#au: Dread String of Fate

[mc-lukanette]

hi i just read all of the dread string of fate au and i'm totally OBSESSED... what a huge brain premise!!! thank you for all your lukanette love <3

fghdkjhgdfg thank yoooou! >/////<

I’m glad my huge brain is being put to good use.

#au: Dread String of Fate #Dread String of Fate: compliments

[paperultra]

candy stripes.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5,048 words Warnings: Swearing, hospital setting [A/n: Soulmate AU. :)]

sortiger (adjective): delivering prophecies of the future; having the qualities of being oracular

Nobody else can see the string but you.

You wish you didn’t. It has no texture, no weight, so you can’t understand why it can’t be invisible too. But the string demands attention with every use of your hands, seizes your eye when you wash dishes in the morning and brush your teeth at night, a garish and bloody red that matches the stripes of your uniform.

You hate your string and you hate the color red.

Miss Xinyu, the old lady in Room 30, has one too. At least, that’s what she had told you when you gained the courage to mention yours one day, not knowing what it meant and how much you would come to dread it.

“It’s your red string of fate,” she had explained. “It connects you to the person who understands you more than anyone else in the world.”

In other words, your soulmate. Your one and only.

Miss Xinyu says you’re a lucky ducky, knowing what your future holds.

Her string goes into the ground now. You don’t think being reminded of a dead person whenever you look at your pinkie is very lucky.

The biggest reason why you hate the string so much, though, is because you’ve always had a problem doing what you’re supposed to unless you want to, which causes a lot of trouble for a nine-year-old girl. You already have trouble being nice to patients who are mean to you, so how can you love and wait for someone you’ve never met? It makes you feel icky.

Why can’t you choose? How come you have to have one at all?

Your only source of comfort is that your string is very, very thin and runs out of the hospital. That means your soulmate, whoever they are, is very, very far away. You’d very much like it to stay that way.

But it doesn’t.

—

Nurse Taoh wants you to watch the patients in Room 8 while he finishes his charts. You don’t really want to, if only because it’s Nurse Taoh asking – he likes to order you around more than Dr. Gu – but you don’t want to get into trouble again, so you go.

(… And okay, you are just a little bit curious about the new inpatients. You only know three things about them: one, they were brought in together last night while you were in your room poking holes into your paper instead of correcting it; two, they’re a man and a boy, presumably father and son; and three, everyone says it’s a miracle they’re still alive.)

(Then again, you’ve seen many miracles here.)

The unit is quiet as you walk down the hallway. Quiet, but not silent, as your polished shoes squeak like little mice against the floor and you whisper the room numbers as you pass by them. Two, four, six – eight.

You stop and knock, three sharp raps against the brown wood.

“Hello?” You open the door and poke your head in. “My name is –”

The squiggly-patterned curtain that often separates patients for privacy is drawn, and you clamp your mouth shut as you realize the patient closest to you is asleep.

Shutting the door silently, you creep closer to the foot of his bed. The man underneath the sheets lies quietly; he is little more than a skeleton, eyes sunken and bones sticking out underneath blistered skin. His beard is long and scraggly, but it pales in comparison to his mustache, each side braided and sticking out to the sides.

He looks angry, even though he’s sleeping. You hope he’s not the type to wake up and yell at you as you tiptoe past to check on the boy.

You pass the curtain, catch a glimpse of the bed sheets, and see –

Red.

Your feet root themselves in place, the room suddenly devoid of air.

You stare. Blink hard, twice. Look again. Then, trembling, you look down at your hand.

Your eyes trace the string around your own finger, following down to the dip of it that barely touches the ground and back up over the blankets until it ends in a red loop around the boy’s pinkie, tied off with a little bow.

Your stomach turns.

Stumbling forward, you make your way to the visitor’s chair in the corner. You slump down into it and stare straight ahead at the curtain, refusing to look at the boy’s face.

He continues to sleep.

You don’t want him to wake up.

—

The boy does not stir during your first meeting, but that small mercy is quickly eclipsed two days later by a single bowl of chicken broth.

The look on your face is sour as you walk down the hallway again, the broth splashing up against the lid with each step. Because most of the patients in the hospital you live in are elderly, the staff have somehow gotten it into their heads that you simply must spend time with the boy in Room 8 because he is your age and you need to socialize with other kids. You very much don’t want to. Not with him, at least.

Dr. Gu is just leaving the room when you arrive. She gives you a quick smile, the corners of her eyes wrinkling, and pats your head.

“So you heard that the boy woke up, huh?”

You grunt, looking away with a pout. “Can’t you give this to him, Dr. Gu?”

“Nope. I have to finish my rounds,” she says. “Go in and have a chat. His name is Sanji. You’ll like him.”

“I doubt it,” you mumble underneath your breath.

Dr. Gu probably hears you, but she doesn’t scold you, merely patting your head one last time before you enter Room 8.

The dividing curtain is drawn this time. The window curtains are pulled back, too; it’s a somewhat cloudy day outside, but bright enough to sharpen the shadows on the walls and make the boy look even paler than you remember.

His eyes are closed as you approach. A sprout of hope that he might have fallen asleep again blooms in your chest – you’ll just leave the broth on the table, you think to yourself, and go about the rest of your day. Nobody said you had to watch him drink it.

You get about five feet away, already planning to drop some books off to the other rooms, when the boy’s nose suddenly twitches.

His eyes open to thin slits. Your hope shrivels like a weed in the desert as he speaks.

“What’s that?” His voice is quiet and raspy.

Your eyebrow twitches. “It’s just chicken broth,” you say tartly, setting the tray down on the overbed table and turning it around so that it’s over his lap. You take off the lid and steam bursts from the bowl.

The boy reaches up to rub his eyes. The red string dangles from his pinkie, and you quickly look away with a scowl.

“Who are you?” he asks, scooting back to sit up more as he gradually becomes more alert.

Reluctantly, you give him your name. “Will you need help with the soup?”

He shakes his head. His gaze latches onto the contents of his bowl, and he stops, transfixed.

