips snap forwards, thighs slapping against thighs with nothing more than the music of your bodies filling the silence of your bedroom.

Yoongi can only describe the sounds coming from you as pornographic, his thrusts pushing you up a little on the bed, he feels your nails dig into the skin of his hands, his own grunts mirroring your own pleasure.

“So close, so close” he chants, using whatever strength he has left in his arms to lean down, greedily sucking your left nipple between his teeth, teasing nips sending jolts of pleasure down your body.

Your boyfriend can feel your legs shake as he sucks a love bite just above the sensitive skin of your nipple, your hips bucking to meet his own.

He lets go of one of your hands, “Play with yourself, pretty. Let’s cum together”

You nod, sweat trickling down your neck as you trail a hand down your body. Slicking up your fingers from where Yoongi thrusts into you, your fingers start to play with your clit, jolt of pleasure causing your cunt spasm around Yoongi’s cock.

“Gonna cum” you whine, Yoongi’s teeth clamping around your nipple enough to push you over the edge.

Your legs tighten around his waist, stopping Yoongi’s sloppy thrusts, as you push him as deep inside of you as humanly possible. Your mind a blank slate as it rewires, slowly trying to become conscious of your surroundings.

You feel his cock twitch, his own cum shooting him the condom.

Yoongi collapses on top of you, a rush of air squeezing from your lungs when he lands with a dull thump.

“Ouch” you giggle, not protesting when his arms snake around your waist, flipping the two of over so you lay gently on his chest.

Yoongi’s fingers brush through your damp hair, “You did so well for me, pretty” he tells you, golden glow of the lamp illuminating him in that post-orgasmic bliss. If you though Yoongi looked good on a normal day, you had been utterly in awe when you’d seen him after he’d came.

“Thank you”

“For what?” he laughs, chest rumbling under your ear.

“Making me cum three times”

“Nothing I like more than my girl feeling good”

You hum at that, trying to push yourself up. Yoongi grunts, tugging you tighter against his chest.

“Yoongs I need to pee, and I feel all sticky” you complain, fingers toying with the divot of his collarbone.

“5 minutes”

“Min Yoongi” you laugh, pinching the skin of his neck.

“Fine but be quick” he loosens his arms. When you push yourself to sit, he pulls you back down.

“Hey!” you complain.

“Need a kiss first” he puckers up his lips, and you indulge him this one time, never in a hurry when it came to kissing your love.

And as you wash up in the bathroom, door slightly ajar where he can see you milling around, his fingers play with the little beaded bracelet you’d gifted him when you spent that first Christmas together.

Yoongi loved you a lot, more than he would ever be able to describe in words. He loved that he could give you a helping hand no matter the situation, and the shiny little ring, hidden away in his nightstand shrouded in a pretty, purple velvet box was his promise to you; that he would stay by your side for the rest of his life.

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pluralprompts · 3 months

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Woo! 1,500 prompts! Way to go, us! *Toots party horn*

Since we're at this milestone, we'd like to announce a few minor changes to the blog that we'll be making going forward, as well as updates we've made along the way, to better provide prompts to all of you.

Firstly, we'll be switching from terms such as "Person A" to "Character A". The term was originally meant to allow ambiguity as to whether a particular character was a singlet, a system, a specific headmate, or other, but we feel that using "character" will do the job better. It will also be friendlier to those who use parts language or wish to write using parts language.

Secondly, we made some minor edits to our pinned post. Nothing major, just made some things easier to read and added a few notes. If you'd like to reread to look for the differences, you're more than free to. We may continue to add small edits as we proceed with the next two things on our list.

Thirdly, at some point I plan to go through my "au" tags and remove the "au" part of them, as these prompts can be used for original fiction, and aren't necessarily meant to be "alternate universe" versions of any specific story. For example, the "soulmate au" tag will become just "soulmates". We may also simplify other tags that we feel are unnecessarily long, but the edited tags should be similar enough to their original titles that they are still easy to understand, such as "caregiver/caretaker" becoming just "caregiver".

To that end, our fourth update is that we will be attempting to create a list of some of our tags. Not all, because the variety of our prompts requires a lot of different tags (too many to count), but the more common tags, at least, will be compiled into a list. We will decide at a later date whether we will share this list in its own post, or create a section for it in the pinned post.

That's all for now. Thank you all for supporting us this far! Here's to hoping that we'll be able to continue to bring you all many more plural prompts in the future!

#not a prompt #mod post

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madlad-sadgal · 9 months

Text

Goldenheart AU Pt. 3

I FOUND MY NOTEBOOK!

If you couldn't tell, I have found my notes about this AU and am finally able to make more parts (I could've just made new notes but for some reason my mind stopped everytime I tried to do that, so yeah). This part is gonna be about the band members' (Bal, Nimona and Meredith) backstories.

I highly suggest you check out these first if you wanna understand this, cuz it might not make sense: [Part 1] [Part 2]

(Edit: I'm an idiot and forgot to put the links when I first posted it)

Part 1 is just the base of the AU, and part 2 explains the Director/Livia's (the name I gave her) reasons to not want Goldenheart to be a thing.

Also, feel free to put any idea you might want to add on in the comments or the tags! I tend to look at them and take them in consideration. I don't tag you (some people don't want to be tagged), but if you want to be credited, just message me and I'll tag you if I use your idea!

Anyways, Enjoy!

Ballister Boldheart

Although he didn't live on the streets, Ballister wasn't part of a very fortunate family when it came to money.

Education was something his family struggled to provide to him, and food was thoroughly enjoyed as one never knew if the next meal would be provided or not

His parents worked in a quite successful company but were paid barely enough to survive despite the amount of work they did

Ballister also worked small jobs, such as helping the park keeper clean up garbage, helping the mailman deliver his letters and packages, and so on

When he properly met Ambrosius was when he was cleaning up the park

I say properly because everyone knows Ambrosius Goldenloin, future heir to the Goldenloin company, so when he walked up to a little boy with long dirty hair and worn down clothes, it was pretty safe to say he was wary of him at first

Slowly but surely, after they met up more and more, Ballister started to warm up to him until they became great friends

Ambrosius had tried many times to give money to his family or to buy him something, but Ballister always refused because 1) He wanted to prove he could help on his own, not thanks to some charity money, and 2) He really didn't need the rest of Ambrosius' friends to start rumors about how he was using him for money (It was pretty clear they didn't like him, mainly Todd Sureblade, the Sureblade's being long friends of the Goldenloins)

At some point in time, when they were about 9-10, Ambrosius had to leave cities because of something and the two boys wouldn't be able to talk anymore, so he left with heart wrenching goodbyes

After that, everything was basically shit

With Ambrosius no longer around, some of his old friends who had stayed behind picked on him (hiding the stuff he needed to work, throwing random objects at him when he was in the park, etc.)

His father succumbed to an illness he had been suffering from for a while which sent his mother spiraling into a depression and turning to drinks. She didn't abuse him, but behind her curtain of sadness, she basically forgot about him and it was up to Ballister to provide food and take care of the both of them

It didn't take long for child protection services to take note of this and, at 16, Ballister was placed in a foster home while his mother went to therapy and rehab

It was in the foster home that Ballister met Nimona (backstory later)

Nimona was younger than him by around ten years, a little six year old kid who looked harmless until you realized just how much chaos she could cause

Still, he enjoyed Nimona's company and his foster parents could tell, so they let the two kids be. It was a struggle to stop Nimona from causing chaos everytime they went to the market, but it was worth it if it meant they'd stay up until late into the night arguing about whether freestyle jazz was good or not, if pineapple belonged on pizza or not and what animals would be the best to have if you were running away from the police

Back to that last point, music (except freestyle jazz) was something that the two enjoyed greatly. Nimona enjoyed the drums, always getting a boost out of watching others go crazy on them. Ballister preferred bass (it may or may not be because he remembered Ambrosius had mentioned it being his favourite instrument once and he was desperately holding on to his old friend)

When Nimona turned 7, their parents' rights were terminated and Vivian and William (their foster parents) adopted them, and he was also adopted not long after because his mother's rights had been terminated as well, so now they were an actual little family

Ballister recieved a bass set on his seventeenth birthday, and Nimona received a drum set about three years later on her tenth birthday. By then, Ballister had gotten a lot better with handling and playing the bass and helped Nimona a little with her drums

When they were respectively 22 and 12, money became thin in their household and, having already been through it, Ballaiter didn't want to go through it again, so he decided he was gonna find a way to help his parents, except this time he knew little jobs at the park or helping the mailman wouldn't cut it

They knew they were talented and they could put their talents to good use, and the idea to create a band was somehow thrown into conversations

Only problem is, Bal is pretty good in technology, but he can't work backstage and on the bass at the same time, they'd need at least a third member

Enter Meredith Blitzmeyer

So I'm gonna stop this here because it's already pretty long, I'm exhausted and I'm pretty sure you can tell I got tired towards the end of this, but oh well.

Nimona's backstory's next.

And again, please add on to this with your ideas if you have any, I like hearing what you guys think.

#nimona #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #goldenheart #nimona movie #nimona 2023 #ballister x ambrosius #nimona netflix #nimona spoilers #nimona au #dr meredith blitzmeyer

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helljunker · 2 years

Note

I care about that Noelle piece!!! Please do write up an explanation it would be wonderful

Noelle Snowgrave AU: A FAIL.

i… didnt really expect people to pay attention to my drawing. thanks for asking about it though!! i hope this post helps clarify my vision for the AU :'3

the following is just an edited, cleaned up version of what i wrote in my sketchbook concerning the au.

Some things before you read: In this AU, Noelle is meant to perish. The setting of this AU is built around this, and she isn't meant to be saved. That being said, people can make up their own alternative endings and concepts of the AU. If you want to add onto it in anyway I encourage it! That's the nature of Alternative Universes, haha. I do request linking back to this post at the least, if you do plan on sharing and modifying the concepts of this AU, so people can have that reference.

Notes under cut of the AU are loosely linear. If I think of a concept while writing I often just add it in without consideration to the timeline.

I'd like to officially name this AU "A FAIL." It's based on C418's song of the same name. The main tag I use for the content I make regarding this AU is [A FAIL.] (period included, without the brackets) Furthermore, if you have questions, comments, or elsewise, send me an ask! If you reply to the post I'll respond with my main (opprotunemoment.)

content warnings: frostbite, eventual death, comas. AU concepts and notes under the readmore.

This route is dependent on the player playing Deltarune, Chapter 2, pursuing a Weird/Pipis route. I call it Snowgrave, as does some of the community. When commanded to freeze Berdly, Noelle freezes herself in the last second to avoid hurting Berdly. This isn't scripted, of course, and it instantly ends the battle. This soft-locks the "game." What we know as the player, who seems to possess Kris, isn't able to proceed, and does the equivalent of ragequitting. Hah

This give Kris free will, which is… sorta confusing because up until this point, the red Soul, when within their body, commanded most of their actions. When they realize they can move and talk freely, they don't react immediately. It's Berdly who speaks first, demanding what they were making Noelle do, and what happened, etc etc (insert Berdly deliberating here.)

Seeing that Kris is unresponsive, Berdly runs away to find Susie. This leaves Kris completely alone. When they finally come to their senses, they desperately try to free Noelle, but they can't; they're not strong enough on their own.

I haven't really figured out what happens between then and the fountain being closed. I know the fountain does eventually get closed though, and this action traps Noelle (or rather, her embodiment, her Soul,) in what remains as the Cyber World. In the Overworld (which is a catchall term for what involves the school and town; basically not the "Dark World" or the "??????" world,) Kris, Susie and Berdly remain intact. Noelle is unresponsive and comatose. It's similar symptoms to what monsters call "falling down."

Noelle's physical body reflects what happened to her in the Berdly fight. Because she is frozen, her Cyber World body eventually succumbs to frostbite. This manifests physically in the Overworld. Her falling down and this damage confuses the doctors, and no matter what they do, her condition does not improve.

I've yet to come up with a solid reason why Noelle was abandoned. I'm tossing in the idea that Kris went rogue and closed the fountain without consulting the party firsthand. There's also the consideration that maybe Susie, Berdly and Ralsei attempt to save Noelle, but because Kris goes rogue and closes the fountain, everyone is returned back to their normal places besides Noelle.

Berdly is outwardly hostile to Kris, blaming them for Noelle's fate. Kris cannot explain themself. The adults have no reason to blame Kris, however, so Berdly's claims are dismissed. This puts a rift between the group. (The group being basically Susie and Kris, against Berdly)

Pinning down Ralsei's character is hard, personally. I'm unsure how he would react to the events presented in this AU. Probably dismissive? He would care about Noelle, but because of the nature of this AU, she cannot be saved. Perhaps he is optimistic that she would be fine in the Overworld, so that is why he isn't more proactive on trying to save her.

Susie seems to trust Kris a little more in Chapter 2, regardless of your actions in Chapter 1 (consider that: your choices don't matter SPECIFICALLY in Chapter 1. I personally think this is thrown out in Chapter 2, since this Chapter's decisions made by you, the Player, do actively change the outcome of the story. Toby I do not envy you on the basis that you're gonna have to tree branch so many endings. Starspeed. ANYWAY I got sidetracked, back onto…)

Susie! Because Susie trusts Kris, she doesn't initially believe Berdly and his claims. But when Kris becomes avoidant and reclusive, and thinks harder about Kris going rogue, Susie takes matters into her own hands and breaks into the school a few nights after Noelle is admitted to the hospital. Her intention is to ask Ralsei for help.

She finds she can enter the Dark World. However, it doesn't return her to Ralsei's castle. She gets stuck wandering in the "??????" world. Without Kris, the power of the red Soul, it's impossible to navigate. I wanted this to be a part of the mechanics of the AU because I personally suspect the power of the red Soul helps the Lightners navigate. Unable to proceed, Susie leaves back to the Overworld, and is caught having broke in.

Noelle's body can no longer maintain it's form. Without a soul, it's just a husk, and Noelle gives up fighting. This causes the body to dissipate. The soul is lost by this point.

Based on skymantle's observations regarding Rudy's condition, and relating it to monster children growing up based on their parent's souls, Rudy should no longer be sick after Noelle passes.

Other notes: I really this AU's concept because it reinforces that the player's choices don't matter, and that the NPC's have more agency than the player expects. ALSO need I remind you of Noelle's Lost Girl song. oof

aaand…. That's it!! Those are all the notes I have on the AU so far.

some sources i used: skymantle's post on monster children and their parents Undertale Subreddit's Snowgrave Megathread (mostly just the google doc regarding the walkthrough and route differences, as I have not played the route myself) Undertale Wikia (do i really need to link this. lols) LAST UPDATED: (9/26/22)

#A FAIL.#snowgrave #snowgrave au #deltarune #deltarune spoilers #deltarune au #noelle #kris #susie #ralsei #berdly #writing

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kondorksart · 1 year

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hi, not long ago, you reblogged a dirk strider and bro strider piece and i saw one of your tags and i wpuld love to listen to you talk about this for an hour............ i know we've never interacted but yeah.' <3 i hope this isn't weird i just love long extremely neurodivergent conversations.

I never get asks so a LITTLE weird but not on you LMAO

This is the post they're talking about if anyone else is curious

To start off, I never finished Homestuck and never will. I never read Homestuck 2 and I never will. Whatever happened in HS2 with Ultimate Dirk and all that I'll never FULLY get, but ehh whatever you know? So with that out of the way, onto the rambling.

I think it's just so fucking interesting Dirk and Bro are the same person but also not the same person. In literal canon Bro was an abusive guardian that shouldn't have been raising a kid, but at least he was preparing Dave for the game and that was his ultimate goal in the end, whether he knew it or not. Dirk on the other hand, a splinter of Bro, is a weirdo who likes drawing his friends eating each other's babies, but ALSO preparing his friends to enter the game and making it work in any way he could. The parallels are uncanny and it just makes sense that they're splinters of one another, and in some AU's you see, older/younger versions of each other.

First off the bat about the piece is that Color Pretty. Very pretty colors and I like the gradient of the sky in the background and how it melds into a pink. Ties the piece together but also puts emphasis on the two figures we're focusing on here, which is Ult Dirk and a beta Bro it seems. Or at least a Dirk splinter.

I don't remember where Dirk said it in Homestuck because god forbid I site sources, but I feel like at some point, he told Dave he isn't Bro / isn't like him. Maybe the feelings jam on the roof in one of the bubbles? Unsure. And here's where it starts getting ironic. I don't know much about Ult Dirk, but isn't his main idea to be the bad guy he's always thought out to be because he's got big boy brains? He's following in Bro's footsteps in a way because he was a "bad guy" to Dave. And how is Ult Dirk supposed to make this cycle rinse and repeat? By creating a Bro and sending him off in a splintered timeline. Chained by your date, you're MEANT to be the bad guy, so you will be. And notice it isn't the splintered Dirk wearing the chains either, it's Ult Dirk.

At the end of the day, credit to the artist for creating such a fun piece! You literally could tell a whole story from it, even if my point of view is completely fucked and not what they meant to interpret from the piece LMAO. Hope this was enough rambling for you!

edit: of course tumblr mobile decided to not add the link to the post. its added now!

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

This Gravitational Pull

Summary: Penelope Garcia sets her two best friends Derek & Spencer up on a blind first date. Even with the best intentions and highest expectations, no-one could've predicted it would go quite this well.

Tags: fluff, first date, au: diff first meeting, shy spencer, insecurity, anxiety, flirting, cuddling, protective derek, silly amounts of affection

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.9k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

I started writing this and then realised that I'd set their date in a pub's beer garden? I googled it and apparently they are a thing in America so I kept it in. I don't know how common they are, but I hope it's all good and you can picture the setting just fine.

Spencer really wishes he hadn’t agreed to this blind date.

Not because he doesn’t trust Penelope — he does, he trusts her implicitly and entirely — but because it's a blisteringly hot day in late July and the heat compounded by his shaking nerves is making for a rather unpleasant sweating situation.

A bumblebee buzzes quietly around the table he’s sat at, briefly interested in the iced coffee he’s got his hands wrapped around, and Spencer watches it with a gentle sort of intrigue, able to briefly take his mind off the impending date. He knows that Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan is physically attractive, Penelope had made that more than clear with both her copious photos of him and the way she’s sung his praises since she started working at the FBI, but if anything, that just makes him more nervous. If Derek wasn’t his type, then he wouldn’t have as much to lose.

He runs a nervous hand through his hair as he heaves a small sigh. Worst case scenario, he can run home to his apartment, order Indian food, bury himself in the early edition of War and Peace he just won in an auction and forget that this date ever happened.

“Spencer? Spencer Reid?”

A surprisingly deep and sexy voice has him looking up from the watch face he’s been staring at perhaps a little too intensely, and he’s instantly taken aback by the Greek God standing in front of him. He’d known Derek was attractive, he'd seen pictures of him, but no camera could ever hope to do someone so beautiful any semblance of justice.

“Uh, y-yes, um, yeah. That’s me.” He shakes his head to try and recover his awkward word stumbling before discreetly wiping his sweaty palm on his trousers and standing up to shake Derek’s hand. “You’re Derek?”

“The one and only,” Derek says cheekily, shooting Spencer a grin that already has his stomach churning with a mix of excitement and crippling nerves. “Penelope told me you were gorgeous, but let me tell you, she really undersold it, pretty boy.”

His cheeks instantly flush red as he fights to maintain eye contact, blinking owlishly at the other man. Did he really just say that?

“I was going to say the same thing.”

