#soulmate marks

[that-dumb-oeuf]

Polytrix, but it's a soulmate mark AU.

Problem being that by the time Rumi sees Mira's and/or Zoey's mark and realises it matched hers, her demon patterns have already partially surrounded it, so she can't reveal it without revealing her heritage as well.

Also cute little happy end idea would be if when Rumi's patterns go that kind of iridescent, opal-y, rainbow look by the end, Mira and Zoey's mark also gains a bit of that colour or a bit of the patterns alongside it.

[shegotheruby]

CONTACT

SUMMARY: In a world where soulmates have marks, you're not sure how to find yours. Jihoon thinks he's prepared to meet his, but he has no idea how he'll make that happen. You know that you can feel each other, but the rest is up to fate.

WC: 10.3 K

tw: smut & fluff /mdni

note: cross posted from my AO3 account (wooziswife)

Growing up you remember hearing about common soulmate bonds in school. There were the popular ones, shared tattoos, and connected strings. There were the ones everyone wished for, hearing thoughts and sharing physical traits. The people with those visible bonds usually found their person easier. earlier in life. 

You remember being 10 years old and begging your mom to let you dye your hair pink, just to see if anything would happen. She told you that you were too young and that your bond would find you when the time was right. 

So you waited until you were 12, and when your cousin found her bond in the form of a tattoo, you begged again. “Mom, can I PLEASE dye my hair blue?” 

She reluctantly agreed and took you to the store for some temporary dye. To your dismay, none of the boys in school showed up with vibrant hair the next day and you sobbed for hours, claiming that you were meant to die alone. 

When you were 13, you had the bright idea to write a song. Maybe if the tune was good enough, the soulmate gods (or whoever was in charge of that pesky bond) would play it right into your soulmate’s ear. Another failed dream, but the song did lead you to study different musical instruments in your formative years.

On your 14th birthday, your friends were playing card games while you were secretly studying the lines in your hand, seeking for some sort of countdown or timer towards the day when you would finally figure out where your future led. 

At 15, you considered that maybe you had a soulmate, but he was in a coma! That’s got to be the reason you haven’t seen any bonds yet. The following year was filled with anxiety and your eventual lexapro prescription, but still no sign of who your person could be. Maybe you were meant to be unbounded, alone and rehoming cats.        

16 was the year you started to give up hope that your soulmate was out there. You started dating random guys around your high school. You never felt the sparks people described in the books and movies, but you enjoyed your life fine enough. You went to sophomore prom and got your first kiss. You lost your virginity in the back of a minivan, much to your later disappointment when the guy wasn’t interested in anything serious. You went to Football games and parties, and life was good. You were just happy to be living and breathing the American teenage dream. 

It wasn’t until your 17th year, when your parents sat you down and told you that you were moving all the way to South Korea that you felt it. It was small at first, a light tap, but sure enough, there it was. A soulmate bond. You couldn’t describe it out loud, but in the depths of your soul you felt the moment it clicked into place. You knew what it was beyond any doubts.

It felt as if someone was poking your cheek…except your hands were securely in your lap and your family was sitting across the room. Your own personal, special bond was in place. He existed, he was real.

Your babysitter growing up told you about a bond like this, she had it with her partner. She told you about how she could feel when other people touched him, as if they were touching her own skin. This was your mark, your guidemap to find out who he was.

You screamed. You cried, and your mom assumed it was because you didn’t want to move, but somewhere deep inside your bones, you knew that this move was the catalyst. This was that one decision that was changing the trajectory of your life, the choice that was bringing you towards your soul partner. You wanted to give him a sign that you were cognizant of him. That you knew he was out there, so you asked your parents to give you a tight hug. You really hoped he could feel it. 

___

on the other side of the world, he did. It shocked Jihoon in a similar way, but he felt more curiosity than pure yearning to know you just yet. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to know who you were, he just had other things on his mind. He was training at Pledis so that he could  become something for you to love. He hoped that you would be proud of him when the day did come for you two to meet. (He would be shocked to learn just how ready you were to love him as he was).

But  yes,  he felt you. He felt the buzz under his skin that didn’t belong to himself.

He wrapped his arms around himself a little tighter than usual, hoping you could feel his returned embrace.

___

From that day on, you poured every waking moment into studying the language you thought might be his, the culture. Everything you could learn to prepare yourself for the day when you met him. Your family officially made the move on a sunny day in July and began your international education with passion and determination. You, like him, felt an incessant and deep need to make him proud. Your education carried you all throughout university. 

Throughout the years, he was there. A humming presence in your bones. It took some time to acclimate to the new sensations, but you went to a soulmate specialist and got yourself diagnosed. You learned that your marking was a bit different than the kind your babysitter had spoken of. Your bond went deeper, and was supposedly believed to be unbreakable once you officially met. While this gave you a sense of pride, it also gave you a feeling of unease. You could feel everything he could. It wasn’t just the sensations from other people touching his skin, it was the sensations from himself as well. You basically lived in a sublayer of each other’s bodies.

When he stubbed his toe or got hurt, you felt it. When he had an itch he just couldn’t quite reach, you could tell, based on the random scratches you would feel on the edge of your shoulder blades. You felt the good things too, when people played with his hair or when he mindlessly drew circles on his knees. You felt the times when his muscles needed frequent massages and when he had knots that needed to be rubbed out. You wondered what he was doing to make him sore so often. Whoever he was, he was definitely an active person. You dreamed about what he might be doing, maybe he was an athlete, or a trainer. 

Something you grew to depend on a few years in was the ways in which he would comfort you. Whenever you had a big test to be nervous for you would bite your lip or squeeze your fists so tight that tiny little scratches would appear on your palms in the shapes of little crescent moons. Those little moments of tenseness were followed by the soothing sensation of a hand holding your own. It made you giggle, imagining him holding his own hand so that he could calm you down, but it also made you forget about the reasons you had to worry. He’d brush a finger over his own lip, and it would soothe the spot you bit yourself with nerves.

There were other days when it was cold outside and you rubbed your hands up and down your arms for warmth, suddenly without needing to hear the words, his hands would cover his own arms, providing a strange, internal warmth for your walk through the snow. 

You tried to reciprocate the comfort. There was a time when your knees were hurting almost every day. you think whatever he was doing in that era of his career required a lot of jumping. You would sit in bed at night and knead the muscles of your own legs. Sometimes you could sense his own relief somehow. Like somewhere in the void the universe was whispering that he was alright, and it was because of you.

__

Jihoon’s heart melted when he felt your soft fingers rubbing at the aches and pains in his body, but he also felt immense guilt. He had chosen a tough career, and without your choice, you were subject to all of the side effects of that. He did what he could to take care of himself, he knew that he was taking care of you too. When he traveled for tours he would take the time to rest his body. 

The members would often poke fun at him for skipping out on the exciting things. Learning to surf or drinking themselves stupid in the hotel room. He prioritized the health and safety of you, the woman he would someday love unconditionally, over those momentary excursions. He ate chicken and rice, and went to the gym regularly. He stretched before dancing and walked home to cool the muscles down. He did everything by the book for you. He would be damned if he ended up with an injury like Seungcheol. He couldn’t imagine putting you through that kind of pain, especially since you wouldn’t know why it was happening or how it happened. He couldn’t dream of doing that to you. 

The fans watched their variety show and commented how Jihoon - Woozi in their world - was Tsundre. How he was quiet and slow to move in a game. He had an image of hating when people touched him. 

What they didn’t know was that he wanted to respect you, and any semblance of boundaries you might wish to have. He didn’t want people hanging all over him and making you uncomfortable in any way. He didn’t want them hugging his body and ending up surprising you when you were in the middle of a shower or an important meeting. It felt like a strange roundabout violation of your boundaries. 

They thought he was just closed off to everyone, but they didn’t know that when Jihoon closed his eyes at night, he prayed for the day when he could finally hold you and never let go. 

___

When you reached your twenties, it seemed that the bond was almost  teasing you. The initial excitement of sharing feelings with another person became routine, and at times annoying. Whoever he was, he definitely adopted cats…cats who loved scratching and clawing at his legs and forearms. From the multitude of scratches happening at different times, you guessed there were probably two of them. It was little tidbits of information like that that made you happy, that made you think you’d find him someday. 

On the good days, You imagined that - even though you didn’t know much - you at least knew that your soulmate was a fit, kind guy with cats..maybe…Alone in the depths of your mind, on the tough days, you worried about the likelihood of finding him in a big city like this, with a bond so hidden. So internal. 

It wasn’t like you went around the block every day advertising which parts of your body were hurting and where you felt the sensations of other people’s hands on his. 

When it came to other people’s hands… Sometimes, you felt jealousy. Whoever he was, he was definitely loved. He always had hands on him. On his hair, his face, even his waist. There were days when it felt like a hundred people grabbed his hands in theirs and gripped like it was the only time they’d ever get the chance. Someone in his life loved to tug on his ear, and many people liked to swamp him with hugs. It wasn’t fair, that amongst all of these people, you weren’t awarded the same chance to feel his skin on yours. You didn’t know what it meant, all of these hands, and it killed you.  Was he with other women? other men? Was he even a man? 

You supposed that part wasn’t important to you, but it lingered in the back of your mind. What if he didn’t want you, what if he had someone else that he was in love with and you were a mere frustration to share feelings with. What if he was married? if he had children? 

Well no, you reminded yourself that you had never experienced any type of intimacy from his end. Sure, there were times when you would feel him touching himself for pleasure, but it was different than the other sensations. It felt more detached from your body, less like a part of you, like when he touched your hand or your neck,  and more like a warm feeling. During those moments it almost felt like he was touching you under water, through an even thicker fog than usual. You were able to feel pleasure, but it wasn’t as direct. You usually touched yourself first, imagining that it was him with his fingers inside of you, and you would come when he eventually joined in on the fun. 

You tried not to touch yourself too often, worried that it was awkward for him, but you were human after all… and a girl has her needs. You tried to keep it to a middle of the night type of thing, as to not intrude on his life. 

__

Your best friend, Rini got married on the first of May, in a beautiful outdoor ceremony. You stood with her at the altar, holding her bouquet like the perfect maid of honor, a single tear sliding down your cheek at the beauty of the occasion. You allowed yourself the afternoon to be completely free from your own mind, you weren’t thinking about your own soulmate, or your new job, or your own desires one bit. That is, until your friends kept giving you shots at the reception, and you were having so much fun that you weren’t totally thinking straight…and you ended up more than a little drunk.

An hour or so after the bride and groom’s sendoff, you were sitting outside on a bench when a man walked up to you with a blanket and asked to sit down. He seemed familiar but you weren’t sure from where. It took a few minutes of small talk before it clicked that somehow - some way - this was the boy who took you to that sophomore prom in America all of those years ago. The one who had taken your virginity in his stupid car. 

His name was Mark. He looked completely different and his voice lowered quite a bit. He really filled out and toned up. For lack of a better term.. he was hot now. You didn’t know how he was even here, or how he was connected to a friend who felt like she was from a different world, but here he was. 

In front of you, real, and very much thinking that you were hot now, too.

You knew in your heart that you were making a bad decision the second he leaned in for a kiss, but you had some wine and enough frustration flooding through your veins at the years of loneliness, that you were in the mood to make a few bad decisions. So you let him kiss you, and you kissed him back. You followed when he dragged you to the door of your hotel room and stripped you of your clothes. 

It was around that moment that Jihoon woke up from his sleep. 

He knew, immediately, that something was wrong. Not wrong with your safety, but wrong with the soulmate connection. He felt touches that weren’t your own, touches between your legs and on your breasts. 

He felt kisses on your neck and he saw red. 

Bright, blinding rage filled him with so much heat that he could have burned the world to ash if given the power. He felt jealousy and possession like he never dreamed possible, mixed with complete helplessness because no matter what, he couldn’t stop this from happening. He couldn’t stop you from choosing another man over him at this moment. He couldn’t stop you from falling in love with someone else before he got the chance.

 He felt sorrow and loss and heartbreak, in a loop that led straight back to possessive and angry and dominant. 

He wanted to kill whoever was touching you. He wanted to whisk you away and worship your body until you would never dream of letting anyone else touch it. As far as he was concerned, you were his. 

He had always remained respectful with your body…and his own… in the bedroom. He considered himself a gentleman and almost never touched himself until you started masturbating first. If he was hard - he learned that you were likely already horny too - so all he had to do was wait you out, and when you started to touch, he gave himself permission to finish. But he kept things quick and clean - never doing too much for fear of making you feel violated. 

At this moment, all of his pre-set rules flew out the window.  In his frenzied state - he fought back. 

If one man was going to touch you, Jihoon was going to touch you better. He was going to prove to you that you didn’t need someone else. And who better to please you than the person who felt how good he was making you fall apart in real time?  

It started with a slap to your (his?) ass. You yelped when you felt the blow, which caused your old flame to pull back from where he was kissing you. 

“I think he’s up” you moaned, feeling ghost hands rubbing your sensitive areas. It was that same unfamiliar feeling, pleasure but foreign, you’ve always assumed you were feeling him stroking his dick. 

“What do you mean?” Mark questioned, pulling back in surprise at the way your face contorted in pleasure despite his own ministrations halting. 

“This is going to be hard to explain.” you moan, “but I can feel my soulmate’s body right now.” 

You sigh, feeling kisses up the side of your arm. “and he’s … participating.” 

Mark stared wordlessly as you continued to react, visually untouched. It was when he saw you growing wetter that he realized this was real, and you weren’t joking. That was all he needed to grab his pants and bolt like lightning. 

You didn’t find the space to care, as you writhed on the hotel bed. 

Jihoon edged you for hours on end that night, and you didn’t spend a single second thinking about anyone else afterwards. 

Or the next night, when he worshiped your breasts with a cold sensation… Probably  ice. 

Or the night after when you felt what was likely a warming lube on your clit. 

A few nights later you were awoken in the night to a particularly intense session that had you squirting by the end. 

Another week you felt the strange sensation of metal on your wrists, which you could only assume was your soulmate simulating (in any way he could) that he would handcuff you to the bed one day.

You once felt a slow, grinding sensation in the middle of the day and had to excuse yourself from a meeting at your new job to quickly cum in the bathroom.

You were walking out of the bathroom when it started again, and you had to retreat back for round 2. Everyone assumed you were sick in there…if only they knew.

You decided 2 can play that game, and spent an evening testing out a variety of new toys you purchased. You learned that when he liked something, he would curl his fingers into his chest or his thighs , and when it was too much, he would tap his wrists together. It took you a while to figure out that he was probably forming his hands into an “x” shape to communicate with you.

It was a unique communication style you somehow developed, but it worked.

You even determined a way to plan times for your strange sex life. One of you would tap your wrist the appropriate amount of times to determine a time. 9 taps meant 9:00pm and his favorite time to meet you was at 13:00. You weren’t sure why he was always awake at 1 am, but you tried not to disturb him before then on those nights. 

