#soulmate calculator

[seri-tonin]

I keep seeing people say that Kaveh and Alhaitham are incompatible and I'm just like... no u don't get it. They are so compatible that I'm convinced they're literally made for each other. They're both so incredibly stubborn but underneath all the bickering, they clearly have a ton of respect for each other and recognize each other's intelligence. It's because of both that mutual respect and their directly opposing worldviews and ideals that make them both pretty much the only people that are capable of influencing good and meaningful change in the other. Kaveh brings the empathy and artistry that Alhaitham needs while Alhaitham keeps Kaveh grounded. Alhaitham always seems so much more relaxed in every scene where he interacts with Kaveh. Alhaitham is pretty much the only person that Kaveh doesn't feel the need to go full people-pleaser with (excluding the occasional client that really manages to piss him off). They're actually perfect for each other.

[purrassicjet]

Jawbone may have helped Sandra Lynn in the most obvious ways, but he was helped too.

Jawbone was so used to taking dangerous, stupid risks and getting hurt, so he fears stepping out of stability, even for a moment. But Sandra Lynn lives on risk. She thrives on controlled danger. Dives on Baxter, charging into fights, creating solutions to problems that maybe aren't the safest. But she makes it safe. She knows exactly how to do things that give you the feeling of taking a risk, without any of the real risk.

Sandra Lynn needed Jawbone's stability, but in a lot of ways, Jawbone needed her instability.

[teecupangel]

Hear me out:

Soulmate au where soulmarks were created by the Isu to ensure that the right matches would be made in order to get to the chosen one.

They appear the moment two soulmates see each other for the first time, and they start itching after a few days of separation. After a week or so, they start burning.

By the time Desmond is born soulmarks are exceptionally rare, so he does not expect to get one himself, (and by all means he shouldn't get one, since we know that he is the chosen one) but he does, and it's right after he wakes up in Abstergo's Rome facility.

He's really hoping that his soulmate is the cute blonde lady, and not the crazy old guy.

(Ideally this would start as a Desmond/Lucy story only to then switch to a deconstruction of the soulmate trope as they both fall in love with different people instead. Time travel might be involved, for AltDes purpuses.)

(It's up to you whether Desmond and Lucy's soulmarks are a mistake on the Isu's part or something more sinister, maybe Juno's plan to get a new body by being reborn as Lucy's daughter after Desmond dies to save the world? Of course this would imply that in this timeline she doesn't kill her in Brotherhood...)

Or…

It’s a man-made created soulmark?

Like Abstergo managed to get the device that had been used to add the soulmark into humans and they tried to reverse engineer it?

It’s not perfect but they managed to make it work and all they have to do is inject a person with the ‘solution’ from the device that makes use of other chemical components that would trigger the ‘soulmate symptoms’ plus a secret ingredient.

The blood of the intended ‘partner’.

This isn’t how the device actually worked. The device itself used the DNA as seen in the calculations to set up the solutions which would be added to the humans’ genes using another device but Abstergo can’t find the device itself (the device is actually the Eye in the Grand Temple as that’s the one which has the capabilities to see into the future and thus can connect with the Calculations stable enough for the Capitoline Triad to add in the solutions into the Calculations) without the need of any injections to the targets.

So, Abstergo make do with creating an injection, calling it ‘YN-001’ and they injected it to both Desmond and Lucy while Desmond was unconscious so it only triggered when he first got out of the Animus and his eyes met Lucy’s.

Why?

Because by making Desmond believe that Lucy is his soulmate, he’d be easier to control for Project Siren.

But it all come crashing down when Juno controlled Desmond in the Colosseum vault, calling Lucy an abomination and showing everyone using the golden holograms that Lucy and Vidic had injected Desmond with YN-001 to make him believe Lucy is his soulmate.

If you want Lucy to live, Desmond’s feelings for her (which he believed to be love because he did believe he and Lucy were soulmates) makes him able to control his body before he stabs Lucy and he managed to strike a little to the right, missing her vital organs instead.

He still falls in a coma and Clay tells him the truth of Juno’s words. How the soulmate system had been created to ensure that Desmond was born. It was never about fated love or true happiness, it had always been to ensure the birth of the chosen one.

So… AC Revelations happen with Desmond jaded because of Lucy’s betrayal and the truth about the entire soulmate system.

When AC3 rolls around, Desmond actually confronts Bill and asked if he ever loved Desmond’s mother.

The hesitation in Bill’s voice as he tells him that he cared for his wife and she cared for him as well was all Desmond needed to know that they might have been soulmates but his parents didn’t even love one another.

So what did that mean for Ezio?

For Altaïr?

Ezio got the courage to leave the Brotherhood because he believed that Sofia was his soulmate and that they were meant to be together.

Altaïr married Maria and raised a family with her for decades because of the soulmark they shared.

Did that invalidate their feelings?

Did that invalidate their love for one another?

Desmond didn’t want to believe it.

Because if that was true…

If the whole soulmate system was meant to ensure that people would give birth to individuals that would later end up becoming part of Desmond Miles’ genes…

Then… didn’t that meant the feelings soulmates held for one another were their chains?

That they were unable to break from?

Unorganized Notes (AltDes because I was given an option and I will take it XD):

Desmond is under the impression that the soulmate system can influence feelings. It does not. The soulmate system relies on humans believing they are meant to fall in love with their soulmate to work. It can only trigger hormones and the burning sensation if they’re not with their soulmate but, other than that, the feelings are their own.

Desmond doesn’t believe this as he did fell in love with Lucy but her betrayal and the truth about the soulmate system made him believe that his own feelings were 'created' beyond his control and the only way to finally stop the feelings is after their ‘part’ of the calculations is done (which is true as Bill and his wife have been separated since the attack on the Farm and Bill doesn’t show any pain that should have come from the ‘burning’).

Desmond gets sent back in time a few months before the start of AC1 (late June 1191). From there, Altaïr and Desmond meet and they fall in love.

Desmond’s love for Altaïr is real for him because it’s not the soulmate system. However, he also knows that Altaïr would fall in love with his soulmate once they met. Altaïr doesn’t believe he has a soulmate and his feelings for Desmond are real for him as well. He also knows that Desmond hates the very concept of soulmates while Altaïr actually holds it in a high regard because his own parents were soulmates and he lost both of them at such an early age that he wished to believe they had been happy.

Desmond knows that and that’s why he could never tell Altaïr the truth about the soulmate system. It would be cruel and… Desmond loves Altaïr too much to tell him that his parents had him to ensure that Desmond Miles would be born.

Desmond is also jaded enough to tell Altaïr that once he meets his soulmate, he will ‘forget’ about Desmond so… Desmond doesn’t care how fast they were moving. He only had a few months with Altaïr and he was greedy enough to take and take as much as he could until Altaïr would no longer be by his side.

Altaïr wants to show Desmond that he won’t go anywhere even if his soulmate were to appear so he indulges all of Desmond’s wishes.

Altaïr and Desmond’s relationship is a secret… with only Kadar knowing about it because he saw the both of them together once and he promised not to say anything.

Then… June 1191 came and it’s up to you if Kadar survived or not.

Throughout Altaïr’s hunt for the Seven, Desmond is the only person who stayed by his side, not judging him for his failures. Some of the Assassins and informants try to help Altaïr because they wanted to but their actions are tainted by Al Mualim’s orders to make Altaïr work for their support. Because of this, Altaïr feels isolated with Desmond being the only one who stayed by his side. Desmond doesn’t stop him from thinking that because he knows their time together was slowly coming to a close so he holds Altaïr as tightly as he could for the few remaining weeks they have left.

Until…

September 1191 rolled around and Altaïr meets Maria Thorpe. His soulmark appears at the same time hers did and they both stared at each other with wide eyes before Altaïr runs away.

Instead of going to Malik like in canon, he goes to Desmond and Desmond knows just by looking at the rattled expression on Altaïr’s face that he had met Maria. He unclasped Altaïr’s hidden blade and stares at his soulmark, marking Altaïr’s left arm, before saying goodbye. Altaïr tries to stop him but Desmond tells him that the soulmark cannot be erased and Altaïr is ‘destined’ to be with Maria.

