#Soulmate Fanfiction

[ftwdb]

Don't Say Go

Chapter 19

Summary: Soulmates find each other through what is known as The Pull. A sense within a persons body that their soulmate is within reach that guides them to find them. You find yourself following this Pull, guided by vague dreams of a man you can't quite see, until you collapse in the wild and are found by Troy, your soulmate, who has been following the same feeling toward you for days.

Once connected soulmates are able to share emotions through their bond, as well as being able to sense where the other is. But how this force works is very much a mystery still, it can vary from soulmate to soulmate, and just sometimes a connection too deep can lead twist a bond from something beautiful to, well...

Warnings: Dark themes, sexual content, violence, non-graphic description/implications of SA, child abuse and domestic violence. References to addiction. Unhealthy love/obsession/relationships. Soulmate AU. Eventual smut. Love triangle.

You made it back to the ranch undetected and spent the rest of the night curled up beside Troy in the med tent. You didn’t sleep, constantly listening for noise. Voices or gunfire, the truck’s engines. But nothing came. You were just about fading into sleep as the sun began to rise when Troy made a sound, his eyes flickering open.

“Troy?” you say, hopefully.

His blue eyes find you and his lips twitch in a smile.

“I’ll get Jake—“

His hand grabs yours, he must have used all his strength to keep you beside him.

“No. Not yet. Stay.”

You hesitated, scared that something could go wrong. But as his eyes focused on yours you couldn’t resist, sensing his need for you. You lay back down beside him, looking him in the eye and speaking gently.

“What were you thinking huh?”

Troy doesn’t need to ask what you mean.

“Kept you safe…” he says weakly.

You shake your head.

“Not like that. Please. Never like that again.”

Troy looks confused, his brow furrowing before he winces with the pain in causes in his head.

“Have to. Do anything…”

You sigh, understanding the feeling. Remembering your own rage and desperation when you’d seen him brought in covered in blood and unmoving.

You gently run a hand through his curls, avoiding the parts that were clumped with his blood. You sigh.

“I know. I know.”

He closes his eyes, his lips turning up as he makes a low sound in his throat. Then he says something so quiet you’re sure you hadn’t heard him right and lean closer, your heart pounding.

“What… what did you say?”

His eyes open slowly, foggy but focused on your face.

“Marry me.”

It wasn’t a question. Your heart pounds. It was an inevitability. You stare.

“Marry… you?”

Troy smirks.

“You gonna say no?”

You shake your head.

“Of course not… but… you’re injured and probably concussed and it’s the end of the world anyway, who gets married in the apocalypse? Does marriage even mean anything anymore? Does it matter what denomination we are or can we just make up whatever we want—“

Somehow Troy had found the strength to lift his head and kiss you, until he fell back against the pillow looking green.

“Bad idea. Gonna puke.”

“Shit,” you grab a bowl and prepare to help him. “Well, if that wasn’t the most romantic proposal ever…”

You watch as Troy sucks in a deep breath, steeling himself against the urge to vomit. His hand presses to his bandaged head and the IV in his arm tugs awkwardly. He grunts and pulls it out in frustration.

“Don’t-“ You try and stop him but he’s already groaning again. “I’m getting Jake—“

“Already here.” Jake’s voice is cutting as you turn and see him striding over, rolling up his sleeves. You feel his eyes chastise you for not fetching him sooner.

“He just woke up.”

Jake ignores you and immediately checks Troy’s vitals. Even though he looks like crap Troy smirks at his big brother.

“Did I have you worried?”

Jake’s expression is grim, “You always have me worried, little brother.”

“That I do Jakey. That I do.”

You watch as Jake does his work, moving off the bed even when Troy looks at you longingly. Jake grumbles under his breath, you can’t hear him but Troy chuckles at whatever he says.

“Can I do anything?”

Jake gives you a dark look.

“You can stay right there, so I know where you are.”

Your heart drops. Did he know where you'd gone last night?

You look down at your feet hoping Troy wasn’t able to pick up on the tension, but of course he could sense your anxiety growing by the second.

“What is it?” He asks, gently at first. When you don’t answer he turns to Jake, practically barking at him. “What happened?”

Jake shakes his head.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re on leave from your duties until further notice.”

Troy somehow manages to go an even paler shade of pale.

“What? The hell I am—!”

“Dad’s orders.” Jake snaps back.

You watch the brothers argue, shifting awkwardly on the spot with nothing to do or distract you until you speak up uncertainly.

“It’s just until he heals, right?”

Jake’s expression says it all and Troy’s eyes go dark. “Where is he? Where’s Dad? I can talk to him—“

Jake pressed a hand to Troy’s shoulder and pushes him back on the bed when Troy tries to get up. You move forward to put a reassuring hand on Troy’s arm as you look at Jake in confusion.

“Why would Jeremiah do that?”

Jake’s eyes snap to yours and you can see what he is thinking, can see his surprise that you’d even need to ask after Troy had gone off on a group of survivors who hadn't provoked them. You look away, ashamed slightly. You’d forgotten that what you and Troy might see as necessities for survival - no matter how brutal - still crossed the line for some people.

Thankfully Troy seemed too agitated to sense your feelings about the situation as he was trying to get off the bed again, knocking everything askew as his limbs flailed with an uncharacteristic lack of coordination.

“Troy! Please, settle down!” You handle him much more gently than Jake who looks like he is tempted to knock Troy unconscious again.

“He can’t do this!” Troy snaps. “The Militia is mine! He can’t take it away from me!”

Jake curses and slams Troy back on the bed. You jump back, surprised by Jake’s aggression as he gets in Troy’s face. “Of course he can! After what you pulled! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

You stare at Jake, realising you were missing something here. Troy merely stares at his big brother for a moment before his mouth curls in a snarl.

“There he is. Jeremiah Junior. You’re more like dad than you want people to see.”

You frown at that, sensing the tension building between them. Feeling something in Troy… something mixed in with his anger and resentment.

Sadness?

Pain?

You press a hand on Jake’s shoulder, your eyes set.

“Let me see to Troy. Go get some air.”

You knew he didn’t have to obey you. You had no authority and you were just a scrap of a thing yourself, barely recovered from almost dying of malnutrition and exposure. But Jake scoffed and stormed away, the flap to the tent whipping out dramatically around him. You look down at Troy.

“You wanna tell me what that was about.”

Troy grunts and relaxes slightly, his body still exuding tension.

“Just… brother stuff.”

“You can’t lie to me,” you sit down beside him again and gently boop his nose. “I can feel it.”

Troy raises an eyebrow, calling your bluff.

“Ok so maybe not exactly. But I can tell there’s something you’re hiding…”

Troy looks away from you, his expression difficult to read and his emotions even more so. It was like trying to grab hold of something in a wind tunnel, one feeling after the other flying around you. You couldn’t get a grip on what was going on. And yet all that betrayed his inner turmoil was the tension of his mouth and the narrowing of his eyes. You lean down and kiss his cheek, gently.

“Let me go and get a fresh bandage for your head. Then we can talk.”

Troy’s hand snaps out an grabs your own. Your left hand. His eyes travel up your arm and to your face as his thumb gently strokes your ring finger.

“You didn’t answer.” Troy says quietly.

You hesitate.

“I didn’t know if you meant it…”

Troy’s eyes fix on you and you feel your chest expand with emotion, all consuming, needy, desperate and wanting…

Troy’s feelings.

“I never say something I don’t mean.”

He tells you this as he tugs you closer. You lean over him, confused by his sudden change in mood. He’d gone from angrily cursing his father to… this. Looking at you like you were the last sip of water in the desert.

“I… Troy, is it something you really want?”

His eyes are glued on yours and you can tell he is also picking through your emotions. You chew your lip, hoping he won’t be offended by your reluctance. Your doubts. Because they weren’t about him. Not at all…

“What are you afraid of?” Troy asks as he tucks your hair behind your ear.

You take a long breath as you try and figure out how to answer.

“I just never thought marriage really mattered… especially with a soulmate. I’m already yours, right? And you’re mine?” You try not to think about Nick. About the confusing feeling in your heart and gut that you were desperately trying to suppress.

Troy regards you curiously for a moment and you focus on your feelings for him. The sense of safety and belonging he gives you. He seems to relax.

“You are. And I am.”

You smile.

“I’m not saying no… just… it doesn’t mean more to me than just being with you as we are. But if marriage is something you want, that you need… then I’ll say yes. Always yes, Troy.”

His face breaks into a smile you’d never seen on him before.

“You will?”

You could laugh at the sudden boyishness about him.

“Yes Troy. I will… or I do. Whatever it is people say now.”

You’re pulled down to kiss him, trying not to fall against him in his injured state but Troy doesn’t seem to care. He’s all wild tongue and teeth and hands in your hair, holding on tight as you try to keep from passing out from lack of air. Eventually he relents and you’re able to sit up, head spinning slightly.

“Whoa…”

He sniggers at your reaction.

“Still got it, even half-dead.”

You slap his chest playfully.

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” Troy’s expression softens as he looks at you, all flustered and pink cheeked now. “You’re beautiful, have I told you that before?”

You feel your cheeks colour, “You're concussed.”

Troy’s lips are a wonky smile.

"Yeah, but I'm right."

You shake your head and sigh.

"I am not arguing with an invalid."

Troy makes a face.

"Don't call me that. You might as well say I'm impotent."

You feel your cheeks flush, knowing he just doesn't like being injured and feeling like he wasn't useful. Troy seems to catch your embarrassment and his lips twitch.

"Something on your mind?"

You make sure to keep your expression blank when you reply.

"Of course not. Not at all. Why?"

"No reason. Except I can feel what your thinking."

You curse the bond you share for a moment before you remember what you had learned about your connection through The Pull.

"Troy... you know that this thing we share isn't... normal. Right?"

Troy watches you for a moment before shrugging.

"So?"

You look at him with surprise as he settled himself more comfortably on the bed, looking tired again.

"You knew?"

"I think we should talk about this later. Not here. Not now."

You nod.

"Okay..." You watch as Troy closes his eyes. "Are you in pain? Shall I get you something?"

He nods slowly, a hand reaching out for you. When you take it he tugs you toward him gently.

"Just... stay with me for a while."

You settle on the edge of the bed beside him as he lays with his eyes closed. After a few moments you start to softly run your hands through the curls on his head, pausing when he makes a noise in his throat. One eye opens and he smirks.

"Don't stop."

You smile back.

"Only because you're hurt. Don't expect me to be so nice all the time."

Troy chuckles as he tilts he head toward you more.

"Noted. I'll milk this moment for all its worth then. Do I get a sponge bath too?"

You're glad his eyes are closed as you feel your cheeks heat up. You tug his hair slightly harder as a warning for him not to get too cheeky. Troy grins.

"I like that."

Oh Jesus.

"Just.. get some rest."

"Yes, ma'am."

You sigh and continue to run your fingers through his hair until you're sure he's asleep. When he's breathing deeply you pause, looking around and listening for approaching footsteps. When you hear nothing you lean forward and rest your cheek on his chest, closing your own eyes and listening to the steady beat of his heart. The sound brings you comfort, a sense of calm. You close your eyes. This was where you belonged, no matter what was going on with Nick and The Pull. It must have been a fluke. A rare mistake somehow.

Troy was your soulmate.

This was home.

Right?

[silver-pieces]

prisoners

Pairing: Cassian Andor x fem!reader

Word Count: Almost 8.7k

Synopsis: You never expected to find your soulmate here.

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, smut (unprotected p in v sex, slight breeding kink), physical pain & trauma, depression, nightmares, prison, prison labour, open sea & dark water

A/N: For the prompt ‘Nightmare/Soulmark’ in Andor Bingo, created by @sw-andor​ This fic features major spoilers for Andor S1. Keef = Cassian. Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics​.

“What’s she doin’ ‘ere?”

“I think that’s obvious.”

“Yeah but, she’s a woman.”

“What do they care? Man, woman, we’re all just slaves - ”

“Oi! Table five.” Kino barks from behind you. He stalks over, meeting everyone’s eyes with a glare. “Is there a problem?”

“Yeh’ve given us a woman,” the redhead says. “No offence, love, but why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with the other birds?”

“Shut it,” Kino growls. “It doesn’t matter why she’s here. She is. Now stop wasting my time and get back to work. Unless you want to get fried.”

Your feet shift nervously at the memory. Hot, electric pain. Everyone else stiffens too, a shared sense of dread filling the sterile air.

He takes you by the shoulders and pushes you towards one of the men. “Keef.”

A man with dark hair and even darker eyes looks up at the sound of his name, his gaze falling on you as he pauses mid-crank.

Your lips part, and your gaze lingers on the sight of his sleeves rolled up, his arms tensing with each push so hard, that, in any other circumstance, you might find it appealing.

“Show her the ropes.” Kino lowers his voice to a menacing growl. “And make sure she understands what’s at stake.”

The man gives him a subtle nod.

“You’re down four now, boys,” Kino says, his gaze shifting to you, “... and girl. No more distractions. Let’s get this done!”

They get back to work - a synchronised effort that you struggle to follow, only adding to the chaos happening around you. There are lasers and cranks and drills and pieces of machinery that they have to manually fit together. And the sounds are overwhelming - hardened voices overlapping with the whirring and clanking of the machines.

“I’m Jemboc,” the older one next to Keef says. “This is Ham, Xaul, Melshi, and Taga.” He goes around the table, pointing at each one.

You say your name in return, but it comes out feeble, your throat still not working properly. Xaul, the redhead, pins you with a look. Melshi mutters something to himself, shaking his head.

“Here,” Keef grunts to get your attention, beckoning you to his side. There's a lilt to his voice that pleases your ears. “Watch what I do closely. You have to pull your weight around here, or we all get fried, you understand?”

You manage to nod.

He removes the crank from the machinery and sets it aside, his hands moving deftly from one task to the next. You’re drawn to his hands, the display of skill and strength sending heat down your spine. His brows are lowered, his gaze focused.

Each part requires something different - to pull, crank, lift, reach, press, load. It's heavy labour, but he proves himself more than capable.

"It's easy once you get into the swing of things," Jemboc's voice taking you out of your trance as he steps beside you.

"Right.” You’re not sure you want to get into the swing of things.

The older man frowns at you, but there's a kindness in his eyes.

"Are you getting it?" Keef growls to you as he lifts his hands and backs away from the table.

You nod.

He draws near and ducks his head down, a patient look in his eyes. "Any questions, you can just ask me."

Your heart flutters. Heat rises to your face, though you're not sure why. "Thanks."

With a nod, he turns back to the table and starts loading alongside the others, letting you stand by his side and watch.

No more words are exchanged apart from the occasional barked order from the others - push!, lift!, and hands away!

They get more frantic as time passes. Kino calls something out and your table groans in response.

You realise that they're falling behind.

Get back to work. Unless you want to get fried. Shit. There is no way you're taking that punishment again if you can help it.

Stomach in knots, you step up beside Keef. "I've seen enough, let me help."

He eyes you, a muscle feathering in his jaw, before handing you the crank. As your hand closes around it, he mutters, "Be careful."

A shiver runs down your spine. His voice is low and smooth and it does something to your body that momentarily distracts you from this hell.

Hesitantly, you take the crank from his grip and fasten it to the piece of machinery.

"Table five, your productivity levels are unacceptable. Proceed to the centre of the room and remain on program."

The soles of your feet tingle with each step on the floor. Your head is spinning, heart pounding, mouth drier than a desert.

The others at your table stand with you in the centre of the floor. For a second, you allow yourself a glance over at Keef.

He’s staring straight forward, a dead look in his eyes, but the tiniest shuddering expanse of his chest betrays his fear.

You close your eyes and wait.

No no no no no no no no no -

It slices through your body and your muscles seize with pain. A cry escapes your lips. Your knee hits the floor painfully hard as your legs give way, and the cries of the others violates your ears, inescapable.

It's over in seconds, but it feels like hours.

Your lungs draw ragged breaths. Tears leak from your eyes, and you wipe them away before anyone sees.

Stand. The others are already getting up - you need to follow, quickly, before they decide to punish you again. But your legs are too weak.

A familiar outstretched hand enters your vision.

Your gaze trails up the veins in his forearm, to the sleeves bunched up over his biceps. "Come on," Keef urges softly. "You have to get up."

With all your willpower, you reach up and grab him by the forearm, his hand closing around the inner side of your forearm, bracing you there to help you up.

"Ah!" you hiss, pulling away as a sudden burning sensation flares where his hand touches you.

“Shit!” He grits out, exchanging a confused look with you, and then looks down at his own arm, where you touched him.

Your breath halts as you see it - the symbol burned into your skin, on the inner side of your upper forearm. It’s a simple slashing of lines, but the meaning it carries is far more significant - a soulmark.

He’s staring at the same symbol on his own skin in stunned silence.

“Keef,” you breathe.

Then the deep warped voice of the prison interrupts.

“Prisoners on program. Proceed to your quarters.”

He takes one frantic look at you, and then turns his head forward, following the prison directive and raising his hands behind his head on program. The sleeve, you noticed, he pulls down to hide the mark.

You quickly do the same, assuming the position, even though every fibre of your being is flooded with shock.

As you file through the doors with the others, you can barely hear anything over the pounding of your own ears. Your mind struggles to make sense of what just happened, let alone process everything else that’s happened to you in the last twenty-four hours.

Keef falls in line behind you.

Instantly, you feel his eyes on you, the heat prickling at the back of your neck.

The line of prisoners shuffles along through a long corridor, passing the night shift, stopping and starting up again until you're at your quarters.

"Jemboc, give her the orientation," Kino directs the older man, before leaving you behind to deal with another group of men.

Jemboc turns to you. "Come on, I'll show you your cell."

As he takes you down through the hallway, you see Keef emerge out of the corner of your eye, and when he reaches his own cell, so do you. Directly opposite from each other.

Your eyes meet.