___

This continued throughout the spring months and into the heat of summer. You were grateful that your soulmate broke free of whatever restraints there were for the first few years, because you had an orgasm almost every night for weeks, and you were practically glowing as you relaxed in the break room of the production studio you landed a job in. 

You loved producing music, it was a calming space for you, a place where you could pour out your thoughts and feelings into something meaningful. You were in the middle of editing a track that was meant to be sold to a popular Western artist, when your boss wandered in with an excitable look on his face. 

“Y/N..” he almost looked…giddy… “I have great news.”

“What is it?” you questioned, noting the sleek black folder in his hands.

“Your producing skills specifically have been scouted by one of the labels at HYBE. They want you to collaborate on a track for one of their boy groups.” 

He handed you the folder with a grin, and watched you like a child on Christmas morning as you opened it up to read the letter printed in professional, yet tasteful writing. 

—

Dear Miss Y/L/N,

It is with great excitement and pleasure that the HYBE MUSIC GROUP has discovered your musical Production skills. Our company’s success thrives on the continuous reach for new and growing talents to join our creative process. 

We understand that you are an artist with a diverse background, and great instrumental, technical, and vocal skills. While all of these traits are attractive to our team, it is specifically the unique sound of your recent projects that has gained our attention. 

Our team would like to meet with you to discuss a possible contract with PLEDIS to collaborate on the upcoming SEVENTEEN album this fall. 

We are looking to finalize the artists working on this project by this time next month, and more details can be provided in person. Note, acceptance of this contract will require strict NDA signatures and likely full time commitment. 

Please consult your studio leadership, as they have been provided details regarding the scheduling process for the meeting. 

Thank you for your consideration, 

HYBE LABELS TALENT ACQUISITION. 

___

You looked up at your boss with shiny eyes and the biggest smile that has ever lived on your face. You made it. In your line of work, this is about as big as it gets - collaborating with an Idol group like SEVENTEEN would mean crazy exposure both for yourself, and for your entire studio.  

He agreed, and helped you set up the meeting. 

A couple of weeks later (and several long, boring legal meetings later), you were officially locked into a three month contract with PLEDIS Entertainment. 

You went out with a few friends to celebrate the accomplishment that Friday evening, and found yourself at a local bar getting drinks. It wasn’t easy being the lightweight of your group, since you had FOMO and wanted to keep up with your friends, you quickly (and sloppily) became sloshed out of your mind. 

You don’t remember much else from the evening, but you do remember crying into someone’s lap about how desperately you wanted to meet your soulmate. So many people in your inner circle had found theirs already, and you were a hopeless romantic who wanted it more than anything in the world. 

“Y/N.” Your friend had coo’d, rubbing your hair and shoving a cup of water in your face, “He’s out there, and you’re about to be a hotshot producer. Isn’t he going to be so proud of you when he finally meets you?”

Another friend chimed in, “Yeah! You just need to focus on this step in your Career and you can worry about love when everything settles afterwards! We’ll help you make a dating profile and maybe fate will bring you together there!” 

You continued softly crying, but you did at least understand what they were getting at. You wanted to be at your best when the new week began, so after nursing a brutal hangover on Saturday, you gave yourself a self care Sunday. 

Everything shower, grocery shopping, laundry, cleaning, meditation, everything. You were locked in and ready to rock whatever life was about to throw at you.

What you didn’t expect was this. 

___

Walking into work today felt charged for Jihoon. He knew that he was going to be meeting you, his team had warned him as such, but it still made him a bit nervous. One would think that being such a famous celebrity would have changed this about him, but he was still always anxious to meet new people. 

For him, when he met fans or servers or drivers, it was usually fine because it was a brief interaction and he could predict what the conversation might be like. With you, he knew that you’d be working together for an extended period of time, which meant that (in his mind) what you thought of him mattered. He hoped you would be kind and easy to talk to - there was nothing he despised more than awkwardness. (and he was feeling exceptionally shy this morning).  

Soonyoung used to tell him to view strangers as his  future best friends whenever they were gaining new trainees in the program, and it actually helped calm him. He uses that ideology often, even now, so he just tries to envision you as his future friend and walks into his studio with feigned excitement. He is mostly intrigued to witness the changes having a female mind might bring to the group’s sound. In the ten years they’ve been together, he hasn’t had a female in the studio like this ever. It’s always been him, Bumzu, and the other members. Occasional females would collaborate on a song or two, but never a whole album. 

He sits at his desk next to Bumzu and begins talking about his weekend. He relaxes a bit as he takes a bite of a sandwich he bought on the way in. 

You knock on the door a few minutes later, walking into the room with a polite yet breathtaking confidence that sends a shiver down Jihoon’s spine. 

He’s never really been one to look at women, he had a soulmate to consider, but damn him if you weren’t the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on. Immediate goosebumps arise on his arms as you open your mouth in greeting. You introduce yourself, voice smooth like butter. He thinks he hears Bumzu responding with his own hello, but his brain has gone a bit fuzzy at the pure buzzing sound in his head. 

He almost feels like he’s about to pass out when he notices that you, too, appear a bit unstable. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, standing up to greet you. 

“Yes, sorry” you apologize, continuing through the room, “I just zoned out for a second. It must be the nerves. It’s really surreal to meet you both.

You offer your hand out for a handshake and he simply stares at it (admiring how delicate and lovely your manicured nails look with your little gold rings and soft skin). He’s sure that he looks like an absolute idiot, gaping at your hand like a child who doesn’t know what a handshake is…but he suddenly can’t move. It’s almost like there’s a magnet pulling him towards you but another one bracketing him in place at the same time. His head is suddenly pounding with an oncoming migraine.

Bumzu comes to the rescue when he cuts in with his own handshake, and you accept it with gratefulness. Your head, too, begins to pound right behind your eyes.

The moment your hand separates from Bumzu’s, you look over to see that Jihoon has gone utterly pale. 

“Um, Jihoon?” It’s your turn to question him as you see him visibly shaken.

“Shake his hand again.” He orders, no explanation provided.

You tilt your head in confusion but do as he says, and Jihoon’s face contorts into an unreadable expression. He stands to step towards you and extends his own hand for a handshake. “Do you happen to…feel your soulmate?” He questions, a hopeful gleam in his eyes. 

“Yes…I do..” You begin before it all clicks in your brain and your mind starts doing somersaults and backflips and your body reacts without reason. You connect with Jihoon’s hand in your own handshake and yelp in surprise when it feels like an out of body experience. Your stomach feels like you’re on a roller coaster and you feel like you did that one time you tried weed in college (not your smartest idea).

You jerk your hand away at the sudden buzz and sway -  immediately dizzy at the swarm of emotions flooding your psyche. You’re nervous to be meeting Jihoon but also happy and excited and shocked and turned on because you know, without a doubt, in your heart of hearts, that this man is yours. 

“Y/N.” He says, testing your name on his lips.

“Jihoon.” You respond, glassy eyes locking on him. 

“You’re my soulmate.” You both say at the same time, before connecting in a bone shattering hug. You crumple into his strong arms and he grips you with such protective strength - like he’s not sure if you’re even real and he’s afraid to let go and wake up from a dream.

At this point you don’t see the point in holding it in, and you allow some tears to fall. 

“I didn’t know If I’d ever find you.” You sniffle into his shoulder. 

“I know.” He breathes, pressing a testing kiss to the top of your head. 

Bumzu gets the hint and takes his leave, giving you some privacy to meet on your own. 

You only separate from your embrace when you hear the door click shut. 

“Come sit on the couch.” Jihoon suggests, pulling you down next to him. “I want to know everything about you.” 

“Where do I even start?”

“I guess I want to know about where you’re from? What are your interests?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I don’t know. I already know I'm fated to love you so I guess just help me start doing that” 

Your heart beats a little faster at the notion of loving him right back. 

“Well I guess I should start by admitting that I'm a hopeless romantic.”  you lightly giggle, hiding your face in your hands. A moment later, you peek through the fingers to continue, “and you can’t say stuff like that or I'll shut down and daydream for 5 minutes every time.” 

“I’m not sure I know how to flirt.” He tilts his head, “But I think I’ll have fun practicing on you.” He teases, lifting your chin with his fingers. “Now come on, tell me something, anything.” 

And so you do. You tell him everything, where you grew up, how you got here. You talked about foods and colors, music and movies. Arts and grades in school. Parents, families, how his life has been a chaotic whirlwind but the members make everything worth it. 

He’s in the middle of telling you about his cats when a familiar noise erupts down the hall. 

___

It’s been two hours. 120 Minutes  since you found out that your Soulmate isn’t just a normal guy, and apparently that’s all the privacy you get before 12 Korean Idols and 1 Guilty looking Bumzu barge into the studio, cramping the space with excitable energy. 

“Is it true, Hyung!?” (Mingyu)

“Wow! She totally looks like the kind of girl you’d match with!” (Hoshi)

“Of course his soulmate would be a producer too!” (Dokyeom)

“I want to meet her first!” (Chan)

“”We need to approach this calmly, don’t swarm her!” (Joshua)

The voices overlap each other and you stare at them like a deer in headlights. Meeting ONE member of SEVENTEEN had you shaking like a leaf this morning, but never in a million years did you think all of them would be in this small-ish room at once. 

“I guess I should have known that this kind of thing was inevitable from the get go.” Jihoon mumbles into your ear, grabbing your hand. “Is this okay? I can kick them out?”

“No it’s fine.” you answer, taking a moment to look into his eyes. 

He stares back, and seemingly decides that you’re telling the truth, so he stands, pulling you up with him, though he steps slightly in front of you in a naturally protective way. 

“There’s a great concept I enjoy called ‘one person talking  at a time,'” he scolds, stopping the chatter. 

“Let me just explain it all at once.” He starts, rubbing your hand with his thumb soothingly. “This is Y/N and she is my Soulmate.” The boys melt, softly staring at their brother with love and joy for him. “I already feel very strongly about her in a way I can’t logically describe, so please don’t scare her off.”

“Which you won’t.” You cut in, stepping so you’re fully beside Jihoon. “I also feel an indescribable connection to him.. and I hope we can all get to know each other a bit. Maybe we can order some food?” 

The mere mention of food has the room hollering in agreement and Seungcheol calls a manager with an order a few minutes later. 

While you wait, the chatter continues pretty naturally with the boys asking you questions. You don’t really broach the elephant in the room. That little voice in the back of your head singing, “hey…your soulmate is uber famous and you’re not. How do we move forward with that?”

Jihoon must sense that you’re a bit overwhelmed though, because he reaches over to hold your hand (the room erupts in squeals), and it does calm you a bit. He leans over to whisper in your ear, “Just let me know when you’re ready for them to leave, okay?” 

You nod at him and mutter that it’s really fine, and truly it is. You’re not unhappy to be surrounded by the noise and the activity (if anything HE  will be ready for them to leave before you will). You just get in your head about logistical things like this pretty easily. 

You’re already feeling insanely attached to him - you’ve heard this is normal for soulmates - but it still worries you. What if his fans hate you? What if the company rejects the idea of you being together? 

You’re still thinking about how the world will react when Hoshi - ever the person to push Jihoon’s buttons - pipes up. “So Y/N… are you a Carat?” 

You blush a little. “Maybe.” 

“YOU ARE!” Hoshi  points at you, clocking you for your coyness. “Look at her cheeks turning all red! Just like Jihoonie’s do!” He laughs. 

“Awww I hope Woozi is at least your bias” Jeonghan teases, leaning forward as if to ask you to admit who you like the most. 

“Hmmmm… Tell us who your bias is!” Dino, sitting on your other side, pulls on your wrist. “You can be honest! We won’t tease you!”

“Yes they will.” Minghao objects.

Your face flushes even more, as if that’s even possible, and you look over to Jihoon. He is studying you with a smirk on his face. 

“Now why are you laughing at this too?” you pout “you’re supposed to like… protect me or something aren’t you?” 

He laughs out loud, a heavenly sound, “Can you blame me for being curious?” 

You cross your arms and scrunch up your face in fake anger. “I plead the 5th.” You huff in English. 

“That doesn’t really mean anything here.” Vernon and Joshua laugh, while the others stare confused. 

“Okay well i’m staying silent.” you mimic locking your lips and throwing away the key.

“The silence is telling, Y/Nnie” DK strokes his chin. “I bet it’s S.Coups Hyung. He has a lot of fans.” 

“Nah, she gives Jun energy to me.” Seungkwan speculates. 

“As flattering as that would be.” Jun shakes his head, “I can tell when someone has a secret collection of Joshua photocards, and you, Y/N totally do.” 

“I can’t explain it, but your face just screams Dionara to me.” Dino jokes, “don’t worry, Woozi Hyung will understand. I’m too alluring to resist.” 

The boys launch into an argument over what “vibe” you give off, reasons for each prediction becoming wilder and wilder than the last. 

“If it wasn’t me before tonight, I’ll make sure to change your mind, baby.” Jihoon whispers into your ear, sending an entire zoo running through your stomach. His hand has found its way onto your lower back, and you fight the urge to sigh. When he touches you, there’s still a soft buzzing sensation. It’s not the same as before, but it’s still there, under the skin, almost calling you towards him.

___

A few hours later, you’re sitting in a fancy black car service with Jihoon. While it was nice to eat and get to know them, you want nothing more than to spend time with your person. Alone. 

You mutually decided that you would spend some time bonding and talking tonight at your place. Jihoon wanted you to be in your safe space, since you had spent all afternoon in his, and you agreed. There’s a wet patch growing in your underwear at the mere thought of him entering your home…your bedroom. You squeeze your thighs together and hope he can’t tell just how turned on you are, it feels like an inappropriate time - even though you’ve already… explored that physical part of yourselves in a detached sort of way.

Unfortunately… he notices right away and lays his hand on your thigh, slowly sliding upwards towards your core. The driver has the radio playing at a pretty high volume, and you pray he doesn’t hear when a breathy little sigh releases from you involuntarily. 

“Shhh” he teases in your ear “that’s for later.” 

“So is that, then”, you argue back, looking down at his hand creeping too close for comfort. 

He fucking WINKS at you as he agrees, pulling his hand away and sliding it into your own hand instead. 

“You know what’s actually crazy.” you lean in, voice teetering between sultry and amused. “I know what you like in bed probably more than anyone else in this world, and we’ve never even met.” 

“Hmm, that’s a bold assumption.” he kisses the spot right beneath your ear. “Now… how much further until we’re at your place?”

“Why? So I can prove it?” 

“I hope we can both prove it.”

You shudder and look out the window. “Just a few more minutes.”

“Good.” 

___

Upon entering your apartment, you give Jihoon all of one minute to look around before you’re pressing yourself to his front. 

“I’m giving you 5 seconds to push me away before I kiss you like I've always wanted to.” 