You scramble to stop him as he suddenly grabs the bowl and attempts to gulp it all down in one go.

“Don’t do that! You’ll throw up!” Without thinking, you seize his hands and pry the bowl away from his mouth. A few drops of broth splash over the blankets and his gown, and your irritation grows. Now you’ll have to fix that. “Drink it slowly.”

“I haven’t eaten anything for weeks,” the boy complains. “What do you know?”

“I’ve been studying medicine since I was a little kid,” you retort. “So I know a lot.”

He frowns. “You are a little kid.”

“I’m nine years old!”

“No, I’m nine! You don’t look as old as me!”

There’s no way this … this brat is the same age as you! Fuming, you let go of the bowl and jab a finger at his face. “I am nine years old and I know more than you! You can’t drink the broth like that!”

You’re met with silence. The boy’s eyes are wider than saucers. Pride wells up inside you at your ability to shut him up.

But then he puts the bowl down and seizes your hand, and your pride gives way to horror as he folds down your index finger and lifts your pinkie – the pinkie with the red string wrapped around it.

He lifts his own pinkie, the rest of his fingers folded. Your jaw clenches when you see how the string has shortened to mere inches, bridging the space between his hand and yours.

“Holy shit,” the boy says. The largest grin spreads across his face, and it’s blinding and scary and you hate it, you hate it. “It’s you! You’re my soulmate, aren’t you?!”

“No,” you reply quickly, whipping your hand behind your back and backing away. “No, I’m not!”

“But you see the string too! I knew I’d meet you some day. How come you’re”— he pushes the table away, eagerly but just gentle enough so no more of the broth spills—“how come you’re hiding it behind your back?”

“I’m not your soulmate,” you bark, panic rising in your chest. “Don’t you ever say that!”

You only catch a glimpse of the hurt that flashes across the boy’s face before you turn around and dash out of the room.

Mrs. Hong finds you in the storage closet later, curled up behind the shelves of gauze and IV tubing. She coaxes you out with a promise of rice balls and no questions asked. You wish all the adults were more like her.

—

The next day, Miss Jaylee hoists you over her shoulder like a human sacrifice and brings you to Room 8.

“I don’t want to see him! You can’t make me!”

“He’s refusing treatment and food unless he sees you,” the woman answers briskly, each of her steps jostling you up and down. “You don’t want to be responsible if Sanji dies, do you?”

“I don’t care if he dies!”

Miss Jaylee clicks her tongue and walks faster.

You flail, feeling a little guilty for your cruel words but too proud to take them back. Sanji couldn’t have heard you, anyway, and nobody here is going to let him die no matter what he does or what you say.

You hear a door swing open. Miss Jaylee walks into Room 8 and turns around, and you lift your head, glaring at Sanji as his face lights up and his cheeks turn rosy.

“[Y/n]!”

Your own cheeks burn in embarrassment at the position you’re currently in. This, you only now realize, is way worse than walking into the room voluntarily.

“How come they’re carrying you? Are you okay?” he asks.

“Let them treat you,” you snap, arms limp and dangling. “And eat your stupid food or I’ll get in trouble.”

“Okay.” You nod, opening your mouth to speak again only for him to continue, “But only if I get to talk to you afterwards.”

What is he, a prince?! What makes it so easy for him to demand such things?

“That wasn’t what you told them,” you protest, squirming, but Miss Jaylee only tightens her arm around your waist.

(“Be nice,” she warns. You growl.)

“It’s important,” Sanji stresses, looking pointedly down at his hand and then back at you.

You bite down on your tongue as the red string glimmers in the light.

Dr. Gu and Nurse Taoh stare at you expectantly. Your neck is starting to ache from craning it, and there’s a feeling that you’ll never stand on your own two feet again unless you do what he wants.

“… Fine,” you hiss through gritted teeth.

Only once you promise to stay does Miss Jaylee let you slide off her shoulder. You stand to the side, arms crossed impatiently as they take Sanji’s vitals and ask him some questions. He’s only half paying attention, head turning to look at you more than once, which you merely turn up your nose at.

“All right, we’ll leave you two to chat now,” Dr. Gu says. “If you need anything, just let [Y/n] know, okay?”

“Okay,” Sanji says.

With that, the three adults leave, and you and Sanji are left alone once more.

“I’m glad you came. They were starting to get mad at me,” he says, then cuts straight to the chase. “How come you don’t want to be my soulmate?”

“Because I don’t want a soulmate,” you immediately reply.

“But why? It’s nice, isn’t it? Being special to each other?”

“You can’t be special to me. We’re not even friends.”

For the second time, Sanji looks hurt.

“…We’re not?” he asks. You shake your head. “But … you brought me food.”

You’re befuddled. “Because Dr. Gu made me,” you say, trying to ignore the disappointment on his face. “Besides, I yelled at you yesterday. Friends don’t yell at each other.”

“I thought that you were maybe just really surprised …” His voice gets smaller and smaller. “Some people get mad when they’re just surprised …”

“I wasn’t surprised. I saw it when you were still asleep.”

“Oh,” Sanji mumbles. He looks down at the sheets, scratching at the wrinkle in the thin white fabric. “Okay.”

He says nothing more. You fidget, wondering if he’s pretending to look like he’s about to cry or if he really is trying not to. You’re not good with people who start crying.

You chew on your bottom lip. Sanji tucks his hand with the string on it underneath his bed sheets, his eyes disappearing behind his tangled hair, and fine, you feel kind of bad whether he’s tricking you or not.

“I’ll only be friends with you if you don’t talk about being soulmates,” you finally tell him begrudgingly. “Not ever, okay?”

His head shoots back up. “Really?!”

“Only if you don’t talk about it! I’m serious.” You huff at Sanji’s sudden change in mood and click your tongue. “If you stay sad you might not get better.  Don’t get the wrong idea!”

He nods, grinning bigger than ever.

Oh, dear, you think as he promises that he’ll be a really, really good friend, you might have made a mistake.