Derek’s grin only widens. “Well, it looks like Penelope matched us well, then.”

This time Spencer allows himself to briefly duck his head as a baffling mix of pleasure and mortification swim around his chest. He puts it down to inexperience. Any other explanation will only compound his embarrassment.

“She did,” he agrees, smiling over at Derek and hoping desperately that he’s managing to stay cooler on the outside than he is on the inside. “Do you want something to drink?”

Derek nods. “I’ll go and order a beer at the bar. Do you want anything or are you okay with that coffee?”

“Oh no, I’m fine, thank you,” Spencer says, and mentally he praises himself for finally getting out a coherent sentence that doesn’t sound hopelessly mangled and flustered.

He watches Derek as he strides into the pub, looking as cool and confident as his looks and personality allow, and he realises that he really does just have a way about him. The bar is relatively crowded due to the blinding heat on a Saturday afternoon, but the bartender serves him instantly, all the girls eyeing him interestedly and the guys knocking his shoulder and joking about with him as though they’re all easy, long-time friends.

It’s nice, Spencer thinks, to be the focus of someone like that’s attention. Derek could have his pick of most people drinking here, but he only has eyes for Spencer as he comes back out, holding a tall pint and wearing a happy, focused expression as he sits back down.

“Do you not drink?” Derek asks curiously and without judgement, gesturing to his coffee.

“I go out with my friends sometimes,” Spencer says, blushing again, “but I’m a bit of a lightweight, and that’s not the best state of mind to be in on any first date, let alone a blind one.”

Derek chuckles warmly at that, and the sound is a pleasant rumble reminiscent of a distant thunderstorm. Spencer wants to melt into it.

“I think I’d like to see you all messy on a night out, pretty boy,” Derek says wryly, still grinning shamelessly, and Spencer gets the distinct impression that this ‘pretty boy’ business is going to be a Thing between them.

Spencer cocks his head and takes a sip of his coffee through the long metal straw. “Maybe you’ll have to join us some time.”

“Does that mean we’re going on another date?” Derek asks, but before Spencer can panic that he’s said the wrong thing, he’s smoothly continuing. “Because I’m more than down for that.”

“You are?”

“Pretty boy, you ever looked in the mirror?” Derek demands playfully. “Add that to this cute little nerdy bashful doctor thing you got going on and you’re the whole package. Of course I want another date with you, and we’ve barely even started this one.”

Spencer flushes bright pink at that, and decides to move the conversation on before he melts into a literal puddle in the middle of this beer garden. “So you know Penelope through work?”

Derek gets the hint. “I was part of the group that arrested her, actually,” he chuckles, “and I thought she was gonna be a nightmare to work with when we gave her the option of working for the FBI instead of going to prison. But then she showed up on her first day decked out from head to toe in pink and yellow, her hair dyed back to her natural blonde, and the way she smiled when I called her baby girl… well, it was smooth sailing from then on. Did you know her back in her Black Queen days?”

“I was her one phone call,” Spencer answers, his face splitting into an easy grin as they discuss his favourite person on planet earth. “I was terrified she was going to jail and I’d lose her forever, so I was over the moon when you guys offered her that deal. We went to get our hair done together the very next day.”

“Oh yeah? And what did Pretty Boy have done to his hair, hm?”

Spencer blushes. “Let’s just say she wasn’t the only one who had a rebellious phase?”

“Now that I have got to know more about.”

“Save it for date number two, SSA Morgan,” Spencer shoots back, relaxing into the easy banter between them.

“Alright, alright, baby, I can do that,” he says, winking again. Thankfully, Spencer manages not to do an embarrassing impression of a traffic light this time. “How did you and Penelope meet?”

“Back in college actually,” Spencer nods. “She was sort of going off the rails after her parents’ death, but I think finding a scared 12 year old in her Geography elective helped her rein it in a bit. We’ve been glued at the hip pretty much since we met. Even when I went to MIT for a bit to complete my Engineering PhD, she came with me. Since her job back then was mostly hacking and some supplemental side jobs, it didn’t really matter where she was based, she was just hellbent on protecting me like she has ever since that first Geography class.”

“Wow,” Derek says, looking genuinely shocked as he leans back a little bit, eyeing Spencer with curious eyes. “You went to college when you were twelve? I’m glad you had Penelope because that could’ve been a disaster.”

“It kind of was,” Spencer nods, laughing a little. “But it meant that I had five degrees including three doctorates by the time I was twenty-one so I wasn’t too mad about it.”

Derek stares at him consideringly, the soft smile on his face making Spencer’s stomach fill with butterflies. “You’re quite the genius aren’t you?”

“Well, I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified, but I do have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and can read 20,000 words per minute.”

Derek just stares at him.

“So, yeah, I guess I’m a genius?” he says bashfully.

Derek laughs, shaking his head. “Definitely a genius. I mean, Penelope told me you were clever, but this is like… insane. Are you sure you’re okay to go out with a mere mortal like me or should I see myself out?”

“Yeah actually, Derek, sorry, it’s not going to work out,” Spencer says, feigning seriousness. “I can’t be with anybody who’s not within twenty IQ points of me or doesn’t have at least two PhDs.”

“A good actor, too? What don’t you have going for you, pretty boy?” He laughs in that wild and free kind of way Spencer always wishes he could, and he wonders whether Derek could teach him how.

Derek watches him like there’s something special about Spencer as the sound of their laughter mingles, looks at him like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be but right here, right now, and the warm intensity of it has a buzz going in Spencer’s chest, a pleasant feeling he can’t imagine anything dousing, and he never wants Derek to take his eyes off him again. Not if this is how it’s always going to make him feel.

The hours of the afternoon fly by and all of a sudden the sun is setting and they’re feeling distinctly hungry.

“How do you feel about getting some street food and taking a wander down to the beach?” Derek suggests hopefully, and Spencer can’t help the wide grin that splits his cheeks at the idea.

“Let’s do it.”

The beach is slightly cooler than the garden now the sun is setting and a soft, salty breeze is floating in from the ocean, so they sit close together in the sand, sharing their servings of nachos and fries between them.

“What’s your family like?” Spencer asks, a little daringly after a couple of minutes of comfortable silence.

Derek smiles. “They’re amazing. It’s been just me, my mom, and my two sisters since I was ten years old, but I think losing my dad only brought us closer together, y’know? We had to learn from a young age how to rely on each other, and we were also taught the very valuable lesson of just how important family is and how nothing in life is guaranteed, so we’ve made every effort to be as close to one another as possible.”

Spencer watches with quiet admiration as Derek gushes about his family, and takes another bite of their nachos. “Do they live locally?”

“No, they’re all still back in Chicago,” Derek says. “It’s sad sometimes, being so far away from them, but they would have killed me if I’d stuck around back home just for them and hadn’t chased my dream of climbing the ladder of the FBI.”

Spencer nods, chuckling along with Derek as they stare out at the quiet, tumbling waves of the ocean.

“What about you?” Derek asks. “Are you close with your family?”

Shit. He hadn’t exactly considered that asking Derek about his family would lead to reverse questioning about his own. I mean, call him a genius all you want, but social interaction is not his area of expertise.

“Uh, it’s just me and my mom. She lives back in Vegas,” he explains, clearing his throat awkwardly as he hopes that’s enough to appease his date.

Truthfully, it probably would have been, but Derek doesn’t say anything immediately, and the silence feels like it’s choking him into admitting the truth, however much it makes his chest tighten and his stomach flip with anxiety. What if this is it? What if Derek doesn’t want to start something with someone who has a family history as fucked up as his? What if he reads between the lines and sees that Spencer could be just like his mom in the future, and thinks that starting a relationship is just too risky?

“She has paranoid schizophrenia,” he blurts out, the words rolling off his tongue without his express permission, and instead of shutting up, they just keep coming. “When my dad left when I was ten, I had to be her sole carer until I left for college at twelve, but even then she refused professional help and medication, so I was taking the train from Pasadena to Las Vegas every weekend to try and help her out, and it got messy a lot of the time. It was only when I turned eighteen that things got a little bit easier, and that was only because I betrayed her trust and had her sectioned into a Sanitorium.

“They’re amazing, they take really good care of her and I did my research obviously, but I think a part of her still resents me for doing that.”

He stares out at the ocean for a couple of seconds before he suddenly realises where he is and what he’s just done.

“Oh my god,” he says as horror and dread fill him from the bottom up, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have just dumped all that on you, I’m sorry, just—”

“Hey, pretty boy,” Derek says gently, placing a reassuring hand on his back to get his attention. “It’s okay, don’t worry. I’m just happy you felt comfortable enough to tell me all of that, and besides, I asked the question, and I meant it. I wanted to know the answer.”

Spencer feels some of the panic recede a little, and he looks up at Derek to try and gauge whether he’s telling the truth. “Really?”

Derek’s expression only softens further. “Really.”

He relaxes a little further and leans into Derek’s side, smiling to himself when Derek wraps his arm fully around his waist, resting his head on top of Spencer’s.

“I feel like I’ve known you way longer than just four hours and fifty six minutes,” Spencer says eventually.

Derek chuckles, and this time Spencer can feel the low rumble against his cheek as well as hear it. “It might be the biggest cliche in the book, but I feel exactly the same, baby.”

“I think sharing street food on the beach while staring out at a sunset as romantic and beautiful as that one has cemented the cliches in this date enough already,” Spencer points out, laughing a little.

“That is very true,” Derek agrees, squeezing his hand against Spencer’s waist. “We could round all the cliches off with a kiss, if you’d like.”

Spencer sits upright, blushing again as he eyes Derek’s flirtatious but serious expression. “I’d like that a lot.”

Derek wastes no time in taking Spencer’s jaw in his hand and leaning in slowly to place a long, sensuous kiss to his lips. Spencer kisses back with as much control as is possible when your experience is next to none and you have one of the most beautiful men in the world turning your stomach inside out with his attention, but it seems to be enough for Derek because as soon as they pull away, he’s grinning widely.

“You’re quite the kisser, pretty boy.”

Spencer fights the blush but it comes anyway. “I like that.”

Derek’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “The kiss?”

“No, the pet names.”

Derek’s expression smooths out and he smiles again, a little more tenderly than his usual cheeky grin. “Well, that’s good, because I have plenty more up my sleeve, sweetheart.”

Spencer flushes with pleasure this time and settles back against Derek’s side, observing the blue sea as they settle into silence once more.

“I’m not very used to all of this, by the way,” he says after a while, the sky slowly darkening.

“Used to what?”

“This. Kissing. Dating. Pet names.”

Derek looks down at Spencer to try and get a better look at his face. “Really? You could’ve fooled me.”

“I’ve only ever had one boyfriend before, and this is only the second date I’ve ever been on.”

“Any girlfriends?”

“Not really my area.”

“And this other date, was that with boyfriend number one?”

Spencer shakes his head against Derek’s shoulder. “No, I never went on a date with him. I met him in college and we were friends first, so we never really dated, just fell into a relationship.”

“Ah.” A brief silence settles over them again, but Derek doesn’t let it hang long. “You know I’m not bothered by any of that, right? You could have never dated anyone ever before or have screwed your way round half of California and DC and it wouldn’t matter a single bit. Not if you were here with me, right now.”

He laughs softly as Derek lightens the mood, and something in Spencer’s chest feels like it falls into place at that, like his last anxious reservation has been washed away and he can really move forward, forge onward with this scarily exciting endeavour.

“You’re a good man, Derek Morgan. You know that, right?”

Derek kisses the top of his head. “I do,” he says, “but I’m not sure it’s ever sounded quite as special falling from anyone else’s lips as it does falling from yours.”

Further down the beach, another wave crashes against the shore, and the colours of the sunset fade away slowly. People pack up their picnic baskets and head home, and seagulls attack their leftovers, but none of that matters, because right now, Spencer’s world is Derek Morgan.

Penelope Garcia deserves a medal.

(Yes, I've used that "yeah I guess I'm a genius" sequence in way too many fics, leave me ALONE. )

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @lesbiantodds @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @transhanniballecter @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @marsjareau @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds @wifeyprentiss @cmily @love-pyramus @notevanbuckley @hotchscotchh (add yourself to my taglist here!)

#my writing #moreid #criminal minds #cm #derek morgan #spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #spencer reid/derek morgan #derek morgan x spencer reid #spencer reid x derek morgan #moreid fic #moreid fanfic #moreid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #moreid fluff #protective derek morgan #shy spencer reid

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

Written by: @alliswell21

Title: One of Us

Prompt 145: She moves in with her aunt and uncle when her parents dies in a small town. After suffering through trama, Katniss slowly starts to get better with the help of her family (aunt, uncle, cousin) and the Mellark brothers. But when things starts happening to her and the people around her, it’s revealed that she and almost everyone in the towns are apart of the werewolf pack and that one of the Mellark brothers is her mate. #werewolves [submitted by @animekpopxx]

Rated: G for general audiences.

Tags: Canon Divergent!AU; Modern with a dash of Supernatural; Grief/Mourning; Feeding as a Language of Love.

Note: This is my final submission to this year's EFE challenge! Yay! I really am grateful to @xerxia31 and @javistg for their continued support of this fandom and for hosting once again this event. You are such amazing people, and I’m absolutely honored to be part of a community with people as amazing as you two are! Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for keeping EFE alive!

@animekpopxx, thank you too! You feed my muse! And you give me Werewolves!!!!

This story was a bit of rushed job, though, and there’s more of it, I mean... we haven’t seen them turn into wolves yet!!! 🤣 I just didn’t have time to edit the complete fic before the deadline, but if you’d like to read the finished product, keep an eye out for it on AO3. I’m fairly sure the rating will keep, but we will see.

Kpkpkpk

There’s nothing but the sound of crickets and frogs filling the vast darkness of the night.

It’s another moonless night out here in Panem… or is I like to call it ‘the middle of nowhere’. It’s weird, how dark nights feel here, there’s barely a start peeking tonight, but in a strange way, I like it.

Sitting on my aunt and uncle’s porch to watch the infinite dark ahead while listening to the nocturnal critters it’s about my favorite thing to do… it’s what did used to do when we came here for long summer stays, anyway. He used to say he felt at peace and relaxed, connected with nature. Too bad it took him to be gone, for me to appreciate what he meant by that. So every night I come out here and sit in the steps hugging my knees, staring at nothing but the deep, black night surrounding the cabin, whisking my dad was sitting next to me.

Tonight is different than usual, though. It was raining until recently, and the smell of wet earth is so familiar my chest feels tight and my throat is knotted.

“Petrichor, Katniss,” I mumble the words noiselessly, “is the smell of rain, hun. It smells the same everywhere in the world.”

I lean my chin on my knees, wishing I could go back to feeling numb like when my parents just died. But thinking of the word petrichor, while smelling the thing, is bring forth a plethora feelings and memories I don’t know how to handle.

Dad used to love Scrabble, crossword puzzles and trivia challenges. He tried to get me interested in those games, teaching me words and their meanings, every time he had a chance.

I wish I had been more enthusiastic about learning the darned stuff; it would’ve meant an extra moment spent with Dad, and less regret to feel right now.

An involuntary whine leaves my chest. It hurts to think about it, and not for the first time, I dig my nails into my skin to keep myself rooted in place, and not tear running into the void.

I feel like I’m spiraling out of control, I fear this time something will break in my head and I’ll do something crazy, like scratch my skin away and run wild into the woods, like a beast… but the overwhelming thoughts gets halted when I hear soft noises from out in the distance.

It’s like the crunching of footsteps on the gravel at the mouth of my aunt and uncle’s property. It’s too dark and isolated here, deep into the country. I’ve seen big wildlife roaming around: deer, raccoons, coyotes and even a lynx. But the longer I hear the noises, the more certain I am I’m being stalked by something big and fast.

My heart beats erratically in my chest; every hair in my body stands on point, fear is clawing its way up my chest and into my throat, my eyes feel about to pop from my skull, and then I’m disentangling my knees from my arms, standing up as tall as I can— which isn’t saying much—and then I call into the night, “Who’s there?!”

I hear a faint disturbance of air, and then…

“Good evening, Katniss!”

Slowly, from the shadows, a blonde head pops, eerie for a second. Broad shoulders follow, and then a torso. Before the rest of his body comes visible into the light of the porch, two more blonde heads come into view, flank the first person on either side: Shoulders, torsos, Jean covered legs… The three Mellark brothers make their way leisurely towards me.

I nearly faint from relief after the rush of adrenaline pumping in my veins. Going through so many emotions: grief, sorrow, dread and relief, so fast in such a short amount of time has left me winded and unsteady.

I lose my balance, but one of the boys— Peeta, the youngest— breaks ranks, and rushes to hold me upright.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, helping me sit back down on the porch steps. I lean my head against the main post.

“I’m okay. Just a little lightheaded,” I try not to glare. They gave me a fright, but I doubt they did it on purpose.

It’s something I’ve learn over the years. People in Panem are kind of quirky.

“Sorry we scared you,” Peeta offers, sheepishly. “We wanted to check up on you, and bring you something…” he looks up at his two older brothers and Rye — the middle one— steps forward, holding up a brown, paper bag, with little greasy spots on the sides.

I can guess what’s inside. They’ve been bringing me cheese buns almost daily, since Peeta found out they’re my favorites.

Rey hands the baggie to Peeta, and the latter offers it to me with a soft smile.

“Thanks,” I mumble, gratefully. I can smell the cheesy, yeasty treat through the bag; I can feel the warmth of the buns too! “While I love freshly baked cheese buns, you guys didn’t have to make this trek just to bring me a treat… on a dark, moonless night no less,” I fix them with a glare. “How did you even get here anyway? You couldn’t have walked and I never saw a car coming?”

My aunt and uncle’s cabin is at least 4 miles from town, and surrounded by woods; but then again, most houses in this weird little place are built in similar locations. It seems the townsfolk take their privacy extremely seriously.

“We rode our dirt bikes,” chimes Rye in, cheerily. “Not much light on those bulbs, though, but it’s okay. Our night vision is prime!” He gives me the A-Okay gesture.

“Rye,” the eldest, Bannock, warns lowly. Baring his teeth.

Rye shrugs and slips his hands on his Jean pockets.

I swear Rye hisses something like “it’s true” under his breath, but Peeta has been rubbing my back with the tip of his fingers all this time, and I’m getting drowsy, so I may have imagined the whole exchange.

“You should eat those while they’re still warm,” Peeta murmurs close by my shoulder.

I nod, and open the bag, releasing all the delicious smells of the buns, while Peeta massages my shoulders, encouragingly.

I must be really out if it tonight, because outside of my family, I’ve never been comfortable with people touching me… but, my family is all gone now, and I can’t go through the rest of my life without human touch, can I?

Grief stricken me out of nowhere, and barrels through me. I gasp at the acute pain in my soul at the loss of my parents. But in an instant, I’m enveloped in strong, thick arms, warm and steady. I’m sobbing into a hot, solid chest, covered in the softest cotton I’ve ever felt.

“Shush… I’ve got you, Katniss. I’m here for you,” Peeta whispers soothingly into the crown of my head.

He smells so good; like cinnamon and dill, from the bread he must’ve made this afternoon at his family’s bakery.

It takes a few minutes for me to get a hold of myself, and embarrassedly push out of his embrace, “I’m sorry,” I mumble, mortified.

Bannock presents me with a handkerchief, and I take it gratefully to wipe off my face and nose, before returning the soiled square of fabric to him.

I’m not sure why the Mellark brothers are being so nice to me. I’ve never been around them more than a handful of days over the past few years, when we came to see Dad’s remaining family outside mom and I, his half brother, his wife and their child.