He answers by grabbing your face with both hands and pressing his lips to yours. It’s deep and passionate, and the buzzing beneath your veins seems so scream that this is so RIGHT. 

You wrap your arms around his waist and hug him tight as you explore each other, lips locking and tongues exploring with fierce possession. 

It’s an overwhelming sensation - touching someone and feeling the touch on yourself at the same time. It’s an out of body experience and somehow the most connected to your soul that you’ve ever felt at the same time. Jihoon tells you as such, mumbling the words into your neck as he kisses downwards, your head rolling back to give him easier access. 

“Please” the little word escapes your lips completely of its own volition, and you feel him smile against your collarbone. 

“So needy already?”

“Not already. I’ve been needy for you for years, Jihoon.” 

“Sorry, baby.” he continues the trail, pulling your shirt off of your shoulder so he can kiss there. “You might have to work a little harder for it.” 

Brat. he’s not going to give this to you easily, so you have two options here. One - you can just let him take it slow, probably teasing you and edging you and making you whine until morning. Or Two- you can get him as wound up as you are, so he has no choice but to fuck you hard and fast. You choose the second option. 

“Fine, I will then.”  

He doesn’t have a chance to respond before you’re tugging on his pants, pushing both the joggers and the boxers down in one go, dropping to your knees at the same moment. He’s left gaping, where his lips had once been on your skin he now feels simply air. 

“Oh fuck.” he gasps, looking down at the sight of you, staring at his length. 

“Fuck is right.” you gulp.

There’s a video of Jihoon that went viral not too long ago. He made an offhanded comment about his height - something along the lines of ‘my height is the only short thing about me.’

And he really wasn’t fucking lying. He’s huge. Long and thick and curved in a way you KNOW will have your brain short circuiting before this night is over. 

You reach forward and take him into your hand, eliciting a moan from above you. You test the waters, just getting the feel for him, rubbing up and down, spitting for a smoother glide. You don’t take him into your mouth yet, maybe that makes you a little bit of a brat too. But if he wants you to work for it, he’s going to need to beg just like you will. 

“You like this?” you ask, looking up at him from your knees, making your eyes big and wide. He almost dies at the sight of you and just nods, grabbing at the entry way table for stability. 

He just grunts in agreement and makes a face that tells you to keep going. 

You wrap your fingers around his tip, teasing as your eye contact stays connected. A bit of precum leaks out so you pull your hand away to stick two fingers in your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the fingers and smile up at him, bringing your hand back to his length. 

“I wanted this to go faster but if you want me to work for it…” you taunt “I can make this last hours.” You keep rubbing, never increasing the pace or adding your mouth - like he certainly wants you to. And he’s actually stubborn enough to let you. He doesn’t say anything, just staring down at you like an animal watching his prey. You catch him a few times, sighing when you rub his tip or when you squeeze just a bit harder. But you continue, slow and tantalizing. 

Eventually he rips his shirt off, throwing it to the floor, and that’s how you know he’s just as hot and bothered as you, so you take that as the signal to finally bring him into your mouth, no warning, no lead up with a little lick or that “just the tip” business. You take him deep, sucking him into your throat and gagging in one quick motion. 

He groans, loudly and obscenely, taken off guard enough to grab your head and jerk his hips unwillingly. He mumbles something unintelligible mixed with some “oh’s” and “shit!” 

You can’t fit all of him in your mouth, so you continue to suck and bob your head, twisting and rubbing the remaining length of him with your freshly manicured fingers. You moan around him, sending vibrations up his spine like lightning. He throws his head back, banging it into the wall - not that he cares. 

“I underestimated” he chokes out through hard breaths “how much of this I could handle” 

You giggle around his cock, and his dick jerks, sensitive to every small change. 

You pull off of him, a string of spit connecting you to him. Your hands continue their ministrations as you lick your lips and ask  “did i work hard enough for it?” 

He doesn’t even need to respond - you know he’s close to cumming. You can feel the way he’s grown more sensitive, even to your hands. His ears have turned bright red and his face is flushed. He’s the perfect vision of fucked out. You think to yourself how this is probably his first time, and you feel a sense of gratification that it gets to be you. 

“Yeah” he sighs out

“Jihoonie.” you move to stand up, wrapping your arms over his shoulders. “Is this your first time getting a blowjob?” 

This sobers him just a bit, his ears reddening even more. “I was waiting for it to be you.” 

“God you’re perfect.” you kiss him again, deep and slow. You move to grab his hands and pull him towards your bedroom. “Tell me if you want to stop, okay?” You command, voice getting a bit more serious as you stand next to the bed. 

He pulls away a few inches with a look of astonishment. “Oh Y/N. I was waiting for it to be you because I don’t want anyone else.” His eyes darken with lust. “But trust me when I say this - I’ve imagined 1,000 different ways I can break you apart and build you back up again”. He grabs your waist tighter, sliding his fingers along the ridge of your pants until they rest in the groove of your back.  “I may be a virgin but I am surely not innocent or scared of this.” 

 “Hmm.” you nuzzle yourself into his neck, leaving a kiss. “Okay. I want you to try one of those imaginative scenarios then.” 

“Okay.” he smiles, imagining you bent in half, screaming his name. “Well the first thing we can’t have is this.” He grabs at the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head - and boy does he love what he finds underneath. You’re wearing a red lacy bra, sheer enough that he can see your nipples through the fabric. 

He simply can’t help himself from staring as you tilt your head to the side. “It’s your color.” You comment, arching just a bit to push your tits towards him. “I think it’s your color now.” he moans, diving forward to lick your nipple through the mesh fabric. 

Your body tingles with pleasure at the sensation, the warmth and wetness of his tongue mixed with the rubbing of the fabric. It feels good, though you wish he was in between your legs instead. 

“Hoonie. Keep going lower.” you beg, and he actually listens, moving to unbutton your jeans. He slides them down your legs and you kick them off while he admires the matching red thong adorning your body. 

He pushes you lightly onto the mattress so he can spread your legs, making room for his face in between. He wastes no time sucking the fabric covered clit into his mouth, groaning as he does so. His hands continue worshiping your nipples, pushing your bra down enough to pop your breasts out of the delicate cups. 

You don’t know what to do with your hands, so you rest them on his forearms, gripping as you moan your praise. Your hips buck into his mouth, which only makes him pull away with a smirk and an airy laugh. You think he’s going to tease you but he just dives in again, biting at the fabric and looking up, locking eyes with you as he pulls the panties down with just his mouth. 

You lift your hips just enough to help him finish the slide, and he removes his hands from your breasts so he can pull them fully off of you. You’re about to whine at how slow he’s moving, until he’s diving back in with a long lick up your cunt. He spreads your folds open and french kisses you, tongue diving into your hole. He can think of nothing other than just how ready and wet you are. How good you’ll feel clenching his dick the way you contract around his tongue.

His eyes close as he succumbs to the moment, simply allowing himself to enjoy your sweet taste. His nose occasionally bumps your clit, sending you into a babbling mess, grasping at the sheets and his hair and his shoulders and your own breasts - anything to keep you attached to this plane of existence. 

His fingers … his long, slender,pretty-as-fuck fingers finally join the party, two of them sliding in alongside his mouth. “Hear that, baby?” he mumbles into you. “So wet and pretty.” 

“Mmph. keep talking” you gasp, feeling closer to your orgasm when he praises you. 

“My girl likes auralism, hm?” 

“I don’t even fucking know what that means” you groan, almost choking on your words as he sucks harshly on your swolen bundle of nerves. You know he’s smart and kind of nerdy but why does he have to name your kinks in the middle of blowing your mind out of your god damn body?

“Means you’re turned on by my voice.” He explains, moving his way up your body but keeping his fingers inside. He brushes his mouth under your ear, “by my whispers.” he moves to the other ear. “By my music.” a kiss to your neck. “Come on baby, cum for me, hm?” 

His fingers increase in pace, a third one sliding in to finish the job. “Let go so I can sit your pretty little cunt on my cock, yeah?” 

Your toes curl, back arching and eyes rolling into the back of your head as you finish hard and intense. Your screams aren’t even coherent words as you moan and thank him for making you feel so good. You’ve never squirted, ever in your life, but damn did he make you dripping wet. You look down to see a glob of creamy liquid leaking out of you around his fingers. 

On a normal day - with a normal guy - that might make you blush with embarrassment, but with Jihoon it only serves to make you hotter and more obsessed with him. You grab at his wrist, slowing him down only when you begin to reach overstimulation. 

“Hoonie” you calm down enough to sigh, “If you ever do that again I'll marry you on the spot.” 

“Naked bedroom wedding huh?” He laughs into your neck and you pull him into another kiss. You roll onto your side, bodies pressed together and you throw a leg over his hip. You bring a hand up to his neck and pull away enough to stare into his eyes - god you love his eyes. 

“Okay, maybe not right on the spot.” you giggle. “Nobody else gets to see you naked - not even the officiant.” 

“One day we will have a real wedding.” He answers, confidently. “I know I just met you officially, but I’ve been in love with the idea of you since I was a 17 year old kid. I know we have chemistry, and god am I excited to learn your mind.” 

“I think I know you better than you know me.” You roll your body so he is on his back, your legs straddling him. “Famous idol and all.” You grind down on his dick, and he licks his lips. You let your words settle for a moment in silence, saying what you both already know, what you feel.

 “And I know I love you already.” You finish, reaching back to adjust him. You line up your hole and sink down onto his cock, sighing with the stretch.  

Little “uh” noises escape from him as you sink to the hilt, pussy clenching tightly around the absolute massive penetration. 

“Mine.” He groans, grinding into you with desperation. You lean forward to kiss again, the angle sending his dick twitching. “Mine.” You agree. Your lips clash together as you grind slowly, getting used to the sensation for a few minutes. When you finally feel adjusted, you begin to push upwards, plopping back down with force, sending your tits shaking in his -pleased- face. 

You start bouncing with a rhythm, hands braced on his chest. “Yes, fuck.” 

It only takes about a minute of that position before you’re so close to another orgasm, still sensitive from the last one. You lean back and place your weight on your wrists behind you, head thrown back as you ride him like a dildo. Sweat drips down your hairline and you know you must look like a slut, but it just feels too good - he - feels too good. 

“Like using me like a toy?” He asks.

“Mhm.” you moan towards the ceiling. “Mine.” you brag. “Mine” -bounce- “Mine” -bounce- “Mine.” 

“Yeah. Yours” He agrees, finally planting his feet and pushing up into you, meeting your movements with hard, deep thrusts of his own. 

You cum again with a cry and he pushes harder, helping you through it. You clench around him and float on the dopamine high. He can feel when you clench like he feels his own heartbeat, and takes that moment to focus on his release. He rolls you over until you’re in missionary and pounds into you deeper. “Where?” he gasps and you grab at his back, clawing with a choked out “Inside.” He pushes faster, faster, faster, and then he’s filling you up with his creamy seed, rope after rope painting your walls. 

He collapses on top of you and you both lay there gasping for breath. His skin is glowing with sweat, not an impurity in sight, and you brush your hands through his black hair. You wrap your legs around him in a bear hug and fall asleep, smiling because you finally found your soulmate for life. He’s handsome and successful and damn he can FUCK. 

___

You sleep in the next morning, awaking to the sunshine and alone in bed. You sit up to find that Jihoon cleaned you up last night. You slept through him gently wiping you down and dressing you in some Pajamas. He went looking through your drawers, which he finds to be appropriate given the fact that he’s literally seen you nude. (Now did he take a pair of undies for when he’s on tour? Maybe, but that’s unimportant because he plans on buying you many more). 

You stretch your muscles, feeling the soreness settling between your thighs, and smile at the memory of why. You stand and wander to the open doorway, where you spot him sitting on your living room couch. He’s been snooping around - proven by the binder in his lap. 

“Good Morning” You smile, leaning against the door frame. “You left me all alone in bed.” 

“Morning, Beautiful.” He grins, setting the binder aside and standing to come wrap you in a hug. “I didn’t want to wake you.” 

“Hmm.” you nuzzle into him, “or you just wanted a chance to snoop around?” 

“Can’t both be true?” He gives you a mischievous grin. Moving his body so he’s hugging you from behind, he shuffles you over to the couch. He points at the open page - full of his photocards - and pinches your side. 

“So I actually was your bias all along, huh?” 

“Of course you were. Have you SEEN your face?”

“Why didn’t you admit it when everyone was teasing you yesterday?” He chortles.

“Because I’m normal and you’re famous… and normal people admitting to their celebrity crush that they HAVE a crush on them is like so totally mortifying.” 

“Mortifying?” He teases with a laugh.

“Absolutely Life-Ending Humiliation.” You mumble into his lips with a kiss.

“Well then” he kisses you back. “I guess I’ll just have to make you famous too. Even the score a bit?”

You pull back with a questioning look and he pulls out his phone. He shows you his Instagram, where he’s posted 10 stories in a row of reposts from your account. It’s mostly clips of you singing demos you’ve written, with him praising your work. He’s left little captions on the stories. “My favorite producer.” and “Hey Carats! Get ready to see Y/N’s name on our next album!” 

Jihoon never posts online - especially not on Instagram. The platform is essentially a public resume for him and not much more. 

Your eyes well with tears and he drops his phone back into his pocket. “Hey, hey why are you upset? Do you want me to delete them?” He worries. 

‘No, I don’t.” You rub his cheek with soft hands. “I was just worried before. About how people would react.”

You walk around the back of the couch so the two of you can properly sit down together. You hold his hand and continue. “I thought that people would only know who I am because i’m your soulmate.”

He nods, waiting to hear more before responding.

“I thought that they would see me as someone who gets in the way of their delusions to be with you. You know how it is.. The fans wanting to date you and being possessive and all that.” 

He hums in understanding.

“I just… I don’t know. It probably sounds dumb but the fact that you posted my work - a reason for people to know me for me and not me for you… it just means a lot. It means that you get me and it makes me feel really good.” 

He rubs your arm and grins. “You know, I always worried about how this would work too.”

“You have?”

“Sure I have. I always kind of assumed my soulmate would be someone who isn’t another Idol. Life in the spotlight like that…” he pauses to think about his words, “It’s just kind of something that happened for me I guess. Not necessarily the place I most thrive in.” 

“You’ve always seemed to stick to the shadows.”

“Yeah, I do. I love this part, he points to your piano. “I love music. Producing and watching my friends live their dreams. I love being a reason that they can reach those goals.” 

“And what about your dreams?” you ask.

“Honestly” he scooches closer, pulling your legs into his lap. “I think you’re my dream.” 

“Okay cheesy.” You laugh, looking away with an eye roll.

“No I don’t mean it like that” he chuckles, rubbing comforting circles on your shins. “I just mean that I’ve always longed for this. The peace of living with someone who isn’t a noisy brother. The domesticity of brushing our teeth together and writing love songs for anniversaries.”

“Someone you can cuddle and cook with” You chime in, naming those dreams you’ve had yourself over the years.

