#or: a soulmate au :D

[anonymous-dentist]

On April 25, Cellbit finds himself crashing onto a tropical island filled with the weirdest goddamn people he's ever met in his life.

(On one side of the glass is Cellbit. On the other is a man in a red hoodie who takes one look at Cellbit and winks before rushing to talk to the other trapped Brazilians.

For a moment, Cellbit swears there's a spark- a literal pink spark in the air directly between the two of them where they had locked eyes, and he swears that the man's eyes glitter the same pink just for a second.

But that's ridiculous. It's probably a concussion. Or something.)

On April 26, Cellbit wakes up to a heavy pain in his chest and back and a foreign weight to his limbs as he tries rolling over in bed. There's a pressure behind his eyes, all... all two of them.

Cellbit's eyelids twitch unhappily as a ray of incoming sunlight hits them from the window.

He hisses, and that's when he notices two very important things:

He doesn't have two eyes. He knows the familiar discomfort of keeping one's eyes closed when they're ready to open, and he can recognize the fact that this discomfort is multiplied by goddamn two. That makes... four eyes.

He isn't in his own bed. He went to sleep without a blanket or a pillow, just his hat and his jacket because, big surprise, spending most of the day in a cave didn't get him any luxuries besides a sore back and a definitely-not-dead child.

Cellbit opens his eyes, all four of them, and he's only a little surprised to see that he is not, in fact, in his own house.

"What?" he croaks.

He grimaces. Sore throat, almost like he'd been screaming in his sleep. Nothing he isn't used to, but it doesn't feel right in this body. In... whoever's body this is.

He pushes himself so that he's sitting up and against the wall. His chest pulls with every movement of his arms, muscles twinging in pain, and it almost reminds him of the War, almost. (He caused wounds like this, anyway. He didn't get hurt like this. He was too good.)

He looks down. Spider-Man boxer briefs. Naked chest, huge scar cut across the middle of it over his heart. Hairy legs, bruised arms and knuckles.

Vaguely, he thinks that he recognizes the house. Kinda. Sort of. Maybe? But he'd only seen the outside, and it would be crazy if his soulmate turned out to be that guy.

But, well. There's only one spider hybrid on the island that Cellbit knows about. Maybe there are more, but he's pretty sure that he met everyone yesterday. (He thinks; he was pretty distracted by the whole what the fuck I have a child now??? thing.)

Cellbit should be happy. And he kinda feels like it, in a distant way. But it's with a sense of numb fear that he grabs Roier's communicator off of the bedside table and opens a new message with... himself? His comm. That Roier has. Because he's in his body. At his house.

[iRoier whispers to Cellbit: I think we have a problem]

-

When Cellbit had finally officially turned 16 years old, Bad sat down in the middle of a warzone and told him that, one of these days, he might wake up in the body of one of his enemies.

"What?" Cellbit had grimaced, blood coating his face and crusting under his nails. "Why? Is that a new origin or something?"

Bad shook his head. "No, you goof. It's a soulmate thing. You know. Soulmates."

And that's when he realized that Cellbit's amnesia really was, in fact, amnesia. Of course he wouldn't have remembered his parents giving him the Soulmate Talk, Cellbit- at the time- didn't believe that he even had parents. ("I was born from blood, and to blood I shall return," he said when Bad tried asking, so Bad stopped bothering after a while.)

And so it fell to BadBoyHalo to give Cellbit the Soulmate Talk.

"When you turn 16, the universe assigns you a soulmate," Bad had explained. "And when you meet that soulmate, you'll both switch bodies with each other overnight. It'll only last 24 hours, though, so it should be fine if you meet your soulmate out here."

Cellbit had blinked, confused. "What? Ew, no."

Because, as romantic as the idea of soulmates sounds, Cellbit was a 16-year-old boy. Why would he give a shit about his soulmate when he could be thinking about, like, blood and violence and stuff.

By the time Cellbit was arrested, he had finally warmed up to the idea of having a soulmate if only because having someone assigned to him by the universe meant that there'd be someone on the outside willing to break him out of prison and help him get his revenge on all the fuckers who had dared try and mess with him while he was in there.

But then, after prison- after everything, Cellbit had realized that maybe he wasn't meant to have a soulmate, after all. Why would he? Why would the universe be so kind as to give him someone to care about who would actually love him back? Who would like him back?

Whoever his soulmate might've been, Cellbit had always hoped that they were dead. They'd be better off dead than stuck with a monster like him.

-

By the time Roier makes it to his own house, the sun is high in the sky and Cellbit has managed to find a a shirt and a pair of shorts to throw on on top of his underwear. (On top of Roier's underwear?)

Bobby is still asleep upstairs, Cellbit thinks. At least, he hasn't heard anything from him. Should he be worried?

But then Cellbit looks out the window and watches his body trip over itself on the dirt and faceplant, and, well, Bobby can wait.

Roier's body is... heavy as Cellbit pulls a pair of shoes on. It doesn't want to cooperate, but that can't be right, it's supposed to be natural. Or something. Cellbit thinks. Maybe.

So he doesn't actually know how soulmates work, but it's supposed to be natural, right? That's how he remembers Bad explaining it, but he also remembers Bad having as much emotional awareness as a rock.

Vaguely, he wonders if the problem isn't with the fact that it's Cellbit being in Roier's body but that it's because it's Roier's body and that this is just how it is for Roier all the time. But that's none of Cellbit's business.

(Yet.)

(Maybe.)

(Eventually?)

(Turn the detective brain off, fuck.)

Whatever!

Cellbit runs out the door and goes to help Roier up. He isn't hurt at all as Roier swears at him and grumbles and pushes himself up onto his knees.

"I'm fine," he insists. "See?"

He gestures towards himself with a sharp-toothed grin, eyes squinted shut, and, wow, it's weird for Cellbit to see himself smile. His body doesn't really... do that. It's unnatural. Kinda creepy, like looking into a fucked-up mirror.

Cellbit offers an awkward smile in response, and it hurts. Not his face, no, his soul. Well, not his soul, because that would be silly, but some weird little part inside his Everything stings and pulses with a dull, throbbing pain so sudden and harsh that his throat chokes up and tears threaten to well up in Cellbit's eyes.

With a shuddering breath, Cellbit drops his smile and his eyes. He looks at the ground, and he says, "Uh. We should talk inside, maybe?"

He doesn't wait for a response before turning on his heel and walking back into Roier's house. He does hold the door open, though, remembering that Roier's house has that weird security thing on the door that keeps everybody but him out.

"Your legs are too short," Roier complains as he brushes past Cellbit and walks into the house. "I keep tripping over shit."

"...I'm sorry?" Cellbit offers. (He internally smacks himself. No, stupid, why is he sorry? He can't control his genetics, fuck!)

Roier waves him off. "Nah, it's fine. It's just for today, right?"

He sits at his table with a groan, eyes slipping shut and head tilting over the back of the chair. He looks so... calm. Which means that Cellbit's actual real normal face looks calm, and that's weird. He doesn't do calm.

Hesitantly, Cellbit joins him at the table. He sits directly opposite him, leg bouncing nervously, hands clasped in his lap.

And then? Silence. Absolutely nothing but the slight rattle of the table as Cellbit's (Roier's?) knee bumps against it and the quiet sound of snoring from upstairs. (So Bobby is still asleep. That's normal, right?)

Cellbit glances at the goggles still firmly on his body's head.

"Thanks for keeping them on," he lamely says.

Roier hums a question mark and cracks an eye open, following Cellbit's gaze. He smiles, then, small and clearly fake.

"Hey, man, it's fine," he replies. "It kind of hurts, but it's fine."

Cellbit winces. "I mean, you can take them off! It's fine, it's just us."

Roier shrugs, but he doesn't move to take the goggles off.

Quiet again.

This is... fine. It's fine! Cellbit's soulmate is just a guy who probably maybe dislikes him, that's all. It's nothing he wasn't expecting from his soulmate, he knows how he is as a person. Roier is probably just disappointed, that's all.

"We don't have to do anything, you know," Cellbit says after a moment.

He looks back down at the table as Roier sits up to look at him.

Cellbit wrings his hands together, fingers hooking together and pulling-pushing and they throb from the bruises, and where did Roier get them, anyway? From the pattern, Cellbit would say Roier had punched something, but here are also small cuts indicating the involvement of glass, and-

(Detective brain. Off.)

"I mean, it's crazy, right?" Cellbit laughs weakly. "Us, soulmates? We don't even know each other."

"I mean, yeah, but that's normal, I think. You don't know your soulmate until you meet them, that's how it works."

"I guess? But-"

"And!" Roier interjects. "I know you better already! You sleep with your sword and you have cat ears, that's more than I know about half of my dates!"

Cellbit winces at the mention of his ears, but he manages to huff out a quiet laugh. He even feels himself smile, though it hurts bad enough for him to force it away after a moment.

"Okay," he breathes, and he looks up to meet Roier's (his own?) eyes. "So... it's fine?"

"What the fuck do you think I've been saying, pendejo?" Roier exclaims. He reaches across the table and lightly taps Cellbit on the forehead between his top set of eyes. "I know my body isn't deaf, so start listening."

He sits again, continuing speaking before Cellbit can say anything:

"I don't know you, and that's fine. You don't know me, and that's fine. You threatened my son yesterday, and that's fine. I'll threaten your son to make it even."

"Hey!" Cellbit protests.

Roier ignores him and keeps talking. "We're stuck on this island, Cellbit. We aren't allowed to leave. If we try, Osito Bimbo shoots us. So that gives us plenty of time to get to know each other."

Cellbit's eyes widen in alarm. "We're what?"

He thinks he remembers somebody mentioning that to him and the others yesterday, but there was so much going on that he didn't really register it. Prison, again? At least it's open-air this time...

Roier shrugs his concerns off with a literal wave of the hand. "So see? It's fine. We'll figure each other out, and then we'll kiss and have sex and stuff. Right?"

"Um," Cellbit stammers, the tips of his ears going red. "Maybe just the kissing part."

"Sure, sure. Point is..." Roier stands out of his chair and leans across the table, reaching down and pulling Cellbit's hands out of his lap. He holds them and looks Cellbit in the eyes and gravely asks, "...Cellbit, will you be my soulmate?"

Cellbit rolls his eyes and gently pulls his hands away. "I don't think I get a choice."

"Aw, come on! You're no fun," Roier pouts.

"There, that's a third thing you know about me."

"Shut up, what the fuck?"

And as the argument continues, the weight in Cellbit's heart slowly starts to lift. Just a little, because it's just the beginning, but maybe... maybe having a soulmate won't be that bad, after all.

-_-_-_-

A/N:

Thank you so much for reading! Please reblog maaaaaaaybe with a comment or a tag and tell me what you think! Or send an ask, I'm fine with anything!

[moonchild-nissa]

Soulmates

[pampushky]

Foot of The Gallows

trafalgar d. water law/reader - friends to enemies to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, manipulation (not by law)

ao3 link | masterlist | ask away

Trafalgar D. Water Law is a surgeon centuries ahead of his time and is set to be put to death for alleged witchcraft and dark magic, although there’s little evidence besides the fact that his patients all seem to survive, and the pale white splotches that dapple his skin, marking his face with the pattern of a skull. You’re a former childhood friend, now bittered with age and arguments, simply trying to make your living as an apothecary, wanting nothing to do with the man you had once been joined at the hip with. What happens when his closest friend manages to convince you to save his life by invoking a little-used law, saved only for cases where the justice system has failed?

You marry the man you utterly detest, that’s what happens.

Chapter Directory

sunshroom

thunder root

numbing nettle

snowdrop iris

lion's bane

willow tears

[lost-in-fandoms]

Maxiel soulmates AU in which people get numbers (numbers, dates, timestamps, coordinates...) on their wrist for important events in their soulmate's life.

For a long time Daniel's parents think he's broken.

They don't use quite those words obviously, but they're worried enough to make him think that there's something wrong with him. It's not unusual to not get soulmarks when you're very young, not many important things happen to toddlers, but when he turns eight and there's still no sign of any, they take him to a doctor. The doctor tells them not to worry, that maybe his soulmate is a late bloomer, or maybe a couple of years younger. They'll come.

When he turns ten, they take him to a specialist, who does all sort of things to him, from drawing blood to reaction tests to even a brain scan, but turns up empty handed. They'll come, is all she can say.

Daniel doesn't really care. He's eleven now, and he thinks all this soulmates stuff is a bit dumb. If you were meant to be with someone, why wouldn't the universe make it easier to find your way to them? Why would it put any sort of numbers on your skin instead of just a pair of coordinates and a date and a big old "MEET HERE" above it? Plus, plenty of people are happy without their soulmate. Some people can't afford to run after the numbers that appear on their skin, and they still find love. Daniel doesn't even want a soulmate anyway.

The day after he turns twelve he gets his first soulmark. It's just a small 2 on the inside of his wrist, but his mom cries over it. Daniel bites at it when he's alone in his room, before it disappears, wishing his soulmate could feel it.

They come more often after that, mostly random numbers and dates, but one day, when he's sixteen, a pair of coordinates. He tells himself he doesn't care, he's just curious, but he still looks them up. Turns out it's some place in northern France and, without his consent, his brain starts conjuring an image of his soulmate: a pretty french girl, with a long brown braid.

He's in Italy when he gets the second pair of coordinates, after a few years of just incomprehensible numbers, and for a moment he doesn't know how to react. She's in Italy too. Not that far away from him actually. He could probably take a train there, or a bus, if he wanted to.

But he doesn't want to. He has things to do, and he doesn't care about his soulmate anyway.

