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moonstrider9904 · 2 years

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The Ace Auror

Chapter 1 of Moonwalker: The Flame

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{crossposted to Wattpad} {crossposted to AO3}

Summary: Loss, anger, and turmoil have brought Sarah closer with her trusted Y-Wing, her astromech, and with the team’s engineer, Tech. Living mission to mission and settled on Ord Mantell, long months have been shrouded by the guild following the events that transpired since the destruction of Kamino and the separation from Crosshair.

Tags/Warnings: Mature. Allusions to polyamory. Heartbreak, arguments, emotional breakdowns. Angst.

Read the last chapter of Part I: The Batch for a brief recap!

Word count: 3.2k

Songs: aurora

A/N: Sarah returns alongside our favorite clones!!! I’m so excited for what Season 2 holds for us and for what it’ll mean for this fanfic, though I’ve already got some general ideas of how it’s going to play out regardless of canon (evil laughter). Thank you for reading! Enjoy! This chapter has no spoilers of Episodes 1 or 2 of TBB given that it is a prequel to them.

Chasing a sunset that drew farther away from her as the planet spinned, Sarah pushed the thrust of the Y-Wing forward ever so slightly. Speed cleared her mind, and flying was her solace.

Flying fast seemed to make everything okay for a few moments.

“You’re doing it again,” Tech’s voice came through the comm, breaking her from her trance.

“Might I remind you, you fly at this speed headed towards the ground,” Sarah spoke into her commlink.

“In the middle of persecutions, yes,” Tech’s modulated voice oddly made her smile. “You, however, are in no such situation.”

“Alas, I am flying away from my demons,” she bit back.

“Darling, you are far too pessimistic for someone who hasn’t drank anything tonight.”

She fancied a drink right about then. Something strong, preferably, but she’d steer clear from the Corellian whiskey. It reminded Sarah of him.

“You are far enough away from the city,” Tech mentioned, hiding his true instruction in his words.

A knot formed in her throat and the words wouldn’t come out, disappointed that she had to leave now that she’d only just arrived at a spot of Ord Mantell where she could disappear into.

“Can I stay out here just a bit longer?” Sarah answered with a voice too calm and disgustingly vulnerable, the way it had been too many times in those few months. “I like flying out here.”

Tech audibly sighed through the comm. “We’ve been out too long. We don’t want to make our avoidance feel too obvious.”

Sarah closed her eyes and exhaled everything, hating the fact that he was right all the time. When she opened them again, she looked ahead at the twilight, knowing she’d never catch that sun. The stars had begun to shine, almost as if they’d escort her back to the city.

She never felt alone when the stars came out.

“How rough do you want this turn to be?” Sarah tilted her head up and addressed her astromech.

You decide, boss! Rigel beeped back at her with his usual excitement.

Her gaze trailed forward once more as she figured she’d do something that felt good for once. With no buildings and people, it was the perfect place to try a stunt like that one, and as if her hands had minds of their own, she gave the thrust one more push for speed before tilting the handles up just enough to give the Y-Wing an acute angle upwards, its nose pointing to the east, offset. On instant, Sarah disengaged the thrust and sent the Ace Auror into a barrel roll for it to eventually turn itself in the air, where she engaged the thrust again at the perfect moment where it was upright, and the massive speed sent the ship in a straight line headed back for the speed.

Sarah smiled as she felt the sound barrier being broken outside the Auror; she’d nearly crashed the ship multiple times trying to get that stunt right. Regardless, the force pushing her back to the seat as the ship gained speed made her feel fulfilled, and her smile grew as she heard Rigel beeping in excitement from his spot. A small laugh left her, unaware that her comm was still turned on.

It didn’t take her long to return to the city, and the sight of the looming buildings slowly washed over the euphoria she’d only just found. Sarah clung to the adrenaline of flight and the weightlessness of not thinking about anything else as she approached the landing bay where she always left the Auror, and she finally let go of the sensations as she landed in the familiar bay.

Sarah and Rigel made it to ground level at the same time and were greeted by Tech; though he was walking toward them, his eyes were glued to his datapad as usual. Sarah knew better than to try and draw his attention from whatever he was focusing on, and as she waited there for him, watching him, she felt Rigel brushing up against her leg, his visor turning left and right as though to snuggle her.

“That was the first time I heard you laugh in a long time,” Tech broke the silence, his gaze still on the screen.

Sarah felt herself freeze. “What?”

“You heard me,” Tech finally turned off the datapad and looked at her through goggled eyes. “You laughed.”

“Well… yeah,” Sarah tried to brush off the sentiment. “I got a stunt right, and it felt great.” She looked down at Rigel. “Didn’t it?”

The astromech beeped happily in agreement.

“Whatever the cause, it’s welcome,” Tech’s lips curved in the most discreet of smiles and quickly eyed the ship in an attempt to change the subject. “I believe I did a good job on the thrusters, then.”

“You did,” Sarah confirmed.

“Excellent,” Tech walked over to the Y-Wing’s ladder and leaned his back on it, facing Sarah. “Perhaps I will make similar modifications to the Marauder.”

“You’re testing your bright ideas on my ship?” Sarah raised a brow.

“I am granting you exclusive access to cutting-edge modifications,” Tech corrected, his finger pointing up.

Sarah chuckled. “Right.”

“Well then,” Tech patted the ladder twice. “I’ll get to work on optimizing oil usage for your ship. You should go ahead and return to the saloon.”

“Um, excuse me?” Sarah crossed her arms at him. “You bring me back here saying we’ve been gone too long and then you stay here with my ship?”

“Working on your ship is my bailout, but for that, I actually need your ship here,” Tech explained.

“Well, flying is my bailout—”

“Sarah.” Tech straightened up from the ladder and positioned himself directly in front of her, staring directly into her soul. She quieted down and looked into his eyes, wondering to herself for a moment what they looked like without the goggles. She then realized how seldom she saw Tech without his endless gadgets.

But, with a sigh, Sarah drifted back to the conversation at hand. Apologetically, she looked at him, but she was also willing to beg him not to make her go if it was what it took. Tech had spent enough time with her for the past few months to know that about her, and his gaze softened into a soft scoff, almost smiling at her.

“You have to face them eventually,” he said.

“I have,” Sarah grumbled.

“No, you have coexisted for the sake of completing missions,” Tech answered. “That will not always work.”

Sarah sighed. “I’d really rather just stay here with you and the ship.”

“I know,” Tech said.

“And what about you?” Sarah challenged. “You’re about the only one who sees things from my perspective.”

“I am their brother, I have no choice but to eventually put things aside,” Tech replied. “You are a much different case. Now go.”

For a brief moment, she tried to think of an argument to retaliate with. Unable to find one, Sarah gave a heavy sigh of defeat and frowned up at Tech. “We’re both going to regret this.”

“The odds of that are not actually that high,” Tech said as she began to walk away from him.

“Whatever!” Sarah called back as she left.

At that hour, the seedy streets of Ord Mantell leading toward Cid’s cantina were reminiscent of a ghost town. Bits of trash drifted past Sarah’s feet with the breeze, and in the distance, the smell of burnt cooking oil came from one of the houses, probably someone aching to get one good snack and a full stomach before finishing their day.

Sarah really couldn’t wait to be done with it either. The thought was as numb as she was; it had simply been the way of things since that day on Kamino, ending a day to wake up to another, rinse and repeat.

She entered the cantina expecting the full squad to be there and, bracing for the worst, she was greeted by an empty saloon. The machines where Tech would usually play with Wrecker were abandoned, and there was no one pouring shots behind the bar. The stools in front of the bar hadn’t been taken by Hunter or by Echo, who would usually sit and talk over a drink, and Omega was nowhere to be seen wandering curiously about whatever piqued her interest that day.

And the makeshift target on the wall’s last blaster marks looked months old since the last time she’d practiced there with the Firepuncher rifle she’d adopted.

Between the disappointment and the relief at the fact that no one was there, Sarah didn’t know which feeling was greater. In any case, it meant she could make it all the way through the cantina without the need to avoid eye contact. Just as she was about to cross to the back hallway that led to their barracks, Sarah flinched at the sound of footsteps approaching her from her right flank. Snapping in their direction, Sarah froze at the sight of Echo, but then managed to exhale her tension.

Echo, ever the dear friend that he was, gave her a sad smile, which Sarah couldn’t quite will herself to return.

“Where is he?” She asked.

Echo sighed. “Hunter left the cantina a while ago. I haven’t seen him in our barracks.”

Sarah nodded, turning in the opposite direction. “Right. Well, I’d best be getting some shut-eye.”

“How was flying?” Echo asked. “Is Tech with you?”

Sarah stopped walking and faced Echo again, her body visibly relaxing. “He stayed behind working on the Auror, something about oil usage. You know what he’s like.”

“He’s happier than anyone that you have a ship of your own,” Echo chuckled.

As much as Sarah appreciated some light-hearted conversation with her best friend, she was distracted before she could continue it by Hunter’s silhouette emerging from Cid’s office. Even in the dim light of the hallway, she could see his sorrow, but it just wasn’t enough to tear her from her anger.

Not yet.

“No one more than me,” Sarah answered Echo’s comment, her gaze firm on Hunter. She finally looked back at her best friend. “Goodnight, Echo.”

When she turned around, she walked faster towards her bedroom and didn’t stop when she heard a voice calling her name; the voice didn't belong to Echo.

“Go to sleep, Hunter,” she spat, unbothered.

She arrived at her bedroom hoping it was the end of the night, but as she went to close her door, she saw Hunter had followed her like a wounded mastiff.

“Please, just talk to me,” he spoke softly.

Sarah scoffed. “I don’t want to.”

“But I do,” Hunter replied, the strain clear in his voice as he tried, hopelessly, to reach the woman he loved.

Sarah gave him a cynical smile. “Ah, of course. It’s what you want that matters in this family.”

She’d gotten to him, as was evident in the way Hunter’s features dropped, his chest shrinking as though he’d taken another bolt to it. She’d have felt proud if what she truly felt was hate, but it wasn’t long before Sarah’s cynicism and resolve faded entirely.

Looking at him hurt. It burned at the center of her chest where the Firepuncher bolt had once struck her; it spread out to the edges of her body in the form of ice, unable to decide if what she felt was grief or fury. Hardest of all were the fractals of memories that would plague her of the way they were before, of their oath in the kyber caves of Jedha, or their night at the hut after that, of every time Hunter would look her in the eyes and swear his love for her, his sole duty to protect her. Smiles in the middle of battle, laughs of relief after every close call, his big brown eyes yearning to hold her in his arms.