I don’t know the Mellarks all that well, but in the handful of weeks since my parents’ funeral, the three brothers have been incredibly attentive and generous to me. Peeta more than the other two, but I don’t mind… I like him best anyway.

“It’s okay to cry and be devastated, Katniss.” Says Bannock, sagely. “You’re going through the worst time of your life, and we care for you… like family.”

“Oh,” I sit straighter, blowing my nose. I feel a little strange hearing him say that, “thank you? I appreciate your kindness,”

He nods, “Peeta’s right, though. You should eat the cheese buns before they go cold.”

“A full stomach always helps me feel better,” Rye adds, patting his belly, and smiling at me.

My stomach growls, as if to show agreement. I am hungry. I didn’t touch my supper earlier. I pick up the bakery gingerly, and pretty much shove my nose into it. The steam curls out of the baggie, filling my nostrils with the delicious smells. I pluck out a bun and practically inhale it in a second; quickly followed by another one. My third cheese bun, I decide to savor, slowly.

The Mellark siblings just hang around while I devour my treats.

The front door opens just as I’m wiping my hands on my leggings. My aunt’s head peeks out of the door.

“Oh, why hello everyone!” She greets, as bubbly as always. She’s wearing a dark purple wig, to match her dark purple outfit.

“Good evening, Effie,” says Peeta, standing from his squatting position next to me. “We brought Katniss a gift,” he points at the now empty bag in his hand.

“How sweet of you, Peeta!” my aunt gushes, “thank you for checking on our girl, and making sure she’s put something in her tummy before bedtime!”

I roll my eyes. Aunt Effie keeps treating me like a kid. I hate it. I’m 17 and mourning, not a freaking baby!

“It’s no problem at all, Effie! We were just on our way home anyway.”

“Well, it’s always nice having you boys over,” she offers, “but it’s getting late, and Primrose is already in bed, which is why I came out here to begin with, to let Katniss know that her sister was already asleep, so she’d know to tip toe back inside when she was ready to go to bed herself,” my aunt smiles.

I feel a slight pang of guilt; I’ve been wallowing in my own sadness this evening, and missed tucking my sister in to sleep. She’s the only person I’m sure I love, yet tonight I’ve let my own misery drown me.

“Don’t mind us, Effie,” Says Bannock, “We were about to leave…” he pauses and then calls a meaningful, “Peeta?”

“I’m going to wish Katniss a good night, and then we’ll go,” he says.

Not for the first time, I wonder if Peeta has a crush on me? I wouldn’t know he did, even if I wasn’t feeling so rotten inside. I’m not very good at flirting… but with Peeta it is different I think. He’s so nice to me, he’s taken up asking if I’ve eaten that day and if I haven’t, he feeds me something from his family’s bakery without charging me… it’s like he actually cares for me and my well-being, and his brothers care, because he does. It’s mesmerizing at times.

Peeta looks me in the eyes, “Are you ready to go inside?” He asks, offering his two open palms to me. He helps me up from the floor, and then smiles sweetly. He doesn’t let go of my hands while we stand facing each other.

Then something strange happens. Peeta doesn’t blink, as his clear-blue eyes bore into mine, and then his pupils blow out full, until only a ring of deep, glowing azure remains for his irises, “Sleep well, Katniss,” his voice sounds deeper and warmer than usual, “Rest and have a relaxing, dreamless night. Remember what I said: we are all here for you, to help through this hard time… alright?”

I feel groggy, “Yes, Peeta,” I mumble feeling my eyelids getting heavier.

“Oh dear, can you please instruct her to walk herself to bed? She might look lithe, but I promise, her little body is as heavy as any of us,”

Huh? What’s aunt Effie going on about? I don’t understand.

Peeta chuckles, squeezing my hands warmly in his, “You heard Effie… don’t fall asleep until you’ve gone into your bedroom and change into comfy pajamas.”

I nod, “Okay,”

“Good night, Katniss, I’ll be back tomorrow. Try to eat something on your own, I know you’re sad, but you need your strength for when the solstice comes.”

What a weird thing to say! Everything is strange here though… so I nod and march inside the house, mumbling my good nights to everyone and rubbing my very sleepy eyes. Once I’m in my sleep clothes, I lay in bed, and try to ignore the yearning of having Peeta rubbing my back like he was doing while I ate my cheese buns.

I sigh and go to sleep, a weird thought pops into my mind: “I’m so lucky to have such a sweet, caring mate. Peeta Mellark. Can’t wait to be bonded with him,”

#alliswell21 #animekpopxx #prompt 154 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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lassostark · 3 years

Text

So yeah, I got carried away. As usual. *facepalm* Anyway, Happy Birthday, Wolfie @jaskierswolf!!! I hope you enjoy reading this long-ass fic, lovely. 😀💙

(Edited) Word Count: 9k (I have a problem, I know)

Relationship: Geralt/Jaskier

Tags: AU: College/University, Professor!Jaskier, Professor!Geralt, Soulmates, Rated M for Language, Jaskier!Whump, Miscommunication, Enemies to Lovers (ish, can’t find the right tag sorry), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending

Read on AO3 here

--------

The Other Half

“Do I have a class to teach here or are all of you going to be focused on your phones?”

Jaskier is standing in front of his desk, hands on his hips as he gives his Creative Writing class students a stern look. Several of them look up from their phones with guilty expressions, and if Jaskier wasn’t in the middle of a lecture about storytelling in poetry, he would’ve laughed at their almost identical expressions.

“Sorry, Professor,” Rebecca, one of his favorite students, says. Jaskier raises an eyebrow at her, and the brunette blushes faintly as she reluctantly turns off her phone.

“Care to share what has everyone’s attention glued to their phones instead of me?” Jaskier smirks, injecting a bit of humor into his query. He notes how half of his students chuckle as others follow Rebecca’s lead in turning off their phones.

“It’s Sole Mate, sir,” a student from the back answers.

Jaskier frowns slightly. “Soulmate? Did another celebrity couple split up because they met their other half?”

There’s a ripple of laughter in the classroom while others shake their head. Thankfully, it’s Rebecca who gives him a proper answer.

“Er, no, sir,” she begins. “Sole Mate. The new app that’s been circulating lately? Everyone said it’s loads better than Tinder because instead of just random hook-ups -- um, I mean dates -- Sole Mate allows you to find your, well, soulmate.”

By the end of her explanation, Jaskier’s eyebrows are nearly reaching his hairline. He’s no stranger to social media and technology, so Jaskier knows what Rebecca is talking about. In fact, he’s noticed that aside from the students in the campus, he’s heard his fellow colleagues talking about it every now and then. Which is odd, to be honest, because for one, professors like Jaskier aren’t really that open about the whole soulmate thing. It’s not a taboo, per se, but more like a personal thing because not everyone has met their soulmate yet.

So while he’s aware that people are talking about the topic, Jaskier didn’t think that it was this big of a deal.

“I… see.” Jaskier nods, giving himself a few extra seconds to come up with a follow-up question. He coughs lightly before clearing his throat. “I’ve heard about that app, but I’m afraid I’m not familiar with its algorithm. What makes it so special, hm?”

Another student, Marcus, raises his ring-laden hand in the air. Jaskier gestures for him to speak.

“Well, sir, Sole Mate gives you the option to upload a photo of your soulmark. The photo is never made public, of course, but rather it’s an added feature that’ll help the app. Once it’s in the system, Sole Mate narrows down the scope of the search to people who have a similar look to your mark. It’s broken into groups which the app refers to as Sole Groups. Then you just chat with the people who are in those groups that meet the criteria until you meet the one whose mark matches yours.”

“I read an article from CNN yesterday,” Arif pipes in. “Since the app launched three months ago, there’s been a 95% increase of people finding their soulmates compared to the last ten years. And just yesterday, I found out my great-aunt found her match!”

“I’m going on a date tonight and I think they’re my match!”

Jaskier looks on in befuddlement as his students start to whisper excitedly to one another about the prospect of meeting their soulmate. He blinks and shakes his head before calling their attention once more.

“Alright, alright!” Jaskier calls over their chattering. “Enough now, please. Midterms are a month from now and we still have much ground to cover.”

“How about you, sir? Have you found your Sole Group yet?”

Jaskier hides his amusement at how eager his students look at him. Instead, he shakes his head and smirks at them as he moves around his desk to pick up his chalk.

“No, Damian,” he says mildly. “I don’t see a need for me to do so.”

“But why not?” Rebecca asks, sounding both curious and confused. “Don’t you want to meet your soulmate, sir?”

Fortunate that he’s facing the blackboard so his students can’t see his conflicted expression, Jaskier writes a few notes on the board as he flippantly replies, “I’m happy on my own and don’t see myself settling down, Ms. Haywood.” Before his students can pry further, he adds in a sterner tone, “Now, please pay attention to the lecture because there will be a quiz before the end of this class.”

There’s a collective groan behind him which Jaskier happily ignores as he launches into his lecture once more.

“‘I’m happy on my own and don’t see myself settling down’?” Essi repeats to Jaskier later when they’re on their lunch break. “That’s a load of bollocks, love.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes as he pops a grape in his mouth.

“Obviously,” he says after swallowing his food. “My students don’t need to know I already met my soulmate, Essi.”

“I know that,” Essi replies. “And I respect your privacy for saying that. But you don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”

“What the hell are you on about now?”

“I mean that you don’t have to lie to yourself, Jask.”

“I’m not lying!”

Essi scoffs at him. “Oh, please. We’ve known each other for nearly ten years. I know when you’re lying, Jask. You do that thing with your lips; it’s subtle but don’t think I didn’t see it earlier.”

Jaskier scowls at his friend, who’s one of the best and strictest Marketing professors in Redania University. So instead of replying, he decides to take a huge bite out of his ham and egg sandwich.

She’s lucky I love her, Jaskier thinks moodily.

“Still haven’t spoken to him?” Essi asks him after several minutes of comfortable silence pass.

‘Him’ being Jaskier’s soulmate, obviously.

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Are you ever going to speak to him?”

“Once he has his head out of his arse, maybe I’ll contemplate breathing the same air as him.”

Essi whistles low. “Damn, was the confrontation really that bad, Jask?”

Jaskier pointedly stares at her.

“Essi, darling, I’ve told you about it a hundred times in various states of inebriation and sobriety. Of course it was bad. It was horrendous for both parties.”

And honestly, Jaskier doesn’t want to talk about it. Hell, he doesn’t even want to think about it because every time he does, he feels nothing but disappointment and anger and hurt. Goddamn it, it’s been three years and it still fucking hurts. It’s a constant phantom pain in his chest that Jaskier doesn’t know what to do with, and he’s been living with that kind of pain for years with no hopes for resolution in sight.

He thinks of that day, the confrontation as Essi puts it, and all Jaskier can think of are golden eyes filled with apathy. An inscrutable expression on his soulmate’s chiseled features after Jaskier told him that they’re meant to be together.

Well, Jaskier didn’t say it like that, exactly, because he was nervous. He was rambling and sweating in places he didn’t know he could sweat, and he had just met his soulmate for fuck’s sake!

Alas, like the idealist he is, his expectations didn’t meet his reality.

“Oh shit,” Essi suddenly says, breaking Jaskier from his glum thoughts. “Don’t look. Your three o’clock.”

Because Jaskier has an issue with impulse control, he looks.

And he freezes.

There, dressed in tight-fitting grey slacks and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, is Jaskier’s soulmate.

Geralt Rivia.

His hair is fixed into a man bun, and Jaskier feels his chest constrict at the wisps of silver hair framing his jawline. Geralt hasn’t seen them, thankfully, because he’s busy chatting with Yennefer Vengerberg, the gorgeous yet cutthroat International Relations professor who’s notorious for failing 40% of her students.

Jaskier is about to look away when Geralt turns his head and meets his eyes.

Fuck.

He notes the deep furrow between Geralt’s brows, the Anthropology professor’s hold on his lunch tray tightening when their gazes meet across the room. As much as Jaskier talks about being alright on his own, he can’t help but secretly admit to himself that he likes the shiver of pleasure that runs down his spine when their eyes meet. Jaskier read somewhere that researchers called it The Spark. It’s cheesy, yes, but it’s exactly that. An electrifying feeling shared between two halves of a whole finding each other.

Then reality comes crashing down and Jaskier remembers what Geralt told him that day and he thinks: Fuck this.

Appetite gone, Jaskier clears his throat and looks away. He deliberately ignores Essi’s sympathetic gaze as he packs up the rest of his uneaten food. He stands up and slings his shoulder bag before daring to look at his friend.

“I just remembered I have papers to grade. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Essi nods her head. Jaskier doesn’t wait for a reply and turns to make his escape, but not before he catches Geralt still staring at him.

For the life of him, Jaskier is still unable to read the man’s facial expressions. It’s just so… inscrutable. Like staring into a slab of brick wall with no hopes of breaking through it. Jaskier doesn’t know why he still finds himself caring at this point.

Who is he kidding? He’s always cared.

“Professor Pankratz.”

Jaskier averts his eyes from Geralt to meet Yennefer’s violet eyes, a smirk on her ruby lips. They’re not close, and though he finds the woman equally terrifying and beautiful, Jaskier can’t help but be a little fond of her.

“Professor Vengerberg,” he acknowledges her haughty look with a faint smile.

From his peripheral gaze, Geralt looks like he’s opening his mouth to address him. But Jaskier thinks it’s probably a trick of the light, so he walks away and forces himself not to look back.

No matter how painful it is. No matter how his soulmark feels like it’s going to burn a hole through his shirt.

3 years ago

“Is that the new Anthropology professor?” Essi whispers to Jaskier excitedly.

Jaskier gazes across the spacious meeting room to find the person his friend is referring to. It’s about damn time the university hired someone to replace Mousesack. The elderly scholar looked like ready to drop if he stayed for another semester.

“I don’t see-- oh.”

Oh, indeed. Jaskier shamelessly eyes the silver-haired Adonis dressed in grey slacks and a tight-fitting dress shirt. He notes with mild amusement how the newcomer looks a little awkward standing beside the drinks table, drink in hand as he silently eyes his surroundings with a guarded expression.

“Oh, he’s gorgeous,” Jaskier says under his breath.

“The hair isn’t doing it for me, but yeah he’s gorgeous,” Essi agrees with a hum.

“I’m gonna introduce myself. Be right back.”

Jaskier doesn’t wait for Essi’s response as he quickly crosses the room to approach the brooding man. Like a lone wolf eyeing his prey, he thinks with an inward chuckle.

“Hello, there,” Jaskier greets the man with a friendly smile once he’s standing a respectable distance from him. He quickly takes note of their height difference. Well, more like a lack of it as Jaskier surmises the burly man is only an inch or two taller than him. “You must be the new Anthropology professor. I’m Julian Pankratz, but everyone here calls me Jaskier. I teach Introduction to Creative Writing and Advanced Creative Writing.”

Jaskier feels his smile start to falter as the silver-haired Adonis initially doesn’t accept his handshake. He’s about to bring down his arm when he feels a warm, calloused hand curl around his.

That’s when he feels it: the spark. Jaskier is unable to hide a gasp when he feels an electrifying feeling trail down his spine. He blinks owlishly at the other man who looks just as shocked as him.

“Geralt Rivia,” the man introduces himself after a few seconds of awkward silence pass. Jaskier feels another shiver down his spine upon hearing the low, growly voice.

“N-nice to meet you, Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

Instead of feeling annoyed, Jaskier feels endeared at the non-verbal reply. He finds his gaze falling on their clasped hands, and he’s about to let go when something catches his eye and he freezes on the spot.

Geralt has his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, so Jaskier can see the veins and light dusting of hair on his arm. But that’s not what he’s focusing on, no. He finds himself drawn to Geralt’s forearm, where a familiar-looking mark resides. A mark that Jaskier can draw in his sleep because he bears the same mark since he was born.

Holy shit, Jaskier thinks as he looks up to meet Geralt’s puzzled frown with a slackened expression. I just met my soulmate.

Present day

“Hang on, you bloody cat,” Jaskier grumbles under his breath as he enters his one-bedroom apartment later that evening. Mister Fuzzball meows and curls his orange tail around his calf while Jaskier locks the door. “Yes, yes, you will get your meal in a bit. Just let me put down my bag, darling.”

Mister Fuzzball meows again as the tabby cat trails after him.

Jaskier goes through the motions of his nighttime routine like clockwork. Change into his home clothes, feed Mister Fuzzball, prepare his own dinner, and then eat his dinner on the couch while watching a rerun episode of The Office.

Afterwards, he leaves the dirty dishes on the sink to sit on the small dining table to grade more papers. He works silently for a couple of hours while nursing a glass of wine, and when Jaskier finds that he can no longer find the energy to constructively criticize his students’ writing, he turns in for the night. He cuddles Mister Fuzzball for a few minutes before going to the loo to brush his teeth and do his extensive skincare routine.

By eleven o’clock, Jaskier is in bed with the lights turned off. He lets out a sigh as he stares aimlessly at his ceiling and wonders how his life has come to this. Just going through the motions of a routine well-established whilst trying his best to ignore the ache in his chest.

Lost in his thoughts, Jaskier finds himself stroking his left collarbone, tracing the lines that are slightly raised as he hums a nameless tune under his breath.

Rebirth. That’s what his soulmark symbolizes. But all Jaskier feels these days is the opposite.

He doesn’t fall asleep until the early hours of the morning.

“- so I told mum that I’ll spend Christmas with them and then go to Scotland for New Year’s with Edmund. What about you?”

Belatedly, Jaskier notices the silence has stretched on, so he looks up from staring at the painting of Philippa Eilhart to meet Essi’s worried gaze.

“Sorry, what?”

“Are you alright, Jask?” Essi asks. “You don’t look too well, love.”

Jaskier bats off her hands as his friend tries to feel his forehead for a fever.

“I’m fine, Essi. Just tired.”

“Not sleeping well?”

He shakes his head. He can’t explain it, but he’s feeling more lethargic than usual.

“No, I’m sleeping fine. I’m just tired, s’all.”

Essi doesn’t look convinced, so Jaskier musters what strength he has left to smile at her.

“I’m fine, mother. There’s no need to get your knickers in a twist.”

“If you say so, Jask,” Essi replies with an eye roll. Then teasingly, she adds, “Better apply concealer, though. I can see your bags from here.”

Jaskier gasps and tosses the crumpled wrapper of his sandwich at her.

3 years ago

“Geralt! Hey, hi. Do you have a minute?”

Jaskier smiles nervously at the hot Anthropology professor who is about to exit the break room. Geralt turns to look at Jaskier with a puzzled frown before he grunts and nods his head. Relieved, Jaskier tilts his head and gestures for the other man to follow him to a somewhat secluded corner of the room. Although standing beside the painting of Philippa Eilhart, one of the founders of Redania University, isn’t such a good idea. But Jaskier is out of good ideas at this point because he’s nearly bursting at the seams to do something he’s been meaning to do for the past three months since he met Geralt Rivia.

“What did you want to talk about?” Geralt asks him, looking curiously at Jaskier now.

Jaskier clears his throat and wipes his sweaty palms on his slim corduroy pants as he works up the nerve to just… do it.

“Yes, um, so,” he begins eloquently. Oh gods, this was easier in his head. “So we’ve known each for a few months now and I like to think we’ve reached a certain understanding of one another. One might, er, even say that we’re casual friends at this point.”

