#How to find your soulmate without losing your soul | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

after-witch · 2 months

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Check Out Time is Eleven [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Check Out Time is 11 [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You're invited to a hotel for a warm meal and a place to sleep by a mysterious stranger. Soulmate AU.

Word count: 7100ish

notes: yandere, kidnapping, mentions of drugging, a really useless and non-philosophical reference to My Dinner with Andre

The red thread on his finger loses slack for the very first time in his life, and for the smallest of moments, Chrollo Lucilfer forgets himself. His steps falter, expensive, stolen shoes nearly scuffing on the sidewalk, and a startled breath quivers through his chest. His mouth gapes, ever so slightly.

In surprise.

In trepidation.

In realization.

The red thread was, had always been, attached to you. His soulmate. Whoever you were. The gentle tugging of the thread meant that after years of fruitless searching, you were finally somewhere nearby, close enough to reach. Probably, given the tautness of the thread, even within walking distance.

How lucky for him.

How unfortunate for you.

You were finally discovered. You were finally within his grasp, fingers itching, warm satisfaction blooming through his skin. How often had he ruminated over the fact that you had yet to belong to him? How often had he wondered what you would look like, how you would feel under his touch? And what you might do to him when he had you in person? Would he find himself changed, however slightly, as the others in the Troupe had been? Or would he mold you with his own presence, looming over you like a shadow?

The mere thought of you is enough to get his heart racing, bring a bead of sweat to his neck. It was so unlike him, and wasn’t that a thrill?

And then, just like that, the moment is over. He recollects himself and his mouth closes and his mind whirs back into focused gear.

He needed to find you, first thing. The rest of the logistics could come later.

His eyes track the movements of the thread, and without missing a beat, he turns on his heels to follow the direction of the movement. It was possible--no, highly probable--that you were close enough to reach on foot. Within the city, certainly, and he didn’t mind the exercise.

As he continues to walk, the cold gleam of the business district turning into rows of glitzy restaurants and downtown attractions, he’s glad that you weren’t too close. It gives him more time to think about what he wants to do with you.

The Troupe members that had already found their soulmates--and Chrollo feels a surge of pride in his chest, counting himself among them now, fulfilled in that goal--had taken on different approaches.

Some merely kidnapped their soulmates and kept them in secure locations. Simple, effective in terms of security, but that would ensure it would take him a long time to win you over. And he knows that he will do just that, eventually, no matter how he decides to keep you. Others took their time, attempting to strike up something of an ordinary relationship before revealing their knowledge of the red thread, and persuading their soul mates to come with them for safety (and romance)’s sake. Surely the more appealing of the two options, but it did come with the downside of expended time and energy.

What he would do with you depended on so many factors. Did you live in some stationary location, or were you prone to travel? What did you do for a living? Were you already in a relationship, some inferior partnership with someone who could never appreciate you the way that he could, as your only soulmate?

All of these questions circle heavily in his mind as he walks, following the thread that was becoming tighter and tighter between the pair of you. The ritzy downtown buildings were now gone, replaced by rows of old buildings that had seen better days. In place of fine dining were small cafes and diners that practically exuded grease, laundromats with blinking signs, and the occasional busted out window. The scores of people walking, gabbing, waving around fancy handbags were replaced by only the occasional person walking with clear destinations in mind, eyes in front.

As the thread becomes even tighter, it leads him down an alley that most people would have surely avoided. But he doesn’t worry about the glances of the people leaning up against heavy exit doors, or the people crouching on the ground with needles against their arms. He thinks about you. Will he find you here, perhaps, curled up in the arms of a drug dealer pumping you full of toxic chemicals that flushed you with endorphins and heat? Or you might be on the other side of the needle, pocketing cash and going on your merry way?

But, no. Perhaps not. Instead of leading him further into the den of seedy dealings, the thread brings him away, feet crunching on broken bottles, towards some type of fenced-in parking lot. Or it had been a parking lot, once

From a short distance through the metal fence, he can see burning barrels, tents, carts. The smells of cooking grills waft over, greasy foods, easy to cook outdoors. It wasn’t a new sight, in this city or otherwise. Chrollo had seen worse. Had lived worse.

And then, there--at the end of the red thread that weaved in between one of the fence’s metal honeycombs: you.

He sees you for the first time and knows, with a burning intensity that threatens to knock him over, that he needs you. He needs you now. He needs you always. You have something that he lacks and perhaps possessing you will give it to him.

Is this what the others felt, when they first saw their soulmates? Or is it something unique to you and him? Some unfathomable bond that has shaken him to his core? Not for long, of course, never for long. He regains his senses within moments and catalogs the feeling away for later analysis.

It’s you that he focuses on, now. And the fact he will have you, as soon as he decides on the where, when, and how. He wouldn’t be the leader of the Phantom Troupe if he wasn’t skilled at taking what he wanted.

Today what he wants is not a gallery of paintings or a rare gruesome artifact, but a person.

You.

What to make of you?

You’re standing in front of one of the burning barrels, rubbing your hands together. They look red and chapped, even from his vintage point. Behind you is a shopping cart filled with odds and ends. On the side nearest the fire, you had clearly laid out clothes over the edge of the cart--wet ones, from rain or maybe you’d had the opportunity to wash them. Your current ensemble is a simple hodgepodge. Clearly, you wore whatever was cleanest, whatever was warmest, whatever you could find.

He remembers such a living.

You appear to be on the outskirts, avoiding the groups scattered around the encampment. No one approaches you and you don’t approach them. A loner… by choice, or not? You wouldn’t be alone for long, if it wasn’t by choice, and in time you might be grateful for it. If it was by choice, well, there were ways to tame feral cats.

It doesn’t take much analysis to decide what to do with you, to decide how best to approach things. He’s glad that he wore something casual today. Just some simple slacks and a nice sweater. If he was overdressed, it might be more difficult. Not that he couldn’t manage it, but he enjoys advantages when he can get them.

With no hesitation, he walks through one of the ragged gaps in the metal fence and begins to approach you.

Your head jerks towards him the moment that his steps become even remotely close. He doesn’t mind. It’s only natural, especially for someone who has been living the way you surely have. There’s a tugging somewhere inside him--memory of himself and connection with you.

He smiles, not broadly, but in a way meant to disarm.

“Hello,” he says, stopping a few feet away from you.

You stiffen.

“I’m Chrollo,” he continues. His voice is undisturbed and calm. As if he was meeting you on a sunny afternoon in the park while you were both buying ice cream from the same cart. That might have been a more charming meeting, he muses, but this one can work to his advantage just as easily. “Won’t you tell me your name?”

You snatch your hands back from the barrel and step, refusing to turn your back to him, behind your cart.

“None of your business,” you say.

And oh, he thinks, it would be heaven if he could somehow bottle the first time he hears your voice and listen to it on demand. But he supposes, he has the rest of his life--and yours--to hear you speak.

“That’s all right.” He gestures towards you, the cart, your life. “I see you are in need.” You frown at him, but he continues. “How would you like to go somewhere warm?”

Your lip pulls back in a sneer and you move yourself on the other side of the cart.

“I don’t do that. Fuck off.”

Ah. You thought he wanted you to--well. It wouldn’t be the first time people took advantage of others in less fortunate situations. There had been enough of that in Meteor City.

“No, nothing like that,” he says, voice going soft. “I should have clarified. I’m a… missionary of sorts. I look for people in need and offer what help I can give. I’d like to buy you a hotel room for the week.” He notices your wary expression. “Or even the day, if that would be more comfortable for you. Somewhere you can get some safe sleep, a shower, something to eat. I wouldn’t even be there.”

He recognizes the look on your face all too well. Wariness. Suspicion. The face of someone who knows that people are tricky and greedy and cruel. That people will take things that they haven’t earned. Oh, yes-- he knows all of that so well, from both sides.

And he also knows how to get your guard to drop enough for him to accomplish his goal. Sure, mistrust is essential in an environment like this. But mistrust can always be overpowered when there’s something essential within reach. Like comfort. Or food. A warm place to stay, even if it’s just for a few hours. A private bathroom, a toilet, a tub.

“I don’t know,” you say, finally, having given him the appropriate stare down.

He nods his head.

“I understand. I would feel wary myself, in your position. It’s perfectly reasonable.” It is more than reasonable, he thinks, but you don’t need to know that. You just need to believe that coming with him will be worth your while, worth ignoring what he’s sure is a growing pit in your stomach.

“What I would like to do is accompany you to a hotel where I often book rooms for those in need. It’s a private room, of course. And I will pay for your meals.” He sees the gears turning in your mind at the promise of a bed. The promise of food. “I have my own room in the hotel, but it’s on a different floor, and I won’t have to see you at all,” he adds, and this is how he will make you step over that cautionary line. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Everything is pre-paid on my card, of course, and you’re free to order whatever you’d like. What do you say?”

He lets his words hang in the air, wafting like smoke from the nearby barrels.

You wet your lips. You glance around at the people around you. A few of them have taken notice of Chrollo, perhaps as a mark, perhaps more; but he pays them no mind. He could kill them in a fraction of a second and whisk you out of here just as easily, if he needs to… But he hopes it will not come to that.

“All right,” you say suddenly, softly. “If… you’re just going to give me a room and feed me, then all right.”

Chrollo smiles. It is, he thinks, perhaps close to a genuine one.

“Wonderful. Follow me, if you please.”

The hotel is expensive, but thankfully not terribly ostentatious. Chrollo would hate to put you off by throwing you into some gilded lion’s den. But the hotel is more reserved, classy. Comfort and luxury without any of the ridiculous trappings that often come with them.

Chrollo does bring you with him to the front desk, if only to reduce the chances that the security will kick you out for looking out of place. And you do look out of place, but perhaps that’s for the better. It will make you appreciate what he’s going to do for you more, won’t it?

You’re quiet all the while, but that’s to be expected. You only hold tight to your backpack, where everything you hold dear has been crammed, and let him do the talking. A reservation is easily made under the guise that only you are to know the room number--you certainly don’t need to know that he’ll swing back and reserve the connected room next door--and the key is given without fanfare from the polite desk clerk who gives you curious glances but nothing more.

Chrollo walks you to the elevator, ever the gentleman, and hands you the key. You stare at it. The uncertain expression on your face is unbelievably precious, he thinks. He hopes he can see more of it before it inevitably morphs into shock and anger and fear.

“Would you like some new clothing?” Chrollo asks, after he pushes the button on the elevator for you. “I can have some sent up from the hotel’s boutique. I’ll tell the front desk, so they can give the concierge the room number. Ah, and I’ll need to know your size, if you’re willing to give it.”

“You want to buy me clothes?”

You almost splutter out the words, and he has to restrain himself from kissing you right then and there. You are terribly cute, and there’s a slight disturbing tinge to how much he finds everything about you enticing so quickly. The way you furrow your eyebrows at his question. The slight look of embarrassment, the twitch of your lips.

He needs you so much, and he’s only known you for a few moments.

You tell him your size, then glance at him before staring at the glossy metallic doors. “Um, I need something warm. No useless stuff.” Your head gestures back towards the hotel lobby, where a few women are walking on the arm of male companions, dressed in sleeveless dresses and likely heading for the restaurant.

“Of course.” Chrollo does not tell you that he can envision you wearing all sorts of useless things in the future his mind is creating, brick by brick. You would look heavenly in something strapless, something slinky. Something that hangs off your shoulders. He would drape a fine wrap over them, were you behaving enough to go out with him--no one else but him will be privy to such delicacies.

For now, though, he resolves to send you the clothes he knows you want. Things will be a little more seamless if your guard isn’t entirely raised.

The elevator doors open.

Chrollo steps aside, and gestures for you to enter.

“This is where I take my leave. I will let the restaurant host know your name, and you can order whatever you’d like. It’s on my card. Please, don’t feel the need to hold back.”

You take a step inside the elevator and ah, there it is. Just the slightest hesitation. The slightest jerk of your head as you look back at him. Do you feel bad, leaving him in a lurch when he’s giving you charity? Do you feel beholden to him in some way?

“I guess it’s okay if we share a meal. You’re paying for it, anyway. It’d be awkward otherwise.” You stare down at the elevator carpet as you say the words, and Chrollo realizes that he’s perhaps misjudged the gesture. Your sense of shame, maybe, outweighs your desire to be rid of him and his potential alternative motives for assisting you.

That might come in handy.

He nods, as you turn around and make brief eye contact with him.

“Well, then. How about we meet here in 5 hours for dinner? I can send something dressy to your room, if you’d like.”

You shrug your shoulders as the doors close, which is as good as assent in his view. The string on his finger rises with the elevator, but now there is no fear that he’ll lose you. The string, something which had been maddening in its slackness for so long, is now something of a treasure itself. A little leash, keeping you to him, wherever you go.

Which, for now, is your hotel room--meaning he needs to get moving. He won’t pick anything too flashy out from the boutique; something modest, something simple. There are delicate steps to take to avoid making you feel ashamed without offending your sense of dignity all in one go.

Thankfully--for you and himself--he’s attuned to such needs.

5 hours. That would give you enough time to take a shower or bath, to change into the fresh clothing he’ll send up, to take a nap. Perhaps you’ll stare out the hotel window at the view or curl up in the bed, rolling on the fresh sheets.

Five hours would give you time to freshen up and relax, yes. And it would give him enough time to get hold of Shalnark and procure anything he needs to make your removal from the hotel as smooth as possible.

The shower is running again. He doesn’t blame you. He remembers days where a hot shower was a luxury beyond imagining.

He keeps his side pressed against the door connecting your rooms--not that you know he is on the other side with a key to yours, of course--and holds back a contended sigh as he watches the red string on his finger twirl and shift with your every movement.

What are you thinking about? He wonders. Are you thinking about how long it’s been since you had a hot shower? Are you thinking about slipping the shampoo bottles into your backpack?

Perhaps more inviting… are you thinking about him?

He knows what’s on his mind, and has been for the last few hours now. You.

What were you like, deep down, underneath your layers and justifiably guarded stance? Maybe you liked to read, maybe you once had a dream of being a dancer before life went to hell, maybe you were shy, maybe you liked to get drunk and sing your favorite songs at full volume.

What would you be like, once you were fully his?

What do you look like, underneath all of your clothing? What has nature and nurture shown fit to bestow upon you, your skin, all those secret places you keep hidden?

The thread bobbles again. Are you stepping out of the shower soon, or still scrubbing yourself? You’re so vulnerable, naked and unawares, just a few feet away from him. The water running is a delicious sound to his ears, because he knows that you’re underneath it.

He imagines what you might look like naked. He imagines what sounds you might make, underneath him, gasping and--

Oh, but he’s getting ahead of himself. He smiles and shakes his head at the rush. He should slow down, yes. Slow down and savor it all.

He clenches both of his hands. In one is the duplicate key, in the other is a syringe. Both go into opposite pockets, awaiting their respective time to shine.

The dress that arrives at your door with a prim knock from a porter is not quite what you expected--which is a relief. You expected the stranger to send up something ridiculous. Something slinky and glittering, maybe with only a half shoulder.

But instead it’s a simple dress with a flared skirt, all made from dark blue fabric. The sleeves are elbow length, the neckline isn’t too low, and there’s a matching black belt to go with it. He’s even sent up a pair of nylons, which are something you haven’t worn since you were a little kid, desperately trying to mimic your mother’s fancy outfits.

He also--and maybe this is overkill--sent up a few pairs of shoes in different sizes, along with a transcribed note instructing you to call the front desk if none of them fit, or simply wear your own shoes if you are uncomfortable with it.

This stranger--Chrollo--is awfully accommodating. And kind. And considerate.

Which is exactly why, when the dress is on and your nylon-clad feet are resting in the shoes easiest to run in, you tuck your switchblade into one of the dress pockets for safekeeping.

Maybe he is just kind. Or he’s one of those people that makes themselves feel better by occasionally being charitable; he’s harboring some sort of guilt that can be alleviated, however temporarily, by buying a person a sandwich or two.