The coordinates keep coming from time to time, among the numbers. They're almost always scattered around Europe (France, Spain, Italy, Belgium....) and even when he knows he could probably get there in a reasonable amount of time he never goes.

He has gotten into the habit of recording all the soulmarks he gets in a small notebook his mom had given him years and years ago, just out of curiosity. Sometimes, when he's feeling particularly lonely, he goes through the pages, rubbing his finger over the recorded dates and numbers.

Sometimes he wonders what she gets from him. Did she get the date of when he got into a kart for the first time? Maybe the coordinates of the first race he won? The number of his first Formula Renault car?

Some other times he tries to make sense of all the numbers he got (2, 18, 3, 24, 30, 110, 1...), wonders if she maybe moves around a lot and those are the numbers of her hotel rooms, or her address, of her seat on a flight. Usually he remembers he doesn't care before he can find any pattern to it.

One thing that he was not ready for when he finally reaches Formula 1 is how many questions about soulmates he was going to get. Reporters are of course always asking if he has "found her yet", but even the drivers are nosy, asking if he plans on getting to her next coordinates, or if he has figured anything out about her. Sebastian tells him about the time he had found his soulmate, when they were both still in high school. She had gotten a timestamp, something Daniel has never gotten, and when the time had come she had found herself sitting next to Sebastian on a bus. There had been no date, but it hadn't been necessary. They had both just known.

Daniel tries his best to never talk about soulmates with Sebastian again.

He still writes all the dates and numbers (he recently added a 33 to his collection) in his notebook, but, as he tells anyone who asks, he's here to race, not to go on a wild goose chase. If it happens it happens, if not, he'll still be happy.

Max is both quieter and louder than Sebastian. He's awkward and a bit shy, but when Daniel manages to make him laugh for the first time he's so loud Daniel almost startles. Max has a bracelet over his wrist, covering the spot where his soulmarks must appear. Daniel doesn't ask about it.

In Spain, after the race, Daniel finds the day's date on his wrist. It looks a little bigger than usual, maybe, but he doesn't know what that could mean. He doesn't really care. It's funny though how many people seem to be having an important day that day.

Max asks about his soulmate only once. They're in Malaysia and they're both drunk and Daniel is starting to consider if it's morally and physically wrong to get both him and Max another shot when Max brings it up.

"Your soulmate..." he says, finger almost touching the 2 on Daniel's wrist. Daniel tenses, doesn't know if he wants Max to draw back or draw closer, but Max does neither thing, just hovering there. It feels like standing a little too close to an old cable TV, and Daniel drags his arm away.

"What about her?" he asks, harsher than he meant to be. He sees Max stiffen a little, but doesn't really care. He doesn't want to have this conversation, especially not here and not now.

"Do you think you will want to find them one day?" There's something in Max's voice, something too complicated for Daniel to decipher. If Max is still able to have a coherent conversation about soulmates, it means Daniel is going to have to get him that shot.

"I don't care," he says, hoping Max gets from his tone that the conversation is over. When he sees him frown and open his mouth again though, he knows he's going to have to deviate further.

He pushes his shoulder against Max's, jostling him before slinging his arm around his neck, subtly pointing at the people around the club.

"Besides," he murmurs directly in Max's ears. He feels him shiver and press closer, so he raises his voice slightly. "Why would I need some French girl, when there's plenty of available ones here, yeah?"

He feels Max freeze against him, but he's already pushing off, laughing. As far as he's concerned, this conversation is over. He has drinks to drink and girls to kiss. He's a winner today, who cares about all this bullshit anyway?

Max never asks again.

From time to time, Daniel feels him looking, but Max is always looking at him anyway. It's easy to ignore when his wrist is the object of his focus.

Things start seriously going downhill during 2018. The car is unreliable, the team's focus has clearly shifted to Max, Daniel feels rejected and disrespected. Things with Max are still mostly good outside the track, but in the garage the tension is rising and rising. Daniel knows it's going to snap, everyone knows it, he just isn't expecting it to snap because of him crashing in the back of his own fucking teammate.

He's never felt like this, livid with rage and so much disappointment he doesn't even know how to deal with it. He's mean in the interviews, angry in the debrief, snappy with Michael. When he sees Max walking towards him while he's trying to leave the paddock, a hole in the shape of his fist left behind, he glares hard enough to make anyone run. But not Max, of course. He tries to talk to him, tries to explain, again, why it wasn't his fault. Daniel just tells him to get lost, barely stops himself from raising his fist again.

He's had enough. Of the car, of the team, of Max. He wants to be left alone. Obviously though the universe has decided that he's not suffered enough for a day, because when he finally gets to his hotel room there are numbers on the inside of his wrist. Coordinates.

Without really meaning to, he finds himself looking them up. Closing the tab, opening it again, carefully putting them in, once, twice, three more times.

Baku. The coordinates are in the paddock.

He feels nauseous. His hands are shaking when he goes to grab his notebook. Everything suddenly makes terrible sense. Not getting soulmarks for so long, the coordinates all around Europe, the karting numbers. Spain 2016. The 33.

He turns the pages, hoping the numbers will change, hoping he is making it all up. Irritatingly though, Sebastian had been right once again. He just knows. His soulmate isn't some pretty girl waiting for him in France.

His soulmate is Max Verstappen.

[ameamedraws]

Beware of Trimax spoilers //

Vashwood week day 1: a mix of all three prompts

[shima-draws]

I’ve watched FMAB a thousand times but Greed’s death STILL gets me every fucking time. 1. Him realizing that Ling is going to get hurt and possibly killed by Father if Greed doesn’t leave his body, 2. Greed coming to terms with the fact that he’s definitely going to get killed by Father but he’s willing to make the sacrifice for Ling, and 3. Greed discovering that what he wanted was what he had the entire time, and that was true friends who would stick with him through thick and thin, who would share the same experiences and failures and triumphs and still love him despite his homunculus status. I’m so.

Also I’m SO pissed at the fact that Pride got to live but Greed didn’t. In my brain I kept saying “Well yeah I guess it makes sense for all of the homunculi to die bc they came from Father and HE has to die” but then I remembered that Pride LIVES and that makes me so salty. Out of all the homunculi Greed deserved to live the MOST AND I JUST. FUCKIGN.

[redhead-batgal]

Type: One-Shot (First part- Drabble) {If you want things to make sense you probably should read it, the first part, 😁😁😁}

Pairing: Fem! Student! and Soulmate! Reader x Damian Wayne/Robin

AU: Soulmate! Reader

Content: Swearing, angst, teenage stupidity, aged up kiddos 16/17, technical talk about soulmates, lowkey frustrations, some much angst yall, some fluff, mythology, toxic parents, and soul crushing

Word Count: 7,233

(P.S: Okay so this is going to be continuing from the I Feel a Sin Coming On drabble, I've been getting a few comments on it asking for a part two and someone sent in a request for a Shy and Smart Student! Reader with Damian and let's just say the gears in my head started turning. Anyways this could go on if you guys want it to, but it could also end like this! It will break you. I hope you all enjoy! :D)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~While, unfortunately, it's true the somewhat cruel existence of soul mates was around and kicking, love- true love was still there. Or at least it was believed to be there. It supposedly thrived even more for some reason. Some speculated that it was because there was a standing of everyone deserving love. Whether they were good or bad or in-between, they got someone who would love them for the rest of their life regardless of all the mistakes they made or continue to make. Others said it was because the universe deemed people good enough to have someone for the rest of their lives. Which seems a little close minded for a society in which everyone has a soulmate. But maybe that was because of the belief that if things didn’t work out with your soulmate- if you didn’t love them as you should or didn’t get the love you thought you deserved- it was because you weren’t good enough. Weren’t good enough to get the right kind of love. But in the end soulmates do exist. They exist and are for everyone. For each person you pass on the road, there is someone out there for them. Just as there's someone out there for you.

 But the daunting notion that you have to be the right kind of good to get your perfect love chilled you to the bone. After all, if it wasn’t perfect what did that say about you? Because in the end weren’t they made for you? Maybe that’s why some still believed in true love, that it was real. Both because of and not because of soulmates. Rather because of the concept. Someone made just for you. Even if that person was flawed-if you are flawed, just as they were made for you, you were made for them. But sometimes, what is made for you can harm you a lot more than what’s not. 

It was why you believed that the reason true love might still exist was actually because some people fell for their soulmate before they realized they were fated to be. Before that dreaded bond-that agonizing pull kicked, of their own free will they fell in love. Because they didn't have to suffer through the pull of a bond they never wanted, these people were blissfully ignorant of what forced love was like. They did not know the horrors of those forced to stay with someone their heart loved but mind did not. And despite all your animosity towards soulmates, despite your fear and hatred, what made this all the worse-all the more ironic-was that you were technically one of those people. 

Before you even knew what a soulmate was to you-before you were old enough to recognize the pull, to feel, it’s dark and fervent demand for attention-you fell for him. For his laugh: in the way he tilted his chin back as if trying to suppress its joyous sound and his smile: in the way the corners of his would curve showing a slight dimple in his left cheek and revealing the softness his eyes could have. For his kindness: in the way he disregarded what others said and lived his life freely as himself despite the demand of society for him to be like the rest-to be normal. For his mortality: in the way he would never allow bullies to pick on others around him, even if he thought they needed to toughen up. But most importantly for the way he tried each and every single day to learn more and be better even if you’re the only one who noticed. For the way he seemed to be all what you dreamed, something that should have caused you suspicion but instead drew you in. 

That is until your 13th birthday and, much like many before you, you felt the tug of that dreaded bond.

You were six when you decided to loathe soulmates. Six when you swore on your very soul- your existence that you would never love your soulmate. You swore to live in misery of your own making rather than fates. No matter who they were, you would hate them.

But fate... well fate hated to be tested. So, fate did the worst thing it could. It made you fall for the one person you swore never to.

Your soulmate.

Your very own soulmate who seemed like the only light in the dark and suddenly you began questioning whether or not these feelings- these emotions you had thought were your own and genuine- were actually yours. Or if they were just fate pulling its strings and making you dance and dance and dance.

To say you were upset was an understatement and... well let's just say fate might be prideful, but you were twice as petty.

At age thirteen you shoved the emotions you had so dearly cherished so deep in your chest they seemed like nothing more than echoes of naive mind. You distanced yourself from him and only let yourself feel in your loneliest of moments.

Four years, it had nearly been four years since you had begun your battle against fate. And- and and fate was getting stronger... as you have been told. The older you get- the closer you are to your soulmate, the stronger the bond is.

Those moments... those lonely moments happened more often, and those stupid annoying emotions rose up with the beating of your traitorous heart.

Which is exactly how you ended up in the last place you ever wanted to be. Face to face with your soulmate... with them recognizing you and what you were to them.

"I'm your soulmate." Damian Fucking Wayne said his eyes locked on you as you felt your heart jump to your throat and all the color drain from your face.

"Fucking shit, " You whispered, unable to break his gaze.

Shaking-hand shaking and heart pounding at your rib cage demanding you acknowledge him-that you give in and tell him he’s right. That you are soulmates and let fate drive you. But there was something fate and your treasonous heart seemed to forget. You were one petty bitch. 

Weakly smiling you let out a nervous laugh and turned, avoiding eye contact. Eyes darting around they finally settled on your bare wrist as your other hand scrambled to gather your things against your trembling chest.  

"Oh- my,” Your voice cracked as you shoved your things into your bag, “would you look at the time! I need to get going." 

Fingers racing over the items in your bag you went to zip it close and make your escape when your eyes rested on your final item. The book you were reading earlier. Which just so happened (damn you fate) to be right in front of Damian. Eyes raising to him, gazes latching for just a moment you did the one thing you should not. You looked down, down and back at your book before making the stupidly impulsive decision to lunge for it. Your fingers brushed the cover, nails barely scraping lines into it when a hand-warm and firm clasped around your wrist. Pulling you back towards the table in a quick tug that caused your stomach to slam against the tables side. Wincing you stabbed your nails into your palm, not daring to look up. You had fallen for his trap, the oh so obvious trap you could have avoided had you just not looked at him. 

"I'm your soulmate," He said again, his voice clear and stanch as he gently pulled on your arm, clearly trying to get you to meet his eyes, "and you are mine."

Soulmate- God why did you have to care about him. Why- why-did it have to be him? Why-

why couldn’t fate just leave you alone?

Something about the tone of his voice made your heart shatter. It was almost desperate, but you couldn’t-you couldn’t allow yourself to be weak. After all, you would not let fate win. Petty- you were so violently petty and prideful- oh even fate knew this yet- it still tried... this- you wouldn't let this stand. You could-no would not allow fate to get away with even attempting this. Taking a breath in-a deep breath- you raised your chin. Steadying your mind with the thoughts of your parents, of how you needed to be around them. Calm, poised, emotionless. Ignoring the well of tears in your throat and the pressure behind your eyes you finally met his gaze. 

Green. All you could see was those beautiful green eyes, wide and desperate. Yearning-yearning for you to give a reply. But the one you were about to give would only hurt those eyes, regardless, it needed to be done. One pain- one moment or time of pain and sorrow was far better than a life of them. 

Slowly letting out the breaths you previously let in you tilted your head, feeling his grip on your wrist lightening. 

“I do not have a soulmate," You began instantly seeing the surprise on his face-the confusion, so you continued, “I won’t have one. Not you. Not anyone. You see, I don't believe in soulmates. So, I do believe you are mistaken.” 