Sometimes, after Kamino, Sarah would manage a mid-battle smile at Hunter in the midst of the heat, a brief moment of respite to remember the team they were, the team they could be, but it only ever lasted less than a breath. Then, Sarah would remember everything. She would remember Crosshair, she would remember the choice she made, a promise she hadn’t been able to honor.

“Hunter…” she whispered.

His features softened; he let her see that adoration he held for her, but the hints of sorrow that it held broke her heart all over again. Hunter took a step towards Sarah, his hands slowly reaching out, hesitant to take her hands in his.

“I heard you were flying,” he said softly. “Did you have fun?”

Sarah nodded slowly, only able to meet his gaze for a few short seconds before she had to look away. In that time, she could feel Hunter’s pain growing, as did his exasperation to do anything that could fix things and make them better, as much like they were before as he could.

“Sarah…”

“I just… I-I need to go,” she interrupted, shaking her head as the need to run away overwhelmed her. “I–I promised Rigel I’d polish his servos—”

“Kiss me,” Hunter sighed, his eyes begging Sarah.

Her nebulous eyes closed, sighing deep in remorse—she hated hurting Hunter, that had never changed.

Alas, she still couldn’t give him what he wanted.

“Hunter, don’t do this,” she looked away from him.

“Please,” he finally reached out and held her hands, his grip soft.

Sarah looked up at him with big eyes already gleaming with the tears threatening to pool in them, and for a second, even she was able to let go of the wrath.

“I’m just not ready yet, Hunter,” she confessed, slowly letting go of him.

Hunter sighed, knowing not to push it further, but the words that remained unspoken tightened the knot in his throat, and with a pleading gaze, he looked Sarah in her eyes.

“I miss you, Sarah.”

And I miss him… The thought came inevitably to Sarah, but Hunter would still hear it. Realizing her thoughts were still with the sniper, Hunter took a step back.

“Right. I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything.”

Sarah couldn’t keep in her tears as Hunter left the room—the sound of her sniffling made it no easier on him either. After he was gone, she stood alone in the dim, white light of her bunk room as the emotions boiled inside her, threatening to burst unless she found some way to let them out.

She knew her power, and she knew she couldn’t—shouldn’t—explode there.

Sarah stormed out of the room and ran down the streets of Ord Mantell one more time, and she arrived at the landing bay in a flash. Running straight towards the Auror, she barely noticed Tech or Rigel shifting, concerned at her state.

“Sarah, what are you doing?” Tech called after her just as she reached the ladder.

She began climbing. “Sorry, but I need to fly.”

“Are you mad?” Tech set everything aside and met her at the ladder.

“Yes.”

“No, I meant mad as in crazy, not mad as in—Sarah, forget it, you cannot leave,” Tech reached out for Sarah’s ankle and stopped her.

Sarah glared down at him, her eyes flooded with tears ready to stream down her cheeks. “I’m not leaving, Tech, I just need to fly.”

“Absolutely not, you are not flying in this state,” Tech pulled her down to stand in front of her, gazing at her in confusion and concern as she wept. “Sarah…”

Sarah quieted her sobs down and finally met Tech’s goggled gaze, able to soften her still broken voice. “I told you we’d regret it.”

“Darling…” Tech’s voice softened. “What is it?”

“I just—I can’t, I can’t be around Hunter, I can’t be here, I need to get out of here—!” Her breathing quickened and her voice got louder, her sobs only intensifying.

“Shh, Sarah,” Tech grasped her shoulders, ultimately bringing her to look at him. “Sarah, breathe.”

Quieting down, Sarah looked up at Tech with the most sorrowful expression he had ever seen. Sniffling a couple more times, Sarah’s body relaxed, as if she couldn’t find it in herself to fight anymore.

“Tech…” She whimpered. “Can I please hug you?”

Tech didn’t hesitate before bringing her into his arms. She didn’t know why, but Sarah hadn’t fully expected him to go through with it—she’d asked him the question expecting a no for an answer, but this wasn’t a result she’d repel. For the first time in a long time, she was able to let herself go, to weep in someone’s arms without feeling remorse or resentment towards them, and it hadn’t dawned on her how much she’d needed it until that moment.

Of all the ways she’d imagined hugging Tech would be, nothing had prepared her for the care with which he held her. It was soft and silent, just as she needed, and Tech held out the whole time while she emptied her eyes on his shoulder, a feeling strange when he didn’t have his usual armor on.

She still had to get used to seeing him in more regular clothing.

Sarah had stopped crying before she knew it, and she felt tired, puffy, ready to go back to her bunk and collapse into sleep hoping the next day would be better.

But before she made her way back, Tech’s hand caught her fingers, giving them a squeeze.

“Get in the copilot seat,” he spoke.

Sarah blinked up at him. “What?”

“Copilot seat,” he repeated with a tiny smile and looked at Rigel. “You take your position too.”

Will do, Mr. Tech Sir!

As Rigel rolled past them, the little droid gave Sarah a little nudge before using his thrusters to take his spot at the center of the Y-Wing. Sarah managed a smile at her little astromech and climbed up the ladder, doing as Tech said. She’d never sat on that seat before, convinced she’d always be the one flying the Auror—things looked very different from it despite being only slightly behind the pilot seat.

After a few minutes, Tech emerged from the ladder and took his spot in the cockpit. Once he and Sarah had adjusted themselves, he lowered the canopy and powered up the engines, gently lifting the Y-Wing from its spot at the landing bay.

Drowsy, Sarah didn’t pay much attention to Tech’s flying. She didn’t have to, already knowing he was a phenomenal pilot. But the movements were gentle, and he wasn’t trying to show off in the least. And though she didn’t have her usual view, Sarah recognized fairly soon that he was taking the ship away from the city.

The place where Sarah had asked him earlier if she could stay in. So far away from the city, there was no light pollution to block away the stars, and Sarah allowed herself to look up at the endless night sky, gazing at the stars and planets and distant nebulae.

Tech couldn’t look back at her, but he could feel she was more calm. The engineer smiled at himself, glad he could fix something besides gadgets and ship components, and he knew without a doubt that at that moment, the night sky reflected Sarah’s eyes.

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romirola · 2 years

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youre a big redacted blog and i was just wondering what you think about the burn out posting thing a lot of blogs are talking about?

Hi, Anon! Thanks so much for reaching out with a question. I don’t think ‘big blogs’ exist in the Redactedverse fandom. If they did, I wouldn’t consider myself to be one of them. I’m happy to have a place to share my fanfics and headcanons with the fandom while getting to access everyone else’s fanfics, fanart, headcanons, playlists, and ideas. I enjoy the community of creativity of this space. It’s not often that I have a stake in anything else that happens to be going on in tumblr-land. Frankly, as you’ll see from my answer, I don’t have a stake in this answer, either, but I’m presuming that you’re asking this question from a genuine place of curiosity and community, so I will answer to the best of my limited abilities from my limited perspective.

I’m not familiar with the ‘burn out posting thing’ to which you refer, but I think I can gather what you mean based on how I post my own fanfics. I’m flattered you think I have my finger on the pulse of the fandom, but alas, I do not. If you’re looking for me to agree or to disagree with anyone else or to respond directly to something you’ve seen, I’m afraid you’re looking in the wrong place. I’m the first to admit that I have very few skills, but something I do very well is ignore posts that don’t bring me joy, whether that by blocking or simply letting my eyes skim over posts without comprehending or engaging with them. I certainly am willing to talk with and to listen to others in private conversations, but that's not anything I'd broadcast here. I am but a simple, predictable Romi.

I’ll respond as best I can to your question, but before I do, I first want to pause to offer some statements that I hope are obvious, but I feel must be included in conversations regarding writing, writing processes, authorial mindsets, etc.. Every writer writes for different reasons. Every person holds different opinions. Everyone has a different comfort level and means to move through the world happily and safely. I write for my own reasons. I hold my own opinions. I know my comfort level and seek to preserve my own happiness and safety. I can only speak for myself because I’m all I know. If other writers/artists/creators hold differing or contrasting opinions, that is perfectly valid and they are all deserving of respect and courtesy. In no way, shape, or form should my answer (or anything I post) be construed as invalidating, attacking, or otherwise negative towards anyone or any works.

If you’re still here and still interested, Anon, I’ll share my thoughts under the cut…

As a writer, I love it when people engage with my work. I LOVE IT SO MUCH. I love when people leave comments on AO3. I love when people leave kudos on AO3. I love when people bookmark on AO3. I love when people reblog and add comments/tags on Tumblr. I love when people reblog without saying anything on Tumblr. I love when people reply to my posts on Tumblr. I love when people like my posts on Tumblr. I love when people ask to be added to a taglist on Tumblr. I love when people send me DMs on Tumblr. I love when people (signed or anonymously) drop by my inbox on Tumblr. I love when people read my work anywhere.

All that said, I don’t write for comments/kudos/bookmarks/reblogs/DMs/asks. I write because I enjoy writing. Otherwise, and I mean this in a loving, kind way, I would be giving you people way too much power over my life.

I write because I enjoy writing. I post my writing because I enjoy sharing my work.

I adore a lot about the Redactedverse. You can tell from my work that I’ve got preferences regarding characters, storylines, genres, etc. I tend toward writing longer fics, though I’ve also got oneshots. I tend towards hurt/comfort and drama, but I’ve also got fluff and humor. I’ve got stories that mix up characters, prequels, AUs… For the most part, I like to write about my favorite characters and explore the storylines I think would be interesting, plausible, and compelling. Sometimes, I write gift-fics for people (for a variety of reasons) or I solicit prompts from anyone. Even when I write those stories for others, it still is (it has to be!) my own conceptions of the characters, plotlines, dialogue lines, etc, that drive the work. I’m thrilled to have the chance to show my love to people through my writing. Overall, my hope is that there’s something for everyone contained in my (still growing!) catalog of fics, but whether or not it does isn’t something I can control. What I can control is that I enjoy the stories I write and that I’m proud of the way I created plots, presented the characters, captured their voices, and constructed the stories. It’s fun to see my work live on AO3 so that I can reread it whenever I want. I do that frequently.

Like I said earlier in this post, though, I do welcome and cherish any and all feedback on my work. I think I value that feedback, in whatever form it comes, precisely because the feedback comes unmandated, unregulated, and otherwise without expectations. People make the choice to speak up and let me know they read my work, not because they have to, but because they want to. I wish I could fully articulate how incredibly special that makes me feel as a writer.