—

By the fifth day, Zeff, the man who was brought in with Sanji, is awake.

You hear them arguing before you see them, pushing a cart of books for Sanji to browse through as per your agreement the day before. They’re loud, and Sanji calls the man an old shitbag right as you knock and push the door open.

“I’m here,” you announce, and the two quiet down to look at you. You give Zeff a polite smile. “Hello, sir. I’m [Y/n].”

“Hello, little miss,” Zeff says, his features softening from the angry expression he’d directed towards Sanji a moment before.

“Why are you being nice to her and not me?” Sanji pipes up from his side of the room, all puffed-out cheeks and petulantly crossed arms.

“Because she don’t make my ears ring with nonstop whining,” the man answers sharply. “Now get a book and read so I can finally have some peace and quiet.”

“You get a book and read,” Sanji grumbles.

“What was that, boy?”

You cut in before they start bickering all over again. “Do you want a book too, Mr. Zeff?”

Zeff’s gaze flicks over to you once more, and your shoulders tense. The man takes a deep, calming breath, and then he sighs, reclining back into his pillow and closing his eyes. “No, thank you, little miss,” he mutters. “Reading’s no good for my head right now.”

“Do you have a headache?” He grunts in affirmation. “Do you want me to get a nurse?”

“No, no, don’t need any of that.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a headache,” Sanji accuses.

Zeff’s mustache twitches. “All you need to know is that you oughta stop yappin’ when a man wants peace and quiet!”

(Not again.)

As you give up and walk over to draw the curtains, Sanji says your name desperately. “Can we read somewhere else?” he pleads when you glance at him. “I don’t want to be stuck in here with him right now.”

Narrowing your eyes, you appraise his weak-looking frame, pointedly skimming past the red string that snakes over to you. “Can you even walk around yet?”

“Yeah,” he says defensively. He wriggles out of the bed sheets and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Holding onto the side rail, he stands up and grips the IV pole for support. Though he’s a little shaky, he shuffles a few steps towards you and smiles when he manages to do so. “See?”

Well, you think, if you and Sanji stay here, you’ll need to have some light in order to read. But it will probably help Zeff if the room is as dark as possible, so if you guys go somewhere else, Sanji’s lamp won’t need to be on.

“Okay,” you agree. “Wait here. I’ll get some slippers.”

Ten minutes later, with Sanji shuffling along in his slippers, IV pole in one hand and your arm in the other, the two of you arrive at the common room and find chairs in the corner to sit down in.

“These’re mostly history books and stories for old people,” you explain as you pull out the one cooking-related book you could find from the top basket of the cart. “This was the only food one I could find.”

“That’s okay.” Sanji takes the book from you and begins to flip through it. “Oh, this one’s about seafood in the South Blue! Have you ever had any?”

“No.”

“Me, neither. I’ll try it someday, though … hey, this fish looks like a fried egg!”

Against your will, you perk up. “… Really?”

For the next half-hour, Sanji fawns over the spices used on grilled Sea King meat and how to cook wine clams and the best fish for South Blue-style sushi. And it’s … not boring. He doesn’t hog the book, and the pictures are cool, and he asks you which ones you think are the coolest or would taste the best. Looking at a book with another kid is different from reading with an adult. It feels like you’re sharing, not like you’re being tested on your comprehension or how to pronounce long words.

Hanging out with Sanji is okay when the string doesn’t sour it.

“So you want to cook all of these one day?” you ask after scanning through a full-color page of steamed Ocean Hawk feet.

“I want to cook things from all four seas,” Sanji says. His legs bounce with excitement. “That’s why I’m gonna find the All Blue.”

“What’s that?”

The boy glows.

“It’s where the North, East, South, and West Blue seas all meet. Think about it – fresh-caught fish from all over the world all in one place! I’ll be able to cook dishes no one’s ever cooked or tasted before.”

You’ve never heard of such a place. But Sanji talks about it with such conviction, such resolve, that you figure the All Blue could really exist.

“I hope you find it,” you say, and you mean it.

“I will.” Sanji closes the book. “And when I do, I’ll cook something just for you. A-As a friend.”

He peeks over at you, his eyes even brighter and bluer than before, his cheeks flushing a familiar red. And you find yourself believing him, just a little bit.

—

Sanji keeps his promise.

You know he still likes you (blech) and so does most of the staff (double blech). Nurse Taoh thinks it’s funny and teases you about your little boyfriend in Room 8 who always asks where you are. Mrs. Hong reminds you to be sensitive whenever you stop by to pick up meals. Dr. Gu tells you to tell her right away if Sanji ever does something that makes you uncomfortable.

But he never does. Sometimes his words spill out clumsily like a broken faucet and other times he blushes and stutters, leaving you to wonder what he’s going on about, but he doesn’t try to kiss you or hold your hand, and he doesn’t say a word about the red string that is very much still there. If anything, he just annoys you at times, with how nice he is to you and how sunny he gets when you eat lunch with him sometimes.

You’ve never seen somebody so happy to be in a hospital before, even if it’s just because he wants you to like him. It’s weird.

It’s on the eighth day of Zeff and Sanji’s stay that you learn not everything is how it seems.

You’d gotten in trouble the night before for digging holes in the garden – you had kept the seed from your dinner plum and wanted to see if you could make it grow, but Miss Jaylee had caught you while taking Mr. Hu out for some air – so you’re somewhat grumpy on your way to Room 8, two notebooks in hand.

One of them is blank for Sanji. He wants to record all the meals he’s gotten and write down how he would make them. The second notebook is full of your notes that you need to study for your quiz tomorrow.

Zeff is sleeping again when you enter. You move quietly across the room to where Sanji is lying with his back to the door.

“Sanji.” You can see his shoulders tense underneath the sheets, but strangely, he does not roll over to face you. “I have your notebook.”

No answer. That is even stranger.

Frowning, you walk around to the other side of the bed. Sanji moves to bury his face into his pillow, but not before you hear a very soft, wet sniffle.

“Sanji?”