Geralt blinks at him but doesn’t say anything. If Jaskier looks closely, which he is, he thinks there’s something akin to amusement dancing in the other man’s golden eyes. Could be a trick of the light, but Jaskier has high hopes.

“Geralt, um,” Jaskier continues. He tries his best to ignore the butterflies fluttering in his belly as he focuses on what he’s going to say next. “I don’t know how to say this, exactly, because it’s never happened to me before. But, um. Well, the university is singing your praise and you’re an unexpected hit with the students. No surprise there, if you ask me, you’re an incredibly beautiful man and, oh god.”

“You’re rambling,” Geralt notes with a slight upwards quirk of his mouth.

Jaskier scratches the back of his head. “Yes, I’m well aware, thank you.”

Geralt snorts, looking amused now.

“Just spit it out, Jask,” he says not unkindly.

And, well. That ought to do the trick.

“We’re soulmates,” Jaskier blurts out. He doesn’t notice Geralt stiffen, too preoccupied with getting the words out now that he’s finally said it. “And before you say anything, I saw your mark. On the first day we met - well, I introduced myself. We shook hands and you had sleeves rolled up to your elbows, and that’s when I noticed the mark etched on your forearm.” When Geralt doesn’t say anything, Jaskier hurriedly adds, “I have the same mark, you see. Right here.”

Then and there, Jaskier unbuttons his white dress shirt and yanks the collar of his undershirt down to show Geralt the same dandelion tattoo across his left collarbone.

Seconds, and then minutes, pass by and Geralt remains stoic, an unreadable expression on his chiseled features. Jaskier’s smile falters as he self-consciously buttons up his shirt once more, feeling naked and seen under the stoic gaze of his colleague.

“Geralt? What, um. Please say something.”

It takes several seconds before Geralt reacts. The older man breathes in deep through his nose and slowly exhales through his mouth. He blinks at Jaskier, golden eyes swiftly glancing at his covered soulmark.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier nearly balks at the response. Well, he certainly wasn’t expecting that!

“Geralt?”

When Geralt meets his hopeful stare, Jaskier knows his answer from the lack of emotion in the other man’s eyes. Something in him cracks at that very moment.

“I don’t know what to say,” Geralt begins haltingly.

Jaskier’s voice is hoarse when he answers, “The truth would be nice.”

Geralt hums but doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. He looks at the painting to his left, and Jaskier silently observes him as he works up the nerve to share his thoughts.

Eventually, Geralt settles upon saying, “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

A part of Jaskier was already expecting it, based on Geralt’s initial reaction, but it still hurts, holy shit.

“Can you…” Jaskier clears his throat. “Can you tell me why? Maybe, maybe we can compromise?”

His voice trails off when Geralt shakes his head.

“I’m not… available. The whole soulmate thing is… hmm. It’s not my thing. I don’t believe in that whole destiny crap. I’m sorry.”

Not his thing? Doesn’t believe in the “whole destiny crap”?

What?

“But, but Geralt,” Jaskier protests weakly. “You’re my other half. And I’m your--”

“I said I’m not interested,” Geralt reiterates firmly, golden eyes determinedly not meeting Jaskier. “I’m sorry, Jaskier.”

Then without waiting for a response, Geralt shoulders past him and leaves the break room like he’s being chased by a pack of wolves.

Jaskier stares at the spot where Geralt was standing just moments ago, feeling like he lost the one thing he never had in the first place.

Present day

“Remind me again why Valentine’s Day is not considered a proper holiday?”

Essi is looking through the books that line up the shelves of Jaskier’s office as he rummages the piles of paper scattered on his desk.

“Because Valentine’s Day is not a proper holiday, Essi,” Jaskier answers somewhat distractedly. He continues searching for one of the papers he remembers grading the night before, but he can’t find. It. Here. “It’s just a big, fat scheme for companies to capitalize on lovesick fools. Now where the bloody fuck is that paper?!”

Essi ignores his grumbling.

“Hmm, true, but they should. I mean, any business big or small can develop a strong value proposition aimed at lovesick couples. Of course, the competition would be ghastly, but considering that Sole Mate has matched 5,000 couples in the UK alone, I think they missed an opportunity there.”

“Whatever you--” Jaskier starts to say, only to immediately cut himself off when he starts coughing. And it’s not the good kind of cough, either.

He spends almost a minute coughing up a lung, and he ultimately accepts the tissues Essi hands him. He thanks her with a thumbs up before he spits out the phlegm on it. Jaskier crumples it up before tossing it in the bin under his desk. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Are you okay?” Essi asks him, sounding worried.

Jaskier nods as he clears his throat before speaking.

“Yes yes, I’m fine. Sorry, didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“Jask, you don’t look fine.”

Jaskier waves off his friend’s concern as he pushes a book out of the way. He makes a triumphant sound when he finally finds the missing paper. Jaskier quickly shoves it into his messenger bag as he picks up his blazer to shrug into it.

He meets Essi’s worried gaze, and Jaskier tries to appease her with a dimpled smile.

“Turn that frown upside down. I’m perfectly fine, Essi.”

Essi still doesn’t look convinced. “Have you been to the doctor? You should go for a check-up.”

Jaskier shakes his head.

“I’m still recovering from the flu last week but I’m regularly drinking that herbal tea you recommended to me. It’s working wonders on my throat. I’ll be right as rain in no time, don’t you worry.”

Rejected soulbonds are few and far between as far as Jaskier is aware. There’s not much study material available on the Internet, but what he’s found out so far doesn’t help ease the anxiety that’s been building up for months now.

Lethargy. A decrease in the immune system. Difficulty with sleeping. Shortness of breath.

They’re a few of the symptoms that researchers from Kerack Institute compiled a few years ago from studying broken, or rejected, soulbonds. According to their study, it’s not a life-threatening situation. People who experience this usually end up recovering after a period of time. Broken or rejected soulbonds usually occur if the person’s soulmate is deceased before they meet, or if their other half is already in a committed relationship with someone else.

In Jaskier’s case, it’s neither. Geralt’s rejection still stings after all these years, and Jaskier doesn’t understand why he still feels like it happened yesterday. The ache in his chest is not dissipating at all. In fact, it’s worsening as days go by. He’s been to see a cardiologist, and the scans showed that his heart is perfectly fine. So whatever Jaskier is going through right now is not physical, but more… psychological? Emotional?

He’s not certain about that since there’s not enough material about his case. But one thing does stand out from what Jaskier read about rejected soulbonds.

Proximity is what makes or breaks the affected party.

Unfortunately, Jaskier and Geralt are employed in the same university. They attend the same weekly meeting, attend the university’s functions when required, and they usually see each other during their breaks. It’s not often, but it happens frequently.

So the more he sees Geralt, the worse Jaskier feels. And over time, it could literally be his life on the line.

And therein lies the problem.

Well, there’s only one thing left to do.

“You want to go on sabbatical?”

“Yes.”

“Right now?”

“I believe that’s what I just said, yes.”

Vesemir Morhen, the president of Redania University, looks at Jaskier with a perplexed expression.

“Jaskier, may I know why you’re requesting to go on leave in the middle of the semester?”

Jaskier hesitates for a second before replying, “I just think it’s the right time to do so, sir. I talked to Priscilla, and she’s willing to shoulder my classes for the rest of term. There’s not much ground to cover--”

“Jaskier, Priscilla is going on maternity leave starting next month,” Vesemir interrupts him, eyebrow raised.

“Well, um, I’m aware of that.”

“Then why--”

“That’s why I talked to Coën to cover for her, well, for me, next--”

“No.”

Jaskier snaps his mouth shut mid-tirade at Vesemir’s stern gaze.

“Sir, please, I--”

Vesemir shakes his head.

“No, Jaskier. If you really want to take a sabbatical, you can do so after the term ends. At this moment, I can’t allow you to go on leave. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait a little longer.”

“Very well, sir,” Jaskier answers stiffly, knowing that once Vesemir has made his mind up there’s no chance of him changing his decision.

So he’s stuck for another three months here.

Fuck, he curses to himself. Damn it.

It’s a little late in the evening and Jaskier is just about to leave his office. After hours of hunching over his desk marking papers from his Advanced Creative Writing class, Jaskier is more than ready to eat leftovers for dinner and binge-watch a few episodes of Anne With An E. Fortunately, he doesn’t have a scheduled class until tomorrow afternoon so he can sleep in a little bit later.

Jaskier locks his office, pockets his key, and turns to walk down the hallway towards the parking lot when he finds himself meeting Geralt’s gaze across the corridor. A jolt runs down his spine as he staggers in his steps, and Jaskier is momentarily nonplussed at the peculiar look on the burly man’s face.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says eventually when he doesn’t speak up.

Jaskier swallows inaudibly, his tongue clicking on the roof of his mouth.

“Geralt.”

Jaskier waits patiently as he eyes the Anthropology professor who looks like he’s working up the courage to say something. It’s certainly a first, and Jaskier is not sure what Destiny has up her - his? Their? - sleeve this time.

He’s fucking exhausted, damn it.

“Yennefer told me you were planning to go on sabbatical,” Geralt finally blurts out in his typical gruff voice.

Jaskier blinks. Well, he was certainly not expecting that.

“What? I mean, how in the world did Yennefer find out? I never spoke to anyone about this except Vesemir.”

He notes with awe as Geralt shuffles his feet on the hardwood floors, and for a moment, something akin to fondness wells up in Jaskier’s chest before he tamps it down. This is not the time to feel anything remotely positive towards Geralt Rivia when he’s the source of Jaskier’s misery.

“Hmm, well,” he hears Geralt reply. “She told me she heard it from someone who overheard Vesemir’s assistant talking to Tissaia after you left. So it could be anyone.”

Jaskier is unable to hide a groan of frustration. He runs a hand through his already disheveled chestnut locks as he thinks, Great, they’re definitely going to bring this up at the meeting on Friday. Nosy little witches.

“Yes, well, it’s not happening,” Jaskier says with a shrug. He finds himself taking a step, and another, and another, before he’s walking down the corridor to narrow the distance between him and Geralt. And he doesn’t stop when he reaches the other man’s side. “Vesemir said I can’t go on leave right now, so I’ll still be here until the end of term.”

He hears footsteps behind him, and Jaskier inwardly curses when Geralt picks up the pace to follow him.

Just his luck. And why the fuck now?

“Is everything okay?”

Puzzled at the non-sequitur, Jaskier doesn’t break his stride, but he does look over his shoulder to see the closest thing to concern written over Geralt’s face. A part of Jaskier finds it endearing before he swats that thought away with a scowl.

“Everything’s fucking peachy, Geralt,” he answers waspishly before turning his attention ahead of him. “And why are you following me?”

“I’m not, I’m going to the parking lot,” Geralt says simply. This time, Jaskier detects a hint of amusement in his tone, which only serves to piss him off. “Where did you plan on going, then?”

“None of your business,” Jaskier says through gritted teeth. He thrusts open the double doors and quickly descends the stone steps two at a time.

“What’s gotten into you?” he hears Geralt ask, and that’s it.

They reach the parking lot, but instead of marching over to his blue Volkswagen Beetle, Jaskier whirls around to face Geralt. He distantly notes with satisfaction how the other man quickly takes a step back.

“Nothing has gotten into me,” Jaskier says, aggravated beyond comprehension in that moment. “I just wanted some goddamn space, but apparently that’s really fucking hard to come by these days. So for the love of god, take your curiosity and fake sincerity and leave me the fuck alone.”

Geralt’s brows furrow as he meets Jaskier’s glare with perplexity.

“I… it’s not--” he protests haltingly before he shakes his head and tries again. “I only wanted to know--”

Jaskier swiftly cuts him off.

“Well, you lost that right the day you rejected me,” he spits out. Distantly, he knows he’s being too harsh, but Jaskier can’t bring himself to care right now because nothing in his life makes sense anymore. He misses the flicker of emotion that passes over Geralt’s face, too busy turning around to unlock his car. “Just… just leave me alone, Geralt.”

If Geralt responds, Jaskier doesn’t hear it. He starts the ignition and doesn’t bother to warm up the car. He quickly reverses from his parking space and presses his foot on the gas, wanting to get as far away as he can from the one person his soul is aching to be close to.

“Damn, Jask,” Essi says after Jaskier relays to her what happened that night over the phone. “You really tore him a new one, huh?”

“Serves him right,” Jaskier grumbles. He takes another bite of leftover orange chicken as he listens to his friend whistle on the other end. “I know that kind of whistle. That’s your disapproving whistle.”

“Yes, well,” Essi starts. Jaskier frowns, so he pauses the show he’s watching, cutting off Anne mid-tirade as she talks to Gilbert Blythe.

“What is it?”

Essi hesitates for another second before eventually saying, “Don’t you think you were a little harsh on him, though?” Before Jaskier can respond, she continues. “Don’t get me wrong. Geralt should’ve seen it coming and I understand where you’re coming from, Jask. But I don’t know, something doesn’t add up to the confrontation. Like, I feel like your reaction wasn’t justified enough?”

Jaskier sighs.

“What do you want me to say, Essi? He was being nosy and I didn’t like it. We barely exchanged a word in three years and of all the occasions, he chooses now to do so? Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t know, either.”

Essi is silent for a while.

“Something’s up with you, Jask.”

Jaskier is lucky that they’re not talking over FaceTime because he would’ve been caught in that moment.

“Nothing’s up with me,” he says with an eye roll. He knows Essi doesn’t believe him, so he adds, “I swear, Essi. I just want a break, and I think not seeing Geralt’s face for a year is the first step.”

Weeks pass, and spring slowly introduces itself in hues of green and yellow. Jaskier is able to breathe a little easier when he notices the distinct lack of one Geralt Rivia. Sure, they still see each other during faculty meetings, but that’s a given. Outside of that weekly assembly, Jaskier doesn’t see neither hide nor hair of the silver-haired Adonis. A part of him sighs in relief because at least his one wish was granted. But another part of him, the bigger part, can’t help but feel melancholy at no longer seeing or bumping into his soulmate.

After all, it’s for Jaskier’s benefit that it has to be this way until the end of term. Less than three months to go and he can finally go on sabbatical. He doesn’t know where he’s going yet, but Jaskier finds the idea of starting in New Zealand to visit Hobbiton very appealing.

He’s going to miss his students, of course. He’s going to miss Essi and Priscilla, and the other faculty members he��s gotten close to over the years. He’s obviously going to miss Mister Fuzzball, his orange tabby purring and constantly requesting for cuddles and treats. He hates to admit it, even to himself, but Jaskier knows he’s going to miss Geralt. Fuck, he misses the man right this moment, and the idea of not seeing his soulmate for a year makes him feel… antsy.

“No, we’re doing this,” Jaskier shakes his head. Mister Fuzzball meows and he looks down to see his cat playfully nipping at his fingers. Jaskier chuckles and cuddles Mister Fuzzball closer to his chest. “You’re right, Mister Fuzzball. This is for the best. Distance is what will heal this rejected bond, that’s for certain. What’s the worst that could happen, right?”

Mister Fuzzball meows and boops his nose to Jaskier’s chin.

Yes. Easier said than done.

It all comes to a head in late May.

Finals week is looming closer so Jaskier and the rest of the faculty at Redania University are working overtime. After a tiring week of preparing exams and preparing his handover to the Literature Department before he goes on sabbatical, Jaskier elects to pamper himself once the weekend rolls around.

He wakes up after eleven on a Saturday morning and decides to have brunch at his favorite pub. He calls Essi, who agrees to meet him at Rosemary & Thyme in half an hour, before he gets up from bed and starts getting ready for a relaxing day outside. Maybe he’ll try and coax Essi to go shopping with him. Retail therapy has worked wonders on his mental state before.

But Jaskier never managed to do any of those things.

Instead of taking his car, he elects to take the subway instead because finding a parking space is always a pain in the arse on the weekend. Jaskier is only a few blocks away from reaching Rosemary & Thyme when he hears the commotion before he sees it.

Several vehicles’s horns start blaring while people from the sidewalks shout in alarm. Jaskier turns at the noise, and he feels his heart leap to his throat when he sees a small blonde girl running to the middle of the road to pick up a round, furry stuffed toy she likely dropped.

“Ciri!”

The voice who yells the child’s name is somewhat familiar, but Jaskier ignores it for the moment because a child is in danger. He doesn’t know how it happens or why, but something clicks in Jaskier that makes him act on instinct. He pushes past the other onlookers staring in horror and sprints to the middle of the busy street.

The small blonde girl -- Ciri -- can’t be more than five years old. She has the furry toy clutched to her chest when Jaskier reaches her side. From his peripheral vision, he glimpses a cab approaching them, and the next several seconds happen in slow-motion.

The cab’s brakes screech as the driver spots them a little too late.

The blonde girl’s emerald eyes lock on Jaskier, a look of awe and confusion on her freckled gaze.

Around them, several bystanders are either frozen on the spot or shouting in alarm.

Geralt stands at the curb with Yennefer and a few other burly men, a look of undisguised terror on his handsome face.

It feels like a lifetime and not, and without giving it much thought, Jaskier finds himself lifting the blonde girl and tossing her in the arms of the one cyclist who had the presence of mind to block the other cars who managed to brake on time.

Except for one.

One second, he has both feet on the ground, and the next Jaskier finds himself on his back on the concrete floor. He feels something sticky trickle down his face, and when he tries to speak, he ends up coughing on the metallic taste of blood.

Oh. So he got hit by the cab, then.

A cacophony of noise permeates through his muddled senses. Sirens and screams and several pairs of feet thudding closer and closer. Jaskier tries to blink but his vision is blurring.

“Jaskier, Jaskier,” the familiar voice says, sounding panicked and choked to his ears. Do they know him? “Jaskier, oh fuck. Hold on, Jaskier. Help’s on the way.”

“Eskel, take Ciri from the cyclist,” another familiar voice filters through. “Geralt, don’t move him. We don’t know what injuries he’s sustained.”

“What injuries-?!” an unfamiliar growly voice interrupts. “He got hit by a fucking car! He’s definitely broken some bones.”

“Lambert, be useful and call a fucking ambulance,” the familiar voice growls back. There’s a gurgling sound before the familiar voice, Geralt, speaks up. “Ssh, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay. I’m so sorry.”

“Ngh,” Jaskier slurs. He tries to keep his eyes open but it’s becoming more difficult by the second. “G’rlt.”

“Keep your eyes on me,” the voice repeats, and they sound choked with emotion. “Jask, stay with me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please stay with me.”

It’s the last thing Jaskier hears before he loses consciousness.

2 weeks later

“You wonder what he’s thinking when he shivers like that. What can you tell me? What could you possibly tell me? Sure, it’s good to feel things, and if it hurts, we’re doing it to ourselves--”

Someone knocks on the door before it opens, and Jaskier looks up to see the nurse, Jackie, standing on the threshold. Essi, who’s been reading to him his favorite poems for the past hour, stops to look up as well.

Jackie smiles at them before she addresses Jaskier, “I’m sorry for interrupting you, but you have another visitor, Jaskier.”

A glance at the clock nailed to the wall in front of him alerts Jaskier that it’s already past three o’clock.

“Shit,” Essi curses beside him, clearly taking note of the time as well. “Sorry, Jask. I lost track of the time. I need to go.”

She looks down apologetically at Jaskier, who shakes his head in understanding and smiles warmly at her.

“Not at all, Essi,” he says, voice still a bit hoarse. “Thank you for visiting me again. I’m sorry for keeping you.”

Essi pockets her phone and slings her messenger bag across her shoulders before leaning down to brush a hand through Jaskier’s unwashed hair and planting a soft kiss on his bandaged forehead.