His grip dropped but seeing the broken look on his face made your facade crumble in an instant as your heart screamed to stop. To comfort him. To take back your words and press yourself into his arms. But you were smarter than that, even if you weren’t strong enough to hide the tears anymore. Throat bobbing, you felt your mouth tremble as your eyes stung and something warm began spilling down your cheeks. 

Pulling yourself away from him, you smiled a bitter smile, not even daring to acknowledge the tears you were shedding. Head high, you turned. 

Voice cracking, you bid farewell, “Now, if you excuse me, I have to get going.”

Feet scrambling you nearly dashed out the door, leaving the book that got you into this mess behind. After all, it was now only going to hold harish and painful memories. 

As soon as your feet touched the gravel, you ran. Tears freely spilled down your cheeks and you sobbed and panted. Mind trying it’s best to soothe the heart that had just torn itself into pieces. But there was nothing it could do. There was nothing you could do but cry and run. Run away from him. From all the pain you had and were going to feel. It was hell, yes. But at least it was yours. At least you knew how and why it had happened, at least you knew what was to come. At least you were still you right?

By the time you had finally calmed your tears-though your heart was still howling, you had made it home. Wiping your tears you took a deep breath in and held it, hoping it would steady your mind and breathing enough to face what was about to come. You hesitated for a moment, then let the breath out wiped your face again and walked up to the door. It was then you heard the shouting. The rage filled voices cursing at each other, dishes and shoes flying, shattering and knocking things about. 

Hand trembling you pushed down the doorknob and walked in. The barrage of insults and dissonance of things being thrown slammed into you. Your feet shuffled across the floor as you saw the shadows in the kitchen, too caught up in their most recent argument to even acknowledge your existence-that is until they came into view. 

“God you never listen!” Your father roared

“Better than sitting on my ass doing nothing all day!” Your mother countered

Quivering you slowly moved towards the staircase as their fight pushed into the living room. Your father’s hands waved as your mother rolled her eyes at him, arms crossed. 

“Really that’s how you’re gonna be?”

“Yeah it is.”

“Fine then, I’ll just take this lazy ass of mine and leave!”

“GOOD!”

With that your father turned and stormed past you straight out the door, slamming it behind him. You flinched and turned to see your mother staring at you. 

“Ugh! I can’t believe him,” She hissed before she shook her head, scowling, “absentee father, sitting on his ass all day while I make the money and take care of the needless kid. God, pregnant at 18- now married to that loser! My life went down the drain. If only it weren't for you...”

Those words stabbed at your heart, sinking in their little daggers in the spots they knew best. You knew she didn’t mean for you to hear them, but you always did.  It wasn’t the first time you had heard things like this, but it did seem to hurt all the more due to what happened earlier this afternoon. Sniffing slightly, you lowered your head and your voice cracking as you had to fight off more tears whimpered,

“I’m sorry mom.”

As if a flip switched your mom’s brown furrowed and scowl dropped. She looked you over, concern in her eyes and she took a step forward. 

“Are you okay honey? You don’t sound too good.”

Raising your head you tightly smiled and nodded, “Of course, just stressed cuz of school. I’ve got some exams coming up and it’s causing my emotions to be all over the place.”

She nodded eyes raving over you, resentment heavy in them as she plopped onto the couch with sigh, “Okay, you better be doing good in school alright? Don't want you to end up like that louse of man your father is.”

You nodded again, “Of course! Actually I was about to go and study.”

“Good, you do that.” She replied as she picked up the remote and flipped on the T.V.

You paused, for just a moment watching her as the resentment began to slide from her eyes, her face softening. She was so pretty, yet harsh lines from constant scowls and frowns bore their way onto her cheeks. Line surrounded her eyes from the tears and sleepless nights. And it was all because of you. Turning, your hands tight on your bag, you raced up the stairs, dashing towards your room where you collapsed onto the ground the second the door was closed. Hand against your face you pressed your head against the door and bit your lip. You did not have the luxury of more tears.  

Turning you found yourself looking at your own reflection. The combination of your mother and father. The perfect combination. It made you wonder what they saw when they looked at you. Did they see a reflection of themselves? Or just an echo of the person they loathed to love. You knew for a fact they never saw you, just you. It was always tied with one or the other. You could tell because today your mother avoided your eyes, that was because you had your father’s eyes. So today, she must have seen him in you. At least until your hair covered your face-her hair- and she saw herself. Maybe that’s why she softened; you didn’t truly know. They loved you, yes. But only because they saw themselves in you. Because on the good days, they saw each other. Because in a way you were them. What hurt the most though, was not when they saw each other or themselves in you. But the fact that they would never see you. And if your parents, the people who were supposed to love you the most, the people who brought you into this world could never see you, who could? 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had nearly been a week since you last saw and denied being soulmates with Damian Wayne. In said period you spent your free time dodging Damian and all his friends as well as digging your nose into every soulmate lore, history or origin you could find. While you didn’t want a soulmate, that didn’t mean Da- you soulmate should suffer because of it. So, you had made it your mission to discover if there was any way you could break the bond now. Research had told you that if one party ignored the bond for long enough it would fade for the other. But you didn’t know how long that would take and merely telling Damian you weren’t soulmates tore you up so badly that the mere sight of him sends you into tears. Therefore, you needed to find a way to break the bond. Both for yourself and for Damian. 

But as far as you could tell it was impossible. Every single myth, origin and lore of soulmates explained them as the other half of each other, inseparable even incomplete without the other. Part of you hated that thought. That you were incomplete without your soulmate. Because weren’t you a person, able to function live, laugh and love all on your own? Without a soulmate? Only Greek mythology even considers you as whole without your soulmate. Though it does say that they are meant to be together and once they meet they will not want to part. Which did not read well for your plans. In Chinese mythology there was the Red String or Red Thread of Fate 

A tangible string, perhaps it was something that could be broken. But from what you read it could not, at least you could not cut it or tear it with your hands. It cannot be broken. It cannot be broken. It can-

Taking a deep breath in, you rubbed your brow. It didn’t really make sense to you that the string or thread or whatever it was couldn’t be broken. It also didn’t make sense that a soulmate was to be bound to you for life. Logically speaking there had to be a loophole. Afterall no one feels their bond until they are thirteen. If you were truly bound for life, you would always feel it. Therefore, there must be a workaround. A way to break the bond or someone- or someone to break it- to remove it. 

Since it is not there from the beginning it cannot be like in the Greek, Jewish or Hindu myths. But it might be connected to that string of fate theory. And there was one person who you could think of that might be able to remove or break the bond. The very person who put it there. And if the Chinese myth is right it’s Yuè Xià Lăorén or Yuè Lăo. But as far as you could tell no one was meeting old men at night right before their thirteenth birthday. 

It felt like a lost cause. You doubted anyone actually ever seriously tried to break their soulmate bond. No one ever seemed to have your determination or rather stubbornness. Most people would have surely given up by now, but you desperately needed a way. Because despite how much you hated it, how much it made you hate yourself. You couldn’t help but love him. And it terrified you. 

Your parents started out in love and now they were-... it’d be difficult to say what they had was anything other than torture. Day in day out fighting. Yelling and screaming. Shouting. Such anger at someone they were supposed to love. It made you wonder, were they really in love? Were they really supposed to be each other's happy ever after? Each other's eternity? If so, what did that mean for you? Did that mean you were doomed to be stuck in the same cycle of love turning to hate? Did that mean that you were going to lose a love you always told you had? Did that mean that you were going to die unloved? It was a fear- your biggest if you were being honest. That the person who was supposed to love you forever, doesn’t really love you. And you could take the chance. Not with what you knew- what you’d seen. There was no way in hell you were ever going to let that happen.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was truly unfortunate that you just so happened to have a mother deeply involved in her job. One that resulted in her dragging you to a gala because she needed to show she had the perfect little family. What a joke. A cosmic joke as said gala was happening at none other than Wayne manor. And its host? You guessed it,  Bruce Wayne himself with his gaggle of children all in attendance. How did you know this? Well, your eye caught one of the many children. The one you were trying your hardest to avoid. 

Damian Mother Fucking Waye.

And it seems you caught his eye as well, because the second he looked in your direction his face lit up. That is until you turned away from him, the next you saw the color drained from his face and he practically stormed out of the room. Though any random bystander would have thought he calmly exited, you knew better. Which was valid considering you had basically spit in his face and said he wasn’t good enough. But it still hurts. Nowadays it seems that everything hurts. Though it was all probably due to the bond you were so determined to reject. 

So, to dull the pain you clung to the walls of the ballroom. Heavily nursing the glass of champagne you snagged from an unassuming waiter. It had been probably close to two hours since you arrived and you hadn’t even gotten halfway through it, however you most definitely did not want your parents to see. You were underaged and they wanted to keep their ‘perfect’ image intact. Which is partially the reason why when the people began to make their rounds around the ballroom, you decided to slip out. Though you abandon your drink, you thought wandering around the manor’s halls might help you relax even if it was only a little bit. 

Wandering down the darkened corridors you listened to the faint music that trailed after you as you got further and further away from the ballroom. Night encompassing each hallway you turned down it wasn’t long till the sounds of the strings playing was nothing more than a faint humming like the buzz of a fly. Darkness and silence swallowed the area-well near silence. The creaking and settling of the manor seemed to be the only sound. That is until you hear a clattering and an all too familiar voice cursing in another language. 

Maybe, it was due to the slight buzz those sips of champagne gave you-maybe it was the exhaustion from the days of fighting off your feelings-or maybe it was because the pull was just too strong; you walked towards the sound and pushed a door open to find a disheveled Damian Wayne sitting in on a couch, a bottle of whisky clutched in his hands, a crystal glass at his feet with half melted ice cubes surrounding it. 

He did not seem to notice your presence, so you slowly began to venture closer. Noticing his messy hair, unbuttoned shirt and missing tie. Why did he have to look so damn beautiful? Better hearing his mutterings which were half in English, you pause to listen. 

“Seems like Todd was correct,” He mumbled as a hiccup stalled his sentence, “this does improve everything… or perhaps not.” 

His body shifted as he hiccuped again, and had you not seen it yourself you would not have believed that the high pitched sound came from him. It almost made you laugh, but you were able to restrain yourself and move closer. This time, it seems Damian heard you as his head snapped in your direction. He blinked a few times almost as if he was trying to get water from his eyes. Head tilting he narrowed his gaze, voice slurring as he asked, “Y/N?”

Sighing you nodded and walked even closer until you stood in front of him. Smiling slightly you waved and took a deep breath in before replying, “Hi Damian.”

He blinked more, brow furrowing as he muttered something you could not catch. Sinking deeper into the couch he gave you a blank look. 

“So have you come to inform me of our ‘non-existent bond’? Because I assure you if you do not wish to discuss it with me I will leave it alone.”

You raised an eyebrow and crouched so you could be eye level with him. Meeting his eyes you found yourself once again admiring their beauty.

“Really? Then thank you. I appreciate that.” You paused concern stirring so strongly in your chest you couldn’t help but let the worry take hold, “ But I’m not here for that.” 

Damian sat up glaring at you and you did not move, swallowing as he got a bit closer. 

“Then what are you here for?”

“I’m worried about you.”

As if it was instinctual, he replied, “And who's fault is that.”

Though he winced afterwards despite you merely sighing at his comment. Resting your chin on your knees you gave him a sad smile and nodded. 

“You’re right… I owe you an explanation.”

Heart in your throat you met his eyes again and asked, “Would you let me give you one?”

Silence thrummed between the two of you for a lot longer than you would have liked. His gaze not leaving your face as you took a deep breath in and let it out. You should have done this from the start and at the very least if things go awry he probably won't remember any of this. 

His hand gesturing to the place next to him he said, “Sit.”

You snorted and rose to your feet. Then the seat next to him shifted a bit awkwardly before you turned to him. He looked at you out of the corner of his eyes as he took another swig from the bottle. It stung far more than you would ever admit seeing him like this. But- but it would fade. It will fade. He won’t be like this forever. He won’t. 

“So… I should probably tell you why I don’t believe in soulmates.”

He grunted in reply, and you weakly laughed, “I-hmm… this is rather hard to explain. You see my parents are soulmates and they-”

You stopped yourself, watching as he stared across the room. Realizing that telling him about this was letting him in. And you could not let him in. Biting your lip you swallowed, squeezing your eyes shut as you once again fought off tears. 

“I really don’t like their relationship. I hate it. And and to me it seems everyone with a soulmate is miserable. They aren’t happy. Shouting, arguing, fighting. I will not risk the chance of being like my parents. I refuse.”

He was looking at you now. Brow furrowed and the bottle slipped between his fingers. Your voice cracked and you winced, swallowing as you shrugged. 

“I- i am a coward. I refuse to take any chances because I don’t want to get hurt.”

The unspoken ever again hung on your lips as your parents' rage flashed through your mind. Fingers picking at one another you looked down. Unable to keep eye contact without crying. 

“I’m scared and- and worried and and I- I’m so sorry. You deserve better and i-”

His hand was over your mouth and you blinked in confusion looking up to see him pinching his nose, bottle still in hand. 

“Please silence your excuses.” Damian snapped, “I will not hear anyone talk about you that way.”

Something jolted in you and you froze, tears springing to your eyes, you nodded and he removed his hand. Fingers darting to wipe away tears you began to turn from him. His hand batted your fingers away and cupped one of your cheeks. The other still clutching the whiskey bottle half cupped the other. Damian pressed his forehead against yours and looked you in the eyes. 