“Life where we watch movies all weekend long and don’t ever change out of our pajamas.” He adds.

“As long as there’s takeout and at least one rom com involved.” You giggle, wiggling your toes. 

“I can agree to that plan.” He smiles, “But don’t tell Cheol when we watch the Notebook. It’s secretly his favorite movie and he’ll try to crash our plans.” 

You laugh at the surprise of it - a rapper with arms the size of your face swooning over the film.

“Deal.”

___

There’s still a lot of details to figure out. How long before you officially leak the bonding to the press? Before you tell the fans? Will you travel with him on tour? What would that look like with your job? He’s assured you that everything will be alright though, and you believe him.

What’s most important right now is that you found each other. That 12 year old girl who begged her mom for hair dye. The 13 year old learning to sing and the 14 year old inspecting the lines of her palms. Every version of you longed and dreamed and yearned for your soulmate, and nobody could be more perfect than the man sitting before you today. 

Jihoon is yours, and you plan on loving him loudly. Loving him quietly, and in those in between moments too. You plan on making him feel like the most important person in the world, not for his music or his dancing, but for his personality. You plan on reminding him every day how cute his laugh is and how much you love it when his hands are on you - inside of you. You plan on kissing him and surprising him with teasing touches when he’s trying to focus on a virtual meeting. 

You plan on using his card - like he’s suggested - on every color of lingerie and some personalized panties with his name embroidered. 

He plans on worshipping you like a goddess and making you feel more special than anyone else could imagine. 

He plans on cooking for you to come home to after a long day, and sending you texts with memes of cats when you’re sitting right next to each other. He knows himself, and he knows you’ll get the ugly side of him too. The tired and the overwhelmed, but he can sense in his bones that you’re the person who will help him feel better. One rub of your hand through his hair and he’ll be relaxing into your side, feeling safe and home. 

He already feels like home to you too. And that feels pretty damn good.

___

[ew-selfish-art]

DpxDc AU: Tim as a child was never given a lot of information regarding the scribbling messy handwriting that appeared over night all over his arms- naturally he came to his own conclusions.

Tim Drake was home entirely alone at 9 years old and was about to go out for the night to test his brand new long exposure camera lens when he sees the writing on his arm. It’s not English, like he assumed it was at first, but it was using the alphabet to represent… Tim isn’t bad at math but this formula is complex for his little genius brain.

Looking at his camera, he decides he can spare a moment to look it up, solve it, and get back out into old town Gotham in time for Batman and Robin’s final patrol lap. He does just that, finding the problem to relate to some aerospace engineering and then quickly deduces what laws and theorems need to be applied. He finds a pen, writes down his findings in much neater handwriting onto his arm, and goes out. It’s barely a remarkable night at all. He gets a much more memorable photo of Robin roundhouse kicking a hench person.

Things just continued on that way. Tim would find some complex math, physics or chemistry prompt on his arm (surrounded by various question marks or notes or sad faces)- he’d answer it as best he could and move on with his life. Perhaps his parents were manifesting these pop quizzes? Perhaps his subconscious felt guilty about abandoning his studies for more Bat related pursuits? Tim really didn’t care to think much about it once he became Robin- there was too much on his plate and too many peoples problems for him to fix.

Notably, however, after the attack at the Tower, the pop quiz appeared and Tim wrote back that he wouldn’t be able to find an answer to this one. It was the only time Tim questioned the markings appearance and it was because the next thing that appeared was “Hope you feel better soon.”

… his parents wouldn’t include that on a pop quiz. Cursed then. Tim decided it must be a curse, whatever, he’d deal with the implications later in life.

Tim then has the worst year of his life, hes 15, no longer Robin and the questions from his curse are getting less math oriented and more… philosophical. A lot of mentions of death that, in hindsight helped him actually grieve, and a lot of theories about dark matter and souls. Tim answers back as best he can but he’s drained and his answers aren’t very good in his opinion. He gets minimal feedback.

It all comes to a point that he’s at a family dinner, Bruce is at the head of the table, Jason has promised just to stay for dessert, Damian hasn’t thrown a single insult his way and Steph was laughing at him- when a new theoretical model appears on his arm.

“You’re just as bad as Bruce, Timberly. Hiding a soulmate from all of us, how fucking typical.” Jason points out, while watching Tim scribble back some math with a question mark onto his arm.

“A what? No, this is just a curse. I get pop quizzes every now and then.” Tim bats away Steph who rapidly approaches and began to analyze his arm (the rest of the family isn’t far behind).

“Drake. Explain how you came to this conclusion.” Damian seems more curious than anything, if his lack of insults was anything to go off of.

“Since I was young I’ve had at least weekly math check ins, I never had a parent or anyone else around so I assumed my parents had me cursed to ensure I stayed on top of my studies. Sometimes it’s physics or chemistry, for a while there it was a ton of philosophy and behavioral psychology.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“Master Tim, I believe the lack of adults in your life has led you towards a false conclusion. That is most certainly a soulmate mark. The individual to whom you are responding is undoubtedly your other half.” Alfred attempts to calm the room before explaining to Tim. Tim isnt sure if he believes the butler, though Alfred only very rarely lied, so he grabs the pen once more. He writes his first question back: “Who am I to you?”

The room waits in anticipation and within moments a brand new line appears on Tim’s arm and he is vindicated: “We do math together???”

——

The reason Danny is failing English is because his built in homework helper sucks ass at metaphors and has apparently never read any classic literature. The tutor on his arm is great at puzzles and math tho.

Danny gets a reply back one night that he wasn’t expecting (Who am I to you?) and he mentions it to Jazz. Who goes insane that Danny didn’t even question it and just went with “meh, probably haunted” as his explanation for the phenomenon for all these years.

Apparently, if Jazz was right, he had a soulmate who was uh, super fucking smart. That was an overwhelming thought.

The next day Danny is in crisis mode and writes back “Wait, WHAT AM I TO YOU??? Can I help on your homework??”

Danny gets vindicated when the writing on his arm presents a shit ton of dates and information for an unsolved Gotham cold case. See, Haunted.

———

Eventually between Danny becoming the top candidate for astrophysics at Wayne Enterprises and Tim Drake being outed as having contributed tips to the GCPD that solved cold cases- they meet and realize just how dumb they’ve been.

[neurotica-tales]

Hello I have reread your hiccup soulmate story so many times. Are you interested in finishing it?

Hi!! Thank you so much for this message. It genuinely made me smile. I’m so sorry for the long hiatus. Life has been very hectic lately, especially since I’m a senior in college and in my last semester, so writing had to sit quietly in the corner for a while.

But yes, I absolutely plan on finishing the Hiccup soulmate story! I’ve actually started working on the continuation again, and knowing that you’ve reread it so many times means more to me than I can properly put into words. Thank you for being such a long-time reader and for still caring about the story. That means everything to me. 💛

Below is the second part of the series. I hope you enjoy returning to this little world of fate, dragons, and Hiccup being completely "normal" about love.

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The Shape of Belonging (Part 2)

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After the soulmark binds you to Berk’s young chief, the village begins treating your presence less like diplomacy and more like destiny. Hiccup tries to give you space, but his devotion keeps slipping into quiet control: protective patrols, careful gifts, watchful dragons, and a future everyone seems ready to decide for you. As Berk’s expectations tighten around you, you begin to wonder whether Hiccup’s love is a shelter, a cage, or something far more dangerous because you are starting to want it too.

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Trigger Warnings: Obsessive behavior, possessive tendencies, emotional manipulation, boundary issues, surveillance/tracking, social pressure, intense soulmate bond, implied coercive dynamics, yandere themes.

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Yandere Hiccup Soulmate Series:

Marked by Fate, Claimed by Fire (Yandere Hiccup x Reader)

The Shape of Belonging (Yandere Hiccup x Reader) <= You're here!

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Up next:

What He Never Saw (Yandere Hiccup);

The First Kindness (Yandere Tuffnut x Reader)

To find my main masterlist, click HERE.

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The morning after the forge, Berk looked too bright.

That was the first strange thing.

You had grown used to the island wearing grey like a second cloak. Most mornings arrived with fog curled around the cliffs, sea wind snapping at shutters, and dragons cutting through low clouds like living shadows. Berk was not gentle when it woke. It groaned. It smoked. It shouted from one end of the village to the other before the sun had even decided whether it wanted to be involved.

But that morning, sunlight poured over everything.

It turned the frost on the rooftops silver. It caught on dragon scales and made the village glitter in brief, sharp flashes. It stretched across the wooden paths and warmed the damp railings, softening the edges of a place that had always seemed carved from stubbornness. Even the sea looked calmer, as if it had briefly agreed not to throw itself against the rocks out of pure spite.

You stood outside your guest hut with your cloak pulled around your shoulders, breathing in cold air and wondering why the brightness made you uneasy.

Perhaps because light had a way of revealing things.

Perhaps because last night, in the forge, you had seen something you were not meant to see.

Hiccup’s notebook.

The soulmark sketches.

The diagrams.

The map of your walks through Berk.

It should have frightened you more than it did. That was the thought that kept returning, soft-footed and unwelcome. It should have lodged under your ribs like a thorn. It should have made you withdraw. After all, chiefs did not casually sketch the movements of foreign envoys under the guise of protection, and inventors did not fill pages with symbols from another person’s skin unless interest had already become something heavier.

But whenever you tried to hold onto suspicion, Hiccup’s face rose in your mind.

His awkward smile.

His red ears.

His nervous hands.

The way his voice had softened when he said he wanted to understand the thing that brought you to him.

And there was the bond too.

That complicated, impossible thing.

Your soulmark had not faded after that first day. It remained just above your heart, faint most of the time, like moonlight sleeping beneath the skin. But when Hiccup stood near you, it warmed. When he looked at you too long, it glowed. When his hand brushed yours, even accidentally, it answered with a pulse that made your breath catch.

You did not know what to do with that.

In your homeland, destiny belonged in temple murals and old songs. It belonged to heroes and saints, to tragic lovers and dead kings. It did not belong to you, standing in borrowed boots on an icy island, wondering whether your diplomatic mission had quietly transformed into a marriage negotiation without asking your permission.

A dragon landed nearby, shaking snow from its wings.

You startled, then turned to find Astrid sliding from Stormfly’s saddle with the ease of someone stepping off a porch.

She took one look at you and smirked.

“You’re awake. Good. I was half expecting Hiccup to have stationed guards around your hut and told everyone you needed another three hours of rest for diplomatic reasons.”

You blinked. “Does he do that?”

Astrid’s expression sharpened just slightly.

It was brief. A flicker. The kind most people would miss. But you had spent years in diplomatic halls where entire wars could be hidden inside a pause.

“Hiccup worries,” she said.

That was not an answer.

You folded your hands in front of you. “So I’m learning.”

Astrid studied you for a moment, then stepped closer, lowering her voice. The village was too loud for anyone else to hear, but something about her posture made the conversation feel sealed.

“Look, I know this whole soulmark thing is… a lot.”

You let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “That’s one word for it.”

“Berk has old beliefs about it. Strong ones. People here don’t treat soulmarks like pretty symbols or romantic gossip. They treat them like law written by gods who got tired of being ignored.”

“And Hiccup?”

Astrid looked toward the forge.

You followed her gaze.

There he was.

Across the village, near the wide doors of the workshop, Hiccup stood with Gobber and a pair of riders. He had a leather strap clenched between his teeth while he adjusted some mechanism on a saddle. His hair stuck up in every direction, his sleeves were rolled, and there was soot on his wrist. He looked busy. Harmless. Entirely himself.

Then, as if tugged by some unseen thread, he looked up.

His eyes found yours instantly.

Not searched.

Found.

The world seemed to pause around that look.

Hiccup’s face changed at once. The focused tension eased from his jaw. A smile formed slowly, private at first, then sheepish when he realized you had caught him staring. He lifted his hand in a small wave.

You lifted yours back.

Astrid watched both of you.

“Hiccup,” she said quietly, “doesn’t believe in anything halfway.”

You turned to her.

The words did not sound unkind. If anything, there was a sadness in them, the worn affection of someone who had known Hiccup long before fate touched his chest and called your name.

“He’s loyal,” she continued. “Brilliant. Stubborn enough to argue with a thunderstorm if he thought it was wrong. But when he decides something matters, he builds his whole world around it.”

Your fingers brushed the place above your heart.

Astrid noticed.

Her voice softened.

“I’m not trying to scare you.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

A smile tugged at her mouth. “I know. I’m terrible at this. Usually I just hit things until the emotional tension gets embarrassed and leaves.”

You laughed despite yourself, and Astrid seemed pleased by that. She jerked her head toward the training grounds.

“Come on. Before Hiccup starts inventing a safer axe.”

“A safer axe?”

“He tried once.”

“Did it work?”

“It exploded.”

“That sounds unsafe.”

“Exactly what I told him.”

The training grounds sat on a broad stretch of packed earth near the edge of the village, ringed by wooden posts, weapon racks, and scorch marks that suggested many lessons on Berk ended with someone shouting at a dragon. Several young riders were already there, practicing with shields while a pair of Deadly Nadders watched with bright, judgmental eyes.

Astrid handed you a practice axe.

It was blunted, but still heavy enough to make your wrist dip.

“You’ve handled weapons before?” she asked.

“Ceremonial blades. A little archery. Mostly enough to look composed at formal events without accidentally stabbing a minister.”

“So no.”

“Diplomatically, we would say my training is symbolic.”

Astrid gave you a look. “On Berk, symbolic training gets you bitten.”

For the next hour, she taught you how to stand, how to shift your weight, how to avoid locking your knees, how to move with the weapon instead of fighting it. She was patient in the way warriors were patient, which meant she corrected you before your mistakes had a chance to become habits and did not praise you unless you had earned it.

You liked that.

It was grounding.

Since the soulmark appeared, everyone had treated you as though you might shatter or ascend. The villagers bowed their heads. Servants appeared with food you had not requested. Children whispered your name like you had come out of a fireside story. Even visiting elders looked at you and Hiccup with the solemn delight of people watching prophecy lace its boots.

Astrid, at least, tossed an axe at you and told you your grip looked like a dying crab.

It was refreshing.

By midday, your arms ached, your shoulders burned, and your pride had suffered several minor casualties. You were laughing when your practice axe landed nowhere near the post Astrid had told you to aim for.

“That was better,” she said.

You looked at the axe, which had struck the ground with the tragic dignity of a dropped spoon.

“Was it?”

“No. But you looked less terrified.”

“So progress.”

“Tiny, pitiful progress.”

You pressed a hand to your chest in mock offense. “Your encouragement could move armies.”

“It has.”

That made you laugh again.

Then the ground shifted beneath your feet.

Not literally. Not enough to throw you. But enough that your soulmark pulsed hot beneath your clothing, sudden and sharp. You froze, one hand flying to your chest.

Astrid noticed at once.