Stars. Finding a soulmate is rare, practically unheard of for most. But he’s here, and the mark is burned into your flesh, still throbbing with fresh pain as you run your fingers over it.

Jemboc starts explaining what the lights on the floor mean, but you can’t seem to take your eyes off of Keef, raking your gaze over his tense form, brown hair mussed and grown out, dark eyes you could lose yourself in, even as you listen to Jemboc listing all the various rules.

“You understand?” Jemboc asks you.

Not really. “Yes,” you reply with a nod, dragging your eyes away.

“What are you in for, anyway?”

“Loitering.” You’ve grown numb to the anger.

“I see.” Jemboc pats you on the shoulder. “You’ll be okay, sister. We all will be, soon.”

“Hey!” The bark of another prisoner cuts him off.

It’s Xaul, pushing past the others, stalking towards you with a deadly glare.

You take a step back on instinct, and Jemboc folds his arms defensively, but it’s Keef who gets in his way.

With a growl, he pushes off the wall, getting in Xaul’s face before he can reach you. “What’s your problem, huh?” he growls. “You’re scaring her.”

Xaul growls, jabs his finger in your direction, and shifts his glare to Jemboc. “Not her.”

They exchange unreadable glances.

Jemboc scowls and takes him by the shoulder, leading him out of earshot from you. The two of them begin talking in low, urgent tones, Xaul shooting you another glare.

Your hands curl into fists at your side.

Hesitantly, Keef turns to you, his head ducked low in sincerity. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice coming out softer than you’ve heard before.

“No,” you say, even as warmth fills you at the concern in his devastatingly brown eyes. Stars, but the sight of him pleases you. “I think we need to talk.”

“Agreed,” he nods, holding his forearm with his other hand, his eyes briefly glancing down, “but we don’t have the time or the privacy in here.”

You draw nearer. “How long is left on your sentence?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “That doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I don’t understand.”

His eyes dart to Xaul and Jemboc. “I wish I could tell you. I - ” he cuts himself off as the floor lights start flashing.

In seconds, the hall clears as the rest of the inmates scramble to get into their cells. Keef pushes you towards yours. “Go.”

With his push, you step up into your cell before the lights can turn red. What was it Jemboc said? Seven seconds when the lights start flashing, then they turn red. And if you’re caught in the red light, you die.

On instinct, you turn back around to see Keef again.

Your soulmate.

He stands in his cell across from you, an unreadable expression on his face, his mouth in a grim line, as the lights begin to dim.

The floor lights turn red a second later.

There is no way to get to him now, and no way of talking across the hall without everyone in the surrounding cells hearing you. That’s not an option.

He lingers at the edge of his cell, and so do you, for a time, struggling with this new feeling inside you - this urge, compelling you towards him. Even if you don’t know him yet, you want to.

So you’re paralysed in silence; staring at each other across several feet of deadly flooring.

The murmurs of the other inmates eventually peter out, and as the snoring starts to rise, you feel your eyes growing heavy.

You curse beneath your breath.

Keef must hear it, because he raises his chin and nods in understanding, retreating from the edge of his cell and into darkness.

Grimly, you turn away from him, towards your bunk.

They're everywhere. They're watching you. They know what you've done. You're going to be punished -

You wake up in a cold sweat, gasping for air.

"Hey, hey, breathe." Keef's hushed voice carries across the cell.

Your eyes dart around until you see him, a broad mass in the shadows, sitting on the edge of his bunk across the way.

The soft sound of the other men snoring in their cells settles over the silence.

"It was just a nightmare," he whispers across the corridor. "I'm right here."

You blink back tears, and push yourself up by your elbows. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I couldn’t sleep.”

You run your hand down over your face. There’s been a lot of that lately.

A few shifts in, you found yourself staring at the ceiling of your cell counting the seconds going by, running your fingers over the soulmark on your arm, unable to stop thinking about him.

You’ve memorised his form and features with almost no effort - the cut of his jawline, occasionally peppered with stubble if he hasn’t shaved, being your latest obsession.

And you can feel when he looks at you, too. Devouring glances out of the corner of your eye that set your cheeks aflame.

It’s like your body is on high alert at all times. Working alongside him throughout the day, barely able to exchange a few words without anyone overhearing, passing by each other, brushing past each other so close your skin hair raises, but not touching, never touching, just savouring the few small moments in his presence and then trying to go to sleep every night knowing he is a only few feet away from you.

But it’s worse, somehow, when you do manage to turn your brain off. That’s when the nightmares come.

It’s relentless and repetitive; nothing but the Empire and memories of pain, torturing you through your sleep.

Keef’s been developing shadows beneath his eyes as well. You wish you could talk to him about it, but he doesn’t seem to want anyone else to know about your soulmarks, and shit, neither do you. It's hard enough to even admit to yourself, let alone have the others staring at you, judging you more than they already do for being the only woman here.

And if the prison ever found out, they could take you away from each other. Your gut clenches at the thought.

Fuck. Trying to drag your emotions out of the gutter before you break is becoming harder everyday. The weight on your shoulders is crushing you, and you can’t see any light at the end of this tunnel.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” you confess, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He stands, coming to the edge of his cell in the low, red lighting. “Don’t say that,” he whispers. “Don’t let them break you.”

You fiddle with your mattress. Don’t let them break you? They already are, and it isn’t your choice.

“Listen to me,” he says, raising his voice to a low growl.

You look up at him, drawing in a shaky breath.

“You had a nightmare, but you woke up from it.” The urgency in his baritone voice calls to you, and you stand, approaching the edge of your cell as he continues. “That’s all this place is. It’s a nightmare. You don’t realise it while you’re inside, but you’re in control. All you have to do is wake up.”

“What are you saying?”

He meets your gaze, an intense, unreadable look in his eyes. “I'm saying, hold on. Just a little while longer. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” you breathe, before you realise what you’re saying. You blink and look away from him, frowning. “I can.”

His words paint a picture in your mind, one of you, years from now, out of here. On some beach planet or forest town, enjoying the sun on your face. This place, a distant memory in the back of your mind.

Just a nightmare.

A slight smile finds its way onto your face at the thought. You meet Keef’s gaze again, the fierceness in his eyes amplified by the red of the floor, and nod in gratitude.

“I’ll try.”

His shoulders relax slightly, and he nods. “That’s all we can do.”

You sleep.

There’s a warmth in you when you wake, a buzz from the memory of last night. That was the longest conversation you’ve had yet, and even if you couldn’t talk openly, it still felt real.

When you first open your eyes, you’re drawn to his cell on instinct, drinking in the sight of him every chance you can get.

But it’s like he hasn’t moved all night. He’s leaning one shoulder against the wall at the edge of his cell, arms still folded, and he’s staring at you, his dark brows furrowed, the slight stubble peppering his clenched jaw telling you he hasn’t shaved since yesterday. Movement draws your gaze to his arm, where his knuckles shift back and forth, running over that small mark on his arm.

Heat slowly rises to your face.

The floor is still red. The others are awake too, the few you can see from your cell having breakfast or pacing around their small cell. The slight murmur of muted voices blending together.

“Did you sleep?” you ask him.

He gives the subtlest shake of his head.

Your heart sinks.

It’s not just being around him that you can’t bear, it’s also seeing him suffer and not being able to help. You have to keep holding back these strange, rising urges to comfort him. It doesn’t help that he has those big, soulful brown eyes that could melt you down into the cracks of the floor.

You’re not in love, but he matters to you more with each passing day, and that feeling is killing you.

Damn, you thought you’d grown numb to everything, but suddenly the despair is back with a vengeance, and you have to look away to blink back sudden tears.

“Hey,” he calls to you. “You okay?”

Shaking your head, you blow out a breath and chant in your head, don’t break, don’t let them get to you.

He curses, and then he’s pushing of the wall to pace his cell. His shoulders tense with each breath.

You draw near the edge of your cell, watching him try to walk out the tension in his body, your heart caught between desire and despair.

It’s a vicious cycle of suffering between the two of you.

Then the floor lights shift from red to white.

“On program!” Kino calls out.

Prisoners load out of their cells, slowly getting into their line with murmurs and sluggishness.

Keef is already on the floor when you tentatively step down, enduring that moment before your feet touch the metal with your heart in your throat every time. White lights means it’s safe, but -

He approaches you suddenly, closing his hand around the nape of your neck, tipping his forehead against yours. Warm electricity floods through your veins and over your skin at his touch.

“Keef,” you stutter out, shocked at his public display, even as you sink further into his touch. The sounds of shock and angry voices from the men around you start kicking off, but you ignore them.

“Please,” he breathes, his forehead pressed firmly against yours, his face inches away, “it’s killing me. I know you’re scared - I know. What can I do?”

You shake your head. “I - ”

“What the fuck are you two doing?”

Kino.

You pull him off you and step away.

He shudders at your touch, and you realise with a jolt that you took his arm right at the soulmark. For a brief moment, he cradles his arm, before Kino approaches and the two of you join the others in line.

“Hm?” The man raises his eyebrow at the both of you. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“It was nothing,” Keef responds. “Just making sure she’s okay.”

Kino glances at you, an unreadable look on his face. “Are you?”

“I’m fine,” you say, but even you can hear the shakiness in your own voice.

He blinks, searching your gaze. Then he grabs Keef by the arm and leans in to whisper something in his ear.

As Keef listens, he sets his eyes on you, before giving Kino a firm nod.

Apparently satisfied, the older man steps away and raises his voice to the rest of the men.

“Time to face another day. Everyone, move.”

As you begin walking forward, you turn your head to whisper back to him, “what was that?”

“Don’t worry,” Keef whispers. “He’s on our side.”

The tension is high at table five.

“I don’t think they should be next to each other today,” says Taga, eyes darting nervously between the two of you.

“Why?” Keef growls.

“Does he really have to say why?” Xaul interrupts. “You like her.”

“It could be a distraction,” Ham mutters.

“No.” Keef glares. “She stays by my side. Kino’s orders.”

“Oh, ‘Kino’s orders’? Fuck that. We don’t want to get fried 'cuz of you,” Xaul growls.

Keef turns his ire on Xaul. "And when was the last time that happened? If memory serves, not since she started here, under my guidance."

A mutter goes around the table.

"Table five, get moving," Kino warns as he passes by.

"Let's get this done," Keef growls, and that's the end of the discussion.

The next days feel different, and the same.

You try to hold on, like you promised him, but the nightmares and the sleepless nights are getting worse.

You touched each other for the second time ever, felt the warmth of his hands on you, breathed the same air, the memory of seeing the depths of darkness in his brown eyes up close is carved into your mind, and now the yearning inside of you has developed; a deep ache in your bones.

The others can sense something more is up between you. You feel their eyes follow you; but you can't bring yourself to care whether they notice the way he always rushes to your aid, or the soft exchanges of words, or the way the two of you never move too far apart. You can't fight this growing need to be around him. You're soulmates. Whatever that means.

"Doctor! We need the doctor!"

Your ears prick at the commotion at table two. Everyone keeps working, but out of the corner of your eye you watch as Kino goes over to investigate.

"Is it another panic attack?"

You push down on the drill.

"...he's not breathin'"

You lift it up and inspect the results.

"Shit. I’ll call the doctor."

Your table begins to lift the cog off the table to load it on the rack. You step away, watching them move. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the man keeled over on the floor.

A little bit of your soul cracks.

Keef returns to your side, and it’s brief, but his arm brushes against yours.

He doesn’t even need to say anything - you meet his brown-eyed gaze and all the hurt in your lungs evaporates.

“Unit Five-Two-D on program.”

He flicks his gaze up to the entrance, a gleam in his eyes.

You put your hands behind your head and turn to face them as the doctor is lowered onto the floor.

The man is dead.

There’s a strange anticipation in the air, like the way the air gets dry before a storm hits.

You watch them carry the man away in a bodybag. You catch Xaul and Jemboc exchanging a look. You catch the way Kino nods subtly to Keef as he walks past.

Everyone goes silently to their quarters - not even a whisper.

“Fall out!” Kino yells.

You turn to Keef. “What is going on?”

He pulls you aside, leaning in with his voice down low. “Do you trust me?”

“Why?”

“Tomorrow, whatever Kino says, I want you to follow immediately. No hesitation. You understand?”

“What - ”

“I can’t explain. I wish I could, but - ” His eyes catch on someone over your shoulder, and his mouth closes in a grim line.

You glance back and see Xaul, watching from a distance, arms folded, jaw tense. He’s never seemed to trust you, and you don’t blame him, but the way he watches you at all times is hard to get comfortable with.

“I don’t understand,” you turn back to your soulmate and search his eyes, “but... I trust you.”

An unreadable expression flashes in his eyes, and then everything is swept away as he takes you by the waist, cups your chin, and sweeps you into a gentle kiss.

For a nanosecond you freeze, before the rush of adrenaline fills your veins and you melt against his lips. The soulmark pulses on your arm, and the most amazing feeling overtakes you, of drifting high up in the clouds and watching the sun rise. You pull him closer, threading your fingers through his hair. The bristle of his five-o’clock shadow makes itself known with each movement, desire pooling in your core as you move your body against his. He feels so real, solid and alive, and it’s breathtaking.

The sounds of the world around you only vaguely registers in your head. Men, shouting at you.

Fuck them. Nothing else matters. You’re in the arms of your soulmate and you never want to leave again.

Then one voice, Kino’s, pierces through your haze. “Oi! The floor!”

Your eyes fly open as Keef breaks off the kiss and pushes you towards your cell with a growl.

You barely have time to react. Between the flashing lights, you lunge for the safe zone, leaping up into it seconds before the place is bathed in red.

“Fuck!”

You turn around.

He stands in his cell across from you, panting, his hair mussed from your attention. His eyes are wild, staring at you like he’s waiting for you to drop dead.

The instinct to reassure him overwhelms you. “I’m okay,” you say, stepping away from the edge. “I made it.”

He closes his eyes, running a palm over his mouth, and his shoulders rise and fall with a deep, shuddering breath.

You look down at your soulmark. That heightened feeling is fading, fast, each second you’re not back in his arms. A vision enters your head, of you, throwing yourself across the hall, even though you know that ends in death.

“You two lovebirds have a death wish?” Kino yells from his cell.

Shit.

“I told you they were distracting each other.”

“Gonna get us killed.”

Murmurs ripple down the hall. Heads, poking out of their cells.

Keef shakes his head, eyes swimming with anger. His voice is low, but you still hear it above the din. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken that risk.”

His words should fill you with regret, but a part of you, a small, stubborn part, thinks that maybe it was worth it anyway, just to touch him again, to feel his arms around you, the dominance of his kiss.

You close your eyes, a hand going to your mouth on instinct, fingertips trailing where he had his mouth on yours.

“Enough!”

Kino’s bark gets everyone’s attention instantly. The chatter dies down.

You open your eyes, and Keef is staring at you, a hungry look in his eyes. Heat rises to your face.

“Everyone knows what the plan is. Yes?”

Mumbles of men in agreement echo through the hall. You tilt your head, trying to discern any information you can, but pick up nothing. Nothing except that Keef looking towards Kino’s cell with fire in his eyes - tense, almost like hope, but darker.

Anger.

“Good. Now’s the time to rest. Tomorrow, we fight.”

A chill runs down your spine.

He’s shirtless in the morning.

Instantly pushing yourself up, your gaze locked on his chest, his stomach v, his arms, you catch his attention with the sudden movement.

He snaps his gaze to yours, pausing mid-stretch. His arm pulled across his chest, braced against his other arm to stretch his shoulder, the ropes of his biceps on full display for you.

“Hi,” you say.

Your swear his mouth curves just slightly, a twitch in his face, and he nods at you.

“Hi.”

All the blood in your body has left your brain. You continue to stare at him like an idiot while he does some basic stretches, before the lights flick to white, and Kino yells his daily on program! while Keef slides his shirt back on.

You fall in line in front of him.

He stands closer to you than normal, pressing his up front against you, his breath fanning against the back of your head as he leans in. His lilting voice sounds lowly in your ear, a lilting, baritone sound. “Remember what I said?”

Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation. “F-Follow Kino,” you manage to stutter out.

He hums in approval. “Good girl.”

Your thighs clench together.

He’s getting more bold in front of the others, more playful, and you can’t help but feel excited and nervous by the shift. Why has he stopped hiding?

The line starts moving forward, and you follow the person in front of you to the showers as normal, trying to focus on anything but what he just said.

He thinks there’s a chance you could both escape, you think, and then immediately regret that line of thinking. But it’s too late. That future you imagined - the one that he planted in your mind with his words, shifts, and suddenly he’s there beside you in each vision, relaxing, laughing, grinning like an idiot.

Fuck.

The shift begins, the men exchanging knowing glances that have anticipation and dread growing in your belly. You know what this is by now, you’ve put the pieces together despite their weird reluctance in telling you.

This escape plan is really happening.

The new prisoner arrives shortly after your shift begins, and when Keef returns from the bathroom soaking wet, you barely have time to react before shit hits the fan.

Obeying Kino’s orders, you watch as together the other prisoners hijack the lift and short out the entire system - no more hot floor.

As he reaches the top, Keef turns back to pin you with a wild, furious look in his eyes that fills you with fire. He jerks his head for you to follow him.

So you do.

You climb. You run. You follow.

A guard catches you and tries to pull you away, but Keef is there in a flash of red and the smell of burning flesh, grabbing you by the hand and telling you to run as the man slumps to the ground.

The loading platform ends in a sheer drop to the sea. Your stomach drops as you pull back, glancing around as others begin to jump.

This is insane.

“I can’t swim!”

You barely hear Kino say it over the sound of the wind and the other prisoners, but then he says it again, and there is no doubt.

You step up beside him. “Me neither.”

Keef stares at you in shock.

And then he’s gone.

One of the men drags him off the edge by accident, and a shriek escapes you. “No!” but you can only watch as he disappears from sight.