“Maybe… maybe in six years… you will remember that you loved me. Maybe…”

Altaïr promises never to forget his love for Desmond but Desmond believes he will forget it. Instead of saying that though, Desmond just smiles at him and tells him he has to go to Malik and save the Brotherhood.

The rest of the plot happens and Altaïr returns to Jerusalem as soon as he could even as he took the mantle of mentor. Instead, he finds Desmond’s home empty and… Maria there, holding a letter that Desmond had given her when she had been looking for Altaïr.

So, more angst happen here and there, Altaïr refuses to fall in love with Maria, Maria is torn between wanting to hate Altaïr and pitying him because she can see how much Altaïr was in pain, and…

Well, we can go for various endings for this one…

Possible Endings:

Downer-ish ending: Altaïr and Maria do fall in love in the end but Maria will always know that Altaïr’s feelings for her paled in comparison to how he feels for Desmond. When Sef is born, their soulmark stop trying to burn them if they try to leave each other’s side but, at that point, Altaïr loved his sons too much to abandon them. (If you want to turn this into a bittersweet complicated ending: Desmond visits after Sef’s birth and he asks Altaïr if he remembers how he loved him, Altaïr replies he never forgot and Desmond would have to live with the guilt of hurting Altaïr needlessly but still remaining by his side and becoming Altaïr’s lover who has a strained relationship with Maria)

Good-ish ending: Kadar stops Desmond from actually leaving and Altaïr manages to catch up, begging Desmond to stay by his side. His soulmark with Maria forces Maria and Altaïr to be near with one another every few days but Maria knows Altaïr’s heart belongs to Desmond. Desmond feels guilty for hurting Maria but Maria just waves it off as she has no reason to fall in love with a man in love with someone else. Maria and Altaïr’s chains finally break when Sef is born and Maria leaves Masyaf as she had always felt like a stranger in the Brotherhood (happy ending for Maria and our KadMar agenda: she goes stay with Kadar in Jerusalem instead and this could end up as romantic or platonic).

‘Golden’ ending: Altaïr uses the Apple to find a way to erase his and Maria’s soulmark with Maria being his ally as she doesn’t want to have a soulmark of a man who is obviously in love with another person. The Apple brings them to an Isu temple and Desmond is also there because, the truth was, he couldn’t bury his feelings for Altaïr and he wanted to be selfish for once so he was looking for a way to erase Altaïr’s soulmark so he can ‘remember’ Desmond. They end up using the device in that Isu temple after Altaïr tells Desmond that he never stopped loving him and the reason why they’re there is to erase his soulmark as well. Maria’s just there, feeling pity for the pain the two had gone through but also annoyed because a lot of the drama wouldn’t have happened if. They. Had. Talked. To. Each. Other. Instead. Of. Desmond. Running. Away. In. The. First. Place. Anyway, happy ending with Altaïr finally erasing his and Maria’s soulmark and Maria goes her own merry way with her dreams of wanting to find her own path.

(sidebar: if you want a soulmate AU AltDes, then may I suggest Zero Eclipse? The soulmate mark is an Isu invention in that one too (by the Isu Inanna) with a similar premise of ‘you will earn your soulmark if you do what we want you to do and follow the Calculation we chose’)

[cool-person-yey]

the concept of soulmates is cool but do not think about it too much. just don't.

[starksolid]

Moon Phase Soulmate Calculator: Fun with the Moon and Compatibility!

Moon Phase Soulmate Calculator: Fun with the Moon and Compatibility! Have you ever seen a trend on TikTok or other social media platforms where people are comparing their moon phases to find their “soulmates”? Well, that’s exactly what the moon phase soulmate calculator is all about! But before we dive into how it works, let’s explore the moon and its phases, shall we? The Moon: Earth’s Shining…

[infizero]

GIRL WDYM ITS ALMOST 2AM................... did i really spend that long typing in my dsmp hc docs I NEED HELP!!!!!!!!!

[advertisesouls]

should've gotten these up sooner but oh well

blog tags and ship / character tag with @praeteritus-memories' alastor!

🔥 VISAGE → Hell's top advertiser at your service! if you want your fifteen minutes I'm the one to talk to. 🔥 MUSINGS → never the type to just kiss and tell — perhaps this will offer a glimpse of what she really is like. 🔥 AESTHETICS → who can deny the siren call of finer things? these items speak of who she truly is. 🔥 INBOX → you've got a new request! just who is it from? 🔥 DESIRES → this is just my way of unleashing the feelings deep inside of me. 🔥 MUSIC → we've got a special request from our caller. 🔥 MANNERISMS → she only lets people see the mask as every action is calculated. 🔥 WARDROBE → proper attire makes the appearance as they say but even she likes fancy garments. 🔥 STUDY → facets of who she really is underneath the calculating expression and demeanor.

🔥 OUT OF THE OFFICE → leave a message with my receptionist. 🔥 PROMOTIONS → a service? a product? a new book? whatever it is I'll promote it. 🔥 SELF-PROMOTION → of course you get a full page spread — it's YOUR paper after all! 🔥 DASHBOARD COMMENTARY → and just what is the rumor mill circulating today? 🔥 DASH GAMES → it's all fun and games until someone's bankrupt from monopoly.

🔥 RADIOFIRE 📻 i just want to start a flame in your heart; my soulmate; my other half — with you I feel whole. 🔥 ALASTOR 📻 the radio demon to most but to me he's the reason my heart has healed with his love and charm.

🔥 VERSE: BEFORE THE DAMNATION 🔥 a heart full of hate that's closed off; may the world burn for what it's done. 🔥 VERSE: HELL IS NOW YOUR HOME! 🔥 a second chance to continue the streak; from nothing to something almost overnight.

[zoneoftools]

Is Love Calculation by Name in Percentage Really Accurate?

Are you wondering about the accuracy of calculating compatibility with someone based on your names? Have you heard about the concept of determining love by name in percentage? In this article, we will examine the reliability of this method and whether it can truly forecast the level of love between two people. Let's explore and reveal the truth behind this fascinating idea.

Read More:-

[celesterayel]

the it couple | luke castellan

request: I’m not really sure what qualifies as a request but could you write a Luke x reader where they are like the camp it couple? 🫶🫶

summary: common knowledge is how irrevocably in love luke castellan is with you.

"you know i adore you, i'm crazier for you than i was at sixteen lost in a film scene" - t.s.

w.c. : 702

warning(s) : none

pairing : luke castellan x reader

the campers of camp half blood don't quite remember how or when it had happened. It just always was: you and Luke Castellan, that is. where you went, he followed. the shadow to your guide and you the balm to his sorrow. annabeth used to whisper to the younger children–the ones who had been taken to camp far too young and therefore had little knowledge of love–that you and Luke Castellan were soulmates: seamlessly bound to one another. 

you yourself had never believed in fate despite the fact that you had met them–old bitter hags. you preferred to believe that life was not set in stone, unbreaking and withered to a timeline. it perhaps led to your brash attitude and ‘ride or die’ mentality but your mannerisms only made luke castellan fall in love with you all the more. some things were just beyond the gods' control. you and luke were one of those things.

you had first arrived at camp a decade ago, where you were then claimed by hades. of course news of you spread like wildfire: you were gorgeous, your talent with your bo staff was unmatched, and your father was one of the three–strong power ran through your blood and you showed it everyday during training. but that wasn’t exactly what caught the attention of everyone, rather the fact that the popular gaze of a certain brown-eyed boy always strayed to you. when you laughed, he smiled. where you went, he strayed. you were magnet and he was never far away.

you both tipped toed around one another, constantly drifting toward the other. playful banter slipped between you two and those around you wondered when you would finally just get together. the first time you guys finally breached the delicate line between more than ‘obviously pining friends’ was after an exciting rivalry game.

despite the strategic planning of annabeth–who clearly eyed the tension between the two of you–and the excellent swordsmanship, house ares had won the game because of you. You had been the one to distract luke castellan after clarisse had forced you to use your charms. it was fun to see the cute blush adorn his cheeks when you approached the head of the Hermes House.