Mandating reblogs, asking for a certain number of comments, or something similar to that line of thinking that, for me and my approach to writing, would be dangerous. It takes the fun out of all the feedback that is freely left. Feedback isn’t a toll readers pay to access my work. I would never want to impose that, even if I had some way to enact such a bizarre construction.

Do I hope that people will, somehow in some way, choose to engage with me when they read my work? You bet I do. That’s why I respond to every comment I get on AO3. That’s why I respond to every reblog with comments/tags or replies on Tumblr. That’s why I keep my inbox open. I want to show my undying, overflowing gratitude when people choose to take that extra step by letting me know they liked what they read and, by reblogging, help more people see my work. It’s a true gift. That’s why I like to say thanks. Not only that, I’ve met some WONDERFUL fandom friends by replying to a comment, which turns into discussing characters, which turns into a string of DMs, and poof! Friendship achieved that includes but reaches beyond fandom. I hope everyone reading this has the chance to experience such joy in life.

As much as I enjoy receiving feedback, I also know blogs don’t exist in a vacuum. There are people on the other side of those usernames (Except the bots! Report and block those bastards!) Sometimes, people get way too anxious to be able to leave a comment. All they can do is kudo. Even though I don’t share that sentiment, I understand it. Sometimes, people aren’t ready to reblog something because they don’t want to showcase a certain fandom/subject/kink/preference/whatever on their blog, whether out of embarrassment, peer pressure, or real concerns for irl safety. Instead, they like the post. Again, that’s not a challenge I face, but I acknowledge it’s a possibility for many. Sometimes, people miss seeing work because of how dashboards are organized. It happens. Sometimes, people just don’t like my stories or headcanons, so they certainly would choose not to interact with my work. That’s completely and totally fine, too! There are SO many reasons or circumstances that hinder someone's ability to interact. It's not my job (or prerogative) to create meaning out of someone's lack of interaction.

Moreover, I’m not just a writer in this fandom. I’m a reader, too. I read a lot of the fanfic on Tumblr and AO3. As you might already know, Anon (depending on who you are and how observant you are), I often reblog and comment when I like someone’s fic and/or want to support an author's work. I love spreading the word about people’s cool texts! I like knowing that I’m making an author’s day by engaging with their work. Same goes for art, headcanons, playlists, and the other cool Redactedverse stuff people create and share. At no time am I, however, required to engage with those works at all. The fact that I choose to engage is an example of my exercising my choice, not reciprocating out of obligation. Sometimes, I miss stuff. That doesn’t mean I purposefully refrained from commenting. Other times, I heavily disagree with the interpretations/ideas, so I opt not to engage.

I need the space and grace to have agency over how, when, and where I leave feedback. It’s only fair I offer everyone else that same space and grace. I don’t want to feel pressure to leave feedback. It’s only fair I make sure I don’t pressure anyone else to leave feedback on my work.

It’s worth mentioning that when it comes to promoting my own work, I don’t hesitate to do so. I always make sure that I’m my biggest fan. That works out well, because I’m an attention-seeking showoff. It is my hope that every creator can say truthfully, “I’m my biggest fan.” I promote to my heart's content, but I cannot, in good faith, foist my work on anyone.

So, I think all of that is context for how I approach this idea of your phrase ‘burn out posting thing.’ Have I noticed a decline in engagement with my own work? For sure I have. Perhaps it’s a Redactedverse trend. Perhaps it’s a fandom trend more broadly. (I have no data to back up either of those guesses.) While I’d love a sudden upswing in engagement, I think there’s nothing much I can do to generate that. Instead, I’d rather use that time and effort writing and posting more fanfics.

It’s fun for me to create. It’s fun for me to know that I created something that didn’t exist before. That’s why, as of this moment, I don’t see an end in sight when it comes to my fic writing. I certainly will continue to write at my own pace which, as I’ve said many times, is slow. I’ll write fics that I will want to read, featuring characters I want to read about, plotlines I want to explore, with a word-count that suits me.

I mean it when I say, in every story-note, I welcome and cherish any and all feedback on my work. I suppose that whether that feedback comes in the form of a flood or a drip-drop, I take solace in the knowledge that each and every piece of feedback I receive was freely given to me.

My answer was probably way longer than you ever wanted, Anon. I hope I answered your question, however long-winded my answer might be. If I didn’t, you are welcome to reach out with follow up questions or concerns.

For anyone else who happened to read, I hope you got something positive out of reading this post.

As always, thanks for reading!

#thank you!

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demon-glittter · 2 years

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Tag Game To Better Know You!

Send this to people you’d like to know better!

tagged by @anakincito (thank you💖💖)

What book are you currently reading? Eh, it's more like a fanfic but I'm currently rereading A Song of Rebirth (A Song of Newer Things) by jumpthisship (It's a chansoo and one that I read when I'm feeling depressed)

What’s your favorite movie you saw in theaters this year? I haven't been to the theaters this year. The last movie that I did see in one was Sonic.

What do you usually wear? T-shirt and jeans.

How tall are you? 5'2" or 157 cm

What’s your Star Sign? Do you share a birthday with a celebrity or a historical event? Pisces and not that I know of?

Do you go by your name or a nick-name? Jen by people that know me at work but Otis on here.

Did you grow up to become what you wanted to be when you were a child? Nope. I wanted to be a singer but alas. I work for half a day at a desk and write fanfics for the other half.

Are you in a relationship? If not, who is your crush if you have one? Nope. My crush would be Chanyeol, don't tell Junmyeon.

What’s something you’re good at vs. something you’re bad at? I'm good at... uh... writing fanfics, I'm bad at... writing fanfics~ kekeke

Dogs or cats? Both, but I have dogs.

If you draw/write, or create in any way, what’s your favorite picture/favorite line/favorite etc. from something you created this year? I really enjoyed writing The Taste Of Yellow, it's a chansoomyeon poly fic and it helped me a lot. (Due to unfortunate events surrounding half of my previous OTP, I tended to place myself in Junmyeon's character and all this year, Chansoo have been my comfort so... that was basically me in that verse, taking comfort from the two people that provided the most of it this year)

What’s something you would like to create content for? I'm not sure? I would love to be able to draw art, but alas, my pen is only for writing an image in your head. And not often does it translate v.v

What’s something you’re currently obsessed with? Hmmm. Suhø.

What’s something you were excited about that turned out to be disappointing this year? Life in general.

What’s a hidden talent of yours? It's not really hidden, but I'm fast at literally everything I do. I have two speeds. Go and stop.

Are you religious? Used to be, but not anymore.

What’s something you wish to have at this moment? A million dollars.

tagging: @yeoldreamin @zackisontumblr @bogpaws @ohsenhun @katannabonbon @kafkascupcake @cxsmicmyeon @theofficialprincessleah @silently-crooked @coral-skeleton @columns-and-rose @abunnycotton and anyone else that wants to participate! 💖💖💖💖💖

#tagged post #the more you know #kekekeke

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professorrw · 2 years

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Little Rogers

marvel masterlist

Pairing: pregnant female reader x Steve Rogers

Request: Could you do one where reader and Steve are in a secret relationship and are pregnant, and the rest of the team don't know that reader exists but when Steve keeps sneaking off they follow him and find out

Warnings: fluff, pregnant reader

A/N: Requests open, taglist open, inbox open! Please like, comment, and reblog!

Steve Rogers was a very dedicated man. He was a focused man. He rarely got distracted. So why was it that his mind seemed to be elsewhere lately? The group could be standing around having a conversation and someone could try to say something to Steve and he wouldn’t even notice. If he wasn’t needed for anything he was just gone. As soon as they returned from a mission he was in a rush to leave. Maybe Natasha was looking into things too much. She didn’t think she was. She was usually right about most things. Something was going on and she wanted to find out what.

Natasha, Wanda, Vision, and Clint were lounging around in the Avengers Tower waiting for Tony, Steve, and Bruce to return. The three men had been in Russia for six days to speak with an ally of SHIELD. Nick had sent them. Well, not exactly. Bruce and Tony volunteered, but Nick really wanted Steve to go. Fury subtly convinced Cap to tag along with the two brainiacs by telling him how eager the ally was to meet him. And Cap was a people pleaser, so he went.

“Why didn’t Thor have to be here again?” Clint asked. He was laid out on the white couch flipping through channels on the flat screen tv. He didn’t think there was any reason for you four to wait on them to return. He arrived at the tower last, hoping he wouldn’t need to wait long. Alas, he had been waiting for three hours already.

“Thor had business on Asgard,” Vision answered. “He wasn’t able to make it.” Vision sat cross-legged on the opposite end of the couch with Wanda tucked into his side. They were reading a book together.

“Figures,” Clint grumbled. He rolled his eyes and huffed. He sat there for a moment longer before he got up and started walking towards the elevator.

“Where are you going?” Natasha asked. She was just as bored of waiting and wanted to stretch her legs.

“Getting some coffee across the street. People watch maybe. You wanna come?”

So they left. The coffee shop across the street had a couple people in there, but it was quiet. Everyone was going about their business, not paying any mind to the superheroes in the room. Natasha and Clint stood in line waiting for their turn to order. They were going to order their drinks, sit around for a little bit until they got bored, order Wanda something to drink, then go back.

The person at the front of the line, a relatively pregnant woman, got her drink and turned to go sit down. She started taking a sip and only a few steps away from the counter a man bumped into her, resulting in her drink spilling all over her. The man backed away and gave her a grimace, “Watch where you’re going.”

Natasha scoffed and spoke up, “You bumped into her you douchebag.”

“Like hell I did,” the man retorted. “She should have been paying attention. Better yet, she shouldn’t have left her house carrying that thing around.” He pointed at her stomach with a disgusted look.

“You know what, I think you need to leave.” Clint walked out from behind Natasha and stood in front of the man. While Clint got the man to leave, Nat went to help the woman.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yes, thank you. He’s probably right; I shouldn’t have gone anywhere like this,” she said, motioning to her large stomach. She frowned slightly but she didn’t seem to be upset about the mess that was covering her shirt or the fact that the man was so rude to her. “I just wanted to get my favorite coffee.”

“Your husband couldn’t have gotten it for you?” Nat asked, incredulous. ‘Men’, she thought.

“Oh, he’s um… at work,” she said. She nodded and looked away.

“Well he should be with you and this bun,” Natasha said.

Thirty minutes later, after helping the woman dry her shirt and getting free coffee in return, Nat and Clint were ready to go.

