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evoblue · 8 months ago

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time capsule thread: red and blue make purple with @/silentchamp

summary: beneath the moonlight bathing the Saffron City harbor, Red and Blue finally find each other.

"You look...great...!"

The words take her by surprise.

"Oh! Red! Hi!" Blue is startled by his sudden appearance, a blush burning high on her cheekbones as she subconsciously folds her arms over her chest. She hadn't held out any hopes of running into him at the rave of all places... likely not his scene. Suddenly, she's hyper-aware of just how little she's wearing.

"I, um... thanks!" A nervous laugh follows as she tucks a strand of glittery hair behind her ear. "You still look great."

At least she considers her outfit just as 'bad' as Red's Lucario-Man costume... in the revealing department, anyway.

—

"...It's different." The champion remarks, losing the fight with his eyes and checking up and down his friend's figure. "But...you look..."

No longer that brave, mysterious hero known as Lucario-Man, Red stood timidly in front of her, having to use his hands in the dimly lit atmosphere. Hopefully, she could see his palms, motioning toward her before saying:

[ Gorgeous. Wonderful...very pretty. ] His words are forward, but the vibrant, free feeling that danced through everybody's bodies in that moment made it difficult to be stiff. It was only fitting that he too would let loose.

It wasn't respectful to oogle and drool, even if their feelings about each other's bodies had been particularly similar, so Red makes haste to concentrate somewhere else--her eyes.

"Haven't drank too much, have you? Don't have anybody bothering you, either? I would like you to stay safe." There he was again, that ever-valiant protector. "I trust you have nothing to be jealous or embarrassed about anymore, seeing as you have a costume..."

He regards their previous conversation, taking two steps forward to slowly close the gap between them, a means for her to hear him more clearly.

—

Blue is well aware of how good she looks tonight; after all, she never went out anywhere without making sure she looked absolutely perfect... so it's not what is said, but by whom.

It's quite uncharacteristic of Red to be so forward about things like this. Maybe that's why her stomach is doing flip-flops right now.

"Thank you," she replies warmly, looking far more relaxed than she had just moments before as her arms come to loosely rest at her sides. A rosy color blooms across her face, maybe from the heat of all these feverish bodies tightly packed in the hangar or perhaps from the alcohol. Or maybe it's just him. As it is, his piercing gaze lights up something within her little by little. It's hard to maintain eye contact so she bites her lip and looks away.

"I'm still sober enough," she appeases him. "There's... a lot of people trying to talk to me right now, though... it's a little overwhelming."

While she had fun during her time in the spotlight earlier, the moment had also turned her into a very recognizable (and popular) target. Even now, she can still feel eyes on them as Red draws nearer, though it's anyone's guess as to whether it's her or the sculpted Lucario-Man that they're ogling. Even though some bold wandering hands had attempted to get greedy in passing, they appear to be giving them a wide berth now. Red just has that sort of presence.

It's still sweet how he's concerned about her, though. She may be more than capable of handling herself but there's just something nice about having someone care enough to want to protect her without underestimating her.

"I feel safer when you're around, though. It's... really nice," she admits out loud, much to her own surprise.

—

As if Red's own gut wasn't doing its own gymnastics, eyes doing what they could to no longer fixate on Blue's barren waist; a gorgeous curvature, he wants to put his hands on them, let thick palms hold her tight. Her open collar isn't helping either; neither is the glitter, the hazy feeling in the air, the cannabis smell, his slight inebriation, and--

There's a lot going on right now, okay?!

Red had noticed the feeling of eyes across his figure throughout the night, too. Who wouldn't want a chance to spend time with one of the legends of Kanto? That, or an aggressive battle you probably stand little chance of winning.

"Come on." Red murmurs, too quiet to be heard around the ginormous crowd surrounding them. His cape softly flows behind him, like a true superhero. Part of him wants to get them away from here, get the prying eyes off of them both--but the rest of him is trying to avoid Blue's last piece of commentary, cheeks growing hot at her own admittance.

The dolled-up champion keeps a brief glance over his shoulder every few seconds, ensuring he wasn't moving too fast, that Blue was comfortable and safe, too.

She really did look gorgeous in that outfit; a few other dastardly things, too... but that was disrespectful of him, meaning thoughts would go unvoiced.

Red steals her to a secluded area of Vermillion Harbor, the apparent noise of waves drowning out the distant hum of overbearing EDM and crowd cheering.

This was better.

"...Is...this okay?"

Freeing her hand, Red leans up against a wall of heavy crates. Taking off his mask, ruby-red eyes are revealed--a departure from warm honey ones.

"I've been coming out here on and off...quiet." He looks on at her, expecting an answer.

—

Wordlessly, she allows him to lead her through the crowd, away from the strobes and the pounding music and the swaying bodies and the cannabis haze...

It's easier to weave around people this time around, the crowd parting like a sea of ancient times to make way for the two of them. Nobody approaches her on her way out, more than likely having misconstrued what's going on between the two of them.

It's not what they all think, though it startles her to find that a part of her wishes it was. Arceus, that's not a thought she should be having about one of her childhood friends... even if he's looking good enough to eat right now.

As they exit the carrier, the brisk nighttime air dispels her thoughts and raises goosebumps along her feverish skin. She shudders, her body slow to acclimate after the last several hours of high energy and heat below deck.

In contrast to the thrumming atmosphere they had just escaped, the harbor is an oasis of serenity. There's not much going on out here but the call of the sea, the waves gently lapping against concrete with the ebb and flow of the tide. The sky is devoid of clouds, a waxing moon illuminating the night and accentuating the vastness of the ocean.

It's all very much Red.

Her hand twitches when he releases it, pinpricks of heat spreading where he had touched. She clenches it into a loose fist and holds it against her chest. Hmm...

Unfortunately, this change of scenery squashes any possibility of her asking Red for a dance (that he would've probably declined, not to much surprise)... But those thoughts conjure images of Lucario-Man's chiseled chest against her back, those broad hands around her waist, and teeth hungrily pressed against the side of her neck and she turns scarlet. Whoa, where the hell did that come from??

That's not an image that she needs right now. What the hell is wrong with her?

"This—" Her voice rings out about an octave higher, causing her to pause and clear her throat. "This is fine, yeah."

It's jarringly sobering but it's for the best. At least her mind can better steer away from the gutter when she's not immersed in the rave's intoxicating atmosphere.

Blue gives him her back, taking a moment to collect herself as she admires the endless open sea. The moonlight bathes her in its gentle glow, refracting off the fragments of her top and skirt and picking up flecks of glitter smattered across her skin. She's practically shimmering.

"I can see why you like it here." When she breaks the silence again, her voice is steadier than it had been earlier. She glances over her shoulder at him. "The rave didn't strike me as your scene. What made you decide to come?"

—

It isn't the cold, frigid mountain he called home, and yet the steady waves seemingly put Red at ease. That, or perhaps his mind settles in the presence of Blue. Part of him wants to stare at cool eyes that match her namesake, match the tone of the ocean, and yet they stand at a distance, leaving wishes to be desired.

Had anybody misunderstood the meaning of their departure, maybe Red did wish that were the case--his heart trembles of childhood yearning and need in all its glory, and yet each time he would attempt to say something, only cobwebs would escape; silence, stopping himself from letting feelings pour out.

She was a busy woman. Blue wore her heart on her sleeve, and inside? Her studies, her adoration for pokémon. It'd be cruel and selfish to get in the way of that. At least, that's how Red sees it.

A family of Golbat chirp loudly above them, flying south with their heart set on warmer weather. It snaps him back into reality, eyes darting upward to make out a vague outline of the bat pokémon against the night sky.

"...Battling. Yeah. This isn't my scene, but..." His response is to the point, and it's so undeniably him. He makes the mental note that she's probably a little underdressed for the weather, soft breeze continuing to dance across the shore much like the people at the rave were. He silently unclips his cape.

"I was owed a battle or two, here. Had a drink. Makes it tolerable." Red steps forward, fabric making a soft swish as he guides it in front of him, carefully wrapping the sheet around his companion. "I like it here, better."

Lucario-Man would've done the same.

Looking at her from behind, he makes an effort to keep her warm, quietly wrapping arms around her waist.

"If you don't like this, tell me." Red requests. "It's cold. You're shivering. Sorry."

His core shakes and vibrates, heart thudding against his ribcage like an Electrode about to self-destruct. Doing this to himself, it's counterproductive, and yet the last thing he wants to do is sacrifice her comfort for his own. To keep her warm and safe, Red deemed it satisfying in what little time he'd thought about it.

Eyes keep a firm glance toward the sky, counting individual stars as if he'd cared enough.

"...Hope you're having fun." His tone is sincere, sighing through his nose. His chest presses against Blue's back, rising as he exhales.

He has to stop himself from grinding his teeth. It's undeniably difficult, his feelings and his thoughts and...her. Red...likes her. Red likes her a lot. What would she think?

—

She lets out a soft chuckle. Of course, the battles. That much she expects from the hotblooded former champion. The warmth that suddenly envelops her as Red drapes his cape over her shoulders and wraps her up in a protective cocoon? Not so much.

Blue sucks in a breath, feeling something flutter wildly in her chest as his arms wrap around her waist. It's been so long since anyone that mattered had held her like this, close and carefully, and it throws her into a mild state of disarray. Pink spreads across her face like wildfire. The motion makes her feel so... delicate, protected. Cherished.