“Sorry.” His voice is high and so muffled you can barely understand him. “You can just leave it on the table.”

“Why are you crying?” In the back of your head, you know it is not the most sensitive thing to ask. But for some reason, you need to know. “I won’t laugh or tell anyone.”

You hear another sniffle from the mop of blond hair. It takes a long time for Sanji to answer, but he eventually does.

“I don’t like hospitals.”

Your brow furrows. “Oh,” you say, somewhat surprised. Most people don’t like being in a hospital, you’re pretty sure of that, but you didn’t know Sanji didn’t like it this much. “Why?”

Maybe he’s tired of getting poked all the time, or the bland food, or the hospital smell. Nobody here can change that. Maybe he’s homesick. The hospital can’t fix that, either.

Sanji turns his head slightly and takes in a small, shuddering breath. “’Cause it … it makes me remember my mum … when she was sick,” he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear.

“… Oh.”

You had assumed, upon learning that Zeff and Sanji were not at all related, that Sanji was like you and never knew his parents. He’d never talked about having any before, only his time on the Orbit and with Zeff. But he does know them – his mother, at least. And she was sick. The memory is what’s making him so sad, and it’s yet another thing that the hospital can’t help.

You don’t want him to be sad. You did make him your friend, after all, even if he does annoy you sometimes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, standing awkwardly with his notebook still in your possession. You remember what Miss Jaylee has told other patients before. “That, um, must have been really hard for you.”

Sanji squeezes his pillow more tightly.

Should you go? Should you talk to him some more?

“Please don’t tell anybody,” he whispers before you can decide. “Especially Zeff.”

“I won’t,” you reply firmly. “I said I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”

“I’m sorry I can’t hang out today. I really wanted to, but, um …”

“It’s okay. We can do it later.”

“Okay.”

You set his notebook and a pen on the bedside table. After some thought, you refill his water and, after even more hesitation, fix the bed sheets on him a bit so they’re not as twisted up. That is the best you can do.

The red string follows you as you quietly leave Room 8, and you don’t think about it at all.

—

“How do you spell necessary?”

“N-E-S-E-S-A-R-Y.”

“That doesn’t look right. I think it’s S-S-A-R-Y.”

“Maybe you can find it in the book,” Sanji suggests, kicking his feet as he lies on his belly next to you.

“Yeah, maybe.” You flip through the pages of your textbook, searching for the correct spelling lest you get marked off again.

It is the tenth day. Sanji is doing alright, and Zeff is up and about with his new leg. Dr. Gu says they’re good to go, so they’re leaving after Zeff finishes breakfast. You’re not sure how to feel about it.

In the meantime, Sanji is helping you with your essay about scurvy. He knows quite a bit about it, which makes sense since he’s lived at sea, and you hope the perspective he’s supplying will impress Dr. Gu.

(“That’s why every ship needs a good cook,” he tells you proudly. “We make sure everyone eats right so they stay healthy.”

“That’s why you and Mr. Zeff are going to have a restaurant ship, right?”

“Mmhm.”)

Sanji rests his face in his hands, cheeks squished against his palms while you continue to scan through your textbook. You finally find the word in a photo caption and, with a triumphant noise, jot it down correctly.

Someone knocks on your door. The two of you turn to face it simultaneously.

“[Y/n]?” It’s Mrs. Guo.

“Yeah?” you call, already slightly irritated.

“Is Sanji there? It’s time for him to leave.”

A frown presses down on your lips. Sanji sighs and gets up as slowly as possible, taking his notebook with him.

“Coming,” he says.

The two of you dawdle on your way to the hospital entrance. You pet Cabby the dog when you run into him and his handler and stop by the kitchen so Sanji can thank the cooks. There’s no rush, not really, but an uneasy feeling continues to well up in your stomach anyway.

Upon arriving at your destination, Zeff waiting at the double doors with a giant bag of treasure slung over his shoulder, Sanji stops and turns to face you.

“I’m – I’m going now,” he says, as if just realizing it.

“Okay,” you say.

You and Sanji stand in silence for a moment before Sanji’s bottom lip starts to wobble.

Yours starts to wobble too. The uneasy feeling in your stomach bubbles up into your throat and behind your eyes.

“I’ll write you,” he blurts, voice cracking. “You’ll come visit, won’t you?”

“I don’t know.” You don’t know if they’ll let you. The hospital is busy and the ocean is big, bigger than you, and you don’t know it at all like Zeff and Sanji do. “But I’ll write back.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You are crying now.

For the first time, your arms wrap around Sanji, and he clings back as both of you bawl. Your tears and snot stain the shoulder of his brand-new clothes. Your uniform grows damp at the collar. It doesn’t matter at all.

“I don’t know if I’ll see you again,” you croak into his shirt, face hot and eyes blurry.

His grip tightens. “You will,” Sanji replies in between sniffles. “I know it. Even if it’s when we’re really old, we’ll see each other again.”

“Okay.”

You believe him. Not because of fate, but because you want to.

—

You write to each other every single week for the next ten years. You tell each other everything.

Well, almost everything.

—

“You seem nervous,” Nami says. “Don’t tell me a little bribery got under your skin?”

“No, no.” You wipe your hands on your thighs and try to relax against the back of the booth. “Just … not used to places like this, that’s all.”

The Baratie is nicer than you imagined. Sanji had kept you up to date over the years, sending newspaper clippings and recipe drafts as the restaurant he and Zeff founded grew in staff members and reputation, but seeing it in person is a whole different deal. You’re telling the truth when you said you’re not used to a place like this.

But it’s not why you’re nervous.

“Hey, look!” Usopp exclaims, pointing across the room. “I think those guys are gonna fight.”

The rest of you look. Near the kitchen, two men are arguing, and the pink-haired man sitting at the table stands up when the pirate shoves his food onto the floor.

Usopp sucks his teeth. “Yikes.”

Luffy leans forward in interest. Zoro simply stares, and Nami rolls her eyes.

One of the waiters approaches them. You watch as he tries to deescalate the situation, but neither party is having it.