“What is it?”

You inhaled.

The mark warmed again.

Not like when Hiccup stood near. This was different. A tug. A pull. A line going taut somewhere inside you.

You turned.

Hiccup was standing at the edge of the training grounds.

You had not heard him approach.

Toothless stood beside him, tail swaying, green eyes fixed on you with bright satisfaction. Hiccup’s expression, by contrast, was open and concerned, but too carefully arranged. He held a waterskin in one hand and a folded cloth in the other. His gaze moved over you quickly, taking inventory.

Your face.

Your hands.

Your stance.

The axe.

Astrid.

Then back to you.

“Hey,” he said, voice light. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Astrid crossed her arms. “You walked directly into the training grounds.”

“Right. Yes. That does make the interruption argument weaker.”

You smiled despite the strange heat still simmering under your mark.

“We were almost finished.”

“Good. Great. Not because I’m trying to stop anything. I brought water.” He held up the waterskin. “Which is very normal. People bring water. To training. For hydration. Very important to not collapse during diplomatic axe humiliation.”

Astrid narrowed her eyes.

“Did Gobber tell you we were here?”

“No.”

“Fishlegs?”

“No.”

“Snotlout?”

“Please. Snotlout thinks subtlety is a kind of cheese.”

“Then how did you know?”

Hiccup paused.

It was not long. Barely a breath.

But you felt it.

“I saw Stormfly fly this way,” he said. “And I figured.”

Astrid did not look convinced.

Neither were you.

But Hiccup was already stepping closer, offering you the waterskin with a smile that made suspicion feel rude.

“You okay?” he asked. “You looked like you were doing pretty well from over there.”

“From over there,” Astrid repeated.

Hiccup grimaced. “A reasonable distance over there.”

“Behind the fish drying racks?”

“A strategic distance.”

You took the waterskin to hide your smile.

“Were you watching?”

His eyes widened.

“No. Not watching. Observing. Briefly. In passing. With concern. Chief concern.”

Astrid made a sound that was very nearly a snort.

Hiccup shot her a look, then turned back to you.

“I just wanted to make sure Astrid didn’t start you with something insane.”

“I gave them a blunted axe.”

“That’s still an axe.”

“This is Berk.”

“Which is why I worry.”

The words came out soft.

Too soft.

The playful rhythm faltered. For a second, no one spoke. Your mark warmed again, gentler this time, as if recognizing him beneath every layer of awkwardness and soot.

You lowered the waterskin.

“I’m fine, Hiccup.”

His eyes settled on your face.

He nodded slowly.

“Good.”

Just that.

One word, yet it carried too much relief.

Astrid looked between you again, and this time her expression was unreadable.

The rest of the day should have returned to normal after that.

It did not.

Once Hiccup appeared, the village seemed to reorient around him and, by extension, around you. A few riders wandered over. Gobber shouted something about “young love and poor axe form” from across the yard, which made Hiccup turn scarlet and Astrid threaten to demonstrate excellent axe form on his good leg. Ruffnut and Tuffnut arrived with a basket of something that smelled suspiciously flammable and claimed it was a traditional Berkish snack.

“Is it supposed to smoke?” you asked.

Tuffnut peered into the basket. “Only if it respects you.”

Ruffnut nodded solemnly. “This one respects you deeply.”

Hiccup confiscated the basket before anyone could eat it.

By afternoon, you had somehow been pulled into a loose gathering near the central firepit. Someone brought stew. Someone else brought bread. Children hovered nearby, pretending not to stare at your soulmark whenever your cloak shifted. Toothless sprawled behind you like an enormous shadow, his tail curved around the bench in a way that made leaving difficult without stepping over him.

You told yourself it was coincidence.

A friendly dragon seeking warmth.

A protective companion.

A beast with no understanding of personal space.

Then you tried to stand to help carry bowls back to the hall.

Toothless lifted his head and placed his chin directly on your lap.

The entire bench shook with his weight.

You looked down at him.

“Excuse me.”

He blinked.

You tried to shift.

His eyes widened with such theatrical innocence that you almost admired the performance.

Hiccup, seated on your other side, covered his mouth.

“Toothless,” you said, firmer this time.

The dragon made a tiny chirping sound. A sound no creature his size had any right to produce.

“He likes you,” Hiccup said.

“He is trapping me.”

“Affectionately.”

“That does not make it less trapping.”

“No, but it makes it harder to prosecute.”

You looked at him and found him smiling, not smugly, not openly, but with a warmth that made your chest tighten. He looked happy. Deeply, dangerously happy. As if seeing Toothless pin you in place beside him confirmed some private hope he had not dared speak aloud.

You should have pushed the dragon away.

You did not.

Instead, you sighed and scratched behind Toothless’s ear. His eyes slid half-shut in triumph.

“You two are very alike,” you murmured.

Hiccup tilted his head. “Me and Toothless?”

“Yes.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“You both act harmless when you want something.”

Toothless huffed.

Hiccup went still.

It was subtle. The kind of stillness that did not interrupt his breathing or his expression, but touched everything beneath it. His smile remained, yet his eyes sharpened, as if your words had slipped through a crack and landed somewhere tender.

Then he laughed.

A little too late.

“That’s… probably fair.”

Your gaze lingered on him.

Before you could say anything else, Snotlout appeared with a bowl in each hand and enough confidence to fill a warship.

“So,” he said, dropping onto the bench across from you, “how’s Berk treating our future chief consort?”

Your spoon paused halfway to your mouth.

Hiccup’s head snapped toward him.

Astrid, who had been speaking with Fishlegs nearby, turned so fast her braid swung over her shoulder.

“Snotlout,” Hiccup said.

Warning lived inside his name.

Snotlout missed it with heroic dedication.

“What? I’m just asking. Everyone’s thinking it. Soulmark appears, village celebrates, envoys get nervous, Hiccup acts like a lovesick Terrible Terror with access to government authority.”

“Snotlout.”

This time, the word cut colder.

You looked at Hiccup.

The warmth had vanished from his face.

Not anger exactly. Something controlled. Something that made the firelight seem less friendly. He had gone quiet in a way that reminded you of the maps beneath his hand, of pages covered before you could read too much.

Snotlout finally noticed.

His grin faltered.

“I mean… in a good way?”

Ruffnut leaned over from beside him. “That made it worse.”

Tuffnut nodded. “Much worse. A whole funeral for the sentence.”

You set your bowl down.

“Future chief consort?” you repeated.

Hiccup turned back to you at once.

The change was immediate. His expression softened, his shoulders lowered, and his voice became gentle, careful, almost pleading.

“It’s not… official. No one should be calling you that.”

“But people are?”

No one answered.

That was answer enough.

A strange silence spread around the firepit. Even the dragons seemed to notice, lifting their heads from the snow. The children had stopped whispering. Gobber looked away. Astrid’s mouth tightened.

Your heart beat once, hard.

You had known the soulmark mattered. You had known Berk treated it seriously. But knowing in theory was not the same as hearing your future dropped casually into conversation by a man eating stew.

You looked around at the faces watching you.

Not hostile.

Hopeful.

That was worse.

Hostility could be defended against. Hope made you feel cruel for wanting room to breathe.

Hiccup leaned closer, not touching you, but close enough that you felt the heat of him.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

You did.

His eyes held yours with almost frightening focus.

“No one gets to decide anything for you.”

The words should have comforted you.

They almost did.

Then he continued.

“Not the village. Not your council. Not even the bond. You get time. As much as you need.”

Something in you loosened.

He sounded so sincere.

So safe.

Then his gaze dipped briefly to your soulmark, hidden beneath your clothing, and the softness in his face deepened into something near devotion.

“I can wait,” he said.

The fire snapped.

You heard what he did not say.

I can wait because I know how this ends.

The conversation scattered after that, though not naturally. Astrid dragged Snotlout away under the pretense of needing help with something near the training ring. Ruffnut and Tuffnut began arguing about whether stew could be used as hair adhesive. Gobber loudly announced that anyone who wanted to gossip about soulmarks could do it while cleaning dragon stalls, which cleared half the gathering with impressive speed.

Hiccup remained beside you.

Toothless’s head was still on your lap.

You stared into the fire, feeling suddenly far from home.

“Do they really think that?” you asked.

Hiccup did not pretend to misunderstand.

“Some do.”

“That I’ll stay?”

His fingers flexed around his bowl.

“They hope.”

“And you?”

He was quiet for too long.

When he spoke, his voice had lost its humor entirely.

“I don’t want to make you feel trapped.”

Again, not an answer.

You turned toward him.

“That isn’t what I asked.”

Hiccup’s face shifted, and for once, he did not manage to hide quickly enough.

Want crossed it first.

Raw, unguarded want.

Then fear.

Then something harder, buried so deep beneath tenderness that you almost missed it.

He looked away.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that fate doesn’t do things by accident.”

Your throat tightened.

“That still isn’t an answer.”

His laugh was soft and humorless.

“No. I guess it isn’t.”

He set his bowl down and rubbed a hand over his face. For a moment, he looked exhausted. Not boyish. Not charming. Just young, and burdened, and terribly human.

“I want you to stay,” he admitted.

The words were quiet.

No performance. No rambling. No cleverness.

Just truth.

Your mark warmed.

You hated that it did.

Hiccup looked at you then, and there was so much emotion in his eyes that you forgot how to breathe properly.

“I want it so badly it scares me,” he said. “And I know that’s not fair to you. You came here for diplomacy, not…”

He gestured vaguely between you, searching for a word large enough to hold destiny, desire, village expectations, ancient belief, and whatever had started growing in the forge while he sketched your mark by firelight.

“This,” he finished.

You swallowed.

“Hiccup.”

He smiled faintly.

“Yeah. I know. Very eloquent. Chiefly, even.”

“I don’t dislike being here.”

The words came out before you had fully decided to say them.

His eyes lifted.

You continued, because stopping now felt cruel.

“I don’t dislike you. That’s part of the problem.”

His expression stilled.

“That’s a problem?”

“It makes everything confusing.”

He absorbed that like it mattered more than any formal treaty you could have brought him.

“Confusing can be okay,” he said carefully. “Confusing means you haven’t decided against it.”

You should not have smiled.

You did anyway.

“That’s a very inventor way to look at feelings.”

“I prefer optimistic disaster management.”

“That sounds accurate.”

For a brief moment, the tension eased. You sat together in the fading afternoon, the fire crackling before you, Toothless warm and heavy against your lap, Hiccup close enough that his shoulder almost touched yours.

Almost.

He never crossed that final inch.

That was one of the things that made him so difficult.

He hovered at the edge of every boundary with exquisite care. Never stepping over. Never giving you a clear reason to pull away. He did not command your time. He simply appeared where you were. He did not forbid you from leaving. He simply made every path away feel colder, harder, less kind. He did not say you belonged to him.

He made Berk say it for him.

You wondered if he knew.

Then you looked at him and knew, with a sudden chill, that of course he did.

Hiccup Haddock noticed everything.

That evening, a formal dinner was held in the Great Hall.

You had expected another negotiation session, perhaps a discussion of trade routes, resource exchange, and dragon-assisted transport. Instead, you walked into a hall transformed by garlands of winter greenery, candlelight, long tables, and enough food to feed a fleet. The great central hearth roared. Music carried from somewhere near the back. Villagers filled the benches, their faces bright with a kind of anticipation that made your stomach twist.

You paused at the entrance.

Hiccup, beside you, paused too.

His expression changed the second he saw your face.

“You didn’t know,” he said.

It was not a question.

You looked up at him.

“Know what?”

His jaw tightened.

For the first time since you arrived on Berk, Hiccup looked genuinely angry.

Not at you.

Never at you.

At the room.

At the flowers.

At the candles.

At every hopeful face turned toward the doors.

Gobber approached with a grin that began to fade when he saw Hiccup’s expression.

“There you are! We were starting to think you two had gone and gotten all sentimental somewhere.”

“Gobber,” Hiccup said quietly. “What is this?”

Gobber’s brows drew together.

“Dinner.”

“This isn’t dinner.”

“Well, there’s food, so I’d argue.”

“Gobber.”

The older man glanced at you, then back to Hiccup.

Something unspoken passed between them.

Gobber’s voice lowered.

“The village wanted to honor the mark.”

Hiccup’s hand clenched at his side.

“Without asking either of us?”

“It’s tradition.”

“So is throwing shields at children until they learn to duck. We moved past that.”

“Some of them learned beautifully.”

“Gobber.”

The hall had started to quiet.

You could feel attention gathering like storm pressure.

Gobber sighed.

“Hiccup, lad, no one meant harm.”

“I know.”

The words were calm, but his voice cut clean through the hall.

Everyone heard.

“But meaning well doesn’t give anyone the right to corner them.”

Them.

Not my soulmate.

Not the envoy.

Not the future consort.

Them.

Your chest tightened.

Hiccup turned slightly toward the room, and the entire Great Hall seemed to remember that the awkward, soot-marked inventor was also the chief who had ended wars, united riders, and taught Berk to live beside dragons instead of beneath their fire.

“This celebration is over,” he said.

A murmur moved through the crowd.

Your eyes widened.

“Hiccup,” you whispered.

He looked at you immediately, his anger softening the moment it touched your face.

“It’s okay.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I do.”

Then, quieter, just for you:

“They need to understand.”

The villagers looked stunned. Some embarrassed. A few disappointed. But no one argued. Not openly. Slowly, the music stopped. People began shifting, gathering cups and plates, muttering among themselves.

You should have felt relieved.

Instead, guilt swept over you like a wave.

They had meant it kindly. Clumsily, perhaps, but kindly. And Hiccup had just dismantled an entire celebration in front of everyone because your face betrayed hesitation for half a second.

You touched his sleeve.

He looked down at the contact.

So did you.

It was the first time you had reached for him without thinking.

Your soulmark glowed beneath your collar.

His eyes darkened with something too tender to be triumph and too intense to be relief.

“Let’s go somewhere quieter,” he said.

You let him lead you out.

That was the thing.

You let him.

Outside, the cold struck your cheeks. The sun had set while the village prepared its doomed celebration, leaving the sky deep blue and full of scattered stars. Lanterns glowed along the paths. Dragon silhouettes shifted over rooftops, wings tucked close against the wind.

Hiccup did not take you back to your hut.

He took you toward the cliffs.

You knew you should ask where you were going. But the air was sharp, the village noise faded behind you, and his hand hovered near your back without touching, guiding but not forcing. The restraint should not have felt so intimate. It did.

Toothless followed at a distance, silent as spilled ink.

The path climbed past the forge, past the last cluster of houses, past a stand of wind-bent pines. At the cliff’s edge, a wooden platform overlooked the sea. You had seen it from below, but never stood there. The view stole your breath.

Berk spread behind you in firelight and shadow, stubborn and alive. The ocean stretched before you, black and endless beneath the stars. Far below, waves broke against rocks in white bursts, rising and vanishing like ghosts.