“so, does this mean you agree to go out with me?” he breathed out, hands twirling his sword as he was once again bested by you in capturing the flag.

you laughed out, “i was just waiting for you to ask, castellan.”

no sooner after you had begun dating did the infamy of you two reach an all high around camp. how could it not? 

you two were the all anyone could talk about–the best of the best.

luke castellan was already the best swordsman at camp; a prodigy in the making. his brown curls and dimples only made him more popular among the girls and young teens. he was one of the highest placed leaders around camp; one of the few that clarisse actually respected and the one that annabeth regarded most. 

you were a gem in the rough: bold and brash at times, but calculating and quick-witted. you were the one to turn to when those around camp felt alone, always ready to take care of others and offer words of wisdom. you were a living definition of rules being broken and your power only highlighted the height of your placement around camp. 

when you two walked by, the eyes of the others strayed. newcomers learned of your names before they learned what exactly camp half blood was. 

when you threw your head back and laughed, people watched as Luke curled his lips in pride at being the one behind your laughter. when he sat round the fire and sang songs with the campers, you sat right beside him; head laying on his shoulder and hoping the moment would never end. he willingly allowed himself to lose camp games if only by your hand, time and time again.

yes, you were the it couple of camp half blood but none of that mattered, when he was the one for you.

[cleo-fox]

Surrender

Summary: Finding your soulmate is supposed to be a romantic, life changing experience.

No one tells you what to do when a). your soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of your planet and made himself king and b). you kind of still want him anyway.

(Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering.

A/N: look, I was intrigued by the idea of a Loki Wins AU and also a soulmate AU and this just sort of happened. I may write more of this concept because it gave me IDEAS. This is also available on AO3.

The mark on your wrist begins to burn the minute he walks into the room.

At first you think it’s a coincidence or a mistake—there are guards walking with him, perhaps it’s one of them. But then he flinches, his right hand going to his left wrist and your heart sinks to your knees. It could still be a coincidence, you tell yourself halfheartedly.

He scans the room and when his eyes land on you, it’s like the tumblers of a lock clicking into place and you know.

He’s much taller than you thought he was—that’s the only conscious and coherent thought you manage to have as he approaches you. Being the subject of his gaze is overwhelming in a way that you sort of expect, but it still makes you want to sit down and close your eyes. He looks you over, his gaze lingering briefly on your nametag from work.

“Show me your wrist,” he says.

You don’t think he’s using his powers, but you comply automatically, extending your arm toward him, wrist turned up. There’s a frisson of electricity that buzzes along the back of your hand when he touches it—if there were any remaining doubts about who he is and his relationship to you, that feeling surely puts them to rest. You know that he must have felt something too from the way he looks at you sharply, as though he thinks you’ve done something intentional to cause this. You can only hope that your wide eyed bewilderment convincingly conveys your innocence.

His expression betrays nothing as he examines the mark on your wrist, which is now glowing a bright gold that would be pretty if the circumstances were different.

It’s funny, you think. You’ve been waiting for this moment your entire life and all you can think is that you wish it wasn’t happening.

He releases your hand and looks at you in a calculating sort of way. “Come with me,” he says finally.

You do, of course. What other choice do you have?

*

The next several hours are a blur.

You are shuffled from place to place. Usually there is at least one guard—you’re not sure why. The idea of you being able to do any damage to him is laughable and escape doesn’t exactly seem like an option. Where could you go that he could not find you?

It’s a depressing thought; you try not to think much about it.

You know exactly when the news breaks because it coincides with your phone basically becoming unusable due to the flood of notifications, calls, and texts. You put it on airplane mode to compose a short message to your family and friends. Your reassurances feel a little trite given the circumstances: I’m fine, I’ll call when I can.

You can’t exactly type what you’re really thinking, which is more along the lines of I’ve just learned that my soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of our planet. I’m doing about as well as you’d expect.

You turn airplane mode off long enough to send the email. Once it sends, you power down your phone. It doesn’t seem prudent to leave it on, at least not right now—right now, it only serves as a reminder of a life you know you’re going to have to leave behind and you’re not at all ready to confront that particular loss.

They eventually take you to what you assume are his rooms. You’re surprised by how traditional the decor is—you had expected a cold sort of minimalism, but there’s more wood and warm colors than you would have thought. You are informed that there are clothes for you in the closet; you nod and say nothing, though you wonder how they managed to pull an entire wardrobe together in the span of only a few hours. Magic, perhaps.

You are finally left alone, though you’re fairly certain that you would find guards stationed outside if you were to look.

You take one of the elegant velvet throws from the bed and wrap it tightly around yourself before settling on the couch next to the window. You’re not exactly cold, but it feels like a necessary armor between you and this unfamiliar place.

You stare out the window for a long time. You’re too high up to people watch and you’re not sure that you could handle that anyway—it would be yet another reminder of the fact that your life has changed in a massive, earth shaking way that you can’t even begin to understand. Instead, you stare at the tiny cars on the city streets below, snaking their way to destinations that feel so far out of your grasp that they might as well be on a different planet altogether.

*

It’s late when he finally shows up—so late that you’ve actually gotten ready for bed, donning one of the silk nightgowns that had been left for you. You can tell it’s more expensive than any sleepwear you’ve ever owned in your life. You’re just glad that it’s modest—you had half expected to find that all your pajamas were bustiers, thongs, and thigh highs in some sort of ill considered attempt to seduce you. But this is elegant and understated, with a matching robe that you cinch tightly around your waist.

You sit on the couch, the throw still wrapped snugly around you. He looks at you, the corner of his mouth curled up in a slight smirk.

“I hope you don’t intend to stay there the entire night,” he says.

“I hardly know you,” you say before you can even contemplate whether it’s wise.

He looks…amused isn’t quite the right word, but there’s a subtle tilt to the corner of his lips—not quite a smile, but maybe somewhere in the vicinity.

“Give it time,” he says, and something about that makes you shiver.

*

You intend to sleep on the couch, at least for these first few nights when everything still feels so raw and strange.

Or that was your plan, anyway.

Loki doesn’t say anything else as he prepares for bed and you stare resolutely at the window so as not to invite any more conversation or prompt any invitations to join him in bed. Eventually, the lights go out and you are left alone with your thoughts in the dark.

The room is much colder at night.

You’re not sure if it’s on purpose, though you wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Perhaps he likes it like this. Perhaps it’s to lure you to him, to tempt you into seeking out the warmth of his bed and body.

You pull the blanket more tightly around your shoulders. Eventually, you allow your eyes to drift shut.

You wake some time later in the middle of the night. The room feels even colder, the velvet of the throw and the silk of your nightgown and robe a scanty defense against the chill. You burrow against the couch cushions and it’s sort of bearable.

But you also have to pee.

You hold off for as long as you can, but you eventually summon the will to leave the couch and seek out the bathroom.

The bathroom is even colder—perhaps it’s all that glass and marble that makes the difference. You’re wearing your robe and you’ve still got the blanket wrapped around you, but your teeth are chattering by the time you wash your hands. You run the water as hot as you can stand, but it only does so much. If you were braver—if it wasn’t your first night here, you would run an extra hot shower and stay under the spray until your fingers and toes pruned and the chill was chased from your bones.

Instead, you hustle back to the couch, burrowing against the cushions, throw and robe wrapped tightly around you. But you still can’t seem to shake the cold. You huddle on the couch, shivering, trying to calm your body.

Time passes and you don’t grow any warmer. You wonder if you can steal another throw from the bed—surely he won’t miss one—when a voice speaks from the darkness.

“Come to bed,” Loki says.

You clear your throat. “What?”

“I can hear your teeth chattering from here. Come to bed and stop being absurd.”

You hesitate, staring into the dark. You consider the cold, the slight kink in your neck from the way you’ve been sleeping on the couch, the late hour, the way that sleep pulls at your eyes. A bed is appealing. Maybe more appealing than it should be.