A second goes by, then two. More men rush past.

There's nothing but the sound of blood pumping in your ears. No matter which way you think about it, if you follow, you're dead. There's no way you can swim that far, and if Keef tries to help you, he'll probably just die with you.

You fall to your knees.

Others race past you still, flinging themselves off the edge one by one. Kino stands by your side, watching them with an empty gaze.

“What do we do now?” you ask, and find yourself subconsciously cradling your arm, the soulmark on it beginning to throb painfully. Follow Kino, he said, but you’re not sure Kino has any moves left. There’s none you can see; no way to survive.

Maybe you should just jump anyway and let fate decide.

“Nothing.” Kino looks down at the gun in his hand. “We’re going out, one way or another.”

You nod and take in a deep breath of salty ocean air. “Agreed.”

He says nothing.

“Ah!” Your soulmark throbs again, and you grip your arm, hissing through your teeth. “Fuck off!”

“Sorry?” Kino growls.

"It’s uh,” you pull back your sleeve to him, “my soulmark.”

He blinks. “Damn. Keef?”

“Yeah.”

“That explains you two then.” He nods, casting his gaze out to sea. “I... I have a family.”

You peer up at him.

“I just wanted to see them again.” He looks down at the gun in his hands again.

“At least you know you tried,” you offer. “Sometimes...” Keef’s words ring true, pouring from your lips even as you hear the memory of his words spoken in your mind. “...that’s all we can do.”

The two of you linger in silence. Below you, the forms of men swimming away from the prison spread out, reaching towards the horizon. The soulmark on your arm is aching something fierce now, calling you to the edge. But it’s the realisation that Keef must be feeling this pain too, that hurts even more.

You hope he is trying anyway, down there, despite the pain.

He’s probably thinking the same thing about you.

Damn.

You stand. “Give me the gun.”

Kino hands it to you without even looking, his eyes remaining fixed on the horizon.

You turn around, facing the inside of the prison, and point the gun at one of the panels of the wall. The sound of the blast almost deafens you.

The panels sizzle where the blast hit, but as you approach, you can see them peeling away from each other at the seam. Without hesitation, you wedge the barrel of the gun in the hole, and with all your strength, try to peel the panel off the wall.

“What are you doing?” Kino growls.

You glance back at him with a half-cocked shrug.

“Finding something that floats.”

Wet.

Cassian’s fingers close around sand. His lungs are on fire, exacerbated by the stinging salt he inhales with each breath. Everything hurts.

A shadow relieves him from the sun. He looks up and for a moment, it’s you, the beautiful image of you reaching down for him tilting this world on its axis. Then he blinks, and Melshi comes into focus.

“We need to disappear,” he’s saying, scanning their surroundings.

Cassian tries to push himself up, but there’s a terrible ache emanating from his soulmark. It was easy to ignore in the sea - everything hurt. But now it spreads through his body, an urging like no other to wade back out into the dark waves - to go back for you.

He wants to punch the man who tackled him off the edge. Whoever it was. But as soon as he hit the water, swimming was the only way to survive.

“Did ya hear me? Keef?”

With a grunt, Cassian sits up and brushes off his hands, wincing when his arm throbs with the movement. “Did anyone else make it?”

Melshi squints. “If they did, they didn’t follow us.”

Yeah, that’s what he thought. Even if, by some miracle, you did make it, you could be miles apart, with no way of finding each other.

It would be enough to know that you survived, but he’s never been that lucky. No. He thinks of you, of your tentatively hopeful expressions that get him through the day, that beautifully trusting look in your eyes right before he kissed you, and has to tilt his head back to prevent his eyes from watering.

His soulmate. Dead.

He thought that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance he could save you.

“Keef.” Melshi stoops down beside him. “We have to move.”

“What do you know about soulmarks?” he murmurs.

Melshi sighs. “You’re dehydrated, mate. C’mon.” He goes to lift him up.

“No - no!” Cassian resists, pushing Melshi away and scrambling to his feet. He shoves back his sleeve and bares his soulmark. “I need to know! I need to...” He cuts himself off with a grimace as pain pulses through the mark.

Melshi stares at the mark, wide-eyed. “No shit. The girl?”

Cassian can only nod. “She doesn’t even know - my real name.” He chokes the words out past tears. “I thought I could save her. But she’s... she’s probably dead by now.” It feels like he’s separated from his body, like someone else is saying these things.

“Wouldn’t you know?”

Cassian stills. “What do you mean?”

Melshi hesitates.

“What do you mean?!” He grips at his hair, heart thudding in his chest so hard it might burst. “How would I know?!”

“I don’t know! It was just a story, back home - people said the marks are like homing beacons. So if she’s dead, your mark would... stop working.” He cringes, muttering, “it sounds stupid when I say it like that.”

Cassian looks down at it the throbbing, aching mark. He focuses on it, and - there - the throbbing pulls towards the sea.

He looks out at the waves. “She’s alive.”

His legs carry him forward, back into the sea. The sound of Melshi yelling behind him is a distant worry over the beating of his own heart, the very blood in his veins burning to get to you.

Then arms close around him, pulling him back. “You’re insane!”

He snarls and shoves Melshi back. “Get off me!”

“You’ll die!”

“I have to go back!”

Melshi lets him go. “Okay okay, just - just think about this! You’re no use to her dead.”

“You don’t get it. You don’t understand. If she’s alive - ”

“If she’s still alive, she’ll need more than just one man swimming out to rescue her!” His gaze darts down. “Is it getting better or worse?”

“What?”

He points to Cassian’s soulmark. “It’s painful, right? Is it getting worse?”

Cassian looks down at it. “It’s been about the same for a while now.” Fucking painful, but, “...maybe a little less than before. I don’t know!”

Melshi nods. “So she could be getting closer.”

“If that is how it works.” Instinct - the mark - tells him it does, but the panic in his chest won’t go away. He needs to see you. “So what do I do then? Wait around for her to find me? She can’t swim, so how - ”

“I don’t care!” Melshi interrupts. "But if you don’t return to shore with me, I will knock you unconscious and drag you back.” There’s a deadly serious look in the man’s eyes.

The ache within him isn’t going away. He’s not sure how much more he can take. But Melshi is right - it would be a death wish to swim back.

The prison is a blip on the horizon. Could you have really made it, somehow?

Melshi eyes him aggressively, waiting for him to make a move.

Cassian raises an eyebrow. “You really care about me that much?”

“You’ve been a bloody pain in my arse, but you were instrumental in our escape, so I figure I owe ya.”

With a nod, he looks back towards land, skimming his fingers over the waist-high water. “We wait here then.”

“They’ll be sending ships looking for us.”

“I won’t go any farther inland.”

Melshi shakes his head. “Fine.” With a splash, he begins wading toward the shore. “Then we’d better find some shelter for the night.”

It’s midnight. Probably, anyway. Cassian has no sense of time here, except that it's been dark for a while.

He sits with his face tilted up to the stars. The sea breeze is a cool rush of air, swaying the tree above and rustling his hair across his face.

He needs a haircut again.

The mark on his arm has steadied to a slow, aching pulse every few seconds, nothing more than the sensation of a mending bruise.

Melshi is right - he can feel it in his veins that you're getting close.

So he's waiting.

Sleep will not come to him tonight. Like you, it eludes him, and in its place, the unnatural sense that something is missing.

It's subtle, at first. A crashing of waves that don't fit the slow, steady beat he's been listening to all night.

Then, the sound of voices out there. A man's, deep and grating, and yours.

He'd recognise it anywhere.

He peers around the tree, out towards the sea, and sees a shape floating on the water.

“Melshi.” He hisses his companion’s name, getting up. “Melshi! It's them.”

“Huh,” Melshi starts, half awake.

“It’s them. I’m going to get her.”

He groans, shifting his arms up to cover his face. “They’re actually here? Wha’ are the chances? How?”

“I don’t know.” Breathless, Cassian turns toward the sea, towards the place his soulmark has been calling him towards all night. “But I’m going to find out. Come on.”

He runs to the water.

Sand sprays beneath his feet, then water splashes, and then he’s wading, then swimming, towards it. The shape blotting out the stars on the horizon morphs into two silhouettes sitting on some kind of raft. They’re slowly paddling their way towards the shore.

Cassian wants to weep with joy when he hears their voices - first Kino, then you.

“Is that - ”

“Keef? Keef!” you cry out, your voice hoarse.

His palm collides with the raft - a smooth white panel, and there you are, sitting on one side with a salt-streaked, wind-struck, beautiful face, staring down at him in wonder.

“Well shit,” Kino croaks, glancing at you. “You were right.”

Your hand rests over your soulmark as you stare down at Cassian.

Stars. There is so much he wants to say, but none of it seems like enough for this moment. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off you - he can’t.

But as the waves gently rise and fall, Kino clears his throat pointedly. “Much as I love being surrounded by water...”

“Right, right.” Cassian grabs hold of the panel. “I’ll take you to shore.”

The soft strokes of the sea abuts his efforts as he pulls the raft behind him, until the sea floor shallows out and he can put his feet beneath him.

“You should be good now. You can stand,” he says, instantly returning to your side of the raft. “Melshi’s with me, on the shore.”

Kino nods, sliding off the edge. “We should bury the panel.”

“Agreed.”

You hesitantly dip your legs in the water, and Cassian places his hands on your waist ready to help you down. “I’ve got you.”

In the darkness he can barely see your face, but he could swear there’s a heat reflected in your eyes.

It feels good, coming to you aid on instinct. Putting his hands on you.

As he holds you steady, you gently slip off the edge of the raft and collide against him with an oof as you land.

Despite his exhaustion, his shaft hardens. To go from be denied his soulmate for so long, to this...

“Here,” he says, roughly pushing the panel towards Kino, his eyes never leaving your face. “Go see Melshi. We’ll catch up.”

The man grunts something, and begins to wade to shore with the panel, and then he’s forgotten as Cassian is drawn back to you on instinct.

His arms tighten around your waist, and he opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He’s struck.

You cup his face, gaze flitting between his eyes and his mouth, your breaths mingling, and then suddenly he’s pressing his mouth against yours.

You let out a cute little gasp against him, and his chest flutters, as you yield to him.

Yes. He burns with the rightness of this moment, and yet braces you against him as he deepens the kiss, like he’s afraid you’re going to slip away. He doesn’t quite believe you’re real yet.

Your fingers dig into his hair, and he likes it, the way you pull him into you with the same hunger and desperation he’s feeling.

“Cassian,” he breathes suddenly, pulling back for a moment, his forehead pressed against yours. “My real name is Cassian.”

“Cassian,” you repeat, and then your mouth curves into a smile - a fucking smile.

He almost groans. His soulmark pulses warmly against you. “You’re alive.”

“Yes,” you breathe, nodding against him.

“You’re my soulmate.”

You nod again, clinging tight to him. “Yes.”

A low, reverent chuckle escapes him, and you let out a light giggle in response; together relishing in the intimacy of this moment.

And then you cant your hips, and his laugh turns into a groan, a new kind of bliss making itself known in the hardening of his length beneath his pants. He thinks he’s never seen anything as beautiful as the look in your eyes. Full of passion - a beautiful, twisting flame, but also, understanding. You barely know each other, and yet it’s like your souls know each other intimately; bound together by something greater than either of you can fathom.

With a swift motion, he sweeps your legs out from underneath you and hitches your thighs around his waist so you're floating in the water, anchored in place by him alone.

You press yourself into him, arching your back and leaning forward to brush your lips against his.

He kisses you with all the fervour and unfulfilled need building inside him. His hands come around your ass and dig in, tugging your crotch against him so you can feel his hardness.

Another heady, submissive gasp escapes you against his mouth, and when your legs open further to let him settle against you, he's done for.

“I know you’re probably tired,” he murmurs, “and we should probably get to shore, but I...”

You're nodding before he even finishes the sentence, making his heart soar with the needy look in your eyes. “Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, yes, please, Cassian, please.”

With a breathless laugh, he drops your thighs and takes you by the waistband of your pants instead.

Together, you work to pull it off of you. It’s awkward, messy, not how he imagined this going, but it doesn’t matter. The mood is playful as you struggle to pull your pants off beneath the water - you, bracing yourself on his shoulders, and him, trying to pull it off your legs and getting splashed in the process.

But then suddenly you’re fully naked from the waist down, and your laughter quietens as you draw close to each other again.

He can’t see your naked lower half beneath the dark water, but he can feel when you wrap your legs around him again.

Slowly, he places his hand on your bare thigh, treating the moment with all the reverence of a ritual, his soulmark tingling in anticipation and sending a shudder through his body.

With his other hand, he cups your face, searching your gaze.

“I’m clean.”

“Same.”

“Birth control?”

Something like pain flickers in your eyes, and you shake your head. “Not since... before.”

“Right. Of course.”

He hesitates.

The two of you just escaped prison, and if he’s learnt anything, this is not the kind of galaxy he wants to risk bringing a child into. He’s not even sure if he’ll survive tomorrow.

“What do you want to do then?”

“We could die tomorrow.” You shift in his arms, pulling yourself flush against him until his hardness presses firmly between you. “Fuck it.”

He tilts his head, a slight grin curling on his face. Stars, when you say it like that... With a clench of his jaw, he pulls you down slowly and impales you on his hardness.

His head falls back. You’re fucking tight. A raw, incredulous groan rises from his throat.

Your reaction has his head spinning - fingers winding through his grown-out hair and pulling desperately against him. He loves little hiss you make.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes flutter open to meet his gaze and his seed almost spills, only holding himself back with the barest restraint. Must savour this moment. Finally being inside you - his soulmate.

He pulls you in for a hungry kiss. Heat rises between your bodies as you give yourself over to his touch, opening your mouth into his kiss and arching your back for him.

It’s too much. Unable to stop himself, his hands grip you by your thighs and he fully impales you, forcing your tight, inner channel muscles to give way and let his shaft thrust full inside you.

You brace his shoulders and writhe in pleasure. “Oh, Cassian, please, m-move - ”

That’s all he hears before his instincts take over, and he uses all his strength to thrust, desperate to wedge himself so far inside you he’ll never leave.

He plants his feet on the sea floor and braces you against him as you cant your hips for him. Your bodies are working overtime to create that toe-curling friction, thrusting into each other with bruising force, the waves splashing and breaking over your entwined forms.

Your mouths clash in a tangle of heated, desperate kisses that burn him from within. The tension is pulled taut between you, soulmarks thrumming in time with each other as you desperately unite your bodies as one.

He rocks his hips up between your open legs and hits home harder and harder with each slosh of the water. His hands grip you by the back of your shirt, fingers scrambling against the fabric to pull your body down as hard as he can.

Your head lols back in the water, a gasp escaping your throat. “Cassian! Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop - oh!”

He grunts in approval. His hunger for you grows, seeing you so vulnerable like this for him, desperate to hold out as long as he can to pleasure you. His thrusts grow even more frantic and sloppy - a fast, brutal jerking rhythm of pounding up into your cunt.

“My hope,” he murmurs in Kenari, barely hanging on to his sanity. “Better than anything I’d ever dreamt of.” He drinks in the sight of you, wet and vulnerable and all his, and his hardness gives a heady warning pulse of heat. He groans. “You’re everything. You’re mine.”

You let out a whimper in his arms, and then you’re tensing, your thighs, clenching around him with newfound strength.

“Cassian,” you moan through gritted teeth, “Cassian!”

The first jolt of pleasure wracks through his body without warning. At the realisation that you’re climaxing, he’s had it - he can’t hold back anymore.

He groans in disbelief. His brows draw together, the deep, intense, deliberate jerking of his body against yours faltering as pleasure takes over. A sound comes out of him, a mix between a desperate plea and praise, and then he’s coming inside you.

Fierce, intense waves of heat pulse into your raw, messy, clenching cunt.

His pleasure deepens as you open your legs even farther to receive his spend inside you. With a growl, he pulls you against him and jerks his hips against you once more, finishing himself off.

“Yes,” you moan, leaning forward and pressing your forehead against his. The change in angle shields your face from the starlight, but the sound of your shuddering, desperate pants of breath are clear as day. You’re high on this shared bliss together.

“Don’t want to wake up,” he murmurs against your lips.

“You think I’m a dream?”

He traces up your arm and wraps his hand around the back of your neck. “You’re too good to be real. I’m not that lucky.”

You chuckle. “You are now.”

“We’ll see.”

It isn’t until the next morning, when he opens his eyes to the first rays of sun and you’re still there, asleep in his arms, that he finally allows himself to believe.

[doctor-mccoys-sanity]

what did you do growing up if it wasn’t reading Soulmate AUs where people had the first words the other person said to them marked on their body but one of them was mute so the other thought they didn’t have a soulmate?

[luckydragon10]

The King's Tree (Google Doc Available)

I had a request this morning from a reader asking whether I could share a file of The King's Tree because AO3 is currently suffering from ongoing outages.

My answer: Yep, let's go!

The King's Tree, Google Doc

I know just how important fics can be, and I've heard from many people that they use The King's Tree as a comfort fic. So, here we go, one complete fic, served up hot and comfy. 💗

When AO3 is well and healthy again, please visit The King's Tree on AO3 for rereading rather than the Google Doc. Your online AO3 rereads add to the hit count and let me know the fic is loved on an ongoing basis. 🙏

NOTE: This is intended for personal use, not redistribution. Do not: sell this fanwork, reshare this fanwork, process this fanwork with any AI, or host fanwork this on any other sites without permission. (If you're interested in translating the fic to another language and hosting on another language-specific fic archive, please contact me first.)

[bold-writing]

The One With Whiskey Eyes || 21 || Weathered but Not Broken

Words: 3400 +

Warnings: None

Previous || Next

~21~

Iris cradled a coffee between her palms as she sat next to Felicia in the waiting area of the police station. The card that Montez had given to Barry the night before was tucked in her pocket, the officer himself momentarily busy. She had expected the wait, but her nerves were still rattled as she looked around at the other people waiting and the posters that lined the walls.