But maybe he’s not. You’ve known people who have been hurt or killed or sometimes worse by so-called charitable people. People that lure you in with showers and hotels, meals and clothing. People that slit your throat before or after they have their way with you.

Life was dark and life was shit, and you weren’t born yesterday. If this stranger had any nefarious intentions, you certainly weren’t going to walk into them like a bleating lamb.

And yet, and yet… some part of you wanted to believe he had good intentions. You’re not sure why, exactly. You weren’t the type to look on the bright side or always see the good in people--or at least, you hadn’t been that way since childhood. Yet something about this Chrollo made you hope that he was a good person. That you’d have a nice conversation and he wouldn’t do anything more than give you a nice afternoon and a place to sleep comfortably for a bit.

It was an almost primal feeling, which made it all the more stranger. Your gut feelings usually told you something like: this place is dangerous, this guy’s probably got a gun, that alley’s too notorious to use as a shortcut.

Your gut didn’t give you silly notions, like wanting to trust someone, hoping they would talk to you during dinner, wondering if they’d be pleasant to be around for longer.

At least, not before today.

“And the lady will have the cailles aux raisins.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Quail,” Chrollo says, allowing the waiter to take the leather-bound menu from his hands. As if your issue was with the choice of food--okay, you didn’t know what it meant, but still--and not that he ordered for you. “Stuffed with shallots, grapes, liver, and ah, I believe, some cognac, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That’s correct, sir,” the waiter says, not giving you a second glance--you didn’t even get a menu, which irked you, but considering you had nothing to pay with and perhaps the hotel staff knew it, it was a practical snub.

Your lips twist into a frown, although you suppose you can’t complain. The dish does sound good. Not that you’ve ever had quail. But it can’t be that different from chicken. Or duck. You had duck, once, as a kid. Your mother brought you to a hotel just like this for a Mother’s Day brunch and you sat at a table with an embroidered cloth and wore a pair of your mother’s white gloves, so that you would look extra fancy.

“I apologize,” Chrollo tells you. “I should have asked your preference first.” The strangest part is how sincere he sounds, like he really didn’t want to offend you. Like he actually might be interested in what you want to eat. Part of you can appreciate that, and part of you wants to finger the handle of your knife inside your pocket.

“It’s fine.” You shrug it all off. Because you can, and you choose to--but also because you’re famished and the smells wafting from the other tables is enough to make your stomach growl. “People usually don’t order things like this for me, anyway. If they do give me anything.”

Chrollo tilts his head slightly, looking at you like a particularly interesting painting on a wall. “No?”

You smile thinly. “Nope. I’m lucky if I get someone’s leftover fries from a fast food shop.”

“What a shame.” He places both hands on the table, clasping his fingers together. His gaze bores into yours. You look away, briefly, but find yourself wanting to look back. How odd. “I’m sure,” he begins, talking slowly, measuring out his words, “that must be demoralizing--to be treated as lesser-than.”

You can’t help the snort that comes out your nose, or the quick words that follow. “Yeah? And what would you know about that?” Your eyes rake over his outfit, your mind whirls over how much money he’s spent on you alone, as if it was nothing. A drop in the bucket. Some rich man playing with his money. Or daddy’s money, depending on the circumstance.

Of course, you expect him to get offended. You expect him to call you ungrateful and cancel the order and ship you out of here like yesterday’s trash. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has gotten angry that you didn’t play into their savior fantasies. Your muscles even prep to stand, your face goes stony, ready to block the anger that he’ll throw your way.

Only... none of that happens.

His face looks--it’s hard to describe, really. It’s almost like it glitches for a moment, and you see something you weren’t meant to see. You’re not even sure if he realizes it. And then his expression gets so remote and so quiet. He looks away from you for perhaps the first time, looking instead, at his hands.

“I know a lot about that, actually.”

It’s not offense in his expression but… sympathy? No, that’s not it either. You know “sympathy face” like the back of your hand, for all the good it does you.

It’s empathy. Trace, but there. A shared experience between you. Maybe that’s why you’ve felt inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt all day. Why you went with him in the first place, hunger pangs aside.

“So you’ve been…” You begin, but is there a need to finish. He’s been homeless, or something like it. Downtrodden. On the bottom.

He nods.

“Sorry.” The word comes out blurted but soft. Well, I’m an asshole, you think.

He smiles at you, a soft, thin thing--almost like a gloss that covers up his previous expression. “No, don’t be. You had no way of knowing, dear.”

Dear.

The word hangs between you silently, as if it’s being dangled on some sort of invisible string. He opens his mouth slightly--maybe to apologize--but shuts it when you don’t say anything. Instead, he simply blinks, and watches you.

Perhaps a minute ago you might have bristled at the nickname, might have sought to cut it right down, in fact. But for now, you brush it aside. He’s being nice--he knows what you’re going through. And sure, there’s some sort of guilt relief in his actions, but it’s not coming from the place of a rich man making himself feel better. It’s coming, you think, from a place of not just knowing where you’ve been but having been there himself.

Before either of you can speak, the waiter returns with your appetizer and despite the guilt in your gut, your hunger practically sings at the sight of the plate of bread and butter. It’s fancy bread, already cut, gleaming with what smells like garlic butter spread over the top.

The flavored butter is shaped like a rose and it’s only after you childishly dip your bread right into it and take a loud, chewy bite of the delicious goodness that you realize you’ve committed a faux-pas. There’s a tiny butter knife on the plate, obviously meant to delicately smear the butter onto your bread. And here you are, gnawing on the piece like some sort of medieval peasant during a bad harvest.

A pang of shame tingles over you. It’s a silly kind of shame--inconsequential, really. Who cares how you eat bread at some hotel you’ll never step foot in again in your life? But it lingers terribly. Until Chrollo picks up a piece of brand and dips it right into the butter, too, taking a chewy bite with far less graciousness than you imagined with his sophisticated appearance.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” He asks, not even bothering to cover his mouth.

You smile. You almost-snort. And the shame dissipates like ice crystals on a sunny day, as you and Chrollo both finish off the appetizer. He lets you eat more without saying a word, which you appreciate.

There’s a lot to appreciate about him, really. He’s been kind. He hasn’t been terribly condescending, dinner order notwithstanding. And he seems to know how to approach you with actual empathy and not just the sticky, coddling sympathy that most people do.

And you won’t lie--he is nice to look at. He even smells nice, but with the amount of money he had to spend on the clothing he sent up to your room, he can likely afford to buy expensive cologne.

If he notices you staring, he says nothing. Instead, he half-closes his eyes and appears to be deep in thought. Over… you? Or dinner?

He hums a bit under his breath, and you realize: it’s the music. It’s a delicate song being played by a small group of musicians set up on a stage in the corner. It’s familiar… your brain strives to catch up with your ears.

“You like this song?” You ask, because the silence has stretched too long, and the bread is now gone.

Chrollo opens his eyes and regards you with a sober smile. “Yes.” He pauses, then. “It’s--”

“Elgar's Chanson de matin,” you blurt, before he can. “I know it.”

His eyes widen, just a tad. Enough to show that he’s curious. A funny bit of pride thrums through you. It can be retribution for the quail earlier, you decide.

“You’re familiar with his work?”

You feel your cheeks heat up, even though you don’t get the sense that he asked to be cruel. He seems actually interested. Like he wants to know you. It’s nice, and confusing, and a little startling.

You nod, wishing there was more bread to break up the conversation. “What, you think someone like me can’t be interested in classical music?

“Of course not.” He answers swiftly, resolutely.

He reaches his hand towards yours and grasps it before you can think to pull away. It seems silly to yank your hand out of his, so you don’t. Even if the way he looks down at your interlocked fingers makes goosebumps dance up your arm.

His expression is so strange. He looks… lonely. And desperate. And relieved. But why?

Both of your gazes meet for one electric moment and for that moment, you feel like he sees you. And you see him. Not as clearly. But you see something inside him that is not quite on the surface. Something which does make you pull away, but not with distaste. You withdraw your hand from his slowly, like he’s a wild animal that you don’t want to startle.

The waiter, impeccable timing as ever, arrives with the main courses just as your hand makes its way into your lap.

And just like that, the spell is broken. Ripples of water dash whatever it was between you, and he’s speaking charmingly to the waiter, who appears swiftly again with a glass of champagne for each of you. You weren’t intending to drink, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt. It could calm your nerves.

Neither of you talk much for the rest of dinner. It’s not tense, exactly, but you can tell there’s something in the air. Questions unspoken, maybe, or just an awkwardness between two strangers who seem to both understand and misunderstand each other in equal measure.

The hotel’s restaurant begins to thin out after your main courses are taken away. A dessert menu is brought, and Chrollo orders a simple slice of cake for both of you.

Real vanilla bean frosting is on your lips when you ask your question. Quiet, but with most of the other guests gone, he has no trouble hearing it.

“So you were… homeless, before?”

You’re not sure why you need to know this. To confirm that he’s not some rich boy playing with his father’s money? To see how much he can really understand you? Maybe the champagne went to your head. You don’t normally drink, it wouldn’t be impossible.

His fork stalls as the question comes out. He glances up at you and there’s nothing offended or hurt in his eyes. He seems to weigh his answer before he gives it. It doesn’t really surprise you; he could be just as mistrustful of you as you are of him, couldn’t he?

“Something like that.” He rests his fork on his plate. “I suppose you are trying to decide just how much I can sympathize with your… situation.”

Heat floods your cheeks, and you’re grateful the water brought another glass of champagne that you can sip from to loosen the tightness in your chest.

If he notices your flushed countenance, he doesn’t remark on it. You like him better for it. He continues speaking, looking at you with a measured expression. Like before, his words come slowly and carefully, given to you with something akin to grace.

“Our situations were not exactly similar. I don’t find it terribly useful to compare them. Better in some ways, worse in others. Like anything.”

“Better?” You dab at your mouth with a napkin.

“Ah.” He seems to weigh his next words with even more scrutiny before he decides on them. “I had something you didn’t, which surely benefited me.”

“Which was?”

There’s something wistful in his voice now. It makes you lean forward over the table. With most of the other guests gone, it feels strange to talk so openly about clearly delicate matters. Chrollo mimics your lean, and while he doesn’t take your hands across the table into his, you get the feeling he’d like to, if you let him.

“Companionship,” he says simply. The word settles in the air like a brick that seems to land right on your chest. You blink and feel the beginnings of tears in your eyes. You really did have too much champagne, and this is all getting to be a lot. You start to lean backward when he speaks again.

“Aren’t you lonely?”

“No,” you lie. The shock of the question does make you lean back fully. Then, to be spiteful. “Are you?”

He doesn’t answer. He only looks down at his hands and the empty spot where yours used to be, and then back at you.

Nothing more is said on the matter. He pays for the meal and leaves a nice fat tip for the waiter--who has, you think, been lurking nearby either to witness your drama or to make sure no one swipes his tip from the table--before escorting you back to the elevators.

Shame slams back into you while you’re standing in front of the elevator doors.

“I’m sorry.” Sure, he asked it first, but fuck--you hate being rude. If you were rude. It was hard to tell how Chrollo felt about anything. The champagne making your head fuzzy doesn’t help. Not at all.

He tilts his head a little. “What for?”

Your eyebrows furrow together. “You know, for asking… for being…” You wave your hands around a little. It’s too hard to put into words. You’re tired, you feel out of sorts, and you’re tipsy bordering on drunk. You can give yourself some forgiveness in a lack of coherency in this matter, at least.

Chrollo regards you for a moment before he shakes his head, scoffing a little as he smiles.

“For being yourself? Or at least showing some small part of it to me? I don’t mind.” He holds out his arm and you, unsteady champagne fuzz in your head, take it. “I’ll escort you to your room, if that’s all right. I don’t feel comfortable letting you go there alone.”

You should tell him that you’ll be fine. You should. But the champagne in your brain and the way you feel drawn to him--however slightly--makes “should” fly out the window. So you nod and let him lead you into the elevator, where the ride up makes you dizzy enough that Chrollo has to steady you carefully, and you mumble out another apology.

He only chuckles a little and helps you walk out of the elevator without stumbling over the threshold. Your room is just down the hall and he keeps a steady grip on you the whole way, even though you’ve told yourself that you won’t stumble anymore. It feels weird, to have someone so close to you; to smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his skin.

It feels weird, yes, but giddy too. He is handsome. And he did buy you dinner. And clothes. And he’s not as shitty as you thought he might be at first. The way he ate the bread in solidarity with you earlier--you can’t forget that, can you? It was… cute, even. If someone like Chrollo could be called cute.

Is it the champagne, the newness of this stranger-but-not-entirely, the rich disarmament that comes with a full stomach and freshly washed face? All of the above? Whatever it is, it’s got you thinking too much about Chrollo as he gently takes the key from your hand and opens your hotel room door.

A gentleman, he only sees you just inside before taking his leave, promising to meet you for breakfast in the morning--if you’d like.

You would like, you tell him, and the door shuts and locks swiftly afterwards. Chrollo’s cologne lingers in the air, or maybe it rubbed off on you from all the steadying he had to do.

The hotel room is just as you left it. Clean and pristine, smelling vaguely of lemon. Your duffel bags and personal belongings are shoved in the corner. Maybe you’ll try to read one of your books tonight, before you sleep? It would be the first time you read on an actual bed in ages. Maybe you could even call for room service? A little midnight snack? It’s not like Chrollo would mind, or at least, he probably wouldn’t. It’d be something small anyway, nothing wild.

Unless you wanted a bubbly nightcap.

Full of ideas, you take your giddy champagne self back to the bathroom to change into pajamas that he sent up earlier, humming Elgar’s Chanson, thinking about bread and quail and… Chrollo. The knife in your dress pocket gets left on the bathroom counter. It was silly to bring it, now that you think about it.

Still humming, you flop on the bed and grab the menu for room service. It wouldn’t hurt to order some extra dessert. And another glass of champagne. Maybe two…

You’re so out of sorts that at no point for the rest of the night, before your weary head hits the soft pillow, do you stop to wonder how Chrollo knew your room number.

There are few things Chrollo truly regrets in his life. One of them, he knows, will be that he couldn’t plant himself in this town for a few months in order to properly court you; to introduce you, gradually, to the concept of nen. To the knowledge that you were his soul mate.

But it can’t be helped. He has to leave tomorrow night, come hell or high water. And he certainly won’t let you drown here a moment longer. It’s for your sake. You’ll come to realize that eventually, just as you will--in time--come to forgive him for what he must do.

You’ll no doubt regret letting down your barriers in the morning. But if you hadn’t been so keen to trust in someone, to trust in him, then he wouldn’t have gotten to see something of the real you underneath all of that built-up survival instinct. And didn’t you see something of him, too? He thinks you did. Just a moment, a spark, but it was there.

You sweet thing. He could hear you humming through the door earlier; heard you order room service (champagne and desserts) and he regretted not having Shalnark swoop in during dinner to set up some security cameras.

The key to your room feels heavy in his hand. On this side, he is simply himself, staring ahead as the red thread of his soulmate leads away from him. But once he turns it into the lock and quietly opens the door, there will be nothing between you but sleep.

He opens the door and relishes in the way the thread sags even further downward. If only you could have seen how beautiful the thread looked during dinner, all tangled up as he clasped your hand in his. That’s how the thread was meant to look. Not tight and taut and unforgiving.

You’re fast asleep when he silently enters the room and unlocks the deadbolt so that Shalnark can help him remove you from the premises. Curled up underneath the covers, you look like you’re in bliss. It’s likely the first restful sleep you’ve had in a long time. Months? Years?

How awful for you, to wake up tomorrow and realize that you’re no longer in the hotel bed. And that he’s the one to blame for it. How awful for him, too, to lose his grasp on the tentatively pleasant and revealing evening you had together. But he doesn’t think you’ll be empathetic on that matter. Not for a while, anyway.

He sits down on the bed next to you and it takes a considerable amount of self-control not to curl up against you. It’s not worth the risk of you waking, although the tranquilizer in his pocket could be jabbed into your thigh early, if need be.

Besides… you’ll have a lifetime of nights together after this.