The pink-haired man draws a gun.

Within seconds, the gun and both would-be brawlers are on the floor.

The waiter shoves his foot into the pink-haired man’s back to keep him down, then picks up the plate of bread rolls again, stepping over both groaning bodies with the ease of one who’s done it before.

He reassures the other customers as he approaches your booth. You’re not concerned about the fight so much as you are about the way that you know.

It’s been ten years, but you just know, even before he gets close enough for you to see the red string that trails up and disappears into the black of his pants pocket. Even before you see the blue of his eyes and the annoyed set of his brow, exactly the same as you remember.

He places the rolls down onto the table, and for the first time, you wonder what you want.

“Hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambience is the food. My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?”

#aesthetic words prompt list #opla #one piece #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #opla sanji #one piece live action #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #fem!reader #soulmate au #woefully inaccurate portrayal of patient treatment and progression of recovery i'm sorry #usually i'd be more of a stickler but this is one piece where people don't die after 85 days eating nothing but their own leg #zeff and sanji definitely aren't ur typical patients anyway even in the opla universe lol

[lixxpix]

wish you back - h.js

w.c - 2.0k | genre - highschool!au/slice of life | pairings - jisung x gn reader | authors note - omfg i'm back from hiatus 😭 anyw req by my bby @starseungs i hope u enjoy <3 req can be found here!

life brings about many surprises, one of which comes in the form of han jisung.

life as a highschooler wasn't easy, navigating through workloads, teenage crushes, and the struggles of a growing and developing brain.

most of all, the concept of soulmates.

soulmates were a thing you would expect from a movie, a fictional world. yet, it was very much true, girls gossiping over potential soulmates in the hallways, boys proposing to their girlfriends in soccer games, happy couples strolling down the streets of the city. your life was lived in monochrome, the classic black and white. it was only when you met your supposed soulmate at the age of 18 that everything would explode, a vibrant splatter of colours that finally allowed you to see the world as it was, not just through a filter. people described it as the feeling of warmth on your skin, the thrill of it all, the reds, oranges, yellows, greens, blues, purples, pink, all the hues, like home.

but that blood red string scared you.

what was so good about soulmates? the idea of having the rest of your life laid out before you, pre-destined and fated, scared you. what if your soulmate lived halfway across the world? what if you would never meet your soulmate, destined to die a lonely death while everyone else danced under the stars with their loved one? what if you didn't like the life planned out for you? what if you had to live the rest of your life seeing only black and white, and never see the yellow of the sun or the fresh green of the grass and the vibrant red of the flowers? what if your soulmate didn't want you?

it was especially the latter of the questions that haunted you the most.

you feared, with a frightening worriedness, that your chosen one would reject you. you had heard stories of people being rejected by their chosen soulmate, only to either live out their lives in misery or take their own life. no one was ever the same after meeting their soulmate. 

to be honest, you would rather live forever in a world with only black and white than to go through that heartbreak. you would never allow yourself to fall in love, you vowed. soulmate or not, heartbreak was something you never wanted to experience.

---

"oi!" 

"what do you want for your birthday? y'know what, nevermind, it should be a surprise." jisung grinned, ruffling your hair as you scowled at him.

"don't remind me, you know how much i dread the damned day." you groaned, shoulders sagging in defeat. 

your 18th birthday. 

the day you would finally meet your soulmate. 

life had been so peaceful until now, you thought. until someone would come into the picture and fuck everything up.

just 7 days to go until the day. 7 days wouldn't be that bad, right?

wrong.

day 7. day 6. day 5. day 4. day 3. day 2. 

each day, you could feel the trepidation settling into your bones, a chill running through your spine every time you looked at the clock on the wall, until that very day.

the day was normal, well-wishes from your parents and your gift given to you, the new bag you had been yearning for, significantly improving your mood, a smile on your face as you walked to the bus, corners of your lips lifting up and eyes crinkling. your eyes zeroed in on every person as you boarded the bus, squinting in anticipation of the bright colours that were supposed to burst in your vision. luckily, the world remained black and white, not a single spot of colour. you looked down at your phone. damn. the only classes you had with jisung were in the afternoon.

throughout the day, everyone showered you with birthday wishes, gifting you beautifully wrapped presents, yet you couldn't find it in your heart to be genuinely happy, a fake smile plastered on your face as you thanked them for the wishes. it wasn't that you didn't appreciate the gifts, truly. you just dreaded the change that would come in a few hours or so. in a few hours, you would be meeting the person that you would spend the rest of your life with. 

"class dismissed!" you startled awake with a jolt, unconsciously having daydreamed throughout the class, lost in thought. as you scrambled to move onto the next class, hastily picking up your textbook, a hand stopped you. you flinched in surprise, heightened alertness instantly kicking in. a girl held out your pen to you, the world still remaining in black and white.

thank goodness.

up next was biology, your hated arch nemesis. groaning half-heartedly to yourself as you dragged yourself to your locker to dump your heavy textbooks in, a voice broke you out of your reverie.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY-" a voice screamed, causing you to yelp in surprise, head whipping around in surprise as you finally saw the offender of your eardrums.

oh.

time seemed to stop.

red, the colour of his old beanie.

brown, the colour of his soft silky hair that you loved to thread your fingers through.

black, the colour of his old sweatpants and backpack.

yellow, the colour of his pins on his backpack.

blue, the colour of his fluffy hoodie.

purple, the colour of his keychain.

white, the colour of the blinding brightness that seemed to overtake you for a millisecond.

han jisung was your fucking soulmate.

in his hands was a badly wrapped present, wrapped in a bright yellow paper, his lips parted in shock and surprise as he started dumbfoundedly at you.

"oh."

he could only sputter, his boba eyes round and wide as the present dropped to the floor in shock.

han jisung was your soulmate. 

fuck.

"uh- so-" jisung's hand came up to scratch the back of his head, eyes wide in disbelief. 

"so uh- we're..."