She's not used to it but, Mew, she likes this.

Her heart needs to calm down, though. Red's just doing this to be nice, his words were quite clear. Once more, proof that he would give the shirt off his back to someone in need. And yet, his quiet 'sorry' leaves her feeling a bit hollow. She holds back a wistful sigh, really wishing that he wasn't.

He's so close, yet so out of reach.

It's tempting to say this is not okay, solely to spare herself the torment of his proximity but a small, stolen moment with him is better than no moment at all so she allows herself some selfishness, even if it kills her.

"Thank you. This is okay," she confirms to ease his worries, though her treacherous mind can't help wishing his arms were wrapped around her with different intent.

The solidity of his chest molds to her back and she bites her lip, trying not to think about how close they are, of how Red's just the right height for his breath to tickle the shell of her ear, of how the thin fabric does nothing to mask the quickened tempo of Red's heartbeat. Is he nervous thinking that he's making her uncomfortable?

"It's been fun, yeah." It's about the only honest thought she's voiced in the last five minutes. "It's not my usual scene either, but I've been having a blast so far. I love the music, the energy, the dancing." Having all eyes on her, for once, had been a nice feeling.

"Some of the more crazy I could do without, though," she admits. Between the alcohol, the drug haze, and the blanket of slight anonymity brought on by masks and costumes, most people's inhibitions had been completely dropped. "But it was nice to let loose for a bit. I... hope the battles made it worth it for you to come here."

—

That heart pounding against her chest; if only she really knew his true intent. A need to be closer, as close as possible, to nearly melt into Blue and mold together to finally become something entirely different. Togetherness. It was something Red had tried many, many times with others--earning only failure despite his resolve to make it work.

These relationships would never work, admittedly vanishing without a word didn't look good on his record. But Blue would understand. Maybe she'd even seek him out, consider his thoughts and feelings.

Would she?

That was a selfish thought, wasn't it? He's so concerned with staying out of her way, after all.

"It was worth it. I'd do it again, and again...and..." Red trails off, but it's obvious enough to fill in the blank. It makes him hum.

Eyes look out toward the rocking shores of Vermillion, that gorgeous shimmer enough to consider just how beautiful the planet they lived on was. It was like a gorgeous glitter; like the kind pasted across Blue's body, her shoulders, arms, neck. Even more, the glisten of beautiful blue eyes that mirrored the ocean Red had kept his glance firmly on. Even when trying to avoid any tension--it keeps building, and really, neither of them can stop it--the brunette's mind performs an almost masterful dance back toward the woman of his desires. His childhood friend. His rival. His crush.

She felt it too, didn't she?

"...Maybe..." The champion begins, blinking twice before stomaching the ability to complete his sentence. "...we should go somewhere, sometime. Someplace we both like." Red suggests. "...A place that's 'our scene', I guess."

Inhibitions. That's right, many people were relieving theirs in favor of enjoying the music, all of the entertainment. His were lowering too, but that wasn't due to the rave.

No, it was due to something else.

"...When...are you leaving?" He asks. A hand comes up to tuck some of Blue's bangs behind her ear, intentions vague. Glamoured eyes look back down at her, one arm growing somewhat tighter around her waist as he begins to slowly close the distance between their faces. Maybe he was really acting out of turn; then again, he was positive his friend would slap him, were that the case.

"... ...If you don't wanna go alone, I can go too. Tired." Sleepy eyes squint as Red smiles, and yet that drum in his chest refuses a ceasefire.

—

Red has a way of being vague and non-committal about some things, mainly when putting them into words. But this... Maybe she's hearing what she wants to hear, but she detects undertones of intimacy in the deep register of his voice as he suggests they go somewhere together, when he volunteers to leave with her.

His touch is fleeting, fingertips barely grazing her ear as he sweeps her bangs behind her ear, but it still sets her alight. When his arm tightens around her, it fills her with a heady, breathless feeling as the warmth of his breath grows ever nearer to her face.

Words can be vague, they can be misinterpreted... but actions speak louder, far more clearly... and right now, Red's actions suggest that she's misconstrued the situation entirely.

It's a night of daring, of adrenaline, of freedom and letting loose. Is she bold enough to put her suspicions to the test?

Blue turns around in his arms so she can face him, a delicate sigh slipping past parted lips as she tilts her head back to meet his glamoured eyes. They're deep crimson, alluring, and, despite his claims of exhaustion, bright under the moonlight. She frees her arms from her cocoon, the borrowed cape falling loosely off her shoulders. The evening chill is hardly on her mind; right now, the two of them are impossibly close and her nerves are on fire.

"I miss your natural eye color," she breathes, slowly curling the fingers of one hand around the back of his neck. She tentatively cups his face with the other.

She had planned to make her way back to the carrier at some point, to once more flood her senses and bury these complicated feelings that Red had brought to the surface underneath the haze. But how can she, when his intoxicating proximity has her caught in its trap?

"It's late. We should go back soon," she starts, vaguely remembering that it's a bit of a trek from the harbor back to Saffron. "But not yet."

Please, not yet.

Not when the two of them are alone, right here, right now. So close, she can feel his frantic heartbeat in tandem with her own. It's like she's drowning in a state of feverish delirium. The tension between them is palpable now, tightly coiled like a spring moments away from snapping. She's so close to losing her damn mind. She can't be the only one feeling this way.

Gods, she wants to... Her eyes are soft and half-mast under dark lashes as she gazes up at him. Is this okay? Has she read him properly?

If worse comes to worst, she can always feign intoxication.

—

He makes a noise when she turns around, commenting on his eyes. One of surprise, and yet afterwards he musters a snicker. It was particularly like her to be so sentimental, and yet her commentary makes him blush, lips puckering and pursing once in response to being flustered. Red's hand falls from her hair, resting thumb and pointer loosely on her cheek. He only strokes fair skin gently, tilting head with admiration.

His other arm stays tight-knit around her waist even now, thick fingers pressing possessively into Blue's hip; he couldn't even muster up the words to describe his feelings to her, and yet Red had already decreed she was his.

Or was he hers? That was the truth, wasn't it?

Maybe he liked that answer better.

He'd seemingly forgotten about the cape left crumpled on the floor of the sea harbor, threatening to be blown away by that frigid wind chill if Red didn't act fast. It didn't matter anymore, though. His costume didn't matter, or maybe it did, since it made the woman he'd oh-so-needily pined for look his direction.

It's true. Red was never great at describing his feelings, putting them into words for others to digest with ease. Like a battle with him, it was always a challenge, a brain game; a puzzle? Indeed, one would need to spend hour dissecting and pressing each individual piece together, but when you did, it was satisfying.

When Blue declines his consideration, Red doesn't take the route of direction--'Not yet' could mean many things, which meant there's potential; potential to turn this into something more. Especially with the way she'd been looking at him, inspecting chiseled, handsome features however she could under the pale moonlight. It couldn't have been easy, Red having to squint briefly in order to make out the fine lines and curves across his childhood friend.

If he had one Kanto poké for each time he'd felt attraction toward Blue, he'd be richer, enough to buy her anything and everything in the world.

Breath quickens in realization, Red finally registering their closeness. With the hand around her waist holding her tight, the other pressing soft caresses into her cheek--his stomach is on fire, ready to burst as lungs continue to speed up their own inhales.

So he bites the bullet.

Lashes flutter shut as Red tilts his head forward, pressing lips to Blue's. It's a quick movement, one without warning. He too could blame his own nonexistent drunkenness for his foolish behavior, should the champion be reading the room incorrectly.

Red's lips are warm. Not entirely dry, but vaguely chapped from the cold air biting and nipping at sensitive skin. The kiss isn't aggressive, mouth closed. He hadn't thought to take a full dip, to entirely ruin his chances if she didn't want this.

—

Her eyes drift shut as she leans into his gentle caress, her heart hammering within her ribcage. Will he...? Should she...?

In the end, it's him who breaches the gap.

The brush of their lips is sudden, fleeting, but still hits her like a lightning bolt, what feels like sparks of lightning making her shudder. Despite being weathered, Red's lips are still plump and inviting. That proprietorial hand on her hip feels heavier now, like it's being seared onto her skin.

Oh, she wants more.

She kisses back, demurely at first and then more fervently as something within her unravels. Her fingers wind into his thick hair, drawing him back in as warmth consumes her. She opens up to him like a flower in bloom, slowly licking his lips, inviting him in.

Even beyond the magnetic pull he's exerted on her tonight, she's wanted this. Her feelings for him have laid dormant, shoved aside to accommodate their choice of diverging paths and Red's constant disappearances. For so long, she'd told herself that she didn't feel anything, that she didn't want anything from the man that always seemed so out of reach. But since their reunion, her feelings had only burgeoned with his sweet smiles, his warm sunset eyes, his contagious enthusiasm haunting even her waking dreams.

And yet, doubt had consumed her in waves. Had they been too close for him to think of her as anything but a childhood friend? Did Red even feel anything when he wrapped her up in his arms, when he took her delicate hands into his weathered ones and massaged out her pain until she was left flustered and in a state of disarray? For months she's suffered in silence, pining and yearning while thinking him unaffected... but that's not the case, is it?

He's hers, at least for this moment...