At seven o’clock at night Steve, Tony, and Bruce finally returned. The group had waited for ten hours and they were not happy. Especially Clint. They kept the debrief short and sweet so everyone could leave as quickly as possible. Steve in particular seemed to be in a rush and Natasha had taken notice. From the moment he stepped off the helicopter his brows were furrowed and his mouth was a straight line.

Natasha being Natasha, she had to know what exactly was causing Steve so much trouble. As soon as the meeting was over Cap told everyone goodnight and collected his bags. Natasha waited a few minutes before leaving too. She followed him from a good distance and waited as he went inside a chinese restaurant and left with a large bag of takeout. She knew Steve had an appetite but god, that was a lot of food for one person.

She continued following him for several more blocks until he arrived in front of a basic apartment building. Natasha had seen Steve’s apartment before and it wasn’t here. He went in and so did she a good amount of time later. When she walked into the lobby she saw that the elevator was headed to floor 5. She waited a minute before she started walking up the stairs to that same floor. When she arrived she peeked her head around the corner and saw Steve going into one of the apartments. Her curiosity was at its max.

She knew that if she knocked on the door and Steve saw her standing there he would be alarmed. It would be pretty obvious that she followed him. Which she did. But was it warranted? Was his behavior enough that Natasha’s decision wasn’t strange? She didn’t contemplate those things for very long before she was there, knocking on the door to apartment eight.

—

Y/n was sitting on her couch, about to eat Chinese food with her husband, Steve, when there was a knock on the door.

“I got it,” she said. Y/n stood up slowly and went to the door while Steve protested, but she just waved him off. She turned the knob and opened the door, wondering who would be coming over at nine o’clock at night. Her mouth dropped open when she saw who was standing in the hall. Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow, Steve’s coworker, and the woman that helped her at the coffee shop earlier that day. Natasha seemed to be equally as shocked, standing there saying nothing and just staring back at y/n.

“Honey, who is it?” Steve called.

“Um… come here,” she answered. In a few moments there he was. His eyes widened when he saw who was standing there.

“Natasha?” Steve asked. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here? This isn’t your apartment.”

Steve sighed, “I’ve got some explaining to do.”

“It would appear so.”

An hour, and all the Chinese takeout later, Natasha sat on the couch with her mouth wide open. “So you’ve kept this a secret this entire time? You had a girlfriend? You got married? You’re about to be A DAD?!? This is crazy.” She shook her head in amazement. “Why didn’t you tell us? We could have helped you out?” Natasha asked.

“I didn’t want y/n or the baby to get hurt. I was protecting them.” Steve squeezed y/n’s hand and looked at her with a warm smile.

A few days after Natasha found out about Steve’s secret life he broke the news to the rest of the Avengers too. The response was as good as he could have asked for; they were all ecstatic and happy for Cap and y/n. Less than two months later a beautiful baby boy was born, and it had an entire group of aunts and uncles that couldn’t wait to see him and hold him.

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dxf · 2 years

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internet secret | one. (m.)

college! au pairing: kim yugyeom x reader parts: one. | two. | three. description: you are a college student in need of making easy money. without jeopardizing your future or reputation, you decide to become a sex worker on onlyfans. you soon find out that the man you hate, kim yugyeom, randomly chooses to subscribe. but he doesn’t know who you are. warnings: this series contains mature language and will include sexual topics. read at your own risk words: 2.4k disclaimer: i do remember specifically reading a series on here that is the same idea. i would give credit to the creator of the series, but i do not remember their tag on here. and i can’t find it anywhere in my likes. if possible, i would like to know the creator so i can give credit where it’s due. so if anyone knows the original author, please tell me so i can appropriately credit them.

you were the first one in your immediate family to go to college. a four-year university. your family celebrated and congratulated you, but it was difficult to grasp that you were going away. it’s been a couple of months since then. you’ve moved into a modest apartment with your money, but you knew that your waitressing job wouldn’t cover the bills. so you decided to make some extra cash through onlyfans. you knew that you could be caught quickly by the students, the staff, and even family members. but no one has really noticed because of how you do your makeup and the surplus of wigs you have. it’s your only secret.

you’ve never dreaded coming to school before you met him. kim yugyeom. he’s never liked you for some reason. you’ve always kept your distance and barely interacted with him. his three friends, bambam, jeon jungkook, and jeong jaehyun, are always surrounding him. despite barely interacting with him, he’s always hated your guts. you then decide to hate him back. it’s a bit petty, sure, but who cares. unfortunately, you’re in the same class, and some of your classes overlap with his.

“hey y/n. you’re in my spot,” yugyeom says, hovering over you. you continue to sit there, ignoring what he has to say. starting an argument in the middle of the classroom is something you rather not do. “earth to y/n? did you hear me?”

“last time i remembered, the professor didn’t have assigned seating. besides, i’ve been sitting here for the quarter. so find somewhere else to sit,” you retort.

judging the look on his face, it seems that your answer did not please him. “i don’t care if you’ve been sitting here for the quarter. i decided that i wanted to sit here today. so move.”

“no yugyeom, sit where you normally sit. and please leave me alone.”

you felt his gaze on you, even though you weren’t looking at him. causing a scene in front of everyone would be left field of you, but you still wanted to put him in his place. “fine. but you’re not getting off the hook this time,” he mutters. not once did he turn away from you. it felt like he was staring right into your soul. not like you had one in the first place. perhaps yugyeom was just a high school bully who never grew out of that phase in college. but you didn’t want to find out since you didn’t care. if he tried to bully people to get his way, so be it.

after class, you made your way back home since it was the day’s last class. thankfully, you didn’t have a waitressing shift at your other job. you’re always contemplating why you keep that job since being a cam girl made you more money. then you remembered that you needed a backup plan to tell relatives. you wish they weren’t so damn nosy all the time, but alas, you can’t control what other people do. your business is yours, so why care about others.

once you get home, the first thing you do is take a steamy shower. it’s probably your favorite part of the day. you’re not sitting for long periods in a classroom or dealing with yugyeom’s nasty attitude. you couldn’t wrap your head around why he didn’t like you. it would make sense if you guys were high school rivals, competing with each other on who’s better, but it wasn’t until this year that you met. your first encounter with him was rather nice, in your opinion. you both greeted each other and sat next to each other in history. his body language read as friendly as if he wanted to make more friends. now you realize it was just a facade he put on. hopefully, you weren’t the only one who yugyeom decided to harass. but at the same time, you didn’t care to ask other classmates if he treated them the same way. asking meant you cared and only makes you seem desperate.

since you didn’t have to go into the restaurant today, you decided to make some extra cash at home through onlyfans. coming out of the hot, steamy shower meant for great content. you snap a few photos without your face, of course, and post them on the site. because of your number of subscribers, you silence your phone for the time being. you enter the kitchen to whip yourself some food before getting ready to go live for the night. giving yourself time to eat, you announce that you’d go live in about thirty minutes. today you felt like wearing an ombre gray wig and did your makeup to match your hair. feeling like you would still be recognized by the public, you pop in some grayish-blue contacts, completing the look.

the thirty minutes were up. you eat whatever was left on your plate then put it in the sink. everything was nice and tidy in your room, with no last-minute changes. you turn on your laptop and camera, getting ready to go live. the notifications on your phone signified many people were waiting. after some time, you were finally able to start your live.

“hey everyone, i hope i didn’t keep you guys waiting for too long,” you wink at the camera. there’s an influx of people joining, hoping to get some free content and nudity. “you all know the drill. there’s a twist today! fifty dollars for thirty minutes today! only for today, and it’s limited. i wish you all good luck.” the chat starts going wild. your direct messages are exploding in hopes they get a chance for a private room with you. you ignore the ones who threaten to harass you. one of the messages catches you off-guard. kyum? you thought to yourself. it was a familiar username, perhaps someone from your school.

kyum: i’ve never done this before, and i’m a new subscriber of yours. could you explain how this private live room works?

you giggle at yourself before saying, “for those who don’t know how the live feature works, you will get a private room with me for thirty minutes. i’d prefer to know who i’m doing business with, so i’ll also ask you to turn on your webcam and microphone. it wouldn’t be fun if only one of us had a show.”

kyum: thank you for your explanation and for not singling me out. can i do one-hundred for an hour, maybe? or is that too selfish?

you: awe, you’re so sweet. i’ll make an exception for you. an hour for a hundred :)

just click on this link and i’ll be waiting for you.

you end the live and get settled into your private room. their username is similar, but you can’t pinpoint where or why you know it. trying to find out where the username comes from is giving you a headache. kyum finally joined the live, but nothing was turned on yet.

“hey there, kyum! you said this was your first time? there’s no need to be shy. everything that happens in this room is only between you and i. you don’t even have to share your name with me unless you prefer to be called something,” you reassure.

they unmuted their microphone, “sorry about that, i’ve never done this before.” that voice. one you’re too familiar with. “you can call me kyum.”

there’s no way, you thought to yourself. that voice belongs to the person you loathe most. kim yugyeom. you start to freak out a little bit in your head. what if he recognizes you? what if he starts a rumor at the school and you get expelled? judging the expression on his face, you can really tell that he’s nervous. he’s genuinely not trying to figure out your identity or anything. a flood of reassures flows throughout your body, this is your job. you can’t be freaked out by one person. there’s been plenty of times when other students have subscribed to your stuff.

seeing yugyeom so nervous gave you reassurance, but it also turned you on a little. “so kyum, what brings you in today? a whole hour with me? is there anything you have in mind?”

“some of my friends actually referred you to me,” he sighs. “i don’t really get the point to these kinds of things, but i’m always down to try anything new.”

“okay. from what i’ve seen, here are some popular options. many people like being submissive and degraded. some like the opposite and like being dominant and in control. and some just like watching me play with myself. i’m open to all kinds of ideas, as long as it doesn’t break the law.”

he chuckles to himself, “i suppose i can try being dominant. does this include name calling?” as much as he is a bully to you at school, you can’t deny how sexy he is right now.

“yes, i can call you whatever you would like me to. you can degrade me to your heart’s content. you can also decide on what toys i use throughout the session.”

yugyeom takes off his shirt, revealing his muscular self. impressed would be an understatement. this man has a gorgeous body. you can’t help but stare at the screen. “instead of kyum, i want you to refer to me as daddy. and i guess i’ll try degrading you, although it’s way out of my comfort zone.” you want to call him out on his bullshit, but you refrain.