Hiccup stood beside you.

For a while, he said nothing.

That silence felt different from the one in the forge. Less secretive. More deliberate. As though he was giving you space and fighting himself for every inch of it.

Finally, he spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

You looked at him.

“For the dinner?”

“For all of it.”

The wind tugged at his hair. Without the forge glow or the busy movement of the village around him, he seemed older. Not in years, but in weight.

“Berk can be… intense,” he said. “We spent generations surviving things by holding tightly to each other. Family, clan, dragons, tradition. When something sacred happens, people don’t always know how to step back.”

You gave him a faint look.

“And you?”

He smiled sadly.

“I’m trying.”

It was such an honest answer that you had no defense against it.

You turned back toward the sea.

“In my homeland, soulmarks are mostly stories. Beautiful ones, usually. Tragic ones too. People talk about them like they’re proof that love can be written before birth.”

“Do you believe that?”

You watched the waves below.

“I don’t know.”

Hiccup nodded.

“That’s fair.”

You glanced at him.

“Do you?”

He did not answer immediately.

His hand rose to his chest, resting over the place where you knew his mark mirrored yours.

“I didn’t,” he said. “Not really. I wanted to, maybe. When I was a kid. Back when everyone thought I was… well, a walking argument against Viking genetics.”

You smiled faintly, but he did not.

“I used to think if soulmarks were real, then maybe there was someone out there who wouldn’t need me to prove anything first. Someone who would look at me and just…”

He stopped.

Your heart hurt a little.

“Just what?”

His voice softened.

“Stay.”

The word slipped between you and disappeared into the wind.

You did not know what to say.

Hiccup laughed under his breath, embarrassed now.

“That sounded less pathetic in my head.”

“It didn’t sound pathetic.”

He looked at you.

The soulmark pulsed.

Yours.

His.

The same rhythm.

“It sounded lonely,” you said.

His expression cracked.

Only for an instant.

But you saw it.

The boy beneath the chief. The outcast beneath the hero. The child who had once wanted proof that there would be a place for him somewhere, with someone, without needing to save the world first.

Your hand moved before your caution could stop it.

You touched his arm.

Hiccup froze.

Not dramatically. Not enough that anyone else would have noticed. But you felt it beneath your fingers, the sudden stillness of him, the way his breath caught and stayed caught.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly.

His eyes lowered to your hand.

“Don’t be.”

His voice was almost a whisper.

You should have pulled away.

You did not.

The wind moved around you both, colder now, but the space between you warmed. Your mark glowed, hidden but unmistakable, a steady pulse beneath cloth and skin. Hiccup’s gaze lifted back to yours. There was no smile now. No awkward deflection. No cleverness.

Just hunger disguised as reverence.

And it was reverence, in part. That was what made it dangerous. He looked at you like something holy. Something long-awaited. Something he had suffered toward without knowing the name of it.

But underneath that was a man who wanted.

Wanted with hands he kept still.

Wanted with words he swallowed.

Wanted with a mind already rearranging the world around you so gently that you might one day wake and call the cage a home.

“You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” he said.

“You said that before.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

The question was quiet.

You looked at him, confused.

His eyes searched your face.

“Do you know I mean it?” he asked. “Or do you just know I’m good at sounding like I do?”

The honesty startled you.

You withdrew your hand.

Hiccup let you.

That made it worse, somehow.

He turned toward the sea, jaw tight, and for a few seconds you saw him fighting something inside himself. Not anger. Not frustration. Something more intimate. A battle between the part of him that loved you enough to give you room and the part that wanted to close every distance before the world discovered how to take you away.

“Sometimes,” he said, “I scare myself.”

Your throat went dry.

He laughed once, brittle and soft.

“That’s probably not what a person says when trying to make someone feel better.”

“Hiccup…”

“No. I need to say it right.”

He looked back at you.

“I care about you. More than I should, considering we’ve known each other for days and fate apparently has terrible timing. I think about you constantly. I notice things I probably shouldn’t notice. I worry when you’re out of sight. I start making plans before I even realize I’m doing it.”

Your breath trembled.

He did not move closer.

“And I hate that part of me,” he said. “Not because it cares. Because it wants to justify itself. It wants to say it’s protection, or destiny, or responsibility. It wants to sound noble.”

The sea crashed below.

“But it isn’t always noble.”

The confession should have frightened you.

It did.

But it also broke something open.

Because monsters did not usually name themselves with such sorrow. Manipulators did not usually hand you the knife and show you where the armor split. Unless, of course, they were very clever.

And Hiccup was very clever.

That was the terrible puzzle of him.

You could not tell where honesty ended and influence began.

Maybe he could not either.

You wrapped your cloak tighter around yourself.

“Why are you telling me this?”

His smile was small and wounded.

“Because you deserve to know what the bond gave you.”

“And what did it give me?”

He looked at you like the answer was obvious and unbearable.

“Me.”

Your soulmark flared.

For one blinding second, heat rushed through you, bright enough to make you gasp. Hiccup’s hand flew to his chest at the same moment. The air between you shimmered faintly, as though the stars themselves had leaned closer to listen.

Toothless lifted his head behind you and rumbled.

The glow faded slowly.

You stood there, shaken, one hand pressed over your mark.

Hiccup stared at you.

Whatever restraint he had carefully held together began to fray.

“Did that hurt?” he asked.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Let me see.”

The words came too fast.

You stepped back.

Hiccup stopped instantly.

His face changed.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

He dragged a hand through his hair.

“Gods. See? This is what I mean.”

Your heart was beating too quickly.

“I think I should go back.”

Pain flickered across his face.

Then he nodded.

“Okay.”

No argument.

No plea.

No hand around your wrist.

Just one quiet word.

He walked you back through the village without speaking. Toothless trailed behind you, subdued now, his usual sly brightness dimmed into watchful concern. The paths were mostly empty. The Great Hall still glowed behind shuttered windows, but the celebration had truly ended. You could hear faint voices inside, lower now, less festive.

When you reached your hut, Hiccup stopped several steps away from the door.

Deliberately away.

“I’ll have someone bring breakfast in the morning,” he said.

“You don’t need to.”

“I know.”

Then, after a pause:

“I won’t come by unless you ask.”

You looked at him.

That should have been reassuring.

Instead, it sounded like a vow carved out of his own skin.

“Hiccup.”

He smiled.

It was the worst smile he had given you yet. Gentle, tired, and aching with everything he refused to say.

“Goodnight.”

He turned before you could answer.

You watched him walk away, Toothless at his side, the two of them disappearing into the dark like a story retreating before the ending could be read.

Inside your hut, the fire had been built high. A fresh blanket lay folded on your cot. A small tray sat on the table with tea, bread, and a jar of honey from Berk’s winter stores. Beside it rested a little metal charm shaped like your soulmark.

You picked it up with unsteady fingers.

It was beautiful.

Of course it was.

Hiccup’s work always was.

The metal was warm despite the cold room, as if it had been held recently. On the back, etched in tiny careful script, was a single line.

For when Berk feels too far from home.

You sat down slowly.

The charm rested in your palm.

Your soulmark pulsed once.

You closed your fingers around the gift and hated how much you wanted to keep it.

The next morning, Hiccup did not come.

Breakfast arrived by way of Fishlegs, who smiled too brightly and spilled half the tea from nerves. He told you Hiccup was busy with saddle repairs, patrol reports, a dispute involving three sheep and a Gronckle, and something he described only as “a minor chimney situation.”

“He said you should have the morning to yourself,” Fishlegs added.

You tried not to react.

“That was considerate.”

Fishlegs nodded eagerly.

Too eagerly.

“Yes. Very considerate. Hiccup is very considerate. Extremely. Painfully, sometimes. Not that there’s pain. I mean, not usually. Unless Gobber is helping with machinery.”

You stared at him.

He cleared his throat.

“I should stop talking.”

“Probably.”

He left so quickly he almost tripped over the threshold.

You spent the morning walking.

Alone, technically.

No one stopped you. No one followed closely enough to accuse. But wherever you went, Berk seemed to open paths before you and close them behind. A woman at the fish stalls gave you an extra portion “for strength.” A boy offered to guide you away from a steep trail because “Chief says visitors miss the ice there.” A rider adjusted his route overhead whenever you wandered near the cliffs.

Protection.

Always protection.

A word soft enough to sleep under.

A word heavy enough to lock a door.

By noon, you found yourself near the docks. The ship that had brought you to Berk remained anchored below, its mast rocking gently against the pale sky. Your people’s flag snapped in the wind, bright and familiar.

Home.

The sight hit harder than expected.

You walked down the steps toward the harbor.

A sailor recognized you and bowed.

“Envoy.”

“How long before the ship returns south?” you asked.

The sailor hesitated.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

His eyes shifted past your shoulder.

You turned.

Hiccup stood at the top of the dock stairs.

For one impossible second, neither of you moved.

He looked as if he had run there. His breathing was controlled, but his hair was wind-tossed, and his prosthetic foot had left deeper marks in the frost than usual. Toothless was not with him.

That, more than anything, unsettled you.

Hiccup came alone.

His eyes moved from you to the ship.

Then back.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

The sailor suddenly discovered an urgent reason to be elsewhere.

You stayed where you were.

“You said you wouldn’t come unless I asked.”

Hiccup flinched.

A small thing.

A real thing.

“I know.”

“Then why are you here?”

He swallowed.

For once, no answer came ready.

The wind moved between you, sharp with salt.

“Because I felt it,” he said at last.

Your fingers curled into your cloak.

“Felt what?”

His hand touched his chest.

“You were thinking about leaving.”

The world went very still.

You had not said it.

You had barely admitted it to yourself.

Hiccup stepped down one stair, then stopped when your shoulders tightened.

“I’m not here to stop you.”

You almost believed him.

Almost.

“Then what are you here to do?”

His face was pale in the cold.

“Ask you not to decide while you’re afraid.”

The words landed too close.

You looked away toward the ship.

“Maybe fear is reasonable.”

“It is.”

You looked back at him, startled.

He nodded, miserable but steady.

“It is. If I were you, I’d be afraid too.”

That hurt more than denial would have.

Hiccup descended another step, slow enough that you could have told him to stop. You didn’t.

“I won’t pretend I’ve handled this perfectly,” he said. “I haven’t. I’ve been trying so hard not to push you that I think I started shaping everything around you instead. Like that was somehow better.”

Your breath caught.

There it was.

The truth you had been circling.

The cage without bars.

The hand that never grabbed because the room itself had been rearranged to guide you closer.

“Why?” you asked.

His eyes shone.

“Because I finally found you.”

Such simple words.

Such devastating ones.

He looked down, laughing once under his breath with no humor at all.

“That sounds insane, doesn’t it? I know it does. We only just met. But the second that mark appeared, it felt like every lonely part of my life pointed at you and said, there. That’s where it was going. That’s why you survived. That’s why you waited.”

He looked up again.

“And I know that’s too much to put on another person. I know.”

Your chest ached.

“But knowing doesn’t change how you feel.”

“No,” he whispered. “It doesn’t.”

The ship creaked behind you.

A gull cried overhead.

You thought of your homeland. Warm stone courtyards. Silk banners. Council chambers. Familiar food. Familiar voices. The life you understood.

Then you thought of Berk. Smoke and frost. Dragons and firelight. Astrid’s blunt kindness. Toothless’s heavy head in your lap. Hiccup’s hands stained with charcoal from sketching the shape of your fate again and again, trying to turn longing into logic because logic was safer than need.

You hated the tenderness that rose in you.

You hated that leaving now would feel less like escape and more like tearing stitches from a wound that had only just begun to close.

“I don’t know what I want,” you said.

Hiccup’s eyes closed briefly.

Relief crossed his face so fiercely that you understood, with a jolt, he had expected something worse.

“That’s okay,” he said.

“Is it?”

“No,” he admitted. “It’s awful. I’m probably going to go back to the forge and invent six terrible coping mechanisms. But it’s okay for you.”

A laugh broke out of you before you could stop it.

It was small, shaky, and almost painful.

Hiccup smiled at the sound.

Not fully.

But enough.

“There you are,” he murmured.

The words were too intimate.

Your heart stumbled.

“Hiccup…”

“Sorry.”

He did not sound sorry.

He sounded in love.

That was the danger. Not the maps. Not the gifts. Not the village whispers. Those things were troubling, yes, but love was the true trap. Love made explanations sound like apologies. Love made obsession look like devotion standing in bad lighting. Love made you want to forgive a man before he had finished becoming dangerous.

And Hiccup loved you.

You knew it then.

Not sweetly. Not simply. Not in the clean, storybook way people imagined when they spoke of soulmarks.

He loved you like a starving thing learning the shape of bread.

Carefully.

Gratefully.

Desperately.

And perhaps that should have sent you onto the ship at once.

Instead, you stepped away from the gangplank.

Hiccup noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His breath caught, but he did not smile too quickly this time. He did not reach for you. He did not claim victory with even the smallest movement.

He only watched, as if the sight of you choosing not to leave had made him afraid to breathe.

“I’ll stay for the negotiations,” you said.

His eyes searched yours.

“Just the negotiations?”

You lifted your chin.

“For now.”

A thousand emotions moved through his face.

Relief.

Hunger.

Joy.

Restraint.

The last one won, but barely.

“For now,” he repeated softly.

The words sounded different in his mouth.

Not temporary.

A beginning.

You should have corrected him.

You did not.

Hiccup stepped aside, giving you the path back up to the village. You walked past him, close enough that your sleeve brushed his. The soulmark warmed at once, bright beneath your cloak, and his breath hitched audibly.

Neither of you mentioned it.

Together, you climbed back toward Berk.

From above, unseen by you, a black dragon watched from the roof of the forge, green eyes narrowed with satisfaction.

Toothless flicked his tail.

The envoy was staying.

For now, Hiccup had said.

For now was enough.

For now could become tomorrow.

Tomorrow could become habit.

Habit could become home.

And home, if guarded carefully enough, could become forever.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

[shaddork]

Sweet Tea and Soulmarks - Chapter 1

Damian Wayne x Southern!Reader

Masterlist - Next

Contains: Southern Female Reader, Soulmate marks, animal death (mentioned), Doctor Damian

Summary:

Strangers in the same city go about their daily lives. One routine well worn, the other fresh and new.

Word Count: 5,724

Thursday, May 1st, 2025

Soulmarks were inconsistent, frustrating, and useless to try to chase. They had no rules, except one. They were important. That didn’t change how inconsistent they were. How they were nearly impossible to try to chase. 

Not everyone had a soulmate, and there wasn’t even a guarantee that you’d even know. Some people were “lucky” and had marks that were visible from birth. Others had a mark appear later in life. And some were unlucky enough that the marks only appeared after physical contact with the soulmate. Then there were marks that were the opposite, disappearing after physical contact, others glowed. And some marks continually grew. 