—

The tongue grazing his lips, it earns her an open mouth as he nips at her bottom lip, connecting with his own to demonstrate a distinct, yet similar need for his friend. Was friend even the right word, anymore? Whatever they were, it made his heart soar, made his lungs clench and his gut swirl with more than enough butterfrees for an entire spring.

The timing had simply been right, the scenery set, their costumes and the atmosphere gorgeous. The stars would continue to shimmer like the glitter on Blue's body and the ocean waves would continue to rush against the pier like the blood pumping in their veins, but by Mew, Red couldn't be bothered to look that way right now because she was far more crucial in getting his attention.

There's something to be said for the way fingers wrap around wavy locks, stealing curls into digits, and the way she brushed and pulled only made it feel as though they'd belonged there. Like she should play with his hair while they sat on the couch together a late evening, or tugged hungrily whilst at their most intimate behind doors where no one could see.

He wouldn't want to think about how easier this would've been had the two simply used their words like real adults, and yet they danced around the idea like children avoiding their responsibilities.

A haughty breath escapes as Red opens his lips for air, and by now the champion has her glued to his figure with a decent grip, not enough to cause harm but enough to tell her that, at this rate, he wasn't sharing.

It's not that he's even thinking of her in a sensual way anymore, thoughts purely consumed by the yearning desire to simply be with her, even if it wouldn't last forever. Just time with her was enough, it always was. It would be embarrassing to tell Blue how many times he'd daydreamed of her thin hands embracing his own, to tell her how many times he had wished of coming home after a long day just to see her. To share dinners with her and strengthen their battle skills together in a double battle, or even just study pokémon together while exchanging kisses for each fact he'd get correct.

The brunette pries his lips away for air, though he doesn't provide much room to free her from his grip. Perhaps it was possessive, but they'd be stuck like this, just a little while.

It's a given--she could always tell him to stop, and he would. Yet, she wouldn't. It enamored him.

Red rests his forehead against hers, staring with half-lidded eyes and mouth agape, soft puffs pushing against hers. He tries to push for another kiss. This one is brief, a pledge of his love.

...Then he would speak a single word; a syllable, even. It's soft and hush, a smidge of bashfulness in his tone.

"...Hi..."

—

The sudden, bashful sweetness almost seems out of place coming from the man with a greedy hold on her but it still leaves her tickled pink. Blue can't help herself, giddy laughter spilling from her lips in between the quick, sweet little kisses she presses against his lips, his cheeks, his nose.

"...Hi," she finally replies back.

Her face is flushed, lips parted and curled into an easy smile as she gazes at him with dreamy eyes. Nothing has ever felt quite like this, an all-encompassing warmth, sheer contentment at being in the position that she's in. She could easily stay like this for a while, foreheads pressed together, their heartbeats one as they held each other.

What does this mean for them? She's not so naive as to instantly assume that Red wants to be with her, let alone be in love with her, though her mind doesn't hold back on the visions of domesticity that could come to fruition were that to be the case. Lazy weekend mornings spent twisted in bedsheets. Quiet moments of lounging in sleepwear as they cook meals together. Traveling hand in hand to places both old and new, broadening horizons and refreshing perspectives and reminding themselves of things they love in life, now together.

This could be a fresh page in a new chapter of their lives, which they could fill up as they go... though the part of her that's always left behind warns her to not get ahead of herself. They're adults, they should talk about things... but later. The selfish part of her wants to bask in the afterglow of this moment.

"Just so you know," she teases, alluding to the firm hold he refuses to relent on her. "I'm not going anywhere..."

—

Again, he'd felt this way many times before--Red would embrace the sweet feeling of love and adoration and yet each time, something would occur or happen or transpire that would shift whatever relationship he'd been in.

They'd break it off. They'd ghost him. He'd disappear.

Yet, despite all of that, he can't bring himself to worry, these past failures not making themselves comfortable in his brain or even inviting themselves in to begin. It didn't bother him, not when Blue was looking at him with such appreciation in her eyes. Not when the warmth from their kiss still sat on his lips, silently asking for more and more until he could no longer breathe. Oh, he yearned for her.

A fresh chapter, indeed.

Thick fingers gently roam up and down her backside possessively, but Red doesn't dare approach areas he feels aren't appropriate to touch. He needed to treat her like a lady, after all. She was more to him than a brief bout of hunger, or an unimportant milestone--even if certain unspoken thoughts had plagued his mind many times prior to this.

She could know someday. Not right now.

Red nuzzles her nose, still breathing against her mouth, a faint smell of alcohol and mint on his tongue.

"...I'm not going anywhere." The brunette professes. Easing one hand off her body and intertwining it with one of her manicured palms, Red squeezes. "I promise."

To spend his life with her, he'd give so much.

—

She hums placidly, Red's touch leaving pinpricks of heat along her mostly bare back. To have the warmth of his hands all over, gripping her tightly and holding her with a far more selfish purpose... she tries not to think of it too much. It's not the right time and she certainly doesn't want to give him the wrong impression; the sweetness of this moment is far more meaningful to her and her yearnings for him can be kept at bay until a more opportune moment. So instead she focuses on the gentleness of his gaze, the sweetness of his lips, the reassuring feeling of her hand in his as she intertwines their fingers. And then, his words tilt her world on its axis.

A promise to stay, when no one else ever has.

Her breath catches in her lungs. She wouldn't be so quick to believe this promise from anyone else. She's so used to being left behind, to dealing with the dull ache of loneliness that comes from having absent parents and feeling like your childhood friends have somehow outgrown you. At one point, she had feared that Red himself had moved past their friendship, past her, considering their prolonged separation... but their more frequent encounters since they had rekindled their friendship had slowly pulled back the curtain on his true feelings for her. She now suspects he'd never forgotten, only shifted his perspective on her.

Maybe absence truly makes the heart grow fonder. It certainly happened with hers.

"I'll hold you to that." Her exhale turns into a giddy laugh as she nuzzles him back, their foreheads pressing together again. She wouldn't believe it from just anyone, but this is Red. She believes in his sincerity; she believes in him.

Maybe her heart will be safe in his hands.

#❄️ time capsule thread.#❄️ saved.#silentchamp #❄️ finished thread: red and blue make purple.#❄️ isn't it so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me? (silentchamp).#midnight parade coming up again...#made me think of them <3

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hayatheauthor · 5 months ago

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Can you post something about different kinds of soulmates? The name on the wrist or red strings are nice but a little overused, maybe. Idk. Do you have anything different?

50 Types of Soulmates in Literature

The soulmate trope might feel pretty cliche to most but I love exploring them (great short story material, esp if you want to twist it into horror/thriller/non romance). Thanks for the ask! I hope this list is what you were looking for:

Fate-Driven Soulmates

1. Shared Dreams – They meet in their dreams every night/[idea] after they turn [age].

2. Reincarnation– They reincarnate in every era and are destined to meet each time.

3. Aura Bonds – Their auras [change] when they’re near each other.

4. Mirror Messages – They see the other’s face in the mirror when they turn [age].

5. Starbound – Their soulmate’s birth constellation forms on them after their first meeting.

6. Heartbeat Match – Their pulses sync when they meet and get more uneven when they’re apart after that.

7. Shared Memories – They have flashbacks of past lives together.

8. The First Words – Their first spoken words to each other are tattooed on their skin.

9. Fragrance – They recognise each other by a unique scent only one’s soulmate carries (i.e. in the world you can only smell roses on your soulmate).

10. Scars – They have matching scars in the same place since their birth.

11. Colour - They only start seeing colour after meeting their soulmate. Can be changed to sound, touch, smell, etc.

Cultural Soulmates

12. Mehndi Marks - In Indian/Middle Eastern cultures, your soulmate’s name appears in your mehndi/henna.

13. Karmic Threads - In Buddhist traditions, invisible karmic bonds pull them toward one another.

14. Feng Shui Alignment – Their energies perfectly balance according to the Feng Shui elements.

15. Ancestor's Blessing – Their names are revealed through a ritual that summons past ancestors.

16. Name in Flames – In some folk traditions, a fire ceremony reveals their soulmate’s initials in the embers.

17. Feather Match – They exchange feathers that later glow when their soulmate is near.

18. Shared Songlines – In Aboriginal traditions, their paths align on the same Songline.

19. Palm Reading Prophecy – Their soulmate’s features or initials are foretold in their palm lines.

20. Dance of Fate – In certain cultures, a soulmate is revealed during a traditional dance when they naturally pair up.

21. Persian Tea Leaves – Their names appear during tea-reading rituals.

Object-Based Soulmates

22. Lock and Key – Everyone is born with a keyhole shape. When you turn [age] you’re blessed with a key that only fits into your soulmate.

23. Shared Journal – They write in the same journal without knowing how.

24. Twin Trinkets – When born, each person receives a magical [trinket]. Your soulmate has its twin.

25. Compass of Love – A compass always points them toward their soulmate.

26. Two Halves – They carry two halves of the same [object].

27. Enchanted Maps – A map updates itself with their location when they’re near.

28. Eternal Rings – Rings burn hot or glow when their soulmate is close.

29. Song – When they turn [age] they hear a song sung in their soulmate’s voice. (Interesting: in this world, MC hears nothing. They think they don’t have one, rly their soulmate is just mute).