You find yourself getting to your feet and slowly making your way across the room.

You pause on the other side of the bed—your side, you suppose, though calling it that still feels too intimate. You can just make him out in the dark.

“You’ll stay on your side,” you say, like making it a statement will make it so.

“Well, you hardly know me.” His voice is clipped, more bitter than you expect as he echoes your words from earlier.

You can’t help but scowl. “I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours and it’s the middle of the night. I’m not doing this right now.”

He laughs. It’s sharp and brittle and unexpected, but it’s a laugh all the same, and something about that helps, if only a little.

You don’t say anything else as you climb into bed. You find that the blankets are warm—warmer than you expect—and heavy. There’s a part of you that expects yourself to be too nervous and on edge to fully relax, but the coziness of the blankets piled around you is oddly calming, even with Loki mere inches away. You hunker down underneath the blankets, situating yourself on the pillows.

He doesn’t say anything and it’s not long until his breathing becomes steady and even.

And after a while, yours does, too.

*

Consciousness creeps up on you slowly the next morning, a far cry from the jarring alarm on your phone that usually disrupts your slumber. You are warm and cozy, cocooned in the blankets, safe from all of the bullshit that had happened yesterday.

It’s such a peaceful, easy awakening that it takes you a moment to realize that you aren’t alone.

It takes another moment for you to realize that your cheek is pressed against Loki’s chest. And to make matters worse, not only are your arms wrapped around his him, your right leg is also flung across his waist, like you can’t bear to be parted from him for even a moment.

But before the panic sets in, there is a barely perceptible moment where your body just enjoys the feeling of being pressed against him. It’s quick and you’d deny it if asked, but the rush that you get from giving into the pull of your soulbond for even that brief moment is nothing short of incredible.

But it’s just a moment and your mind quickly turns to the matter of extracting yourself without drawing his notice. Ideally, he’ll just stay asleep and you won’t have to deal with any awkward fallout. If you move very slowly and carefully, perhaps he won’t notice.

You carefully start to move your leg from his waist.

“To be clear, you’re on my side of the bed,” he says.

God fucking dammit.

You abandon all subtlety and quickly peel yourself away from him.

“I must have rolled over in my sleep,” you say, incredibly conscious of how stupid that sounds.

He smirks, which is somehow worse than if he’d said anything.

“It won’t happen again,” you say.

It does.

This is your new routine: you start every evening on the couch, wrapped up in your robe and throw. You wake some time in the night, teeth chattering. Sometimes, Loki will tell you to come to bed. Other times, you quietly give up and slip under the covers on your side of the bed.

But every morning without fail, you wake tangled around him.

Sometimes, he’s spooned up behind you; more often, though, you’re the one clinging to him. It’s as though your body has a homing device that leads you over to his side of the bed in your sleep, dutifully ignoring all of your stern warnings about who stays where.

The worst part of it is that you’re fighting your own instincts. On a very basic, physical level, you yearn to be close to him. There’s a part of you that revels in these unintentional moments of closeness, that wants to allow yourself to enjoy the feeling of him, to allow him to put his hands on your body, for you to put your hands on him.

The fact that he wakes up noticeably hard most mornings does not make this any easier.

This is a problem that you’re not entirely sure how to solve and the second week in, your desire for information finally outweighs your desire to avoid social media and the deluge of emails and texts that you know are waiting for you on your phone.

You turn your phone back on and immediately delete all of your social media apps. You don’t know what they’re saying about you and you don’t care to. You turn off all of your notifications, even the little number icons that show you how many unread emails and texts that you have. You want absolutely no distractions.

You open a private browser window and pull up Google.

Newly connected soulbonds are the hormonal equivalent of pouring out a bunch of gasoline and striking a match. Soulbonds are intended to be consummated. You know this. There are people who wait it out for one reason or another, but that’s very much the exception—it’s a physical and emotional test of endurance. And you’re beginning to understand why.

The internet is not very helpful. You already know what happens when you don’t consummate a soulbond promptly—increased arousal, restlessness, vivid dreams, and so on as time goes on. You’re more interested in mitigation. You find a few blogs that have entirely irrelevant suggestions like cuddling on the couch or holding hands. “While you’re waiting for intercourse, why not try some outercourse?” one post muses with a level of earnestness that causes you to immediately turn off your phone and fling it across the room.

You’re going to have sex with him at some point. That’s inevitable. On a very basic level, you want him—it’s more or less coded into your DNA. But that is at odds with the reality of who he is and what he’s done. It might feel good to wake up tangled around him, but it only takes a minute to remember the battle of New York and it nearly extinguishes the desire burning within you.

But only nearly and only for now.

*

The third week is when things start getting increasingly difficult.

Loki seems content to wait things out. You can feel the burn of his gaze on you, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t prod.

You, on the other hand, find yourself slipping into a heightened state of arousal that is becoming impossible to ignore. Midway through the week, you finally give in and try touching yourself in the shower in the hope of some relief and you come so quickly and so hard that you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from crying out and your legs very nearly buckle from the force of it. A few twitches of your fingers has you sprawled on the shower floor and coming again, harder than before. You repeat this trick a few times but even as strong as it is, it doesn’t really help—you’re back to where you started within minutes.

Worse though, is the fact that it’s his face that you see when you come. Every. Single. Time. You imagine him over you, his gaze dark and intent as he watches you come; slack jawed and hissing in pleasure as he pushes into you; growling in approval and impatience as you take his cock into your mouth. The images come entirely unbidden and stick in the forefront of your thoughts like a burr clinging to wool.

When you see him later that afternoon, his gaze lands on you in such a way that it feels like he knows everything you’ve done and everything you’ve seen, from that moment in the shower to the shameful thoughts you had as you came.

The dreams start shortly after, and they are objectively worse.

The dreams are far more vivid than just images. In the dreams, he’s touching you, coaxing you to peaks you could never have imagined, pressing into you, taking you hard and fast and achingly slow and everything in between. The dreams leave you out of breath and shaky, aching for a touch that you know that you should not want, but do with every fiber of your being. By some miracle, they only seem to occur while you are on the couch and not when you’re in bed, but that luck won’t hold forever.

Perhaps more importantly, you know it’s only a matter of time before you give in. Deep down, you’ve known this from the moment the mark on your wrist started to burn. Your resistance is eroding like a sandcastle at high tide and it’s only a matter of time before you crumble.

But not yet. Not yet.

*

Five weeks after your arrival, you wake sweating and out of breath from another dream.

You take a few deep breaths. It was similar to the ones you’d had before. Thinking about the details makes your core ache and your clit throb so you try to keep them out of your mind.

You’re half surprised that you’re not tangled around Loki, given the content and subject of your dream, but that makes sense when you realize he’s not in bed. Instead, he sits on the couch, staring into the middle distance. Perhaps he is struggling with the same kinds of dreams.

The idea of you making Loki too hot and bothered to sleep is more appealing than you’d like to admit. You hastily dismiss the thought before it can bring any more heat to your already too warm skin or add more fuel to the flickering desire that seems to have settled permanently in the cradle of your hips.

You slip out of bed and go to the window, folding your arms across your stomach as you stare out at the sleeping city.

“You were calling out in your sleep.”

More heat prickles at your skin.

“Hm,” you say, trying your best to sound casual.

“What were you dreaming of?” he asks.

He’s only asking because he already knows the answer. You know this. But the lie still slips from your lips: “I don’t remember.”

He laughs, a quiet and dangerous sound that stokes the fire in your belly. “Have you forgotten, darling, that I am the god of lies?”

You can hear him walking toward you, but you keep your back turned. Has the room always been this warm?

He waits until he is directly behind you to speak again. “Will you lie again when I ask if you were dreaming of me?” His voice is so close, full of depth and a little husky. 

“You flatter yourself,” you say.

You can hear the smirk in his voice, feel the whisper of his breath on your neck. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” He pauses for a moment. “But you were calling out for me.”