"Are you okay? You're white as snow," Felicia asked in concern, reaching out to gently stroke Iris's cheek. She had gotten some looks on their way to the station, but both women had studiously ignored them as they walked hand-in-hand along the sidewalk. Stopping briefly for coffee, Felicia had gotten a bewildered look from the barista when she gave her two female names to put on the cups.

Dressed in a dark winter pea-coat and dark skinny jeans that were tucked into ankle boots, she didn't look overly feminine to the average person that walked by. Her mannerisms and her voice, however, were distinctly that of a female. Iris had noticed how she'd shied away at times, tucking her head downward awkwardly to make herself less visible. That is when she'd grabbed her hand and had proudly walked down the street with her larger palm cradled in her hand—bare of gloves.

Iris didn't get the chance to respond before a familiar voice called from the front desk. "Miss. Mayfair?"

Iris turned from her soulmate to catch the eyes of Montez, who looked momentarily surprised at her pin-straight hair and eyes surrounded in red-gold colour. Felicia placed a comforting hand on her leg before Iris stood up, her coffee pressed to her chest as she walked over to meet with the officer from the previous night.

"You're looking much better, Miss. Mayfair. It's good to see," he offered kindly, smiling as he spoke.

"Thank you," Iris mumbled back shyly before her eyes fell on the folder that held her statement. He didn't wait a moment more before he opened the folder and placed her written confession on the table. Her writing was messier than usual, a testament to her shock as she attempted to write. "So I just need to sign at the bottom?" she asked quietly as she placed her coffee just to the side, freeing her hands.

"If you want, you can read it over and make changes. If you sign it, that means that this is final," he answered calmly while sliding the paper closer to her. Iris shook her head, knowing that she was careful enough to repeat each detail the night before as carefully as her muddled brain could. Montez placed a pen on the sheet for her to use, before he patiently waited as Iris picked it up with a much steadier hand and scrawled her loopy signature on the bottom.

"Is that all?"

"Yes, Ma'am, you're free to go. We may contact you in the near future if we have any more questions. I have your cell number, is it alright to use if I need to speak with you?"

"Yes, I always have it with me," she answered easily, reclaiming her coffee as he recollected the sheets. "Have a good day, Officer Montez," she added on with a small smile, happy to be leaving the station. He smiled back before his eyes shifted to look over her shoulder; Felicia had stood up and was waiting for Iris.

She watched his eyes flick down to her hand, where he had caught the flash of her mark on the back of her hand, before he smiled again and nodded to her. Nodding back, Iris turned and headed over to Felicia with a hand outstretched already. Taking her soulmate's hand, the two women slipped from the station without waiting another moment and turned in the direction of Iris's apartment.

"Anything you want to do while we both have the day off?" Felicia finally asked once they were on their way, glancing down at Iris as they dodged people on the sidewalk.

"Honestly? Not a clue," Iris admitted with a slight laugh in her voice. "But considering how cold it is out here, preferably something that's inside?" Felicia laughed as she nodded in agreement, glad that she had pulled on a warm, dark blue hat before they had left—Iris had complimented the colour as soon as she spotted it, saying that it would bring out her soulmates eyes beautifully.

Pretty soon, the two women had crowded themselves into Iris's small apartment with her little heater cranked up to warm the space. Felicia gushed about how small and cute it was, reading the spines of Iris's book collection, then her tea tins, and finally ended at her miniscule wardrobe. She tutted over the oversized, covering clothing but didn't actually say anything against her choice in style. Iris was almost certain that all of her soulmates, even the ones she had yet to meet, were most likely aware of the scars on her body and why she preferred to remain covered.

"You need to buy some colour!" Felicia commented finally, noticing that mostly everything Iris owned was either black or dark grey. "It's so…blah! And you're already my little Snow White, no need to make you look even paler."

Iris huffed a laugh from where she was sitting on her bed, legs crossed comfortably as she watched Felicia card through her small amount of clothes. "Snow White? That's a new one."

Felicia spun with a grin, one of Iris's oversized sweaters in hand. "Oh, my dear Snow, you're basically a walking Disney character. And you can sing! That's even better!""

Iris snorted a laugh, quickly covering her mouth when the sound registered. "If you start calling me Snow, I'm gunna call you Cinnamon." Remembering her first words to Felicia made her smile; it was something sweet and memorable. She felt that she needed to make up for some of the less than kind or sweet remarks that had been left on her soulmate's body thus far.

Felicia gasped comically as she took in the nickname. "Cinnamon? I love it!"

She bounced up on the bed then, nearly tipping Iris over from the exuberance of the action, but both women simply laughed at the action as Iris quickly caught herself with outstretched palms. "Does my closet pass your approval?" she asked after a moment, nodding her head toward the corner of dark clothing hung up meticulously on cheap hangers.

Felicia made a face while glancing between her soulmate and the closet. "We definitely gotta go shopping once it warms up; you need some colour in your life. But, for now, it'll have to do." Iris laughed again, rocking her body to the side to give Felicia a slight shove.

As silence fell between them, Felicia glanced at Iris as a question sat on the tip of her tongue. Iris had mentioned the light earlier that morning, so she was picking up on things they said when talking about the other alters in Kevin's body, but she wondered just how much Iris understood. She was a smart woman, so Felicia was almost certain she'd done her own research on the subject, but to ask one of them would provide her with the best answer to anything she didn't understand.

"So, Iris," she finally started, deciding that she would at least give her little soulmate the chance to ask. "I understand that the…situation with me and the others—Barry and BT, all that—can be kinda confusing, so I was wondering if there was anything you wanted to ask?" Iris's soft gaze turned to her, eyes widened with surprise. "I know there's some stuff out there that explains D.I.D, but I'd be happy to give you a first-person explanation if you want it."

"Really?" Iris asked after a small pause. "You wouldn't be…offended?"

"Because you don't know everything?" Felicia asked, appalled. "No! Iris, none of us expect you to have full knowledge about us. Even when compared to other people that have multiple personalities, we're a whole other story. No one else in the world has ever had so many alters in one body—at least not that has been recorded. And you're proof that we're all real. Every mark on your body proves that we're not just a…glitch in the brain."

Iris reached out and caught Felicia's hand, the action so fast it was as though she was flinching. "I never thought that," she was quick to assure. "I know you're all as real as me or another other living person. I never doubted that, and it makes me sick to think that other people don't believe you are." Shuffling around so she was facing Felicia, Iris lifted her free hand to stroke her cheek. "Our bond is nothing like another out there, and I love that."

Felicia smiled back, pleased to hear how Iris had fully accepted her bond with them, as strange as it may be.

Iris looked down at Felicia's hand, cradling it between her palms in her lap. "I'm learning, bit by bit, each time I meet a new soulmate. I tried to research D.I.D, but even Dr. Fletcher's research was…biased? It was scientific, not reality. I felt like it was dehumanizing the people that I had met, so I stopped trying to read about it and decided that I would…go with the flow?" she explained carefully, not quite sure how to phrase it.

"Is there anything you want to ask me?" Felicia offered again, calmly waiting for Iris as she closed her eyes in concentration. It looked like she was trying to decide on which question to ask. "Ask me anything, Iris," Felicia continued, turning her hand over to hold one of Iris's smaller ones. "Anything and everything, if that's what you want."

Opening her eyes to meet Felicia's soft blue gaze, she took a steadying breath before nodding along. "One thing I wondered about was if you are all aware of what happens with whoever is in the light? You mentioned earlier that Barry being in the light made it possible for everyone to feel my fear…"

"We don't see or hear what the other alter experiences when they're in the light," Felicia assured. "I could talk to the others right now; I could tease Barry-"

"Don't you dare!" Iris laughed, seeing the teasing grin that had lit Felicia's expression before she continued.

"I can talk to the others, but they don't experience what I see or hear or whatever. I can show them if I really wanted, but we don't do that very often. Since only some of us have met you, when those people are in the light the sensations from the soulmark are…amplified."

Iris nodded along as she listened to her explanation, her fingers tracing Felicia's hand mindlessly. "Can more than one of you be in the light at the same time?"

This time, Felicia hesitated. "Not exactly at the same time, but there's been times when some of the others have switched who uses the light at a speed that it makes it seem like they're sharing it. Like, they can have conversations aloud with each other. We don't usually do that, though, since we can converse without doing it."

Iris noticed that she had offered the explanation without any names, so she took Felicia's hesitation as being trying to avoid revealing names of soulmates that Iris hadn't met yet. The others didn't seem to care about slipping names into conversation, but that didn't mean everyone else was the same. Felicia probably didn't want to confuse Iris by bringing up people she hadn't met yet.

"Do you guys have a fixed…schedule?" Iris hesitated a bit more this time, worried that the question would come across rude.

Felicia, however, answered it easily and without a care. "Not really. For work there is, but that's just because not everyone can actually do maintenance. I'd probably get us fired, so…"

Iris laughed at Felicia's attempt to cheer her up, feeling the worry she carried steadily ease. Once she'd calmed down, she glanced over toward the kitchen. "So, what do you want for lunch? I can make us some soup, and a fresh coffee?"

"That sounds fantastic," Felicia agreed, glancing over toward the window where Iris's heater was humming away, warming them up. It had begun to snow again shortly after they'd reached her building, the two breathing a sigh of relief to have escaped the sudden return of the storm. Iris shuffled off the bed and slipped into her small kitchenette, pulling out a large pot and some cutting boards. Felicia slid to the edge of the bed as she carefully watched Iris's trained motions.

Living on her own, she'd developed a routine when it came to preparing her meals and was glad that Felicia stayed back and out of her way.

She started the coffee first, before she began the prep work for the soup as the coffee brewed loudly in the corner. Their conversation turned to lighter topics as Iris hustled from side to side of her tiny kitchen to the other, Felicia's eyes followed her avidly as she asked about her soulmates reading habits, preferred music or movies.

At one point, Iris admitted that she'd once cut her hair short in a pixie cut years back—Felicia had eyed her meticulously straightened hair and pursed her lips. The brunette had laughed at her soulmate's expression before she shook her head. "Don't worry, I know it looked terrible on me. I plan on keeping it long from now on."

Felicia sipped her coffee as Iris finished putting everything in the pot and left the soup to cook as she moved over to sit on the edge of her bed, next to Felicia, as she took her own hot coffee back in hand. "So, have you gone to school? Any of you?" Iris asked once she'd gotten comfortable.

Felicia shrugged. "Kinda. I mean, we've taken some courses that would give us some advantages, but we don't have a diploma or a degree. We all have such different hobbies and likes, it would cost a fortune for us to all take something that we wanted. So, we took courses that would give us a leg up for a job. Like a business and management course. You?"

Iris shook her head immediately. "I love to learn, but everything I pick up is self-taught—except for some music lessons I paid for to get my footing. I love reading and I usually pick up whatever I want to know from that. Books are my favourite, but I'll get the odd ebook or online resource if I need to. I was so shocked when my bosses hired me on as a manager. I mean, I'd been there for a while but I'm sure they had more educated people they could've hired."

Felicia smiled in assurance as she bumped her soulmate's leg with her own. "Sometimes experience is better; I mean I'd rather have someone that had already been working for a while than someone straight out of school with no actual experience. It's unfortunate, but true."

Nodding in agreement, Iris tucked the soft strands of her straightened hair back behind her ear. It was so much silkier and easily fell in her face once it was straightened.

"Want me to braid that back?" Felicia offered once she'd spotted Iris do the same thing for a third time. She'd been trying to keep it out of her face desperately while she'd been cooking, but that had been a necessary thing; now, it seemed like it was beginning to bother her. After all, it wasn't something she usually had to deal with.

Iris flushed at being caught. "Oh, no, that's okay! It's just my curls usually stay where I put them-"

Felicia scoffed before she took both of their cups and placed them aside. "Relax, honey, I won't take it personally. Besides, I need some practice with braiding! Turn around, and scoot over here."

Knowing it was futile to argue, Iris turned her back to Felicia and pushed all of her hair over her shoulders. It worked out well, since Felicia was a bit taller than her while they were sitting and enabled her to see the top of Iris's head.

Beginning to section the beginning of the French Braid, Iris found herself once more leaning back into the gentle touches against her scalp. It was blissful and relaxing, causing her skin to prickle with sensitivity. She'd never thought that something as simple as someone stroking their fingers through her hair and along her scalp, a barely-there caress, would cause such a powerful and immediate reaction. Felicia hummed at the soft strands of Iris's hair, never touched with heat or chemicals to make it brittle or unhealthy.

"I love your hair," she sighed wistfully, wishing that she had hair like her soulmates. "You know I'm going to enjoy long hair vicariously through you, hm? If I'm in the light that day, you've gotta let me do your hair."

Iris just hummed in agreement as she leaned her hair back against Felicia's dextrous fingers, getting a giggle in response before she returned her concentration to making the braid even and straight.

The small apartment was beginning to smell strongly of vegetables and broth, a mouth-watering smell that made Felicia realize it had been a while since she'd—they'd—eaten something home-cooked. Patricia would sometimes make nice, fresh meals, but she wasn't in the light often enough for all of them to get the chance to eat the wonderful food.

"I haven't even tried that soup yet and my mouth is already watering," she admitted after a couple quiet minutes of silence, Iris continuing so sigh contentedly as Felicia took longer than necessary to do her hair. She was passed the base of Iris's skull now, meaning that the remainder of the braid didn't give her the excuse to stroke Iris's scalp or run her fingers through the soft strands near the roots.

"We also haven't eaten yet," Iris tried to explain, sounding sleepy.

"That's not why," Felicia argued. "It smells fantastic! I could have just stuffed myself with chocolate and whatever else and I promise you, I'd still be drooling over that smell. And debating whether a bowl would make me pop or not and if it's worth it."

"I need to stir it," Iris mumbled tiredly, her eyes closed as she basked in the sensation of her hair being played with for a second time that day. She had many years depraved of physical contact to catch up on.

Felicia tied off Iris's hair and gently guided her soulmate to lie down. "I'll keep an eye on the soup. Why don't you take a nap?"

Whiskey eyes opened to look up at her, a protest already on her lips, but Felicia gave her a look and lifted a finger to her lips in a gesture of silence. "Uh-uh, rest. Even if you slept well last night, you've got some catching up to do. Sleep!"

Fighting a smile as she nodded in defeat, Iris rolled onto her side, tucking her legs up from where they'd been hanging off the bed. Felicia snatched the throw that was folded up and placed along the middle of the bed, shaking it out, before she draped it over Iris's already-dozing form. The brunette's eyelids barely fluttered at the sensation of the blanket covering her, her relaxed state aiding her in falling asleep that much faster.

Felicia crouched next to the bed's edge as she watched her soulmate's peaceful expression, a blissful smile on her face as she thought over the past several hours since she'd woken with her soulmate in her arms, cradled against her chest. Barry was one lucky bastard to have Iris's love, but Felicia couldn't bring herself to be jealous when she knew that—in their unique way—she was Iris's as well.

The small woman's heart was almost too big, especially for someone who'd been put through so much in her younger years.

Brushing her bangs aside, Felicia leaned in a pressed a ghost of a kiss against Iris's pale forehead before she stood up and went to manage the steaming soup.

Previous || Next

[undertale-writing-times]

Could I have Lover with the soulmate prompt number 2?

Here you go :)

I went into a bit of deeper subjects in this one, not too much detail but still mentioned bad things. So uh... warning ^^'

When Lover was just a little skelly, she found the fact that her soul would tug on her, trying to get her to follow it, really nice! It meant that she had a soulmate but it always confused her.

Why?

Well... It didn't tug her towards any of the other monsters. She saw some of them getting together and she waited until her soul would tug her towards the right monster but it never did.

It tugged upwards.

Her soulmate was a human.

She tried to not let that get her down! There was no reason for her to be upset about that, none at all. Humans aren't the worst, it just means that they wouldn't be able to have babybones or anything like that, and that might be a good thing.

Then all of the other bad things started to happen.

She wasn't Sans anymore, she was Lover, and everyone changed.

Her soulmate didn't.

She still felt that tugging on her soul, which she was pretty happy about. She honestly expected it to change because she did.

Through all of the things that she had to do with other monsters, she would ignore her soul tugging. Yes, she knew that she had a datemate, and all of the monsters that she had to lay with weren't them.

It meant nothing.

Nothing at all.

She didn't grow attached, no matter what the other monsters thought. A lot of them thought that she fell in love with them, and whenever she heard that, she would have to stop herself from laughing.

Did they really think that she loved them? There was only ONE person that she would ever allow herself to fall in love with, and she hadn't met them yet.

She met a human named Frisk, and they helped all of the monsters figure out that love was needed, and they didn't all just need to randomly... fuck each other. You could find someone that you loved.

Soulmates were there for a reason.

Then, they got out of the underground.

Lover was so happy.

After they all got used to it, she and her brother got their own house again, and her brother met a lot of people! People that liked him, and he met so many friends.

Lover was pretty damn happy about that too. People just didn't want to use her brother anymore. Lover didn't care if people wanted to use her body, no, she was used to that but Hearts? He liked to think that the people cared about him, and it hurt his feelings each and every time that the person would randomly leave.

Honestly, Lover was happy to be above ground even if there are even more people who just like her for her body. She liked to summon her ecto to 'fill out' the clothes more, and after humans got used to having monsters around, they would whistle at her.

It was crazy...

She wasn't even the one with the showiest clothes.

Though, even with that, she would still often play along and flirt. Sometimes they would buy her things, then she wouldn't even have to do anything for them! It was so nice.

Now if someone tried to force her to do anything? She could easily fight back. She hated the idea of people... using others.

It was something that she tried her best to keep her brother away from, and she normally took the more 'bad' looking monsters. The ones that were the neediest and all that.