“Don’t apologize, silly,” she admonishes slightly once she straightens. She smiles crookedly at Jaskier and brushes her fingers on his face, lightly tracing the faint bruises on his cheek. “I’ll drop by again tomorrow before my afternoon lecture. Do you need me to get you anything?”

“No, I’m good. But please feed Mister Fuzzball, and cuddle him for me, won’t you?”

Essi rolls her eyes good-naturedly but nods her head. “Of course, Jask. I got Mister Fuzzies under control.”

“It’s Mister Fuzzball!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Love you. Take it easy and I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

It’s Jaskier’s turn to roll his eyes, but he carefully waves his bandaged wrist at his best friend’s departing figure.

“Love you too. See you later, Daven.”

When Essi disappears around the corner, less than thirty seconds pass before Jaskier’s next visitors come in.

“Jaskier! You’re awake!” a small, blonde girl greets as she dashes inside the room. She stops at the very last second when she reaches Jaskier’s side, careful with his injuries as she climbs up the bed to plant a sloppy but very welcome kiss on his bruised cheek.

“Of course I’m awake, darling,” Jaskier answers with a dimpled grin as he playfully boops Ciri’s nose, causing the child to giggle. “I would never pass up the chance to miss your visit.”

“How are you? Did you finish watching Frozen yesterday? You fell asleep and Papa said I shouldn’t disturb you.”

“I’m feeling better now that you’re here. And no, I didn’t finish Frozen yesterday but I already watched it before so it’s okay. What movie do you want to watch next, hm?”

Jaskier chuckles as he listens to Ciri prattle on for the next few minutes about her favorite scenes in Frozen and how she wants to watch an old Disney film called The Emperor’s New Groove. Jaskier looks up to see the second visitor who silently trailed after the energetic child, making sure to shut the door behind him to give them privacy.

Geralt is already seated on the chair Essi just vacated, the silver-haired man looking at Ciri and Jaskier with undisguised fondness. If someone told Jaskier that he would be the object of Geralt Rivia’s shameless googly eyes, he would tell them where to shove it. But as it is, since his unfortunate accident two weeks ago, it’s like the man did a 180-degree. It’s probably mean of Jaskier to think it, but he can’t help it. If he hadn’t saved Geralt’s daughter, they likely wouldn’t be in this situation.

But Jaskier won’t have it any other way. Daughter or not, Jaskier doesn’t regret saving Ciri. Not at all. He may only know the child for less than a month, but he already loves her like his own, and that notion should terrify Jaskier. It really should, but for some unfathomable reason, it feels completely natural. As easy as breathing.

Although he and Geralt still have so much to talk about - goodness, there’s so much baggage between them that needs to be unpacked and addressed - Jaskier finds that he doesn’t mind spending this time getting to know his soulmate’s family. Aside from Ciri, he’s already met Lambert and Eskel, Geralt’s foster brothers who also drop in to visit him a few times a week. Jaskier likes them, likes their crude sense of humor and enjoys their company even when he doesn’t feel like chatting.

Then there’s Vesemir, who happens to be Geralt’s uncle or whatever, and isn’t that a fucking shock? Jaskier initially didn’t know whether to be horrified or amused when the president of the university he works at visited him to wish him a speedy recovery. In the end, Jaskier takes it in stride and thanks the old man for his well wishes.

How has this become his life now? Will wonders never cease?

“- and Uncle Lambert said I should watch Monsters, Inc. next after The Emperor’s New Groove because he said I remind him of Boo,” Ciri continues to chatter, the adorable five-year-old making herself at home by Jaskier’s uninjured side.

Jaskier listens to her attentively, while looking up every now and then at Geralt, the Anthropology professor currently balancing his laptop on his knees as he slowly types.

It’s the sixth, or probably seventh, time that Jaskier looks up when he meets Geralt’s golden eyes already trained on him. There’s that familiar jolt that runs down his spine when their gazes meet, and Jaskier raises a brow at him.

Geralt’s lips quirk upwards into a semblance of a smile, and Jaskier feels his heart stutter against his chest when his soulmate quietly mouths, “Hi.”

Jaskier tries to fight off a smile but fails rather dismally.

“Hi,” he mouths back before shifting his attention back to Ciri, who’s now chattering about her morning at the daycare.

All at once, it feels like the end and beginning of something new.

“Gods, I miss playing my lute,” Jaskier grumbles to himself a few nights later.

Ciri is fast asleep beside him, the adorable child already drooling on his shoulder but he doesn’t mind it in the least bit. They watched two movies and had dinner plus dessert, so Jaskier feels a little spoiled.

“Your what now?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier nearly jolts Ciri awake, almost forgetting that there’s another occupant in the room.

He recovers quickly and leans back against the fluffy pillows.

“My lute,” he repeats. At Geralt’s blank stare, Jaskier huffs out a laugh and continues. “It’s a medieval instrument that bards used to play. I learned to play it back in uni - I minored in Music, by the way - and I just… I just love it. And I miss playing it.”

“Oh,” Geralt says after a while. “I never knew you played.”

If Jaskier’s smile comes off a little bitter, Geralt thankfully doesn’t mention it.

“We both don’t know a lot about each other, I’m afraid,” he says.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier snorts. “Well, except for that.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything after that, so they spend the next several minutes in silence. It’s comfortable, for a change, and Jaskier doesn’t mind breaking the quiet with inane chatter. While he enjoyed watching children’s movies with Ciri, he’s easily exhausted, still in the midst of recuperating from his extensive list of injuries. A major head concussion is no joke, but at least Jaskier can sleep peacefully these days.

He’s staring aimlessly at the ceiling and thinking about what he’ll do first when he’s eventually discharged when he hears Geralt clear his throat.

“I was afraid,” Geralt starts when Jaskier turns his head to meet the older man’s eyes. At Jaskier’s puzzled frown, Geralt clears his throat again and explains. “That day, when you told me we were soulmates… I panicked.”

Oh, so they’re finally going to talk about it now. While his soulmate’s daughter is lightly snoring and drooling on Jaskier?

Okay, then.

“That’s some way to panic,” Jaskier teases, but it falls a little flat. He notices Geralt wince, and Jaskier inwardly curses himself because it’s not the time to make jokes right now. “I’m sorry,” he quickly adds. “I didn’t mean it like that. Please continue, I won’t interrupt.”

Geralt blinks, looking surprised. Jaskier smiles at him and decides to wait patiently for him to speak. It doesn’t take long.

“I don’t have a good track record when it comes to relationships,” Geralt begins, his voice quiet and gruff so as not to wake his daughter. He’s not meeting Jaskier’s gaze. Instead, it’s trained on Jaskier’s fingers that’s carefully playing with Ciri’s blonde curls. “Ask my brothers, ask Yennefer, and they’ll gladly tell you of my failed relationships. Don’t know why, but I was more prone to burning bridges than maintaining them.”

Jaskier feels his heart break, and it takes every ounce in him to not reach out to take Geralt’s hand in his because he’s afraid the other man won’t welcome his touch. So Jaskier bites his cheek and keeps silent, and keeps his hands to himself. He continues to wait in silence, willing to be patient for Geralt because it’s clear to see now that his soulmate is struggling with his words.

And he knows better now, too, that Geralt needs this moment to unpack everything that’s been left unsaid between them all these years.

“When Ciri was born, I felt like I finally had purpose,” Geralt continues. “Her mother didn’t want anything to do with her, so Fiona left her in my care and never looked back. I was fine with it, didn’t mind taking on the responsibility of caring for Ciri. She’s my kid, after all, and it’s an honor to raise her. I thought, since I hadn’t met my soulmate at the time, that everything would be fine. And it was fine for a couple of years. Then I met you.”

At this, Geralt finally looks up from studying Jaskier’s deft fingers to meet his cornflower blue eyes. There’s that oh-so familiar jolt, and for the first time in three years, Jaskier allows himself to bask in the remarkable feeling.

“Then you met me,” Jaskier repeats with a small, sad smile. “And I went and made a fool of myself.”

Geralt emphatically shakes his head.

“No, you didn’t,” he says firmly. “I was an idiot.”

“No, I was the idiot.”

“Let’s agree to disagree, then.”

“In retrospect, I probably made things difficult for you,” Jaskier says with a half-shrug. “So I’m really sorry, Geralt. I think I was pretty tactless with my approach.”

Geralt smiles ruefully at him. “My reaction is what caused us to have a falling out.”

Jaskier opens his mouth then closes it with a thoughtful hum.

“I suppose,” he says, then he glances up from studying Ciri’s peaceful face to look at Geralt with a slight tilt of his head. “Why did you react that way, though? I thought… well, I thought you hated me. Hated the concept of soulmates.”

“I could never hate you,” Geralt cuts him off with a sincere look.

Jaskier gapes at him for a few seconds.

“I, well. You said--”

Geralt swiftly interrupts him once again.

“I remember,” he discloses with a grimace. “I’m not proud of it. I was selfish, Jaskier, and I’m sorry.”

“Alright,” Jaskier says with a patient smile. “You’re sorry, but for what? Telling me the truth? Rejecting me?”

His voice trails off when Geralt shakes his head.

“No, no. None of that.” At Jaskier’s puzzled frown, Geralt sighs and rubs the back of his head. “When I met you, I was terrified at how you made me feel. I felt… wrong-footed, I think? And when you told me we were soulmates, it just made the whole thing more… threatening.”

“Threatening how?”

“Ciri is my number one priority. Sure, she has Vesemir and her uncles, and Yennefer, but I’m her dad. My purpose, my… everything I do is for her, Jask, and you have to understand. Please understand, that when you told me we were soulmates, it felt like everything I worked so hard for would come crashing down. Because here was another person who… matters to me more than I could understand at the time. I was… scared… that if I acknowledged our bond, and accepted you, that it would make Ciri feel like I wasn’t prioritizing her. That she was no longer my number one.”

“Because then you’d have to focus all your time and energy on me,” Jaskier finishes, finally understanding where Geralt is coming from. “And on us. Because it takes a couple of months to solidify the bond.”

“Yes.”

Geralt nods, and he looks like there’s a huge weight that’s lifted from his shoulders. Like he’s been carrying this weight for the past three years or so.

Jaskier breathes in and slowly exhales through his nose. He, too, feels like there’s a huge weight that’s been lifted off his chest. Like he and Geralt are finally on the same page.

Well, almost.

“Geralt, I want you to listen to me closely because I’m going to say this once.”

Geralt nods, golden eyes intense as he waits for Jaskier to continue. This time, Jaskier takes a chance and reaches for his soulmates clasped hands. To his immense surprise, Geralt’s fingers curl around his, as if they’ve been doing it for years instead of for the first time.

“I will never fight for your attention, because Ciri will always be your number one. I’m confident in saying that because, believe it or not, I absolutely adore your daughter to bits.” They exchange smiles at that, each turning to look at Ciri sleeping peacefully between them. Jaskier clears his throat and continues. “I’m sorry that you felt like you had to choose between us. If that was the impression I gave you, then I beg for your forgiveness because it honestly wasn’t. I promise you, Geralt. I promise you that Ciri will also be my top priority.” He shakes his head when Geralt is about to open his mouth. “No. If we’re doing this, Geralt, then I want to be involved. I want to be a part of Ciri’s life, not just yours.”

“I can’t ask you of this, Jaskier,” Geralt professes.

“I know you’re not asking,” Jaskier says with a good-natured eye roll. “That’s why I’m offering, silly.”

Something in Geralt breaks because his shoulders sag. He stares unbelievably softly at Jaskier, golden eyes tender with emotion.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, awe in his tone.

Thinking that he literally has nothing left to lose, Jaskier moves his hand from grasping Geralt’s to cupping his cheek. He feels his soulmate lean into his touch, and Jaskier knows right then and there that they’re going to be alright.

“We both have baggage,” Jaskier tells him once their gazes lock once more. “And we still have so much to talk about. But I’m in this for the long haul, Geralt. You’re my other half, and I’m yours.”

“I’m yours,” Geralt repeats, and he sounds like he’s starting to believe it.

When he leans over to press soft, dry lips to Jaskier’s slightly chapped ones, Jaskier lets himself believe it, too.

They’re going to be alright.

#jaskierswolf #birthday fic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #the witcher fic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #professor jaskier #the witcher au #will cross-post on AO3 in a bit #my writing #dapperyklutz

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iamkayleee · 3 years

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psa for new writers coming to ao3:

(this is in no way meant to be rude but more helpful and informative because ao3 works much differently than other fan fiction sites)

i’ve noticed a large influx of of new works on ao3 (particularly in the dream smp fandom) over the last few months. this is awesome i love new content and i love that people want to share their writing with others, however i’ve seen a couple of things that’ve really been bothering me and other (for lack of a better word) veteran ao3 users and i wanted to address it and explain why it bugs us so much

- untagged wips: the biggest thing i’ve noticed is authors tagging their incomplete chaptered fics as complete. many people including myself try not to read wips because they’re so often abandoned, so we filter them out when searching for things to read, but it leaves this feature kinda useless when nearly every other fic in the tag is an incomplete tagged incorrectly. i think a lot of this comes from using the export from wattpad feature which automatically sorts it as complete. so please just check to make sure.

- tagging system: another thing is not using the correct tags, i’m all for a little joke in the tags cos they’re usually pretty funny but something that separates ao3 from other sites is their universal tagging feature. it not only helps readers understand the content of the fic but it also helps the writers get more hits because the fic is made more “searchable”. please tag your crack, canons, aus, sad endings, dead doves, etc (the sites an archive guys i know were nagging but this is the point of ao3)

- drabbles vs oneshots: this ones a little nitpicky i know, but a drabble is 999 words and under while a one shot is 1k+ (edit: my bad, drabbles are defined as 100 words exactly, tho i feel like it still stands that most oneshots aren’t gonna be under 1k words though there’s no clear agreed upon length, i could get into short stories and novelletes but honestly i’m fine with it all being called a oneshot as long is it’s a story and not a plot bunny or a head cannon)

- warnings: this shouldn’t even have to be said but please for the love of god tag major character death, under age, and non/dub con, also if your fic is mature don’t tag it as general audience just because that’s the default

- posting things that aren’t fics: i know you want to get your art out there but ao3 is for writing. this also goes for pod fics and ideas that you’ve had and maybe want to write a fic for later. keep it in the drafts, because it clogs up the completed tags.

if you have any questions or other things you wanted to address feel free to add it in the notes or message me. i know this seems trivial but ao3s special to a lot of us and i want to help others learn the etiquette of it because it’s a big jump from wattpad and fan fiction.net. keep on writing guys!

#mcyt #dream smp #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #dreamnotfound #ao3 #fanfiction #my post

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palmett-hoes · 4 years

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this was originally meant to be a response/follow-up to @i-did 's post about race in the aftg fandom (that you should read). i ran it by him first and asked permission to add, but then we decided it was too long so i should make it its own post

---

i want to talk about fandom's take on the twins' race because it's rather glaring in the fandom that andrew (and then aaron by necessity) are often portrayed as the only white characters on the team and i have to question why?

there's nothing in the backstories that would mean writing them as POC would fling them headlong into offensive stereotypes that the fandom hasn't bypassed over to make another fox a POC.

they have a history of addiction? but it's okay for matt and seth to be addicts and be brown.

they're violent? but it's okay for renee to be non-white and a former gang member.

they're blond and 'pale'¹? but allison can be a WOC and bleach her hair without saying it explicitly? renee can have white rainbow hair no matter the AU? neil can be a blue-eyed redhead and still be drawn darker skinned half the time?

'pale' in and of itself is a very vague word that's only brought up in the context of comparison to notably dark skinned nicky. it's completely relative, and multi-racial families where people look wildly different from each other exist (pretty commonly). or if you're prescriptivist how about the multiple ways a POC can still be a natural blond including but not limited to pigmentation conditions or being mixed race? similarly, i think less than a quarter of the FCs i've seen for andrew over the years have been natural blonds themselves.

so if our holdups aren't about racial stereotyping and they aren't about the incredibly vague character descriptions, then why are the twins always white when it's approached as a good thing that no one else is? when i've seen multiple different posts lauding the fandom for adding diversity where nora didn't write it, except for here?

to be completely, bluntly honest, it's because we as a majority-white fandom are uncomfortable when we are not the central characters. or maybe we are uncomfortable when people of color ARE the central characters. i don't think there's much of a difference.

we are comfortable writing and drawing nicky, the upperclassmen, then kevin (in that order) as poc because, simply, we use them as background characters. they are rarely the main characters of fics, or have their own storylines in them; it all revolves around andreil.

additionally, while i've used neil up to now as an example of the fandom being OKAY with writing POC, let's also admit that it's an,, imperfect representation, as he will often be racially ambiguous with no explicit ethnicity, he will be the lightest skinned of the foxes of color, and he will still have eurocentric features. also it's genuinely a toss up as to whether he's drawn brown or not, there are still plenty of white neils, much more than there are white dans and matts and renees (not an attack on anyone who draws white neils, simply a statement) and FCs and edits of him still tend to be white people.

he's a bit of a schrödinger's person of color, not really any one thing or another, very few people being willing to take a hard stance on him and do the work of taking that decision under consideration when writing and drawing him.

(quick shout-out here to @hi-raethia for making content about an explicitly chinese interpretation of neil).

(additionally, to be as clear about my intended message as possible, this isn't a statement on the politics of passing or undermining the ethnicities of lightskinned poc, this is about a lack of detail being put into making a character a character of color in any thoughtful, meaningful, or significant way)

so when i talk about the centralization of white people in fandom, neil gets to be included, perhaps with a footnote indicating that this is somewhat of a more complicated statement than it is with lily-white andrew minyard.

nevertheless, i feel comfortable saying that 75% of fandom content revolves around andrew and neil, major exceptions only being jerejean which are often stand-alone from the foxes, and the rising branch of kevaaron shippers. however both of those ships are actually subject to this exact same criticism, as ships between a a flat-out white character and a dubiously "non-white" character who can also be white sometimes. it varies.

conspicuously, content about the UPPERCLASSMEN tends to revolve around andrew and neil.

fics where the upperclassmen are the pov character are often outside-perspective fics on andreil.