Connection Through Nature

30. Tree of Life – Their world has a special garden you go to when you’re [age]. In the garden, a tree starts to grow when two soulmates are near. Note: if they ‘break up’ or one dies, the tree wilts and dies too.

31. Blooming Flowers – When your soulmate is born, you get a flower bud [different for each]. When you meet the first time, this bud goes into full bloom. If you pass without meeting, it dies. This continues till you actually meet, and the flowers finally [fall off?]

32. Animal Guides – At birth you’re assigned a spirit animal who leads you to your soulmate when the time is right. (Ooh maybe your spirit animals are soulmates too OR hmo: they’re enemies! You haven’t met your soulmate yet because your spirit animals are doing everything to keep you [and themselves] apart).

33. Shifting Shadows – Their shadows always reach toward the other. When you sleep, your shadows break away and meet each other.

34. Bound by Seasons – They only meet during a specific season each year. Kind of like a Divergent ‘born into a season’ thing. (But what if a Summer and Winter end up being fated? But they can’t survive in each other’s seasons. [omg Tinkerbell] lol).

35. Ocean Whispers – It’s said if you go to the ocean’s shore and say something there your soulmate will hear it when they go to the shore. (MC’s soulmate hates the ocean. They’ve never been. One day they finally go, and sit for hours as they listen to messages from their soulmate, who apparently lives by the ocean and has been calling to them every night).

36. Star-Written Names – When you turn [age] only you see a name written in the stars. That’s your soulmate’s name.

Unconventional Soulmate Tropes

37. Memory Keepers – One soulmate is bound to forget each other in each new life, and the other is fated to remember and find them. The other only remembers if and when they meet.

38. Parallel Lives – They exist in parallel universes but see glimpses of each other via [plot].

39. Shared Illness – They feel each other’s pain, sickness, and recovery.

40. Shared Mortality – They can only die when they’re together.

41. The Final Wish – When you turn [age] you get to make a wish and your soulmate has to fulfil it in order for you to meet.

42. The Sacrificial Lamb – One is destined to save the other through ultimate sacrifice.

43. The Time Loop – They’re stuck in a loop, meeting repeatedly until they get it right.

44. Dual Souls – They share one soul in two bodies, feeling incomplete without the other.

45. The Undying and the Mortal – One reincarnates endlessly, always finding their soulmate, if they fail to find them, their soulmate will not reincarnate and die forever. Except, you don’t know who’s the immortal one.

46. Time Stopper: Time stops when you’re with your soulmate. It starts again when you’re apart.

Sense-Based Soulmates

47. Sight: When you close your eyes you can see what they’re seeing.

48. Warmth: You feel physically cold everytime you’re without your soulmate. Your heart turns colder every year, till when you’re [age] you both die if you haven’t met.

49. Colour: You can’t see your soulmate’s eye/hair colour till your first meeting. The issue: they don’t know the colour, so often overlook this change. (Many resort to checking a colour chart every day till they see a new colour).

50. Touch: You can’t feel anything till your soulmate touches you for the first time. Everything simply feels like its weight, not texture.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks?

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors!

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satori-runa · 5 months ago

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—The red means I love you.

Summary: Mr Scarletella doesn't like to wait anymore and makes his move.

Tags: Mentions of blood, yandere behaviour, obsession, slight stalking, fluff, slightly ooc

Words: 1,6k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Blood dripped from your fingers, soaked into your clothes, and splattered across the floor in your wake. It didn’t matter if it was yours or someone else’s anymore. All that mattered was surviving in this weird place.

You paused to catch your breath, the cold air burning your lungs as another wave of dizziness hit you. Somewhere in the distance, you heard it—the soft, shuffling footsteps that never seemed far behind. He was still following you. He had been for a while now, his presence a constant shadow.

Mr. Scarletella.

He rarely spoke, but you could feel his pitch black eyes on you, his gaze almost tangible as it traced the lines of blood staining your clothes. The quiet creaking of leather shoes echoed through the hallway, growing louder. You turned, the crowbar raised defensively, and there he was—standing just a few feet away, partially hidden by the dim lighting.

He was a spectacle in crimson, the vibrant red of his suit blending almost seamlessly with the blood that covered the ground and the red light on the walls. His head was tilted slightly, a mess of scarlet hair falling over one eye as he stared at you. His smile was small, twitching at the corners, as if he were struggling to hold it back. And then there was this scarlet umbrella he was holding…

"You," he mumbled in his own language, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a small step closer, the leather of his shoes slick against the wet floor. His eyes were wide, pupils blown out in a way that made him look unhinged. He raised one gloved hand, fingers twitching, as if he wanted to reach out and touch you but was restraining himself.

You took a step back, crowbar still raised. "Stay back," you ordered, though it sounded more like a plea than a command. You weren’t even sure if he could follow your demands.

His head tilted further, almost like a curious dog. "Like," he muttered, the word shaky and filled with awe. His gaze fixated on the blood staining your shirt. "Like... you."

It was a childlike declaration, simple and obsessive, as if he couldn’t fully articulate the depth of his emotions in the language he spoke. He took another step forward, and this time, you noticed the way his hands shook, almost vibrating with excitement.

He pointed to the blood on your clothes, then back to himself, his smile widening. "Like... same," he murmured. He gestured between the two of you, as if connecting invisible threads. The blood. It was all the same to him. You were the same. You were his. You did this for him. You were like that for him.

You swallowed hard, backing away. "You need to stop following me," you said, but even you could hear how empty the words sounded. He wouldn’t stop. You knew that. You could see it in his eyes—the absolute devotion, the unblinking adoration.

His smile faltered for a second, his brows knitting together in confusion, almost like he didn’t understand why you were upset. "You," he stammered, taking another step. He was so close now, you could smell the coppery tang of blood that clung to him like perfume. "With... me."

He reached out slowly, fingers splayed wide, as if he were afraid you might shatter if he touched you. The moment his hand brushed against your cheek, it was cold and wet with blood. “Me like you.” He sighed, the sound almost blissful, like he’d been waiting his whole life just to be this close. “You like me?”

You flinched away, slashing out with your crowbar, but he was faster. His appearance glitched and before you knew it, he teleported. He caught your wrist in a tight, almost bruising grip, his expression twisting into something unreadable. His smile had disappeared, replaced by a wide-eyed, manic look that sent a shiver down your spine.

"No," he muttered, his voice barely audible, like he was scolding a child. He pulled you closer, his grip unrelenting. "Mine. Like you. Same."

It was almost pathetic, the way he whispered it, like he was pleading with you to understand. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath shaky and uneven. The blood from his gloves smeared across your skin as he cupped your face, his touch almost reverent.

"Stay," he breathed, the word cracking at the edges. "With... me."

For a moment, you thought you saw tears welling up in his eyes, but then he blinked, and they were gone, replaced by that disturbing, gleeful smile. He didn’t need your answer; he’d already decided it for you.

You tried to pull away, but he only held you tighter, his fingers digging into your skin. His smile stretched wider, as if he were thrilled by the struggle.

"Like... you," he whispered again, almost lovingly, his voice broken and raw. "Together."

You realized then that there was no escape. Not from him. Not from the Otherworld. And as his laughter echoed down the hall, low and guttural, you knew he’d already decided your fate long before you’d even realized he was watching.

“Me grateful for you. Me like you. Me want you.”

You kept your crowbar close, tucked against your side, but you knew it was useless. You’d tried to fight him before, slashing at his chest, hitting at his arm, but it never seemed to faze him. If anything, it only made him more excited, more desperate to keep you close. His suit was stained with both your blood and someone elses, merging into a deep red that matched the look of obsession in his eyes.

His pace slowed as he pulled you into an empty room, the door creaking shut behind you. The walls were stained with splatters of old blood, the floor sticky beneath your shoes. He stopped, turning to face you fully, his hands coming up to frame your face as he dropped the umbrella for a moment. You could feel the wetness of his stained fingers against your cheeks, the metallic smell of blood overwhelming your senses.

You tried to pull away, but he only leaned in closer, his nose almost brushing yours. "Pretty," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "You... pretty. Blood." His thumb traced a line down your cheek, smearing blood across your skin. He seemed mesmerized by the sight, as if he couldn’t look away.

"Mr. Scarletella, please," you managed, your voice trembling. "Let me go."

He frowned, the expression so out of place on his usually smiling face. His grip tightened slightly, almost as if he were afraid you’d vanish if he loosened his hold. "No," he whispered, shaking his head. "No... like you."

He brought your face even closer, his breath warm against your lips. You could see every detail of his face now—the tiny splatters of blood on his skin, the way his pupils were blown wide with an intensity that bordered on madness. He wasn’t blinking, wasn’t even moving, just staring at you like you were the only thing that existed in his world.

You tried to turn your head, but his fingers dug into your jaw, forcing you to face him. It was almost gentle, the way he held you, but there was an undercurrent of possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine. He tilted his head, his smile returning, small and soft, as if he were looking at something precious.

You’d been trying so hard to avoid his gaze that you didn’t notice how close he’d leaned in until it was too late. You moved suddenly, trying to wrench yourself out of his grip, but the motion was too quick, too abrupt. Your lips collided with his, and you froze.

It was just a brief, accidental kiss—barely a brush of lips—but it felt like time stopped. His entire body went still, his eyes widening in shock. For a second, you thought he might pull away, let you go, but then his hands tightened around your face, fingers trembling.