It was annoying but, you know, she would do anything for her brother.

Now let's change the subject!

Lover waited long enough for all of the monsters to get used to being above ground, and waited a while for humans to get used to it too, then she started to follow the tugging on her soul.

She believed that she waited long enough to see her datemate.

Over all those years, she had to go through so much shit. Stuff that she wouldn't want to force onto anyone, and she isn't saying that she had it worst, she knew that she didn't but she also didn't have it very easy either.

So, you know, honestly, she felt like she deserved a soulmate. She just wanted someone to hold her, and tell her how much they loved her without any ties.

For so long, she felt like her soul was being crushed by the people around her. Yes, the dancing and all that was fun! She loved to flirt, and sex was fun too but sometimes she wished that she didn't have to, you know?

While she was walking, she suddenly felt a strong tugging from her soul which almost knocked the air out of her. She reaches up, putting her hand over her chest "Wow..." she mumbles.

She loved that feeling.

It was weird; like she was being choked but uhh in a good way?

Now he continued to follow, once again.

Finally, after a while of walking while hearing her boots making soft clinking sounds against the ground, she saw someone fall out of the crowd.

They were a human, their soul a bright color and she rushes forward catching them before they could hit the ground.

"I hear of fast love stories, though falling for me so quickly?" she teased.

They look up at her with big eyes, then looks at the two souls that were dancing around each other. Monster and human...

Lover never expected this to ever happen.

[parasolyaa]

God bd fandom LACKS kazurei soulmate fics

[lazyislays]

İ gave in and wrote an illumi x oc fanfic, still working on chapter 2

Also on AO3 by the same name!! (the title is a weezer reference 💀)

[wawannie094]

until then, we aren't meant to be (pt.1)

Wendy hated French.

French class she meant, has always been a torture, to the point of tears stinging her eyes and threatening to fall in the middle of class.

But she needed French to graduate.

She took it regardless.

She was brought back to moments of giving up and quitting French, because the simplest self introductions terrified her limited vocab and anxiety stutters.

An exemption was made for her academic history. Wendy took music as a reflection from her dad's love for jazz and classical instruments, which rubbed off on her.

Everything was perfect, except one thing.

She was alone.

Not a totally bad thing, but she was feeling lonely because of it.

Wendy ate her lunch in the bathroom stalls for the first month, because eating in the cafeteria alone scares her.

Wendy knew absolutely no one, until she got her first friend, two months after. Her first friend was pretty, but Wendy didn't realize it enough to care.

Wendy was introduced to more friends from her first friend.

Wendy meets Seulgi: The birth of a chemistry spark, as simple, and as fast, as snapping your finger.

The reserved Wendy with fluffy cheeks meets the childish Seulgi with her signature bear-smile, who knew basically everyone.

Wendy's calmness keeps Seulgi grounded, and helps guide her in the right direction; Seulgi brings life out of Wendy and always reminds her to loosen up once in a while.

Seulgi was the missing piece of her life.

Seulgi was her soulmate.

"She must be." Wendy lays flat on her soft bed, staring blindly at the ceiling. The ceiling wasn't smooth - small bumps scattered throughout the surface like popcorn.

"Ew." Wendy sits up abruptly, only to be welcomed by the surge of darkness and a lightheaded stuffy feeling. Iron deficiency at its finest.

She holds her head with one hand, waiting for the heavy feeling to wear off, before hopping off her bed to head downstairs.

"It's about time." Wendy was feeling giddy, for the next step she was about to take - to finally ask for Seulgi's hand.

The last step of a soulmate confirmation.

The intertwined hands of matching soulmates will reveal an emerging tattoo on the wrist of both soulmates. Tattoo designs, are tailored to symbolize the unique, individualized relationship between soulmates. Tattoos remain permanent for the remaining days once they've held hands with their soulmates.

Wendy has been waiting for this moment - since she knew the existence of soulmates.

"A soulmate will love you, more than anyone else could ever."

(next part coming up)

[help-itrappedmyself]

Dead on Main short

Look, I don't know if you can tell, but I really like soulmate AUs, okay. Also, writing something exactly 500 words is more annoying than I thought it would be, but was a fun experiment.

Lightly inspired by this post.

Edit: there is a part 2 now!

Danny's parents were never concerned about the words on Danny’s wrist. Given their occupation, they thought Danny would meet someone while studying, or perhaps even lecturing on ghosts, or maybe as part of some other job in the future. Jazz has always been concerned about the words on Danny’s wrist. This is probably the normal reaction, given most people do not surround themselves with the dead. 

Danny himself was concerned about it for a while. But then he died. The amount of death surrounding him at all times, what with his parents’ study of ghosts, practically tripled after that. And suddenly the words ‘Is he dead?’ were a lot less concerning. Because in his life, oftentimes the answer was yes.

Not that he was always around dead bodies or anything. But the company he kept did include a large amount of ghosts and other ectoplasmic beings, that while they were not dead, weren’t technically alive either. 

So, Danny moved on with his life as normal. He knew what his words were, but was never actively listening for them. For a few years there he was barely hanging on to sanity, battling ghosts and trying to graduate high school. 

Eventually, life calmed down. His parents, unfortunately, died in their own lab accident. Danny was in his senior year at the time, and Jazz took a semester off of college to help him graduate and get accepted at university himself. Then they shut the portal down and moved on from Amity Park.

Jazz went back to Yale. Danny, who did not make high enough grades for that, went to Gotham University. It was there that he discovered he actually really liked college. School was a lot easier when he wasn’t fighting for his life all the time, and this time he got to take classes he was actually interested in. 

By the start of his second year, his life was looking up. He was majoring in mechanical engineering, and he loved all his science classes. He had a somewhat decent apartment, and was living without much worries on the money from selling his parents’ house. Gotham is not the best area, but it can be a really cheap place to live. And he didn’t see Sam, Tuck, or Jazz as often as any of them would like, but they were all happy where they were.

Which makes the current moment much more distressing than it would have been in his teenage years. As Danny looks at the now-dead body in front of him, then turns and presses his forehead into the alley wall. He’s seconds away from banging his head against it, but that would only give him a headache and would in no way help the current situation. 

The vigilante standing across the alley, on the other side of the body, did not move for a solid minute upon rounding the corner onto the scene. Then he asks, in a voice distorted by tech, “Is he dead?”.

This is not good.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

I Could Have You

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, oral both receiving), light angst, soulmates, sex pollen, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: Dean is hit with a lust spell, and it doesn't seem to only be effecting him. No one's really sure why, and Dean refuses to give in to the curse, so you'll just ride this out.

You'll defiantly be able to just ride this out.

Author's Note: I had a lot of fun with this one, I hope you enjoy it!

Title from Normal Fucking Rockwell by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 6k

You’re losing your mind.

Your skin is on fire, your back is flat on the cold bathroom floor, and you’re moaning and whining and bucking into the air but nothing is fixing this. Nothing is relieving you, not your fingers or the pillows or the toy a very red-faced Sam had bought you. Nothing is going to save you, because only one, stupid, handsome, selfless idiot can, and he’s suddenly too good to just fuck you.

Hell, that idiot is the only reason this is happening. According to Sam and Bobby, Dean got hit with a sex spell in Colorado, you started whimpering for him in South Dakota, and you’re not allowed to have sex with him for… reasons.

Reasons no one seems willing to fully share with you, but reasons.

You know Dean wants you. You’ve known he wants you. Neither of you have ever been able to do something about that—never going beyond flirting and lingering touches and stares—but you’re certain he feels the same way. Maybe not the exact same way, because you want whatever Dean offers you, his body or mind or heart or very soul, but you know he’s attracted to you. And if the countless little pieces of evidence you’ve hoarded in your brain—winks and smirks and long, apperceive scans of your body—weren’t enough for you to know, this was. You’d heard Dean roar your name from outside Bobby’s cabin as the Impala door slammed. You’d seen the feral, lust-blown expression on his face as he’d charged at you. Sam had tackled him to the ground as you’d grown a little dizzy with need, and Bobby grabbed your wrist, dragging you upstairs. Away from Dean, from the cure, from his big hands and soft mouth and huge-

“You’re gonna need to stay in here.” Bobby had muttered, refusing to meet your eyes as he shuffled out of the room. “Least until we get Dean’s head right, or figure out what the hell is going on.”

It’s been almost a day, and they’ve made almost no progress. From Sam’s last update, all they’re certain of is: Sex spell, you and Dean, no other options except you and Dean.

“What do you mean no other options,” you’d said, leaning up to frown at Sam. “Did Dean-“

“No.” Sam shakes his head, giving you a sheepish expression. “I mean, Bobby and I suggested it, but he said no.”

“Oh,” you’d mumbled, falling back down on the mattress. “Why?”

Sam had shrugged, leaning into your line of vision. “Do you want to have sex with me?”

“No, Sam, what the fuck-“

“That’s why.”

He’d stood up and left, and you hadn’t had a clue what the hell he was talking about. Sure, you didn’t want to have sex with him, but he was like a brother to you. Dean, somehow, wasn’t. Dean was Dean. And it wasn’t like you’d say no to a random, no-strings attached hookup right now-

Something had tugged in your gut, and you’d realized—staggering to the toilet and vomiting up your lunch—that you could not do a random hookup. You wanted Dean. You needed him. You might die if you didn’t get him, and it had to be him, and he must feel it too, but when you’d asked Sam he said no.

“No?!” You’d rolled over on the floor to glare up at him, wishing you could find the strength to surge up and punch him in his stupid, apologetic face. “What do you mean No?!”

“Dean, um,” Sam had sighed again, and if he kept doing that you were going to kick him in the balls. “He made us lock him in the safe room. He won’t come out until we cure him.”

“Why did he-“ You’d cut yourself off as it hit you, another, softer wave of sickness rolling over your body. The sickness lived in your heart. This sickness was made of the tragic reality that Dean might want you, but he didn’t want you. Maybe that was why he’d never made a move. Maybe he was attracted to you physically, but couldn’t see you like that, and didn’t really want to try to.

Maybe Dean was disgusted by the idea. Maybe he hated that his body found you hot, because he thinks of you like you think of Sam.

“Oh,” you’d rolled back onto your stomach, and prayed Sam would leave soon so you could go back to humping the floor. “Okay.”

Sam had said your name, waiting until you hummed an acknowledgment to continue. “We’re going to fix this-“

“I know.” You’d let out a long, slow breath, curling into your own body. “We always do.”

They would fix this. And then you’d have to look Dean in the eyes, and find a way to be okay with his rejection. Teach yourself how to not turn into a pining dumbass, chasing after someone who obviously didn’t want you. You wouldn’t lose him, he was your best friend, but you’d also have to learn to pretend it didn’t feel like your heart hadn’t just been ripped out of your chest and stomped on.

And now you’re here. Hoping Sam and Bobby will fix this soon, crawling into the empty bathtub to try and sleep. The bed is too warm, too intimate, to inviting of fantasies that will never be reality. Daydreams of Dean’s hands on you, trailing over your skin and setting of little sparks as he maps your body. Those same hands pushing open your thighs, two of his fingers teasing over your pussy, his mouth wrapping around your nipple as he started pumping and scissoring and crooking inside you-

There’s a knock on the bathroom door, and you yank your own fingers out of your cunt, wiping them on the towel as you speak, your voice far too hoarse. “Yeah, Sam?”

“Not Sam.” Bobby grumbles, his voice slightly muffled through the door. “You decent?”

You toss a towel over your body, having long abandoned clothing. “Yep, is everything-“

You cut yourself off as Bobby pushes the door open, his face angled up to avoid you.

“I said I’m decent, Bobby, you can look.”

He grunts, and you sit up a little straighter, making your voice a little firmer.

“It’s weirder if you don’t, you know.”

Bobby nods, his gaze slowly dropping to yours as he sits on the toilet, bracing his arms on his knees. “Sorry.” He mutters. “Ain’t tryin’ to make it uncomfortable. Just not lookin’ to see one of my, uh-“

“I know,” you sigh, leaning your head back on the tile. “I get it. Must be weird seeing Dean as well.”

“Eh.” Bobby shrugs. “I’ve walked in on him with lady company before, this ain’t new-“

“But it’s new with me?” You ask, raising your brows, and Bobby glares at you.

“I didn’t help raise you girl. And you’re just as important to me as those boys, but you’re also a girl. I mean, not a girl, but I don’t got those parts-“

“Jesus, Bobby.” You mumble, bringing your knees up to your chest. “I’m teasing. I know what you mean, I promise, just,” you swallow, shaking your head slightly. “Sorry. I’m tired.”

Bobby rolls his eyes, but his voice becomes a little softer, and far less panicked. “That ain’t nice, kid, you’re gonna give an old man a heart attack.”

“You’d be fine. I know CPR.”

He gives you a flat look. “We both know you ain’t in any condition to give me CPR.”

You wave him off. “I’d call Sam.”

“He wouldn’t hear you, he’s down in the panic room with-“

Bobby cuts himself off, and you roll your head to the side, giving him a bored glare.

“You can say his name, Bobby.”

“Fine.” He grunts. “Sam’s down checkin’ on Dean. He,” Bobby frowns at the air. “He still ain’t listenin’ to reason.”

You hum, hoping Bobby doesn’t notice how you’ve moved the towel between your thighs, just for something. “Reason?”

“We don’t have anythin’ to cure this except, uh, that way.” Bobby mutters. “And he’s still insistin’ we keep him chained up.”

“Ah.” You swallow. “Awesome.”

Bobby says your name, and it’s gentle. Like he’s consulting a child who’s had a nightmare, instead of a grown woman who was just finger-fucking herself in a tub. “You don’t gotta pretend this ain’t hurtin’ you.”

“I mean, it doesn’t feel good-“

“Not the spell.” Bobby says, and you frown at him.

“What-“

“Dean. He’s bein’ a fuckin’ dumbass, and you don’t need to act like he’s not.”

Your voice drops to a whisper. “He’s not what?”

“Killin’ you.” Bobby grunts, scanning over your face. “Rippin’ your heart out and take a big fat shit on it.”

You grimace. “That’s gross, Bobby-“

“Truth ain’t always sunshine and glitter-“

“It’s not the truth!” You snap, your voice suddenly harsh as something wilts and twists in his your chest. “I’m fine! I get it! Dean doesn’t want to do that, and that’s not his fault.”

Bobby leans back on the toilet, holding your glare with his own. “Why do you think you and Dean are the only idjits gettin’ hit by this? Why isn’t Sam humpin’ pillows and leavin’ stains on my walls?”

You feel a rush of heat from that thought—the image of Dean fucking into his hand flashing through your mind and leaving a mark between your thighs—and your voice is almost a squeak. “Because Dean’s the one that got hit?”

“Sam says he was in the line of that bitch’s fire too. But only Dean got,” Bobby makes a vague gesture over you. “This.”

“I don’t-“

“And Sam ain’t in love with his fuckin’ brother, so he was safe.”

You flush, gaping at Bobby for a long, wired silence, and when you speak your voice is a squeak.

“I- I’m, I’m not in love with Dean. I mean, maybe I have a crush, or something, but that’s, that’s not love-“

Bobby gives you a flat, disbelieving look. “You feel safer ‘round him?”

“Yeah, but I-“

“You laugh at all his jokes?”

“Maybe, but he can be funny-“

Bobby mutters your name, shaking his head. “I love that boy like a son, and he ain’t half as funny as he thinks he is.”

You frown. “He’s funny-“

“He can be,” Bobby shrugs. “But his jokes ain’t all winners. And you laugh at every single oneof ‘em. And,” he sighs, rubbing his beard. “He laughs at all’a your jokes.”

“Hey.” You scowl. “I’m a riot-“

“Didn’t say you weren’t. But even you can miss, girl. And he never seems to care.”

“So?” You shuffle on the floor, desperate not to starting grinding on the air in front of Bobby, but getting more and more wet from just the mention of Dean. “We’re friends, friends laugh at each other’s jokes-“

“Do friends get connected by sex spells ‘cross state lines?”

“I dunno,” you mumble. “Never been hit by a sex spell before.”

“You weren’t hit by one,” Bobby snaps your name, starting to sound exasperated. “Dean was. And that’s my damn point. Sam and I, we,” he sighs, giving you a long, confusing look. “We got it. We know what’s goin’ on.”

“Fuck,” you sit up, glowering at him. “Why didn’t you lead with that-“

“Cause you ain’t gonna like it.” Bobby grunts. “It’s an old location spell. Back in the day rich assholes would cast it on their highest eldest sons, so he could find his,” Bobby cringes, his last word pushed through his teeth. “Mate.”

“Mate?” You repeat, letting out a dry, huffing laugh. “What are we, fucking dogs-“

“Soulmate.” Bobby mutters, giving you a look that might have been sympathetic, or kind, or pitiful, but you’re suddenly a little dizzy and can’t really think or see.

“That’s not,” you shake your head. “No, Bobby, soulmates aren’t real-“

Bobby says your name, his voice stern. “You should know better than to say somethin’ like that in our line of work. Sam called Cas, and he said they’re real, but population increases or somethin’ made them ‘logistically impossible’, so they aren’t on the shop line no more.”

“But- But wouldn’t we have like, I don’t know, noticed? If that was true?”

“You shoulda.” Bobby shrugs. “Cas seemed pretty shocked you hadn’t. Said he had assumed you knew, because the pull is like a magnet or some shit. Spell’s only an enhancer, to move the train along.”

“So why-“

“You hopped in right after Dean got back from hell.” Bobby mutters. “Dean’s soul mighta been fucked enough not to recognize you. Spell mighta jumpstarted it.”

“Oh.”

“Yep.”