There’s no need to rush what is finally his to keep forever.

#yandere chrollo #yandere hunter x hunter #chrollo x reader #yandere #yandere chrollo lucilfer #afterwitch writes

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httpswstef · 3 months

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《 if you go i'll stay you come back i'll be right here. 》

warning : none 🥺 fluff, u might cry a little bit, pure love between rafael and reader ♡

synopsis : rafayel promised to love you forever and he always keep his primises.

words count : 1555.

characters : rafayel.

stefie : hi hello my babies ! ! this my first fic for rafael, sorry if i have any mistakes.

Rafayel had never thought that there would be such a peaceful moment in his life, where he would be able to let go of everything and just breathe the pure air, enjoying the beauty of the world reflected in his flawless eyes. It all seemed like a pipe dream that he had at a very young age, when he first met you and felt your whole soul, it was as if he saw your life together and what you would experience with him: all the hardships, happiness, love and tears. Rafayel may be the ultimate fool, but he is your fool and he doesn't need anyone else. You made his world the brightest colors and gave him a happiness he never dreamed of.

You looked at him only with eyes of love, so pure and kind, it seemed to Rafayel as if you were an angel, a real angel! As if you had a nimbus on your head, and you were a fragile vase that he could break in seconds if he touched you with his delicate fingertips, so he only looked at you, only watched and studied you, found only good and wonderful things that made him fall in love more and more, with every breath wanting to love only you in this life: to tie this life to you and only you, to listen to the beating of your heart every day and how tenderly you call him "Raf", it really fascinated him more than anything else. He wanted to hold only your palms, look only into your eyes and thank the universe for you, Rafayel... wanted to kiss only your lips, putting everything he had left into the kiss. He must have been so selfish to other people, but he didn't care, as long as you were around, he would be anything.

You were his dawn after nightmares, the May air after rain, the song he cried his throat out to and his soul mate, holding Rafayel's heart in your hands as if you were controlling his breath and life all at once, is that so... perfect?

Yeah, it's really perfect.

To find someone like you and to receive your love, all of it, without a single remnant, to receive your care on the hardest days and your support when there was no strength left to live, but you were there to help him, to help him start living again and to see the good in the world, to show him again the beauty of nature and what was hidden deep, beyond the human eyes that could spoil it. You reached out your hand to him and stayed by his side, even when Rafayel didn't deserve it, when he was lost in himself and silent all the time, not saying what happened and why he was hurting so much, and he didn't know it himself, but he was afraid that you would go away and leave him here, in this empty room that squeezed his throat and cut off his oxygen, killed everything alive inside and any hope in you.

But you stayed — you were with him, even in such a moment, you covered all the monsters and all the worries with your bright light, holding Rafael's hand tightly and not allowing him to fall off the cliff of sadness on which he so suddenly found himself, afraid that he might lose forever, it was tearing him apart completely, but all he wanted for you was happiness, even if he wasn't, even if it was someone else — the main thing was that you were happy and had finally found your paradise.

But he was so wrong. So very wrong. Didn't know much and was lost: he missed your warmth, and he wanted so much.

Rafayel was the best man for you, he was your soulmate, as if you were one and the stars were always bringing you together so that you would not lose your connection, so that you would love each other as much and fight for each other with the same strength, protecting each other from all possible adversities, opening your skeletons in the closet and revealing the worst secrets hidden somewhere at the end of the world, where there is no one, where there is only you and your intertwined fingers, as you once intertwined your heart together, creating your house of love, where there is absolute peace, where Rafayel is no longer afraid, where Rafayel is sure of your love.

Rafayel fell in love with you at first sight and never wanted to lose you again, he would sacrifice his life to see you live and breathe, he would do anything, even give up painting if you asked him to, he is so in love and it is impossible to get rid of it, he wants to keep you close to him all the time, to be charged with your warmth and listen to your honeyed voice, to which he falls asleep and has the most vivid dreams with you: where you are happy.

The first time you met Rafayel in kindergarten, he was so playful, loud and he was everywhere, getting to know everyone and making friends in seconds, he was a kind of sunshine among the frowning clouds: he was your sunshine. From the moment he accidentally bumped into you and caused you to fall, and it was just like in the most romantic movies: a broken knee, a little blood, your upset face because of a little pain and Raf's promise that he would do anything for your forgiveness, but were you angry with him? Probably not. After all, he had been so gentle with you and careful, even though he was a little kid who spoiled himself all the time, but even so he knew he had to save his jokes for another time.

And it was at that moment that Rafayel realized that you were the best person in all the years of his life, he was so young and not so smart enough, he was only a child, but he already wanted to be yours and vowed that for the rest of his days he would hold only your palms and love only you.

For starters, he gave you a ring made of the most common grass and made one for himself to show everyone that you were together now. He shared food with you and always brought you his best toys and even asked his mom to buy you something to see you smile. And his passion for art came from you, because Rafayel wanted to capture you in his paintings, to show the world how lucky he was to have you and that you were the right person for him. For the others, it was just a joke, a childish crush that would end in a few days, and if you knew how much it pissed Rafayel off, how could they say that about his feelings for you? When his love was so sincere, so sincere that no one had ever seen or felt it before. And it pissed me off more than anything that no one saw the seriousness of that love. No one. Except you.

But now Rafayel waits patiently for you to walk down the aisle and let him bind you finally, but with every second he loses any patience he once had, he can't wait to see you now and fall in love again, like in kindergarten. But now you're in a white dress with a veil on your head, and in your hands the most beautiful bouquet of flowers that he himself picked out for you and wouldn't let anyone else do it.

He waits and waits, but the moment he sees your silhouette Rafayel stops breathing and his heart no longer beats, and the others have ceased to have any meaning for him and only you exist, his crystal eyes are filled with love for you and the warmth with which he watches you as you come closer to him and tears begin to slip from his eyes, making his gaze even more puppyish and sweet, the one you first met and the one you remembered for the rest of your life.

Rafayel gently takes your hand and pulls you to stand across from him, listening clearly to his vows, holding the candle in his other hand.

" I once said that I would love you forever, that no one could separate us, but remember their reaction? They laughed, thought it was a joke and just a normal childhood crush, but it wasn't. It's much more than a crush. I want to be with you, I want to be with you. I want to be with you so much and I will be with you. Always, no matter what happens, I won't let us lose each other. Your name will stay with me forever and if that's what it takes, it will be the only name I will ever want to say. I looked into those faces and I couldn't forgive them for not being you and not having your soul. They were strangers and I looked for you in them, time after time hoping to meet your face and I did, and I would give anything for it. It is so beautiful to be loved by you, a man who accepts me with all my faults and loves every bit of my soul. With my hands I will dispel your sorrow and sadness, your cup will never be empty if you let me be your wine, my one and only. "

And the next moment the candle is in your delicate hands, lifting your eyes to Rafael and gazing into his marvelous eyes.

"Rafayel, there are a million reasons why I love you. You make me laugh and smile, you take care of me absolutely always, no matter how bad you feel yourself. You're sweet and so caring. You named all your paintings after me and have an exhibition you named after me too, and it makes me cry more every time. You make me feel protected and loved. But the biggest reason why I love you is because you're the best friend I've ever had."

Rafayel restrains himself with the last of his strength not to flood everything with his tears, you are the only reason he can be so emotional and crying. Your vows made his heart stop for those moments and he could only hear you, only your beautiful voice. Raf takes your hands in his, removing the candle and gently approaches you, leaning down to your face.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes. Always yes, my only love."

#— [ stefie ] 💘🫧🔮#love and deepspace x you #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #rafayel #love and deep space #fluff #angst #love and deepspace fanfic #fanfic

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silent-browser · 11 months

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*sigh* oh the tragic romance of a merfolk x human story. Neither can be with the other without giving up something important. Usually fins for legs. Also usually their entire family to simply love and exist with this person in a different biosphere. Rarely legs for fins if we wanna go a reverse little mermaid here.

But what if it was different. And no one had to give everything up. And maybe yandere. With a bit of soulmate shenanigans thrown in for flavor.

Imagine if you will, a walk on an empty beach. Headphones in, listening to your favorite song and sining along. Kicking up sand and the smell of the ocean air. Just minding your own business and having a good time by yourself.

Or so you think. Because not far from where you are walking a single quiet audience member hides behind some rocks, wondering why your song, your human song, sounds so similar to their soul song.

The song that they would normally perform for other merfolk in hopes of attracting their perfect life partner. But they had never garnered any attention for it.

So how did you, a weak and squishy human get them so immediately. No creature had ever been so close to repeating his own soul song back to him. And with your own little twist too. Human words and slightly different notes in his soul song. Your song. Our song. He soon found himself refering to it in his mind.

It takes a while of them impatiently waiting for your return and slowly learning your 'walks on the beach' schedule for them to finally make their move.

On the day that changed the rest of your life, you were simply walking along and humming softly to your favorite song once again when you heard the most fantastic voice start to follow along the melody with you. They matched your tone and moved their voice in such a way that it felt like an instant musical connection.

They were worried that you would stop and run away when they started but tried not to let that fear taint their song. If you ran further inland they would have a very hard time following you. Not impossible but certainly difficult. So they took your continued humming as a good sign and continued.

They began to dribble their emotions into the notes. The lonelyness. The fear of an uncaring ocean. The rush of affection they felt when they first heard you singing. The need to see you. Hold you.

Slowly, what started out as a dribble became a riptide of intense emotions they never knew they were capable of feeling. Longing. Jealousy. Want and need so powerful he felt like he would wear out his voice singing it all. By the time he stopped he was mortified that he put all of that on you. And before the first courting gift too! He suddenly felt awful. He gutted his soul when he never ment to and you weren't even singing anymore. What if you didn't want them? What if it was all too much for you? What if you left and never came back!?

You were stunned. Breathless. The emotion. The raw intensity. No words were ever sang and yet the song resonated in the very depths of your being. You felt intimidated to ever even think of humming ever again after that impromptu masterpiece. You wanted to respond but couldn't find the words to, much less the notes like they had. So you instead made your way to the shore where the music seemed to come from and searched. Looking for this person who simultaneously swept you off your feet and explained their life story in one song with no words.

Two star crossed lovers. Separated by the sea. One filled with obsession. The other with curiousity. Both wish desperately to meet and yet both are not quite ready. How strange that love can both bind and seperate. How strange indeed.

Idk where to go with this so no continuations for this one unless I suddenly get inspired. Also the end feels really jarring to me. Mostly because I originally intended for this to continue but I couldn't come up with anything so I just cut it lose. I hope you like it none the less.

#soft yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #merfolk #merfolk x reader #yandere merfolk #yandere merman #merman x reader #came up with the idea while listening to shinunoga E-wa #siren bullshittery #siren x reader #male siren x reader #yandere siren x reader #yandere siren #soulmates #but through song #because siren #gn reader #siren switchs between he/him and they/them so often

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zenkindoflove · 1 month

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"I want what Elain wants and she wants Azriel"

Is a claim I often see e/riels use to claim why they are "pro Elain" and implying that if you ship Elain with her mate because "she clearly doesn't want him" then you are anti Elain.

So yeah this whole post is why that's bullshit.

First let's get some things straight that we all can agree are facts.

1. Elain had a crush on Azriel. It's clear by their looks and touches and her showing body language that she wanted to kiss him in the bonus chapter. It's unclear whether that crush survived post her tears over his rejection and giving the necklace back as they had no canonical interactions post solstice.

2. Elain does not want to address the bond right now and avoids Lucien. Her feelings about Lucien specifically and what she thinks about the bond are unclear.

Now that we got that out of the way, the assertion that you are the most pro Elain because you ship her with Azriel is quite a stretch. I'm sure you like Elain, as do I, but you do not hold some moral high ground because of who you ship her with.

First, let's discuss the idea that you have to support who Elain wants. People can want all kinds of people who are not right for them for a lot of reasons. It's a common experience for many to want the wrong guy. To have a crush and think they're the best and it'll all work out only to have your heart smashed by the cruel reality that they were wrong for you or didn't want you the way you did. It's also common to hate your friends' boyfriends and husbands because they're assholes despite how much they "want" them.

People's feelings change. Feelings are fickle.

In SJM's canonical world, mating bonds are not.

It makes sense that Elain, after going through her horrible rejection by the man she actually wanted and loved, Graysen, would not be ready to face what having a mate means. I'm sure it felt like infidelity to her, especially if she does desire and feel a pull towards Lucien like every other female with a mating bond has in this series. Her avoidance of Lucien can mean a lot of things, including that she wants him even if she mentally isn't ready or feels she shouldn't.

It also makes sense that she would seek out and find herself in a rebound crush with someone who is in her proximity and is low risk. Azriel doesn't come with the pressure of being her fated soulmate. He's just a dude. A dude who is pretty and paid some attention to her.

So yeah, I get why she wants him. Doesn't mean I think he is right for her.

Why isn't he right for her? To make a long post short, Azriel often undermines Elain. He diminishes her need for help when she's clearly depressed (ACOWAR), and he speaks for her and directly contradicts her wants (ACOSF, scrying). He is entitled to her without merit (the third sister line, bonus). He ignores her wishes to avoid violence and wants to kill people who are important to her (wanting Graysen killed, saying he'd kill Lucien in a blood duel - we know canonically if a mate dies it is like losing half of your soul). He thinks very little of her past his lustful fantasies (bonus chapter) and even to the point of projecting his own self-hatred when he looks at her skin (bonus chapter). Elain is symbolic for him of the thing he covets most (a mate), and his crush on her is a manifestation of his psychological need to pursue unavailable females because of his self worth (friends who will never romantically love him or a female with a mating bond). Basically they are a recipe for a toxic relationship full of avoiding real personal healing.

So yeah sorry, even if Elain wants to kiss him I'm not shipping her with someone like that just because she "wants" it. I would rather see her have a story where she discovers who she is and what being Fae means to her, which means directly addressing not only her powers (hello let her scry) but also addressing her mating bond head on by getting to know the male that she will always have a pull to, no matter if she rejects the bond or not. Elain is a fictional character with a narrative arc. Her wants now will not always stay static.

For me, as someone pro Elain, I want her to give herself a chance at a forever kind of love, one with a soul to soul connection and an eternal devotion. I want her to experience that unconditional love she so desperately craves. I don't want to read her choosing just some regular dude who will probably drop her the second his mating bond snaps anyways. She deserves a mate. Even if she doesn't know or understand that yet.

And quite frankly, I think once Elain does learn not only who Lucien is but the way he thinks about her and how devoted he is to her and only her, she will want him soon enough. I don't ship for characters' frivolous crushes in the now. I ship for their potential with the right person. The person who will see them starving and depressed and worry about their well being rather than what their powers can provide them. Who will hear their vision and cross an ocean because they believe in it. Who will fight across a battlefield just to make sure they're okay. Who will even push down their own needs and wants to give them space because that's what they want right now.

You know what that means though. If you're pro-Elain for wanting what Elain wants, then Lucien is the most pro-Elain person there is. And why wouldn't he be? He is her mate after all, and he will do anything for her.

So yeah, that's who I want for Elain, and I think that makes me pretty pro-Elain too.

#elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #pro elain #pro elain archeron #anti e/riel #anti azriel #pro elucien #elain x lucien

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mcflymemes · 11 months

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PROMPTS FOR STARRY-EYED SOULMATES * assorted romantic dialogue, adjust as necessary

i feel drawn to you in ways i can't explain.

you're the one. do you hear me? you're it. you're the only one i want for the rest of my life.

you are the most beautiful person i have ever known in my life, and i'm madly in love with you.

i love you entirely. i love you completely.

i'll be here for you forever. i'll never leave your side.

do you believe we were made for each other?

i can't fathom a world without you. i never want to know what that looks like.

so this is what it feels like? true love?

we can't be apart. we can't exist without each other.

you came into my life and changed everything. i'm different now. better. you make me better.

i feel so overwhelmingly lucky to know you and to have you.

it's like we were made for each other.

from the very first moment i saw you, i knew. i knew you were the one.

do you believe in love at first sight?

i hope it always feels like this.

you have become everything to me. you are the most important thing in my whole life.

i'm so deeply in love with you.

i never believed in love until i met you. this made it real for me.

everything i've ever done, everything i've ever gone through... it was worth it. it was worth it to find you.

i waited a lifetime to find you. i'd wait a thousand lifetimes more.

the universe conspired to bring us together. i believe that.

you don't know what you do to me.

i crave the taste of your mouth like nothing else on earth. i need your kiss.

i swear to you right now, i'm going to marry you someday.

my atoms know your atoms. my body needs your body.

there's nothing i want more than to spend the rest of my life by your side, whatever it takes.

i admire the utter strength of you. you never fail to blow me away.

nothing will take me from you. do you understand?

i will never leave your side. i am meant for you. i belong to you.

every time you look at me, i lose control of my body, my lungs... i can't breathe. i can't think. i can't function.

come any closer, and i swear... i'll love you for the rest of my life.

not even death can take you from me.

stay close to me. hold my hand. cling to me.

i think i was created with you in mind.

you are simply the most beautiful person i have ever known. i can't possibly live without you.

before i met you, i never believed in a one true love. you changed that. you changed everything.

i'm speechless. you're remarkable.

i'm drawn to you. i've been drawn to you since the day we met.

there's not a single part of you i don't love with all my heart and soul.

you're my other half. my better half. i couldn't do this without you.

there aren't enough words in the english language to explain how deeply i love you.

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delirious-donna · 1 year

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From This Day Forward [Kakashi Hatake]

an: based on this beautiful ask, soft Kashi is most definitely one of my favourite ways to write him so hopefully I did your thought justice, anon.

pairing: Kakashi Hatake x female reader (established relationship)

warnings: virgin reader, pussy fingering, handjob, unprotected sex, soft and intimate throughout, kissing, yearning, anxieties over losing virginity, Kakashi is the best husband you could ever ask for

Masterlist

The day had passed in a whirlwind of blissful activity. Your earlier anxiety melted away as events unfolded without a hitch, and now you could finally say you were married to your soulmate. Married to the man you had loved for years, pining from a healthy distance until one day he had proved to you without a shadow of a doubt that your feelings were reciprocated.

Kakashi Hatake, the love of your life and the other half of your soul. The journey had been rough in places, but every moment experienced had led to this day – your wedding day.

Reciting your vows had been overwhelming, tears rising to your eyes and even the memory of Kakashi reaching out his hand to gently thumb the tears away would bring a lump to your throat. All you wanted was to be alone with him, to feel safe and secure wrapped in his strong protective arms. Thankfully you were both opposed to large flashy weddings, having long opted for a small intimate ceremony with only close friends and family attending.

With the festivities over, guests thanked, and all other duties attended to, your new husband was able to sweep you into his arms and finally cross the threshold of your shared home. Kakashi had wanted to book a honeymoon suite in a lavish inn, but you had refused. There was nowhere else you’d rather be than in your home and especially with what was still to come.

It had been hard to resist the temptation to give yourself completely to Kakashi up to this point. He was almost aggravatingly alluring, able to turn you into a whimpering mess with merely a few whispered words and some well-placed strokes of your skin. However, you had waited this long to find the right one and you wanted it to be special. How many dreams had you had of this moment? How many fantasies of finally making that last commitment had played through your mind?

“Everything okay, princess?” Kakashi asked, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into the present. His concerned expression tugged at your heartstrings, reaching out to cup his cheek and sighed at the warmth of his skin beneath your palm.

Your dress lay lovingly draped over the chair in the corner, replaying how your beloved husband had helped you out of it with what seemed like endless patience. His slightly roughened fingers made you shiver as he uncovered more of you until you were atop the bed in only your matching lingerie. A trail of his clothes started from the bedroom door until a pool of expensive material lay at the foot of the bed, discarded and crumpled.

You nodded shyly. “Mhm, I’m fine. Perhaps a little nervous,” you admitted when his eyebrow arched, suggesting he knew you weren’t being entirely truthful.

Your arms wound around his broad back, pulling him on top of you and sighing at the comforting weight that settled over your torso. You had seen Kakashi naked more than you could feasibly count, and whilst you hadn’t had sex, you had certainly indulged in other activities. Yet it felt different knowing tonight wouldn’t end the same way it usually did.

“We don’t have to do this now; I don’t mind waiting if you’re not ready.”

Your heart lurched, shaking your head fervently and rather than using words, you rose to capture his lips, marvelling at how soft they felt as you pressed a kiss that you hoped would convey your conviction to him. The faint groan from his throat signalled your success, a palm resting at the back of your neck whilst his lips slanted further atop yours.

Kakashi was always sincere with you, ever loving and with the patience of a saint at times. He had been the one to talk you through how to touch him exactly how he liked it, encasing your much smaller hand in his and tightening your grip until the pressure was perfect. Your fingers wandered down the length of his spine, surrendering to his all-consuming kisses that only deepened further as the seconds passed. The edges of your nails raked lightly into his taut butt, smiling against his lips when the muscles flexed beneath your touch.

It wasn’t long until you were stroking him eagerly, your thumb passing over his weeping slit to collect the pearlescent precum and twisting your wrist on each upward pump of your fist. Kakashi broke away from your lips, panting and burying his face into the crook of your neck, but not before you could witness the pretty blush spread across his cheeks.

“You’re so perfect… f-fuck. Keep this up and I’ll cum before I can take you.”

Blood rushed to every part of your body, heating your skin, and making it difficult to maintain your train of thought. Luckily, your body was working on pure instinct when a hand reached between your bodies, legs falling wide, and you arched into that first touch against your pussy, now stripped of your panties. A shared moan flooded the air, your skin slick and dewy from arousal that ran messily towards those explorative fingers of your lover.

Memories of the very first time he had worked you open with these exact thick fingers washed over you. The initial discomfort had quickly given way to a pleasure you had never been able to locate by yourself. Every tender stroke of his calloused fingertips against your silken walls, each gentle circle of his thumb over your sensitive bundle of nerves. It was all like heaven and here you were experiencing it once more, though there was rarely discomfort these days.

“Come back to me,” Kakashi cooed, his lips feathering kisses from the bone behind your ear down the smooth side of your neck. “You keep disappearing into your head, don’t you feel me here?” His words timed to perfection as he pressed intently on that traitorous engorged area on your front wall, your clit jumping in time to the wriggle of your hips.

“I-I do! Kashi… this feels different.” He met your gaze with one full of love and understanding, the slight inclination of his head enough to demonstrate that he understood what you meant without you having to elaborate. It wasn’t going to end when you fell apart, there was something more and the anticipation was practically palpable in the bedroom you felt most safe and comfortable in.

His fingers sped up, widening within your tight cunt and you knew instinctively that he was doing his best to prepare you. Your eyes cast down the faint sliver of space between your torsos, mouth running dry at just how big he was, and you were expected to take him inside you. Trepidation mingled in your belly, but again your husband sensed it and acted to alleviate your concerns.

“I’ll be gentle, I’ve always promised you I would take it at your pace, haven’t I, my angel? You can take me because you were made for me. Everything about you compliments me and I hope you feel the same about me. Now, cum for me.”

How he could bring tears to your eyes at the same time as he pitched you into sweet freefall was a mystery – a Hatake secret – and one you’d never fully understand.

The elastic band of tension pulled to almost breaking point before releasing it all at once. Your moans were desperate and honeyed, and the hand still wrapped around Kakashi’s cock tightened until you could sense the pulse beating through him. It was white hot yet refreshing; lips that murmured words you couldn’t quite hear and there was a new sensation that dragged deliberately across your skin.

Metal - warm and polished - slid across the expanse of your stomach, the ring adorning his finger a symbol of your eternal commitment. For a moment you felt choked, the waves of your orgasm slowly lapping back and forth, mingling with the swell of emotions into a foaming mass of love and affection.

You watched through hooded lids whilst Kakashi gently removed your hand from him, kissing each of your knuckles with such reverence that your heart clenched and entwined your fingers by your head. Your eyes widened at the nudge of his cock caught against your folds, a sensation you had felt before but this time a shiver of pure carnal delight rippled down your spine.

“Breathe for me baby, it’ll hurt more if you tense or hold your breath.”

A puff of air exhaled through your nose, a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding and you gave a swift nod of assurance. Your eyes remained glued to Kakashi’s handsome face, his hips angling and guiding himself until the hot throbbing tip of his cock could prod at your tight hole.

With slow, tentative rocking motions he breached the tight ring of muscles, your eyes squeezing shut and a hiss passing through your clenched teeth. The burn was more than you expected, it made you wriggle and a strong hand wrapped around your waist.

“Gotta stay still, it’s o-okay,” his voice pitched as if he too were struggling but for different reasons. The blush on Kakashi’s cheeks deepened, his brow pinched and sharp white teeth caught the edge of his lip. Oh, he looked too sexy like this. Barely containing his own need to ensure your comfort, it made you feel wanted and desired.

“Kiss me, make me forget.”

You needn’t ask twice, your silver-haired husband pressed his lips to you in a tender dance. A gentle sway of your lips, tongues winding together like two cats rubbing against one another and you untangled your fingers to wrap around his neck. His hair was soft as always, thick and lustrous, you scratched lightly at his scalp and the keening noises he made for you loosened you up.

Halfway; he was almost halfway inside you now and whilst it still hurt, it was becoming more manageable. Your legs trembled, locking around his waist and as your ankles met at the small of his back, your hips tilted and he slid further home with an exalted grunt. Your stomach flipped, breath catching in the back of your throat whilst you adjusted to this new experience.

The fullness was exquisite, that sense of connection so bone-deep that it was hard to distinguish where Kakashi ended and you began. For long moments you simply stared at one another, at long last he was buried to the hilt in your core, and the eye contact alone made your heart hammer. Love and tender affection shone in the depths of his steel grey eyes, the slow flutter of his lashes hypnotising and magical.

“Kakashi… love me.”

“I already do, and have for so long. I’ve waited for this day, wished for it a million times and still my wildest dreams couldn’t compare to how it feels being here right now.”

Kakashi slowly eased back, setting an easy pace whilst you chewed over his words. The inner romantic that only you knew intimately came to the forefront and you traced the curve of his jaw with your finger. Each lazy thrust made you moan, your face twisting into an expression of ecstasy that only fed Kakashi’s. Soon, it wasn’t enough and you needed him to do… something.

Your squirming returned, no longer contained by a strong palm, hands smoothing over his strong back and delving deep into his silver locks. Kakashi moved faster, his hips snapping against you and suddenly you were aware of the wet smack of skin on skin. It aroused you further and you pleaded for more, downright begged and he only smiled at you in response.

That lazy, all-knowing smile curled the edges of his lips and crinkled the corners of his eyes. It was all you could do to keep your own eyes open, and not roll them back to the depths of your skull.

“What is it, princess?” he asked, leaning down to smooth away the scrunch above your nose with his gentle kisses. Your nails dug into the skin of his back, eliciting a surprised groan from Kakashi, his eyes widening before narrowing on you. “Need more, don’t you?”

How could he possibly know? Of course he did, he was not oblivious to the way your cunt clenched tightly around his girth on each retreat of his hips. How your body jerked when the damp patch of coarse silver hair above his cock rubbed against your clit. The tight fit was perfection, you moulded to him exactly as he had hoped you would, and if you could read his mind right now, all you would hear would be his endless love of you over and over.

Biting your lip, you nodded, blinking slowly and trying to find the words you needed to make your desires known. They were there, sitting upon the tip of your tongue but a sweep of shyness prevented you from saying them.

“Use your big girl words… I know you can do it. Ask me for anything and I will deliver, you know this.”

“Harder,” you whimpered, twisting your head to avoid his eyes. Heat caressing your cheeks, neck and across your chest at your request. Kakashi wasn’t having any of it, gripping your chin gently and turning you back to him. There was no smirking or teasing, only reassurance and the soft press of his lips.

Your thighs tightened around his sides, adjusting to his harsher thrusts and your spine arched from the bed. Kakashi took the opportunity to run his hot tongue over the lace of your bra, teeth catching the pert bud whilst holding you tightly as he loved you wholly.

Sweat clung to your skin, sticking you to the man braced above you and you squealed when a particularly forceful slam knocked against that precious sweet spot deep within you. So close, it wouldn’t take much more and secretly Kakashi was elated. He had never worked harder to stave off his orgasm as he was right now and with you.

“Ka-shi! Oh…”

“That’s it, I’ve got you. Cum for me, cream around my cock, my princess, my wife!”

It was different; you could only draw one comparison to the other orgasms you’d experienced to date and that was the rush of heat that spread like an inferno from the pit of your stomach to every inch of your skin. Your walls pulsed incessantly, clinging to your anchor in this world and letting him protect you from the intensity of your feelings.

Tears stung your eyes but not from pain, you were overwhelmed and the sudden burst of warmth in the depths of your cunt only made you screw your eyes shut even tighter. Listening to the deep groans that resonated within the muscled chest pressed to your front, warm panted breathing tickling your shoulder and neck.

“Oh fuck, I–I love you so much. I can’t stop, never get enough,” Kakashi babbled, sounding intoxicated as he painted your insides white with his seed. He caught himself on one wrist, preventing himself from smothering you in his weight but his forehead dropped to press against yours.

You weren’t sure how many minutes passed before you were able to find your ability to speak, licking over your parched lips and groaning at the faint twitches of his softening cock still buried inside your accepting walls. A part of you never wanted this moment to end, fearful that it would never be this intense ever again, and you voiced your concern with trepidation.

“Will it always be like that or was it a one-time thing?”

Scared of the answer, you busied yourself with tracing intricate designs over the dips and valleys of Kakashi’s back. His quiet chuckle made you look up.

“I will do everything in my power to ensure you see the heavens each and every day, from this day forward…”

#delirious writes #kakashi hatake #kakashi x reader #kakashi smut #kakashi fluff #kakashi hatake smut #tw virginity loss

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grandlinedreams · 7 months

Note

Ok, so reincarnation/soulmates? Reader ate some fruit that basically has them living forever, and the only thing keeping them going is knowing that Law will eventually be reincarnated every decade or so after he passes. Each time he meets our dear reader again he can FEEL a pulling.

Reader also has a collection of pictures/memorabilia to remind her of each of Law’s lives.

YES I am such a sucker for the "souls intertwined so completely that they find each other over and over" also listened to 'The Moon Will Sing' by the Crane Wives bc it slaps and its always applied to that kind of relationship so OUGH

[Heads up!: mention of reincarnation/multiple lives, angst if you squint, but mostly some fluff]

You've known him for a very long time.

You don't tell him that, you never do ㅡ you can't. All you do is let yourself orbit towards him the way he does to you, let yourself take comfort in the time you have with him, however fleeting.

It isn't like you have a choice. And even in the darker times where you have to be without him, endure that lonely, phantom limb of an ache ㅡ you take solace in combing through the things you've kept of this go around.

A pendant, a dried flower pressed between the pages of a book, pages yellowed by the years ㅡ little scraps that keep you grounded, keep you sane.

Time has forgotten you, cursed you to stand against the current of it ㅡ you see people come and go, make new names for yourself, sink into as best you can.

But you never forget him.

ㅡ

This time, his name is Trafalgar Law.

He doesn't remember you, he never does ㅡ as is the deal ㅡ and he's already been through so much by the time you meet him.

His eyes are bright and sharp even for the perpetual shadows beneath them, body inked with tattoos that make you wonder if he knows he's had them before, different symbols but same spots ㅡ little pieces that echo through the vast emptiness of time.

Having lost so much already, you can tell he fights that familiar pull, treats it with wariness and caution. You don't push him, let him take things at his own pace.

When you've lived as long as you have, you have patience in spades.

ㅡ

"You're sure we've never met before?"

It's bothering him, the odd tickle of deja vu that he feels when he looks at you. It lingers like an image on the edge of his periphery, fleeting and gone when he tries to focus on it.