"soulmates." you could only say in response.

should you be happy? you were supposed to jump in joy, after all. anyone would expect someone to be happy after bagging the person who was simultaneously your best friend and your secret crush. 

but why did it feel like you and jisung were headed on a one way train to doom?

"i- i gotta go." you stammered, turning around and dashing out the hall, breathing laboured as you heard him call after you in desperation.

no, no, no-

life was going so well. he would never want you, ever. he would never see you in that way. your friendship would be ruined. you would lose your best friend. 

life seemed to bustle around you as you ran. greens, pinks, purples, hues of every shade faded into your vision as you ran, tears finally cascading down your face, dripping onto the lush grass beneath your feet. you couldn't bring yourself to look at anything, eyes tightly shut, a stark reminder of what would change.

---

[57 missed calls]

jisungie 

hello?? y/n? i know you probably don't want to see me now... but i'll be here waiting for you, ok?  it's probably hard to accept that we're soulmates... but take your time:) seen at 12.03 a.m

jisungie

you didn't come to class today...  r u ok?? take care of yourself seen at 15.39 p.m

jisungie

its been five days already i miss you seen at 23.12 p.m

---

you threw your phone across the room, head buried in your shoulders as you muffled a sob. 

fuck him and his perfect personality.

if only he were that easy to forget, to let go. 

but he was han jisung. perfect in every way. as if you could ever dream of forgetting him and his warm touch, his wide grin, his fluffy brown hair hanging over in his eyes with a boyish innocence.

"ding!"

you groaned in annoyance, flinging the sheets back, stumbling out of bed, and quickly wiping away your tears. 

probably one of mom's online deliveries again. 

walking down the stairs, you swung open the door. 

"hi, you can leave the delivery there-"

except it wasn't even a delivery man.

it was han jisung.

"jisung-?" 

you could only stammer in response, eyes widening as you took a step back.

after all, what was one supposed to say to your soulmate that you'd been avoiding for days?

a flash of white and pink caught your eyes. your gaze drifted down to his hands, only to be met with a bouquet of pink, white, and red tulips, a beautiful arrangement wrapped in pink tulle and tied together with a elegant white ribbon.

"uhh... surprise?" jisung smiled anxiously before scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as his face turned crimson red.

too stunned to speak, you could only stand there gaping at him. after what felt like an eternity, you finally spoke.

"what are you doing here?"

"wait... lemme just- uh- compose myself. big speech, y'know?" he grinned in nervousness, fidgeting slightly, clearly a bundle of nerves.

"so..." he exhaled. "i know i'm probably the last person you want to see right now, but... i don't blame you. but however you feel about us being... soulmates, it doesn't change the fact that i don't mind being your soulmate. i was... pretty happy at first, but then you ran away, so i-"

"wait, happy? i thought you would be mad, or angry, or anything-" you cut him off, brows furrowing in confusion.

jisung gulped. "i had feelings for you." 

"what-?" your heart rate skyrocketed, a ringing in your ears, the thumping of your heart against your ribcage, all making you painfully hopeful, pleading with the gods to not break your heart and dash your hopes again.

"i- i had feelings for you. so... no matter how you want this whole soulmate thing to turn out, even if you don't feel the same, i'll be happy either way knowing you're my soulmate. if you don't want it to, this won't change anything between us, we can go back to living our normal lives-"

jisung was cut off by the feeling of soft, plush lips on his, crashing into him with a ferocity as your arms were thrown around his neck, teeth clashing with his, warm hands threading into his hair.

you didn't think you would ever get used to kissing jisung, you thought. every single touch, smile, even a tiny glance set your nerves ablaze. the feeling of his pillowy lips on yours was thrilling, his hands threaded into your hair and pulling you closer by your lower back, pressing you flush against him until there was so space between the two of you, bridging the gaps that felt like oceans forcing the two of you apart.

finally, the two of you parted with a gasping 'pop', ears red and cheeks flushed, staring at each other in childlike wonder. 

"thank you for the tulips," you smile, taking them from his hands and planting one last kiss on his cheek, "they're lovely."

jisung's ears turned bright red, stammering out a 'you're welcome' in response as you laughed at his antics. "oh, that reminds me," he smiled giddily, hand reaching into his pocket to pull out a beautiful baby pink coloured box, gently opening it. you gasped, inside was a beautiful necklace with a heart charm in the middle, simple and elegant. "i was gonna give this to you on your birthday, but... well, you ran off, so here." he smiles nervously awaiting your reaction, and is pleasantly surprised when you squeal and plant a big fat kiss on his lips. he helps you put it on, your lips finding his again as you wrap your arms around his neck and tug him closer. "it's beautiful, thank you." you smile, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

"so you'll accept me as your soulmate?" he asked, eyes wide as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth, anxiously waiting for your answer.

you nod, smiling. "i accepted you as my soulmate the moment i found out, i just... thought you wouldn't feel the same way back... so i just avoided you. in hindsight, that sounds pretty stupid," you sigh.

"aish, we could've kissed a long time ago if i had just told you i felt the same!" jisung groaned, pulling you closer as you laughed and smacked his arm in playful indignation. "at least we worked it out." smiling softly, you allowed yourself a moment of peace, tucking your head into the crook of his neck.

"out of all the people in the world, i'm stuck with you, han jisung. but you're the best person to be stuck with."

#stray kids #angst #fluff #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #han jisung #han jisung x reader #han jisung x you #han jisung x y/n #jisung x reader #jisung x you #jisung x y/n #skz angst #skz au #skz imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine

[jenflirts]

Invisible string (drabble)

pairing : jenna ortega x fem!reader

theme: fluff :>

summary: 'Two souls, one destiny; woven by the threads of time, bound by the tapestry of fate, and united in a dance of eternal connection'

warning: none

a/n: y'all deserve a little fluff :p | kinda based on this au i've read. | merry christmas, my loves.

it's on twitter: an enhypen au (right where you left me, 1979 by dearheesun)

invisible string.

is that even real? for some may not and some do, but for me it’s a belief that’s more true than anything else i believed in. every person has a soulmate, either platonic or romantic. we don’t always get that soulmate feeling right away, but it’s actually worth waiting.

i’ve searched for that soulmate and it’s been dreadful—either they use me for the time passing, love bomb me and ghost me—being the dumb person who’s desperate for love, i keep giving them second chances.

i almost gave up, but then i met her.

my home.

the only person i keep longing for and being comfortable with. she’s been my best friend and lover for quite awhile and yet she still proves that she knows me so well.

why do i feel like i’ve known her since then?

she feels like home.

there she is again, running towards me just for a hug. she always keep doing this whenever she sees me.