It’s a few minutes before you speak again, and Bobby waits patiently as you spiral. Down, down, down in your head, trying to rationalize how this could possibly be true. It couldn’t be true. There was no way it was true. Sure, you’ve liked Dean since you first met him, from the moment he introduced himself with a cocky grin, smirk, and fake name. You liked him even more when you called him out on his fake name, and he’d just chuckled, figured out you were a hunter, and offered to buy you a drink. You’d liked him when that drink had turned into a long, sleepless night of only conversation, and when you’d joined him and Sam on the road. And you’d kept thinking of him like that, and you thought of him all the time, but that didn’t mean anything. You didn’t love him. It’s not like you feel better when you wake up in a motel bed and he’s next to you, or a smile always tugs at your lips whenever he so much as looks at you, or the thought of him being in alone or pain makes you physically ill. It’s not like, if he grabbed your hand and told you he was done with hunting—the only life you’d ever both known—then asked you to join him in a boring, easy apple pie life you’d immediately say yes and kiss him, because you’ll go wherever he goes and he’s the only person you’ve ever really-

Oh.

You might be in love with Dean.

You might be soulmates with Dean.

“What, um,” you swallow, watching Bobby carefully. “What did Dean think? Of this?”

“We have told him yet.” Bobby’s jaw ticks, holding your gaze. “We ain’t sure he’ll-“

“Yeah.” You whisper, turning your attention back to the ceiling. There’s a little crack on it. Jagged and split through the white paint, easy to stare at and get lost in. Helpful in pretending this doesn’t hurt like a bitch. “Okay.”

Bobby mutters a promise of at least trying to talk some sense into Dean, but you both know his words are empty. Because Dean won’t believe this. It won’t be a matter of you and Dean, it will just be Dean, believing something like a soulmate could never happen to someone like him. He’ll insist they’re lying, or Cas is wrong, or all of this fucking bullshit.

“You ever wondered about aliens?” He’d asked you once, leaning against the Impala as you lay on the hood, watching him from an upside-down angle.

“Just like, in general?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess,” you’d tilted your head at him. “Why?”

“I dunno, just curious.” There had been another moment of silence, then, “You think they’re real?”

“They have to be right?” You’d reached over your head, grabbing his chin and tilting it up, until he was staring at the night sky. “I mean, look at that, De. It’s huge.”

He’d chuckled, swatting your hand away. “Where have I heard that before-“

“Eat me, Winchester.” You’d rolled your eyes, and his shit-eating grin had grown. “No. Shut it.”

He’d raised his hands in surrender. “Didn’t say a thing.”

“Uh huh.” You’d let your own attention trail up, over the vast darkness above you, splattered in infinite stars that you think—if you really tried—you’d be able to grab and hold in your hands. Maybe offer one to Dean. He’d deserve it.

You were silent for a while longer, you watching the sky, Dean waiting for you to come back to earth, and when he’d spoken again his voice was soft.

“You think you’d want to go? If they were?”

You’d looked back to him with a frown, and found him already looking at you. “What, aliens?”

He’d nodded, and you’d furrowed your brow in thought.

“Maybe. I’ve never thought about it before. I kind of like Earth.” You’d rolled onto your stomach, swinging your legs around to rest in Baby’s open window as you looked down at Dean. “What about you?”

“Nah,” he’d held your gaze, pulling himself up to sit at your side. “Not now.”

“Not now?”

“I would’ve when I was younger, if I coulda taken Sammy with me.” Dean had let out a dry chuckle. “But I’m not that lucky.”

He wasn’t that lucky. Dean didn’t get to be abducted by aliens, because he wasn’t lucky. Because saviors and little lights to guide you forward don’t just drop out of the sky.

But you didn’t drop out of the sky. You’d been on the ground, and tangible, and very, very real.

You feel real, to yourself. You didn’t feel like a possibility, or a myth, or a lie.

And you might love Dean.

And you know that, the longer you don’t get to at least see him, touch him, breathe him, the more you go mad. The harder it becomes to speak to Sam and Bobby when they check on you, the less you allow them to even say the word Dean, because it makes you writhe and moan and everyone just gets very uncomfortable.

So if Dean’s too much of a righteous, noble, self-loathing buttface to do something about this, you will.

You wait until the house is dark and quiet. Until you hear Bobby mutter a goodnight through the door—about an hour ago you’d started whining every other breath and fucking the edge of the bathtub, so Bobby wasn’t coming into the room anymore—and Sam walks in backwards to make sure you’re not dead and have enough food and water. Like you’re a caged animal.

You do feel a little like one. You feel like someone’s sucked everything rational and careful out of your brain and replaced it with Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean, you need him or you’ll die. He needs to need you, or something worse than death will happen.

And you’re willing to risk that, that small possibility of Dean looking at you—bare and wet and pleading for him—and still turning you away, because at least you’ll see him.

You need to at least see him.

It’s shocking easy to sneak around the house. For two seasoned, well-respected hunters, neither Sam nor Bobby seem to wake up as you crawl down to Dean, despite the floorboard creaking under you movements and the downright pathetic whimpers that keep escaping your mouth. It takes all your focus to grab the key to Bobby’s panic room, unlock the door, and push it open.

It’s dark. Pitch black. But you know Dean’s in here, because every nerve is trying to fly off your body and into the shadows. To Dean.

“What the hell are you doing,” Dean groans your name from the back of the room, and you feel molten. “You can’t be here-“

“It’s not your panic room, Dean.” You mumble, pushing yourself up on the wall and fiddling around for the light switch. “I can be wherever I want-“

“Not here.” Dean snaps. “Go.”

You shake your head, and the lights blind you as you flip them on. It takes a moment to adjust—blinking and hugging your body in a desperate play to not leap across the room to Dean the moment you see him—and when you do a high whine escapes your mouth.

Dean looks as feral as you feel. He’s just as naked as you are, just as drenched in sweat and flushed, and—if the proud, massive cock between his legs, standing at full attention and twitching as he scans over you, is any sign—just as aroused.

“Dean.” You whisper. “Please.”

“You need to leave.” He grunts, his fists clenched at his sides. “Now.”

“I don’t want to go-“

“Yes, you do.”

You frown. “You don’t get to tell me what I want, Dean. I want to stay-“

“No,” he hisses, and you might come just from him looking at you like that. Primal and wanting, with a gleam in his eyes that feels like a promise. “You don’t know what you want-“

That gets you to scoff. “Fuck off, asshole-“

“See!” He makes a dramatic gesture, then flinches back from himself. “I, I can’t let you do this. You don’t want me,” Dean mutters your name, running a hand over his face. “The spell wants me. Doesn’t count.”

“Yeah, the spell does want you, you idiot!” You take an unsteady step forward, and he steps back. “Because I want you!”

“No, you don’t-“

“Yes, I do! I need you, Dean, and I think you need me-“

“Doesn’t matter what I need.” He grunts, bracing his body and you take another step. “Go back upstairs.”

“Did Bobby talk to you?”

He scowls. “Bobby’s wrong. That’s- No.”

“Because it’s me?”

“Of course not,” he snaps, and it’s too quick. “Because that, that’s not a thing. People would be runnin’ around, selling soulmates in little bottles if they were real. And we’d have known by now-“

“We do know now.” You whisper, swaying slightly in the middle of the room. “And Cas says-“

“Cas is wrong.” Dean mutters. “I don’t, there’s no way that’s true. Not for me.”

His beautiful, deep eyes look so sad. Glossed over and weighted down of years of that being the truth. That things like that, like this, don’t happen for Dean.

You’d really love to be the first exception.

“What about for me?”

“What are you-“

“What about for me, Dean.” You watch his jaw clench, his nostrils flaring. “Does it get to be true for me?”

He doesn’t answer, and you push on.

“If it’s true for me, it’s you.” You talk another step forward, and this time he doesn’t flinch. “Just you.”

“It’s just the spell.” He mutters, and you don’t think he’s convincing himself. Not when his throat bobs and his eyes darken. “You don’t want me, baby, not really.”

You almost fall over from that. From Dean calling you baby, and saying it the exact same way he says your name. Low and rolling and lined with something soft.

“I do.” You hold your ground, raising your chin. “I want you, Dean Winchester. Fix this.”

He shakes his head, barely a jerked movement, and you start to feel a little faint.

“Dean. I need you to look me in the eyes,” your voice starts to rise, growing pleading and frantic. “And tell me you don’t want me. Say that you wanting me is just the spell, and I’ll go. I promise. I just need to you to fucking say it, Dean, just fucking say you don’t want me or need me or love me-“

He moves before you even realize what’s happening. Almost leaping onto you as his mouth crashed into yours, his hands cupping your face as he walks you back, back, back into the wall and growls down your throat. And you’d been wrong. His hand on you don’t feel like small bursts of electricity. They’re like lighting. Dragging something you hadn’t known existed to the surface, and setting off a storm of need in your body.

“Course I want you,” one arm snakes around your waist, pressing your right into his erection. “Always fucking wanted you. You’re smoking hot,” he starts to kiss over your face, his words slightly muffled against your skin as you cling to his body. “Funnier than I am, and smart as hell. You feel like home and smell so good and, fuck, I’ve lost sleep thinkin’ about how it’d feel to get lost in you. I’d have to be fucking blind and dumb not to want you,” Dean grunts your name, returning your mouth to yours with a painfully soft, gentle, featherlight kiss. “But I’m not-“

“If you say good for me,” you mutter, leaning back to glare at him. “I’ll punch you.” He chuckles, and it’s dry and low, rumbling from his chest into yours. “I’m not-“

“You are.” You whisper, offering him a small, slightly broken smile. You need him to get this. You might start crying if he doesn’t. “You’re good for me. And I want you. I love you.” Something flashes in his eyes, and you don’t care if he believes you. He doesn’t have to believe you. He just needs to get it. “No spell, Dean. I’m here, and I’m yours. Take me.”

Your nails dig into his skin—attempting to leave a mark of him if he turns you away—and his breathing is ragged. Heavy and hot, fanning across your face as he stares at you, just stares at you, why is he just staring at you-

“Dean-“

This kiss is brutal It’s teeth and tongue and bruising lips, like he’s trying to move into your body. His hands are everywhere on you, squeezing your ass and palming your tits, rolling your nipple between two fingers before groaning down your throat when you moan.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters your name, his hand on your ass glides onto your pussy, playing with your folds and flicking at your clit once, twice, three times and you feel fucking high- “So wet for me-“

“For you,” you whimper, nodding stupidly as Dean presses him thumb down on that bundle of nerves, rubbing slowly. “Fuck, Dean, all for you-“ 

“Need to taste you,” he growls, pulling his mouth fully back, watching you grind onto his hand with a dark gaze. “You gonna let me taste you, baby? Let me eat that pretty pussy-“ 

You’ve barely nodded before he’s on his knees, one arm still around your waist to support you both as he dives into your cunt. 

Oh.

He’s good at this. Really, really fucking good at this. You can’t really think anything that’s not Dean, or make any noise that’s not a moan kind of good at this. He’s ravenous and starved, his nose bumping and pressing into your clit in an impossibly mind-numbing rhythm, his tongue plunging in and out of your cunt until your squirming above him, desperate for more.

“Dean,” your hand tug at his hair, and you don’t know if you’re trying to push him deeper or pull him away. “Shit, Dean, I’m gonna cum-“

He groans against you, his eyes opening to watch you come apart above him, and you think he might be getting off on this.

“Please,” you whimper. “God, please, I need to cum-“

Dean bites your clit, and your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. It’s all bliss and relief and a high, bright haze of Dean, and then you’re falling down.

Dean’s pulling you down. Onto his lap as he leans back, moving you to straddle over him as his cock throbs between his legs.

You want to touch him.

You push back on him, just enough for his grip to loosen, and take him in your hand. He’s huge. And pretty. Dicks aren’t supposed to be pretty, but Dean’s is, and it might be because every part of Dean is pretty. Every part of him is impossible pretty, from his cock twitching in your hand as you run your thumb over the slit, to his lidded eyes and parted mouth as he watches you with wonder.

“Shit,” he moans your name, and fuck, even that was pretty. “What are you doing to me-“

“Handjob,” you whisper, placing your free hand lightly on his chest in a silent request for him to lay back. “I think.”

Dean huffs a laugh, leaning back with a smirk. “Ya think? You sure you know what you’re doing with that- Fuck-“

You hum around Dean’s cock, your lips wrapped around the base as your tongue swirls around his shaft, and his groans are sinful. The fire in your corse hadn’t lessened by any means from your orgasm, but it grows unbearable as you move Dean’s hand to your hair and let him guide you up and down. Let him set the pace, moaning when his hips jerk and he hits the back of your throat, and squeezing his thighs in silent reassurance that you’re good. You’re really, really good. You’re grinding onto Dean’s knee as he fucks your face, playing with his balls with your free hand and devouring every bit of slightly slurred praise that falls from his mouth.

“Fucking hell, baby, you always been this good at sucking cock? You’re, shit, you look like a wet dream, look like an angel, fuck.” He hisses at your teeth graze over him. “You look so good like this. Mouth stuffed full of cock, desperate and wet for me-“ You roll your hips against him, and Dean tugs you fully up, smirking at your swollen lips and glossy eyes. “Careful,” he warns, sitting up as his thumb swipes a little bit of drool from your cheek. “When I’m cumming tonight, I’m cumming in you, baby, got that?”

“Yes, please,” you whimper. You’re on the pill anyway. “Dean-“

“C’mere.” He tugs you into his lap with careful hands, scanning over you with a small shake of his head. “Son of bitch, you’re gorgeous. You’re sure you-“

“I’m sure.” You grind against his cock, never looking away from him as the head of him bumps your clit. It goes on for too long, Dean just watching you fuck yourself on his lap with his hands bruising your hips, and you start to whine. “Shit, Dean, need you-“

Dean surges forward, kissing you long and deep and slow, and keeps his brow pressed to yours as he looks down to where you’re moving on him.

“Hold on,” he mutters, and you follow the order without a second thought.

Your arms wrap around Dean’s neck just as he lines himself up, and you almost scream when he pushes into you.

“Shit,” he looks back at you, eyes wide. “Are you-“

“Don’t stop,” you moan, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “Fuck, it feels so good, Dean, don’t stop.”

He nods, kissing the side of your head, and slowly moves into your aching pussy until he bottoms out with a long exhale.

“Gonna, fuck-“ He groans as you squeeze around him. “Can’t do that, baby, I won’t last a minute-

“Sorry,” you mumble against him, playing with the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. “Didn’t meant to-“

“It’s fine.” He grunts, still not moving. “Just, fuck, you feel so good. So warm,” he groans, pressing his face onto the top of your head. “So tight and warm, feel so good-“

“Dean, please-“

You gasp as he gives one, short thrust upward.

“So good,” Dean growls in your ear, making another small, dizzying movement that presses him right up against that spongey spot deep inside of you. “Ready?”

“Ye-“

You squeal as Dean rises to his knees, keeping himself sheathed inside you as he falls forward, his hand splayed on your back and holding you carefully against him. His face is resting between your breasts, his cock angled so deep inside you it might drive you insane if he doesn’t start to fucking move, and his eyes stay yours as you only watch each other for a long moment.

He’s asking permission. Dean’s not pulling away, but he’s also not moving, because he’s offering you one last chance to turn him down. 

You move one hand to hold his face, wrapping your legs around his waist and squirming around him in silent encouragement.

It snaps something in him. Dean grabs your hand, moves it onto the back of his neck, and lowers you fully onto the ground so you’re caged between him and floor. He scans over you for only a second, a small, cocky smirk crawling onto his face, leans down to give you one last, almost sweet kiss.

A soft moan leaves you as Dean traces his tongue over your lips, and his low growl is the only warning you get before he starts to fuck into you like an animal.

It’s sloppy and wet and loud, skin slapping against skin as Dean abuses your cunt, and fuck you’ve never felt better. You feel full, split open on his cock and right where you belong, alive in a way that seeps right into your soul and ignites your blood into a holy fire of Dean. Groaning your name on your skin and touching you with calloused, big, expert hands. Watching you as you unravel beneath him, scraping your nails over his back and making needy sounds that only spur him on.

You’re going to fly out of your body. Dean’s muscles are ripping above and around you as he fucks you into the floor, and his mouth is mold perfectly onto yours. Neither of you seem to care to breathe, or speak, or do anything but nips and suck and lick at each other. Trying to get impossibly closer, to drag the other over the edge so you can fall with them. You grind up into Dean, and Dean bites your lip. Dean rolls his hips as he bottoms out, making your mouth fall open for his tongue to plunge down your throat, and you scrape and claw as his chest until he groans, and you manage to slip one hand down to play with his balls.

He wins he swats your hand away and starts to rub small, firm circles on your clit. He’s unrelenting, and watching you with an affection that feels a little misplaced for the carnal hunger on his handsome features.

“Always want you,” he mutters your name, pressing his thumb flat against you. “Cum for me, baby.”

Your vision blurs as you find release, and it feels like heaven. Like stars and fire and water and light under your skin, in your blood, like a halo around your head that’s all just the pleasure Dean’s is still wringing from your body. Your pussy is fluttering and gushing around his cock, and it sends him over the edge with a roar, his hips slamming home as he paints the walls of your cunt white.

And when you’re both spent and Dean rolls you over—carefully adjusting you to be right on top of him, his body a barrier between you and the now-cold floor—you feel good. Really, really good. Fucked out and high, nothing trying to burst out of your skin or eat at your stomach. You feel better than you might have ever felt in your whole life. The only warmth in your body is heat you’re trading with Dean, and you feel good.

“We, um.” You trace over his tattoo, looking up at him under your eyelashes. “We should probably talk, or something-“

“Or something.” He agrees, grinning down at you. “Don’t feel like it’s a rush though. Sammy and Bobby will find us in the morning. Right now,” Dean kisses your brow, squeezing his arms around your body. “You’re all mine.”

You can be all his. It’ll be really, really easy to be all Dean, because he hasn’t said he loves you, but he does. You know he does. It lives in how he’s still touching and holding you, still talking to you like you’re his best friend and not a mistake, and running his hands through your hair mindlessly.