“yes daddy,” you say in a playful tone. you could tell that he’s caught off guard by the instant obedience. a bulge started forming in his gray shorts. he sat with his arms crossed as you began grabbing toys to pleasure yourself with. you feel his eyes piercing through you. this time, it wasn’t a demeaning gaze. it’s full of lust. he sits there and imagines what he could do with you if you were with him. his own imagination allows his boner to grow. he has a nice view of your ass while you look through your collection of toys. the hundred he paid is definitely worth it.

you take out a pink vibrator and press it on your clit. to spur him on even further; you bite your lip and moan loud enough so he can hear. yugyeom reaches down his shorts and starts slowly jerking himself off. you couldn’t believe the man who hates you most is now masturbating to you. “do you like showing yourself off like this?” yugyeom grunts. “do you get a kick out of me watching you?”

your entire face turns red. people ask this all the time, but the question coming out of yugyeom’s breathy moans makes you feel nervous. “i like it when you watch me, daddy,” you barely make out. you grab a dildo next to you and start teasing your own entrance. “do you like watching me? do i make you want more of me?”

yugyeom lets out a husky fuck. it’s been a while since you’ve gotten turned on by a customer. and it’s yugyeom nonetheless. despite how terrible he’s treated you in the past, you couldn’t help but want more of him. even if he’s moaning to you through a screen.

“ah, playing yourself turns me on so much, baby,” yugyeom says in a disheveled voice. his voice is pleasing to your ears. you notice that he’s picked up his pace quite since you’ve begun. closing your eyes, you could only imagine yugyeom and his fantastic physique. how he could easily dominate you and how great it would feel. you let out a rather loud moan before snapping out of your fantasy. “it seems like someone is enjoying themselves as much as i am,” he smirks.

“can i tell you a secret?” you huff out.

“go for it.”

“you’re probably the only person who’s made me feel this way in a while, kyum.” by the expression on his face, you could tell that he was not expecting that. his paces slowed for a bit before getting riled up again. your words made him feel better about himself and turned him on even more.

yugyeom takes off his shorts and underwear, exposing him to you entirely. his cock’s throbbing, leaking of pre-cum. you decide to turn over to where you’re now in the doggy position. you can’t see what’s happening, but his moans were all you needed. a string of curse words leave his mouth before saying, “can i cum to you?”

you bite your bottom lip, holding in a whimper. audio isn’t something you were typically aroused by. men asking for these private showings often acted as if they were compensating for the lack of some things. yugyeom’s hoarse voice is different. you kind of wish that he would degrade you a bit. ooh’s and ahh’s could be heard from the both of you, almost as if he’s right there fucking you. trying to desperately reach your high with him, you up the sensitivity of your vibrator a few more notches. just by listening to him, you could tell that yugyeom’s becoming more restless. yet he won’t cum unless you say so.

“cum for me daddy,” you squeal. yugyeom’s breathing becomes irregular. you flip over to on your back so you can see him release. his face flushed with sweat dripping down. the experience is more enjoyable than you could have ever imagined. with a few more pumps, he cums all over himself. that’s all you need to reach your own peak. he mutters more curse words to himself before you release. heavy breathing is the only thing you can hear from the both of you.

he looks down at himself, realizing the massive mess he’s made. “i suppose that calls for a shower,” he chuckles. you couldn’t help but giggle with him. “thank you for tonight, i haven’t enjoyed myself in awhile.”

“no problem, kyum; hopefully, you’ll turn up for more sessions?” you ask, hoping he’d say yes.

“you want me to spend more of my money?” he jokes. your face turns bright red. “i’m only teasing you. i guess this could be my guilty pleasure. an internet secret, perhaps.”

“an internet secret, huh? okay, i can get by that.”

“my name is yugyeom, by the way. you don’t have to say kyum anymore.”

“yugyeom? it was a pleasure doing business with you,” you smile. he returns it. he accidentally touches himself, remembering how sticky he is. “i guess we both have to shower now.”

“the shower is a must. thank you again, i’ll be going now,” he waves.

you wave back, “have a goodnight, yugyeom.” then sign off for the night.

#7ornevernet #got7 imagines #got7 scenarios #got7 #ahgase #yugyeom #kim yugyeom #yugyeom imagines #kim yugyeom imagines #got7 smut #yugyeom smut #kim yugyeom smut #yugyeom scenarios #yugyeom series #kim yugyeom scenarios #kim yugyeom series

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vidalinav · 3 years

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Stu(died)

Summary: Nesta starts tutoring Cassian in o-chem, while Cassian mostly stares at Nesta the entire time. He has a school-boy crush.

Nessian Modern AU-university setting.

Cassian has never met anyone more perfect than Nesta Archeron. He swears she's come straight out of a book. Fitting, he thinks, since every time he meets her, they’re at the library.

In fact, that’s the only place she’ll meet him at.

He knows of two other places she frequents, two other places that are closer to their respective classes and many other places he suggests for... his own motivations. Nesta only wants to see him in a library. Something about the absorption of knowledge in that tiny brain of his, which frankly sounds offensive when she says it the first time. And the second time. And the third.

I’m your tutor, she painstakingly reminds him. We’re not friends.

Cassian wants to beg to differ. Tries on more than one occasion. He’s known her since freshman year, they have to be friends by now.

But... she’s not wrong about being his tutor.

His problem, Cassian admits, is that he doesn’t like to read. He doesn’t really like to study either, but with Nesta Archeron he finds himself jotting down notes. Not on any subject pertaining to his classes... but in memorizing ever expression she makes, every roll of her eyes as she tells him to pay attention.

Pay attention, he shall!

More often than not she’s donning a grey fitted shirt that says University Printing in orange tiny print. It’s from her second job. Tutoring him is her third. Her least favorite, she says.

Liar, he always wants to say. I’m much better to look at than toner.

But Cassian’s not so sure about that. So far, she only looks at him with disdain and he can rarely get a conversation out of her that doesn’t have to do with covalent bonds or... something or other. He forgets. Cassian only remembers her voice, her hair, her eyes... which defeats the purpose of tutoring and is probably not good for his grades. But alas, Cassian doesn’t find it in himself to care too much.

He remembers just fine.

Sometimes, if they meet on the weekends, she’s too busy to take off her black apron. She works at a coffee shop on the outskirts of campus, and she comes to the library smelling like coffee and Cassian’s sure he’ll focus this time. All adrenaline and caffeine, but then she talks and he’s... listening, but really he only listens to her tone. Such haughty words she huffs, her eyes rolling as if she can’t believe he isn’t understanding after all this precious time.

Are you even listening, Cassian?

He likes when she says his name. It rolls off her tongue and she sneers and he likes that too.

But most days, like today, Nesta Archeron wraps herself in sweaters. All manners of cardigans. And the best thing about her is the way her nose is stuck in a book. Cassian longs to trace her cheeks, pulling the few wisps of hair that falls, tucking it behind her ear. He imagines her blushing as he does it, staring at those well-used pages.

All he ever gets from her is a glare.

Like he’s just stolen her from a world filled with muscles and nervous systems, or whatever people study in human physiology. Her stare often makes him wonder if she’s imagining how his body moves, how he breathes, if she can pull him part and hold his intestines in her hands. He feels like a wriggling rat when she looks at him. A little frog he can’t cut in high school biology without running to the bathroom nauseated.

Cassian loves that look the best, though, so he waves at the girl who glares in her seat. The exact seat she always sits in for these sessions. If he grins more goofily than he cares to admit, well... he’s no less happy to see her.

“What are we learning today, Teach?”

Nesta rolls her eyes as he lays his bag across the table and he shuffles in search of his notebook.

That much noise in a library? He can imagine her saying. Preposterous.

“That’s not my name,” she grumbles out, instead.

“What are you going to teach me then, Obi-wan?”

“Is that why you’re failing o-chem?” She remarks, her nose scrunching in that very sweet, judgmental way of hers, “Watching too much Star Wars instead of opening up a textbook?”

Indeed, she looks at the book he pulls from his bag. It is new, and he hasn’t opened it. Every time he tries, he finds better things to do. Another video on Youtube, or one of his friends suggesting a trip to lunch or dinner... or breakfast. He tries to find numerous excuses on why he can’t open that book. He’s going to study from the slides, Cassian says, from his notes. But whenever he opens his notebook, all he finds is scribbles.

Cassian sighs. He hates this class.

But he swallows down his disdain, “I’ll tell you the truth if you tell me what your favorite movie is?”

Nesta shakes her head, her lips pursing as if she might tell him off in a minute or two. Cassian looks at his watch as if he might time it exactly. A ticking bomb. First the pursed lips, then the stern gaze, then the red face and she’ll blow.

“No,” she announces, “I’m here to tutor you, not entertain.”

“Such a shame since I brought the clown suit today, thought you’d look good in the red nose.”

Nesta blinks up at the words and Cassian holds back his grin.

“You’re weird,” she huffs, taking his book out of his hands and opening it up to the first chapter.

“I brought you something today. To sweeten our time together.”

Her brows scrunch at that, but he pulls the container out of his bag, crinkling and noise be damned. Cassian lays out the cake and places the fork next to the textbook.

“You’re bribing me with cake?”

“Chocolate cake,” he explains, “and not just any cake. This is from the dining hall near South Campus. Best cake in the world.”

“I know the dining hall,” Nesta scoffs.

“Then you’ll know how good the cake tastes.” Cassian pulls the container back towards him, pulling apart the packing for the fork. “But if you don’t want it, I guess I’ll just eat it myself.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want it,” she says and he can already see her resolve wavering.

It’s always like this. Cassian bribing Nesta with sweets until she’s gliding her fingers down the text book, one sentence at a time. Quizzing him with flashcards until he can only see double lines and circles in his mind... and that tiny smile she makes when she takes just one bite.

Nesta taps her pencil on the page, distracting him from his thoughts. “This doesn’t mean I’ll take it easy on you this semester. You barely passed biology last semester.”

Cassian scoffs, raising his chin. “That was sophomore me. I’m serious now.”

But then Nesta’s reading off the page, drawing diagrams in his notebook, and he’s only staring at her lips.

Cassian sighs.

This is going to be a long semester.

Tagged: @my-fan-side, @sophilightwood, @nestaarcher0n, @duskandstarlight, @soitsgorgeous, @ekaterinakostrova @swankii-art-teacher, @lordof-bloodshed, @thewhelk, @daisy-in-danger, @highqueenevankhell, @lovelynesta, @sirendeepity, @champanheandluxxury, @ladynestaarcheron, @moodymelanist, @teagoddess99, @spoilersteph, @angelic-voice-1997, @bo0kmaster69, @drielecarla, @generalnesta, @cozycomfyliving08 @arinbelle

Poor boy, he’s going to fail his classes.

Anyway, this is another fic Im sure I’m not going to finish but had an idea for so I ran with it for one scene and probably one scene only.