“i have found you again, my love”

this all i got :) i’mma post the full length dk when tho.

#jenna ortega #jenflirts #wednesday addams x reader #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x reader #vada cavell #vada cavell x reader #spotify

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

well. i can't find my original fic rec list so here's a new (updated) one!

Daily Routines by The Garden of Unusual Delights (Shadowland) A number of people who feel depressed turn to comedy. Routines can also help. / As can having someone to care for. 4k words / oneshot / complete - TOP fucking tier. this rewired my neurons, shifted my view of Barnaby & his relationship with Wally, and also made me Deeply emotional

How to Greet New Neighbours by The Garden of Unusual Delights (Shadowland) He doesn't know what's happening, but he knows it isn't good. 8k words / oneshot / complete - STELLAR. an intriguing and engaging (and heartbreaking!) take on how Wally wound up sending material to the whrp

A Matter of Care by The Garden of Unusual Delights (Shadowland) When Julie is too sad to take proper care of her hair, Frank is happy to help out. 2.5k words / oneshot / complete - this person always gets characterizations Just Right, don't they? this a very sweet and tender moment between the besties <3

What to call it? What to call it? by Anonymous Wally tries to figure out what is different about the Neighborhood. But maybe there is no difference at all. 2.2k words / oneshot / complete - a fascinating exploration / behind the scenes interpretation of the secret 14 audios. the end always has me in my feels <3

Strings Of Fate by A_Cypress_Coffin Frank Frankly lived life by simply trudging along most days, but all of that changes when a new neighbor, quite literally, crashes into him. 27k / multichap / ongoing - a very fun interpretation of Franklydear and how the puppets perceive / experience / handle the true nature of their reality. i Cannot recommend it enough!

To Read a Clock by TurnedWorm Frank and Eddie try to teach Wally to read a clock. They get a bit more than they bargained for. 2.7k words / oneshot / complete - sweet and also Haunting! a stellar combination, and an interesting take on Wally's perspective. ngl it gave me chills!

my chest is bursting with abnormality by springtrap_wiki Wally realizes that something about him isn't as it should be. 1k words / oneshot / complete - a little peek into Wally realizing that he's different than his others neighbors. I like how this is handled - it hits home if im being honest!

Goin’ Out of My Head by 5_24 Picking someone up from the bus station seems like an easy task. But when adding Eddie Dear to that equation and the passenger just happens to be Frank Frankly, the results may vary... 5.4k / multichap / complete - genuinely funny, cute, and entertaining. the perfect read for a laugh!

Inside Jokes by The_PastelVoid In which the puppets are waiting for Sally and discover that Wally apparently has a contagious laugh when Barnaby tells what is called an "inside joke". 2k / oneshot / complete - pure fluff and laughs <3

Goodnight, Wally! by PastelDemon ... But what would happen if, one day, without any warning, Wally suddenly could sleep just like everyone else? 19.5k / oneshot / complete - very sweet with a sprinkling of angst, and an entertaining take on what a new-to-sleep Wally might be like

Welcome Home: Fantasy AU by ImaginatorOfThings What would happen if we took our lovable cast of puppets, and put them into a Fantasy alternate universe? 28k / series / complete - a VERY fun fantasy au with a fascinating twist. it made me tear up, it made me feel some dread, it made me smile! what more could we ask for <3

#be kind to the ones that are a touch ooc a lot was written Before the big updates #but i wouldnt rec something thats distractingly ooc. bc i wouldnt read it <3 #ive read most fics in the tag but these are the bookmark-worthy ones i found (imo ofc) #god but the first three by the same author. THIS GUY GETS IT. #the way they write barnaby & wally (separately And together) is just. hnggggggg its so good.... #there's not a lot here but i promise its all a fun time <3 #tho maybe. dont read the second one if youre already having a bad day lmfao #when i said heartbreaking i Meant it. i got a little choked up. that shit HURTED <3 #welcome home puppet show #welcome home #every day i rattle the tag and Almost every day nothing new / nothing i wanna read falls out #Which Is Fine. i miss reading fic but Man I'll Take What I Can Get. #and when the fics are good? oh BABEY theyre good....

[boundinparchment]

Dream a Little Dream of Me - LVII

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Fic is rated explicit; MDNI. This chapter is not suitable to those under the age of 18. Chapter on AO3 here.

He should have encouraged you further to use less hot water, Zandik realized, as his hands reached for yours in the scalding water.  Air thick with steam, laced with scents he would only ever attribute to being yours, you’d somehow convinced him a bath was more worthwhile.  And now you and the heat were going to his head and both of you would pay the price later.

A shower would have been efficient. He could have spent the entire time exploring your form, taking care of every curve.  He would feel more invigorated standing.  His body didn’t understand relaxation unless it was to sleep and every waking second couldn’t be wasted.

You’d insisted, however, that a bath would be enjoyable.

Zandik didn’t entirely understand how.  Not at first.  And then you arranged yourself behind him in the tub, a feat considering his own height; at least the tub was more than accommodating.  You pressed your breasts to his bare back before you eased him back into your lap to wash his hair.

How many times had you sat like this with him, he wondered.  Upwards of twenty, no doubt.  Even when your face was obscured to him, you cradled his head in your lap and listened as he went on tangent after tangent.  The last time you’d done so, he realized, was when his Segments still whispered on the wind as you overlooked the Ruin Golem.

“Relax, mon rêve .  I won’t get shampoo in your eyes,” you teased.