And you’ll have a lot to talk about later. A lot to fight about, and fuck about, and laugh and cry and scream about.

But right now you just have to be Dean’s.

And that will be really easy.

End Note: Bobby Singer you are fifty times the father John Winchester could ever HOPE to be.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery

[ftwdb]

Don’t say go.

Chapter 18.

Warnings: Dark themes, sexual content, violence, non-graphic description/implications of SA, child abuse and domestic violence. References to addiction. Unhealthy love/obsession/relationships. Soulmate AU. Eventual smut. Love Triangle!

It’s dark by the time you feel the strength of The Pull reaching its peak, and you know what that means. You look around into the darkness. In the wastes there isn’t much besides stretches of empty barren land and mountains in the distance. You know you’re not yet at your destination which can only mean one thing; the boy with the flag was headed toward you too.

You see twin lights in the distance. A car headed toward you. Eventually you stop in the middle of the road and just wait. The lights get closer until they shine on your windscreen and you both sit, unmoving, just waiting for the other to make the first move.

You cut the truck’s engine and step out.

The boy does the same. The light of your vehicles illuminate the night just enough that you can make each other out in the darkness.

The boy steps forward enough so that he is thrown into view and you can see the warm brown of his eyes, his features which are so different from Troy’s, softer but still strong.

You hesitate. Your gun is tucked in the back of your jeans and your fingers twitch.

The boy speaks.

“Hi… I’m Nick.”

You don’t say anything, you just keep watching until he clears his throat as if a little unsure of himself.

“You came alone?” he asks.

You could have kicked yourself. Coming alone had been a risk but now that he was here, in the middle of nowhere, and no one knew where you’d gone, you realised how vulnerable you’d left yourself.

“For now,” you answered him flatly. At least if you were vague about whether you had people with you it might make him have second thoughts if he was planning anything…

The boy waits a beat before trying again.

“I guess you felt it too then…”

You don’t want to say the words out loud so you simply nod your head. The boy, Nick, continues.

“I thought I was going crazy at first. I never thought I’d find my… find you. Feel it, you know?”

You frown at this. Everyone worries they’ll never find their soulmate but something in his voice captures your attention. It’s less that he’s worried about the odds and more… something you can’t quite distinguish.

“Why?” you ask.

Nick hesitated before shrugging a little.

“That’s a… it doesn’t matter. What matters now is that I found you. It feels… weird. Don’t you think?”

Perhaps if you hadn’t already had the experience with Troy you would agree. But you didn’t want him to know that Troy was your soulmate and so you don’t answer his question.

“Look I came here to warn you. Some of the people from my community are coming back tonight to finish what they started. You need to tell your people to run.”

Nick frowns at this information.

“We agreed to a truce-“

You shake your head in annoyance. You don’t want to explain all this. You want him to just listen to your warning and leave so you can forget about whatever this mistake is between you both and go home, go back to Troy.

“They’re acting of their own accord. Some of the men have certain… loyalties. This isn’t about protecting their home, it’s about revenge.”

Nick is watching you closely now and you don’t like the way his eyes are roaming over you. You freeze. You wonder if he can feel your emotions just like you can with Troy. You reach out in the same way you do with Troy and try to find Nick, to feel what he feels… there’s nothing. Just the regular sense of The Pull.

“You’re warning me because of this feeling between us? You came looking for me because of it.”

You shake your head growing more frustrated as all you want to do is head back before Mike and the others see you out here.

“I don’t have time to explain myself. You have to get your people and go far away from here. Don’t come back.”

Nick’s eyes widen as he realises you have no intention of staying with him.

“But… you have to come with me. When I left earlier, after I saw you, it felt like my heart was being-“

“It doesn’t matter.” You say quickly, all too familiar with that pain. “I can’t come. I won’t go with you. But I don’t want you to die either so, please, leave.”

Nick is staring at you incredulously.

“I can’t do that.”

You actually growl from your frustration with him.

“Why!?”

“Because,” Nick says as he steps closer. You take a large step away from him. You can’t risk him getting too close, having him touch you. You don’t know what will happen.

“I just found you. I can’t walk away!” he continues.

“Then run! Drive! Fucking skip for all I care! If you stay, you die. Not that I care-“

“That’s a lie.” Nick cuts you off quickly. “Soulmates need each other. Hearts literally break when they lose one another. So why… why are you denying this?”

You swallow nervously and look at the truck. You could just get back in and drive away, but what if he follows? You have a feeling he would. He seems the type. Reckless and stubborn.

“I… it’s complicated.”

You say, and you hate how pathetic that sounds.

“‘It’s Complicated’ used to be a Facebook status.” Nick quips. “Tell me the truth. Why run from me?”

“I’m not!”

“Then what are you running from!? Or… wait… what are you going back to?”

You clench your jaw as Nick slowly starts to put the pieces together in his head.

“You have someone-“

“No.”

“A boyfriend? Fiancé?”

“No! No one!”

“Your home then, your community. You’re worried this would cause a problem. Conflict? But maybe it could help solve the bad blood between us! Two soulmates who find each other on opposites sides-“

“This isn’t bloody Romeo and Juliet, Nick!”

He grins and it makes you want to slap the beautiful smile off his face.

“You’re hardly Juliet sweetheart.”

You snarl, your anger beginning to erupt. Why won’t he just listen! Why make this so complicated!

“Whatever! Just get in your car and drive away Romeo!”

Nick laughs and it’s almost like he’s enjoying this.

“Oh the universe is truly a bitch. I didn’t think I’d find my soulmate because I didn’t deserve one. But maybe I do. It’s ironic that she would hate me, a poetic kind of punishment I guess…”

Your expression eases but doesn’t soften as you listen to him ramble. Hate? You didn’t hate him…

“Why would you be punished?” you ask, your senses on alert in case this was the part where he confesses to being a serial killer or something.

Nick shrugs again.

“If you got to know me, you’d understand.”

You shake your head again with a weary sigh.

“You don’t listen do you.”

Nick steps forward again and this time the light moves so he’s back in the shadows with you.

“I could… but you’d need to actually tell me something for me to hear it. Something besides “run away” because that isn’t happening.”

You swear at him and he smirks.

“We don’t have time. Your people will be killed.”

Nick rubs his hand over the back of his neck and it finally seems to dawn on him, he has other responsibilities. Other people to protect.

“When are your people attacking?”

“They’re leaving the ranch around midnight, so probably by the early hours of the morning. Before sunrise though.”

“Element of surprise, cover of darkness. They’re smart.”

“And well armed. So will you listen to me now?”

Nick stares at you for a few seconds and you almost believe he’d let his people risk being slaughtered instead of going back to warn them.

“Fine.”

You blink at him.

“Fine?”

“That’s what I said. I’ll go back. I’ll warn them.”

“And you’ll run? You can’t fight back, it’ll be a bloodbath.”

“Look I can’t promise anything… we have some stubborn members of our group and they might not take the truce being broken well-“

“The truce isn’t broken. It’s just a small group-“

“Still breaking the truce. Still disobeying your leader, right?”

You bite your tongue. Jeremiah wasn’t their “leader” officially but he was as good as.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess. So what? You’ll go back and they’ll try to defend themselves?”

Nick shrugs again.

“If they think it’s more beneficial than running.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“I’m getting a damn headache.”

For some reason this amuses Nick.

“Head rub?”

Your look at him is deadly and he sniggers.

“Joking. Lighten up. Look, I’ll go back and do what I can to stop anymore death. But I can’t promise anything. We lost people. The guy who was in charge came at us like a demon. We didn’t stand a chance…”

Your stomach twists as Nick talks about Troy.

“You want revenge?”

Nick’s expression blanks out and you recognise the perfectly controlled mask on his face. You’d used it yourself before.

“Me? No. But there are those who do.”

“Then convince them their lives aren’t worth it. Tonight is not their night to die. Please… no more death.”

Your voice breaks as you finish your sentence and Nick tilts his head at you. You look away, hating that you’d let some vulnerability slip through.

“Who’d you lose?”

You take a slow breath and shake your head.

“Doesn’t matter. Just… do what you can. And if you can’t save them… save yourself at least.”

Nick looks like he wants to say more. He looks pained.

“Can I… see you again?”

It’s almost laughable. Like a schoolboy asking out his crush. You place your hand on the door of the truck and grip it tight as you give him a firm “no” and turn away before you can see the look on his face.

You slide into your truck and slam the door, locking it before turning in the engine. This was for the best. You didn’t know what else to do. There had been some mistake and maybe Nick had another soulmate out there somewhere too? You hoped so… you didn’t want him to be in pain.

You hear a tap at the window and you look over to see Nick still standing there, motioning for you to wind it down. You do, only a few inches so you can hear him speak.

Nick pauses as he looks you over before speaking.

“It’s him, isn’t it.”

You frown and Nick elaborates.

“The guy who attacked us. The one who was hurt. He’s why you won’t stay with me.”

You feel your stomach drop. Your hands clench on the wheel as you grit your teeth.

“His name is Troy.”

“Troy…” Nick repeats and you hear the sadness and disappointment in his voice. “Well, you must love him a lot to choose him over your soulmate.”

You avoid his eyes still and stare straight ahead until the light from his car burns your eyes.

Nick continues.

“… I hope he makes it, for your sake. And… I want you to know it wasn’t me. I didn’t hurt him.”

You nod, not that it would have mattered. As much as you loved Troy you could understand he’d made a choice that led to his own injuries. Even if he’d done it to protect you… you hated that the blood that had been spilt was on your hands too now.

“I have to go,” you say emptily and put the truck into reverse.

Nick steps back just in time to save his foot being run over as you reverse and turn, glancing back to see his shadow in the headlights as you drive back home. Back to Troy. Back to where your heart felt complete as you tried to ignore how it felt as if you’d just left a piece of it in the darkness behind you…

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Eddie seemed to have zero impulse control when he's not actively thinking about it. After Vecna Eddie moved in with Steve because he and Wayne didn't have a new place yet, plus, Wayne was living out of a motel. It was not a place for someone with wounds like his. Also, he was still waiting to be cleared of all charges. Steve was well enough to take care of Eddie. The metalhead was still in a lot of pain and on as many painkillers as he was allowed the first time that it happened. Steve was leaning over to fluff his pillows, and his lips were close to Eddie's face. It was all Steve’s fault, really. Eddie was thinking about how pretty his lips were when he decided to grab Steve by the back of the neck.

"What are - MMHH!"

Eddie brought his lips to his, and it was the sweetest kiss that Steve had ever experienced. It had left his lips feeling all tingly. Steve could easily pass it off on the fact that Eddie was high, and that was exactly what he did do. He never brought it up or told anyone about it. . .not even Robin. He really couldn't ignore it, though, when it happened a second time.

Eddie was feeling a lot better and could move around the house a lot more. Steve had finally been able to cook dinner for the both of them after living off other people's cooking and takeout while they both healed. They had finished eating when Eddie lumbered over to him and spun him around, cupping his face.

"That was the best home-cooked meal I've ever eaten - MUAH!" Eddie exclaimed, kissing him square on the mouth. "You go settle down. I'll handle the clean-up, big boy."

Steve had frozen a little. Surely, Eddie knew what he was doing? Since he hadn't brought it up, Steve decided not to bring it up either. . .except when it happened a third time. Eddie was completely healed, and he was able to be let out of the house since he was he officially cleared of all charges. He wanted to meet up with Corroded Coffin at Gareth's since they refused to come over to Steve's house despite the fact that Steve had told them they were welcome anytime. Even though he understood where they were coming from, it still stung that they refused to even try to get to know him. Anyways, Eddie was on his way out the door except for the fact that his keys were lying on the counter.

"Hey, did you forget something?" Steve asked.

"Oh, right," Eddie said, twirled around and kissed him while scooping up the keys. Then he was gone.

Okay, he really couldn't ignore it this time. Steve really needed to talk to someone about the kisses and about how much he liked them. He needed to know what that meant, and he knew exactly what kind of conversation this would turn out to be.

"Eddie keeps kissing me," Steve said as soon as Robin got in the car.

"I'm sorry, what?" Robin said, blinking.

"You know how Eddie's really affectionate," Steve replied. "Does it bother you when he kisses you?"

"Oh, you mean like kissing on the forehead and the cheek? No, I think it's sweet, actually," Robin said and rolled her eyes. "Are you feeling a little insecure in your masculinity because a man is getting a little affectionate with you?"

"What?! No, I don't mind getting affection from a man, Robin. You know I hug Argyle all the time," Steve said. "I'm just wondering why Eddie kisses me on the mouth and he doesn't do that with anyone else."

"Stop the car!" Robin screamed, and Steve pulled over the side, parking the car.

"Jesus, Robin!" Steve exclaimed.

"Eddie's been kissing you on the MOUTH?!" Robin asked.

"Yeah. He doesn't do that with you?" Steve asked.

"No, I think that's a treat only for you," Robin said.

"But why? We're both straight," Steve said. "I mean, I'm not trying to complain or anything, it's nice but why is he doing it?"

"You like it when he kisses you?" Robin asked.

"Yeah," Steve shrugged. "If I were into men, I'd be asking him on a date, but I'm not gay, Robin. . .well, maybe just for Eddie. Is it possible to be gay just for one person?"

"I mean, maybe, but I doubt that it's the case here," Robin said. "Usually, I would probably let you figure this out for yourself, but considering how long you kept it hidden that you like Nancy Drew, it might just take a while. . .do I have permission to rip off the band-aid?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess," Steve asked. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, how the hell were you so sure about Vickie and completely clueless about yourself?" Robin asked.

"Are you still on it that I totally called it about Vickie being a lesbian before you did?" Steve asked.

"She's not a lesbian, dingus," Robun said.

"Okay, I was pretty sure that you two were dating. Robin, she's clearly into you, so I'm pretty sure you have a shot," Steve said.

"Yeah, we are dating but she's not a lesbian," she said.

"I'm so confused," Steve said.

"In more ways than one," Robin said.

"Robin, we're going to be late for work," Steve said.

"Vickie is a bisexual," Robin said. "She likes more than one gender."

"Oh. . .oh, like David Bowie!" Steve exclaimed. "Right?!"

"Right," Robin said.

"Oh my god!" Steve said. "My Tom Cruise obsession suddenly makes sense - I didn't want to be him - "

"Not to mention, all those times you've stared openly at Eddie along with his posters of Eddie Van Halen and Kirt Hammel. . . "

"Kirk Hammett, Robin," Steve scoffed. "Eddie would rip you a new one for getting that one wrong."

"But you knew it because Eddie did," Robin said.

"I like him," Steve said with wide eyes.

"Yeah, buddy. Are you going to need a minute?" Robin said.

"Nah, I'm fine. I actually feel really good about it," Steve grinned.

"Not even a little freak out?" She asked.

"Nope!"

"Lucky bitch," Robin muttered.

"I'm sorry, the next time I have a realization about myself, I'll make sure to give you the freak out that you deserve," Steve said.

"That's all I'm asking," Robin said.

They spent the morning shift talking about Eddie and what he'd say to him once he got home. Steve debated on giving him flowers or not, or a stuff animal. He decided on a stuffed animal because that was more permanent, as Robin had pointed out. They were just about to take their break for lunch when Eddie strolled in.

"Hey," Steve said brightly. "I was just thinking about you."

"Yeah?" Eddie asked and leaned against the counter. "That's good to know."

Eddie leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips. This time, Steve responded to it, cupping Eddie's face as he deepened the kiss. He could feel Eddie smile against his lips. Steve heard Robin scrambling to lock the front door and close the newly installed blinds. Eddie wrapped his arms around him, nearly climbing over the counter to do it. Finally, Robin coughed loudly and they broke apart.

"Hi," Steve said breathlessly.

"Hi," Eddie said. "I got something for you."

He climbed over the counter and sat down in front of him. He pulled out a rock and handed it to Steve.

"It looks like a guitar pick," Steve said with a grin.

"I thought you could use it for good luck," Eddie said.

"That's very sweet, thank you," Steve said, blushing. "I'm going to keep it forever."

"So, your boyfriend did good?" Eddie asked.

"Boyfriend?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, I know we're taking things slow, but I was hoping that you'd consider me being your boyfriend," Eddie said.

"Yeah, uh, it's just - it might be the concussions, but I don't remember asking you out or you asking me out," Steve said.

"Oh, you definitely asked me out," Eddie said.

"Oh, God, Robin. The doctor said if I started having memory problems - " Steve said with wide eyes. "I'd definitely remember asking you out."

"Honey! I'm sure it's fine!" Eddie exclaimed. "Robin was there, she'll tell you!"

"I was NOT!" Robin yelled, her eyes going wide. "Or was I? Oh, god, what if I hit my head and I don't remember?! I'd remember my best friend asking out a man!"

"Okay, don't panic, Robin, we'll call Hopper - " Steve started to say.

"You really don't remember?!" Eddie shrieked.

"No!" Robin and Steve yelled.

"Seriously, Robin, you were there, and you turned into a giant duck which, by the way, is rude because you know about my fear of ducks!" Eddie yelled.

"Oh, Eddie, goddamnit, was this a dream?" Steve asked.

"You know what? Now that I'm thinking about it, I think it might have been a dream," Eddie said.

"Okay, those looks you've been giving me make a lot more sense," Robin said. "Have you been living in fear of me randomly turning into a duck, like I'm some sort of. . .wereduck?"

"I don't know, your name's Robin, and we've all been through crazy shit. . .anything is possible," Eddie said.

"Aww, and you've hugged me even though you're scared of ducks," Robin cooed.

"Well, it's my fear, my responsibility. It's not your fault," Eddie said and then looked at her. "But you're not, though, right?"

"No, Eddie," she said softly and then affectionately, "You dingus."

"This whole time. . .," Eddie trailed off. "We haven't actually been dating. You never asked me out."