"Y-You," he breathed out, his voice cracking with something raw and vulnerable. "Kiss... you kissed."

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding in your chest. "It was an accident," you insisted, your voice hoarse. "I didn’t mean to—"

But he wasn’t listening. He was staring at you, his expression one of pure, unfiltered adoration. His lips parted slightly, his breath shaky, as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. He let out a soft, broken laugh, the sound almost joyous, as if he’d just received the greatest gift in the world.

"Like me," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. His voice was so quiet, so full of desperate hope. "You... like me."

He didn’t give you a chance to respond. He leaned in again, his lips hovering over yours, his breath mingling with yours. It wasn’t a kiss—not really. It was like he was waiting for permission, waiting for you to do something, anything, to confirm that this wasn’t just in his head.

You could feel his heartbeat racing against your own, the warmth of his body despite the cold, damp blood soaking his clothes. You knew then that he wouldn’t let you go—not now, not ever. In his mind, that accidental kiss had sealed your fate. You were his now, just as he was yours.

And as he pulled you into a tight embrace, humming softly under his breath, you realized you had no choice but to let him hold you, his face buried against your neck, whispering broken, loving words that would haunt you forever.

The minute he let go of you, you took the umbrella he dropped into your hand, glancing at the scarlet color before Mr.Scarletellas hand touched yours. A promise to keep you by his side.

#⊹₊⟡⋆satori.speaks #⊹₊⟡⋆writings #mr. scarletella #mr.scarletella x reader #homicipher #mr scarletella #mr scarletella x reader #mr scarletella fluff #mr scarletella yandere #homicipher x reader #homicipher fluff #homicipher mr scarletella

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beargyufairy · 1 year ago

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Invisible String Theory - NaLu

“All along there was some invisible string tying you to me” - Invisible String (Taylor Swift)

“One single thread of gold tied me to you” - Invisible String (Taylor Swift)

Part 1: Natsu and Lucy’s Initial Meeting - Trip to Hargeon

Natsu went to the port city to search for his father (Igneel) in hopes of reuniting with him.

Lucy was escaping her father (Jude) in order to achieve her dream/freedom and eventually ended up in Hargeon.

Both of their journeys to the city is due to their respective relationships with their dads, connecting them in this manner.

Additionally, Natsu accidentally broke Lucy out of her love trance from Bora’s ring/spell.

They both ended up at this point due to their respective desires to meet Salamander (Lucy wants to meet the mage who’s in Fairy Tail and Natsu wants to meet Igneel).

While it is known the spell is broken after realizing that it’s a spell that was casted, it can also be noted that Lucy was the only person to break out of it due to Natsu’s interference.

Furthermore, Lucy followed Bora into his ship due to her desires to be in Fairy Tail as she was promised.

Of course that ended up being a trick, however Natsu also boarded that same ship because of Bora’s deceptions regarding Fairy Tail.

Lucy and Natsu, once again, ended up in the same situation but this time it was related to Fairy Tail.

Essentially, their meeting led to Lucy joining Fairy Tail with Natsu’s help and the rest is history.

#invisible string #fairy tail #lucy heartfilia #natsu dragneel #just me and my thoughts #red string of fate #red thread of fate #to the moon and back

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oizysian · 6 months ago

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25 // Watching porn together // Ideas

Summary: Wanda and Y/N spend some quality time together.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: enchanted strap, porn, dirty talk, blow job

Word count: 1k

Kinktober masterlist

The television flickered with images of a couple, or they’re assumed to be a couple, making out naked. It was a man and a woman to shake things up a bit, and I was watching intently while Wanda traced shapes on my belly with her fingertips.

“If I had a cock,” I started, threading my fingers through her hair and grabbing a fistful, forcefully, but gently. “I’d force you down on it like this.”

I guided her head down on my crotch, getting wet just from the image of her pretending to suck my imaginary cock. I let out a low moan, biting my lip as I continued to bob her head up and down.

“Y/N …” she giggled softly, slapping my hand away from her head. “I do that anyway with your strap.”

“Yeah, but a real cock.” I brought my hand down to the juncture of my thighs and stroked my invisible dick. “Just being able to feel your mouth, hot and wet, and cum all over you.” I shuddered. “A dream.”

“A dream?” She questioned, the couple on the television now fucking doggy style. “A dream I can turn into a reality.”

My eyes got wide, excited, and urged her to continue.

“I can enchant your strap, make it feel like your own dick - if you’d like me to.”

“Yes! I-I mean,” I blushed, embarrassed at my answer. “That would be really …”

“I’d love for you to cum inside me.” She whispered against my lips. “Fill me with your babies.”

“Oh fuck, Wands.” I whimpered, absolutely soaked at this point, the sounds the woman in the video was making were not helping.

She smiled, stroking her hand along my abdomen.

“Do you wanna feel how wet I am for you? How tight I am?”

“Oh god, yes, please.” I was begging now. I needed this. I needed her.

“Promise you’ll make me take it all.”

“I swear on everything precious in this world that you’ll take every drop of my cum.”

She giggled, reaching over me to grab the strap we already had taken out in preparation for this night. She brought it over to the apex of my thighs and her eyes went red, the toy becoming my appendage in less than a second.

“Oh shit, fuck,” I cursed under my breath, the new feelings very overwhelming. “This is …”

“This is amazing. I was hoping it would work.”

“Hoping?”

She looked down at it and shrugged.

“This is the first time I’ve tried it. But I’ve thought about it. A lot.”

She brought her hand down to it, letting her fingers slide along the tip. My hips jerked and I shuddered under her touch, unable to control this new piece of me.

“You’ll get used to it in time.” She said, reading my mind. “Your thoughts are so loud, I’m sorry.”

“I’m glad you’re listening to my thoughts because I’m not sure words are going to work for me in a few minutes.”

She smiled up at me and gave me a peck on the lips before sliding down my body, bringing her face to my brand new cock and pressing a kiss to the tip.

“Holy shit, I’m already gonna bust.”

“Don’t.” She giggled. “I want you to do it inside me.”

“I promise nothing.”

She took it into her mouth and I let out a low, needy groan, threading my fingers through her tousled locks and pushing her head down onto me. She was so wet and hot and I needed more.

She took as much of it as she could in her mouth before she started to gag, pulling off of it and trying again. I could feel my entire body tightening and the coil in my belly was just about to break. Is this what virgin boys felt like?

Hearing my thoughts once again, she pulled off of me, straddling my hips and nestling my cock between her soaking wet folds. She grinded herself against me and I cried out pathetically, needing to be inside her already. I grabbed her hips and she took my hands in hers, holding them up above my head.

“Stay.” She whispered, her magic slipping from her fingertips to wrap around my wrists, holding me down.

My mouth fell open as I watched her sliding up and down cock, just barely slipping inside her with every thrust.

“Please. Please, baby.”

“Please, what?” She breathed out, her clit rubbing against my length.

“Please, I need to be inside you. Please.”

She bit her lip, bracing herself as she eased herself down on my cock. My eyes rolled back into my head and I got lost in the pleasure. She bounced up and down on top of me, her hungry cunt squeezing me as she worked on getting us both off.

“Wanda - I’m not - I’m gonna -”

Her thrusts got faster, stronger, and I literally could not control myself any longer. I fought against her magic, trying to touch her, but she held me down, which only turned me on further, and I came inside her, the amount of cum that spurt out of my dick immeasurable. She moaned loudly as I filled her up and I watched as it spilled out of her. She continued to fuck my cum back into her.

“Oh fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna cum.”

I watched as she threw her head back and came, her pussy milking my cock and causing my legs to shake. It was too much. I rutted up against her, my hips jerking as she continued to milk me for all that I was worth. I could hear the couple on the t.v. moaning, fucking, and I watched Wanda riding the last of her high out on my dick, my heart nearly pounding out of my chest.

“This movie gave me an idea.” She said softly, her breathing ragged. “I wanna try doggy with the enchanted strap.”

I looked up at her from under hooded eyes, practically spent from just one fuck.

“S’too much.” I mumbled and she smiled.

“Is my pussy that good?” She teased and I nodded.

“Best thing I’ve ever felt in my life.”

#oizysian’s kinktober 2024 #oizysian’s kinktober #oizysian writes #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x y/n

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carpethedamndiemdejavu · 6 months ago

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"An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet regardless of time, place or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break." - Chinese proverb

#eventually everything connects #red #path #primal pair #couples tantra #love #intimacy #law of attraction #soul #synchronicity

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sixeyesonathiel · 24 days ago

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RED STRING OF FATE m.list

— alternative universes, same lovestruck idiots.

a collection of love stories woven through time and fate, where every twist and turn leads you back to him—gojo satoru. from childhood bonds to fleeting encounters, soulmates to strangers crossing paths, each moment is tied together by an invisible thread. no matter the distance or detours, love always finds its way home, and satoru is the heart of it all.

♡ generally fluff + happy ending 𔓘 some gn / mostly fem reader-insert

♡ satoru gojo being obnoxiously in love with you <3

♡ different aus, same red string

codes. path = oneshot. routes = series. completed = navigated, ongoing = navigating. word count = miles. personal faves = stellar. fan favorite = landmark.