“I care not that you are a coward. I care not that you are running away. I understand your unease, I understand your logic. But I disagree. I can do no better than you, my soulmate. My other half. I will be here for you and will ease your fears, I will drive your worries away and treat your scars. Emotional or otherwise. I am here for you. I do not know what I have to do for you to understand I am yours. Whole and solely yours. As you are mine. Please- I beg you. Tell me what I must do for you to allow me to love you to my fullest capacity.” 

Unable to look away, your heart taking control as that bitter bond turned soft and sweet you began to cry. Tears spilling down your face, you pressed your forehead more against his, words slipping from you before you could even think. 

“Be forever mine and let me be forever yours,” You whispered. 

Something softened in his eyes, a warmth in them you desperately wanted to see but hoped you never did. He began to lean in a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as his hands shifted, the bottle falling from his grasps as he muttered,

“Was that ever in doubt?”

You tilted your head and his lips pressed against yours. He tasted of bitterness, a darkness that burned so sharply it had you clinging to him. Hands bunched in the cloth of his shirt you found yourself leaning in. His arm wrapped around your waist and as he pulled you in tighter, body shifting as he couldn’t get you close enough. As if there wasn’t a way to hold you where he was near enough. It was as if he wanted to shift-sinking-melting completely and totally into you. 

Air, you had no air left, but who needed air? He was here. His touch gentle and constant, reassuring as he pressed against you, gripping you as if he was terrified the second he let you go, you would disappear. And he was right. 

You broke apart both gasping for air and his grip loosened. Foreheads pressed against each other he smiled, a smile that sent your already raging heart racing. His hand rested against your cheek, fingers playing with your hair. Squeezing his eyes shut he muttered,

“I love you.” 

Your heart skittered and-

Tug, there was a tug a mother fucking tug that made your whole-body ache. One that stole the air you had just barely regained. One that sent shivers up your spine and knocked some sense into you. 

You couldn’t breathe. Standing up suddenly, your head spun. Blinking a few times as tears sprang into your eyes you shook your head. 

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, “I'm sorry, I’m sorry.” 

And with that, you bolted from the room. Faintly hearing Damian calling after you, you rush down the hall brushing past a butler whose name you think is Alfred. He gives you a soft smile and you nod, quickly wiping away the tears. He paused but you kept moving. You had to get out of here. You had to get out of here now. No matter what it took. 

Feet nearly tripping over the other you stumbled back into the ballroom. There would be hell to pay later, you knew it. But if you stayed any longer you could get hurt beyond repair. Allowing the feeling of everything that had just occurred loose, you promptly burst into tears as you stumbled towards your stunned parents. Your mother frantically moved to you as your father’s eyes widened and he began speaking to the people before them. 

“Y/N, Y/N honey we’re in front of a lot of people. Can this wait?” Your mother whispered as she got closer.

Sniffling you collapsed into your mother’s arms, feeling her embrace again for the first time in nearly a decade. Trembling as sobs escaped you, you were able to get out. 

“I want to go home. Please. Please. Let me go home.” 

At first, she didn’t reply, then she began moving you towards the door. 

“Alright. Alright. Let’s get you home.”

She did not even turn in your father’s direction. After all, they had done what they always do, taken separate cars. Unable to quell the tears, you let your mother guide you out the door before he came to pull you back into fate’s vicious plot.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Two days, you hadn’t left your room in two days. Not that your parents had noticed, not that anyone really did. You doubted anyone noticed your absences from class. You hoped no one would notice truthfully. You couldn’t bear the thought of seeing his face again. It was driving you crazy. So you locked yourself in your room and hoped-prayed-that these growing feelings would just die. Or maybe you could just die. That sounded like a solid solution as well. It was part of the reason why despite the late hour, despite living in Gotham you had unlocked and opened your window. 

There was a sound that awoke you, yanking you from the nightmares that never seemed to cease. And as you opened your eyes to the familiar shapes and silhouettes in your room you found one that did not belong there. 

"Who are you?" You whispered to the woman hiding in the shadows, not really caring if acknowledging her would lead her to strike. 

After all, who would lurk in the shadows of someone's room while they were sleeping unless you planned to kill them. It was a relief of sorts, that you were more than likely going to die soon. It would help you feel less guilt about Damian, about the situation that occurred a few nights before and the feelings that refused to listen to reason. 

Stepping into the moonlight the woman towered before you. Half her face tilted towards the light and you blinked twice almost recognizing it- but- but that couldn't be possible. There was no way you knew this woman. You hardly knew anyone, let alone an murder or assassin who would sneak into sleeping peoples rooms. 

"You don't have to worry about that.” She replied in a soft voice, her accent reminding you of something-something…something! 

You just couldn’t quite place your finger on what though. It nagged and nipped at your mind, tugging and swirling in faint recognition you could not connect. 

The woman took a step forward, her black hair swaying as she crossed her arms, her tone sharp and barbed, “I think who you are is a more important question.”

Her gaze did not leave you and you adjusted your blanket before glancing towards the open window almost blankly saying, 

"Nobody special I can assure you."

This caused the woman’s posture to relax a little. She hummed slightly as you crossed your legs and set your elbows on your knees. 

"Hmm, really?"

Nodding you rested your face in your hands as you looked at her shadowy figure. She seemed kind, in a way. She was at least talking to you before killing you. That was something was it not? 

"Just the byproduct of fate's meddling and destructive hands."

"Ah, your parents are soulmates?' Her stance relaxed even more and you noted how from what you could see her outfit was nothing like the things the Gotham vigilantes wore. 

"Unwilling but yes, soulmates." 

It was more of a snort than a reply, but it didn’t seem to phase the woman as she rested herself on your desk the moon light allowing you to see the curve of her jaw and shape of her nose. Familiar features that made your gut churn. 

"Oh, oh. I see. They did not choose-"

"To have me?” You interrupted with a sigh, shrugging you nodded, “I guess you could say that."

Silence followed and you saw the woman’s eyes narrow. She crossed her arms again, stance tightening. 

"... you do not seem the type to share your innermost troubles with a stranger, why are you talking to me?"

Pulling your face from your hands you gave her a shrug as a yawn slipped from your lips, "Well, for one I think you're here to kill me and two... I've needed to tell someone for a while. Why not a perfect stranger?"

"Your parent's fate troubles you that much?" Her voice seemed to begin carrying concern, which only troubled you because it made you think there would be a possibility she wouldn’t kill you. 

"They are living proof- hell I am living proof that soulmates shouldn't be forced together…” You paused crossing your arms with a scowl, “and because fate is cruel, I have a soulmate too. Despite how awful they are."

"Your soulmate is awful?"

Something in her tone said she did not believe what she was asking in the slightest. Which was true, yet it still caused that buzzing familiarity to ring just a bit louder. 

"n-no, he's not.”

Squeezing your eyes shut you sighed deeply, running your hands along your face, “ He's kind and- and all I could ask for but- but... how do I know he's all I want? How do I know any of this- any of my feelings are mine? How do I know that it isn't fate pulling my strings and wanting me to dance? How do I know he won’t leave? That the bond will only become apparent when we fight and won’t exist otherwise? When the love is gone and only the bond remains? How will I know that I won’t be abandoned again? That I won't be hurt again? That I will gain a love that will last? I won’t.  Not to mention even if I didn't like him... I would have to be with him."

"No,” The woman scoffed, “you wouldn't, dear."

"Yes, I would. My parents- they tried and now- now I live in the shambles of a home. They are together because of that damned bond even though they hate each other." You were crying now, of course you were, "fate does not like to be ignored and I don't like to be told what to do."

Angrily grabbing a tissue you blew your nose, faintly hearing the woman laugh. From what you could see, she had a look in her eyes that seemed soft- understanding. One you most certainly did not expect your killer to have. 

"Oh my, really?" She mumbled head turned towards the window. 

"Yes! I'd rather live in a hell I have control of, a hell I made rather than one fate forced upon me. If- if I ignore it enough... I heard it will fade for him, I- I will still feel it but- but because he tried, he will be spared. He'll have a chance- one I never had. And though- though I can't truly tell if these feelings are mine, it's all I want. I love him. I love him”

You stopped yourself trembling as you said it yet again, “I love him.”

Nodding you continued on, “and… I want him to be happy without me. Because- because I won't give way to fate, not even for him."

"Hmmm. I have a question for you.” 

“Yes?” You pulled the tissue box closer to you sure more tears would come. 

“Do you really want to die?”

“Excuse me?”

The woman shrugged, waving a hand, “It’s just, it hardly seems to me that you want to die. Rather it seems like you want to live.”

"What- I, I’m sorry I-." You were at a loss for words. 

She was smiling as she replied with a shrug, “You have told me of a cause you wish to live for, no? To fight against the soulmate bond. While I personally disagree with your choice, I hardly think dying will do anything other than let the bond win.”

“Wha-... I-,” You sputtered, mainly because what she said made sense. 

It made an insane amount of sense. So much so that it had your head spinning. Why exactly did you think dying was the best option? You may not have the best life, but it was yours right? 

“I’m-I’m sorry.” The whisper escaped not entirely directed at the woman but rather just as a declaration in general. 

The tears on your face felt silly and you blew your nose again as the woman sighed. Causing silence to spin about the room until she remarked,

"I believe I should be the one apologizing."

You laughed, wiping the tears from your face, "Why?"

"Because I'm not here to kill you."

Something in you skipped a beat and you shook your head. Of course she isn’t. Who would want you dead after all. You hadn’t done anything that would cause a reason to be killed.

"Oh darn." You snorted, rubbing the back of your hand across your face, "Here I am looking like a fool asking for something I don’t even want from someone who can’t even give it to me. Fate is cruel… Though life does seem crueler."

"Yes," She muttered looking over her shoulder at the window, "indeed it is."

A figure loomed where she looked, a familiar figure in green, yellow and red. The woman smiled at you again and she moved towards him patting him on the shoulder before climbing out the window. 

“It was nice to meet you Y/N.” 

Blinking in confusion you latched onto the vigilante who was now looming in between your room and the outside, "Robin? What are you doing here?"

He sighed, the woman disappearing as he rested on the window frame, "I am afraid it is quite difficult for me to explain at the moment."

"Wha-.... wait-wait."

In the silence of the night, with the slight breeze trailing in from the window where Robin was perched, you felt a tug. A heart wrenching tug you had felt just the other night. A tug that sent aches all over and made your throat tighten.

"...you're-oh."

Biting, you lip you fought off tears as he slowly entered your room. Breathing deeply, you began picking at your fingers before you finally found the courage to look him in the eyes.

He was right in front of you as tears spilled down your cheeks and through sharp stabs of pain you tightly smiled remarking,

"...hi Damian."

He was silent and you bit down harder, weakly you took in a breath. His voice was soft in reply,

"Y/N... are you- are you alright?"

You didn't know what to say. After all, he must have heard something... then again, he might not have but-

"How-" Your voice cracked as you avoided looking at him despite him being so close, but it was hard as you could feel the heat from his body, "how much... How much did you hear?"

His was quiet and you squeezed your eyes shut, heart dropping as you tasted blood. Pain dancing across your lips and air fighting to leave you. A tiny sob escaped you and you took a ragged breath in as you opened your eyes facing him. Rob-no Damian raised a hand and brushed it against your face before he leaned in. His lips almost pressed against your ear he said,

"I heard everything."

Tag List: @andromedaj2003 @thomasbeloved @instabull @zvtanna @daemonnix96 @neon-scenery @ssak-i @achromaticerebus @1lellykins @hyperfixiation-station @legendarylearner18

[the-24-7-lawlu-library]

Can you rec me the lawlu must-read classics?

Also, thank you for creating this!! You rock!! ❤️

Hey there, thank you for your aks! We actually collected some classics already so here you go:

Into the Sea by shishiswordsman (E)

He looks around, but the Sunny and their broken off battleground are both vacant. His crewmen and the Straw Hats are far away already, probably congratulating each other for their triumph, which means… No one else saw it happen. No one else knows that Luffy’s — Luffy’s sinking. And Law can’t swim.

talk without speaking by trell (qunlat) (G)

They’ve been fighting for days, in that complicated sort of way where everyone wants to be on the same side and can’t be.

Not a Ball or a Chain by HollowIsTheWorld (T)

Trafalgar Law grew up hoping he would be one of the handful of people to never develop a soulmate mark. Now that that hasn't panned out, however, he's willing to settle for just never meeting them. Unfortunately for him, Monkey D. Luffy is a hard person to avoid.

Your Pain on My Skin by GinnyRose (T)

In a world where you share your pain with your soulmate, Law had spent many years believing his soulmate probably hated him. And he wouldn't have blamed them – Law had been sick, beaten, shot at and had gone through hell not just once, but several times from when he’d lost his family to when he lost Corazon and in the struggling years after that. But now, at 24 years old, he knew better. Not only did his soulmate hate him, they were bound and determined to pay back every scrape, bruise, and cut ten times over. When Law finally found the bastard, soulmate or not, he just might kill them himself.

Luffy's Law by JadedCoral (G)

Law thoughtlessly starts a rumour about himself, and it doesn't take long for it to boomerang right back to him in the form of a bloody-nosed Luffy.

The Twillight Phone by huliganships (T)

Ace has a shitty handwriting. Is that a 9? A 0? An 8? Who even knows. Certainly not the person that Luffy accidentally texted.

Acclimating by justira (E)

There are things that Law learns the hard way. One is that, if you involve yourself in Luffy's life, the Strawhats will involve themselves in yours. The other is that he is allowed to want, sometimes. In which Luffy is goodness, and light, and love, and the Strawhats all saw it coming.

no matter how much everything hurts by Tsume_Yuki (T)

In a universe where you can accept half the pain your soulmate is feeling, Luffy wishes he could take it all on.