"I doubt it," you say, "I was born on a different sea." It isn't a lie ㅡ he just doesn't need to know how long ago that was. "I've never met you in my life before now."

Another not quite lie ㅡ this version of him is entirely new to you. New and yet so much the same ㅡ as he always has been, over and over.

You regard him with a little bit of sadness, Law realizes. Bittersweet and tucked at the edges, like you know something he doesn't ㅡ and only when you think he doesn't know you're staring at him. Because when he looks at you properly, all you do is smile.

And despite it all, Law lets you in. Lets you smooth the ragged edges, lets you wiggle your way in where he swore he'd never let anyone be ever again.

Law thinks he's destined to lose people, and maybe that's true ㅡ but so are you. You know that your time with him is fleeting as it ever is, between one blink and the next.

And then you'll be alone for a while, tread the waters of time as you have before, let the current take you where it needs to. Then you'll find each other again, eternally bound to each other by forces outside the control of either of you.

You've loved him a hundred times, and you know you'll love him a hundred more and beyond that ㅡ but this version of him is your favorite, you think.

And for whatever time you're allowed this go around, you'll give him every bit of love that you can, all the flaws and hurt and heartbreak ㅡ all of it.

You'll love every bit of him as you always have, and you always will.

#ㅡmine.#one piece x reader #one piece scenario #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #ㅡanswered.#anonymous #–ml: law.

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lo1k-diamonds · 2 months

Text

Call You Mine💜 Chapter 1

PAIRING: idol!Yoongi x OC

SUMMARY: Freya despises everything soulmate-related, but one day her soulmate shows out of nowhere and turns everything upside down.

"Why didn’t you reach out to me?" Her eyes watered in response to his words and he was certain. "You knew who I was, how I was suffering." It pained him to say so, but he knew it was true. It had to be a conscious decision. And he had to know why.

A slowburn rejection soulmate story to make you fall in love with Min Yoongi (again).

WORD COUNT: 7.4k (Total: 297k)

GENRE: Rejection, Soulmate AU, s2l

RATING: Explicit

WARNINGS: angst, huge ass story that is an emotional rollercoaster, rejection (tho it has a happy ending), OC has a strong personality and flaws (all my characters do really), desperation, explicit sexual content, semipublic I guess?, riding, consensual but there's conflict, soulmate bond is inescapable and shit happens

(You can also read it on AO3, originally posted in December 2022)

A.N. I have this poll I've been meaning to do about my soulmate series and to do so, I thought I should probably introduce those stories first 😅😋Yoongi's story is the third of the Soul Palette Series (but the one that started it all). Again, it is a realistic rejection soulmate story because I wanted a story where the female character doesn't lose her backbone as soon as [insert soulmate] shows in the picture/has sex. Lots of angst and fighting until the stars align ;)

"Poetry, music, a painting, they don’t save the world. But they save the minute. And that is enough.” Matilde Campilho

What were the odds?

“Freya, are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, I am,” she answered nonchalantly, looking out through the car window.

Her mood soured with the conversation and the woman steering the wheel sighed. “Whenever the subject of soulmates gets brought up you just become…” Freya gave her an ice-cold look from the shotgun seat. That made the woman mad, “Insufferable.”

Freya smirked through her pain and looked away again.

The woman sighed again, “We’ve been friends for almost nine years. Don’t you think I know you by now?”

Freya placed her elbow on the car door, supporting her chin on her hand. Her fingers covered her mouth strategically. She knew the lecture that was about to happen, Lidia never missed a chance to try and change her mind about this topic. She didn’t have the heart or energy to fight it anymore.

“Soulmates are each other's halves,” she started and Freya just clenched her jaw. “You were born with one, two parts of a whole.” Freya couldn’t have heard it or learned it better if she was in primary school. Sarcastic thoughts like that would flood her every time Lidia pulled that sermon on her. “Just because barely half the population finds theirs, does not mean yours isn’t out there.”

“Sure, he might be out there, but I wish to be like the other half of the population. You know, the one that was able to live happily by being with the people they chose to be with,” Freya said with a hint of victory.

“Fair, but it doesn’t diminish the fact that their soulmates are still out there. They might have never met, but that doesn’t mean one should just ignore it or—”

“I’m not ignoring it,” Freya cut, annoyed. “I told you, I never met that person. Why would I lie!”

“I don’t know, maybe because you hate the idea of soulmates so much!” Lidia yelled back, fortunately without taking her eyes out of the traffic. Motorcycles were insane, trying to get in between the moving cars to get ahead. Freya was happy it was Lidia driving them to the venue. Lidia took a deep breath, “If something happened to him, you know you can tell me…”

Freya sighed, feeling stuck in the same loop, “I wouldn’t know, I’ve never met him.”

She hoped that would be the end of it, for now at least. Lidia seemed fixated on the idea that she was lying about her soulmate, that something tragic had happened, or that she was avoiding the person. Which didn’t make any sense according to her own rules, for fuck’s sake! Wouldn’t she be sick and whatnot if that was the case?

“Fine,” Lidia relented, as she always did when confronted with Freya's bitterness. “I would just like you to be open-minded when you do.”

Freya bit her tongue to hold back her remark and let the car fall into silence. She hated that topic and now it was stuck in her mind. She had never met that person and she never wanted to. She had no open-mindedness to offer because she would never be okay with it. And she wished she could just yell it out until it got through Lidia’s thick sand castles and baby cupids and stupid pink heartshaped butterflies: meeting your soulmate was terrible.

Sure they were supposed to be your other half, but they could literally be on the other side of the world. With different cultures and upbringings, you could be paired with a terrorist, misogynist, psychopath, the list went on. Who was it to say that person would actually fit your personality and values? Absolutely nothing, as history showed. Quite frankly, the fifty percent of the populace that never met them were the lucky ones. Never meeting them meant never experiencing withdrawals of absence. Never bending or nullifying your beliefs and values for the sake of someone else that, though unique, was probably not even the best match for you.

Because let’s face it: though science had proven its existence, who was to say the bond meant the same to everyone, or that it should be the same? For scientists, it was perceived more as an absolute physical attraction that would lead to the best procreation. That had nothing to do with love, with fated partners, or whatever else was mediatized. It all looked more like a romanticized publicity trope used to sell way more chocolates, flowers, and cards than Valentine’s Day. Or to make people feel misfitted and incomplete until they did find that person, instigating them to consume goods, programs, matchmaking events, anything that could speed that along. Why should anyone live with the unrelenting weight of not having met someone they never needed? That could ruin them, their lives? It was all terrible!

She would have known if she had met that person. Though she in general avoided physical contact, the mere presence of the other person was supposed to be enough for the both of them to know. She of course had no idea what it would feel like, soulbonds were also reported with different intensities for different people, but she was sure she’d know if that fateful moment ever occurred. Moreover, she would feel the withdrawal. Though tolerable to some, especially with medication, it would be impossible not to feel anything. She knew that’s how it would always play out: even if she avoided them and ran through the nearest exit as soon as she felt the bond, the need would hunt her, both of them, for as long as they lived. That was something she was willing to endure, though she honestly hoped she never had to. If she never met him, she’d never have to. So, she wished she never would. Simple.

Freya glanced at Lidia, who was now pulling over the security of the event and showing them her badge. Lidia couldn’t possibly understand her standpoint, and as much as they would fight about it, Freya wasn’t interested in shattering her dreams. If Lidia could one day live happily ever after with her fated mate and actually be happy, Freya would gladly support her. She just couldn’t be deluded by the idea like Lidia.

Their nine years of friendship were very precious to Freya. Though the focus on her career had led her astray from many of her friendships, Lidia always stuck by her. She was one of her dearest friends. She would always call and catch up on her, whether Freya was at a fashion runway, strike, or in a warzone. Maybe that was why Lidia was the only person she ever gave two cents to in regard to soulbonding. Everyone else was free to be their own idiot, but Lidia was her idiot. Freya didn’t want to see her get hurt. Lidia felt the exact same way, she knew that. It was the only reason they fought about it in the first place.

Lidia parked the car in the underground parking lot and Freya was forced to move. They were still by the entrance of the arena, the lights from the streets made their way to where they were. Lidia opened the trunk and Freya got her material ready. There was noise in the air and she kept trying to figure out what it was.

Lidia closed the trunk when Freya gave the nod and Freya’s blue eyes widened in shock. Beyond the entrance, behind the security barrier, there was a sea of people. People chanting, jumping, and screaming.

Lidia was smirking at the sight, “Not your typical warzone, is it?”

Freya pulled her camera that was hanging on her chest to her face, regulating the lens to focus on them. They were mostly girls shouting, around their twenties, some if that. They had colorful banners with letters stamped on them and sticks with a ball that seemed to shine.

Click.

She looked briefly at the photo on the view screen, then up again at them. She was surprised.

“No, but similar. What could it be that makes them act like that?”

Lidia was passing her her media badge to access the event.

“Boys.”

He woke up from his nap, dazed. He kept having the same dream. He had had it for a while and in the beginning, he couldn’t remember it properly. Now, he could. No faces or characteristics, but he knew it was always the same person he dreamt of. When he told it to the others, they thought it had to be his soulmate and he had found the idea hilarious at first, that was impossible. But then, with the years, he started wondering. Was it that far-fetched that there was a connection between them if they were two pieces of the same soul? Maybe their pieces had an incredible bond and that was why he could dream of her.

Her. He couldn’t remember much, but he did remember that, which brought more weight to the possibility of her being his soulmate since soulmates were always of the opposite sex. For him, love or a partner was always about the connection, the person, not about their appearance or gender. He never felt like he had a gender preference because he would always look at personality first, but his soulmate would be female and he was okay with it. Though honestly, despite dreaming of her occasionally, he couldn’t conceive a relationship — he hadn’t had a serious one in almost ten years.

Life made it that way, and he accepted it. His career had taken off in a way he had dreamed and actually achieved. He was surrounded by amazing people, professionals, friends, and family alike. He had his fans, who supported him and allowed him to live every single one of his dreams, from making music, to not worrying about money, to being able to support his family comfortably. Did he ever wonder if loneliness was a price to pay for it all? Yes. Did he think it was? No. He wasn’t looking for a relationship, or his soulmate. They would show in due time. He was living, bit by bit, in tranquility.

He of course thought about what would happen if he met her. Seokjin and Hoseok had found theirs and they were exceedingly happy. They gave all others the hope of a lifetime of happiness and fulfillment, though none were particularly searching for it. ARMYs didn't know about their discovery, they had decided it that way. Not even necessarily because of the fans, but because of the sasaengs and paparazzi. The lack of privacy would be overwhelming and the men didn't wish to ruin their soulmates' lives.

If anyone had to choose who appeared the least interested in the whole soulmate trope it would probably be him. Yoongi was known for many things, he was aware, and the top included being snarky, lazy, and perfectionist. Some probably saw him as the most cold, obsessed with his music, a workaholic. It was somewhat true, he shrugged. Ideas were constantly in his mind and he was the happiest if he was putting them to life. That meant spending a lot of time by himself in the comfort and safety of his studio, space, and mind. It also meant he slept a lot. None of those characteristics meant he actually was cold or uninterested in finding his soulmate. Quite on the contrary, sometimes it felt it was the exact piece that was missing. He lived with it, but he wouldn't deny it or reject it if it happened. He would welcome her wholeheartedly, he had been waiting for some time now.

There was pressure to perform in front of thousands of people that night, as it was BTS’s last tour date in Europe, in Berlin. He was very tired, exhausted really, as were the others, but they were persevering. They had to, the quiet that would come after would be both a soothing balm and a curse. They had to make the best of it while they could, no matter what.

He was reflecting on that, at the backstage lounge after having slept a nap. The others were getting ready for the concert in other ways, though they were all quiet as the stress was building up. He walked out to reach the stylist's room and get his makeup done, knowing he would be the last one to do so when he felt it. He stumbled against the door awkwardly, completely taken by surprise. He looked around in shock, meeting the makeup artists’, hairdressers’, and stylists' surprised looks.

She was there. She was there somewhere.

He was there somewhere. Freya was certain of it. She knew she would know when it happened and she knew. She was terrified, petrified in place, but she knew.

“Freya, what’s wrong?”

Lidia sounded worried and Freya blinked blankly for a second. She had fallen against the wall and was now leaning against it. People were passing in between them in that corridor in both directions, oblivious to them, most speaking a language she didn’t understand.

Freya immediately forced a smile, dismissing her question. “I’m fine, I just tripped.”

Lidia accepted it because, in the turmoil of people running around backstage, that wasn’t surprising. Little did she know what happened. Freya was nearly sweating from nervousness, her body too hot to handle the May warmth.

How could that be, she thought, while following Lidia. She had lived in Berlin her whole life, why would it have to happen at a boy band concert? It made no sense, at all. On one hand, she had been super lucky to never stumble on him her whole life. On the other, really, a boy band concert? What if it was one of the fanboys outside?

That was her worst nightmare coming to reality. She wasn’t one to wallow in self-pity, but for fuck’s sake she almost had it. She almost lived a life in ignorance, free of fated bullcrap and withdrawal symptoms. Now she was facing her options: to run away immediately, to finish the job and hopefully never stumble on him, or to search for him. The latter wasn’t an option, and to leave without finishing the job was unprofessional. Lidia had asked her to be there to photograph that piece, the last concert date of the boy band in Europe, and she felt obligated to carry it through. They had an exclusive interview for their culture magazine and those photographs would make the fans go insane. Her professional code was above all else, she had fought tooth and nail to achieve everything she had. She vowed to never let her soulmate change her and it would certainly not start now.

Avoiding the person would probably be impossible, she considered, still following Lidia. The stadium was packed with fans and crew, there was no avoiding whoever it was. Since people kept passing through her constantly, she thought their bond must be pretty strong. Otherwise, how could it be that the sensation wasn’t fading as the person walked past her? They probably weren’t even walking past her. They were just somewhere in the vicinity.

There was no photoshoot scheduled, just the interview. When they walked into the artists' backstage lounge it was relatively quiet. There were seven, distinctively sitting in the corner of the room that had been lit and specially prepared for the occasion. Freya was surprised the artist’s crew had prepared that small arrangement for the interview, as it would usually be up to the magazine to arrange it.

She stayed by the door and grabbed her camera, pulling it to her face.

Lidia walked ahead with a gorgeous smile, “Hello everyone! Are we late? I hope you didn't wait long.”

The question was rhetorical, they were well ahead of time. Freya was immediately immersed in seeing life through her lens. She would do what she did best, soulmate pull bothering her or not.

She did not pay attention to the conversation between Lidia and the publicists, managers, and whoever else. She was certain Lidia pointed at her because she saw it through her camera.

"Just ignore her," Lidia said with a smile, glancing back at the camera. Lidia knew she liked to work in peace.

She wasn't a photographer who would take a thousand pictures to be able to choose one. She would take ten to choose five. That meant being very conscious of every angle, light, positioning, and framing. Everything had to be perfect. She had won awards for pictures she barely had to edit precisely because of her attention to detail. In warzones, she was severely limited in time and supplies, she had to make due. It wasn't the same circumstance, but her work ethic applied.

She liked seeing the crew work around them tirelessly and she wasn't shy about snapping photos of them. She was certain then that the concert was only about 20% the actual musicians. Not to diminish their work, but the show itself was not of their making. They were just starring in it.

The interview was well underway when she turned to the artists themselves. That wasn't problematic, their smile wouldn't change between the first and last question. She actually believed they'd relax more as the questions progressed, making their photos portray their true nature better.

Those thirty minutes flew truly by. She quickly scanned the photos she took through the view screen to make sure she had all seven in perfect soul-capturing moments, but she frowned. There was one that was different. He was speaking in the photo she took, he had an honest expression, and a beautiful complexion, but she didn't feel like the photo was as good as the others. He wasn't captured as well.

She raised her eyes to look at him and her heart jumped a beat. He was looking down, hands over his crossed legs. His hair was beautifully styled over his forehead, he looked almost like a doll. He sure was frozen, but she knew he was listening. His bandmate was answering a question in English and Lidia laughed, not too loud but not fakely either. That man smiled, not out of politeness, but out of understanding. Out of deeper thoughts. Something more meaningful.