Bye!

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #university au #vidalinav writes #plot twist Cassian doesn’t even need to take these classes

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rnjfy · 3 years

Text

this is quite literally, inspired by pudding. yes um the dessert… a teenage!chenle x waitress!reader. in celebration for 45 followers !!! ily all:(

pudding — zcl.

in which his pudding seems to taste sweeter when you’re the one who’s serving it.

—

“are you ever going to stop coming here?” mark raises a brow at his younger friend. he didn’t even try to hide his grimace, watching as chenle lets out his loud laugh.

“of course.” grinning, chenle points at the small yellow-ish sweet sitting toward the front of the food display. mark huffs—murmuring a phrase that sounds awfully like “you’re gonna get diabetes at this rate dude.”, but chenle chooses to ignore it. the black haired boy wanders over to his usual seat, his hands going to pull out his phone from his pocket to snap a picture of the cafe as he always did.

you weren’t surprised when mark wanders into the room you were in, his face looking awfully grim, “chenle’s here for you again.” his quip made you laugh—the grim appearance was really just mark’s own way of teasing the two of you.

“you’re just bitter no one comes to see you.” smiling, you tighten your hair tie as you push the door open with your bottom, expertly carrying a tray to place the sweet onto it.

you recognize chenle before he even looks up from his phone, his cheeks ablaze as he quickly puts his phone away. “hey.”

“hi. one serving of pudding as usual?” your sweet smile awakens the butterflies in the boy’s stomach—the ringing of the charms of your bracelet welcomes him as you place the plate down on his table.

chenle’s little visits every week had started to become frequent ever since your cafe had introduced the yellow sweet that seems to have become his favorite the more he started to drop by. mark had just started working around the same time this happened—which also contributed to the younger boy’s visits, either alone or accompanied by one or more boys.

the first time chenle laid his eyes on you, might’ve been the most embarrassing and revolting memory the poor boy has up to date. he had just come from a tiring day of playing video games with jisung—losing a monstrous amount of times, his hair sticking up in different directions as he had just thrown on an old dirty sweater in an angry fit before storming out of him and his friends’ shared dorm, jisung’s loud laugh trailing behind him.

“jeez. rough day?” mark couldn’t hide his laugh as the bells above the cafe doors rang, welcoming the mess of a boy. chenle grumbles angrily in response, muttering a short “one order of pudding, please.”

he was just about to turn, hoping to snag a seat far from the entrance, sulking at the streak of losses he had experienced from that day. alas, to his luck, he runs straight into a slightly smaller figure—a blur of y/h/c colored hair startles him as he poorly attempts to catch the waitress before she falls onto the floor.

chenle, apparently, was shit at catching people.

to his (and mark’s) horror, they watch as you fall to the floor. the landing wasn’t that harsh, enough to force a yelp from your lips as a stinging pain rushes from your bottom. the tray you had in your hand clatters to the floor, the empty dishes coming along with it.

“oh my god! i’m so sorry!” chenle squeaks, rushing towards you to ensure you weren’t seriously hurt. he nearly stumbles back in surprise as he sees your face fully. you had a minimal amount of makeup on—not excessive to the point it looked like it had caked up on your face but it was simple enough to accent the natural beauty you very obviously had.

his eyes instinctively slip to the small tag sitting on your blouse, “y/n” he reads, and somehow you had become even more beautiful in his eyes. your name suited you perfectly.

“i’m sorry sir! i should’ve looked where i was going.” you were sheepish, a shy little thing as you scrambled to pick up the dishes from the floor—silently thanking the heavens that nothing had been broken. chenle stutters in his movements, but recovers to help you up. his hand stretches out to grasp your own, a pink tint engulfs his cheeks as your hand readily grips his.

“y-you don’t have to apologize! it was my fault… miss. what time does your shift end? let me treat you. a-as an apology!” the boy quickly adds his last remark, seeing mark sniggering behind the beautiful waitress had caused him to fall back into a flustered mess once more.

though you were hesitant, you couldn’t deny how cute this mystery boy had been, messy hair and stained sweater and all. so, you shyly admit that the new pudding had been your most recent obsession—and chenle agrees to buy both of you a serving once your shift ends.

admittedly, chenle had never tried pudding before that day. but sitting there with you, watching as the last of the cafe’s customers slowly filter out of the small store, the lights dim as mark had started to close up… he couldn’t deny how sweet the dessert tasted on his tongue.

you would exchange stories on your lives, chenle sharing about the fact that he was close friends with mark, the detail surprises you as mark yells something like “don’t be fooled, y/n! chenle is a little wench.” which causes chenle to shout curses at the older boy, a boyish grin settling on his lips as he pushes the sleeves of his sweater up on his arms.

so, now that it has been three weeks since that first encounter, chenle has ensured to look his best—or at least better than that day—whenever he’d drop by the cafe. the bright boy was no longer timid and shy around you, often smiling at you and initiating cheesy pick up lines whenever he could. it was hard not to be infatuated with the boy, especially when he loves to wink and grin at you from his usual table the entirety of your shift.

on the one occasion you were out, a different waitress comes to fill in for your shift, chenle can’t seem to finish the sweet dessert sitting in front of him.

“something wrong?” mark calls from behind the counter, the cafe’s lights were dimmed once more—though this did little to hide the small frown chenle had on his face.

the boy shakes his head, his spoon playing with the sweet as he watches it jiggle slightly from the force of his jabs. “something’s different…”

mark grins, knowing exactly what was running through the younger boy’s head.

“it’s y/n’s day off, you dingus. here,” mark scrambles towards his younger friend, his pen scratching at the small notebook that was tucked away in his pocket.

a small rip causes chenle to look up at mark, his hand outstretched towards him—a small piece of paper hanging from his fingertips. mark shoves it towards the boy when he hesitates to take it, “it’s y/n’s number. now stop sulking and ask her out!”

chenle’s cheeks burn as he stares at the piece of paper, his heart thrumming as he tries to wrack his brain for ideas on how to start up a conversation with you. he quickly thanks mark before pulling his phone from his pocket, fingers flying across the keyboard.

“hey. this is chenle, mark gave me your number btw! i was just wondering when your next day off is? :)”

chenle, much to his surprise, shakes ever so slightly as his heart thuds against his chest. he had always felt this nervous around you, the result being pick up lines spilling from his lips. but texting you meant he had time to think, to process what he would say, to—

“oh, hey! my next day off isn’t till soon. but i’m free tomorrow after work and my shift ends early. :D”

the poor boy bursts into flames, the butterflies fluttering like crazy in his stomach as he clutched his phone to his chest. you hadn’t even said anything that significant, but to him, knowing he was texting you was enough.

mark laughs, shaking his head at his friends’ antics. how cute.

—

believe it or not, this was inspired by the pudding i had earlier at dinner 😭 mark’s character is also loosely inspired by robin from stranger things! just for the first few parts of the au though hehe :p

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13uswntimagines · 4 years

Text

Glad You Came (Julie x Reader)

Request: Julie x reader where reader is kind of the fuckgirl of the team. Reader knows that julie have feelings for her and like her attention. Julie thinks that reader plays with her feelings. But reader actually like julie and try to get her trust back. End with fluff please.

Author’s Note: Idk if this actually fits the prompt, but I just couldn’t get the image out of my head. I hope you all enjoy.

Jj had always been a sucker for a good Rom-Com. The ones where the good girl fell for the bad boy (with a good heart) and that bad boy stepped up to the plate and got his shit together for her.

But alas, though you were the team’s resident bad girl, this wasn’t a rom-com and it appeared you had zero intention of making a dent in your precious reputation. At least that’s what she thought.

You always did have a knack for proving people wrong.

*****

The bouquet of roses was the first thing everyone noticed when they stepped into the locker room. It was an amazing surprise after such a rough practice. A not entirely unexpected, but still incredible surprise.

JJ blushed as she approached her overflowing locker. This secret admirer stuff was getting a bit out of hand.

“Why does Julie get roses, but none of the rest of us do?” Emily whined, settling down in front of her own bare cubby.

Lindsey rolled her eyes. If JJ was going to keep getting gifts from a random person, she and the rest of the girls with significant others on the team were really going to have to step up their game.

“You don’t like dead flowers Sonnett,” She called to the blond 3 lockers over.

“Yeah, but it’s not fair if she gets them and the rest of us don’t,” Emily sighed dramatically, and the rest of the room giggled.

“It's from her admirer,” Kelley chimed in, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

JJ’s blush deepened. She carefully reached out and grabbed the thornless Rose with a little tag on it, bringing the delicate petals to her nose before examining the little handwritten note.

“Ooo, what’s the note say this time?” Kelley asked, as half the team crowded around the midfielder.

Julie took a big deep breath before reading the black cursive words out loud.

“I wanted to get you something as beautiful as you are, but couldn’t find anything that came close,”

“Awww,” the team cooed, some rubbing Julie’s back and others ruffling her hair as they made their way back to their respective areas.

She ran her fingers over the little words, trying to imagine the face of the person who could have written them. The person who would go to such lengths to show their interest in her. But the gifts were always sweet and never creepy.

The gifts ranged from coffee orders sent to her hotel room, to a signed Mia Hamm jersey that had shown up in her locker, but the thing that always remained was the smooth black cursive notes that accompanied them.

She brushed the soft petals against her nose again. How she longed to know who thought so highly of her.

“Who could get roses in here?” Sam snorted, pulling her boots off.

“It’s gotta be a teammate. They show up literally everywhere we go,” Rose said thoughtfully, glancing around at all the women in the room, her eyes lingering on where you were grinning down at your phone.

There was just something about your smile and the way you kept glancing up at a certain blond midfielder.

“At least we know it’s not Y/n,” Emily cackled.

You looked up at the group from your place across the room, where they all thought you were trying to ignore the commotion (probably in favor of texting a random girl for a hookup).

You had the reputation of being the fuckgirl of the team. And you took pride in that. You liked when women gave you attention, and as long as everything was consensual, you didn’t see the harm in messing around. That didn’t mean you treated women like objects. Quite the opposite. You loved to woo them, to make them feel beautiful, and then move on to the next conquest.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“With a body count as high as yours, I doubt you’re capable of being this romantic,” Julie spat back, glaring at you. Your history with her was far from perfect, and she had found out about your reputation first hand.

You smirked. If you couldn’t positively have her attention (the way you wanted but were too afraid to admit), then you would take the hostility any day. Angry Julie was still sexy after all.