Most people considered Damian lucky. He had known he had a soulmate from a young age. He didn’t consider himself so lucky. The singular paw print that appeared on his chest when he was five, right over his heart, felt like more of a liability than a blessing for a period of time. 

“A soulmate is a bond. Bonds can be pulled, or broken. It is a liability. Be careful my son.” His mothers words, the leagues opinions on soulmates. They stuck with him, enough so that he didn’t even tell his father and Alfred that he had a soulmark until they spotted it one day. 

Neither of them said anything. And Damian was fine to let the issue rest. 

Still, he looked at the mark every morning in the mirror, feeling the weight of it pressing down on his soul. The first time they spoke of the mark was when he was sixteen and a second pawprint appeared on his chest. He was not calm or collected in that moment. 

Alfred had laughed when he figured out what the commotion was about. “Oh dear. Another one?” But despite that, Alfred gave him a better explanation than anything he had ever been offered in the league. An explanation that started easing the discomfort around the subject. “Soulmarks are not orders, they’re possibilities. SIgnposts. They don’t control you, but they do tend to reflect you.” 

The third mark appeared when he was twenty one, and they continued after that. They showed up seemingly at random, but they had never stopped. Now, starting his first year of his residency at Gotham General, the marks wrapped his body. Starting over his heart, snaking around to his back and wrapping up to his right shoulder. The marks were packed close together, each and every one unique. 

He figured out what they were when Titus died. The vet had pressed his paw against an ink pad, and then pressed it against a piece of paper. A memento for Damian to keep. It was dark and inky, and eerily similar to the marks that covered his skin. 

He used to resent the mark, but time passed, Damian learned what life was like outside of the league. He changed, he grew up. He no longer resented the sacred responsibility the mark presented. 

Sometimes when he was looking in the mirror and counting the marks, he wondered if you had the same ones, or if you had something from his life. Whatever marks you had, he just hoped it wasn’t something from his past. From before he learned how to heal instead of hurt. 

He grew from a man who didn’t care about you, and into one that despite having never met you, hoped that his past mistakes didn’t marr your skin. 

The first year of a surgical residency was exhausting. He wasn’t even technically a resident, just an intern. But at least Damian was better prepared for it than the others in the program. They didn’t have the benefit of a life spent staying up late, running around the city until he was too physically exhausted to do anymore. Working in the hospital wasn’t entirely different. 

The shifts were long and brutal, he slept when and where he could. Yet when he was called to go do something within the hospital, he had to get up and go to it. Discipline, the work took an amount of discipline that he knew the others were still working to gain. 

That being said, it still wasn’t an easy job. Bouncing between trauma cases, rounds, emergency pages, there were charts to update, wounds to close, labs to check, and attendings to impress. This kind of work demanded a precision that wasn’t just physical. It was emotional, mental. But he loved it. Here, nobody cared who his parents were, his last name didn’t mean anything. He had to earn respect here, day after day, hour after hour. 

Yet when his shift at the hospital ended, his work wasn’t done. He hadn’t truly stopped being Robin. He’d taken a step back, he had to, even if he couldn’t bring himself to give it up completely. So he stopped being as active as he was when he first arrived in Gotham. 

The night blurred into days, and the rare hours off were never really his own. He had to make more adjustments to his schedule. So he stopped volunteering at the animals shelter. The decision hurt, they specalized in animals that weren’t likely to be given a second chance anywhere else. The kind of animals other shelters wouldn’t touch: the injured, the broken, the dying. Their motto was simple, they never turned an animal away. 

He had to reason with himself to do it, it wasn’t like he turned his back to the clinic. No, he still stopped by after patrols when he could. Checking in on the animals, dropping off any strays he came across the needed help. He just didn’t have the time to volunteer there anymore. 

Still, he made sure that a new Wayne Enterprises Community Development fund was created. One that they were part of. Last he heard they were expanding, trying to add an in house vet clinic and hire a vet to focus on the animals there specifically. 

LIke every other shift he’d had at the hospital, by the time it was finished Damian was ready to collapse into bed and fall asleep for as long as his body would let him. But he had the next three days off, a bit of lucky timing in his schedule. So instead of heading towards his apartment - a mere ten minutes from the hospital - he made the longer drive to Wayne Manor. 

Damian had moved out. He was independent, and it only made logical sense to move. Commuting from the manor to the Hospital wasn’t unrealistic, but it was tiring. Having an apartment in the city made his life significantly easier. 

But the manor offered him more privacy, he could spend time with his pets and Alfred, and he had batcave access. 

It wasn’t every weekend that Damian spent at the manor, his schedule at the hospital varied week to week. Eighty hour work weeks were hard, but at least not all of that time was spent inside the hospital. Some of it was simply on-call time. Still, a lesser man would have broken, a lesser man would have focused only on the hospital. 

Damian, was not a lesser man. He was both an Al Ghul and a Wayne. If he could survive his childhood, he could certainly survive a hectic and tiring schedule. It had only been a few months since the start of his intern year, but he was already confident that he would be able to survive this. 

If Alfred could still work for his father - as idiotic as that seemed at his age - then Damian could handle this. He would not bend or break. 

Like always, when he pulled up to the manor and stepped inside Alfred was waiting. Damian had tried over and over again to convince the man to retire. But Alferd simply wouldn’t hear of it. Some part of him was happy about it though. Everyone knew that Alfred was family at this point, not just the butler. 

“Master Damian,” his voice was soft, calm, “I took the liberty of preparing your favorite tea. It should be ready once you’ve had time to wash up.”

“Thank you, Pennyworth.”

Gotham had once tried to break Damian of calling people by their last names. He’d been teased for it relentlessly, but it was something he didn’t let happen. He kept the habit for several reasons, and Alfred deserved the respect. 

The exact same as he did everytime he came to the manor these days, Damian trudged up the stairs and towards his bedroom. Exhausted, but not letting his feet drag. His steps were slow and slightly uneven though. But there was a routine to follow. Shower, change, tea, bed. Assuming none of the others were around to interrupt him for a few minutes. 

But even if they were, his siblings never took up much of his time if he just got home from the hospital. They were able to look at him, tell he was tired, and leave him be. A perk of living in a family full of detectives. It wasn’t like they were exactly around a whole ton either. 

Other than Bruce and Alfred, nobody else was technically a full time resident here anymore. Dick lived in bludhaven, but visited frequently. Jason had his own apartment in Gotham and rarely visited the manor. TIm might as well live in the manor, but he did have his own separate space. Duke had his own apartment. And Barbara, Stephanie, and Cassandra all had their own spaces and were normally only around when asked. 

When Damian stepped into his room, Alfred(the cat) was already curled up on Damians bed, he didn’t even look up when Damian stepped in. The cat was entirely undisturbed by his presence, which wasn’t surprising. 

The shower was warm - not hot - warm enough to help work some of the tension out of his muscles, but not so hot as to leave his skin angry afterward. The smallest amount of steam still lingered in the air when he stepped out of the shower, sighing and looking at the mirror. 

He looked over himself, eyes tracing the lines of the ever growing soulmark. And he started counting, he’d done it so many times now that he didn’t even really have to count to see if there was a new one. Nothing new on the front, turning around to inspect his back next. Nothing new. Another day and it remained the same. 

As much as he’d tried not to, he’d theorized about it. Tried to figure out what caused the pawprints to appear. They’d started appearing more and more the older he got. His skin currently had a hundred and eighty one. But there wasn’t any real way to know what caused the to appear without meeting his soulmate. Sometimes he wondered if they would ever stop expanding, even if he met his soulmate. Or would his skin one day just be a collection of pawprints? That would certainly get him a large number of comments. 

Even now, when he didn’t have many that were visible under normal clothing, it wasn’t common that someone saw them and didn’t have an opinion. Even this morning someone had made a comment on them. 

He’d been in the locker room for the first years, changing into his scrubs to start out the day. There were only a couple others in the room, also changing. There were only a couple others in the room, and the were also changing. But of course, one of the others noticed the marks and paused. 

Nate Hartwell, the type of guy who mde everything a joke even past when it was funny. But the patients seemed to like him, which made him a popular person for the attendings to request when they had a patient that needed comforting. “Holy shit dude. Those real?”

“Yes.” 

“They look like actual paw prints, not cartoony.” He took half a step forward before seemingly thinking better of it, stepping back, “You ever count them?”

Damian didn’t glance over at Nate, simply continuing to change clothes. “A hundred and eighty.”

A pause before Nate nodded slowly, “I’ve seen marks before but none like that.” He held his wrist out towards Damian, showing him his own. It was just a simple blue swirl on his wrist. Ridiculous, and even less helpful than Damians. “This one showed  up when I was sixteen. No clue who it’s tied to though. My brother has a paperclip on his cheek.” 

Damian didn’t respond, letting silence fall again, but Nate was a chatterbox, and kept talking, even if Damian was more focused on getting ready for rounds than having a conversation about something he couldn’t control. “Have you met them, you know, the person tied to the marks?”

“No.”

“Damn. You’d think with one that large it’d be easy.”

“Size doesn’t mean clarity.”

“Apparently.”

And the conversation left at that. Surprisingly, Nate had been one of the less intrusive of those who had seen the mark. It wasn’t like Damian hid it on purpose, but he didn’t pick out clothing that showed off the pawprints either. So there were a limited number of people who had seen the mark. It was a large mark, but not blatant, not like some others had. Jason had a soulmark on his face, one that appeared after his death, a pair of initials on his temple. 

His family had seen the mark the most out of everyone, and they all had theories, theories Damian tried not to pay attention to. There wasn’t any point listening to their inane musings. The ones that were harder to ignore was the teasing over the marks. Jason called him Paw Patrol, on the regular. And Dick had once told him that he looked like ASPCA had thrown up on him. 

Damian wasn’t even sure the marks were literal, they could be symbolic of something. 

The stranger he was tied to certainly crossed his mind a lot, but theorizing about the life that caused the marks? Damian did his best not to care about it. It wasn’t practical. Guessing at the information gained him nothing except maybe expectations, and people could fail expectations. 

After tea, Damian collapsed into his bed, falling asleep near instantly. Dreaming of the hospital. He spent so much time there he was starting to dream up fictional cases. It wasn’t until late afternoon when he woke, the warm sun cascading from the windows and onto his face, the curtains were pushed aside - Alfreds doing - while Alfred the cat was curled up against his chest. 

Moments like this were always nice. He felt safe, the world was quiet, things weren’t chaotic. A moment of decompression in what was supposed to be a day of decompression. But it all came to an end when his stomach growled. He’d been asleep for longer than he was really supposed to, and food was a need rather than a want at this point. SO he pulled himself out of bed, and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. 

That morning in particular he wasn’t alone. But it wasn’t the full family either. Just TIm and Dick sitting at the bar. Tim on his computer, Dick scrolling through his phone. Neither of them turned to face Damian, but Dick still spoke, “Little late in the day to finally be getting out of bed Dami?” His tone was teasing, light, easy. 

But still, Damian didn’t deign him with a response, stepping into the kitchen and getting his cereal instead. Once the bowl had adequately been filled with both cereal and milk, he sat down on one of the bar stools next to his siblings. 

After a few minutes, DIck set his phone down, speaking up again. “Funny story. There was a racoon in the kitchen this morning.”

Damian paused, turning his attention away from his cereal and to Dick, “A racoon?” He barely had the spoonful swallowed before he was speaking. Bad etiquette, but a racoon in the manor wasn’t exactly a common occurrence. 

The fact that it had managed to get into the manor was alarming. Only mildly so, but still alarming. 

Dick shrugged, “It broke in somehow, and then helped itself to some leftovers. It ate what was left of Tim’s sandwich.”

Bruce was paranoid, and getting into or out of Wayne Manor undetected simply didn’t happen. There had been a couple occasions when an animal had gotten inside, but each time it had shown some flaw in the security that Bruce had fixed rather quickly. A racoon getting inside wasn’t alarming in a “oh no someone is trying to break in” way, but a “Father is going to lose his mind over this” way. 

“Do we know how?”

Tim was the one to respond this time, not even looking up from his laptop, “No clue. Alfred is looking over the security footage to see if he can figure it out quickly so that it doesn’t become a whole issue.”

“Good.” The three of them fell into silence, each of them going back to their own tasks. The silence was comfortable, they’d done this time and time again. So long as there wasn’t any major news, they ate in silence when they were all present. 

Silly conversations were saved for the monthly family game nights, or for when someone was injured and a distraction was needed. It was neither family game night, and nobody was injured so they continued on in their silence. 

So when he finished with his cereal, he stood up, set the bowl and spoon in the sink, and announced that he was leaving. “I’m going to see Batcow and Goliath.” And he was leaving the room without waiting for either of them to reply to him. 

He tried to spend as much time as he could with his animals. Batcow, and Goliath had to stay at the manor for space purposes, and Alfred the Cat seemed happier here than Damian could picture him in his apartment. Jerry and Titus had passed away while Damian was in medical school. 

Even if he was steps ahead of his peers thanks to his training both in the league and as Robin, he knew it wouldn’t be fair to get a new pet at that point in time. He wouldn’t have enough time to dedicate to one. So he didn’t, choosing to focus on the ones that he already had. 

After he spent time with the animals, he’d likely paint, maybe read. Figuring out what to do on one of the days he dedicated to decompressing after work wasn’t always easy. It couldn’t be something that was like work, but Damian also didn’t like being idle. It felt like a waste of time. 

But he’d been told repeatedly that if he didn’t give himself time to rest, he’d find himself burnt out. He’d seen Tim burn himself out repeatedly, focusing on only work and never taking time to rest. It wasn’t a mistake that Damian would let himself make. 

Friday passed quietly and quickly. He fed Batcow by hand that evening, then spent time trying to paint Goliath before leaving the canvas half completed.The majority of the day he didn’t actually do anything, just existed. Once upon a time, he never would have been able to spend a day doing nothing. It was still hard, but he could now. Once upon a time, he never would have been able to spend a day doing nothing. It was still hard, but he could now. Once upon a time, he was a very different boy. 

A boy whose first instinct was violence. That statement was no longer true. Even if he didn’t always get along with his family perfectly, even if sometimes he still had the urge to react violently. TIme spent here had helped him grow out of that brash first reaction. It had shown him a different way of existing. 

Something he would always be thankful for. 

Saturday he went on patrol. By himself, Red Robin, Red Hood, Spoiler, and Orphan were somewhere doing their own things, he didn’t know if Nightwing was in Bludhaven or Gotham tonight. Bruce was at home. 

The Batman mantle had been retired for a few years now. There hadn’t been an official announcement, but Bruce had started to step back more and more. Now he just did mission coordination with Oracle when he got antsy. He’d let the others take over. 

Damian was secretly grateful for it. He didn’t want his father pushing his body past the limit and getting hurt beyond repair, or dying. 