HC posts about the upperclassmen, especially matt, will devote major portions to his time spent helping, hanging with, and thinking about andrew and/or neil.

secondary ships like danmatt or renison tend to be just that, secondary ships moving in the background of andreil-focused works. they get more of a,,, scenic shout-out than a storyline

it is only comfortable for us to write these characters as characters of color if they revolve entirely around white characters

so after all that? what should we do, as a white-majority fandom? what should YOU, specifically, as a white person, do?

i hate to talk about a problem without also talking about solutions, and i try not to carp on something i don't want to be an active part of fixing. public criticism without an action plan only leads to hurt feelings and guilt, and that's never my intention when bringing this up. my goal is to address a general problem, not anyone specific's personal failings.

in all honesty leaning completely into all of the foxes being people of color, though i think neat and i certainly support, is not the best solution, and would be more of a hollow action than anything else without addressing the underlying problems that lead to the development of this dynamic.

i think the best thing to do would be to 1. do some research on writing poc, usually by following some writing-specific blogs like @writingwithcolor or @pocinmymedia . look up the 'black best friend' trope and really spend some time tjinking about it. spend an hour seeking out a random assortment of blogs that interest you that are also run by people of color. checking through tags like drawingwhileblack or blacktober may be good kickoff points.

tumblr is great because with an hour of active work to find these blogs, you can then go months passively seeing content from them. try not to interact, actually, simply watch and listen and become familiar with general trends and concerns in different communities. remember that every blog is run by an individual person, not an elected representative of their race, and always keep this in mind.

you are teaching YOURSELF that people of color are individuals, they have interests and inner lives that don't revolve around whiteness, that don't revolve around YOU

at the same time, 2. challenge yourself as a creator to make more content about the upperclassmen, specifically. make art about them doing stuff as a group separate from neil and andrew's group. find a compilation of 'draw the squad' memes and draw/tag the upperclassmen only. make jokes where they talk to each other. write some meta about their character motivations. write a fic where andreil isn't even mentioned, it can be super short, you can even use a prompt generator.

as a reader, reread their backstories in the extra content. reread son nefes. use ao3's filtering system to read some fics about JUST the upperclassmen, few and far apart though they may be.

if we've decided that the upperclassmen are people of color then lean into that, and learn to CARE about them on their own merit, because they are the most underutilized characters in the fandom. we need to make content centralized around them to combat the fact that fandom centralizes whiteness

#txt #fandom #the foxes #dan wilds #matt boyd #renee walker #seth gordon #allison reynolds #my posts

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ljandersen · 3 years

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More 100 Days of Writing! Yay! I love that I get a hundred days of seeing everyone's writing process on my dash. I’m not strictly following the questions in order or posting every day, but it’s fun to still play along. Thanks, @the-wip-project !

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Question from Day 2 (I know it’s not day two, but I’m erratically cheating, remember?) For your current WIP: Do you have many WIPs? What motivates you to write this specific story? What makes this story special for you? Is there a special twist/trope/setting you wanted to explore? What got you started on this particular story?

My current WIP is “Sideways,” a 5-part fShenko post-war long fic. I’m posting it like a box set, essentially all the parts (books) in one big post on AO3. I have the first draft written for all five parts and am currently posting part 3.

What motivated me to write this story was a string of “what if” questions that haunted me after finishing my 300k fShenko post-war long fic, “Burning Barriers.” My mind kept spinning on questions about human-asari relationships. What would it be like to be with someone who would live a thousand years? You’re just a blip on their radar, while they’re you’re whole life.

What would it be like to have a child who’s another species? Asari have unique abilities like mindmelding, strong biotics, long lifespan, monogendered, not to mention unique culture. Would the child feel less “yours” for being so . . . well, alien (pun intended)? How would it feel knowing your partner and child would live on long after you?

That’s when I started thinking, what if the asari parent died? Whoa. Then my mind was blown by the complexity. Your child would be another species, bound to live a thousand years, and the parent meant to take care of them is gone. Since your partner was going to live hundreds of more years, the human partner probably never even considered the possibility of losing them. Now the human parent is all this alien child has. It had so many implications, my mind kept going.

I wanted to explore these ideas in a story, but I didn’t want to write an AU of my own fanfiction. I didn’t want to write a story that wasn’t fShenko. FemShep and Kaidan are my favorite characters, and it’s their relationship I find compelling.

That’s when I thought, what would Shepard think of this alternate storyline? It’s interesting enough to think of her outside perspective, but what if it was further removed than even that. What if she saw it like I did having this other canon story ending in mind? What if the Shepard who finished my story in “Burning Barriers” and who ended up with Kaidan went to this other AU reality?

I could follow an idea from “Burning Barriers” that wasn’t realized but intrigued me. Kaidan’s asari wife is dead. He has an asari child now. How much better if he and Shepard are even enemies? Maybe Shepard has been a bad person in this timeline. After all, Mass Effect is all about the Paragon and Renegade timelines. Add in this story being told from the POV of the Shepard who’s been happily married to him in the “real” timeline, then the complexity and nuances expanded. How would she reconcile his identity to her, being both the person she knows and loves the best, but also the person she knows the least and who is also an adversary?

Then, I thought . . . What is Bad Shepard took my canon Shepard’s place? I ended “Burning Barriers” with Shepard being human Councilor. She lives on the Pacific with Kaidan and their daughter. That was already there in my post-10 year epilogue. What if this switch went both ways? It’s always a fascinating trope taking someone who’s a maverick loner and dropping them into a family situation. Do they become a better person?

False identities always interest me, and both stories lines would play so well to that interest. How would this imposter function? Both Shepards would be taken as the their altero ego, at least, initially if not longer.

So I started writing “Sideways.” I needed to tell the backstories to fill in the ten years of lost time for both timelines. But how to do it? Just through present-day revelations? A bit boring. Flashbacks are often considered unnecessary and needlessly complicate a story.

What if the flashbacks had more meaning beyond just revealing the past though? What if they provided a ticking clock. I needed a ticking clock, after all, and this was the perfect way to hit two birds with one stone. The present day revelations about the past could provide tantalizing clues and hint toward scenes that aren’t revealed yet. There would be gradual progression of stories from the past connecting to the present storyline. Perfect.

I actually wrote several chapters of “Sideways” and then discarded it. I didn’t want to pour myself into more fanfiction. It was time to move on. Do something original. Who would read a long fShenko fic that jumped off my 300k story? “Burning Barriers” wasn’t read. I think a year after posting, it had 25 kudos, under a thousand hits, and was pretty stagnant with the hit count even moving. I had a few wonderful people who made the process worthwhile through their generous comments and friendship. It would go on to get a lot of great feedback that would change my feelings about it, but at the time, the story’s reception was disappointing. It seemed unwise to take an already abysmal turnout for 300k words and cut the readership even further for a new story +100k story. So I tossed my first few chapters of “Sideways” aside.

I came across the chapters again a while later. I still had these ideas in my head for it that I was trying to squelch while I focused on ideas for an original sci fi series. When I was flipping through a notebook, I came across the story I had abandoned, and I started to read it. By the end, I was left thinking, “But then what happened? This is actually pretty good.” At that point, I decided I had to write it. I had too much passion in the project, and I had to see it through.

I decided for it to be successful (or at least, not catastrophically unsuccessful), it had to stand on its own. Hardly anyone had read the preceding 300 k story, which I had made the mistake of posting all at once. I needed this to be its own story. It had to be less words than “Burning Barriers,” which at 300 k was already too much of an investment.

Then I started writing my new story . . . 800 k words later (or so I estimate), I obviously didn’t meet my goal. But I loved writing every word, and I love how the story progresses and develops. It had a good pace, and I’m proud of it. It lent itself naturally to being divided into a series, since it had mini-arcs with mini-villains and achievements being reached. By editing each part separately, I was able to start posting, which after two years of writing the story was beginning to feel like would never happen.

Now, here I am posting part 3. I have amazing people who support me and have made the experience rewarding by sharing their enthusiasm and thoughts in comments and tags. “Sideways” surpassed “Burning Barriers” initially low turn out and has managed to stand on its own as I hoped. For a story that took so long to make it to this point, it’s been fulfilling to have so many fandom friends who cheer me on. I appreciate everyone who supports “Sideway” and just me in general as part of the fandom community.

And that’s how my supersized story came into being.

#100daysofwriting #not doing my questions in order I know #I feel like day 1 and day 2 were the most important general questions #Which is why I'm doing them now #on writing #my writing #on fanfiction #on mass effect fanfiction

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trulycertain · 3 years

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fic writer interview

Tagged by @skogrr Thank you very much! It's a while since I've done one of these, and I've missed them.

Name: Tru/"Oi you" Fandoms (that I write for): Dragon Age, mostly. Still the fandom of my heart. Mass Effect, Deus Ex... uh, accidentally GreedFall? I don't know how or when that happened. Two-shot: Hmm... The actual last two-shot I wrote was Terms & Conditions, a very silly Dorian/Inquisitor modern AU where Gal is the guy Dorian hires to stop his late father's house falling apart. Recently? I suspect that's going to be Driftwood, which can stand on its own as a sort of weird post-canon first-meeting AU, but is trying to tempt me to continue it. (Vasco ends up going looking for Tír Fradí, which has disappeared - and finds it. He also finds De Sardet as a highly avoidant tree god of the island, post-Bad Ending, who transformed against her will. And he ends up falling in love with her anyway.) Weird tree gods! Pining by literal pine! An eventual happy ending! More grumpy commentary by Vasco!

Most popular multi-chapter: Either An Unquenchable Flame or Distraction, probably - both juggernaut pairings, the former close to the game's release and the latter with some fancy forbidden romance, so not so surprising. But surprisingly, Prague, 10:42 PM has done really well, considering it's for a small fandom (Deus Ex) and a rarepair age/rank-difference pairing that I thought would be a one-off experiment? I get it, guys. I like sad repressed stoics too.

Actual worst part of writing: Editing - which can be fun, but that "over and over" stage when you're about to post, especially in a longfic if you fear you've lost the spirit of the thing and the character voices and you can't see the wood for the trees. And when I have to remove a whole scene which Jenga-unbalances the fic, and then I have to redux from the top. Basically, most things to do with pacing. How you choose your titles: I like double-meanings and one word titles. If that fails: quote from a song. If that fails: quote from poetry, but very rarely. Do you outline: Only a little. A bulletpointed list of events or noted-down major lines of dialogue, that's usually it.

Ideas I probably won’t get around to but wouldn’t it be nice: Uh... oh god. I blame so many people for some of these.

Post-Destroy ending where John is attempting to build a shed on Rannoch because that's the kind of thing retired people do, right? and Tali is far better at it than him, and it's just... disgusting fluff.

Actually, just reduxing the early John/Tali stuff with a bit more nuance and a stronger style.

Eva and Kaidan, and their mutually wary first meeting. ("Wow, that's a lot of pomade." "Wow, that's a lot of death-glare.")

AU where Gal and Dorian never met in DAI, and after everything went down, Gal tried to fade into the shadows and leave. He ended up working in Tevinter as an occasional informant/odd-jobs guy the way he was pre-Inquisition. He ends up being a gardener for a bitter, wry magister who seems to hate the entire Magisterium, has recently lost his father to political scheming and murder, and wants to take down the entirety of the remaining Venatori with one staff and maybe his teeth if he has to (hi, Dorian). But first, Dorian's going to drink his own body weight in whiskey and be a recluse for a while and start thinking about time magic again. Gal is trying to keep his head down and should definitely not be falling in love with said magister. Who's someday going to end up at one of the more southerly ports, come across a statue of the great Inquisitor, and go, Oh.

Stuff on Jensen's PT and rebuilding himself post-augs. More of Proprioception, basically.

Mer-AU where Marie De Sardet is still a diplomat attempting to make new connections, just not a human one, and it's a disaster. An awkward disaster. Highlights include her being framed as the beast trying to drown their best captain; her attempting to wobble about on brand-new legs and Vasco's coat while everyone assumes the dear captain has had a few too many; her asking Vasco if his "fascinating markings" glow; them getting into a duel, and her (fondly) getting punted off the side of the ship going "Woo-hoo." OK, I wrote a bit of that, but only a 1k doodle I'll probably never return to.

Non-Naut court AU where Marie gets promised to Bastien D'Arcy, because he's a bit of a layabout but he's also rich, popular at court, and amenable to bribe - [cough] suggestion, and the D'Arcys have prominent trading links with the Alliance. Instead she falls for his far less of a social butterfly, tired, worried-numbers-guy brother Léandre, who's pretty damn uncomfortable around Nauts because he's well aware he nearly got sold to them and he is not the favourite.

Straight-up role-reversal AU (another thing where I've put down 1k that I'll probably never return to), where Marie's Naut name is Paz, and she's a fed-up second-mate who's tired of noble idiots and feels a little strange and conflicted about her mark (and has context for it, because they make frequent crossings to Tír Fradí). Also a little more jaded, without the love of her mother, and not nearly as much of a tryhard as Vasco in canon; she ended up here because she had nowhere else to go and the Nauts were like "Ooh, free kid," and she's well aware. She gets stuck escorting the D'Arcy brothers to Tír Fradí for their new venture and is not looking forward to it. Except one of them is intensely bright and wry and keeps asking questions about the ship and noticing shit he is definitely not meant to notice, and they keep ending up in strange conversations, even if he seems really, really wary and uncomfortable about Nauts.

Some vague stuff about Vasco's thoughts on Jonas and that whole side quest, considering he's also a sea-given and implies sea-given take some shit in the Nauts, and also how damn difficult it must be watching a sea-given's parents endeavour to get their kid back when he knows full well his didn't do that for him.

Actually, just more Vasco POV in general, even though he's damn hard to nail down. I've written much pining for him from Marie's perspective, and I'd like to try things from the opposite. This guy's idea of wooing someone perfectly normally is to panic and then recite Baroque poetry. You know he's sappy as hell in the privacy of his own head, even if he's trying not to be.

Jean and Síora having the "I'm a sad healer who just lost my mother and I'm trying so hard not to crumble under the weight of assisting the leader" mutual talk way too late at night around the campfire and maybe him crying on her shoulder a little, with mutual kindness and the beginnings of attraction, and her finally getting past his jokey-smug facade to understand him.

More stuff about Jean's past in general, and how he wanted to be a doctor before he was dragged away from it by looking after Constantin and being nobility.

Síora and Eseld and the ways they changed over the years; something like an exploration of grief and growing her own will and the ways they very differently view the renaigse. Also maybe more about the en ol menawi magic, if I can worldbuild well enough?

I'd also love to do a GreedFall soulmark AU - it's generally not my kind of trope, I'm not into biological determinism type tropes - just because names and aliases and assumed identities are such a mess in GreedFall and it's a repeated plot point. That said, I feel like it's been done so beautifully in this fandom before that I wouldn't have much to add.

Callouts @ me: So. Many. Commas. So much over-explaining everything. If they get out of the car, your readers do not need a five-page manual of "and then he undid his seatbelt and leaned over to grasp the door handle, and then pulled it, and then stepped a foot out before he almost thought better of it - but no, he was going to get out of this car. The other foot joined the first, and he nearly banged his head on the doorframe."

Best writing traits: People say I have a head for finding small-but-important moments. I'm also told I write likeable protags. People have more than once said my writing makes them feel safe or makes them smile, and I really couldn't ask for more than that. I'll take those.

Spicy tangential opinion: I don't think I have any, really? Oh god, that makes me sound so very boring. Oh! Um. There should be more tree body horror in fandom. And body horror in general. *thumbsup*

No pressure tagging: @artemis-crimson, @eridanidreams,@rainypixel, @aphreal42.

#tru talks #memes #long post

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khoicesbyk · 4 years

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The Royal Romance.

Second Chance Romance.

A/N: I’ve decided to go into my own little TRR/TRH world and create an AU. This will be fun! So; Talley Ho! *in my Sherlock Holmes voice*

Rated: Explicit. | Contains sexual content and strong language. (You know? The usual from me. 😁) | Bolded and/or italicized words are conversations and thoughts of the characters. | Main Characters: Leo Rys and Hana Lee | All Characters and names: (except MC and certain original characters, created by me) are property of Pixelberry.

Current Word Count: 2,000 words. (more or less. I stop counting after editing and re-editing. 🤷🏾‍♀️)

Prompt Time! Using @wackydrabbles prompt 70: “Not everything is a joke.” It will be in bold in black.

Tag List: @lifeaskim @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways @kingliam2019 @txemrn @pixie88 @choicesfannatalie @lucy-268 @bebepac @choicesficwriterscreations @wackydrabbles

I AM UNAPOLOGETICALLY NSFW! READER DISCRETION IS STRONGLY!

If you’d like to be added to my tag list. Just reblog or DM me and I will gladly add you! 😁😘

This is a fun side story that I decided to write. I hope you enjoy the pairing.

Chapter 12.) About Last Night.

Leo Rys has always done his own thing and lived life by his own rules. He enjoys the freedom to go where he wants, when he wants and for however long he wants. With him no longer Crown Prince of Cordonia, he wasn’t beholden to the responsibility, commitment and weight that the crown carries. To him, that life was more a living nightmare than a dream come true.

Having the lives of Cordonia and all her people in his hands scared him. Which is why he told his father that the crown should go to his younger brother, Marquise. Marquise would be a far better king than Leo could ever hope to be. And he was right.

No matter where his new nomadic life took him, Leo always made sure to come home from time to time. Especially when there was a ball or party being thrown. Like the party for the debut of his soon to be sister in law, Duchess Shanelle Dawkins of Volterias.

The party was great. The drinks were flowing like a river. The people were mixing and mingling. And the dancing was on point. But the best part about the night is that he was home. Even though he was no longer Crown Prince, Cordonia is still in his heart and is still home. And he is home to celebrate his brother and future sister in law.

But that night wouldn’t go the way he’d plan it to go.

After catching up with old friends, rivals and several old flames, Leo was sitting at the bar going on his third whiskey neat, when he saw Hana. She was being tortured by Ambassador Kennett and his endless yapping. Whether it was about politics or worse his penchant for golfing, fishing, hunting or his vintage 1956 Roadster, the man NEVER knows when to shut up. So he had to rescue her from him.

He Interrupted their conversation and successfully saved her from a fate worse than death. And to make sure that they weren’t followed by the ambassador, he took her out on the dance floor. It might’ve been the alcohol in his system but, he noticed how petite and pretty she was. And that she was blushing.

“Maybe she…nah I’m not her type.” He thought to himself as they danced.

After dancing to song after song, Hana’s were getting sore so he suggested that they take a break and go for a walk. When she agreed to a walk, they took a stroll to his favorite side courtyard in the whole palace. It was one designed by Marquise’s mother Eleanor. She would sneak him and Marquise out of their lessons, just to spend time with them there. So it’s always been one of his favorite places to go to.

They sat down on a bench and talked about what their lives were like growing up. What they saw themselves doing in 10-20 years. And what his favorite destinations to visit were. And for her, he was something she never expected. He’s funny. He’s got a great smile. She loved his soft baby blue eyes. And he’s quite the accomplished dancer. She had never had a crush on someone but she felt like she was developing a crush on him.

“How about another drink?” He asks her.

“Haven’t you had enough to drink Leo?” She asked with a teasing smirk.

“Nooooo! Besides I got this killer bottle of tequila that I got in Guadalajara back in my room, that I’m dying to open. Soooo…pretty please?” He asks her, while batting his eyelashes. It made her giggle when he asked.

“Okay. I’m curious about this bottle you have.” She replies.

“Sweet! Follow me m’lady.” He says as he offers her his arm. When they got to his room, Hana was impressed by the size.

“You got one of the bigger rooms in the palace!” She says to him.

“Perks of being part of The Royal Family. I still get to be spoiled even though I abdicated the throne. Dad made sure that I got my favorite bedroom.”

“I’m glad that you and him are close.”

He sat down on the bench at the end of his bed before he spoke.

“Ohhh yeah. He was more disappointed than angry about me abdicating. He was hoping that me becoming king would mellow me out. But if anything it made me hate the throne even more. Which is why I don’t envy my younger brother. He bears the weight of an entire nation. Their expectations, their fears, their anger, their frustration and especially their judgement. I didn’t want that life for myself. I saw what it did to my dad. How it changed him. Made his paranoia even worse than it was before mom’s death.”

“So that’s why you left?” She asks as she sits next to him.

“Yes. Because, I was never meant to be a king. It wasn’t in my heart nor was it something that I wanted to do. I have a temper. Marquise has temperament. He always wanted the throne but, because of hierarchy and the rules behind it, the throne went to me. And believe me Hana, it wasn’t an easy nor overnight decision for me to come to. I knew I’d be disappointing my dad and leaving Marquise to bear the unbearable burden of the crown, but I just knew I’d never be the king that Cordonia desperately needed.” He replied.