Click.

She hadn't even thought of it, she had to capture it. Her stomach was twisting, she wasn't feeling too well. Damned soulbond shenanigans. She usually did very well in crowds, but she suddenly felt claustrophobic. She slipped through the entrance door and left. She was fighting hard for what was happening so as not to ruin her day.

He was barely containing himself. He had an urge, an energy pulse that wanted to pull at him and take him somewhere. He was sitting as still as he could, respectfully listening to the interview and answering when appropriate. He felt his smile might give it away, so he kept looking down. Some of the others noticed and touched him soothingly in worry, patting his back or shoulder softly. He stayed quiet, he couldn’t tell them yet.

When the journalist left and the room emptied a bit in the last ten minutes before the final preparations, he was finally free.

"What's wrong, Yoongi?" Hoseok was worried.

"Yeah, why didn't you answer the next album question?" Namjoon’s tone wasn't of irritation, just curiosity. "It's your question."

"You were really stiff too," Jimim commented with a concerned pout. They were next to each other and Jimin had at one point patted his lower back.

"Guys, let him talk," Seokjin interfered, waving his hand in front of his face. Was he getting hot? Cause Yoongi was burning up, and sweating without the show even starting.

"Look at him, he's flustered," Taehyung commented, looking at him from real close. Yoongi scoffed and brushed him away.

"Here's water, hyung," Jungkook offered him a water bottle which he gladly took.

"Guys," his voice sounded weird even to him. Since when was it this emotional? "I feel it."

"What?"

"Are you sick?"

"Don't push yourself too hard."

"Guys!" He grabbed Taehyung by the shoulders, who was still close and personal. He would have been annoyed if the occasion was different, he really didn’t care now. "I feel it. Her. She's here somewhere tonight. I feel it right now."

Chaos ensued, with some congratulations and some worries echoing throughout the room. They barely had a minute to discuss it with their manager Sejin, the first to be informed.

They were rushed to the level underneath the stage and the manager just smacked Yoongi’s shoulder, "Focus on the show. We'll find her after."

He was nervous now, and not about the show. His mind was processing the facts now. The person wasn't in the crew, he would have felt it before. It had to be someone who entered the venue when he felt it. That could be anyone, from fans to workers, and little could be done to slim the number down from tens of thousands to one. That thought made him despair. How would he ever find her in so many people?

"Hey," Namjoon had his hand over his shoulder. His eyes had a glint of concern, but his expression exuded confidence. "She feels you too." Yoongi nodded, taking a deep breath. "She'll probably come forward after the concert."

"She's probably an ARMY," Hoseok winked. Yoongi just shrugged, he didn't care if she was. That was the least of his concerns right now.

"Just think this is for her, for all of them," Jimin added with a light smile.

Yoongi nodded and rushed to the stage, the same as them. He gave it his all. He was exhausted, but he wasn't giving up. He knew he shocked his brothers because he had probably never shown such a performance before. He couldn't explain it. He had newfound energy, and hope. Things would be different from now on, for the best. The thought that she was listening, and seeing him perform gave him an extra incentive. He teased the public way more than usual. He rarely displayed his English skills as openly, but the circumstances told him she couldn't be Korean. Whoever she was in that crowd, he wanted to make sure she knew they could communicate. Could she even tell it was him? She was probably as lost as he was.

The pull was hard. Freya was facing the whole crowd from that spot, near the stage. She could easily take pictures of the stage, as well as the fans. She was trying to focus on her job, but something kept interrupting her. Sometimes she would feel goosebumps all over her body, though she did not know why. Maybe if that guy stopped talking on the microphone all the time, she could actually hear herself think.

She rubbed her eyes with a sigh; the show was almost ending, it would be over soon. She was particularly snappy because of the bond-induced tension, she knew that. She would be able to leave as soon as it ended, just a little while longer.

Or so she thought. The venue started emptying and Lidia insisted for them to stay. She didn't complain at first, taking pictures of the heartbroken fans when the show ended. Most of them were emotional, tears staining their faces, but they were smiling. For them, it must have been a life experience to see BTS on stage. If only Freya could have appreciated it as much. She also wanted to cry. She wanted to run away so badly.

The venue was nearly empty when a publicist showed up to call for Lidia. Apparently, there were some matters left to discuss. Lidia nudged Freya, saying how nice it was of them to let them experience the concert for free before getting back to business. Freya knew it was nice, but she just shrugged. She wanted to leave.

But she couldn't, Lidia was her ride. She could always run away either way, but it wasn't professional.

"Do you want me to come with you?" She asked, willing.

"No, it's just a meeting. Footage of the fans leaving, the empty poststage and backstage, or even the tired artists are more important. Make it count," Lidia winked before leaving. She probably didn't notice Freya’s expression, as excited as if she was sucking on a sour lemon.

She needed to calm down, she thought. She had to be professional above all else. She could not, and would not, have that stupid occurrence ruin her photojournalist reputation. Over her dead body.

She exited the designated area, aimlessly taking shots whenever she felt it was worth it. She had her bag with other lenses that she would switch occasionally. She got lost.

Yoongi was despairing. He couldn't help it. He wasn't even listening to the argument anymore. He was focused on the feeling, on the internal drum. He was panicked that it was going to disappear in a heartbeat.

"There's nothing we can do! We can't prevent the fans from leaving the venue, we can't force them to leave one by one. Not to mention that just touching the subject would immediately destroy any option of privacy for Yoongi or his soulmate." Sejin was being reasonable, everyone knew that. But one glance at Yoongi's face said it all. It was not enough.

Namjoon kept arguing, but Yoongi turned around to face the mirror, closing his eyes. He felt someone behind him.

"Do you still feel it?" Jungkook’s kind voice asked.

He nodded with his heart tight in his chest. He did feel it, he felt it better now, if that made sense. It was called a pull for a reason. He felt pulled, compelled to move, to go somewhere. He didn't know where, he didn't know if it worked and it was probably not safe for him to leave that room. But he felt it as though he was a compass with an arrow juggling around. No one was going to find her but him. And he absolutely couldn't lose her.

He opened his eyes and confidently walked out, not paying attention to anyone. He didn't notice his brothers calling or manager Sejin telling them to let him go. The venue was nearly empty, maybe one-fourth of the fans were still around. He still felt her, so maybe they had a chance.

He walked to the higher levels completely on a gut feeling. He hadn't even changed outfits or showered yet, he was straight out of the stage with a gray hoodie and black tight pants. He had a black headband over his hairline that kept his short dark brown hair from falling down his eyes and the sweat from dripping. None of it mattered though, he didn’t have time to look presentable, he needed to find her.

When he reached the higher level, he wasn't even afraid to meet fans, the thought didn’t occur to him. He just stumbled, numb. He could barely feel it anymore, it was like a pulled elastic at the end. It was still there, and so was she. Yet, for a second his chest filled with anguish and it physically hurt. He had no sense of direction anymore. Nothing made sense anymore. He was failing and it was useless, he had no idea of what to do.

People were starting to mumble around him and he was brought back to reality. He needed an escape, to hide the repressed feelings that were starting to make his chest hurt. There was a door in front of him. He entered the room, slamming the door behind him.

Freya was walking aimlessly, completely lost. There weren't that many people around and she wasn't really interested in taking pictures anymore. The moment had passed. She hoped to catch the band leaving, knowing that was the kind of shot her magazine could appreciate for the online version of the article.

The more she kept going, the more sure she became that she was going the wrong way. She was effectively ignoring her surroundings and just going. The crew was going in the opposite direction, the fangirls and security too. She tried convincing herself that was totally normal. It was totally her own will taking her somewhere in order to snap more pictures. It was not that gut-wrenching pull telling her she had to be somewhere.

She was walking down a corridor when she suddenly froze. Her body was burning up, her heart racing out of control, but her gut clearly knew that was it. No need to go further. She was deaf at that point, the bond so strong it was a deafening physical energy current around her pushing her in only one direction: the door in front of her.

Everything else was muffled and unimportant. Yet from the outside of the door, she could already feel she shouldn’t open it. The force was so strong it was numbing. Her hand hovered over the door knob and she wondered how it wasn't vibrating with the resonance of such a powerful pull. She wanted to fight it with all of her strength, and her hand trembled. It would change her life forever if she opened that door. She didn't want that to happen.

But she wasn't strong enough, it was just so much stronger than her. She succumbed to it, fatefully so. She grabbed the doorknob and tried to rationalize it. It couldn’t hurt to see him at least once, or at least to tell him she wasn't and wasn't ever going to be interested. Yeah, that's it. That was why she had to get in there. It wasn't that person's fault and she should at least tell him that.

She entered the room quickly, a small meeting room, and closed the door without turning. Inside, the pull became like a magnetic field, all around them like walls, instead of a single string. She turned slowly around and saw a man standing behind the center table, having risen from his chair, staring at her in shock. He was different than she expected, though she expected nothing. He looked tired, that was her first thought. Why was he so tired? His dark brown hair was wet with sweat and falling over his headband. His eyes were smaller than she would expect, and darker. His skin was so pale she wondered if it was porcelain; was that makeup? He was her height it would seem, though bulkier than her. That hoodie did not give much away, but he looked comfortable. She was somewhat happy he was comfortable, despite his tiredness.

Her eyes were glued to him like nothing else existed because nothing else did. She was walking slowly in his direction, completely unaware. She had heard of the trance but she never thought it would be that strong. Her body moved on its own, her mind clouded as if she was high on drugs. She was such a strong-willed person, and yet it seemed all her convictions evaporated. Her legs were jello and would only move in his direction. She argued that it was only physical, her mind was still alert. Yet they were a step away from each other when she recognized her own lie. Her mind was as interested as her body, especially because she recognized him. But from where?

They shouldn't have touched, she thought. As soon as their hands did there was no denying it. There was no reasoning that could explain what was happening, except soulmating. Her chest filled with cheer bliss while her whole body warmed up like crazy as if she was a firework ready to pop in a million colors. And it was strange to recognize the same sort of emotion in such foreign eyes, in a stranger's face. She felt endeared by that face, propelled to care for that person with the clear consciousness that she did not know him. And her heart, or should she say soul, was at peace with it.

She struggled with that thought. First, because she thought they would instantly love each other blindly or something, and she didn’t want that to happen. Second, because it confirmed her own theories that soulbonding would erase her sense of self, her autonomy, and her individuality. She would be damned if she’d ever let any of that happen.

She knew nothing would ever feel the same or compare to him. However, knowing it in theory or feeling it in practice were very different things. Every particle of her body and soul agreed that was it, her other half, and no other person, relationship or bond would ever replace it. She looked at her hands in his and she had to close her eyes for a second to control her emotions. The urge to hug him was making her toes curl.

“What’s your name?”

Her eyes jumped to him and widened. She knew him, she heard his voice a lot tonight. She pictured him without the headband in a pretty black suit and she gasped. He was one of the guys from the band! She was completely shaken to her core; how was that possible?! Weren’t they from the other side of the world?

Then she shook her head, but of course he was. He didn’t live in Berlin, or else they’d have met before. He only happened to come to Berlin, and she only happened to be invited to work that piece last minute. Lidia would call it fate.

“What’s your name?”

His voice gave her goosebumps. He was saying it in English, not German, but she was totally fine with it. Despite the slight demand from his voice, he was using a loving tone. A soft caress to her ears meant to not trouble her. But she was troubled, deeply. She fought to keep her mouth shut, clenching her teeth and looking away. She saw his chest heave to take in a breath before insisting on knowing her name and she panicked. She couldn’t deny him if he kept asking, her soul wouldn’t allow it. So she kissed him.

She censored herself for a millisecond before their lips touched. Kissing him went against everything she stood for. First and foremost, because she was invading his privacy, his personal space. She was attacking him, sexually assaulting him for fuck’s sake. Soulmate or not, that couldn’t be taken lightly. Second, because it was disrespectful as a whole to kiss someone without knowing if they consented. What if he had a girlfriend or was married? Third, because she wanted to keep her distance from her soulmate. They were never supposed to have met, let alone touch or kiss. She wanted to leave, run away, and never look back. No matter the pain it would cause them both. That was too selfish of her and the more they dove in, the more she would hurt him, wound him. His soul, the other part of her. He was an unlucky bastard to be fated to be her other half.

Despite the flawless logic in all of those thoughts, she couldn’t stop her lips and he didn’t seem to mind. He was surprised for a second, before supporting her waist with his hands carefully while she grabbed his head in place. For someone who wanted to run away as soon as possible, she sure was keeping him firmly in her grip.

She forced him to walk back until he was against the wall. She did so because now he had nowhere to go, she could press her body against him. She felt absolute ecstasy running through her blood. She could not stop kissing him. She could not be stopped. She vaguely thought the only way would be for him to ask it, and she doubted he ever would.

His hands stayed respectfully at her waist, frustratingly so. It was infuriating in a way how he seemed to be more in control than she was when she was the one who didn’t want this to happen. She should be outraged that they were kissing without her consent. She didn’t have the mind space to think about that though, she would reflect on being a hypocrite later.

For now, his lips tasted like heaven. She was going into all the corny tropes because they fit exactly how she felt. She was riding the wave of a rush and it was divine. She had never been high on LSD or cocaine, but she imagined it came close to that. Her tongue had no problems invading his mouth, provoking hot waves of pleasure to reverberate through her whole body. The way he just accepted it, as if giving her the full reins of it, stupidly turned her on, egged her on. He was the only one who could stop her, why didn’t he?

She fought hard to stop their makeout session and pulled away, panting uncontrollably. She was eating him alive. So much for saying ‘goodbye, let’s never see each other again’.

“You… What's your name?”

Their faces were still glued together, his arms around her. She pushed herself away and turned to the side, covering her mouth with her right hand. Somehow, pulling away from him exhausted her. She felt like even gravity was against her. She stayed like that, panting at a short but safe distance, looking at him.

After a moment of silence, he walked to a chair and sat down. The corners of his lips were raised in a small smile, he looked calm. He had all the time in the world, it seemed. Well, she didn't, she had other things to do. Like running away and never look back. Stupid soulbond was too heavy, her legs were stomped.

He pointed at the chair across from him, on the other side of the table. "Please, sit."

She wanted to scream. He was being so gentle, so condescending. Was she an idiot that couldn't keep herself away? Y- No. She wasn't a fangirl. She was a hard-working adult. An award-winning photojournalist. She was in control. Mostly. She couldn't even look away from him, that empty chair had nothing on him.

She tried calming herself down. She took her camera strip out of her neck, letting the camera sit on the table, and then she also dropped her lens bag on the floor next to it. Her breathing was stabilizing and she swallowed dryly. He was patiently waiting for her. He looked like a mythological God observing her, a mere mortal, to cope with his presence. And she had all the intentions of kneeling and begging for whatever mercy he could give.

She scoffed and pulled her copper hair back, out of her face. It was good. That soulmate thing… It was strong. She never thought it would get to that point. She knew when to admit defeat. And that was certainly, still, not the time to.

She took a step forward, convinced that she was in control. She was going to put her hand on his shoulder and say, ‘I’m sorry it had to be me. I’m not interested. Let’s forget this ever happened.'

Her hand actually hovered over his shoulder for a moment, when her blue eyes deviated to the exposed skin of his neck. Her hand trembled while she struggled between her wills, visceral thoughts opposing one another. He must have seen her inner battle because he extended his hand and guided hers to his shoulder calmingly. It tipped the scales.

Her hormones, body, whatever it was took control. What she wanted beyond him didn’t matter, no one beyond him mattered. She felt like everything in life was secondary, a faded background, dim against his brightness. There was only one thing she wanted.

Her leg heaved to the other side of him and she sat on top of his legs. He seemed to be expecting her lips when she leaned forward to greet him. His hands went to rest carefully by her waist while hers kept by his neck. He was taking her kisses fully, meeting her passion without ever imposing. But she was hungry. She started grinding herself against him and as soon as she could feel his hard-on clearly through his pants and her shorts, she just couldn’t stop anymore.