Tonights patrol was quiet, it wasn’t always like that. If you asked Jason he’d claim that Gotham city was never truly peaceful. Damian disagreed with that. Maybe the peace wasn’t the same as other cities, but it was still peaceful in it’s own way. Street lights half burnt out, half casting amber on the cement. Neon signs blinking lazily. 

The city was still awake, music playing from clubs, diners that never closed with occasional movement from inside. On nights like this Damians favorite thing was to go around and sketch. It was still patrolling, making sure that there wasn’t anything happening that needed his attention, but with a small sketchbook and pencil in hand. 

A gargoyle, crumbling and old, barely hanging on to a cathedral roof. The type of perch that they had been taught to avoid because it was likely to break. The moonlight falling down on it, how it cast shadows into the cracks. It was more of a figure drawing, not about the details of the picture but the impressions of it. The general shape, general shadow placement. Then he was moving on. 

A cat staring out of someones apartment window, fat cheeks, eyes wide and focused on him as if he was an actual bird. It’s well taken care of. It gets immortalized in pencil graphite. 

Childrens chalk drawings on the sidewalk, a hopscotch grid with numbers, flowers and suns, birds, sloppy messy handwriting. Remnants of a childhood he’d never get to experience. The hopscotch he’d once done when alone on patrol. It was silly, it was inefficient. It was healing. 

He’d never told anyone about that moment, none of his siblings, not even Jon as close as the two of them were. He didn’t plan on telling anyone about that moment. 

Thursday, May 1st, 2025

“Ya know, Gotham ain’t as bad as people make it out to be.”

Your brother clearly thought you were insane. He stared at you across the table, his jaw lax at your words. “You can’t be serious about that.” Even though you’d known him on and off your whole life, you never could get used to his accent. Sharp, clipped, it was like being punched mid sentence. 

During your summers spent in Gotham as a child, you’d always been made fun of for your southern drawl, but they were the ones with the strange accent. Even knowing Gavin your whole life, you still felt like his accent was trying to punch you in the face at times. 

“Serious as a snakebite. Gotham’s full’a crooks and creeps, sure. But lord help me, the eye candy makes up for it.”

“You did not just refer to the vigilantes as eye candy.”

You had barely swallowed your pancake when you responses, “Well why not? Ya gonna say they ain’t eye candy? Bulging muscles, form-fittin’ clothes…I bet they’d be great at farm work.” Red Hood in particular, youd kill to have help bale hay for you back home. Any of them would work really. He just looked the part the most. 

Gavin laughed, shaking his head like you’d said something utterly ridiculous. But you were just bein’ truthful. “The only thing Gotham’s vigilantes are good at is dodgin’ trouble. And even then, barely.”

You were quiet for a moment, taking a few more bites of your pancakes. As far as he was aware, you were going home today, leaving Gotham. But no, you were just moving into your new place. You’d already done a couple shifts at your new job, now you just had to move in. 

They were even letting you stay on the premises, above the shelter which had now been added on to double as a vet clinic, you had your own apartment. An apartment next to a closet with extra scrubs, medical supplies, the works. But you had a kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, hell it even had a living room. Not bad for something you weren’t paying for. 

Gavin wasn’t going to be happy when you told him that you were staying in Gotham. He’d get it, but only after you explained the why to him. A topic that you had been dodging for the whole two weeks you had been in town. 

“Guess I'll find out myself soon enough.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means’ i’m stayin’. Got a job, apartment, the works.”

The reaction was as instant and near explosive as you expected it to be, “What the fuck is wrong with you? What happened to quiet life back in Texas?”

“Texas ain’t no quiet life. You know that.” A beat of silence, he was half glaring at you now, but you continued on undisturbed, “Wyatt and me done broke up, an’ he won’t leave me alone. So i up and left.”

“How do you break up with your soulmate?”

“Easy now. He ain’t my soulmate. New mark showed up not long ago…I figure that Gotham skyline’s the one I’m meant to follow.” You tried saying it casually, in passing, like you weren’t dropping world changing information on top of him. Everyone had thought that you and Wyatt were soulmates, but if you were then the Gotham skyline wouldn’t have appeared on your lower back. 

It couldn’t been mistaken for a tattoo, stylized, bold confident strokes, dark and inky, but you hadn’t gotten a tattoo. So it was most certainly a soulmark. Wyatt had no connection to Gotham, so it obviously meant that he wasn’t your soulmate. 

It meant, that he had claimed to know what the mark on your collarbone meant, and that your whole relationship had been built on a lie. A lot of things clicked into place after the second mark appeared. 

Your mother thought you were running, and maybe she wasn’t wrong. But you weren’t sure if you were running from Wyatt, or towards who your soulmate was. Or maybe, you hoped, just maybe you were running toward the life that suited you best. 

“Well, if you’re gonna chase skylines, Gotham’s a helluva place to do it.”

You sighed, “Look it ain’t like I dunno what i’m signin’ up for. I did spend summers here with you and pa. And i ain’t defenseless neither. I wrangle thousand pound critters on the daily with ma’ back home. Just trust me on this.”

Gavin’s quiet for a moment, looking at you skeptically. You stuck out in Gotham, not even because of attire. THe attitude, the accent, the way you held yourself. It wasn’t what was expected from someone born and raised in Gotham. But you were confident you could survive Gotham. 

If worse came to worse and you found yourself wildly incorrect, it either wouldn’t be a problem, or you could flee back home to your mother and her warm southern hospitality. Either fate was leading you in the right direction for life, or it was leading you toward your doom. You’d find out in time. 

Gavin takes one large deep breath, before sighing, “Look I get why you had to get out, but Gotham’s no joke.”

“I promise I’ll be alright. You can even come see my new place with me. And if I need anything, you’ll be the first one I call. Swear on it.”

“Fine.”

You grinned at him, glad and a little surprised he gave in that easily. You might only share one - now deceased - parent, but he was still your older brother. And that came with everything from the overprotection, to the teasing. You wouldn’t trade it for the world. But sharing a room with him for the summer was more than enough to convince you that it was a good thing you two never lived together. 

Gavin helped you carry your things up to the apartment that afternoon, it was small, but efficient. A single large window in the living room, hardwood floors. The kitchen was compact, but it had the basics. You certainly weren’t cooking a thanksgiving dinner here, but it was enough for daily needs. The bedroom was just big enough for a bed, small dresser, and a corner with textbooks and various knick knacks. Most all personal touches would have to go into the living room. 

The apartment was newly built, still smelt like the wood they used to put up the walls, and some of the sharp smell of cleaning supplies from downstairs wafted upwards. You didn’t have any complaints. It was yours. Right outside was another room, shelves lining it with various supplies both the shelter and vet clinic needed, then a staircase and the clinic itself. The shelter and entrance to the building was on the other side. 

Friday was very technically your first full day of work. You’d shown up and helped a couple times to get to know the people who worked there. As far as you’d been informed, the fact they specialized on animals who were feral, or abused, or heavily injured, and focused on rehabilitation before adopting them out, wasn’t new. 

However what was new was the fact that they now had an on-site vet. It wasn’t a vet clinic, people couldn’t just make appointments with you. Your attention would be solely focused on the rehabilitation and medical care of the animals brought to the shelter. It was a good cause and a good idea. 

The consistency it offered the critters would make rehabilitating them significantly easier. Routine was important, seeing the same people day after day would make their lives less stressful even with the stressors of living in a shelter. 

Because you lived above the shelter, on days that you were working you’d be in charge of opening. So the next morning that’s exactly what you did. Going around and checking on all the critters in the shelter - only dogs and cats at the moment, no exotics yet - before making a pot of coffee. 

None of the animals currently there needed any sort of medical attention, just average daily care, so you had the luxury of scrolling on your phone for a few minutes while waiting for the coffee to be finished.  Then you unlocked the front doors so that when the other employees came in for their shift it would already be open for them. 

Unless an animal was brought in who did need medical attention, today your job would be the same as the other employees. Your focus on taking care of the animals and helping anyone who came inside. You had no complaints with that. It was an important part of the job. It was the fun part of the job. 

You weren’t under any illusion that you’d be able to save every animal who came in. there would be bad days, days where you wanted to do nothing but curl up in a ball and cry after failing to save one. 

You would gladly take easy and fun days like this one. 

There were only a few shelter workers, and management was looking to hire a vet tech to help you out with any surgical cases, which was nice. This morning though, was only you and one other girl. A dark haired shelter worker named Marcy, she seemed nice enough, although certainly a Gothamite. She was hesitant about you, and had been watching all day like she was trying to assess you. 

She could watch you as much as she wanted to. Work needed done, and you’d continue to do so until it was time for a break. Grabbing a bottle of water from the mini-fridge in the break room. Turning your attention to Marcy when she started speaking. 

“So what’s your story, what pulled a Southern gal like you all the way up here to Gotham?”

You hesitated, unsure if you should be blatant and tell her about the soulmarks. Both were hidden underneath your clothes. The one under your collarbone covered by the light shirt you wore underneath the scrub top. You’d picked it out specifically to cover the mark. 

You weren’t ready to advertise the strange marking again. It looked like writing, for a while you’d thought it was arabic. But nobody had been able to crack it and tell you what it said. Maybe it really was just some random scrawling. But the way the mark looked felt like a language. Just one you didn’t know. 

“My brother’s up this way. I used to come stay summers with him actually. But a soulmark showed up not too long ago. Gotham Skyline, clear as day. That was the final push, like somethin’ sayin’ alright, time to go.” The fact it was so far away from Wyatt was a bonus. 

You chose to believe that you weren’t moving halfway across the country to chase love. It was a logical decision. Your brother was here, you got a good job. The soulmark was pointing you in the direction that you needed to go. Or maybe you were deluding yourself. 

“Soulmark huh?” she echoed, but her voice wasn’t judgemental, “That’s either real brave or real stupid. But you certainly aren’t the first person to run straight into potential danger chasing a soulmate.”

You shook your head, looking down at the scrub top. At the top underneath covering the looping words. “I just. I”m not exactly lookin’ for my soulmate. I’ve been burnt enough. If it happens it happens.”

Marcy held her hands up, smiling softly at you, “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. We all end up here runnin’ from something, or toward something. Maybe it’s a little bit of both?”

“What about those who aren’t transplants?” A term your brother used several times to refer to someone who had moved to gotham from somewhere else. Despite the time you’d spent in Gotham growing up, you were technically a transplant too. 

“We were born running.”

Taglist: @ocean-mochi @wandaislife @amya-da-best

[terriblyrenderedenigma]

On Transformers and Human soulmate tropes...

(i do personally attack starscream at the end, i'm sorry starscream lovers, i love him too, but he's just a sad, devious little guy.)

Just a little thought here, so, I love soulmate tropes. Depending on the plot, they can be really fun and take so many interesting paths as a medium used within storytelling, whether romantic or platonic.

But what i want to talk about specifically is Transformer x Human soulmate tropes. Like, you have this super sweet side to it where the bot can be like 'I have waited my entire life to find you, finally, I can hold you in my arms and we never have to part again'. Depending on the character/story/type of SM (soulmate, shortening it because I'm not gonna keep writing it out) trope of course.

Can I just say how...instrumentally fucked this is though? So you have this race of robots who live for, what is essentially millennia out in the wild unless they catch the smoke. Their soulmate ends up being this little creature that lives for 80, maybe 100 years tops before dying. -Unless we're going for some kind of mind switch body type thing, but we all know how that went with spike in g1.

Our beloved robo blorbos will eventually have to cope with the fact that their soulmate, the person or creature they're MEANT to be with via laws of the universe, will die a LOT sooner than they will.

This especially hits hard with the decepticons who, depending on continuity -- hate humanity already. Bots who've gone through so much, losing their home, friends, and their dignities; have to learn to put up with and accept this creature as their fated mate/spouse/conjux endura, whatever you want to call it- SOULMATE.

Then the decepticons just have to deal with the fact that they're going to lose this person too, just like they've already lost everything else and oh GOD. Maybe they choose to forget about them and move on, stay alone and mourn what could have been if the universe hadn't had such a fucked sense of humor. Maybe they choose to accept it, but never let their SM too close because they know they'll just be hurt so much more hurt when the inevitable comes.

Then you have to think about decepticons having to possibly protect their SM from other cons! From being taken and 'saved' by the autobots.

Imagine some bots or cons just flying off the handle, going crazy just to try and keep their human alive in any way they possibly can, afraid of running out of time.

(Starscream lovers forgive me for the angst)

And Starscream especially, Maybe he'd try. He'd have a great time, take a chance, and give it a go. But what if he's actually terrified? Maybe he'd also self sabotage a little, knowing the relationship will never last too long anyways; not in the short blink of time it would be next to his life. Maybe, he doesn't actually know what to do with himself in a positive relationship after being, i dunno, consistently dogged on by megatron and he freezes.

There's something actually good for him, and since he isn't sure how to receive or accept that fact, he's gone. And maybe he'll come back, but the cycle could repeat.

(Im sorry, unless you put a tracker on him and call his ass and really give him some therapy. get him some god damn therapy.)

But yeah. All around, the angst potential is immense for this stuff and it makes me sad to think about so I thought i would share it instead of just write about it in an actual fic because my character analysis and ability to comprehend my own thoughts is so shit.

Okay, CIAOOOOOO~

[areiton]

Fic Idea in which Jason has a lot of soulmate marks and almost all of them are a version of the bat sigil and that gets REALLY confusing.

There is the first bat, for Bruce, small and black and almost hidden because Bruce's affection has always been a thing he hides from and hides from others.

There is the electric blue watercolor splotch that splatters in a distorted bat-like shape across his collarbone and up his throat.

There is a red bat on his wrist, small and not quite secret, but subtle enough that he can hide it. The green one is tucked under his ribs, sharp angles and lines.

He doesnt know what to do with them, with the purple bat high on his calf wrapped up in an oil slick shadow, with the Bats scattered on his body and the sprig of lemongrass & roses curling up his throat. But the first time someone tries to hurt him when he's on the streets, they see the red bat on his wrist and back off.

A guy gets handsy until he catches sight of the blue bat and finds someone else to rough up.

His soulmates are protecting him before he even meets them, and he wonders if he's doing the same.

And then he does meet them. Bruce and Dick and Alfie and he sees his own red bat, scarred and jagged and torn, and he aches because they don't need him.

Its different when he comes back. When the Pit washes away everything but his marks. When he meets Damian and sees his own mark there, and knows there are others, people who are his and who he belongs to.

The black bat is still tucked into the hollow behind his ear and Dick's Nightwing blue mark still spread brilliant and claiming on his chest and maybe--maybe he can go home after all.

[the-genius-az]

I just discovered—thanks to a Mal x Audrey fanfic—that there were soulmate marks that displayed the hurtful words the other person had heard or felt!

Can anyone else see the potential I do in Azula x Mai x Ty Lee? Or even Azula x Katara! That would be so cool and sad.

(Although Azula's partners have likely also received some insults from her.)