Your lips are dry. You want to deny it, but it feels useless. Worst case scenario, he’s still mostly right: you were dreaming of him and you can’t even really deny crying out for him because you were asleep and you don’t know for sure.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he continues. His voice drops. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you writhing in pleasure beneath me.” He pauses. “Or I see myself between your legs, worshiping you with my mouth, bringing you to ecstasy over and over before I finally take you.”

Your heart is pounding and every nerve in your body feels as though it’s connected directly to your clit. You are warm—too warm—and you can feel your pulse pounding in your throat.

“What were you dreaming of?” he continues, his voice barely a murmur.

“Nothing,” you say.

He clicks his tongue. “Try again, darling.”

You say nothing and after a moment of silence, he seems to decide that it’s time to switch strategies.

“You must be so wet,” he murmurs, his tone low and soothing.

Your stomach and your cunt clench. If he starts talking dirty to you, it’s over.

“We’re not meant to go this long like this,” he says. “We both know that. It’s been five weeks. Your poor cunt is probably aching for me, just as I ache for you.”

Your breath is coming in shaky gasps. You need him. You can feel your resolve starting to slip.

“Yield to me.” His voice is rough with wanting, like this is just as hard for him as it is for you. “I know you feel it. I feel it, too. You yearn for me, you crave my touch. Let me make you feel good, darling, let me ease that ache. Yield and I will give you everything.”

You draw in a shaking breath and slowly turn to face him. He’s looking at you with an intensity that you expect, but it takes your breath away nonetheless.

The remnants of your resistance are lost to the wave of him and the only thing that’s left in its place is a raw need like you’ve never experienced before.

You don’t know what to say, so in the end, you settle for his name. Just his name, said quietly with all the desperation and longing that has been making your life hell these past few weeks.

You get a glimpse of the fire in his eyes before he’s on you.

There’s nothing gentle about this kiss. It’s the kiss of two people who have been deprived of each other for too long, your teeth bumping against each other, tongues twisting and tangling. You end up pressed against the wall next to the window, your leg wrapped around his waist, his hand supporting your thigh. He presses his hips against you and you moan into his mouth at the feeling of his hard cock dragging against your swollen, sensitive clit. He draws back slightly to look at your face as he slowly grinds his hips against yours, his free hand moving to palm your breast over the silk of your nightgown.

You moan again, your head dropping back against the wall. The soft, slippery friction of the silk of your nightgown against your nipple and the soaked lace of your underwear rubbing against your clit is enough to make you go cross eyed, a slow tease that only fans the burning embers within you. Your body is overheated and too tense, but Loki is blessedly cool in a way that somehow both soothes and inflames.

“You’re drenched. I can already feel that,” he says, his voice thick with desire as he moves against you. “I could make you come like this.”

You whimper, rocking your hips back against him. “Please.”

He shakes his head. “Another time. Tonight I want to feel you when you come.” He drops his hand from your breast, trailing down your stomach and moving in between your legs. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, and you let out a needy whine as he strokes the slick folds of your sex. “Is this all for me?” he asks, his voice slipping into a low growl.

You barely manage a breathy affirmative.

“Sweet thing.” His thumb rolls over your clit as he slides one finger into you, and your back arches automatically, your breasts jutting out. “We’re going to have to do something about this, aren’t we?”

“Please,” you breathe.

“How can I resist such a sweet plea?” he says, sliding another finger into you and curling it just so. “Or such a wet and needy cunt?”

“Don’t stop,” you say.

“I ought to make you beg me for it after everything you put me through.” His eyes darken as his thumb presses against your clit and you moan. “But perhaps I can be generous. I can feel how much you need to come on my fingers.”

You nod, slack jawed and panting.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” he murmurs. “You’ve tried to deny yourself, but you need me, you need my touch.”

You whimper, your hips rocking.

“Say it,” he says, stroking your clit.

“I need to come,” you moan.

“A good start,” he says, his voice a stern purr. “But not quite what I asked, my love. Try again.”

A twinge of irritation manages to work its way to the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly in a state to be playing twenty questions.”

His eyes light up with a predatory gleam that heralds the arrival of something that you know will end enjoyably for you.

“Oh, darling, that attitude won’t do at all.” His fingers are immediately and conspicuously absent and you very nearly cry out in frustration. But before you can, he is sweeping you into his arms and making the journey to the bed in several long strides. He sets you gently on the bed and looms over you, green eyes flashing as his hands stroke up your thighs. You lift your hips and he pulls your underwear off, tossing it to the side.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” His voice is a growl. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need to come.” You know it’s the wrong answer, but this particular game of cat and mouse and the predatory gleam in Loki’s eyes are making you even wetter and god, you need him.

His eyes flash with a barely concealed delight. “Try again.”

You spread your legs rather conspicuously, hiking your nightgown up to your waist. “I need to come.”

He’s looking at you intently, lips slightly parted. “You’re trying to distract me with that pretty cunt, you wicked thing.”

“Is it working?” you ask.

He lowers his head to kiss the inside of your left knee. “It would work much better if you answered me properly and told me everything you need.”

You think you have an idea of what he wants to hear, but you’re not quite ready to give up the game yet. Instead, you pull your nightgown up and over your head and toss it to the side. His eyes are dark as he looks at you, his gaze lingering on your breasts and trailing down to the apex of your spread legs. You wonder what it would take to make him lose control, to take you in the way that you both need.The thought sends another flood of heat to your aching core. 

You lick your lips. “Will you make me come, Loki?”

Another wolfish grin. “Closer. But not quite. Try again.”

You let your hand slide down your stomach and between your legs and you part your sopping folds so he can see the full extent of what he’s done to you—every dripping inch. The look he’s giving you now only heightens the feeling.

“Should I make myself come?” you ask and you’re immediately rewarded with an almost feral look and a sharp smack to your ass.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls.

You put on your most innocent expression, even as his visible hunger makes you ache. “I thought you’d like seeing me touch myself.”

“Oh, there will be time for that later,” he says, his eyes still dark. “I’m particularly interested in seeing what prompted those intriguing little noises I kept hearing while you were in the shower. But every tremor of pleasure that wracks your body tonight will be from me alone. Now,” his eyes glitter and his hand replaces yours on your cunt, his long fingers spreading you open, but not touching you, his expression rapt with undisguised greed, “tell me what you need.”

Your capacity to tease and resist him was well and truly exceeded when he smacked your ass and was further obliterated by the monologue he just delivered. “I need you to make me come, Loki. I need you so bad.”

His smile is filled with dark promises and a hunger that you have every interest in sating several times over.

“Good girl,” he says.

And his fingers slide back into you as his mouth envelopes your aching clit.

You moan as your hips lift and your hands tangle in his hair. He mumbles something that sounds like “perfect” against your clit, first teasing you with the tip of his tongue and then pressing it flat against you and rubbing in slow circles. Meanwhile, his fingers have found that soft, aching spot inside of you and he presses against it in slow, firm thrusts that make you tremble.

You initially think that you’ll be quite quick to come because you’re already so wound up, but Loki seems determined to find the edge and keep you there for as long as possible—and he’s really, really good at it. He falls into a rhythm where his tongue strokes your clit once, twice, three times and withdraws; his fingers pick up the thread, stroking your walls once, twice, three times and withdrawing, only for his tongue to resume where he left off. In this way, he keeps you balanced on the edge in a perfect kind of torture. It feels so good, but it’s not quite enough to get you there just yet.

You make liberal use of his name—it’s a plea, a curse, a benediction, a moan, a sigh. Instinctively, you know that he likes this, but it’s not enough to distract him into letting you fall even a moment before he wants you to.

The ache that’s been building in your hips for the last couple weeks is growing, burning bright and warm. Your body feels electric in the best way, your nerves humming and buzzing and straining for release.

“Loki,” you moan, partly as encouragement and partly because you want him so badly.

You’re so close. Your entire body is tense and trembling; all you can think about is how badly you need to come, how much you are aching for your release.

So close.

“Loki, please,” you moan, truly desperate now. “Please let me come. Make me yours—”

You’re not sure if it’s what you said, the desperation in your voice, or pure coincidence, but in that moment, he shifts his rhythm so that his mouth and fingers are no longer alternating, but are instead moving in sync. And this is what you need to tip you over, to allow that wave to finally, finally crest and then break.