“How do you think I get them into my bed? Maybe I’m a secret mush at heart,” You asked, standing and approaching the woman. Your hands gently brushed over her shoulder and you began to lean in close to her.

She brought her finger up to push against your nose, stopping you in your tracks. You tried and failed to cover your smile at the touch.

“Yeah right,” She scoffed, shoving you back.

Your smile widened, as you stepped back, your arms wide. “You never know till you try it, Jules,”

“Been there, done that. No thanks,” She shook her head and turned away from you. “At least I have enough class not to fuck anything with a pulse”

Rose tilted her head to the side at the brief look of sadness that crossed your features. Her eyebrows furrowed at the look, and how quickly it was gone.

****

You picked at the tape around your wrist- a habit that started in middle school after an unfortunate event that required stitches and had become one of your many signatures within the team. The pressure around the area was calming now, and always put you in the right mode of a game.

It also gave you something to absentmindedly play with as you waited for the next set of drills on the bench (totally not checking out a certain blond when she wasn’t looking).

“When are you going to tell her that you’re her admirer?” Rose said, settling down on the bench beside you.

You shrugged. “First, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” You glanced up at the bling again, before blinking back to Rose’s raised eyebrow.

You took a deep breath, finally managing to get a finger under the tape.

“And second never. I’m defective remember? Completely incapable of love,”

You repeated the words JJ had said to you that fateful night. The night you had ruined the best almost relationship you ever had. It wasn’t you exactly, just the fact that a woman was texting you while you were in bed with Julie. You weren’t going to respond, but the blond midfielder had caught sight of the screen before you could clear the notification.

That was enough proof for her. She kicked you out and didn’t let you explain- there was nothing to say apparently.

“That’s why you always send her flowers and notes, and other gooey stuff right?” Rose rolled her eyes.

She had known you since the two of you were in diapers. She knew all about your hang-ups on relationships, but she also knew the secret romantic side. The sweet side that you didn’t show to everyone. Everyone except a blond midfielder (who was still very smitten with you, even if you didn’t want to believe it).

“I-,” You paused, biting your lip, your eyes getting that faraway look Rose knew all too well. You shook your head. You had your shot and it had blown up in your face. “She doesn’t want me. It’s just easier this way,”

“What, to hopelessly pine after someone? Or to completely avoid rejection all together?” Rose snorted.

You shook your head again, finally looking rose in the eyes. “I hurt her Rose. She doesn’t want someone she can’t trust,”

Rose softened at the admission and the unspoken “I’m not good enough” that went with it. You had always struggled with that, maybe that’s why you were such a lady killer. You so badly wanted to be enough, that you jumped at every opportunity. But it was different after you met JJ.

“How many people have you slept with within the last 3 months?” Rose asked suddenly.

And you blinked at her a few times, completely unsure of where your best friend was going with this.

“What?”

Rose rolled her eyes. “If you can’t think of an exact number, ballpark it for me,”

You vehemently shook your head. You hadn’t met a hookup since that night, too hung up on JJ, and afraid that continuing would destroy any remaining chance you had with the woman.

“I haven’t,”

Rose snapped, patting your shoulder. “Exactly. You’re proving to her, the entire team really, that you can change. She’ll come around, especially if you’re honest with her and I don’t know, try to keep it in your pants for once,”

The team had taken notice of your change, how you hadn’t engaged in hookups. Only a few of them knew the real reason behind your apparent abstinence.

“You think?” You asked softly, and Rose sent you an indulgent smile.

“Yeah, you just gotta grow a pair and tell her you’ve been her secret admirer for the last 6 months,” She finished with a cackle and you blushed.

That was easier said than done.

*****

Julie had never been this impressed in her entire life. Sure she had been to some amazing restaurants before, but nothing like the little place her admirer had chosen. She felt every bit of hesitance leave her as she stepped into the building. It was quaint and romantic with an amazing buzz in the air.

She had found the handwritten note with the time and place on the floor outside her hotel room door, along with one of the cutest black dresses she had ever seen. It fit her perfectly, and she looked good if she did say so herself.

She approached the hostess stand, and the man behind the counter smiled at her. “Good evening miss, how may we assist you?”

She smiled back at him. “Um, I have a reservation. It’s under Mystique,” she said, suppressing a grin at the name her admirer had chosen.

The man’s smile widened as he reached into his suit jacket pocket, and retrieved a neatly folded letter. “Ah, yes. I have this for you,”

JJ to the heavy paper in her hands, running her fingers over her name written in familiar black cursive reverently. Her admirer rarely ever wrote her name out.

She very carefully unfolded the note, revealing more of her favorite handwriting.

Julie,

First and foremost, I’m so glad you could make it. I know I’ve written this beforehand, but I must say I’m sure you look amazing. You always look amazing. It doesn’t matter if it’s during practice, or during one of our very chill team bonding nights. You never fail to take my breath away, but that’s not why it’s taken me so long to finally grow a pair and come clean.

I know that you and I have history and that I’m not your ideal significant other, but I promise you’re not just another person to add to my long list. You make me feel things I’ve never really felt before, and that scares me. I don’t know how to do this, and I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but I can promise that I’ll try my best. I will do everything I can to show you how much I love you, and to be someone worthy of your love in return.

Now comes the hard part. If you want to give me the chance to show you that I’ve grown up and am ready for a serious relationship, just tell the matroids you would like to take a drink at the bar. or If you don’t want to see me, but want to eat, just tell him you’re ready for your table. Your meal will be paid for, and I’ll leave you alone. We can even pretend it never happened if you would prefer. Or if you want neither of those things, you can walk away.

The choice is yours J. Ill respect whatever you choose, and no hard feelings either way.

Truly yours,

Y/n

Julie stared down at the letter, completely stunned, almost unable to believe that you could ever do anything this remotely romantic. A small part of her cheered as if she was waiting for you to finally step up.

She didn’t hate you, contrary to popular belief. She just thought you were incredibly confusing. You would flaunt your reputation, but then you would be sweet and shy with her. In the end, your first try at a relationship didn’t work because she was tired of you jerking her around. But this was a side to you she had never seen. One that intrigued her to no end.

“Have you made your decision ma’am?” The maitre d’ asked kindly, sliding up beside her. She blinked up from the neat handwriting towards the man (who looked like he wanted to say more).

She nodded at the man. “I have. I’d like to have a drink at the bar please,”

his smile was blinding as he gestured to the left with his arm. “Right this way,”

*****

You carefully swirled your finger around the rim of your drink, staring listlessly into the amber liquid. You weren’t quite sure how long you had been sitting here, but with every passing second, you couldn’t help but think about how much of a terrible idea this was.

She was never going to choose to come sit with you at the bar, and the longer you waited, the more pathetic you would look in the end.

You almost felt bad for the staff. They were so excited to help, so enthusiastic about helping you get the girl of your dreams. You were sure you were going to disappoint them.

“Fancy meeting you here stranger,” Her voice cut through your internal monologue. You lifted your head to meet her blue eyes, and the sight alone took your breath away.

“JJ, you came,” You said breathlessly, standing to greet the woman.

“I did,” She nodded, blushing when you took her hand and kissed the back of it before pulling out a chair for her. You sat down next to her, flagging down the bartender for the woman.

“You look stunning,” You said softly, finally turning in her direction, and she caught the light shade of pink that tinted your cheeks.

“So you’ve said,” Julie laughed, holding up the letter. The red in your cheeks spread up to your ears and down your neck as you ducked your head in embarrassment.

“Megan may have helped me pick it out…” You mumbled, your fingers returning to your glass.

Rose may or may not have gotten the entire team involved when she finally convinced you to make your move. While you were relieved to have help picking out the perfect outfit, you hadn’t enjoyed being made fun of for your “questionable” fashion sense.

“Was she behind the other gifts too?” Julie asked, taking a sip of her drink with a raised eyebrow.

You shook your head, rubbing the back of your neck. “No. Those were all me,”

Julie smiled softly, reaching up to intertwine your fingers. She wasn’t used to seeing you so shy. It was kinda adorable.

“Well, I loved them,”

You nodded again, taking a big gulp of your drink, trying to calm your racing heart. “I’m really glad you came. I was afraid you would find out it was me and change your mind,”

“I’m glad I came too,”

You smiled brilliantly at the woman. You hadn’t completely redeemed yourself yet, not like Zuko or Snape, but at least you were going to have the chance to try. You weren’t going to let her slip through your fingers again.

#uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #uswnt x reader #julie ertz imagine #julie ertz x reader

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ikingsley · 3 years

Text

Ina x MC: Proud 🏳️‍🌈

Summary: Ina and Luna celebrate pride.

Warnings: Fluff! And slightly jealous Ina.

Tag: @samanthadalton @domakir @kulaykape @hellyeah90sbaby @dopeyouth @kwaj05 @thedaft1 @swimmingshoebakerydreamer @kaitlynliaofanxx @barnibumblr

Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the tag list.

Author’s Notes: I haven’t been writing as often as I used to, but I realized how much I’ve missed it. A bit late, but happy pride everyone.

Dedicating this fic to all the wonderful people I’ve met here, especially those that I’ve been simping over Ina with. Thank you all.

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“And why exactly have you done my makeup so that I look like unicorn barf?” Ina questioned as she gawked at herself in the mirror. Ina’s cheeks were decorated with a thick rainbow and sparkles all over.

“It is most certainly NOT barf! I am deeply hurt,” Luna feigned offense. “But to answer your question, we’re going to a Pride parade!”

“Ah,” Ina slowly nodded. “I see you’ve brought out the cuffed jeans once again.”

Luna smiled at Ina as she rolled up her jeans. “What kind of bi are you if you don’t cuff your jeans and make bad puns.”

“An intellectual bisexual,” Ina responded wittily. “Hey! That rhymed.”

“Nerd. But name one bi that doesn’t fit those stereotypes.”

Ina racked her brain and sighed. “Don’t say it-”

“That’s what I thought. It’s quite accurate.”

Ina huffed but sported an amused smile. She had never actually gone to a Pride parade before, despite being very, very gay. She often watched through her window and vowed to go the following year, but alas, her work always took precedence.

“Can I at least do your makeup?” Ina gestured towards the chair in front of their bedroom mirror.

“Of course, honey. Do your worst.”

Ina first grabbed the purple, drawing a thin line down the middle of Luna’s cheeks.

“Oh. I see,” Luna said as she realized what Ina had been attempting to draw.

“Umm,” Ina began awkwardly. “What’s on top-”

“The sheer amount of responses I have to that...”

Ina rolled her eyes. “But seriously, is it blue or pink?”