Talking to her made him face some of the demons he’d been running from.

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Leo.”

“Nah. It’s the alcohol. My dad calls it my truth serum. Speaking of which! We got a bottle to open!”

He got up and walked to his suitcase and pulled out a bottle of golden tequila.

“May I introduce to you the finest tequila in all the lands? This is Dioses del sol y de la tierra. It is the best tequila I have ever had!” He said as he introduced her to the bottle.

She just shook her head and giggled.

“Let the shots begin m’lady!”

They drank, danced and laughed together. Hana wasn’t like Madeleine. She was a nightmarish robot who was after the crown. She was pure, wholesome, beautiful and sweet. And an absolute joy to be around. Especially when she was drunk.

“I have never had this much fun ever!” She drunkenly squealed.

“I sure have! I have it all the time!” He said to her.

“Of course you have! You’re freeeeee!”

“You gotta try it sweetheart! Freedom is the best medicine for the soooouuuul!”

Hana took a swig from the bottle then spun around but lost her footing and would’ve fallen if Leo hadn’t caught her.

“Whoa! Noble lady overboard!” He said as he caught her.

“Wheeeeeeeeee!” Hana said with a giggle.

With the bottle finally gone, the pair were sitting on his bed giggling at each other.

“Oh my God! Leo! This was soooooo much fun!”

“Yeah I know. We gotta do it again the next time I come home!”

They started laughing at each other again.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re very very handsome?” She asked him.

“Not really. The ladies usually go for my brother.” He replies.

“Well I think you’re really handsome.”

“That’s the tequila talking. But it’s a good joke.”

“Not everything is a joke, Leo.”

“You’re serious?” He asks her. She nodded her head yes.

“Ohhh…so if I kissed you, you wouldn’t be mad?” He asked. She shook her head no.

“Ohhh well in that case…” he trailed off before kissing her. The kiss was sloppy at first but got hot and heavy fast. When the kiss came to an end, they were breathless.

“Woooooow!” He said to her.

“Was it bad?” She asked.

“Hell no! As a matter of fact, I’d like to do it again.”

“Fine by me.”

He pulled her into his lap as he kissed her again. Her skin was smooth. Her lips are soft and supple. She tasted like tequila. Not that he was complaining about it. There was something about Hana that he couldn’t get enough of. With his arms around her petite frame he deepened their kiss. One thing is for sure, Leo is no slouch when it comes to kissing. He broke their kiss to look in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Hana. I shouldn’t have done that.” He said to her.

“No you shouldn’t have. But I’m glad you did.” She replies. Every ounce of shyness Hana had was replaced with lust thanks to all the drinking they were doing.

“Is this about to go where I think it is?” He asks her.

“I wouldn’t mind.” She replied.

With that he kissed her again, harder and deeper than before. They were blissfully drunk and horny for one another. He trailed kisses from her jaw to her neck. Eliciting a sound that was a mix of soft moan and a gasp. They made quick work of getting each other out of their clothes. She was beautiful to him and he was hot to her.

He resumed kissing her neck with his hands all over her. When his hands reached her nipples, he ran his thumbs over them making them harden under his touch. She couldn’t help but moan when he touched her. He kept rubbing her nipples and sucking on her neck He let one hand travel lower between her legs. When he reached her center, she was warm. But he was about to make her hot.

He began using his fingers to circle her clit and play with her entrance. The sensation was causing her to grind against his fingers. He wanted her soaking wet for him. Thankfully it didn’t take long for that to happen. When she wanted more, she groaned impatiently.

“I guess that means you want more.” He whispered in her ear.

“Yes! Yes!” She moaned.

He took that as a cue then grabbed a condom out of his wallet and put it on. When he turned back to look at Hana, he was in awe. She really was beautiful naked. She bit her bottom lip as she looked at him. With a crook of her finger she beckoned him to her. With a sly grin he went to her. He climbed on top of her with lust in his eyes and a question on his lips.

“Are you ready?” He asks.

“Hell yeah!” She replied.

She didn’t know what to expect when it came to sex with Leo. But if anything she wasn’t expecting him to be big. But when he entered her, she found out that she was wrong. He was well endowed. He went slow to allow her muscles to get used to him being inside her. She moaned impatiently because she wanted him to fuck her.

Taking that as another cue from her, Leo found his groove and began to really fuck her. Every thrust from him was fast and hard. He was going deep inside then coming almost all the way out, just to slam back into her. Her moans, groans, cries of pleasure, shrieks and whimpers were fuel to him so he would keep going.

He had one hand on the headboard behind her to steady himself and the other rubbing her clit. He wants her to explode with him. The stimulation from him sent her over the edge and crashing into her orgasm. Feeling her muscles squeeze his length sent him to the moon. He emptied himself into the condom then passed out with her.

When Leo woke up later, he was hungover and pretty sure he’d just had in a weird dream that involved him and sex with Hana. The dream became reality, when he saw the empty tequila bottle and the used condom. That’s when he looked over and saw Hana passed out next to him.

“Oh shit! This is VERY bad!” He muttered, before grabbing his phone and texting the person he knew to text: His brother Marquise.

#choices #pixelberry #choices stories you play #khoicesbyk #choices fanfiction #fanfic #the royal romance #hana lee #leo rys

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yukiobeyme · 4 years

Note

Your tattoo shop AU sounds cute! I’d love to hear more about it!!

I’m so sorry for how long this is, but thank you to you and @s8ncake , @asmos-pet , @aguacats , @dj-night-owl , @avellanna-world for enabling me to write and share this. I am putting it under the cut because it is extremely long, like way too long. I am so sorry.

So AciesGecko on Twitter Piercing Diavolo has been living in my mind rent-free and like Tattoo Shop! AU. Their @ here is the same but they suffered from me tagging them once but here is their tweet that inspired it ( x) (it can also be found on Tumblr here: x)

This was originally found on my Twitter but I have made edits and added more details to indulge everyone because I really like this idea. I don’t have any relationships in it, but it could easily have DiaLuci, Solomon/Asmodeus, and Barbatos/Simeon. I have this currently have Lucifer being Satan’s biological father and Lucifer is a single parent. But anyway now into the actual meat and enjoyment of this Tattoo Shop! AU

Welcome to Royal Art and Design (RAD) owned by Diavolo Rey. (It’s my default last name for Diavolo, in my modern DiaLuci fic his name is Diago and someone suggested Rey because it meant King in Spanish and so it’s just stuck.) Diavolo was supposed to take over his father’s company but fell in love with tattooing instead.

This caused major tension and Diavolo’s dad just thinks Diavolo is being rebellious and will one day realize his mistake and crawl back to his Dad but as Diavolo is in his late twenties to early thirties, Diavolo doesn’t regret the tattoo shop. Diavolo is covered with piercings and tattoos that he shows off constantly. Something that also upsets his father because it isn’t professional to have all those tattoos and piercings.

The shop’s main receptionist is Barbatos, a childhood friend of Diavolo. Barbatos’ family lived on the Rey’s property and were their butlers. Barbatos is about 10 years older than Diavolo but they are close friends and Barbatos would follow Diavolo anywhere. Barbatos has far fewer tattoos and piercings than Diavolo. Most of his tattoos are covered except for the ones on his hands.

Then you have the six “brothers”. They aren’t by blood but by choice. They all grew up in (and out of) the foster system.

The oldest is Lucifer, a renowned tattoo artist (honestly no one knows how Diavolo convinced Lucifer to work with him) Lucifer has a unique tattoo style, something that is sought after. Diavolo loved and adored Lucifer’s style and could recognize his work from a mile away. Diavolo begged and pleaded with Lucifer to work at his shop and was glad they came up with the agreement.

I haven’t decided yet but Lucifer is either covered in tattoos, that he always has covered. Long sleeve button-ups and long pants are a part of Lucifer’s everyday wear. Something Diavolo has told him isn’t necessary. OR Lucifer surprisingly has no tattoos but either way has his ears gauged and an eyebrow piercing and is constantly covered up. (I am leaning towards him being covered in tattoos)

Diavolo constantly compliments Lucifer’s skin and say how it would be a dream to tattoo because he is so pale. Any color would pop and look good and honestly, Diavolo is waiting and hoping for the day, Lucifer lets him tattoo Lucifer. (Spoiler Lucifer will probably let Diavolo tattoo a huge back piece)

Soon after getting out of foster care, Lucifer got a girl pregnant. He didn’t know until he was contacted. Saying how the mother had given up her rights to the child and he could either sign his rights way or take the child. Not wanting his kid in foster care, Lucifer adopted Satan.

So while Lucifer is in his late thirties Satan just turned 18 and is a walking contradiction. He already filled up one of his arms with tattoos and has plenty of piercings, he loves nothing more than to curl up and read books (he wears big chunky black glasses). Lucifer tried his best to be supportive of Satan wanting to get tattoos but also had to play the bad cop and make sure Satan understood how permanent they were and if he really wanted them.

Satan more or less just hangs out at the shop all the time, that he might as well work there too. He interested in Art and is hoping to attend college for it. Diavolo said if Satan wants to intern at RAD and be a tattoo artist all he had to do is say the word and Diavolo is willing to make it happen.

The second oldest of the “brothers” is Mammon. Mammon was more or less a pity case went it comes to getting his job at RAD. He got in and out of trouble and found himself in jail for a bit, gambling and tax fraud isn’t a good mix. During his time Mammon found himself getting prison tattoos and even taught himself how to tattoo. Something that honestly was encouraged because if it allowed him to have a skill he could use once he was out then it was a skill worth him learning.

Once Mammon was released, he found he still had a gambling problem. Lucifer allowed him to crash on his couch and Diavolo put him through the wringer but told Mammon if he could prove himself he earned himself a spot at RAD and Mammon passed with flying colors.

Mammon’s tattoos are old school and traditional but have a uniqueness to them because of where he learned his skill set. It’s also evident in how Mammon moves around the piece and even how he holds his equipment. Mammon isn’t a fan of piercings, “they hurt too much!” “You have tattoos on YOUR FACE!” He does have his tongue and septum pierced though.

Third is Leviathan, an otaku but has beautiful Japanese-style tattoos. Even went abroad to Japan to learn about tattooing. In between appointments you can find him either watching anime or playing some game on his phone. Levi had his tongue pierced for a bit but went ahead and committed to having his tongue split. Definitely talked Diavolo into having a fish tank and Levi own reptiles (Is this important to the story? Not really but good to know)

The fourth is Asmodeus. He is the head piercer at RAD and it shows. Asmodeus only has tattoos on his fingers and they are small dots, very minimalist. He also helps Barbatos with receptionist duties. Loves wearing crop tops to show off his belly ring. And flirts with everyone, mainly because it hard to be nervous when you have such a gorgeous person flirting with you.

Finally, the last two “brothers” are the only ones that are related. The twins, Beelzebub and Belphegor. Their style of tattoos are the complete opposite. While Beelzebub focuses on lots of colors, Belphegor works in black and white with maybe one or two colors. Beelzebub is really fit and has full sleeves on both arms and one leg. Belphegor has both hands tattooed and one-half sleeve. He has a hard time finding and committing to a tattoo design, so he waits until it’s perfect. He also is one of the only people Diavolo knows that can fall asleep while being tattooed, it’s quite impressive.

Then you have the current interns Solomon and Simeon (and MC if you want to include them) The application process was intense and it means something to be an intern at RAD because you are honestly learning from the best and learning multiple different styles and perspectives.

Solomon is learning how to pierce too if it’s because of the attraction to the head piercer well no one needs to know about that. While Simeon is strictly doing tattoos and focuses on traditional styles, nothing too modern and not too many colors/ complex colors; “You can’t use the color straight from the tube Simeon, that’s just not right!”

Simeon is the legal guardian to his godson Luke, who is constantly found at the shop too. Energetic and loves to draw then show it off to everyone. Simeon is a little old to be an intern but Diavolo took the chance with him. Something Lucifer disagrees with.

“Wasn’t he apart of your family at one point?” Diavolo asked at some point

“Yes, but he was adopted. We are brothers no more”. was Lucifer’s only response, and didn’t talk any further on the topic.

That’s all I have at this point, but it’s a lot and I just need it in my life. Someone help me do punk edits of the boys. Like maybe I’ll write a small piece on it eventually, but this could easily turn into a huge work that I don’t currently have the time to plan or write. Because tbh I would make DiaLuci a thing for sure, but add Simbarb and Solodeus just for fun or have them as a side relationship.

#obey me #yuki speaks #yuki rambles #Yuki Writes!#yuki writes #tattoo shop AU!#Please someone indulge me in something #im sorry how much I wrote #but you don't understand #I planned this all out at work #and that 6 hours of world building

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silvergrayandmauve · 4 years

Text

Maybe Our Real Soulmates Were The...

[Edited to add more tags]

Fandoms: The Flash and Arrow

Pairings: Barry & Felicity, Barry/Cisco (pre-Barrisco), Felicity/Oliver (implied/pre-Olicity), multiple canon couples (mentioned)

Rating: T

Words: 5,501

Status: Complete/One shot

Warnings: None apply

Summary:

Felicity knew from the moment she looked into Barry’s eyes that he was her soulmate. Barry knew from the moment Felicity gave him her name that she was his. So why do they both feel like they’re completely wrong for each other?

A soulmate AU wherein everyone is born with a mark on their wrist that tells them something about the person they’re meant to be with. Boys get the first letter of their soulmate’s name, girls get a dot in the color that’s most deeply associated with their soulmate. For some people, this makes finding their soulmates easy. For others, it just makes it harder.

Hurt/comfort with some fluff.

This fic is also available on AO3 and FFN.

Felicity knew from the moment she looked into Barry’s eyes that he was her soulmate. The jade green of his eyes, while not the same shade as the mark on her wrist, was close enough for her to give the cute CSI a second look and try to catch his attention.

Green was an annoyingly commonplace color for people to be associated with, whether because they were environmentalists, they were in the army, or they considered smoking weed to be a personality trait. Felicity had met tons of boys in middle school alone who had liked green, or had some other reason why it might be the color that the-powers-that-be associated with their souls; she had met just as many girls with green dots on their wrists, in varying shades.

Had Felicity been more of a romantic, she might have been daunted by the vast number of meanings her soul mark could hold, and of the vast number of people who could potentially be her soulmate. As it was, she had kept her focus on honing her computer skills, and didn’t concern herself with finding true love.

But when the lanky stranger from Central City had waltzed into Applied Sciences uninvited, dripping with rainwater and rambling like an adorable know-it-all, Felicity couldn’t help but be a little smitten with him, and one glance at those dreamy eyes, and she thought that maybe finding her soulmate would be easier and more satisfying than she’d thought.

Barry knew from the moment Felicity gave him her name that she was his soulmate. All his life, he had puzzled at the F on his wrist, and at the severe lack of girls he knew whose names began with that letter—and of the ones he did know, he’d been puzzled by his own severe lack of interest in them. He had had a handful of girlfriends and crushes in his time, but never anyone who matched his soul mark. The girl he had had the strongest feelings for was his friend, Iris, and that was a name that decidedly did not begin with an F.

As a child, Barry used to hope pointlessly that there would be a way for his F to somehow point to Iris, anyway—maybe the name on her birth certificate was Francine, after her mother, but she’d had it changed to Iris at a young age due to her love of purple (it was reach, but hey, a guy could dream). Maybe she had been adopted and her parents had never told her, and her birth name had been something else. Maybe there had been some mix-up in the universe, and some guy in love with a girl named Fiona or Frieda or something was walking around with an I on his wrist that he would never be able to make sense of. But then, if there had been a mix-up in the universe, then Barry and Iris had been struck twice, because try as he might, Barry couldn’t find a connection between himself and the cobalt-blue dot on Iris’s wrist.

With time, Barry’s crush on Iris had faded, and he’d stopped entertaining such notions of finding a way to twist fate to work in his favor. They would always love each other as friends, and that was good enough for him. Then he had met Felicity, and everything seemed to fall into place at last.

Felicity was smart and funny and pretty, and she shared a lot of Barry’s interests. And she worked with the Arrow, so she was obviously good at keeping secrets and cared about protecting her city—both extremely valuable traits, as Barry would come to find when his life was turned upside down and he took on the role of Central City’s own protective vigilante.

Felicity couldn’t be a more perfect match—for a science nerd or for a superhero. There was no more searching to be done, as far as Barry was concerned; Felicity was the one.

Felicity couldn’t have agreed more, and the two had begun dating at once.

They kept their relationship long-distance for a long time, texting often and visiting one another on occasion—sometimes on official Flash or Arrow business, sometimes just to see each other. But over time, they had found that as much as they enjoyed each other’s friendship, they never got quite as close as they were to their friends that they saw every day. They certainly didn’t seem to be getting close enough to really consider themselves a couple, let alone soulmates.

There was only one thing to be done about it then: one of them had to move.

Barry would never have asked Felicity to uproot her life for him, and he had come very close to offering to just zoom into town more often, since it was less trouble than making Felicity take the train to see him. But Felicity had insisted that she wanted to spend more time in “the fun city”, because it would sure beat having to deal with all the gangs, assassins, terrorists, and the like that Team Arrow regularly had to face off with. Team Flash’s enemies were much less menacing, and the team itself more lighthearted and less secretive, and—well, Barry couldn’t really argue with that logic.

Felicity didn’t move all at once; first she would need to find her own place, and before she did that, she would have to first become familiar enough with the city to know where to establish her new home; her new life.

Until she was ready to move completely, Caitlin offered to let her crash at her place, and to help her go apartment hunting.

For the first few weeks, everything went swimmingly. Team Flash welcomed Felicity into their midst with open arms; Caitlin was delighted to have a new roommate, and Iris had a new shopping buddy, Joe and Cecile had another guinea pig to test their grandmothers’ recipes on to determine whose was better, and Cisco had a fellow tech nerd to brainstorm with. And together, Cisco and Felicity were finally able to co-engineer a security system for S.T.A.R. Labs that would keep all unwanted guests out (probably).

Felicity got along great with everyone, and everyone got along great with her.

The problems started when she and Barry realized that they weren’t spending enough time together alone.

Okay, not a big deal, they’d thought—so most of their time together was spent as part of a group. They would just have to start scheduling regular date nights to get some quality one-on-one time together.

It wasn’t so bad at first. They had similar tastes in restaurants and movies, so it was easy enough to pick outings that would be enjoyable for both of them. But then the movies would end, dinner would be over, conversation topics would run dry, and when there was nothing left to do, it would be just the two of them. Alone. Together. Bored out of their minds.

Some date nights ended early, with one or both of them offering up a half-formed excuse about having something they needed to do at home, or needing to help one of their friends with some vague project that never came up in conversation again. If they were lucky, someone would be out committing a crime somewhere, so the Flash would be called away to go and stop them, and they would be spared the effort of making something up.

Other nights, they would go home together, unsure of their own intentions, and this would result in their spending the rest of their evening together on the couch, with only a handful of options to bide their time until it was time to turn in for the night. This would be less of a problem if Barry and Felicity had had more heat between them. The physical attraction was there, but it wasn’t strong enough to motivate either of them to initiate much more than a light make-out session, and sometimes they didn’t even go that far.