Your orgasm hits you hard, pulling a loud moan from deep within your chest and making your entire body quake. Sparklers are dancing along your veins, champagne bubbles fizzing along your muscles, stars bursting behind your eyes. You have never felt anything like this before—you are satisfied but also aching for more, falling apart and being remade over and over again.

It’s only when you’re decidedly in the blissful wave of the aftershocks that he dares to lift his head and he looks you over like you’re something wonderful. Before you can raise your hands to reach for him, he’s crawling up to you, claiming your mouth in a kiss that feels deeper than the ocean.

He slides his hand in between your legs and you whimper, shivering at the sensation of his thumb stroking your sensitive clit. But somehow, he finds that particular angle and pressure that’s just enough, but not too much. You moan and he slides a finger back into you, rolling in the same rhythm as his thumb on your clit.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Keep going for me, darling. I want to watch you come this time.” His voice is so firm and authoritative and it strikes sparks up and down your spine.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hips rocking with his hand.

“You’re doing so well getting ready for me,” he purrs. He lowers his voice to a rough growl. “I can’t wait to fuck you until you’re trembling and coming all over my cock like the wicked, filthy girl that you are.”

It’s the combination of his words and his voice and his perfect hands that does it this time. A rolling, fluttering shudder fizzes through your body, building to a peak that has you letting out a guttural moan as you clench around his thrusting fingers.

“Yes, that’s it,” Loki says as he watches you through hooded eyes. “You are gorgeous when you come undone.”

He kisses you slowly, fingers moving steadily until the final shudder rolls through you.

Somehow, through all of this, he’s remained fully clothed. There’s an aspect to this that’s appealing—it makes everything feel particularly decadent and a little forbidden—but your palms are practically itching with your need to touch him. You need him inside you, but you also need him close, bare skin on bare skin.

Your hands sneak under his shirt and you suck in a sharp breath when you feel the heat of his skin underneath your palms. You tug his shirt off him and make quick work of his pants before drawing back to look at him.

He looks like art. It’s a silly thought, but there’s some truth to it—there’s an almost ethereal quality in the sharp angles of his face and the elegant symmetry of his musculature. 

Your gaze drifts down to his cock. He’s long, thick, and hard, the tip flushed and slick with pre-come. An ache courses through you—something about seeing the full evidence of his arousal makes everything seem more real, makes you want him with renewed ferocity.

You want to touch him and so you do, your fingers curling around his shaft.

“Can you feel how much I need you?” he asks as you stroke him slowly. He is remarkably composed, though you catch the slight hitch in his breath and it sends a thrill through you.

“Will you show me?” you ask.

“Every day,” he says.

It’s an answer you’re not expecting. You were speaking strictly in the immediate, physical sense. This feels deeper, more meaningful. You’re not quite sure what to say, so you kiss him and he kisses you back with an intensity and thoroughness that makes your toes curl.

He rolls over you, his body covering yours. It’s almost overwhelming how good his bare skin feels against yours. You take his cock in your hand again and stroke him, slowly rubbing the tip from your clit to your entrance, coating him in your slick.

You expect him to just push forward when you guide him to your entrance and you’re almost disappointed that he doesn’t—you’ve both waited so long for this and your need for him is burning inside you like an inferno.

But instead he pauses, his eyes locked with yours.

“Will you have me?” he asks. There’s vulnerability in the question, a softness in his green eyes that you don’t expect. It feels like a loaded question, though not necessarily in a bad way.

You don’t hesitate. “Yes,” you breathe.

Something like relief flashes briefly in his eyes before he leans in and kisses you. You tilt your hips up again and this time, you feel the blunt head of his cock slowly press into your waiting warmth.

You’d read people describing first times with their soulmates and it had always sounded so hyperbolic and silly. They’d throw around words like euphoric and transcendent and all you could do was try not to roll your eyes.

But the moment Loki is fully seated inside you, you finally get it. Every overwrought, overused cliché seems to occur to you all at once—puzzle pieces falling into place and locks and keys and halves made whole and all that bullshit—and it all makes sense in a way that it hadn’t before.

Loki’s eyes are stormy above you, to the point that you think you may have angered him, but then he kisses you with a ferocity and possessiveness that steals your breath and makes you tighten around him.

“Mine,” he growls against your lips. “Mine.”

There’s a lot of emotion in that word. There’s history in that word. It’s the sort of thing that the two of you will probably need to unpack later. For now, though, you wrap your legs around him and meet his demanding, hungry kisses with your own.

“I’m yours,” you murmur against his lips. “Take me.”

You expect him to respond to that plea with a frantic pace. But instead, his first thrusts are slow, like he’s savoring it. Your body yields to him instinctively, your muscles drawing him in and then tightening further as he withdraws. You are so slick, so ready for him that it almost feels a little obscene.

“You are exquisite,” he rasps as he sinks into you, his head bowing to kiss and nip at your neck. “I have been aching for you.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

You’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for—more of this, more of him—but he seems to know anyway. He kisses you deeply as you wrap your legs around his waist, rolling your hips up to meet his.

In one fluid motion, he rolls you over so that you are on top. He looks up at you, an irrepressible smirk curling at the corners of his lips.

“Go on,” he says, his voice low. “I want to see you take your pleasure from me. Claim your throne, my love.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. This is a man who single-handedly conquered the entire planet and he’s telling you he wants you to ride his cock until you come. It is raw and sexy and undeniably hot and the way he’s looking up at you makes you feel beautiful and powerful.

You lean forward, bracing your hands on the mattress, tilting your pelvis until you find the right angle, the one that makes your stomach tighten and your breath stutter. 

A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “Right there?”

You let out a shaky breath and rock your hips. “Yeah.”

It takes a moment for you to find your rhythm, but you find that you want—or perhaps need—to go slow and steady. Loki watches you, his hips rocking with yours as he lets you set the pace, his hands sliding from your hips to your breasts and back again, like he can’t get enough. His gaze is intent and intense and you get the sense that he’s cataloging every movement, every gasp or sigh, furrowed brow or bitten lip.

The coil in your hips is starting to wind tighter and you know it won’t be long. 

As though he knows, Loki slides a hand down your body, palm gently pressing against your lower stomach. A fantastic pressure begins to blossom in your hips and you whimper.

“You’re doing so well,” he purrs. “So tight and wet. You’re perfect.”

“Getting close,” you breathe.

“I know, I can feel you,” he says.

You’re at a point somewhere beyond words, riding that wave, chasing bliss that you can almost feel. A choked whimper falls from your lips.

“That’s it,” rasps Loki. “Be a good girl and come on my cock.” He flicks his thumb against your clit and you completely unravel.

It was good the first two times, but having him inside you as you come sends you to another plane of existence entirely. Your orgasm seems extended, the feeling of his cock against the spasming muscles of your cunt creating more even rippling pleasure. And the noise that he makes, the filthy praise that falls from his lips, the way that his fingertips dig into your hips just makes it all better.

He rolls you over onto your back just as you’re starting to feel boneless, and pulls you into a deep kiss.  He thrusts into you, a little faster than the pace you had set, but still slow and steady.

“I want to feel you come again,” he breathes. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this, how good you feel?”

You shudder as his cock drags again against that spot inside you. He repeats the motion and you keen, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“That’s it,” he rasps, bringing your leg up over his hip to press even more deeply inside of you. “Come on, darling. Let me feel you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, meeting his hungry, demanding kiss with your own. You roll your hips with his, chasing the flickers of bliss that he’s steadily stoking to an inferno once more.

“Please,” you mumble against his lips. “Need you. Please.”

He groans and increases his pace just enough to make you whimper. The desire inside of you is catching fire.

“I…fuck, I—” Your hands are gripping his shoulders, your body shaking as you approach your end.

Loki’s eyes are wild, his teeth bared. You can tell that he’s close, that he’s chasing the same incredible feeling that you are.

“I want you to come for me,” he grits out. “And the second I feel your tight cunt start to tremble around me, I’m going to come inside you.