Curiouser by xairylle (E)

Law wondered whether there was any sense to doing this—reading to a younger pirate stripped down to just wearing boxers straddling your equally as naked self. And expected to be turned on while doing so. [LuLaw]

and all the things that keep us here by trell (qunlat) (G)

In which there is an invitation, and Trafalgar Law gets a second chance. (Or: the one where they get married, in secret, at someone else's wedding, and make Usopp late to his.)

My Love For You Is Choking Me by ObsidionWingsofMidnight (T)

Hanahaki disease: an illness born of one-sided love that causes flowers to grow within the infected patient’s lungs. If left untreated it will suffocate the host and kill them. The growth can be removed through surgery, but it will also remove the feelings along with the flowers. It can be cured without side effects if the feelings are returned. Law wished he had died back under Doflamingo’s gun more than ever.

Dots by petiteneko (T)

It all started out as a joke. But, there was some legitimacy to it too… (Soulmate [AU] where your tattoo shows the first thing your soulmate thought when they saw you, but same universe)

What's A 'Closed' Sign Between Friends by teaandtumblr (G)

A tired, hungry surgeon drops in after hours once and Sanji doesn't have the heart to turn him away. What he doesn't expect is for his friend and this doctor to fall in love right under his nose. A 5+1 story.

heartstrings by hopipp (fancy2na) (NR)

A retelling of events had the Ope Ope no Mi given Law a little more than he bargained for. AKA: the red strings au that's probably been done already

Meat Cute by marimoes (T)

“Meat? I’m hearing you correctly? Your dog is named...Meat?” Law asks putting together everything for the first time. His mind swimming much like his dignity at the moment. The man laughs ruffling Meat’s ears, “Yeah. Meat. Because she’s red and white like a good marbled piece of meat.” “And your name?” Law asks, twisting water from his shirt. “Luffy.”

Stow Away Captains by xairylle (M)

Law sneaks into the men's quarters of the Thousand Sunny. Zoro contemplates on how to deal with it. And Luffy, well, Luffy is just Luffy.

Sating Hunger by xairylle (M)

At the end of the day, even with all the major blunders that almost cost him his life, Law decided that this alliance had been worth it. Until he fucked it up by not being able to hold himself back from kissing Monkey D. Luffy.

This Is What Personal Looks Like by JadeFlicker (G)

So Law had thought the Straw Hats had taken the battle with Kaidou as a personal vendetta for all the tears shed by Momosuke and all sorts of new Wano friends. The Hearts captain had been badly mistaken. Apparently, this was what personal looked like. (In which, Law and the Straw Hats will get angry for Luffy when he's not able to.)

Exchanging of the Hearts by KivaEmber (G)

Post-Dressrosa AU. All they did was exchange hearts, just to make the alliance 'til death did them part. It wasn't as if they were married or anything.

Falling by chenziee (M)

The timing for Law's heat couldn't have been worse; their attack on Doflamingo was just days away, and here he was, too busy fighting tooth and nail against hormones and disgust. Law would really rather jump into the sea and drown than deal with one minute of this.

-Mod Raiya

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Worth The Wait"

Rated: Mature

Pairing: Steve x Bucky x reader

Tags: soulmate au, Dom/sub au, age difference (26/34), sub reader, soft!dom Steve, bossy!dom Bucky, soulmarks, angst/comfort, stalking, grinding, virginity kink

Summary: When you find out what the two of them have been hiding from you all these years - and more importantly, what they've been depriving you of - you don't react well. You may be a submissive and they may be two Doms with whom your relationship runs deep, but you just cannot with these two idiots. Not this time.

"Please just wait a second. You're overreacting! Come on, Doll, won'tcha just let us expl-"

You whirl around at the nickname, furious. "No!" You reach up to smack away the hand that was reaching for you—Bucky's hand. He looks so hurt by it, and you grit your teeth, mad at him for his audacity to act hurt over this. "Don't call me that," you grit out, face red from how high your blood pressure currently is (and the crying, though you're doing your best to push that back until you can get away from them).

"Sweetie—"

"No! I said shut up!" You glare daggers at him. "You don't get to call me that anymore."

"Honey ..."

"And neither do you!" you snap, turning the daggers on Steve. You point at him, then Bucky, jabbing each of them once in their chests with your finger. "I'm not your 'Honey', I'm not your 'Sweetie'. I'm the girl whose life you've ruined for the past twelve years, and you don't get to act like you care about me now!"

Bucky sighs like you're being unreasonable, and that pisses you off even more than him acting hurt over it had. "Doll, come on. It's not that big of a—"

"God! Just stop!" You turn back to your apartment door and shakily get your keys out and fit the right one to the lock, your angry tears about to burst out of you from frustration when you fumble a few times before getting it open. You feel the heat of the two of them at your back and you push the door inward and take a step in, then turn back around to face them—they're closer, right at the threshold. "Get back," you say tersely, body tensing up at the threat that they might follow you in. You can't take that right now. You need to be alone. You have to process this.

"Come on, Peach. Just let us explain, please. Let's talk about this."

Goddamn him. It's like he's trying to use up his whole repertoire of pet names just to spite you. "There's nothing to talk about!" You grab the edge of the door and push it to slam it shut in their faces, but Bucky's metal hand comes up and stops it from closing completely.

His expression is harder now, his voice lower as he gives you a stern look. "Don't shut us out, Peach."

You huff, sick and tired of his superior attitude. Normally, you like the way he coddles you, talks down to you, calls you pet names—it makes you feel special and warm—but not today. Today you just found out that Stucky (as you refer to the pair of them) are your soulmates—both of them. That's rare but not unheard of. They're both Doms, after all, so it only figured that one or both of them was eventually going to get the tingle for some sub, somewhere, someday. And now you know it's you.

That's not what you're mad about, though. Your stomach had dropped right out when Bucky admitted that he and Steve have known about this for twelve years. Twelve fucking years! And then Steve had the nerve to tell you that they've been tag teaming as "chaperones" (read: stalkers) for the entirety of your dating life—ever since you were fourteen and started going out with Jimmy Bollinger in the ninth grade.

You get sicker the more you think about it: all those fumbled relationships, all those boys (and later, men) who seemed to like you so much, and then who suddenly lost interest; all those times when a Bumble match would stand you up, or when a few kisses and seemingly fantastic dates led to a sudden ghosting. Now you know why. Steve and Bucky have been "handling" (read: intimidating) them out of your sphere for over an entire decade!

You can't even begin to process the betrayal you feel, how confused and upset this makes you. You feel like your best friends have just played the cruelest trick ever, and you can't let them come into your apartment now because you know if you do, they'll just Dom (read: bully) the upset out of you and that is not what you want. It's not what you need. You need to cry and vent and rage. You need to call Wanda over and drink more vodka than Stucky would ever allow you to. So no, you can't let them in.

You sneer at Bucky's hand on the door and his superior expression. "Take your fucking hand off my fucking door, right fucking now, Barnes," you warn, absolutely fed up with him and totally showing it on your stone cold face.

For a second, his eyes narrow and he looks like he'll fight you on it. But Steve puts a hand on his shoulder and says quietly, "Babe," addressing Bucky as his husband. You clench your teeth and glare Bucky down. His features pinch as if it's physically painful for him to respect your wishes, but he does pull back—which, unbeknownst to him, saves him from a swift punch to the face. He opens his mouth like he'll say something else, continue arguing that you shouldn't be upset at them, but before he can, you slam the door shut in their faces, rapidly locking it and throwing the deadbolt once it's closed.

You stand there, immediately breaking into the tears you were trying so desperately to hold back in front of them, both palms flat on the door and then your forehead resting between them as all the anger inside you suddenly collapses into sorrow.

How could they do this to you?!

You hear them talking from the other side of the door, though it's muffled. They sound frustrated, talking to each other, arguing back and forth in low, hissed voices. You can't make all of their words out, but you do hear Steve scolding Bucky for his aggressiveness, and then Bucky sniping back about Steve being too soft.

"Now she'll never come outta there," he complains to Steve. "She needs us! We need to talk to her, hold her! We need to explain—"

"—You think I don't know that?! Think I don't want her in my arms just as bad as you do?!"

You scoff at the back and forth of their arguing and pull away from the door, not wanting to hear it. You stomp back to your bedroom and slam the door shut, hard, hoping they hear it from out in the hall. You toss your purse on the bed, then yourself. You let yourself break down completely and just sob into your pillow for a while; hot, angry, devastated tears wetting the pillowcase and making you snotty and miserable as you think about the joke they've made of you all these years.

Every single time, you think, horrified as the realization sinks deeper and deeper with the more memories you drag up and examine. From Jimmy in ninth grade, from high school crushes and a ruined prom night, through all your college boyfriends and after-college boyfriends, all the way up to your third date/breakup with Derrick today: All of it has been because of them.

You'd thought there was something wrong with you; that you were a bad kisser, or not that pretty, not thin enough or not toned enough, not smart or interesting enough. You'd angsted over whether maybe you talked too much about heavy topics on first dates, or didn't give off a heavy enough sub vibe—or too much of a sub vibe. All these years trying so desperately to improve yourself, to make yourself lovable, and it turns out that Steve and Bucky were chasing away any chance you had at love in the first place.

You break down for a while in your room, crying and fuming and crying some more, utterly devastated at their betrayal. Eventually the tears run out, and instead you just get really, really angry.

The audacity of them! You remember the scene from earlier, when you'd bumped into them outside the restaurant where Derrick had cautiously told you that he "wasn't ready for a relationship," and that "it was him, not you." You'd left, managing not to cry despite how dejected you'd felt, so sure that it was you (again), and found Bucky and Steve standing there, looking like they'd been waiting for it to happen.

Steve had looked nervous, Bucky less so. He'd been the one to comfort you as you all walked back towards the building you shared. He'd told you that the guy didn't deserve you anyway, that you were too good for him—all the usual platitudes that did only a little to heal the hurt of another rejection. You hadn't thought much of how they'd just been there outside the restaurant, chalking it up to coincidence at first.

God, you felt so stupid now! All these years and you've never seen it. You lay there in your bed and replay that evening in your mind, going back to the moment it'd happened:

"Just tell her," Steve says, once you've reached the stoop in front of your building.

"Tell me what?"

Bucky takes a deep breath and puts both hands on your shoulders as he looks in your eyes and gently confesses, "It's us, Doll. We're the reason why none of your relationships have really worked out." He glances over at Steve, and the two of them share a knowing look, before he turns back to you and the both of them stare you down. "We've been waiting for you."

You get a sinking sense of dread right away, even though you don't understand what he means. "What?" You lift your hands to cover his on your shoulders, intending to push them off, but he only curls his fingers more firmly there. "What are you saying?"

"We're your soulmates, Honey," Steve says, while Bucky nods. "We have been for ... well ... since you were fourteen." He kind of winces when he says it, and you gape for a full five seconds before you manage to squeak,

"What?!"

Bucky leads you over to the bench that sits in front of your building, urging you down to sit between them. Their big bodies crowd you in from either side, pressing up against you, but for the first time in your life, it doesn't feel like safety. "No," you whimper, looking back and forth between them to try and see that this is just a mean joke. "You don't ... you aren't ..." Steve nods seriously, and you feel your breath leave you. "You can't be. I mean, not all this time? You knew? And you didn't ... you knew you were my ..."

"Yeah, your soulmates, Honey." Steve puts his hand on top of your thigh, giving a gentle squeeze that you suppose is meant to be comforting. "It's a good thing, yeah?"

You shudder, humiliated. "How could you?"

They share a confused look, mistaking your meaning and each of them answering simultaneously:

"We have your Words."

"We felt it happen."

You scoff. "I mean: how could you do this to me?!"

They both look shocked that you're so upset about it. They hold you still to keep you sitting on the bench between them when you try to get up. "Hold on, Doll. Let us explain."

"Explain? Explain?!"

"We were just protecting you, Hon, until you got a little older, until you were ready." Steve is so coaxing, so sweet like he always is, and Bucky hums and pets your arm as he acknowledges that what Steve is saying is the truth.

“But we watched out for you.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“We had to look after you,” Steve explains, like it’s common sense. “Couldn’t let any of those guys get serious with you, you know?”

“... Oh my god,” you whisper. Neither one of them seems to pick up on the horror that's dawning on you, as you realize the full scope of the situation. "Since I was ... f-fourteen?" you say, beginning to hyperventilate, thinking of all the not-quite-boyfriends of so many years, the canceled dates, the ghosted texts, the "I'm not ready for this" excuses.

You're ... you're still a virgin because of these two!

New strength enters your body and you surge to your feet, breaking through their hold on you. You turn to them with angry tears already building up behind your eyes. This is unbelievable! How could they do this to you? "How?!" you demand, voice wavering with emotion. "Show me."

They each pull down on the necklines of their tee shirts, stretching the fabric to reveal the top swells of their left pecs. And there, just underneath their left collarbones, are the matching marks:

You guys are complete idiots, you do realize this?

The Words on their skin are in that odd shade of muted red that everyone's Words are in—like an old scar that never quite healed—and you stare, unable to breathe for a couple of seconds. You must've called them "idiots" and "dumbasses" a thousand times over the years, but the second you see their marks, you somehow know the exact instance when you'd said those words; the memory of the encounter playing out in your mind as clear as if it were right there in front of you on a tv screen.

You flounder for a bit as you try to make sense of it, to somehow make what they're telling you less awful. "So you've ... you've just been ruining my dates for ... for ten years?!"