Date nights weren’t the only roadblock in their relationship though; there was also the issue of their not being as infatuated as other couples, and whenever they were working a case or just hanging out with the rest of the team, they couldn’t help but notice the contrast between their own relationship and their friends’. Joe and Cecile were a playful, flirty couple, Eddie and Iris were always finding new ways to surprise each other, Wally and Jesse got downright giddy around each other, and Cisco often had a lovestruck and bittersweet smile on his face when he returned from his visits to Earth-19, always feeling they could never be long enough. But Barry and Felicity had no such romantic ardor for each other. He bought her flowers sometimes, and she said they were pretty, and sometimes they went for long walks together and did other stuff that could be considered romantic. But were romantic activities really romantic on their own if the people doing them weren’t acting out of affection?

But perhaps worst of all, Barry and Felicity weren’t even each other’s favorite person to spend time with in a non-sexual, non-romantic scenario. Barry had always heard old couples say that the key to a long marriage was building a solid friendship with your partner so that you wouldn’t get bored with each other when the honeymoon phase ended. Barry and Felicity were only dating, and they were pretty sure they hadn’t had a honeymoon phase yet. And as awful as it felt to admit to himself, the companionship Barry found in his other friends was deeper and more enjoyable than what he had with Felicity. She had a fun personality, certainly, and she could be a good source of emotional support, but there was nothing she brought to his life that he didn’t get just as good, or even better, coming from Cisco. Why wasn’t their relationship growing the way it was supposed to? What was he doing wrong?

It had finally come to an end one day after a Flash and Kid Flash training session, when Barry had reluctantly sighed that he should probably get ready for his date with Felicity, and Wally had blurted out eloquently, “Dude, are you even happy?”

It seemed to be all Barry had needed to hear to recognize how ridiculous it was to be trying so hard to make a fairytale romance out of a relationship he had such limited enthusiasm for. And so, with a little encouragement from his brother, he had set out to tell Felicity how he really felt.

Felicity had beaten him to the punch, having had a similar conversation with Cecile, who had felt the waves of apathy coming off of her at the mention of the night she and Barry had planned together. Once both their feelings were out in the open, it had been all downhill from there.

“I really like you, Felicity.”

“I really like you, too, Barry. But there’s just…”

“There’s no sparks.”

“None.”

“I kept hoping, in time, we’d fall in love, but—”

“It ain’t happening.”

“Yeeeaaah, it’s really not.”

Breaking up had never been an easier or more relieving experience. Their friendship survived—improved, even without the self-inflicted pressure of trying to make it into something more than it was—but it soon became apparent that that wasn’t enough to keep Felicity in Central City.

A week or so after their breakup, Felicity had walked into the Cortex to announce to the team that she was returning to Starling City. Everyone was sad to see her go, but they were all in support of her choosing whatever made her happy.

Most everyone had said their goodbyes to her then, before shuffling off to do whatever they’d had to do while there were no villains to focus on catching. Barry, however, had decided to accompany Felicity to the train station to see her off. It just seemed like the right thing to do, seeing as how she had come all this way out just to be with him in the first place.

The train, of course, was not the fastest mode of transportation between cities. Barry had offered to run Felicity there, and he had also pointed out that, while Cisco was otherwise preoccupied on another earth at the moment, she could always travel by breach if she used an extrapolator. But Felicity had insisted on taking the train; she liked the downtime that the commute offered her, and she wanted to enjoy the scenery as the train sped along.

So here they sat, waiting together on a wooden bench for Felicity’s ride home to pull into the station.

Felicity stared at the soul mark on her wrist as she waited, brushing her fingers over it lightly. “You know Lyla’s is green, too?” she said, breaking the contemplative silence they had been sitting in for the past several minutes. “It’s brighter than mine—almost luminescent—and she hasn’t figured out what hers means, either. I asked her once if she thinks it’s pointing to Diggle. She said she didn’t care, because she’s with the person she loves, and it doesn’t matter if he’s the person the universe meant for her to end up with or not.”

Barry hummed thoughtfully. “Leave it to Lyla to tell destiny to shove it.”

“Probably for the best,” said Felicity. “Bright colors aren’t really Dig’s thing. He’s more of a navy and burgundy kinda guy.” After a moment’s consideration, she added, “His mark is an L, though, so who knows? God, these things are so weird.”

“Yeah, they are,” Barry agreed. Then he turned to look at Felicity, the mention of Lyla and Diggle’s marks piquing his curiosity about the rest of Team Arrow’s. “Hey, what’s Oliver’s?” he asked. “Do you know?”

Felicity rolled her eyes fondly. “He claims he doesn’t have one,” she replied. “Of course, if that were true, he wouldn’t have to hide it under that wristband all the time. It’s like part of his whole playboy image or something; can’t let the girls you’re hooking up with see your soulmate’s initial in case it gives her a complex—for one reason or the other.”

“Wait, you mean he keeps it on when he’s—”

“Mhm,” Felicity confirmed with a nod of her head. “Just ask Sara. He sleeps in it, too.”

“Wow,” said Barry, a little impressed by Oliver’s level of determination, and more than a little disgusted by the concept as a whole.

“Anyways, I think I’m just gonna go back to not trying to find mine,” said Felicity. “Soulmate, that is—my soulmate. I don’t have a wristband that I sleep with. I mean in. I mean I don’t—oh whatever, you know what I mean. What I’m trying to say is, it was nice thinking I’d found my soulmate for a while, but…I don’t know, I think if the universe really wants for me to be with someone specific, it can just bring him to me. I can figure out if the mark is for him later.”

Barry nodded. “I think that’s a very good idea,” he said. “I should probably do that, too, honestly. I mean, I’m not even friends with any other girls who have F for a first initial. If I assume every one I meet that I remotely get along with is her, then I’m probably just gonna get more of this.” He gestured at himself and Felicity as he spoke. “No offense.”

“None taken,” said Felicity. “Although I have to ask—have you ever considered the possibility that it might be Caitlin?”

Barry turned and looked at her like she had sprouted another head. “That doesn’t start with an F,” he said flatly, unsure how else to respond to such an off-the-wall suggestion.

“Frost does,” said Felicity. “And that orangeish dot on her wrist does look kind of like the lightning you make when you run.”

“Oh,” said Barry. But he shook his head. “Nah, I’m pretty sure it’s orange because of Firestorm,” he said. “Besides, Ronnie’s soul mark was a C—and believe me, if you’d ever seen them together, you’d know they were meant for each other.”

“Mm. Good point,” said Felicity. After a brief pause, she added, “And men’s soul marks are more by the book, anyway. I knew a guy whose soulmate was a girl who went by her middle name, and everyone thought he was with the wrong person because his soul mark was still her first initial. I knew another guy whose soul mark was ‘JM’, and we all thought he was going to be a polygamist until he started dating a guy named John-Mark. But with girls, you never know what ours is gonna mean—is it his favorite color, his eye color, is there a color in his name somewhere? Boy, whoever the god of love is, he’s sure sexist as hell.”

Barry let out a huff of laughter. “Yeah, your team really got screwed over there,” he said. “It is weirdly reassuring to know that other guys’ marks aren’t some cryptic puzzle they have to decode, though—y’know, beyond the thousands of names that could possibly start with that letter.”

“Well,” Felicity said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t your soulmate. But I’m sure she’s out there somewhere and just waiting for the universe to bring you two together.”

Barry nodded his head. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “We’ll find each other; I still believe that. And I’m sure you’ll find yours, too.”

Felicity smiled. “Thanks.”

Another stretch of silence passed between them as they watched the platform start to fill up with more people the nearer they got to the next train’s arrival time.

“Are you sure you want to move back?” Barry asked after a little while. “I mean, after all, you are leaving the ‘fun city’.”

Felicity laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure,” she replied. “Thea says Team Arrow could use some ‘nerd expertise’. She also says that Oliver’s somehow gotten even broodier since I moved, and if he keeps at it, the whole city will actually be swallowed up in his own personal rain cloud.”

They both chuckled at that for a moment, and then Felicity’s expression turned softer. “Besides, I miss everyone,” she said. “I even kind of miss some of the things I thought I wanted to get away from. Maybe it just took some time away for me to realize that I was in the right place all along.”

Barry gave an approving nod. “Then that’s definitely where you need to be,” he agreed.

The train arrived not long after that, and Barry and Felicity said their last goodbyes, wishing each other well, and then they parted ways, both feeling happier that they could finally get on with the rest of their lives.

So they hadn’t been each other’s soulmates after all. That was okay. Most people didn’t find their soulmates on the first try, and they were both young and had plenty to do that didn’t involve diving headlong into a relationship, anyway.

The sun was beginning to set as Barry left the train station, wandering aimlessly at first, and then finding himself heading in the direction of S.T.A.R. Labs. He wondered if Cisco had gotten back from his date yet, and if so, how it had gone. Maybe there would be a fun new story to hear about his escapades on Earth-19.

Dusk had fallen by the time he arrived, and he meandered about from room to room in the big empty facility, before ultimately coming to a stop in the lounge.

Cisco was sitting at the bar, one hand resting on his knee and the other holding on to the edge of the bar as he swiveled back and forth listlessly on one of the stools.

Barry frowned, stepping further into the room. This wasn’t the same wistful mood that getting back from a date with his kickass girlfriend usually left him in. Something was wrong.

“Hey,” Barry said as he drew nearer to the bar.

Cisco looked up in surprise, having just realized that he was no longer alone. “Oh, hey,” he said casually, quickly turning his gaze back to the bar and letting his curls fall forward lazily.

Barry inclined his head a little, trying to get a good look at Cisco’s face, but he couldn’t see past his hair from where he was standing. “You okay?” he asked, taking a tentative step closer.

Cisco didn’t look up. “Yeah,” he responded in a stilted voice. “I’m great.”

Uh oh.

Barry had heard those words in that tone before. Something was definitely wrong.

He came the rest of the way over to the bar, stopping just beside the stool Cisco was seated at.

Cisco pretended not to notice that Barry was now standing beside him, and he adjusted his position, folding both arms in front of him on the bar in a manner meant to look more relaxed, and turning his head just the slightest bit, effectively obscuring his face behind his hair once again.

“Hey,” Barry said, more softly this time, and he gently set his hand on Cisco’s forearm.

Cisco stiffened a little at the touch, but he didn’t try to turn away again.

“What’s going on?” Barry asked. “You know you can talk to me.”

Cisco remained silent, but the tension in his body was starting to fall away as he collected himself. Then, slowly, he swiveled his stool toward Barry and lifted his head to meet his gaze. His eyes were dry, but the threat of tears wasn’t too far off, and he heaved a little sigh before he finally spoke: “I finally found out what Gypsy’s real name is.” With a sad smile, he added a little unsteadily, “It’s Cynthia.”

Barry’s heart ached for his friend as he made the connection that Cisco was visibly hoping he would make on his own so he wouldn’t have to say it aloud yet: the first letter of “Cynthia” didn’t match the mark on his wrist.

“Dude, that sucks. I’m so sorry,” said Barry. “Are you guys okay?”

Cisco shrugged, starting to pick idly at his fingernails. “If you can call two people who had an amicable breakup ‘okay’, then yeah, I guess,” he mumbled.

Barry’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, so…that’s it?” he asked, a little thrown by this revelation. “I mean, Wally and Jesse aren’t a soul mark match, but—I don’t know, they seem pretty happy together. We don’t really know that you can’t make it work with someone who’s not your soulmate. D-do we?” He tacked on the last part uncertainly. Sure, none of Cisco’s other exes’ names had started with the right letter, and those relationships had all ended, despite how promising they might have been in the beginning—but was that really by design, or just coincidence? Was anything in life ever really certain, after all?

Cisco shook his head. “It’s not just that,” he said. “When I brought up the whole mark thing and asked if she thought that would be an issue when things got more serious between us, she said it didn’t matter, because she doesn’t want things to get too serious. Turns out, the whole marriage-and-kids thing isn’t something she’s interested in. Like, ever.” He looked up at Barry again as he added, “But I am, and it’s not something I want lightly.” Then he sighed, looking down again. “So we talked it over some more, and in the end we both agreed to break it off. It just…it seemed like it made sense.”

It sounded like a rational enough decision to Barry, but the doubt in Cisco’s voice held him back from saying so. “Didn’t it?” he asked instead, keeping his tone neutral.

Cisco shrugged. “I guess,” he said. “I don’t know, maybe it’s stupid to break up with someone who makes me so happy right now, when I won’t be ready to start a family for another few years, at least. But…”

“But…you already know what you want, and you don’t want to keep getting more and more attached to someone you’re never going to be able to move forward with?” Barry offered.

Cisco nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly. He fell silent then, staring down at his hands.

He looked so miserable, it hurt Barry to think how he must be feeling, and he tried to think of just the right thing to say to somehow make this whole unfortunate situation suck a little less. It was hard when he knew that what Cisco really needed was time. There were a lot of unpleasant things in life that Barry was able to speed up the process for, but healing from a broken heart was not one of them.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” he said finally. “I know it hurts, and I wish there was something I could do to make it stop. But it sounds like you made the decision that was right for you. If you know the kind of life and relationship that you want, then I think you should go for it, and not let anything hold you back.” He shrugged. “And y’know, I’m sure it’ll all be easier once you find the right person.”

Much to Barry’s confusion and horror, rather than comforting Cisco, these words just seemed to make him feel worse. His eyes started to shimmer, and he blinked rapidly to get his composure back under control, sniffing a little.

Crap, what did I say?

“Cisco?” Barry said, looking him over with concern. “Hey. What’s wrong? Is there something else?”

Cisco rubbed his fingers against his forehead wearily. “It’s just that,” he said. “I don’t know if I will find the right person. Barry…what if I don’t have a soulmate?”

Barry blinked. Where was this coming from? “What are you talking about?” he asked. “Of course you do. You have the mark right there on your wrist! You just haven’t met her yet.”

“Unless I have, and just didn’t know it at the time,” said Cisco. “But if I did, then it’s already too late for me to do anything about it, because she…she blew up.”

Barry just stared at Cisco in confusion for a moment. But between the initial on Cisco’s wrist and the limited—if still above average—number of people they’d known who had gotten caught in explosions, it didn’t take him long to realize who he was referring to.

“Aw, man, no,” he said, shaking his head. “No way. You only knew her for like, a couple days.”

“What if that’s all I get?” Cisco countered, growing frantic. “Caitlin only had a few years with Ronnie before she lost him. Dante had an S on his wrist, and we never even got to find out what it stood for. What if I never get the chance to fall in love, either? What if I’m going to spend the rest of my life not knowing if I just haven’t met my soulmate yet, or if I lost her before I even had time to really get to know her? What if it’s over before it’s even started?!”

“It’s not,” Barry said insistently. “Hey, look at me.” He set his hands on Cisco’s shoulders and waited for him to look him in the eye. “There is someone out there for you, alright? I don’t know who, or when you guys are gonna meet, but you will. And when you do, you’re gonna be glad it never worked out with anyone else, because you finally found the person who is just right for you. Don’t give up now, it’ll all work out. You’ll see.”

Cisco breathed in deeply and nodded his head, letting Barry’s words sink in and trying to believe them. Then he let the breath out in a soft sigh. The doubt was still there, Barry could see, but giving voice to it seemed to have lessened its weight a little.

After he’d taken enough time to steady himself, Cisco said, “I guess it’s just hard to picture everything working out when all I can think about is everything that’s not working out.”

Barry looked from side to side, as though doing so could help him find the solution to making Cisco feel better. “Well…do you wanna go out and find something to take your mind off of all this?” he asked. “We could go bowling or to laser tag, or whatever—your pick.”

Cisco gave him a small smile, grateful for the offer, but Barry could see his answer in his eyes before he even said it. “Thanks, but…I’m not really feeling up to it right now. I think I’m just gonna hang out here for a while. I don’t think I’d be much fun tonight, anyway.” With a hesitant look in his eyes, he added, “Another time?”

Barry nodded. “Yeah, of course,” he said. “Whenever you want.”

Cisco gave him another appreciative smile. Then he swiveled back toward the bar, as if to signal to Barry that now was the opportune moment for him to be making his exit if he wanted to be able to make most of his night. At least one of them still could.

Taking his cue, Barry slowly backed away and then started for the door, giving Cisco his space, though he had no idea where he intended to go or what he wanted to do.

He had barely had time to consider his options when he looked back saw that Cisco had let his gaze drop again, and with it, his smile and the rest of his efforts to look more optimistic than he felt.

Barry stopped. In an instant, his mind was made up, and he started back toward the bar.

As he did, he kept his eyes on Cisco, watching him for any sign that he didn’t want him to be here—that maybe he really wanted to be left alone—but he saw none; just the look of surprise that flickered across Cisco’s face the moment he caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye, which was quickly replaced by a touched, if slightly guilty look as Barry pulled up the stool next to his and made himself at home.

For a moment, nothing happened. The two just sat quietly, Barry on the fence between saying something to ease the odd tension that had set in or just leaving it alone, and Cisco fidgeting awkwardly and avoiding eye contact, as he clearly seemed to think he was putting Barry out in some way.

When a minute or so had passed with no change to Cisco’s demeanor, Barry decided it was time for him to do something. Mimicking Cisco’s subtle-yet-deliberate manner of moving from earlier when he’d tried to hide that he was upset, Barry casually laid his forearm across the top of bar, turning his palm upward, and then he just waited.

The movement caught Cisco’s eye, and his brow furrowed as he just looked at Barry’s hand for a moment, trying to determine whether or not Barry was doing what he thought he was doing. Another moment later, he glanced up at Barry, a hesitant curiosity in his eyes.

Barry just gave his eyebrows an expectant bounce, unable to help a little grin. Yes, it’s an invitation.

Cisco grinned back. Moving his own arm across the space between them, he slotted his hand into Barry’s, relaxing a little bit more when Barry gave it a comforting squeeze.

And that was how they remained, as the last of the daylight faded into darkness, and the buildings outside the window behind them started to light up as Central City’s night life got into full swing. The world outside was all abustle, but inside the lounge, everything was peaceful and quiet, with only the steady whir of the refrigerator and the occasional sound of the S.T.A.R. Labs air conditioner kicking on to break the silence.

Sitting silently at the lounge’s bar and doing nothing wasn’t exactly how Barry had expected to be spending his evening, but he didn’t so much as consider doing anything else. He was going to stay by Cisco’s side for as long as he needed him to, even if that meant he would be here all night.

Their joined hands shifted now and then as the evening wore on, and eventually found their most comfortable and natural position, with Cisco’s forearm crossed just slightly over Barry’s and the side of his hand resting on the bar so that both of their hands were now side by side, rather than one on top of the other. Both grips had loosened a bit but without letting go, and Barry was content to leave them as they were for a good while longer.

Funny how the F on his wrist aligned so neatly with the B on Cisco’s.

Author’s Note: This is an odd approach to soul marks, I know, but I had a very specific story that I wanted to tell, and in order for it to work, I needed there to be a reason why Felicity could mistake Barry for her soulmate instead of Oliver. Green was the only thing I could think of that they (sort of) had in common that could possibly cause that mix-up (although I mean…come, on, Felicity, duh), hence why girls get colors instead of initials. It ended up being a much more fun concept to play with than I’d initially expected, but I only developed it as far as I needed to to work for this particular cast of characters, so there are still a lot of uncharted avenues left to explore. If anyone else would like to use this concept in their own works, feel free to do so. Or if anyone has headcanons/speculations about how these types of soul marks would affect categories of people not represented in this story (trans, intersex, aroace, colorblind, nonbinary, etc.), go ahead and leave your thoughts in the comments. It’s definitely something I’ve thought about as well, and I’d love to hear your takes on it.

#The Flash #Arrow #Barrisco #Barry Allen #Felicity Smoak #Cisco Ramon #Olicity #fics by silver

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