Eddie started to scramble off of the counter when Steve grabbed him and pulled him back.

"Let's fix that. . .Eddie Munson, do you want to be my boyfriend?" Steve asked.

"Fuck yeah, I do," Eddie grinned.

He grabbed the back of Steve’s head and crashed their lips together. Eddie sighed and leaned his forehead against Steve’s.

"No one better fucking wake me up," Eddie breathed and Steve laughed.

"Oh God! I think my nose is turning into a bill - quack, quack!"

"Robin!"

[doctor-mccoys-sanity]

i’m the biggest sucker for soulmate AUs bc what do you mean it allows for people that believe themselves to be unloveable have someone that loves them unconditionally and irrefutably. What does you mean we’re all loveable. What.

[jadewritesficshere]

Steddie soulmate AU where Eddie is a famous musician, everyone assumes he doesn't have a soulmate. Eddie was just smart and doesn't confirm, doesn't want to go through rabid fans who claim to be his soulmate. He's had too many show up wearing his initials they tattooed on themselves even before he was asked about soulmates in an interview.

Enter Steve Harrington who works as a nurse. Just casually on his third nightshift in a row in the ER. Sipping some coffee trying not to fall asleep when they get the call about some confidential patient coming in.

Eddie comes in for some injury. Steve has 0 clue who he is, just says "You look familiar, did we go to school together?" And Eddie practically falls off the stretcher at Steve's feet. Goes all googoo eyes at him. Steve being mildly concerned because Eddie's heart rate keeps skyrocketing (its because Steve is touching him).

One of the other nurses can't help but try and get the gossip from Steve, who is very much confused as to why she cares about this random patient. She tells Steve who Eddie is, and he's just like ???? Okay???

Steve doesn't admit it but the picture she shows is HOT. It's Eddie, flipping off the camera, tongue out. He's covered in tattoos, including the word 'sorry' written in a weird script on his middle finger. He's shirtless and his pants are so low that Steve can see the dip of his hips creating a v and-

Steve has to walk into the supply room to get himself under control. Pretends it doesn't mean anything and goes back to his job as his heart thuds rapidly in his chest.

Eddie tries not to pass out when they draw his blood, Steve holds his hand. It feels right. Eddie can't help wanting to ask," Hey, do you have a soulmate?" But he hates being asked that question, so he won't.

Until Steve bends over, his scrub top lifting up slightly. Eddie can't help glancing at his ass, but then he can't breathe. Because on his lower back is the initials EJM.

"Steve G. H?" Eddie asks as his voice goes up an octave. Steve turns, bewildered ," How did you-?" "Edward James Munson." Eddie whispers.

Oh

[bold-writing]

The One With Whiskey Eyes || 20 || Cinnamon and Whiskey

Words: 3200+

Warnings: Mentions of Abuse, Trauma

Previous || Next

~20~

Iris was accustomed to waking up alone—when living on the streets, it had been a blessing, and when living by herself it was expected. However, since meeting Barry she had many mornings that she had woken with one of her soulmates. The sensation of her head rising and falling with the elevation of a chest as her soulmate breathed deeply with sleep, it was somehow intimate and familiar after so short a time.

Barely awake, Iris was unable to fight the yawn that had her tipping her head back and away from her soulmate's chest—she ended up resting her head in the cradle of his arm instead, letting her cheek rest against his pec muscle.

Still breathing deeply, the arm around her shoulders drew in and brought her closer. Sighing in contentment as she gratefully accepted the embrace, Iris slipped her arm over his stomach to return the hold. She could feel him move before gentle breaths shuffled her hair and his nose buried in the crown of her hair.

Taking a deep breath when she felt another yawn coming forward, her brain woke abruptly—cutting off the yawn before it could start—when she realized she was not lying on Barry. His smell was familiar to her now, especially since she was sleeping in his bed, but the person that was letting her use them as a pillow smelled different. There was more of a spice to their scent, like cinnamon and something she couldn't put her finger on.

Opening her eyes, the room still as dark as it had been when she fell asleep, Iris carefully lifted her head so as not to bump his nose as she turned to look at the newest face. The light from the hall lit his face enough for her to see his eyes were open, but not enough to take in the minute changes that occurred in each of her soulmate's expressions.

Silence stretched between them as Iris met his gaze, feeling the halt of his breath when he realized she was aware of a new identity being in the light. Barry had confessed that the others she had met were surprised at how easily she could tell them apart, but there were only a few that she needed to distinguish between so far.

Letting a smile warm her expression, Iris dropped her chin to rest on his—or her?—collar bone as she continued to gaze up at the soft blue eyes watching her. "You smell like cinnamon," she declared gently.

A full, boisterous laugh broke from her soulmate as his head tipped back. She was shaken alongside his laugh as his body shook and rocked beneath her hold, causing her to smile wider. "Cinnamon?" a feminine lilt responded. "I hope you like cinnamon."

A woman. The thought warmed Iris, knowing that she was meeting more of the female personalities within her soulmate's body. "I love cinnamon," she assured. "Good morning," she added a moment later, shifting to prop herself up on one elbow.

"Good morning," the alter responded, shifting to mirror her position so they were lying on their sides, facing one another. "My name's Felicia, by the way. I'm so happy to finally meet you, Iris." Reaching forward, she carefully swept some of the light-brown hair from Iris's face, letting her see the entirety of her soulmate's pale face. "Interesting choice of soulmark, too."

Iris let out a breathy laugh as she ducked her head, suddenly bashful of her choice in words. "I felt it was better than the generic 'Good morning' that I could have said. It's unique, right?"

Felicia laughed again, nodding in agreement. "Barry told us what happened. How are you feeling?" With the hand she had used to sweep aside her hair, Felicia stroked the soft skin of Iris's cheek as she carefully examined her expression for any changes upon mentioning the incident from the day before. "Sleep well?"

"I did, thank you. And I'm alright. It's kind of a blur now, I guess from the adrenaline of everything."

Nodding in understanding, the newest alter sighed faintly. "We felt your fear—well, the others who've met you felt it strongest but because Barry was in the light, we all kind of felt it alongside him. I hate that you had to go through that."

Iris carefully took the hand from her cheek to cradle in her smaller palm, letting her fingertips dance across the skin—it felt softer than Barry's hands usually did. "I'm alright, now. It does scare me to think who could have done that, but…I have you guys, so it's easier to bear."

Smiling again, Felicia reclaimed her hand and leaned forward to take Iris in a hug. It baffled her to feel how thin her soulmate actually is, especially when Iris returned her embrace and wrapped a thin arm around her waist. She'd noticed it when she felt Iris before she woke, but it was a shocking difference between their physical bodies. "So, breakfast?" Felicia proposed while leaning back to take in Iris's shadowed face. She regretted how dark the room was when meeting Iris for the first time, but it wasn't often the other soulmate would be able to say they woke up to Iris in their arms for their initial meeting.

"I have to go to the police station to sign my statement; want to get something on the way?"

"Totally!" Felicia agreed, then proceeded to leap out of Barry's bed and almost rush for the door. Iris sat up and watched her nearly trip as she came to an abrupt stop and spun back to face her. "Uhm…I could lend you something to wear, but…"

Iris waved her off with a smile, then motioned over to her clothing from the day before. "It's okay, my clothes from yesterday will be fine. We can go back to my apartment after, though, and I can show you where I live?"

"Yes! Okay, be right back!"

Iris laughed quietly to herself as the other woman disappeared, still wearing Barry's sleep clothes. Shuffling out of the warm bed, Iris shivered in the cool air from the underground tunnels. It made her reluctant to take off Barry's clothes, warm as they were. However, she couldn't very-well leave for the station in oversized sweats.

Slipping back into her own pants, she stopped short of pulling off the sleep shirt. It was plane black, nothing to signify that it was a sleep shirt. And she knew that women wore their soulmate's clothes all the time, so it wasn't that out of the ordinary, right? Pulling the collar up to her nose, she inhaled Barry's smell delicately.

She loves him. She told him she loves him. A smile brightened her expression without conscious thought, her heart beginning to speed up in her chest. He'd kissed her.

"If that's not the look of a woman in love, then I'm blind," Felicia said from the doorway, having changed from Barry's clothes and carrying them over one arm. Iris's cheeks immediately warmed in a blush as she dropped the collar of his shirt and turned to pick up her coat. Making a split decision, she left her shirt folded on the chair and wore the shirt he had given to her. "Awe, come on! You gotta tell me what happened! Barry was grinning like a right fool, too."

Glancing over her shoulder as she twisted her hair up to put in a bun, Iris couldn't supress the giddy feeling that overwhelmed her core. "Really?" she finally asked, sounding so meek and bashful.

Felicia laughed as she entered the room, dropping Barry's sleep clothes on the bed before she plunked herself down.

She had changed into a pair of black skinny jeans, fitting quite well on the male frame of Kevin's body, and an azure button-up that brought out the beautiful blue of her eyes. "Fell asleep grinning, he did. And I want to know why."

Again, Iris ducked her head to hide her face as she used her hair-tie to secure the mussed up bun that she had created. "I love him," she mumbled finally, refusing to look back at Felicia. She'd only just met this woman, yet she felt as though she could tell her anything.

"Yes!" Felicia screamed, throwing her arms up before clapping excitedly. "I knew it! I so called it! Well, how'd you tell him? Was it when he came to get you? Did he sweep in like a knight in shining armor? Wait, we're talking about Barry," she halted, doubling back when she remembered which soulmate Iris had confessed to.

Gasping, Iris turned to gap at Felicia. "Be nice!"

"What? I mean, don't get me wrong, Barry's awesome but he'd not the 'sweep you off your feet' kinda guy."

Shaking her head, Iris moved to sit on the edge of his desk chair, avoiding the shirt she had left there. "He might surprise you," she argued. "Barry...he's safety. To me. I feel safe with all of you, but there's something about being with him that makes me feel invincible. Like nothing can touch me when he's around," she explained quietly, unable to stop smiling as she remembered how she had felt when he held her in his arms.

"So, what happened?" Felicia asked more calmly this time, leaning forward with intrigue.

Covering her flaming cheeks, Iris looked away for a moment to collect herself. "An officer dropped us off at the gate, and I was assuring him that no matter what it looked like down here, that I would love it. That there's nothing wrong with living somewhere a bit different. He called me perfect, even when I just…brushed it off the first time, he insisted." Felicia smiled softly as she watched Iris's expressions play out alongside her story. "So…I told him I loved him, and he said he loved me, too."

"Awww," Felicia cooed, understanding Barry's behaviour better now.

Knowing that she couldn't leave it at that, Iris took a deep breath before confessing, "He kissed me."

Felicia tried very hard to stay quiet, not wanting to startle the woman away, but a squeal of excitement still escaped as she wiggled happily on the bed. "Oh, go Barry! I didn't think he had it in him."

"Felicia!" Iris scolded again, but laughter lightened her tone.

Standing up, Felicia surged forward to catch Iris's hands. "We're not done talking about this; you can tell me every detail while I do your hair and makeup."

Iris didn't even have a chance to protest as she was tugged out of her other soulmate's bedroom, barely remembering to catch the light switch on their way out.

Barry's thing was art—drawing and designing clothes to be specific—but it seemed that Felicia's was the art of makeup. The others didn't like the makeup on their skin, or what it did to their skin, so she didn't actually get the chance to practice her talents. Iris wasn't a huge fan of makeup, mostly because she never took the time to learn how to apply it properly, so she was baffled by all of the things that Felicia lined up on the counter to use.

Iris was considerably paler than her, however, so she wasn't able to use the creams and powders for her face. Instead, she spent the time working on making her whiskey eyes—already absolutely gorgeous, in Felicia's opinion—pop and stand out.

"How did you learn all of this?" Iris asked as she sat with her eyes closed, letting Felicia work some colour into her eyelids with a gentle touch. She could barely feel the brush across her skin.

"The wonders of Youtube, darling. I'm Queen of Youtube."

Iris smiled at Felicia's positive attitude, relieved to have someone with her that wasn't weighed down on remembering the attack on the store yesterday. She was already going to have to dredge up what happened to the police, so she really didn't want to spend her time with her soulmate doing the same. "Have you ever thought of making your own channel? Doing videos?"

Felicia hummed softly in thought as she continued to work, tipping Iris's chin upward to get a different angle. "Sometimes I think about it now and then, but…I've watched other videos that are-" she paused, trying to find the right word, "Similar. People don't react very kindly."

"Similar?" Iris repeated, the word mumbled when she tried not to move her jaw against Felicia's hand. When she felt the brush leave her eyelid, she opened her eyes to meet Felicia's saddened blue gaze. "Do you mean because of your body?" she asked carefully, not wanting to upset.

Instead of answering, Felicia looked away and shifted her body with the pretense of collecting more colour on the brush she was using. Frowning sadly, Iris reached out to gently lay her palm on her soulmate's arm. The warm touch brought her blue gaze back to Iris, who offered a small, encouraging smile.

"You're beautiful, Felicia. You all have something unique to yourselves, even if you share the same body." Reaching up, she gently caressed a thumb beneath her eyes, where her other soulmates' skin never quite felt as smooth. "I can't say I fully understand how it works, but I do believe that each of you have your own unique differences each time you…take the light." She had heard them speak of the experience a couple of times and was trying to use familiar terms. "You smell different, and your skin seems so much…softer. You have gentle eyes, like they were meant to go with a smile. Patricia's look more motherly, and BT's come across a bit intimidating. Yours…they're soft."

Looking into her eyes already, Iris could see the welling of moisture as she spoke. Felicia tried to blink away the collecting tears, filled with emotion, as she licked her lips shyly. Cupping her soulmates cheeks, Iris leaned forward as Felicia closed her eyes. Pressing soft kisses to each lid, void of makeup, she pulled away once she felt the muscles in Felicia's jaw relax.

"You're beautiful, and those who can't see that are blinded to a wonderful, unique reality that I get to live with every day. If you want to make a Youtube channel, I think you should. You can even disable the comments on it. However, I think that what others have to say—good or bad—is superficial to what matters to you. Any video you make isn't for the likes or the comments; it's because you want to show the world something you love."

The gentle tears that had been building up couldn't be stopped any longer, spilling over as her soulmate let out a shaky breath and leaned into Iris's hands more fully. She leaned forward to kiss the tears away, understanding the emotion that Felicia was feeling.

She was worried that people would lash out at her for being in a man's body. Iris had heard of people reacting to men on the internet who loved makeup, and created tutorials for others to watch. It broke her heart to hear how people reacted sometimes. Just as she had thought hiding her marks would keep her safe from physical and emotional harm, Felicia was hesitating to take the chance by putting herself out for the world to see.

"Don't let simple-minded people try and stop you," she encouraged gently. Pulling away from her slowly, Felicia opened her eyes to see what Iris was doing. She watched, entranced, as Iris carefully rolled up the sleeves of Barry's shirt to expose the various marks along her arms—black and silver—that belonged to the other alters in Kevin's body.

Felicia exhaled in awe as she took in the different styles of writing, all so familiar to her, with the scars of Iris's past abuse marring some of them.

"The thought of people seeing these used to terrify me, because I knew I was different and it would be hard for others to accept. Now, I realize that there are only twenty-three people that really matter." Smiling brightly, Iris clasped Felicia's hands and squeezed them tightly in her small fingers. "There's going to be people who don't understand, but they're not important."

Nodding along, Felicia couldn't stop crying as she returned the tight hold that iris had on her hands. "Thank you, Gorgeous. I really needed to hear that." She released Iris's hands one to wrap her in an embrace, inhaling the soft scent of her soulmate's hair. It felt like silk again her cheek, coaxing her to touch it. She really wanted to style the beautiful strands, caught between dark chocolate and liquid gold.

When she pulled back, she framed Iris's face between her hands and gave a vibrant smile. Her makeup was incomplete, only the light touches of powder on either eyelid enhancing the colour of her eyes. She could see the beginnings of moisture collecting in the beautiful whiskey of her eyes and immediately began fanning her face gently.

"Don't you dare! I worked hard on those eyes," she scolded playfully, sniffling at the end as Iris sobbed a laugh.

"Okay, okay, no tears," she agreed, tipping her head back so as to prevent any more moisture from building.

Iris used one of the tissues close at hand to wipe Felicia's tears away before they resumed their focus on finishing her makeup. "So, if I make a channel, will you be my model for some of the videos?" Felicia asked after a brief pause in conversation, beginning to line above Iris's lashes with a thin flick of black eyeliner.

"I'd be happy to," Iris responded immediately, warmed at the thought of Felicia pursuing something that she loved.

They changed the conversation to lighter topics as Felicia finished with her makeup and moved on to doing her hair, marvelling at the soft strands as she debated on whether she wanted to curl them or straighten them. "I wonder how long this would be if I straightened it," she pondered, raking her fingers gently through the long strands.

"I don't think I've ever straightened it before. And it has been a while since I cut it," Iris responded in a daze. The feeling of someone running their fingers through her hair was sending shivers all down her spine. Felicia grinned coyly when she noticed Iris's focus was lacking and began massaging her soulmate's scalp gently. Iris nearly purred at the feeling as she unconsciously leaned back into her touch.

"I think I'll straighten it," Felicia decided to herself, raking fingers along Iris's skull gently before she carded the locks through her fingers. It was mostly curly, with a slightly crimped appearance because of the braid that it had been bound in the day before.

Iris hummed in acknowledgement but didn't respond, letting her head be tipped this way and that as she relaxed into the playful hands in her hair.

It dawned on Felicia after a moment that Iris probably never had nice experiences with her hair—at least not like most girls did. She doubted that her mother had lovingly brushed her hair in the morning or before bed, or styled it before she went off to school. It was most likely the opposite, using her hair to pull her this way or that. It broke Felicia heart to know that they had both been deprived of something so basic.

"Just relax, Gorgeous, and let me take care of you."

Previous || Next