You moan, fingernails digging into his shoulders. You are unbearably close.

“Do you want that, darling?” he says. “Do you want me to come inside you? Do you want your perfect cunt filled with my seed?”

You are almost beyond words, but not quite: “Yes. Please.”

Despite how close he is, he still gives the impression of being entirely in control. He lowers his head so that his lips graze yours and his eyes are all that you can see. “Then come for me,” he says.

Two more deadly smooth rolls of his hips and you do. A guttural, plaintive sound falls from your lips as your whole body trembles with the force of your orgasm, your cunt squeezing around the girth of his cock. He groans, mumbling something in a language you don’t recognize before he, too, starts to unravel.

His face is rapturous when he comes, his head tipping back and his mouth falling open, brow furrowing. If you weren’t so distracted with the rippling shocks of your own pleasure, you would try to commit it to memory. Instead, you simply try to enjoy the feeling of him emptying himself inside of you, the stuttering thrust of his hips, the soft groan that falls from his lips. Finally he stills, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder. You can feel his heart pounding against yours.

You feel…it’s not different, exactly, but there’s a kind of ease and connection that just feels right. The restless ache inside of you is finally quiet and you feel loose and languid and pleasantly sleepy.

Finding your soulmate isn’t necessarily the same as falling in love. Sometimes it all happens in the moment. Sometimes it’s years in between.

For you, though, you can pinpoint the exact moment that seed was planted: Loki raising his head to look at you, his hand curled against your cheek. His gaze is careful, reverent, like you are as warm and golden as the dawn just barely beginning to streak the morning sky.

[cuteteacakes]

I got a thing from my astrology app about my "destined soulmate" and here's what I got:

- They're same age/ little older than me

- we'll meet in he northeast

- they have a license in their career field

- we'll meet in the same social sphere

-

[theravenkin]

god bless adam parrish. he's my baby boy. he's an absolute cunt. he's cold and calculating. he is angelic and dusty. he wants anything but to become the hard violence of his father. he refuses to embrace his own softness. he is miserable. he is filled with joy. he is elegantly somber. his grin is elastic and amiable. he is cruel and has killed a man. he sobbed to his sleeping lover and brought him his pet bird as an apology. he is two-faced. he can't hide who he really is no matter how hard he tries because the hiding eats away at him from the inside. he loves his soulmate so innately that they connected on a spiritual plane beyond normal human comprehension. he can see the ether. he is making love to a god. he lets a boy hold his hand. he transferred three times. he is touch-starved and hungry for his lover all of the time. he is peculiarly polite. he is bossy as hell. he never got to take ronan's clothes off that one time. what does his voice sound like when he erased the appalachia from it--empty? blank? can he erase his origins from himself, or will the mountains always cling to him? he tried to break up with his lover while said lover was in a coma but it made him hate himself so bad that he decided to risk his life for him instead. he wants a bigger, showier wedding someday. the federal government fears him. he loves his man no matter how long he tried not to love him. he will love him forever without hesitation. he is an impeccable dresser. he shows up in your dreams. he keeps on making the same mistakes but he will never make those mistakes ever again. or won't he? adam parrish. bitch. magician. god. boy. bless his heart.

[cupids-chamber]

❝ 𝐃𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 , 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 .ᐟ ❞

SOULMATE !! . . . who can't wait to see you, they count down every second that they spent without meeting you, without seeing your perfect face in all its glory. They count every moment wasted without your presence, calculating how exactly they could and will payback for that wasted time . . . when they finally meet you . . . Time that they wish they could've spent with you . . .

SOULMATE !! . . . who finally sees you in the middle of the street, just a glimpse of you . . . as the red string connecting you both glow gold in his eyes, they feel desperate as they watch you walk away . . . without noticing . . .

SOULMATE !! . . . who makes a run for it, when they see you getting lost in the crowd . . . who chases you and calls for you . . . They don't know your name, yet for some odd reason they guessed right when calling for you . . . Like they've known that name for ages . . .

SOULMATE !! . . . who cups your face with the most ecstatic of smiles, looking at you for the first time, they've dreamed about how their first meeting with you would go. . . they sure as hell didn't expect this ending, they expected something more dreamy . . . romantic . . . but they couldn't help but forget those little thoughts when your lips slightly part and you tilt your head in confusion, he's going to lose it thinking of you and all the things he wishes to do with you at the moment . . .

SOULMATE !! . . . Who'll eventually let go of your face only to slowly grow flustered and slightly red, they'll stammer over their words randomly but awkward and tense air never comes back, . . . they try to desperately find the words that begin to describe how they feel at this moment . . . finally meeting you . . . the love of their life they've been waiting for . . . And they'll make sure to make you know that . . . even with their little vocabulary at the moment.

SOULMATE !! . . . Who believes you're all they ever needed to complete their life, and who can't help but be more than grateful that they finally found you. That they finally met you . . .

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[sweetkpopmusings]

stray kids soulmate aus | l. felix <3

a/n: another day, another soulmate au :,-) i listened to a lot of jazz while writing this, so i hope you get extra serotonin and comfort from it as a result! i truly cannot resist the precious energy of felix <3333 pics not mine~

content: fluff, soulmate au | wc: 1.4k | warnings: none! | pairing: soulmate!felix x gn!reader | requests: open

♡ chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin ♡

your soulmate's birthday and birth time are written on your wrist.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

felix practically threw everything he was carrying the second he stepped through the door, desperate to make it to the kitchen. washing his hands, he glanced at the clock. he tried to calculate how fast he would need to move to finish the cake before midnight. of course, today of all days, his schedules would run over.

he let out a few frustrated noises but quickly gathered the utensils, dishes, and supplies he needed to make the perfect birthday cake. just as he was starting to relax, his hand felt nothing but air in the corner of the cupboard.

“oh no!” felix groaned, “we’re out of sugar!” 

doubting his reality, felix rummaged through the items he spread out over and over (and over) again. no matter how hard he wished, sugar did not materialize in front of him. what did materialize, however, was a cloud of flour. in his haste, felix had knocked into the bag, leaving a nice pile of the powder on the edge of the counter and a few streaks on his shirt. 

“is everything okay?” seungmin called from the doorway, slipping off his shoes beside jeongin.

“no!” felix rushed back out of the kitchen, racing towards the door, “i’ll clean that up later! i gotta go!”

the boys barely avoided a collision with felix as he put on his shoes and grabbed his bag in one fell swoop. felix almost crashed into minho at the building entrance, his apology flying behind him as he ran.

minho chuckled at the sight of felix’s hair whipping back and forth as a result of his fast pace, but then his face fell, “ah! we forgot to buy sugar!”

minho called out felix’s name to offer help. felix had already made it far enough down the road to be out of earshot. minho shrugged and strolled toward his home, curious if felix would reappear as quickly as he had disappeared.

the bell chimed as felix opened the store door, a calm sound clashing with his heaving breaths. he hadn’t the slightest clue how far or fast he had run, but the feeling in his body was reminiscent of how it felt to compete in variety show games. 

he caught his breath just enough to greet the store employee, trying his best to speedwalk to the baking aisle, rather than sprint across the store. when he turned the corner, felix swore he saw a halo around the bag of sugar. he nearly squealed from excitement and relief. it was the last one on the shelf, almost as though it was meant to be. 

at least, that’s what felix thought until another hand grasped the bag of sugar the second his fingertips brushed against it.

“ah, sorry! were you trying to grab this?” you lifted the bag of sugar in your hand, feeling both awkward and obliged to say something to the stranger in front of you.