Her mind became foggy and nothing else but their pleasure meant anything. There was something at the end of the rainbow and she wanted it. Not want, want. Like the need to breathe. He grunted and parted their lips, trying to look around, at them, at her.

She got up with a weird sense of ease. She unbuttoned her shorts without ever dropping her eyes from him. His, however, accompanied the fabric’s descent down her naked legs. She pulled her panties down in the same motion and he seemed to understand. His expression was now serious, as she imagined hers. She wanted it, like oxygen. Like daylight. He could stop it though. One word and her world would crumble.

He extended his right hand for her to take. She took it and got closer. He meant to get up, but she stopped him. She unbuttoned his pants herself while her heart drummed in her chest. It wasn’t even about what he was going to look like or anything of the sort. She just had to feel him.

She got on his lap and immediately pulled his erection out. It was hard and shiny, extending proudly upwards. Their eyes met and no words were spoken. His hands were on her hips and she just did what she was supposed to. She sat down.

It had never felt that way before. She was never the most sexual person, but it was not supposed to feel like that. If she had a will, it vanished then. Her completeness could not be described. It was like an explosion of color, like a gust of wind, like the stars on the black pane of the universe. She was a boat looking to anchor, he was the nest she came to sleep in.

Once the cosmic waves were done resonating in her nerves, she opened her eyes, aware. It was like seeing everything blurry and then putting on glasses. She understood. She could barely think, but she knew she understood. And looking at his eyes, she knew he did too. His arms raised around her in a tight embrace to keep her close while her hips started rolling. She felt embraced, and accepted, like a promise was being made. Their bodies were giving something to each other because that was the only way their souls could be one again. That pleasure making her skin stretch was the extent their souls would ever touch each other. That was sad in a way, making her feel anguish. Yet he kissed her chest, right over her heart, making her come to an almost full stop. He was promising. She started moving again. That promise would only be real if they committed. If their souls actually touched and joined.

She had never felt pleasure like that. She thought she would reach her orgasm very soon, but somehow there was more. Like an endless staircase to heaven. He grew impatient with kissing her shirt and forced it out. She gladly helped. His lips on her skin were everything, and she moaned through clenched teeth at the shock. His tongue darted out to feel her breasts, contouring her bra edges and sneaking in as much as he could. She was still going, jumping as low as possible so he could do it. She grew impatient and her hands reached her back to release the bra when he stopped her.

He grabbed her hands, “No, don’t stop.”

It was a catalyst, if there could be one. His hands groped her firmly everywhere while she got lost in the feeling of riding him. She was now moaning with every motion, so ready to reach him whenever he was.

He grunted from the back of his throat, “Fuck.”

She nodded approvingly and felt the instant he was ready. She forced his hands on her breasts to squeeze hard while she sat down strongly a few times, making him go so deep it nearly hurt.

Only it was pure bliss. She closed her eyes and all she could see was golden. Golden waves with particles of light. Her body trembled in spasms, her voice muted without breath. Her body felt like it was hovering in a breeze, floating. She could feel his hands, his body, inside and out. She felt warm and safe. Home.

It lasted maybe fifteen seconds. Then, the golden waves receded, the lights disappeared like stars in the morning sky, her body floated softly to the ground, and it was done. Her head fell over his shoulder and his hand came to rest on her hair. They were both panting. They promised, it was done. She was hugging him as tightly as she could. She was scared to open her eyes.

You can go here to keep reading [ao3] (this story is finished) 💜

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piratefishmama · 1 year

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Crossing the Line | Part 5

The odds of finding one feral little metalhead in such a large city without any starting point to go off of were slim at best. Okay that was being generous, the odds were basically non-existent as Steve had been telling Robin for the past hour as they wandered the streets seemingly without aim.

“Rob, we should just buy the tickets and see his band! What’s the worst that can happen?”

“We lose our hearing to people who can’t play their instruments properly, you get rejected publicly, someone throws up on us, we wind up in the mosh pit and you get your THIRD concussion, someone spills their drink on me, or on you, you get recognised and publicly ridiculed for wearing a goddamn sweater vest to a metal gig because I saw you pack your bag what in god’s name, Steven.”

“It’s comfortable.” Steve grumbled in response, momentarily subdued by all of her good points “at least it’s monotonal.” It was a grey knit number, one of his softest. “And I was gonna put a black shirt under it.”

“Yep, no, we’re not doing that, you’re not wearing that. If we must go to the gig and I do mean if we must, you’re going to need another outfit, so we’re going to spend today shopping for that, then head back to the apartment and strategize. We can divide and conquer, you take one half of the city, I’ll take the other, we meet in the middle for coffee.”

“…One half of a city. Where even is the middle of it? How is that a plan?”

“Not the best first plan but it’s the planning stage of the plan, and the planning stage is AFTER shopping, so don’t judge the plan until the planning stage of the plan.”

“You said plan a lot.”

“Less talk more thrift shop, let’s go.” His hand grabbed and away they went. It didn’t matter how rich he was, Robin loved thrift shopping, and after meeting her and knocking down her walls of distrust and uncertainty until they became practically joined at the hip platonic soulmates, finding out how many little treasures you could actually find in those shops, he kind of loved it too. It was an experience he wouldn’t have ever gotten without her, an experience that only added to the down to earth personality that’d developed as he grew older with her.

He didn’t know who he’d be without Robin… probably the same douchebag everyone kind of expected him to be. The douchebag he’d been in his teen years perhaps, partying, drinking, doing drugs, trying to be something he wasn’t to impress the people around him when all they cared about was the vestiges of fame trickling from his being.

Perhaps she’d saved his life by just being there. So he’d indulge a little tomfoolery for her sake.

Even if it did wind up with his feet hurting and his arms aching carrying bags of things he’d never ever wear but might have to for true love, trudging down some random street while Robin looked for some weird non-chain coffee shop because Starbucks held no soul.

“Robin can we just— look, right there, Starbucks, we can go in Starbucks, it’ll be fine, in and out!”

“I’m not going in Starfucks, there’s always some idiot instagraming the weird spelling of their name on the cup as if it’s not a Starbucks ploy to get them free advertising.”

“Or someone claiming to be Voldemort as if the barista would actually shout “he who must not be named” for the brief moment of twitter fame reporting it would bring them.”

“Or tacky mass-produced merch.”

“Or overpriced desserts that aren’t worth it.”

“Or—Ooh!! Lookie, there’s one!” They probably could have gone on for longer, but Robin spotted the little brown shop with large dark windows at the end of the street with a hanging sign outside similar to one found on old bars only this one had two coffee beans on it with the word The Roast written in cursive around the beans. And up close it looked like every rustic coffee shop ever made.

Simple, lots of browns and warm white lighting.

“Down the road from a Starbucks? That’s a gutsy business move.” Steve hummed with the most basic amount of interest as he entered through the door Robin held open for him.

“Honestly you’re never more than a stones throw away from a Starbucks, pick any direction I bet we’ll find another within two blocks.”

“That’s fair.” They made it all the way to the counter where a lone, bored employee leaned heavily against the thick wooden countertop, flicking through a magazine of some kind, the board above him strewn with funnily named coffee drinks and little doodles to match them, Steve found his eyes drawn to that while the Barista released a deep

“Welcome to The Roast, what can I get for you?” Without looking up from his magazine.

“Alright, I’ll have a uhm—ow—Robin, what—ow would you stop elbowing me?”

“Steve.”

“What?” He followed her pointer finger to the man now looking at him with the widest, brownest, most beautiful Bambi eyes he’d ever seen in his goddamn life and all thoughts just kind of drifted away, replaced with the single word… pretty. “Oh…Hello...”

Part 7

#PirateWrites #Ficlet #Crossing The Line #Steddie #Steve “bi disaster” Harrington #prettiest boy is pretty #Eddie “Actual Bambi” Munson

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eternal-echoes · 2 days

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“Following the abuse, some girls cease to be interested in men altogether, guarding their hearts against any relationships. These reflexes are understandable reactions to shelter one's heart from further pain.

If a woman does not gradually learn how to trust again, her ability to give and receive love will atrophy.”

-Jason and Crystalina Evert, How to Find Your Soulmate Without Losing Your Soul

(Emphasis is mine)

I think this is also another reason why Miyo initially wouldn’t confide to Kiyoka about her nightmares; she was still traumatized from her abusive childhood that she wasn’t well enough to receive Kiyoka’s love. The abuse diminished her self-worth so much that she didn’t think she deserves the love that Kiyoka is freely giving her. That seems to be the reason why she doesn't understand the concept of family:

But I believe it's only after Yoshirou's words to her that led her to start to heal:

She needed to heal from her family wounds first and that had to start with mending the ties with the Usuba household in order to move forward with Kiyoka. And getting the definition of what a family is from her blood family helped with the healing process as well.

Not only that,

knowing that Yoshirou understands the pain of having told someone they didn't really mean that hurt someone and now regret it helped her realize that someone sympathizes with her; that sympathy enabled her to regain her sense of self that was stolen from her by her abusive household.

Like a broken vase put together by a glue, she can now accept Kiyoka's kindness and love for her when she realized that she exists and worth caring for.

#my happy marriage #anime #how to find your soulmate without losing your soul #jason evert #crystalina evert

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grandwretch · 1 year

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I specifically want a soulmate au where Steve and Eddie bond at the boathouse and then proceed to, without words, decide they are going to wait to talk about this. Steve hides Eddie's handwriting on his sternum ("What are you doing here?") from even Robin. Steve tries to have a conversation after he thinks he might die down there, but Eddie tells him to get with Nancy, instead, because he's beating himself up over not being brave enough to be the first one to jump in after his own fucking soulmate.

Steve is too smitten to be too mad about Eddie trying to foist him off on his ex.

They do have one conversation, in between the War Zone and splitting up. Eddie agrees that if they make it out of this alive, they can try. Steve begs for one kiss. They both agree to keep the focus on the mission, and tell no one.

Eddie almost tells Steve he loves him, before he leaves. Its too soon, but how can you not love half of your own soul? He chickens out. Steve hears it anyway.

Later, Dustin is screaming over the walkie, and Steve is sprinting towards Forest Hills, and he feels it. Or, rather, he doesn't. Because Eddie is gone. He feels Eddie die.

When Robin and Nancy find him, collapsed into the dirt, they assume his wounds finally overwhelmed him. Steve doesn't correct them.

He mourns alone. He doesn't tell anyone that he's lost a future, even though he knows they're all wondering why he's pulled away when they need him most. It just doesn't feel right. They were supposed to tell everyone together, and Steve can't imagine doing it alone. The secret was the only thing they had of each other, and Steve can't or won't give it up now there's no hope for anything else.

Besides, he thinks. It feels unimaginably cruel to look into the faces of people who actually knew Eddie and say, "he was mine to lose." Because Dustin deserves to mourn a brother, not Steve's soulmate.

So he mourns alone, in secret, and forces a brave face. Tries to carry the entire fucking town on his back if only for the distraction. And he sits through the funeral with a blank face.

Two days later he's stumbling through the Henderson's front door, tears running down his face. "Eddie is alive," he says. He pulls down the collar of his shirt so they can see Eddie's handwriting on his chest, stark black against his skin. "This was white, an hour ago."

#Steddie #Soulmate au

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lunaekalenda · 10 months

Text

warnings: angst, death, wounds, blood, major jjk manga spoilers

"You always said you were the strongest... Prove it, Toru."

You don't even recognize your own voice, breaking from time to time due to the sobs. His hand sneaks weak to your cheek, taking the tear that it's about to run down your cheek away with his thumb, leaving a little blood trace under your eye. You can't take your gaze away from his, you can't stop pressing the wound of his chest. He smiles, weak, softly, but only for you. You can hear the noise of explosions not far from you, more of your friends getting hurt, more of them dying. You keep pressing his chest while his head lays on your thighs. It's getting worse, but you are too selfish to leave Satoru here, alone, to his slow death. Specially, after he gave his own life for you. You're convinced there has to be a way to save him, to save your other half and the only man you've ever loved so deeply and strong to not be able to imagine a future without him. But still, with every blood drop that escapes between your fingers, a second of his life goes away. His usual pale skin looks transparent under the moon, and his body temperature isn't even close to the heat that receives you when you go to bed late. His blue eyes are teary, fixed on yours, still shining with all those feelings he has told you so many times before. "Toru, you're gonna make it alive." You're not sure to who you're trying to reassure, but a tiny part of your mind wants you to be right. You'll remember this moment when you grow old, he'll tell this story to your grandchildren.

Your tears fall slowly on his cheeks, getting mixed with his own ones, as he catches air to speak, even when you told him not to.

"Don't cry, my love. Don't cry for me." his low voice is followed by violent coughs. You try to calm yourself as you try your best to keep the wound pressed, but he rests his hands on top of yours, trying to put them away of his body, but you are firm on your decision. "Hide. Go away. Save yourself." You reject all his ideas shaking your head, too sad to speak. But then Satoru grips your arm stronger. "I can only trust Megumi to you. He doesn't deserve to lose us both." He caresses your skin lovingly, as he always does.

"He's not gonna lose us, Satoru. We can keep taking care of him together, you're gonna survive." You pray for the fight to be over, to someone to find you both, to someone to help him. He was there on every single scar your skin has now. That's what his wound will be, a scar more on his body.

When Gojo discovered that Sukuna took Megumi as his vessel, one part of him never recovered. Megumi wasn't blood-related to your man, but it was his only family. His child. He taught him how to do the laundry and how to cook. He read stories to him until the kid fell asleep, he made his favorite meal every single birthday the two of them passed alone. It was always Satoru and Megumi, until you entered their life.

Satoru felt like you were the missing puzzle piece for their little family. Megumi loves you as much as you love him. You're an example for the kid, and he has been always nice towards you. And Satoru. Goddess, Satoru is your soulmate.

There's no other way of explaining your bond, and there won't ever be a similar feeling towards anyone. You love him with every inch of your body and every particle of your soul. Your hearts followed the same pace, and you fear that yours will stop as soon as his does. But, as long as you're by his side, you'll make sure it still beats. Satoru sighs when another explosion sounds far, as if the fight was moving towards the surroundings of Tokyo. Sukuna probably believes Satoru is dead, and that's your best option to survive. You're sure someone will come and help you both. Both of you are still there, under an almost demolished building, covered in blood, dust and sweat, but together. Satoru's mind flies towards the events of this afternoon, as his eyes darken a little. He knows it wasn't Megumi, and he knows how to take Sukuna out without hurting him, but still... It was too impressive for him to react. Sukuna didn't need more than one hit to hurt him deadly. He played with Satoru, played with his feelings and his loyalties. And you'll never, never, forget that.

You hear quick steps around you, and you hug your boyfriends's body, still pressing on his chest. The voice that speaks from behind you is clearly recognizable.

"G-Gojo?" Utahime seems too shocked to speak, and even when she sighs when he speaks back to her, she quickly leaves in search of Shoko, even when the future of Satoru is not certain. He coughs softly before speaking.

"Sukuna will release Megumi once he gets all his power back." Satoru tries to fight the knot in his throat, and holds your hand in search of strength. "I'm not sure what... he will do to him first. Please, take care of Megumi. And remember him that nothing is his fault, and that I love him. And I'm proud of the man he is now." He looks directly in your eyes now, even when you can see him between tears. "My love." Why does he sound as if he was saying goodbye? He is going to make it. He's going to watch Megumi grow up by your side, he will still wake you up with breakfast in bed, and he'll prepare desserts for the three of you on his days off. He'll take you to dates, he'll buy more tiny things that reminded him of you, he'll take you for a walk every Sunday morning. He'll kiss your ribs and your wrists and your lower back as he always does, he will lend you his sweaters when you're cold and he'll take your hand in crowded and not so crowded places to keep you near. "You're strong, beautiful and pure. You have so many beautiful things waiting for you, even if I'm not here to see them with you." His cold hand touches your skin again. "Live for both, darling. Keep me in your mind, but don't let my memories tie you to the past." he takes air violently, and you press his wound harder. You're gonna save him. "And I love you. I love you in a way I didn't knew I could love, as if a part of my soul is tangled to yours." His eyes are teary again. He tries to sit, but he's too weak. Instead, he takes his index to his lips, kissing the fingertip, before slowly pressing it against your lips. "I love you."