── .✦ FATE’S ITINERARY

♡₊ path #001 ⌇ free throws and figure drawings

⤷ satoru gojo is a basketball star, the campus menace, and undeniably the best-looking guy in any room—but he’s definitely not a model. so when you, a quiet, intense art student with nothing but a flyer, ask him to pose for a painting, he laughs and says no. but when you mention paying him? suddenly, he’s reconsidering—because easy money might just turn into something far more complicated. <– navigated, 22k miles. stellar, landmark.

♡₊ path #002 ⌇ roses bloom the prettiest in ruin

⤷ as the princess of a fallen monarchy, you were raised to uphold tradition, while satoru gojo, the son of the prime minister, was taught to rule. your families have always been at odds—yours clinging to the past, his shaping the future—but satoru has never cared for politics when it comes to you. despite the lines drawn by power, satoru’s never been one to follow the rules, and from the moment he met you, he knew your story wasn’t meant to end in polite distance. <– navigated, 8k miles. stellar.

♡₊ route #003 ⌇ love comes in small sizes

⤷ you and satoru have always been something—never labeled, never defined. from jujutsu high to stolen rooftop kisses, your bond is a tangled mess of healing hands, half-confessions, and his irritating habit of getting hurt just to keep your attention. but when pride and loss tear you apart, you walk away—until six years later, fate (and a tiny, pink-backpack-wearing menace) drags you back into his world. <– navigating, 19k miles. landmark.

♡₊ route #004 ⌇ a guide to ditching the world’s most persistent nerd!

⤷ gojo satoru has been the bane of your existence since kindergarten—rejecting your chocolates, choosing studying over playtime, and making you think he was boring. years later, he’s the smartest, richest, greenest green flag at your elite university, and when you're paired for a 60% project, you think you can coast—until he drags you back to work at every exclusive club. you flirt, he humors you; you push, he pulls, and suddenly, you're falling for him in a way you never expected. <– navigating, 41k miles.

♡₊ path #005 ⌇ love thy neighbor

⤷ you’ve known satoru gojo since childhood, raised in a neighborhood where your moms’ lawn wars were as fierce as their friendship, and your dads? best friends. every morning, it’s the same—banter over the fence, competitive watering, and a rivalry you didn’t know would grow into something so much more. from your first awkward exchange to stolen glances over the years, he's the one constant you never saw coming. <– coming soon.

♡₊ path #006 ⌇ bake me up, buttercup

⤷ after a grueling gym session, satoru’s thumb lazily scrolls through his feed, only to pause on a reel of the most captivating pastry he’s ever seen. it’s not just the mouthwatering treats your making—it’s the way you smile at the camera, a quiet warmth that gets to him more than he cares to admit. despite his best efforts to stick to his diet, he can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to steal a taste of your sweetness, too. <– coming soon.

♡₊ path #007 ⌇ dazzle me, darling

⤷ at school, you and satoru gojo are academic rivals—always competing for the top spot in every subject, exchanging snarky remarks, and trying to one-up each other at every turn. however, when satoru gets into trouble one fateful night, a mysterious magical girl swoops in to save him, leaving him utterly enchanted by her grace and power. what he doesn’t know is that the magical girl he's falling for is none other than you, the same person he can't stand in class. <– coming soon.

♡₊ path #008 ⌇ behind the lens

⤷ satoru gojo is the biggest heartthrob of his small town, a high school golden boy with a secret crush on you—the sweetest model in the industry. when he finally gets scouted, he expects to be the bad boy to your nice girl, only to discover you’re a lot more dangerous than he ever imagined. now, caught in a whirlwind of photoshoots and blushing, he can't decide if he’s terrified or completely hooked. <– coming soon.

♡₊ path #009 ⌇ name slips, heart skips

⤷ you walk into your favorite café, but today, something’s different. the new barista keeps misspelling your name on purpose, and it’s too adorable to ignore. the more you brush it off, the more you realize it might not be a mistake after all—he’s clearly up to something. <– coming soon.

♡₊ path #010 ⌇ boardroom chemistry

⤷ you’ve always kept it professional, flexible, and discreet with your side gig as a fake girlfriend—until your newest client turns out to be none other than your unbearable CEO. now you’re stuck pretending to date the man you despise, all while trying not to let your growing attraction ruin everything. if only he’d stop being so damn charming, maybe you could keep it together. <– coming soon.

♡₊ path #011 ⌇ no one else needed to notice

you answered a quiet jujutsu forum post to escape a restless kyoto night. late-night messages with a stranger turned into playful banter and warm voice calls. his laugh became your tether, cutting through the monotony of sorcerer life. when he suggests meeting, it feels fragile but real. something steady sparks where you least expected it. <– navigated, 6.4k miles.

more destinations to be added.

tag list : @akeisryna @esotericsorrow @prettilyrisse @cherrymoon55 @linaaeatsfamilies @k0z3me

comment to be added on the tl xx. whole collection or specify what fic.

unreleased fics might be subject to change.

#cross posted on ao3 #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #reader insert #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x female reader #masterlist #jjk masterlist

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thegentlemansresurgence · 1 year ago

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An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet regardless of time, place or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break.

- Chinese proverb

#quotes #chinese proverb #red string of fate

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torpublishinggroup · 1 year ago

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TOR WRAPPED 2023

Books for every Spotify Wrapped listener class!

VAMPIRE

Masters of Death by Olivie Blake

Starling House by Alix E. Harrow

Mordew by Alex Pheby

HYPNOTIST

The Library of the Dead by T. L. Huchu

Daughter of Redwinter by Ed McDonald

Spring’s Arcana by Lilith Saintcrow

ALCHEMIST

The Bone Orchard by Sara A. Mueller

The Genesis of Misery by Neon Yang

The Echo Wife by Sarah Gailey

SHAPESHIFTER

Thornhedge by T. Kingfisher

The Warden by Daniel M. Ford

Wolfsong by TJ Klune

FANATIC

Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson

Bookshops & Bonedust by Travis Baldree

The Fragile Threads of Power by V. E. Schwab

TIME TRAVELER

Kinning by Nisi Shawl

She Who Became the Sun by Shelley Parker-Chan

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V. E. Schwab

MASTERMIND

The Atlas Six by Olivie Blake

Red Team Blues by Cory Doctorow

Exadelic by Jon Evans

COLLECTOR

The Wolfe at the Door by Gene Wolfe

Cassiel’s Servant by Jacqueline Carey

The Great Hunt by Robert Jordan

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mapofsouthdakota · 28 days ago

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Maps headcanons

The LADS boys -

The underwear edition

Details: 3000ish words.. What do they wear? What do they get you to wear? And most importantly… how do they gift it to you? Probably fem reader, but let’s be honest, it’s strictly just a gift. They want to see you in it. Full stop. Some adult fluff, some sexual tension and implied notinoti stuff. So 18+ I guess? And umh… yea I definitely went overboard. SORRY! But I had so much fun, I couldn’t stop myself.

❤️ Sylus

What Sylus wears:

Sylus is all sharp lines, dark elegance, and control. Underneath that crisp red-streaked suit? He’s wearing tailored, jet-black silk boxer-briefs. Luxurious. Breathable. Tactical. They’re tight enough to keep everything in place during any kind of… movement, but soft enough to feel like nothing’s there—no small feat, considering what they’re working with. No logos. Just that sleek minimalism only a man would choose if he knew exactly how handsome he was, didn’t care what anyone else thought—and never once looked at a price tag.

Sylus’s gift to you:

Oh, he’s not just buying you lingerie—he’s curating a message.

It’s a two-piece set, hand-delivered in a black velvet box—while you’re at work. No return address. Just a black wax seal with a crow pressed into the lid. Then a folded note in sharp, elegant script.

If this ends up on the floor, you better not be the one who puts it there. Don’t disappoint me, kitten. —S.

And inside:

A high-leg, sheer silk and lace thong in a crimson so deep it’s almost black—just enough opacity to leave things to the imagination, but not too much.

The matching bralette: underwire-free, soft lace, with feather-like embroidery in crimson thread—subtle nods to his own red-streaked shirt and the crow brooch he gave you. It whispers danger and intimacy at once.

But here’s the kicker—he’s had both your initials and his embroidered inside, side by side in tiny, near-invisible thread. Only you would notice. That’s his way: power in the quietest touches, like branding you without ever lifting a finger.

Scene:

You don’t even have to look out the window to know he’s watching. Heat creeps up your neck as you snap the box shut, fingers fumbling slightly. You tuck it into your drawer fast—too fast—just before anyone walks by.

Your cheeks burn. Your pulse stutters.

Later you open the velvet box in your bedroom—its crow insignia gleaming faintly under the light. It smells of something expensive and sharp—amber, burnt cedar, and a lingering metallic note… gunpowder? When you look up, Sylus is already there, leaning against the doorframe like he’s been watching the whole time. His smirk is lazy, eyes glowing faintly red.

“I thought you could use something… less modest,” he says, voice like dark wine. “Consider it… encouragement.”

You brush your fingers over the crimson mesh, the featherlike embroidery. “And this is supposed to motivate me?” You glance up at him. “Sending me underwear while I’m at work?”

He tilts his head. “Everything I do motivates you. Why should this be any different?”

You narrow your eyes. “Want me to try it on?”

His grin widens. “No. I expect you to.”