“oh! uh…” felix shook the stunned look off his face, “yes. i’m so sorry, normally i wouldn’t even think to ask this, but i need that bag of sugar. i’m in the middle of a baking emergency, and i’m running out of time to finish the cake.”

you bit the inside of your cheek to hide your laughter. the person in front of you certainly looked like the poster child for a baking emergency. hair messy from–presumably–running, flour smatterings all over their shirt, and a very sincere look in their eyes when asking for a bag of sugar. they looked both silly and overwhelmingly cute.

you sighed, “now i’m sorry. i wouldn’t usually care about giving up a bag of sugar to someone in need. this time though, i need it. i’m trying to avoid a baking emergency of my own,” you paused, figuring out how to convince this frantic baker that you weren’t lying, “this sounds like a lame excuse, i know, but today’s my birthday. i can’t make myself my usual birthday treat unless i have this sugar, and i’d really like to have some of it before the day’s over.”

felix’s eyes went wide. his expression shifted from disappointment to confusion to deep thought to bewilderment to excitement in 20 seconds. you couldn’t even begin to comprehend what was running through his head, especially when you noticed that he was nearly vibrating with…excitement?

“today’s your birthday?”

you nodded.

“can i see your wrist?”

your brow furrowed, not sure why the first question was about your birthday and the second about your wrist. as your lips formed the word why? it clicked in your head. either in an attempt to conceal your hopefulness or out of disbelief, you stretched your arm out far enough to be in felix’s view. he bent forward, close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body. you held your breath, waiting for him to say something.

instead of a reply, giggles fell from felix’s lips. he offered his wrist to you, muttering something along the lines of please tell me this is your–i can’t believe this–just looking for the sugar!

his smiles and giggles infected you. both of you seemingly forgot about your time crunch, basking in the happiness you felt at the hands of fate in the baking aisle.

“maybe we can share the sugar? i was about to bake your birthday cake when i ran over here.”

you tilted your head in confusion, still smiling from felix’s gleeful demeanor, “you were baking my birthday cake?”

“yeah!” felix bounced while nodding, “every year since i can remember, i’ve baked you a dessert on your birthday. i wanted to get in as much practice as possible before we met, so i could make your favorite treat on our first birthday together! obviously, i don’t know what your favorite is. i’ve done a lot of different recipes over the years though, so i’m sure i can figure it out, even if it takes me a few tries. i promise i’ll perfect the recipe so it matches your taste exactly! ah, this is great! i can finally show you the recipe book i’ve compiled with everything i’ve tried so far! do you–” felix paused, cheeks blushing when he realized how quickly he was speaking, “sorry, i got a bit excited for a second, didn’t i?”

you laughed, looking at him with nothing but gratitude and fondness, “i love the excitement, and i would love to talk about my favorite treats with you. first though, could you tell me your name?”

felix’s jaw dropped. he couldn’t believe he had forgotten his manners. how could think to ask you about your favorite dessert before asking you for your name?

“yes, of course! i’m felix!” he smiled, eyes twinkling, “what’s your name?”

“i’m y/n,” you smiled back.

“y/n,” he repeated, savoring the way it felt to say your name for the very first time, “y/n, it is so incredibly nice to meet you!”

“it is so incredibly nice to meet you too, felix!”

the two of you stood smiling at each other until felix remembered the original mission that brought him to this store, “well, since it’s getting late, would you want to maybe…come over to my place…so i can bake your birthday cake? i understand if you don’t want to come over! i live up the road, and i would love for you to enjoy a treat that you don’t have to make yourself.”

the sweetness of the man in front of you melted your heart entirely, and you couldn’t resist the surprise of your soulmate making your birthday cake this year. you agreed, prompting felix to rush to the register to pay for the sugar. as he guided you towards his place, he asked you question after question about your favorite treats, how you like your baked goods decorated, what your normal birthday traditions were, and what kind of present you wanted. you matched the speed of his enthusiastic conversation as best as you could, giggling here and there at his passionate reactions to every word you said. it felt entirely surreal to be walking side by side with your soulmate, but here you were.

“oh, y/n?” felix faced you outside his apartment door.

“yes, felix?”

“happy birthday!”

beauty radiated off felix and warmth flooded your senses. while your birthday celebration was starting way later in the day than planned, there was absolutely no better present than this. standing beside felix, who giddily held that fateful bag of sugar, you knew that this would always be your favorite birthday.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[kateksmallcuteowl]

June 26: Soulmates/Soulmate Marks AU

Your mark shows how old will your soulmate be when you fall in love with them. (Meaning both romantically and sexually)

For an event by @bagginshieldweek24

More headcanons after the cut. Seriously, there’s a lot, as I developed a whole idea but had no time to write a fic because of exams.

— Dwarfs come of age in around 80 y.o., having a soulmate from another race is a very rare occurrence; throughout the history of Middle-earth, there have been at most a dozen such cases, so most dwarves are unaware of this possibility. Having a mark with a number younger than the age of majority is a lifelong shame, essentially an admission of pedophilia. Unfortunately, this happens more often than having a soulmate from another race.

— Thorin spent his entire adult life, from the moment the mark appeared, wearing an extra layer of bandages under his bracers to prevent anyone from seeing the number. Fortunately, among dwarves, it is not considered inappropriate to hide the marks, as many value their privacy.

— The mark and thoughts about it were the reason why Thorin often appeared especially gloomy when the topic of romance came up.

— He truly tried to compensate for his "defectiveness" with his virtues.

— Of course, Thorin is a virgin.

— Bilbo, on the other hand, didn't think much about this; hobbits don't see anything wrong with living without their soulmate or seeing their soulmate as a friend. They are generally a loving people and don't worry about the concept of "the one and only."

— Although the topic of soulmates is considered highly romantic in hobbit literature, Bilbo was somewhat disappointed when he realized he would likely never meet his soulmate. (Hobbits are also unaware of inter-racial soulmates.)

— I tried to make young Bilbo look more like Frodo, so here he has smaller curls and a different style of shirt.

— Thorin and Bilbo both hid their marks, so when they felt an attraction to each other, especially after the Carrock, both were initially upset, thinking they weren't soulmates. Thorin, of course, was much more upset.

— During the two weeks they stayed with Beorn (yes, I'm mixing the movie and the book, what are you going to do about it? Slow burn needs time to be slow), they managed to reach the point of kissing near the river or something like that. But when Bilbo tried to unlace Thorin's tunic, Thorin stopped him and said that, unlike hobbits, for dwarves, sexual interaction is a very serious step in emotional attachment. It wouldn't be fair not to tell Bilbo what kind of monster he was getting involved with, because after seeing what Thorin had to show him, Bilbo might not even want to look him in the eye. Bilbo was honestly frustrated. (It is implied that Thorin used some term characteristic of a pedo... ahem)

— With a terrifyingly serious face, Thorin unwrapped the bandages on his wrist, and Bilbo, with a sinking heart, prepared to see a number like 5 or 12. Instead, there was a very respectable and completely normal age. Thorin turned away, not wanting to see the disappointment in the hobbit's eyes. Bilbo spent a few seconds calculating how long dwarves live and how old Thorin actually was.

— Thorin thought Bilbo wanted to shame him for having the audacity to enter into a relationship at such an age, knowing his soulmate's extremely young age. With closed eyes, he forced out that he was 195 and knew how disgusting he was because of it.

— Instead of a slap or something worse, which Thorin wouldn't have opposed, thinking any normal person had the right to treat him like that after seeing it, Bilbo reached for his own wrist and, with suspicious enthusiasm, pulled off the leather bracelet he had worn since the Shire. On the pale skin was clearly marked Thorin's age, written in dark ink with characteristic dwarvish notches.

— Some time passed in silence as they both realized that such a coincidence simply couldn't be.

— They were in for a very pleasant evening away from the company🌚🌝

— Later, when the entire company gathered by the fire, Bilbo and Thorin would come to them, holding hands, the hobbit nearly glowing with happiness in front, and a red-to-the-tips-of-his-ears Thorin slightly behind. This would be the first time anyone in the company saw Thorin without bandages, and if not for the matching age on Bilbo's wrist, now also not hidden by a bracelet, they wouldn't have believed Thorin could be normal with such a number on his skin.

— And the dwarves would realize how young Bilbo was by their standards.

— Truly, the ways of the Valar are mysterious.

— At the very end of the night, Fili would nudge Kili with his elbow and hint that since their uncle had an inter-racial mark, he might not be so angry and yell when he finds out that his brother has a four-digit number on his wrist.