And Satoru's heart stopped beating under your hand.

#jjk angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo satoru angst #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #tw death #tw spoilers

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statelysapphic · 9 months

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Made for Me

Alex Blake x Reader

Summary: After risking your life to save a victim, Alex shows you the comfort you need. Soulmate AU. Covers a square for @prentiss-theorem’s bingo!

Warnings: Typical BAU case talk, mentions of violence. Hurt/comfort. Slight angst.

A/N: I just thought Alex Blake deserved her own Soulmate AU, so I wrote one. I’d absolutely love to know what yinz think because I got SO carried away while writing this. But, I am happy with how it turned out. As always, feedback is always appreciated! Thank you<3

Word Count: 3k

Ao3 Link

“What were you thinking?” Hotch gritted through his teeth, clearly trying not to lose his temper entirely. You knew he was more frustrated than angry, and you supposed he had every right to be. Instead of heading back to the precinct to wrap up an excruciating case, you were sitting on the back bumper of an ambulance, nursing a fresh oxygen tank, drenched and freezing. “Well?”

“Oh, that wasn’t rhetorical?” You quipped, moving the mask away from your face. “Figured it was a nice evening for a swim,” dripping in sarcasm.

“This isn’t the time.” Hotch snapped, rolled his eyes, and shot you a stern look. You weren’t having it, though, wishing until you were at least dry to reprimand you. You looked at him, disgust washing over you.

“Well, I was thinking about the unconscious, tied-up, redhead Nichols tossed off the dock, when none of the women in the county missing reports had red hair! He abducted her this morning, Hotch, she hadn’t even been missing long enough to file a report!”

“You unnecessarily risked your own life to ‘rescue’ a dead body from fourty degree water,” he barks back, not thrilled with your response. “The ME said she won’t be able to verify it until the autopsy, but she’s almost certain the victim was dead before she hit the water. Your decision was reckless and uncalc-”

“And what if she hadn’t been?” You interrupt. “What if she had still been alive and she drowned, huh? What then?” You knew you shouldn’t have been pushing his buttons like you were, but then again, he came in swinging. “I watched him toss her in the river and reach for his gun, Blake and I fired, and when he went down, I dove in after her. You may disagree, but I would do it again without hesitation.” You stood firm, reminding him that you were not the inexperienced agent you once were.

“I’d rather have river rescue only looking for one body as opposed to two. Get some rest. Wheels up at 8.”

You watched Hotch as he walked away and stopped to talk to Alex. Alex. She witnessed everything. She was still somewhat new on the team, but the two of you clicked instantly. You could listen to her talk about everything and nothing, for hours on end, and be simply enthralled every second. And though she was older than you, you had a lot of mutual interests. You also thought she was beautiful. For a moment, you wondered if she could be your soulmate, but that thought was quickly forgotten when you reminded yourself that she was married, and that almost no one actually finds their soul mate. You knew you weren’t lucky enough to be the one in a million. Besides, you and Alex had been working in tandem for the past month, and though you can’t recall specifics, you’re certain the two of you have touched at some point in passing, and you lacked a soulmark.

Dylan Nichols, the unsub, had been one of the lucky ones. His luck, however, ran out when his soulmate had an affair, left him, married the other man a few months later, and moved to Prague. Heartbroken and enraged, Nichols began abducting and murdering surrogates. Six of his seven victims had similar physical features to his estranged soulmate. The seventh woman, Anna, fell victim to his very rapid and extreme escalation. It was an exhausting case, and though you don’t enjoy having to play the role of executioner, you knew this was probably the best outcome.

“You look cold,” Alex said, catching your attention and breaking your train of thought, raking her eyes over your visibly shivering figure. Without another word, she held up a blanket, unfolded it, and wrapped it around your shoulders. “Here, I found this in the back of the SUV. It won’t dry your clothes, but it should help keep the wind off you until we get back to the hotel.” She smoothed out the blanket where it was lying on your shoulders, allowing her hands to linger for just a moment. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t struck with terror when you jumped into the river to save the victim. Even though it was spring, the water temperature was still near freezing. It was close to midnight if that hadn’t been enough, meaning the ordinarily murky water was pitch black.

“Thanks,” you said, grinning, trying not to focus too hard on Alex’s lingering hands. She was gentle, but firm. Possessive, almost. You examined her face as she took a seat beside you. She was trying to hide the worry, but you could see right through her. “You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?” You asked, preparing for her to lecture you just like Hotch.

“I think your dedication to your job is admirable,” she said, her gentle tone did not falter, “Just don’t make a habit of scaring me like that, okay?” She grinned, one hand still on your shoulder. Whether or not Alex would admit it, the physical contact was grounding her after the intense showdown with the unsub. She cared about you, she reminded herself that you were okay. “I’m going to go start the SUV, get it warmed up for you. Finish up with the paramedics and we can head back to the hotel.”

“You’re too good to me, Blake,” your chuckled, cracking a small grin, “Thank you, seriously. I’ll be there soon.” She smiled at you for a few seconds longer before she stood up and made her way to the car. You smiled as you covered your face with the oxygen mask, thinking only of the warm SUV (and Alex Blake) that awaited you.

The paramedics released you shortly thereafter. Alex drove you back to the hotel, but not before she stopped at the convenience store a few blocks away. You had been so lost in your own thoughts that you hadn’t realized you stopped. You didn’t even realize the car was in park until Alex closed her car door and walked into the store without a word. When Alex returned, she placed two small, styrofoam cups in your respective cup holders.

“What’s this?” You asked, picking up the cup and soaking in its warmth.

“I figured we could use some hot chocolate. You especially. It’s shitty convenience store hot chocolate, but it’s what I have to offer at the moment,” she said, “When we get back to Virginia, I’ll make you the best coco you’ve ever had.”

“Be careful, Blake,” you joked, “You may end up stuck with me at this rate. Thank you, I didn’t realize you were a world class hot chocolate chef.” Not that that was the worst thought in the world, spending the rest of your days with Alex. You imagined they would be filled with domesticity: Sunday grocery store trips, evenings in bed reading the same book (you’d buy two copies, of course) and comparing notes along the way, and people watching on the front porch together while you had your morning coffee. It felt easy, existing with Alex. She brought you a peace that only existed with her, and it was unlike anything you had ever known. Such a stark contrast from the day to day chaos of your job.

“You think I’d mind?” She asked, raising an eyebrow and smirking. “And I have to keep you on your toes somehow. The recipe is from my mother-in-law. Apparently James used to love it as a kid, but lost the taste for it as he grew older.” James. Right. The husband. Jealousy washed over you, and you quickly reminded yourself that she wasn’t yours. You didn’t understand how you formed such a connection with Alex in the month she had been with the BAU, but you felt drawn to her from the moment she walked into the bullpen. She was, undoubtedly, the most beautiful woman you had ever seen, and when you heard her voice, you thought you had died and gone to heaven. You wouldn’t say you were in love with Alex, but you were falling for her. There was no denying that.

You wondered if James was her soulmate, if she had a soulmark that beautifly painted her skin. It wasn’t something people talked about very often, many not even believing in such a thing, because of it’s rarity. You weren’t sure if it was appropriate to ask either, so you opted to stay quiet.

The ride back to the hotel was silent. You were too lost in your own thoughts to hold a conversation, and Alex could tell. This was a behavior you hadn’t exhibited before. She hoped you were just exhausted and that you hadn’t been traumatized by the evenings events, though she knew it was fueling your thoughts. She didn’t want to pry, but she was worried, so she parked the car and spoke up. “What’s on your mind, Agent?” She lightly teased, hoping it would help you open up, “And you can’t tell me nothing, because I can tell it’s something.”

“I guess,” you paused, wanting to provide a coherent thought while still being vague, “It’s the whole soulmate thing. I guess I just think it’s a little fucked up the universe handcrafted the perfect other half for every single person on Earth but couldn’t even make the bond between them unbreakable.”

“I supposed I’d have to agree with you,” she replied, pulling into the hotel parking lot “I also think it’s a bit cruel that the chances of finding ones soulmate is as low as it is. At least give people a chance.” You chuckled at her sentiment.

“Is James your soulmate?” The words are out of your mouth before you can even begin to debate asking her. Your eyes go wide and your stomach twists into a knot. Panicking, you manage, “Fuck, you don’t have to answer that. That’s super personal and I shouldn’t have asked.” Alex didn’t seem to be phased by your question, though.

“No, he’s not. And that’s okay,” she smiled, “But, secretly, there is a part of me that hopes I do someday.”

“Me too,” you replied, “Ever since I was little. I’ve always remained realistic about the odds of it actually happening, but I allow myself to dream a little.” You chuckled for a moment before lifting your styrofoam cup and pushing it towards Alex, “Here’s to dreaming, cheers.” Alex lifted her cup, bumping it into yours with a laugh.

“Cheers.” You both take hefty swigs of your now lukewarm hot chocolate before heading into the hotel for the night.

Conveniently, you had been bunked up with Alex for this case, so she was able to ensure you made it to bed safely. She walked you into the hotel room, her hand at your lower back, guiding you forward.

“Go take a warm shower and get out of those wet clothes. You’ll feel much better, trust me.” She took the blanket from you as you unwrapped yourself, and placed some fresh towels in your hand. You felt your eyes begin to well up and burn; the care she was showing you was unlike any you’ve received before. You felt safe and loved. You quickly turned your head to try and hide your emotion and made your way to the bathroom.

“Thank you again, Alex. I hope you know how much I appreciate your kindness.” you said before closing the bathroom door and clicking the lock.

Finally.

You were alone. Tears began to stream down your face as you looked at your reflection in the oversized bathroom mirror. You looked like hell. You were damp, muddy, and cold to the touch. Your lips, though returning to their normal pink, were still a light shade of blue around portions of their perimeter. All in another days work you think to yourself. You open the door to the walk-in shower and turn the water on to let it heat up. You inhaled deeply and closed your eyes as you began to remove your soiled clothes. Once your shirt and slacks were off, you made your way back over to the mirror to check for any cuts or bruises. Amongst your dirty form, however, sat two golden yellow and orange hand prints on either shoulder.

It can’t be. You stop dead in your tracks, unsure of what to do next. Instinctually, you rubbed your hand over your shoulder, trying to clean the print off, but it wasn’t working. Then you jumped into the shower, thinking the hot water and cheap hotel soap might do the trick. Of course that didn’t work, ruining your hopes it was just a sick prank or some sort. They were your soulmarks, and Alex was your soulmate. You knew instantly, remembering how she covered you up earlier. There was no denying it. Now you were faced with the task of telling her. You know it isn’t something you can hide forever. Panic takes over you. You know she wants to know who her soulmate is, and she deserved that, but you also know that she wouldn’t choose you. She said it herself, James wasn’t her soulmate, but she was okay with it. A knock at the door grabbed your attention.

“Everything okay in there?” She yelled,” You’ve been a while. I just started to worry, that’s all.” You hadn’t realized how long you had been in the shower, and now you felt guilty for keeping Alex up so late.

“All good, sorry, I’ll be out in a few.” You quickly turned the shower off and grabbed a towel to dry off. As you walked from the shower to the bathroom sink, you realized you forgot to grab your pajamas, so you were going to have to face this head on and nude. “Fuck,” you whisper to yourself. You looked back at your now clean reflection, admiring the marks on your shoulders. You couldn’t help but smile. Though you knew it would hurt like hell, you knew Alex deserved to know the truth. You took a deep breath and made your way into the room.

Alex was sat on her bed, hair pulled back in a clip, glasses hanging low on her nose, reading the book she usually saves for the plane ride home. She looked beautiful. You enjoyed this image of Alex for a moment longer. “Alex?” You said softly, drawing her attention away from her novel. She looked up at you and smiled. Her eyes flickered to each of your shoulders and then back to your eyes. Wordlessly, she placed her book on the nightstand, followed by her glasses, and stood from the bed. She slowly made her way over to you, never breaking eye contact. You were frozen in place, thoroughly studying her face. She didn’t seem to be upset in any capacity, nor was her emotion negative. She seemed curious and, dare you say, excited? The tightness in your chest loosened and your face flushed red.

Once in front of you, she paused for a moment before slowly raising her hands and placing them on your shoulders, perfectly covering your soulmarks.

“I knew it,” She whispered, smiling softly as tears prickled her eyes. “I knew you were made for me.” She moved one hand to cup your cheek, while the other remained on your mark. Alex had thought once or twice that you might have been her soulmate. There was no denying the connection she had with you, nor the attraction she felt towards you. And though she didn’t talk about it, she knew her marriage to James was over before she even started at the BAU. She cared about James, yes, but the two had grown apart over the years. She loved him, but she was no longer in love with him. You, however.

“I’m not sure what to say,” you replied, your smile wavering slightly. She was everything you wanted, but she was a married woman and your colleague, no less. You knew what you wanted, but you weren’t sure she would want the same. Would she think you were worth it? Alex noticed your hesitation, and pulled you closer. Her grip on you was possessive, as if she feared you would vanish from her arms.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, sweetheart.” You melted at the sweetness in her voice

and her choice of nickname. You would do anything she told you to, and that was a fact. “I need to know what’s going on in your head so that I can help.” She was so gentle. You knew if she rejected you it was going to hurt like hell and you didn’t want to risk losing a great friend.

“I don’t want to lose you, Alex. I know this changes things, but you’re too good of a friend to risk losing. You don’t even have to tell James. If you don’t have a soulmark already, I just won’t touch you and it’ll all be okay. But, I would be lying if I told you it wouldn’t hurt me. I care about you so much.” As you choked out your thoughts, you felt yourself begin to cry, but you didn’t stop yourself. Alex felt her heart breaking. “I wasn’t even going to tell you. I was going to try and hide it, but then I remembered what you told me in the car, and I didn’t think it would be right. I’m so sorry, Alex.”

“Sweetheart,” she says, interrupting your rambling, “Hold me.”

“What?” You weren’t sure you heard her correctly.

“I said,” she enunciated, closing the already small gap between the two of you, “Hold me. Please.” She grabbed ahold of your wrists and slowly wrapped your arms around her body. Your hands settled on her back knowing her soulmark would appear, and you pulled her close anyway, not that she could get much closer. You relaxed at her touch, as her hands returned to your shoulders and she rested her forehead against yours. “I want this,” she said, “Us. You and I against the world.”

“Alex,” you paused, “Are you sure? You have a husband and a stable life. I’m just me. This doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”

“I’ve been falling for you since the first case we worked on together.” she jumped in before you could get another word out, “I don’t think I’ve been more sure of anything. Besides, only an idiot would pass up a life with their other half.” She smiled and you followed suit. You were shocked that she felt the same, considering it seemed all odds were against you. The two of you stood in each others arms there for a few minutes, basking in the love and excitement of the moment, before you broke the silence.

“Alex?” You asked.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Kiss me,” You said. And without hesitation, Alex cupped your face and her lips were on yours. They were soft, like the fluffiest pillows money could buy. You fit perfectly together. No other kiss had ever felt anything like it, and you could tell Alex was pouring her heart and soul into it. You knew she was trying to tell you that this was real for her. You didn’t need much convincing though. Breaking the kiss, you smiled at Alex, and she smiled back.

“Let’s get some rest,” she whispered. And you did, better than you probably ever had before, thanks to Alex. She had fallen asleep laying on your chest with an arm around your waist. When you woke up the next morning, she was still in the same spot. You felt whole knowing that you had she wanted you just as you wanted her. Though you didn’t like to think about the future too much, in that moment, you knew there wasn’t anything you couldn’t do with Alex by your side.

#alex blake x reader #Alex Blake #criminal minds fanfiction #wlw fanfiction #raeswritingbingo #Mack Writes

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