You disappear into the other room—and when you return, the change is undeniable. The set clings like a second skin: barely-there lace, delicate and daring in all the ways he clearly planned. Sylus is leaned back with his palms pressed into the mattress behind him, utterly at ease—blazer still draped over his shoulders, one brow cocked as his gaze trails down every inch of you.

You turn slowly, fingers trailing along the silk at your hip, then glance back at him with the faintest smirk. An unspoken well? hangs in the air—daring him to speak, to react, to move.

“Look at you. The gift, wrapped and worn—for the one who gifted it.” A slow smile curves his lips. “You’re lucky I let you wear it at all, kitten.”

Sylus doesn’t move—just stays there on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his palms, one ankle resting casually over his knee. But his gaze trails down your body like a hand.

“But don’t confuse indulgence for permission,” he adds, voice velvet-dark. “I unwrap what’s mine when I decide.”

You raise a brow.

Then he stands—slowly—and stops in front of you, fingers brushing the embroidery near your hip. His touch is light, almost teasing, but his voice has gone rough. “So now I get to peel this off… piece by piece… and watch your ambitions unravel.”

His fingers slide just under the strap at your shoulder, just enough to threaten movement. “I want to see how long you can hold eye contact while I take my time with you.”

He leans in close, gaze never wavering, and drags the tip of his tongue slowly along your bottom lip.

“So don’t blink, kitten.” He murmurs, voice a low drawl. “I want to watch every second tonight.”

——————————————————————————

💜 Rafayel

What Rafayel wears:

Rafayel isn’t really one for undergarments—too restrictive, too boring. He prefers fabric that flows, not hides. On regular days—when he’s in his paint-splattered studio with a half-buttoned shirt and flushed cheeks—he wears linen boxer-briefs, soft and pale pastels. But not just any linen—this is the kind handwoven by some obscure artisan, the kind that costs more per pair than most people’s monthly utilities. They cling loosely, comfortably, with a low waistband that dips dangerously on his hips when he stretches or leans too far over a canvas.

Rafayel’s gift to you:

You don’t even know it’s for you at first. He doesn’t say it.

It’s wrapped in a long strip of sheer silk, painted by hand. The gift is neatly tucked at the base of his easel, a soft rosy color catching in the early light, with painted waves in a beautiful baby blue flowing gently across the fabric. The fabric inside feels more delicate than air:

The bottom is a high-slit silk wrap, sea-blue and iridescent, that ties at the hip with a golden clasp shaped like a wave crest. The slit goes high—deliberately high.

The top is a lace halter bralette, stitched with tiny scales in shimmering threads—blues, pinks, and deep ocean violets. When you move, the color changes like it’s underwater.

And at the center of the chest? A small pearl—real, imperfect, kissed by the sea.

There’s a faint scent of paint, sea salt and saffron on the silk. You know he touched every part of it.

Scene:

You step into the studio—sunlight filtering through gauzy curtains, the scent of paint and salt lingering in the air. Raf’s crouched in front of a half-finished canvas, brush dangling loosely from one stained hand, shirt half-off one shoulder, eyes pink-blue and distracted until he notices you.

Then he blushes. Bright. Immediate. Cheeks, ears—flushed like a sunrise.

“There’s something for you,” he mumbles, looking away as if the thought of you seeing it—wearing it—is almost too much to bear. He nods toward the silk bundle. “I… made it. Thought you’d look… divine in it.”

You crouch beside it, fingers trailing along the silk wrapping, savoring the softness before carefully unfolding it. The fabric slips open, revealing the undergarments inside—shimmering, sea-glass delicate. You glance back at him then, eyes teasing.

“Should I put it on?”

Rafayel swallows hard, brush frozen in mid-air. “Yesss. I mean, if… you want to.” His voice cracks just slightly, the tip of his ear glowing like it might catch fire.

You disappear into the adjoining room—there’s a screen for changing, of course—but you leave it just slightly ajar. When you come back out, the set clings to you like seafoam. Rafayel stares—his brush forgotten, his lips parted. For a second, the artist is speechless.

Then, finally, he says softly, reverently:

“I’m never painting anything else again.”

You’re not sure if he means for the next hour, or the rest of his life.

With a small twirl, you step closer to him. The silk shifts with every movement—light, barely there, suggestive in ways that feel like poetry and sin all at once. Rafayel’s gaze follows the curve of your hips, the embroidery over your chest, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard.

His paint-stained fingers twitch at his sides. “Turn around again,” he says, quieter this time. “…Please?”

You do. Slowly. The moment stretches taut between you.

When you face him again, he’s closer. Too close. His hand lifts, hovers just above your waist, not quite touching. “I wanted it to feel like water,” he murmurs, voice rougher now, lower. “But it clings like heat. Like you’re melting into it.”

He finally touches you—fingertips tracing a line along the embroidery near your ribs. His breath stutters. “I don’t know if I want to paint you or pull this off with my teeth.”

You arch a brow. “That’s quite the choice.”

Rafayel leans in, lips brushing your shoulder, his voice a husky rasp against your skin. “Why not both?”

His hips press into you, letting you feel the full weight of his desire—hard, aching, and entirely focused on you. One hand traces the edge of your halter, fingertips ghosting along the lace before he gives it a curious little poke, like he’s testing his own creation. His lips hover just above yours, breath warm, eyes soft and burning all at once.

Then, just above a whisper, he adds—“Either way… I’m going to ruin you beautifully, cutie.”

——————————————————————————

🧡 Caleb

What Caleb wears:

In casual moments—when it’s just him and you in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, cooking for you—he wears comfortable cotton boxer briefs. Black, sleek, nothing flashy. He’s practical like that. But they hug him just right, sitting low on his hips, making it really hard to focus on the food. And the worst part? He knows. You’ll glance, just once, and he’ll smirk—subtly flexing one ass cheek like it’s a reflex. Just to mess with you. Just to watch you squirm.

Caleb’s gift to you:

It comes in a sleek, dark orange box. You find it on your doorstep after a long day. Tucked on top, folded with military precision, is a tiny origami fighter jet—his old model, of course. Unfolding it reveals a single line, scribbled in his handwriting:

Try it on, or I’ll just imagine it. Either way, I win.—C.

And when you open it:

A high-cut, gravity-defying black lace bodysuit. It’s sheer in all the right places, sculpted with subtle violet shimmer threading through the seams. Where the light hits it, it reflects a dull glow—almost like a nebula.

A thin, matching choker with a clasp shaped like an apple.

And one last piece: a purple silk sash. A tie. A leash. A promise of discipline wrapped in devotion, of control you never had to ask for, of just how far he’ll go to make sure you never forget who you belong to.

Yet the fabric carries just the barest trace of his cologne and… mouthwash(?)

Scene:

You confront him, of course—he left it there on purpose, knowing curiosity would get the better of you. You don’t even try to play it cool. You find him hours later, still at work on The Fleet, posture perfect, all crisp uniform and that infuriating calm. An adjutant’s just finishing a report when you step into the room. Your eyes lock on him like a missile. Caleb doesn’t flinch—doesn’t even turn. Just gives you a quiet, knowing look over his shoulder like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“What’s the meaning of this?” you ask, holding the box like evidence, like a challenge.

His gaze drags over you from across the room, slow and deliberate. He uncrosses his arms, brushes a speck of dust from his uniform—measured, precise. Like you’ve interrupted something important, but he’s willing to indulge you.

That Colonel Caleb chill lingers in his eyes… but there’s a glint now. And the faintest curve to his lips.

“You found it,” he says, stepping closer until your breath catches. “Great. I had it made. Custom stitching. Seamless where it matters.”

You narrow your eyes. “So you just decided—?”

“I don’t ‘decide,’” he cuts in smoothly. “But if you really are mine…” his voice drops, dangerously low, “…then I want to be the only one who sees you in this.”

His gloved fingers brush your cheek, then trail down to your collarbone. The heat between you crackles like static in space.

Behind you, the adjutant clears their throat—once. A warning. A presence. Caleb doesn’t even glance their way.

“That’ll be all,” he says, voice low and firm, the kind that doesn’t invite questions. The door hisses shut behind you a moment later.

Then it’s just you. Him. And that charged space between.

“Put it on for me, Pip-squeak.”

It’s not a request. But it’s not entirely a command, either. He’s looking at you like you could refuse—but he knows you won’t.

Caleb shrugs off his coat with practiced ease, draping it over the back of the chair before pulling off his gloves, one finger at a time. He sinks into the seat in a single, fluid motion—then reaches up to loosen his tie, just enough to breathe. His legs spread, posture easy, but there’s nothing casual about the way he watches you.

You turn your back to him as you undress, the room quiet except for the subtle shift of fabric. The black bodysuit slides on smoothly, the silk sash tied loosely at your waist. The lace hugs your curves perfectly.

Caleb leans forward, forearms on knees, purple eyes trailing down your form like a scan. Slowly. Thoroughly.

“Turn around.”

You do, slowly, and when you face him, he’s already rising. He closes the distance in measured strides, hands sliding to your waist, voice low and tight.

He leans in. “You know,” he murmurs against your neck, “I wish I could deploy you in this. No one would dare touch you.”

You smirk. “Jealous, Colonel?”

“Obsessed,” he corrects, voice like a velvet threat. “And completely serious.”