Neither of them look prepared for this reaction from you. "Well ... twelve," Steve grimaces. "But it was 'cause we knew—"

"Because you knew and didn't tell me! Why didn't you tell me?!"

"Sweetie, just calm down for a sec. This is good news. We were trying to protect you."

You turn all your anger on Bucky at that point, incensed. "Protect me?!"

You don't miss the way that his eyes harden, how he squares his jaw and gives you a firm, "Yes. To protect you." You scoff, and he leans forward and grabs your wrist and tugs you back to the bench, but you land ungracefully in his lap and he wraps his arms around your middle so that you can't escape, your back pressed tightly to his chest.

"Let me go!"

"No. You're going to sit still like a good girl and hear us out," he says, using his Dominant tone, and you freeze at hearing it. Bucky and Steve never intone with you. They're your friends. They're respectful. Sure, there's always been a small degree of sexual tension present between you, but they're married, they're Stucky, and they've always been platonic with you. Always! Bucky's breath hits warm against your scalp and the shell of your ear as he tries to calm you down. "You were too young at fourteen, Doll," he says, still speaking sternly but also compassionately. "Can't you understand that?"

Steve nods along in agreement. "You weren't ready to be tied down to someone. You weren't ready to be Dommed, and you sure as hell weren't ready for intimacy of any kind."

"Intimacy?" you sneer, struggling and failing against the strength of Bucky's arms. "Like I'd have any clue what that is, huh? I'm twenty-six goddamn years old and I've never gotten past second base! I thought there was something wrong with me. And now I find out, after all these years of angsting, that it's because you two have been cock blocking me?!"

"Calm down," Bucky growls in your ear—another Dominant order, just as Steve says,

"Sweetheart, please ..."

To your great shame, you have a physical reaction to Bucky's hold on you: his strong arms restraining you and his scruff brushing against your neck and his Dominant tone seeping into your brain—and Steve's coaxing entreaties coming from the side don't help. It's not under your control, how your clit pulses and your panties get a little wet spot from all that stimulation. You are a submissive, after all, and this is Bucky doing this to you. How many times have you thought about it? How many nights spent lying in bed have you brought him to mind, or him and Steve to mind, as you've slipped a hand down your belly and—

No, you think, shutting those thoughts off in anger. You're not going to go soft for them now. They can't get away with this.

You've been crying at this point, a few tears escaping down your cheeks like firebrands, only increasing your humiliation. And of course Steve coos and leans in to wipe them away. "Hey, heey, Honey. It's okay. We're here now."

You jerk away from him like his hands are poison and you hiss, "Don't touch me."

Steve's hand falls away, his face so full of concern. "Honey ..." he laments.

"No. Don't call me that. Don't touch me." You squirm hard in Bucky's arms again, and when he doesn't let you go you huff and turn to Steve. "Make him let me go. Now."

Your gaze must be murderous, because after a brief hesitation, Steve reluctantly convinces Bucky to let go of you. You immediately get to your feet and storm off, hurrying into the apartment building and towards the elevator, the two men following at your back. "Leave me alone!"

They catch up to you at the elevator before the doors can fully shut, Bucky glaring and Steve wincing as they block the doors and force their way inside. "Please," Steve says, begging you to understand. "It was for your own good."

Wrong thing to say. You go to jab the button for your floor and cross your arms, keeping yourself away from them—and well out of Bucky's reach. Bucky pushes the button for his and Steve's floor, too (it's just below yours), and then swipes his hand over the buttons for every other floor. You hiss and whirl around. "Christ. Real mature, Bucky."

"We need the time to talk."

"You could have told me!"

"We wanted you to have your freedom, Hon," Steve pleads. His kind tone only makes you angrier.

"Freedom?! How is that freedom? Freedom to do what? to spend years trying to find a connection with someone and fail? to figure that it must be me; that I'm, I dunno, overestimating myself? to convince myself I'm a seven and then decide that I must really only be, like, a solid four 'cause no one wants me?"

"The fuck?" Bucky growls and steps forward. "You're gorgeous." But he says it like a chastisement instead of a compliment, and you're far too angry to take any compliments from him, anyway.

"Fuck you!"

"Is that what you would've preferred?" he says darkly. "Hm? Because we were twenty-four back then, already out of college. And you were fourteen fucking years old, Sweetheart." You blush and avert your eyes, and Bucky nods, vindicated. "You really think two grown-ass men were gonna come busting in when you were still practically a kid? Take advantage of you in your prissy little ballerina bedroom? Hm? Pop your cherry on that sweet lacy duvet?"

"Buck," Steve complains.

It's a mean assessment, but it's accurate, and you suddenly hate that Bucky knows what your childhood bedroom back at your parents' apartment looks like. "No," you answer him tightly. "But you should've told me, not stalked me for twelve fucking years to make sure I never get laid!" You're still blushing as you say the words, but Steve looks a little ashamed, so you're glad you did.

At their floor, they try to coax you out into the hallway to go home with them like you've done so many times in the past, but you stay in the elevator and jab at the close door button, trying to shut them out. No such luck.

"Where do you think you're going?" Bucky asks as he steps back on, Steve right behind. You back up until you hit the elevator's wall, nowhere to go. Bucky crowds you in while Steve stands beside you. They both look a little less apologetic now and a little more ... well, dominant.

"Home," you say, meaning for the word come out assertive. Instead it comes out timid and you nearly cringe at yourself. "M'going home. Alone."

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Oh is that so?" The way he says it is dark and dangerous and smooth as satin. It makes your pulse quicken—but not in fear.

"Bucky," you breathe, trying to move to get around him, but they both block you in. "Ugh! Let me go."

They don't allow it. Bucky shoves his knee forward, forcing your legs to part. You gasp and he moves closer, pressing, holding you in place with his thick thigh wedged up against your clothed cunt. He rests his weight through his hand against the wall, right next to your head. Then, holding eye contact and with his lips parted, expression intent, he grinds his thigh forward.

You make an embarrassing 'yip' of a sound, and his eyes darken. You've never seen him look like that—not at you. It makes something nervous and desperate begin to gather in your belly. "Stop," you say, trying so hard to make your voice firm. You push against his chest, mad that he's using his dominance to bring out your submission. You've never subbed for Bucky or Steve—or anyone, really. At least nobody you care about. Since you've been unable to gain a sexual partner all these years, you've always used the services provided by Pro Doms - their platonic services, because no way in hell were you ever going to sign up to lose your virginity in a glorified medical clinic.

"Just relax for me," Bucky intones, nearly purring the words down at you. "Let us take you home and talk this out, huh?"

You whine at the increasing tug in your belly, embarrassed. "Don't–don't do that," you stammer, turning your head away from him. "S'not fair."

Bucky hums, pleased, but Steve clears his throat and then you hear him murmuring, "Buck, let her go. You can't force this. It isn't right."

You breathe a sigh of relief when Bucky pulls back from you, removing the pressure from between your legs. You have to fight the urge to put your hand down there, or to try and rub your thighs together. His big thigh pushed up between your legs had felt so good, and now it's gone.

"You liked that," Bucky says smugly, eyes gleaming. "Admit it. That made you wet just now, didn't it?"

You're scowling as Steve is once again chastising his husband for his crude comments. "Buck! Come on, man."

"Like I'd ever get turned on by you," you snap, hands balled into fists so you don't try to hit him again. "You're like my brother. Gross!"

It's not true. Not even a little bit. But you can tell that it gets under Bucky's skin, that it bothers him, so you sneer at him all the more and jab the button for your floor. The elevator moves up. Bucky's not intoning anymore, so that tugging in your belly fades away and your anger resurfaces, only this time it's even worse. You scowl at him and step forward, shoving him in the chest with your full might.

He barely moves, and when you shove him again and again, he only moves back by a small step, keeping his balance and leering at you because it's obvious how weak you are and how strong he is—and he knows that as a sub, you can't help but like that.

"Ugh!" You're ready to cry again, so mad and so humiliated by what they've done to you. "I hate you!"

"Don't say that, Honey," Steve mourns, still so fucking kind that you can hardly stand him any better than Bucky.

"Fuck you too, Steven," you snap, groaning in relief when the elevator finally 'dings' at your floor and the doors open. You step out and hurry down the hall towards your apartment, knowing that they're following you.

Which leads us all the way back to you, crying and fuming in your bedroom; and Bucky and Steve, ostensibly locked out in the hallway. You have no idea how long they loiter out there, but you're too afraid to open the door and check. You turn on your tv for background noise and make tea, checking the peep hole occasionally, but you can’t hear them talking anymore. If they are out there, they're making sure to stay out of eyeshot.

You huff at your own paranoia when you pull back from the most recent peephole check. You don't need to be doing this. You've already spent forty minutes crying, over an hour fuming, and another hour cry-fuming less vigorously over a few cups of tea. It's time to call for reinforcements.

"Wanda? Hey. I need you to come over for a girls' night."

Wanda, ever perceptive, can hear your clogged sinuses through the phone. She asks.

You sniffle and admit, "No, it's not good. Bring Nat if she's free. And plenty of Vodka."

Masterlist

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup!

[soranker]

nightow’s baseball AU….😭😭😭

[iris-nonsense]

I swear that luffy never looked so genuinely scared and desperate till now and it's all because zoro is about to die

[blacklegsanjiii]

•°♤°• Soulmate AU: The Aftermath

Sanji doesn't really understand their anger. He doesn't understand at all.

He doesn't understand

He doesn't remember how to feel. Not since his father Judge told him that his soulmates are dead.

He remembers it as if it was yesterday.

He was still in the dungen, head wrapped tightly around a metal helment. Meant to kept the face hidden but not seen.

He remembers Judges footsteps, the way his big and tall figure covers his sight. He remembers the cruel words that wouldn't leave his mind.

"They're Dead." Judge says

"They're Gone." Judge continues

"Not only did you fail as a son, but you failed as a soulmate as well." His tone so venomous its like a vipers fangs had pierce his own skin.

Sanji, despite with the helmet on, can see the corners of his mouth twitch up.

Nine years. At nine years old, he was told by his father Judge that his soulmates are dead. He failed them. He should've been there to protect them. But instead he was there when they died.

He remembers breaking out in a loud cry. A cry so loud it could've been heard from miles away.

He falls to his knees, gripping them tightly as tears drip down. Above him Judge scoffs.

"Honestly, why am I even surprised?"

"You obviously don't deserve it" He scoffs with a smirk

"Maybe it would've been better if you weren't even born. Then maybe your soulmates didn't have to die. Maybe they would've been better off without you, to maybe find out that their 4th soulmate is a failure."

Judge turns around, but he mutters the words that would haunt Sanjis mind forever.

"If your purpose isn't to be a soldier, then maybe your purpose it to be a Lab Rat".

(Sorry if Judge is a little OOC).

Spade, please don't apologize for taking Judge to the place he would have gone if Sanji had stayed in Germa. But holy hell that's sad, let's go!

Sanji has been numb since nine years old, trapped in a dungeon in a metal mask with his father leering down at him. Telling him his four soulmates are better off without him because of his being. His weaknesses. He doesn't understand why the four people in front of him have anger towards a man who is blatantly right about him. Sanji thought Reiju was lying after all. Why would his soulmates be alive? Why would Judge let them live?

He remembers what Judge told him very clearly, surprisingly. He failed to save them, he let them die because he was in the dungeon. He was weak and dumb and fragile. He stared down at Sanji and said he shouldn't have been born and Sanji felt himself break and agree silently in own head. That his only used would be as a lab rat, something to cut into and test on.

Chopper shoos everyone out so he can ask Sanji questions when he wakes up which he answers plain and simply. There's no need to lie if they're telling the truth or not, either way they'll all find out. He says that to Chopper, he's used to repeating himself and if they want to know he'll tell them. Chopper frowns and says that's his decision to make but still, as a doctor he's supposed to give his patients privacy from others. Which is new to Sanji who blinks and shrugs before chopper gives him the okay to go back to sleep and he does.

When he comes to next Zoro and Nami are eating with a plate for him beside them. Nami smiles and says they saved him dinner and that they'll need to know his favorites for the party they'll throw when he's allowed to leave the infirmary. Sanji is blinking and confused for the first time in ages as he stares at the plate and tries to remember what real food tastes like, he read plenty of cookbooks but he hasn't eaten real food since he was ten.

"Eat up, Curly. It won't hurt you." Zoro says.

"Right." Sanji whispers.

"Do you need help? We can cut it up if you like or-" Nami starts.

"No, no. I just haven't had to eat since I was ten. Would get in the way or the scientists work, not that it particularly stopped them " Sanji says as he starts cutting into the brown meat thing on his plate and takes a bite.

"What do you mean?" Zoro asks carefully.

"Easier to keep my nutrition coming in from an IV, especially after they replaced my ribs." Sanji shrugs, not really finding the pleasure he did as a child in eating. "Could probably make decent money off me since I have a bunch of Germa science experiments in me." Zoro is still as can be as Nami leaves the room quickly with hands over her mouth.

"You're our soulmate! We aren't sending you anywhere or selling you off." Zoro forces out.

"Judge killed my soulmates. He killed Reiju's too, I'm pretty sure." Sanji says as he eats. "Told me when he moved me from the dungeon to the medical wing I was in."

"I'm right here, in front of you." Zoro argues as he grabs Sanji's arm and anything zing goes into Sanji's body and well that's strange. "Your connection to us is weak. It got damaged when we were kids.

"Oh, he would do that." Sanji says simply as Nami comes in with Luffy and Usopp making the two men look as well as Chopper standing by their legs. "Did something happen?"

"What the hell did Judge do to you?" Luffy demands with anger and fury as he looks at his soulmate.