“I don’t know honestly. Look it up, babe,”

“Seriously? You, the living stereotype of bi culture doesn’t know if blue or pink is at the top of the flag?” Ina teased.

“All I know is that purple is in the middle.”

“And that you’re a chaotic bi.”

“That too.”

The two laughed at and with each other until Ina figured out Luna’s makeup. They made their way down the street hand-in-hand, just to join right in the middle of the parade.

“This is nice. I wish I had attended before.”

Luna stopped in her tracks and whirled around quickly. “Wait- You’ve never been to a Pride parade before?”

“Never really had the time, I suppose.”

“But...but you’re gay! Gays always find the time, especially to be dramatic. After all, what is Pride if not dramatic?”

“I know, you’re the one that taught me that.”

“Oh hush. You’re dramatic too.”

“Give me one example.”

“Babe, I could name more than 3 right off the top of my head.”

Ina raised her eyebrows in question. “Go on then.”

“The one where the supermarket didn’t have those chips you like to binge and you whimpered all throughout the store. Then you made us search every grocery store on the way back home until you found them. The one where you made a tiny typo when misspelling ‘anthropological’ on one of your papers and ranted about how it would cost you your career. And from there on out, you make me proof-read all your papers. The one where they delivered the wrong color bike for Charlotte and you cried because you thought she’d hate you forever, but really she was just happy to get a bike. The one where-”

“I get it! Okay. Maybe I am a tad bit dramatic.”

Luna held up two fingers close to each other. “Just a tad.”

“As fun as that conversation was, why don’t we stop and get some drinks.”

“You and your old-fashioned cocktails,” Luna shook her head. “I’m gonna go to our favorite Thai place across the street. Do you want your regular?”

“Yes please. No snow-”

Ina was cut off by Luna’s hysterical laughter. “Luna...” she grumbled.

“You’re so bloody predictable, but I know. No snow peas.”

“Thank you. I’ll be over there, you know, drinking my usual, being predictable and such.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Luna said as the two went their separate ways.

Luna was fully turned around when she heard her name. She whirled around, smiling from ear-to-ear as she recognized her girlfriend’s welcoming voice. She saw Ina checking her out and smirked. Her skin-tight jeans and crop top made Ina go red. Once Ina finally met her eyes, Ina mouthed “Damn, Lu.”

Somehow, her smile widened even further and a rosy blush crept onto her cheeks. This damn woman could fluster her from a mile away. Luna gave Ina a small nod and pointed finger guns at her. Ina’s eye roll did not go unnoticed, but she returned Luna’s wide smile. With that, they parted.

Luna entered the Thai establishment where she was greeted with a warm welcome. Luna and Ina were both busy women and takeout was the most convenient. The two loved the hole-in-the-wall, family restaurant that knew their orders by heart. The restaurant was recently taken over by the founder’s son and daughter-in-law and they had a small toddler-age daughter.

“LUNA!!!” screeched the deafening voice of a child. Ellie clambered over to Luna and wrapped her tiny hands around Luna’s legs.

“Hi, Ellie!” Luna said excitedly, matching Ellie’s energy. “What have you been up to?”

“Soccer camp!”

“That’s awesome! Do you score a lot of goals?”

“Yeah! I kick it in super hard and it hits the net and we win!”

“You’re gonna be a soccer star! Great job. Give me a high five!”

Luna put up her hand and Ellie giggled.

“Luna! Good to see you.”

“Hey!” Luna waved at the couple. “Can I get a chicken satay with that super spicy chili sauce and Ina’s regular with no-”

“Snow peas.”

Again, Luna laughed at the hilarity of Ina’s pickiness. “Yep, she’s quite adamant about it.”

Luna played with Ellie as her order was being prepared. It was these short but meaningful interactions with little kids that fueled her love for medicine. She wanted to make a difference in their young lives. She wanted to help fight disease, find cures and keep kids happy.

Luna grabbed her takeout and found Ina sitting alone at the bar across the street. She had a pensive, reflective look on her face that Luna easily recognized as the same one she had first seen Ina with all those years ago.

“Hi.”

Ina turned around, slightly startled after being in the zone. Her heart melted as Luna gave her a quick peck on the forehead.

“Do you want to go back out there?”

Luna nodded and grabbed Ina’s hand, motioning her to leave and follow the seemingly endless parade.

Ina got off the barstool quickly. “Hold on, I’m gonna use the bathroom.”

Luna plopped herself on a bar stool, her eyes wandering around the establishment. She pulled out her phone and turned to the selfie camera, wanting to see if her makeup had lasted. She smiled at herself, happy that her bisexual flag was still intact along with all the glitter that accompanied it. Ina had really outdone herself on the makeup.

Just as she was putting her phone back, a young woman around her age tapped her shoulder. Like Luna, it was evident that she had just come from the parade. She wore a tie dye t-shirt and jean shorts that allowed her to sport the rainbow paint that adorned her legs. If that didn’t give it away, she had a rainbow flag draped across her shoulders as if it were a blanket.

“I won’t waste my bad, punny pickup lines on you, so I’ll be straight-forward. What’s your name?” she asked.

“Luna. And for the record, nothing about me is straight.”

The mysterious girl laughed a little too hard at the joke as she flashed her pearly white teeth. Was she flirting with her? Luna was extremely sociable, but when it came to if someone was flirting with her, she could never tell. She’d need it laid out bluntly to discover that someone was coming onto her.

“I’m Bianca. Nice to meet you.”

Someone behind Bianca cleared their throat. “Is it? Is it really?”

Bianca turned around and cowered while looking sheepishly at Ina green with jealousy, her arms crossed and staring intensely at her.

“Uh...”

“She,” Ina said as she waltzed over to Luna. “She’s with me.” She then wrapped her arms around Luna’s waist.

“Oh...uh...sorry,” Bianca said and she fumbled away back onto the street.

“You know she was hitting on you right?”

“But...I just told her my name.”

“Oh, Lu,” Ina chuckled. “I love you, but sometimes this is quite hilarious.”

Luna grumbled incoherently at Ina’s teasing.

“You know you’re mine right?” Ina whispered in Luna’s ear in the most sultry voice she could muster.

“Ina...”

Ina traced her finger around Luna’s jawline and placed a few gentle kisses along it.

“And did I tell you how beautiful you look today?”

Luna blushed again. “You say that every day.”

“And I’ll say it every day forever.”

“How do you always do that to me?”

“Do what exactly, my love?”

“Get your head out of the gutter,” Luna laughed. “Make me swoon over and over again.”

“I just say cheesy things with my very smouldery voice in your ear. Gets you every time.”

“Ina...you know damn well that I’m a sucker to that voice.”

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Luna followed Ina out of the bar and onto the overpacked streets. The two marched down with the crowd, taking funny pictures at all angles. At some point, Luna picked up a mini rainbow flag and waved it around as if it were her most prized possession.

They were just outside a small store where a rainbow flag hung proudly and Luna saw a few more inside the store.

“Hold on, I’m gonna get you something.”

“Lu, I don’t need anything. Just be here with me.”

But Luna had already wandered inside the store. She bought the flag and met Ina at the entrance.

“Close your eyes.”

Ina did as she was told and Luna wrapped the flag around her.

“Ta-da!”

Instantly, the two were brought closer together and Ina smirked. “Thank you. I’m going to hang this in the living room,” she whispered against her and Luna looked up to meet Ina’s lips. They melted together, slowly feeling that the world was disappearing around them. Luna could feel Ina smiling against her lips as she finally pulled away to catch her breath.

“That was...”

“Wonderful,” Ina concluded. “Thank you for taking me here, Luna. I see I’ve been missing out on a lot.”

Ina wasn’t the only one having a great time. The lively ambience of not only the parade, but the street and city could be felt by every New Yorker. Pride always brought out a spontaneous, lively energy that reverberated throughout the community. No one could truly feel weighed down when the streets were flocked with people celebrating themselves. It was quite the scene to watch and partake in.

Ina stepped onto the pavement, wanting to absorb her surroundings. The vast amount of flags being flown was all-consuming. Not only rainbow ones, but those that represented so many more of the community. Almost every person that passed by had some sort of colorful decor, either on their clothing or plastered on by paint or makeup. Cheers echoed throughout the city’s back alleys, them too hearing the cries of happiness, joy and pride.

This is all she had ever wanted.

The love, acceptance and support of other people that not only acknowledged who she was, but embraced and cherished it. And what better way to spend it than with Luna.

“Ina?” Luna asked, her voice full of concern as she looked up to see Ina’s glazed eyes. “Are you-”

“Overwhelmed. But in the best way possible,” Ina said as she quickly dabbed at her eyes. “All my life I’ve been looking for a home. People who accept for who I am, even with my many, many flaws. People who don’t judge me on who I love, but rather my character and personality. And this Luna, this is who I am. I’m unapologetically attracted to women-”

“I know.”

With that, Ina let out a quiet laugh and shook her head. “There’s one woman in particular actually,”

“Really? Do tell, Doctor,” Luna smirked.

“Well she’s really smart. She loves kids and wants to be a doctor-”

“Pediatric neurosurgeon.”

“Excuse me. Yes, a pediatric neurosurgeon. She’s extremely witty and kind and funny and incredibly good looking. What more could a woman want?”

Luna grinned and stood on her tippy toes to reach Ina. Just as she leaned in, her stomach grumbled ferociously.

“Great. Way to ruin the moment, stomach.”

“Come on, let’s go home and eat,” Ina chuckled.

The two walked hand-in-hand until reaching the apartment. Sometimes Ina would stop in her tracks just to admire her girlfriend. While everyone else blended into the lively crowd, Luna always stood out to her, amplifying Ina’s very own love and happiness. Just by flipping her long, dark hair, Luna caught the attention of all the people nearby. It was in these moments where physical affection meant the world to Ina. She could show others that Luna was her girl and hers only.

“God, I’m starving,” Luna said as she sat her meal down on the dining room table.

The two sat across from each other, laughing endlessly about their adventures earlier that day.

“Swap?”

Luna nodded her head and she and Ina traded meals.

“God, how do you eat this! It’s burning!” Ina poured herself a glass of milk as she had discovered the spicy peanut sauce that accompanied Luna’s chicken satay. Ina’s spice tolerance was by far lower than Luna’s.

“I like the spice of life!”

Ina let out a quick breath, but Luna could still see a faint smile on her face. “You and your horrible puns. But I wouldn’t trade them for anything. I love you, Luna.”

#ina kingsley #ina x mc #queen b #choices #luna garcia

45 notes · View notes

lassostark · 4 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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