You feel his lips graze your shoulder—soft, then firm. And then—his teeth sink in, just enough to make you gasp. Not to hurt. Just to remind you: you’re his.

“Do you know what I thought about every night when I designed this?”

You breathe out. “What?”

His fingers curl into the sash at your hip. “How fast I could undo it.”

Then he lifts you like it’s nothing, pressing you back against the console with stars spinning behind you—his mouth already trailing down your neck as the fabric slips from your skin. But you don’t see stars—you feel them crash.

Then, without missing a beat, the corners of his mouth curve—just slightly, just enough. “I’m betting it’ll take me ten seconds to undress you… if I take my time.”

——————————————————————————

🩵 Zayne

What Zayne wears:

Zayne is nothing if not understated excellence. Beneath his pristine three-piece suits? Charcoal-gray modal boxer briefs. Soft, breathable, structured—he’d never wear anything flashy or inconvenient. But they fit like they were measured for him, contoured to sit low on his hips beneath that crisp dress shirt. And if you ever catch him with the shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, forearms scarred and strong? The contrast of clean fabric and rough skin does things to you.

Zayne’s gift to you:

He doesn’t take you shopping. He doesn’t even mention he’s getting you something. It just… appears, neatly folded in a soft satin box inside your closet. Next to it, a small handwritten note in steady script:

The fabric’s hypoallergenic. I know how your skin reacts to lace. I hope the fit is precise—I took the liberty of measuring while you were asleep. —Zayne.

And on the inside:

A silk slip dress, cut short and minimal, in deep forest green with thin black straps that crisscross at the back. The inside is lined with cotton—soft, breathable. So Zayne.

A matching bra and panty set—subtle scalloped trim, no underwire, no push-up. Just comfort and beauty in quiet balance. He knows how to make you feel exquisite without shouting it.

And tucked in one of the folds? A thin bracelet. Jade.

Scene:

He doesn’t even bring it up at first. You only find it after he leaves for a night shift.

The next evening, you bring it up with a wry smile. “So… were you going to mention the intimate gift hiding in my closet, or were you just hoping I’d trip over it?”

Zayne blinks once behind his glasses, setting down his mug of cocoa.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says simply. “But I also didn’t want anyone else buying you something that didn’t… suit you.” His gaze drops, lingering on your wrist where you’ve already put on the jade bracelet. “So I took care of it.”

You arch a brow. “Do you want to see it on me?”

His eyes flick up, expression unreadable—but there’s a faint flush climbing up his throat. “That depends.”

“On?”

“If you want me to take it off you too.”

And there it is. The Zayne smirk—so faint, you almost miss it. Almost.

You step into the bedroom after a hot shower, damp hair over your shoulders, body wrapped in the green silk slip. It molds to you, effortless and cool. The straps kiss your shoulder blades, the hem teasing the tops of your thighs.

Zayne is seated at the edge of the bed, shirt undone at the collar, sleeves rolled to the elbows—relaxed in theory, but his eyes are anything but. Behind the silver glint of his glasses, hazel green irises rake over you slowly. Intently. Like you’re a case study he’s about to personally explore.

“You wore it,” he says, voice steady, but lower now. Tight.

“I did,” you reply, stepping closer, letting the silk sway just enough to tempt. “Are you going to examine it?”

He doesn’t answer—not with words. He pulls off his glasses and sets them aside with exacting precision, then leans forward and tugs you between his knees. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, fingers splaying over silk and skin.

“I’m not your physician right now,” he exhales, his mouth brushing your sternum, “but I still know how to handle delicate things.”

You inhale sharply, and he shifts the slip aside—just a little—enough to make your heart race.

His lips brush the inside of your wrist—soft at first, then slower. He drags his mouth down to the base of your palm, then lets his tongue trace the curve of your finger, you like you’re his favorite candy—something rare, rich, and entirely his.

“…You realize,” he says against your skin, “you’re never wearing this for anyone else.”

You breathe out, quiet, shivering. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good.”

And the way he says that one word, low and clinical and full of heat? It feels like you’re about to be unraveled—one practiced touch at a time.

“I’ve studied anatomy,” he murmurs, gaze unwavering, “but I’ve never wanted to memorize someone like this.”

You tilt your head, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “So what now, doctor Zayne? Want me to act like your study sample?”

His eyes flick down your body, then back up—calm, absolutely smoldering. “Mm. Slow breaths for me, please,” he says softly. “I want to feel every shift under my hands.”

——————————————————————————

🩷 Xavier

What Xavier wears:

For all his ethereal calm and delicate looks, Xavier’s body is not soft. He’s lithe, compact, and stronger than he looks—and his undergarments reflect that contradiction. Sleek. Supportive. Understated. He wears fitted low-rise boxer briefs in pale gray or lavender. Soft, seamless, breathable—so easy to move in you almost forget they’re there. And while size has never been the point, there’s no denying the quiet truth: he’s big. The waistband is low enough that when his sweater rides up while he’s napping on the couch? You catch the edge, just barely. (And no, he’s not unaware. He’s just pretending he is.)

Xavier’s gift to you:

You don’t even realize it’s a gift at first.

You find a small folded bundle on your pillow—no tag, no note, but it smells faintly of that tangy-sweet, citrusy energy drink he drinks… laced with the subtle warmth of vanilla that always seems to linger on his skin. The fabric is impossibly soft. Dreamlike.

A silk cami set, sleeveless, light violet with silvery sheen. The camisole is loose, with barely-there straps and delicate lace at the hem. It looks like starlight.

The shorts are sheer, fluttery, with a ribbon drawstring. If you move too quickly, they shift… dangerously.

There’s a tiny embroidered constellation stitched near the hem.

You realize later that the embroidery thread is pale gold. Subtle. Like he wants you to wear the stars for him.

Scene:

You ask him about it later, holding the fabric between your fingers—right after sharing a burnt pizza he insisted he had under control (he did not).

“Did you leave this on my bed?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches you with that quiet intensity, like he’s still trying to figure out how you got past his walls with nothing but laughter and melted cheese. He tilts his head slightly.

“I thought you might sleep better with it on,” he says softly. “Or off.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that a suggestion?”

“No,” he replies, gaze dragging slowly down your figure. “It’s a preference.”

He steps closer, fingers brushing yours as he takes the fabric back from your hand—just long enough to skim his knuckles over your palm before he returns it. His voice drops a note lower.

“Will you wear it tonight?”

You swallow, pulse jumping.

“I might.”

He smiles—barely. But it’s real. “I’ll be upstairs if you need help taking it off.”

Later, when the lights are low and the house is quiet, your phone buzzes.

XAVIER: Did you end up trying it on?

You hesitate, then type:

YOU: Maybe.

There’s a long pause. Then:

XAVIER: Then I hope you’re not expecting sleep.

You stare at the screen, heart skipping.

YOU: Good night, Xav.

Another pause.

XAVIER: Good night… Don’t lock your door.

You wake to find Xavier standing in your doorway—messy silvery-blond hair, expression unreadable, sleep still tugging at his lashes. You’re wearing the silk cami set, curled under your blanket. He blinks once, slowly, as if committing the image to memory.

“…Door was unlocked,” he murmurs. “You sleep too lightly.”

“I sleep just fine,” you say, voice husky, watching his eyes flick down the curve of your thigh where the blanket’s slipped. “So why are you here?”

He walks in, slow and barefoot. “I was thinking about you.”

“And?”

His fingers brush the ribbon of your waistband, tugging lightly—just once, enough to let the silk shift against your skin. “And I wanted to see if you look better in… or out of it.”

You lift an eyebrow. “You’ve been staring long enough to know.”

His eyes drag up your body with excruciating calm, but there’s something darker flickering beneath the stillness. He leans down, brushing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then just beneath your jaw—lingering there.

“I’m thorough. Still deciding,” he murmurs, breath warm and slow, thick with something you feel more than hear.

He undresses with quiet efficiency, unbuttoning his pajama shirt, folding it once before setting it aside, then slipping out of the pants with the same composed ease—until he’s left in nothing but his underwear.

Then he slides under the covers, pulls you into his chest, and whispers against your ear,

“You can keep yours on—for now.”

But his hand is already resting low on your waist, fingers curling just beneath the hem of your top, like he’s giving himself permission to explore later—inch by inch, breath by breath.

Then, without a word, he takes your hand and guides it along the plane of his chest, down the firm line of his stomach—slow, careful, like he wants you to feel how hard it is for him to stay gentle.

And just when your fingertips brush the edge of his waistband—he leans in, voice low and rough with need.

“This is me… trying to be good for you.”

Your fingertips slip just beneath the waistband, barely testing the edge of skin. His breath catches, and for a moment he doesn’t move. Then his hand wraps gently around your wrist—not to stop you, just to feel you there.

His voice drops. “But if you keep doing that… I won’t be good much longer.”

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: YE. I’m sorry. Nobody asked for this. I spent my Saturday night writing 3k words of underwear headcanon and then gave it the gentlest proofread over my Sunday morning coffee like that somehow made it respectable. Totally normal, balanced behavior. I’m thriving. Unhinged, yes—but thriving. Should I be finishing the Bear AU pilot? Absolutely. Am I derailed by one intrusive thought? Also yes. But! I will finish the pilot this week. Prrroooomise. I should touch grass… but let’s be real, that’s what triggered this spiral in the first place. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

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