"I'm a labrat, he experimented." Sanji answers like it's obvious.

"You're a person." Usopp argues.

"I have never been a person." Sanji responds. "Why would you even want me as a soulmate anyway? I'm broken."

"You're not broken, you're ours." Nami says as she brushes his hair with his hand and that's a sensation Sanji hasn't felt in years. Not since his mother died, but this is more intense with the little electric feeling of finding one's soulmate.

"Nami, set course for Germa. We're beating up Sanji's dad." Luffy orders.

"Aye aye, captain." She says as she kisses Luffy's cheek and leaves.

"Is the food good at least?" Usopp asks after a few quiet tense moments.

"I have no idea." Sanji answers as he keeps eating. Zoro laughs as Usopp complains he made it with love and Sanji is confused but finishes a third of his plate before giving up and watching Luffy inhale it like the vacuum tubes in the lab.

[pampushky]

Foot of the Gallows

trafalgar d. water law/reader - chapter 5 - 3.2k

ao3 link | masterlist | series masterlist | next chapter

5.) lion's bane

A powerful sedative once dried and powdered. When picked fresh, it can be pickled and then eaten to help children sleep before significant procedures. Legend says it was once used to make a fierce mountain lion sleep, so that it could then be put into the royal menagerie.

You’re on your way back from foraging for a certain mushroom that only grows deep in the forest when you see someone leave your shop, which is interesting. Because your shop was always closed during this specific time, on the same day every week, it makes you freeze before you sprint back to the shop, fearing some version of a robbery only to find…. a clinic.

Lined up around the first floor of your shop are dozens of people staring at you while you stand there with your chest heaving, your harvesting sickle held out like a weapon. And sitting behind the counter, in your stool that has always been your stool since you could walk, is Law, focused entirely on the swollen wrist of a mink-hybrid child. Tiny little cat ears flattened to their head while a doting father hovers, a bushy white tail twitching back and forth as Law murmurs and draws a shimmery black string of mana a centimeter or two over the child’s wrist. The string flashes, sinking into the child’s skin, watching as the wrist stops swelling, while Law scribbles down something on a piece of paper— your paper! 

He blinks at you as you stand there and give a little wave as you look at the line of people. They’re mostly peasantry, the same people who you would have ended up writing prescriptions and waving the payment, though you do see a few nicer-dressed folk, who look rather embarrassed to be sighted alongside the lowborn seeking Law’s care. 

“You were gone, so I opened up my clinic here.” Law gestures to the line and how he’s set up at your counter. Using your pens and paper. Offering the younger patients sweets you saved to keep off your hunger during rushes.

“You’re in my stool and using my paper,” the words come out before you can stop them. And you feel your face heat up. Because that’s not what you’re really mad about, but you still want to let him know that you’re mad about them. 

So you turn right on your heel and go upstairs to start to dry the mushrooms you’d foraged, but it’s not right, because you’re supposed to be downstairs when you do this. After all, that’s the best place to do it. It’s not too humid, and the light around this time of day is perfect even when you’re an hour late or early from coming back. But it’s too loud down there, and the floors will be covered in mud, and you’ll have to clean it all again before you can start, meaning that the mushrooms will take longer to dry, or they may not dry correctly at all. 

It’s ridiculous. You know that. They’ll dry fine on the kitchen counter as long as you cut them the same way and use the same spells to help wring the moisture from them. But downstairs was where your mother had taught you how to do it. Where your Uncle had helped you learn the spell to pull the water from it, and it was always where you had done it.

Downstairs is where Law had become your husband now, too. 

With matching embroidered cuffs and necklines, as was standard for the couples that could afford it, it was your fault for not clarifying to the tailor that he didn’t have to do that. You look down at the thread around the cuff of your sleeve. The serpentine body entwined with the ivy. Constricting, tightening around the neckline of your dress, and by instinct, your hand goes to your throat as if to ensure nothing is there.

Why do you keep having to remind yourself that Law had never choked you on that day? You place your hands flat on the counter, counting down from ten as you had learned to do when your mind got the better of you in these moments.

Law can feel the prickle of annoyance and anxiety trickling down his back as he helps the next person in line. Your mana makes a prickling noise, almost like a Geiger counter, in his ears (not that Law knew what a Geiger counter was or could even comprehend the idea of nuclear waste). And continues to feel it, crackling in the back of his mind until there’s no one left in the shop. He’s well aware it’s yours, but he’s not sure about what. It’s been a week— the pattern you two have set out has worked thus far. 

Or, he thinks it has. You don’t talk to him unless it’s absolutely necessary. But the anxiety says otherwise. And just when he’s about to start sweeping, he can feel a jolt of rather violent anxiety spiking— enough so that he sprints upstairs just to see you with your palms on the countertop, staring at a pile of neatly-sliced mushrooms on your drying rack. He can hear you mumbling, one of your hands clenched in a tighter fist than the other. 

The mushrooms are dried now, or close to it, but you still seem frazzled. Eyes squeezed shut as you count your way down from fifty. 

“Are you alright…?” Law stays at the top of the stairs, not wanting to get too close. Your hunched form leaning against the doorframe of your bathroom haunts him still. 

“Fine.” You gasp out as if it’s painful to do so. “Perfect. Amazing. Stupendous. What are other synonyms, you were always better at the languages than I was,” you trail off, and he can see how labored your breathing is as you start to count down from sixty. 

“...You don’t sound it,” Law speaks hesitantly. Weighing your symptoms in his mind, practiced eyes taking in your entire body. Anxiety attack. You need grounding, and fast. You’d never been good with more practiced methods– he recalls that much, or rather, has had those details committed to memory forever. So, he walks briskly to your side, pulls you to the kitchen sink as you briefly protest, only to plunge your hands into a stream of icy cold water. “Five seconds. Then I want you to go from cold to hot.”

“What—”

“Do you have any ice?” Law rustles through the cabinets, knowing that you had at least oneenchanted one to keep produce and meats fresh, and then another to keep things frozen, he just can’t recall which one it is. 

“Yes— top right–”

You shriek when he pops an ice cube rather forcibly into your mouth, and the anxiety that had been trickling down his back pops, as though it never existed to begin with. 

And then you cuff him in the ear while trying not to drop the ice cube from your open mouth.

“Law Water D. Trafalger—!” You screech, and he can’t help it. He starts to laugh, dodging your clumsy swipes at him, easily blocking them. This seems to enrage you even more. “What the hell were you thinking—!?”

“A way to stop your panic attack,” Law laughs, grinning so widely as you pause, as if you’re still processing what he’s said, before scowling at him. “C’mon, give me some credit. I’ve known what your panic attacks look like since we were kids.” 

“You also once shoved a pill bug in Luffy’s nose when he was sleeping.” Your tone is so dry as you turn off the faucet and leave the ice cube in there to melt. “Shanks was pissed,”

“He bit me!”

“He was like, seven!”

“I didn’t bite when I was seven,” Law sulks, leaning against the counter. “I just watched my parents die.”

“.... By the gods above and below, you’re still such an ass,” You mumble, bracing yourself against the counter, turned away from him. But he can still see the little smile on your face. Good, he’s distracting you. Forcing you not to think about whatever had upset you so much. 

The mushrooms catch his eye again. Lion’s Bane. He’d always needed more of that— it helped him to sleep when he’d first moved to the southern continent when the pain of the curse had really started to kick in. Before that, he’d spent most of his nights passing out from exhaustion when he finally couldn’t take it anymore, and asked Doflamingo if there was anything that could help him. Anything. 

And, of course, there was. But it came with a price. Everything that was given to him came with a price: another tight wire coiled around his neck to keep him under control. 

“Hey— these look good,” Law plucks one of the thin slices from the drying rack, carefully examining it. “You really have gotten better. With your earthen magic, I mean.”

The anxiety immediately comes back, and it nearly knocks Law over. Okay– one question answered, but now another presented itself to him. Why were you so anxious over the Lion’s Bane? These were perfect— he wasn’t joking about that. You were one of the best apothecaries he’d ever worked with. Yet your anxiety said otherwise. It was making him feel nauseous. 

“No, they’re terrible,” You sound so certain. So utterly devastated. “I wasn’t as fast with drying them, which means they won’t be as effective when powdered.”

“That’s… a thing that happens?” Law puts the mushroom back down. “How much does it affect it?” 

“It takes five and a half minutes longer to kick in,” You mumble, and he hates how tears are threatening to spill over onto your cheeks— 

But he laughs. And you look utterly startled. 

“Then they’re just fine for doctors,” Law does mean to, but he takes your hands. They’re clammy and shaky, and he worries about your circulation for a brief second before he snaps back into gear. “I promise. How many minutes do yours normally take to kick in?”

“Ten minutes,” you whisper, still with tears threatening to spill, “They’re gonna take fifteen and a half—” You stop speaking when you notice how baffled he looks. “What?”

“Your Lion’s Bane powder. It only takes fifteen and a half minutes?”

“Ten normally,” you pull your hands away from his and start to wring them nervously. “Why?”

“They take about forty minutes on average. From every other apothecary I’ve gotten them from. How— what are you doing to them? Whatever you’re doing to them, you’re making them so much more effective,” Law looks at one on the drying rack, then at you, and then back at the drying rack, snapping one up as he makes his way over to the couch. “Time me. I— I need to test this, this is remarkable if you’re right—“

“You shouldn’t eat an entire dried slice—“You make a grab for his hand, but he’s already dangling it above his mouth and drops it in, chewing and then swallowing quickly. He looks at you, and suddenly, you’re both fifteen and seventeen again. “Oh my fucking Gods, Law, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Are you timing it?” He grins at you, and you have half a mind to have Gertrude smack him in the back of the head or reach down his throat to pull it from his throat.

“What— no— I should be shoving charcoal down your throat right now—“

“Well, there goes the experiment!” Law slumps onto the couch. “Where are you even getting them from, I can already feel the effects— yes, slight blurriness around edges of my vision, slowed reaction time,” he adds when you pitch a pillow at him, and he doesn’t even dodge, letting it hit him square in the face, pulling it to his chest. “This is remarkable!”

“They’re just in the woods outside the city wall! It’s where my family’s been getting them from for centuries—“

“You need to show me.”

“Excuse me?”

“These could be…” he yawns and blinks sleepily, “…a huge breakthrough for… for chronic insomnia…”

Law is slumped against the wall before he can even finish his sentence, drooling onto his tunic as you watch him. There’s gentle shuffling behind you as Gertrude comes to set a leaf on your shoulder. You pat their leaf gently and plop down onto the opposite side of the couch, rubbing your forehead. Gertrude wordlessly starts to get you a glass of water while rifling through the cabinet to find the charcoal you’d mentioned when Law first ate the mushroom. “Thank you,” you mumble, taking the charcoal from the plant, along with a glass of water. The charcoal is already crushed, meant for emergencies with your customers. In this case, just for your idiot of a childhood friend and now husband. Law snores as you mix the powdered charcoal with the water and doesn’t even flinch as you pour it into his mouth, tilting up his throat and having him swallow, keeping his head tilted forward so he doesn’t choke. It’ll be a bit late to help him wake up, but you just sigh, leaning back against the couch. Gertrude brings you a cup of milk tea, gently patting your head with one of their leaves before going back to being nestled around the top of the cabinets.

Your eyes close softly after you finish the cup of tea, still caked in mud from your four-hour hike through the woods to get to the lion’s bane.

When you wake up, Law is looming over you. You do the natural thing and scream, kicking him immediately in the place you’ve learned is the weakness of most men, regardless of if they were born as one or not. You kick him straight in the balls, watching as he topples nearly instantly, clutching his groin while holding in several groans as he bites his lower lip.

Gertrude is laughing, the little shit. They’re laughing, and you’ve just kicked Law in a very sensitive area. Rustling their leaves from the top of the cabinets until you shoot them a stern glare. 

“G’mornin,” Law’s voice is several pitches higher. Still holding his crotch and looking at you with a very shocked expression. “That hurt.”

“Why were you hovering over me,” you steady your breathing. You still have your leg outstretched to kick. Your hands brace on the couch. “Like a fucking weirdo?”

“You’re getting mud on the couch.”

Your eye twitches. And you stand, even when you want to sit back down and rub mud into the fabric just to spite him. But you know you’ll be more upset in the end if you do end up doing that. The mud feels so wrong against your skin when you’re in your casual wear. It would stick to your skin all day, even if you’d washed it away.

“It’s my couch.”

“Our couch.”

“Fuck off, you literally ruined my day yesterday,” Your voice is venomous, and he seems shocked by the anger. 

“How?”

“You— ugh— you wouldn’t get it,” 

Because he probably wouldn’t. You’d tried to talk to your parents about it, especially when they still worked with you. You liked things done a certain way. There was always a proper way to do things and a certain place to do it all. When trying to tell your mother that, while she was turning the orange roots of a fire bush into a paste, she just quirked an eyebrow at you and told you, albeit lovingly, to get over yourself and that any place in the shop was the right place to work, so long as it was clean. She didn’t understand that while it may be that way for her, you liked your rhythms. The specificity. It had taken years to develop these routines and patterns for harvesting and processing all of your medicines. Along with finding the perfect materials to label and write your detailed notes. 

Kizaru had somewhat understood. But he also was in a very different profession than yours. Yet he understood nonetheless.

“Why not?”

Why not? Because he would likely tell you to get over it like your mother had and would make you work out of your comfort zone. Sometimes, it helped. Other times, it made it worse. She hadn’t meant anything by it. She just didn’t understand.

“Because— because I’m weird about my shit, and I don’t like it when people use it,” You blurt out, “Like my paper! That paper is resistant to most degrading compounds, so it’s safe to not only label but use as a packaging thing, and I really, really hate when people sit in my stool because it’s my stool and—“

“Calm.” You feel a wave of ease roll over you, with Law pressing his thumb to the center of your forehead. 

You feel like the world is moving much slower. Or your brain is. The prickling under your skin is gone. “I do actually understand that,” Law says, pulling his hand away from your forehead and kneeling so he can look you in the eyes. His hands are warm, cupping your face, making sure you’re looking at him. “And I’m sorry I invaded your space like that. You’d been gone for two hours already, so I figured it would be alright if I opened my clinic down there.” “It takes me five hours to get the lion’s bane, and then I dry it downstairs. That’s how I’ve always done it.”

He hates how tired you look. How soft your voice is. He knows exactly why you’re like this, too. You’d always had… peculiarities about doing things your way. It’d make you cry if you couldn’t do them the way you’d always wanted to do them, sending you into a quivering mess. Your mother had accidentally triggered one of these when she’d been drying out thunder root and had nearly panicked when you couldn’t voice why you were so upset. 

“I didn’t know. But I won’t do it there, or at that time, again. Okay?” Law pulls his hands away, and he thinks he’s imagined the way you almost chase after his touch. “... do you normally panic when things like that happen? It… hasn’t changed?” “Yeah,” you pull your knees to your chest. “I think. It’s just been piling on. All the stuff from the past three weeks.” Law nods, rocking back on his heels. 

Just the two of you. Law on the floor, you on the couch, both of you with your knees to your chests, looking at each other. It’s painfully familiar and foreign at the same time. 

“...I never apologized. For….” “Don’t,” Your voice quivers. The fight and anger are gone. You just sound defeated. And he can feel the weight of the sorrow on his soul as you tuck your head into your arms, hiding away your face. “Please.”

The sorrow gives way to fear. Of the wetness of mud caked on your skin, slinging to your hair and eyelashes. How it weighed down your clothes, your skin, your hair. How cold you’d felt as you trudged back to your home. 

You hate mud. Yet you’re still in the mud-caked clothes from your hike to forage for mushrooms yesterday. “Alright.” Law chokes, unable to handle just how heavy everything feels from your side of the bond, “Alright.”

You don’t know how to feel when there is an unfamiliar twinge of guilt and longing that is not your own. The door down the hall shuts as Law shelters himself away in his room. And you just cry into your arms, your tears turning the dried dirt on your sleeves to mud again. 

[greyskyflowers]

How about soulmate marks that tie people to crews?

Black ink that changes colors when pressed on, and that's how to tell it's a soulmark and not just a tattoo. Once completely accepted on both sides, the bearer of the mark and the crew, it will turn to that secondary color permanently.

⚪️

Ace gets Whitebeards mark when he turns 17. He doesn't know who's mark it is at that point but that doesn't really matter.

It's a mix of emotions when he sees it, starting behind his left ear and dropping all the way to his shoulder. A proud, black mark that turns silvery, white when pressed. It's not somewhere he can easily hide it, which if you listen to old wives tales, means he'll be very proud and happy with this crew.

It's hard to wrap his mind around being wanted, having a future that indicates belonging and happiness literally etched into his skin.

⚪️

The Whitebeard crew hears about this hellion tearing through the seas and it doesn't really catch their attention until they hear murmurs about a soulmark. Their soulmark.

You don't have to have a soulmark to join a crew, only a few people actually get a mark, but it's a honor to have people on your crew bearing your mark. It's a blessing from the sea, a message that this person's fate is twisted up with yours.

Usually people find their matches. Once again it's not something that has to be done but it's been described as a yearning, an ache that doesn't truly go away unless the match is found.

It's important for the crew too. Having someone so young with their mark? It means the crew will have years left together, marks stop appearing if a crew is close to dissolving or failing. They hadn't had anyone with a mark in several years and they're anxious to confirm it on this kid.

That alone earns him a soft spot already in most of their hearts. They're anxious to claim him as theirs, to have another brother, a youngest to spoil.

⚪️

He lives up to his reputation. A vicious, little spitfire that's taken Jimbei down, is barely standing and still snarling for another round.

He's got a control over his devil fruit that makes it look like he was born with it. It's a destructive fruit, and he uses it well.

But he shows his potential with his crew, the kindness hidden away inside him, throwing up a wall of fire and telling them to run. The flames cast light on the side of his neck when he turns to yell at his crew and there's the mark. It's big, beautiful, and god they hope it's real.

⚪️

He goes down easy, too young and too exhausted to be anything other than a slight annoyance to Pops. The sand around him is almost gleaming glass from the heat but it doesn't stop Marco from dropping next to the kid to look at the mark.

It goes silvery, white under his fingers, fading back to a solid black when he removes them.

⚪️

It's almost instinct to want to touch soulmarks for your crew. Everyone is always swinging an arm around Ace's shoulder and taking the chance to brush fingers over his mark. It's comforting.

Ace's mark doesn't permanently change for awhile, hovering in a smokey, grey state even after he gets Pops ink. One day it settles though, beautiful silver, white ink that stands out against his tan skin. There's no way to miss it.

⚪️

Nothing bad ever happens to them and they all live happily ever after. The end.

[onim5]

Portgas D. Ace x reader Soulmate au

Soulmate bunny au

"This is weird."

-------------------------------------------------------

Ace, Marco, and Thatch stood in an alleyway. They peeked out at the Marines walking by. "If you hadn't seen them it be hard to get booze." Marco sighed, not feeling like fighting. "We could have, huh?" Ace stopped speaking as a glowing blue bunny sniffed on him. Marco and Thatch distance themselves from Ace and the bunny. "A soulmate bunny," Marco whispered. Ace carefully crouched down and put out his hand for it to sniff. The bunny's glow got stronger as it leaned on Ace's palm.

The bunny's ears shot up and its attention left Ace. Soon after took the bunny off, and Ace's instincts made him run after. "I ain't missing this," Thatch said as he ran after. Marco sighed and then ran after with a smile. The bunny was fast, but Ace had no problem following it. Marco turned into a Phoenix and followed it from above.

Your pov:

You slowly slopped on your way home. Feeling like shit, you stopped as a little blue glowing bunny sniffed right at your foot.

"A soulmate bunny? Oh shit a soulmate bunny!" You looked around for any sign of a partner. "This is not good." You sighed as you saw in the distance Marco the Phoenix fly, following a bunny. The thought of having him as a soulmate felt wrong. So you did what anyone else would and ran as fast as you could.

The bunny watched confused and then followed you. "Gah! Don't follow me! He's going to find me!!!" You whined, running faster, feeling like pray.

"Oi, Ace! I can see someone running from a soulmate bunny. It must be them!" Marco yelled. As he accelerated. "Why would they run?" Ace asked a little hurt. "Maybe realized pirates are on their way to them," Thatch said, running slightly behind Ace.

You looked up and saw the damn bird, too fucking close. "No!" You yelled. Running faster than ever before, you threw yourself on a sewer cover and opened it, then closed it. You were leaving the poor bunny behind. Marco flew down and threw the cover away, jumping down. Ace and Thatch jumped down soon after, Ace held both bunnies.

It was wet and cold down there and dirty. "Where did they go?" Thatch asked, looking around. Ace put the bunnies down and watched as both ran in the same direction. Ace soon ran after with both Marco and Thatch behind. "What a troublemaker, and why are they so fast?" Marco yelled. The bunny's light finally started to show a figure. And Ace all of a sudden accelerated faster than eh, possible. And all of a sudden you were in strong arms. "I'm not gonna hurt you," Ace said tightening the hug. You felt his breath on your neck and started to blush awkwardly. The two soulmate bunnies disappeared but left a blue glowing circle around you and Ace.

Wait, that's not Marco, it's um, Fire Fist Ace!!! Your mind screamed. Oh my god. Ah, my soulmate is a pirate!!! "Um, I have to go, home or something." You mumbled, trying to get out of his grip. "I come with you, I wanna get to know you," Ace said with a grin. No! Wait he's my soulmate, so yes then? "Mhm, sure whatever." You muttered. Ace grinned. "Name's Portgas D. Ace, that's Thatch, and the other one is Marco." Ace introduced them. "And I'm not gonna tell any of you my name, nice to meet you." You said sarcastically.  

Marco went up to Ace and put a hand on his shoulder for comfort. "It's always awkward in the beginning, try to be patient." He said, Ace just sighed and then all of you made your way out of the sewers. "Why did you go down here?" Thatch whined. "Because I felt hunted." You mumbled a little pissed. 

"We go to the bar for Booze, have fun you two," Marco said, grabbing Thatch's arm. "See you two later." Ace waved goodbye. Grabbing Ace by the arm you dragged him away. You walked fast, to Ace's annoyance. "So~, I'm not gonna tell any of you my name, where do you live?" Ace asked carefully. You didn't answer and just walked. "Do you have something against soulmates?" He questioned. Taking a deep breath, and kicking a rock. "I do, my best friend got a soulmate and then I became a loser because that's what I was in her soulmate's eyes. And now she hates me." You explained, watching the rock you kicked roll away. 

"Oh, damn, that sucks," Ace answered. "Yeah, soulmates ruin everything." You added. "What did I do?" Ace asked worried. "Don't you know what's gonna happen to me when you leave? The navy is gonna destroy my home and then execute me. And if I don't want that to happen I'm gonna have to either come with you or get on the run. Either way, I lose everything I've got." Tears began to slowly slide down your eyes. Ace put his warm hand on your back. "I never thought about the consequences. But if you come with me I protect you." 

You unlocked your door and walked in immediately beginning to pack."Is your name Y/n?" Ace asked, looking at a name engraved on a bag. "So what if it is." You said, holding back tears. "I think it's pretty." Ace complimented. "Thanks." You threw a bag to Ace. "Hold this." He took the handle and looked at the black suitcase. "Are you a noble?" Ace asked as he looked around, the well-decorated place. "Yep, so now when your making me a wanted person, I'm screwed. Catch!" Ace caught the other suitcase. And then he heard a mumble that made his stomach drop. 

"What do you mean, take the train?" Ace asked placing down the two bags. "You think I can survive on the sea as a pirate, no, I'm a shitty noble who can't do anything useful out there." You explained. "But, don't you wanna be with me?" Ace asked worried. "Of course, after all, we're soulmates. But I'm sure that I can forget you if I don't get attached." You smiled grabbing your handbag. "Haven't you heard any soulmate's stories?" Ace asked confused. "Hey, I understand you have been going around dreaming about some kind of Prince Charming. But now you got me, and if 'we' try then I know we can do this. And we Whitebeard pirates know how to protect our soulmates." Ace smiled. 

"First no, I have not been going around wishing for some disgusting prince that believes he and I are all that matters, hehe no. Second, do you want a noble on the ship, I'm most likely a spoiled brat who wants everything perfect-------" Ace's head spaced out as you began to ramble on what 'his' opinion on nobles was. (bruh) Maybe I should just kidnap Y/n, that's what pirates do normally with their soulmates. Ace thought, seeing it as a simple solution. "----------------Are you even listening?" You asked. "No, what were you saying."

"I've decided I'm coming with you. IF YOU KEEP QUIET ABOUT ME BEING A SNOBBY BRAT!" You answer having just, (in super speed) discussed with yourself about your choices. "Are you a snobby brat though, because if I remember right, you without hesitation jumped down the sewers," Ace asked. "I'm sure, any noble would do that." You mumble knowing that is far from the truth. One of Ace's eyebrows just rose. "Okay, maybe not. I'm bad at being a noble alright." 

You put dinner on the table, and then you and Ace kept talking. "You better keep the other pirates away from me, to begin with. Their scary." You said, taking a bite. "Aren't I also scary?" Ace asked a little disappointed. You glanced at him up and down. "I think you are adorable and handsome, which is weird because normally it's only one." You said confused, like either a man is cute or cool, Ace is just all, somehow. "How am I adorable?" Ace asked, The last time he checked he was a dangerous pirate. "Your freckles, and when you fall asleep, good thing you have narcolepsy." You muttered. "You're the first one with that opinion." 

You hid behind Ace as the two of you walked onboard the Moby. "Pops, meet my soulmate," Ace said happily as he tried stepping away from you, so Whitebeard could see. "Hi." You mumbled so only Ace could hear and after that, you hid yourself behind him again. Whitebear's laugh was heard throughout the Moby. It was normal for his son's soulmates to act like that.

[chibieggplant]

~ Masterlist ~

I only write One Piece

And by One Piece I mean it’s just Sanji & Law. Jk, kinda. I'm going to attempt other characters in the future.

But mainly Sanji & Law…

Fluff 💖 | NSW ❤️‍🔥 | Angst ❤️‍🩹 | Soulmate AU 💕

Sanji

Beck and call 💖

Possessive ❤️‍🔥

Baby bump 💖

Shower time ❤️‍🔥

7 Minutes in heaven 💖

Destined threads - Part 1 | Part 2 💖 ❤️‍🩹 💕

I've been dying to kiss you - Part 1 | Part 2 💖 ❤️‍🔥

Head-canons

When he has a crush on you 💖

Law

Allies 💖 ❤️‍🩹

I need you now ❤️‍🔥

Beneath cold exteriors 💖

Doodles - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 💖 💕

Head-canons

When you have a crush on him 💖

When he falls for you 💖

Penguin

Confessions 💖

Multiple Characters

Accidentally exposed - Ace | Law | Penguin | Luffy

Ace

Coming soon