Relaxing didn’t take much effort thanks to your soft skin and the way you massaged his scalp as you lathered the shampoo.  He recalled, briefly, that Pantalone specifically spent the time and money getting his hair done for this experience and for once, he could understand why.  Just enough pressure to ensure efficacy but gentle enough to lull him to sleep right here.  Zandik never liked being touched by others, not even by his Segments; vanity to the point that Regrator took it to was a waste of time and mora anyway.

Your words from the courtyard after Pantalone’s dance floated through his head like padisarah petals on the surface of the river, noble and demanding.

He thought like Regrator too, once; Zandik’s turnabout wasn’t even all that long ago in the grand scheme of the universe.  He had outlived you already. He had centuries of experiences, of knowledge, of understanding. Back when he saw himself as a system, less a human and more of a concept in the shape of a human.

How limiting.

You rinsed his hair, thorough and meticulous in the same way you dusted your cello’s bow and body and strings.  When you finished, he reached up and took your hand in both of his and held it above him, mindful of dripping water and lingering suds as he massaged each joint.

You still had your writer’s bump, naturally.  But your palms were rougher, despite your vain attempts to keep them soft.  You exerted pressure on the handle of your claymore in some spots more than others and unless you were in the cold, you never wore gloves.  You used your baton more often now but every once in a while, you preferred to swing the blade yourself, you said; you enjoyed the power in your muscles, feeling the force of the blade and understanding everything as a mere extension of yourself.

A sentiment he more than related to.

Zandik craned his neck slightly to look at you only to find you watching him intently, your other hand grazing his cheek.

Even if he could outlive you, what would the point be?  The universe would never be exhausted but without you to share any of it with, why bother?

“They ache less,” you said. “I couldn’t have done tonight or any preceding tasks without your handiwork.”

“As was intended. Your claymore took away most of your grip strength and left you with little to use on daily tasks.  Eliminate that and you are free to take better care of your joints.  I saw no need for extreme alternatives.”

“Such as?”

“Prostheses.”

“I do rely on my sense of touch. Would be a shame to lose it.”

Your grazed your fingers over the tender spot between his shoulder and his neck; his eyes fluttered shut and his heart shuddered as if he was struck by lightning. The after-effects of the Furnace centuries ago were nothing compared to this sensation.

“A travesty,” Zandik replied. “Without it, your music would lack its soul.”

He would rather have fought and killed you, once upon a time.  Especially upon seeing you burdened with a device that tainted the mind.  He did not want you and yet his very nature demanded your presence, your music, your soul; he was a glutton for knowledge and to ignore you meant turning away from an opportunity to explore the world through a lens he would potentially never have again.

A slave to fate in all but name.  

His past self, or even just Omega, would have laughed if he walked in.

Omega understood, in the end, long before either his creator or you did.

Between his Segment and your thrice-timed persuasion, twice in appreciation of your presence and then once in your absence, and your willpower alone, his choice was made.

He didn’t need to feel his face to know how flushed he was. Amid the steam, he felt his pulse throbbing, lightheaded from the heat.

You fought, you always fought when given the right evidence, and Zandik hated few things more than passive acceptance of one’s intended life. You worked as hard as he had, as had as he did , endured pain he could conceptualize and at least acknowledge.

He wondered, for a moment, if that first night would have been different if you knew , then, in the darkened performance hall. He doubted it. What you lacked in physical prowess you more than made up for in emotional blows.

Which was precisely why, he realized some time ago, you would have gotten away from Omega on your own. You didn’t need him, Zandik, even if at the time it seemed otherwise. Sedatives would have worn off. Omega was distracted enough with the Traveler that you could have woken up without assistance.

And it was your fourth persuasion, feet caked with sand and a wooden cello neck in your hand, that made something finally fall into place.

You wanted him.

If you could have nothing else, no memories, no instrument, no colleagues, couldn’t you at least have him?

And wasn’t that how he felt with himself?  If Celestia was going to force you upon him, he might as well explore the bond.  That hasn’t changed. 

If he could have nothing else, couldn’t he have you?

In the cold depths of the Palace, shut away with nothing but false corpses for company, he came to the root of Omega’s selfishness and obsession over you. The Segments had nothing of their own, despite having autonomy and individuality; what Zandik gave them was what shaped them and he gave Omega his worst self.

All he knew was how to build, create; he learned and he adapted as needed. Moving. Always moving. If he stayed still, he would never reach the next conclusion, the next breakthrough.

And yet here you were, keeping him steady, focused. Wrapped in emotions he repressed in another era of this world. Willing to see what fate laid beyond the stars.

Zandik opened his eyes and caught you lost in thought, face just as flushed as his; no doubt you, too, were feeling the effects of the water. You blinked and looked down, your head titled at the same angle as when you heard a series of notes and were trying to work out the exact positioning to mimic it.

He didn’t deserve you, to feel inspired and anchored and…

“I know,” you whispered, bringing a hand to smooth back his wet hair again. “I know.”

Did you? he wanted to ask.  Did you truly know, understand, the depth of such a thing?  The amount of times he wondered if, for a moment, it was possible for a single person to hold an entire cosmos in their existence, just from looking at you?

A scholar would never stop until every avenue has been exhausted; fate would, inevitably, always find a way, for it was unnatural in its persistence.

So why not explore it?

For every challenge, Zandik saw the world in a richer context, experienced an outcome that, without your presence, would have been fleeting. The two of you would have found one another through other means, if not then, in Sumeru.  The means didn’t matter so much as the result.  The experiment was the journey, in truth, and he could control that.

And he would.  With your input, of course.

He chose. 

He chose you. 

And he would always choose you.

#dottore #il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #dottore/female reader #il dottore/female reader #dottore x female reader #il dottore x female reader #genshin impact reader insert #soulmate au

[blueberry-macaron]

Hey, i'm bored, can u recommend me some adrien salt fics (Bonus points if it's lukanette)

Bonus for Lukanette? Looks like I’m getting all the bonus points😂 I mean I haven‘t really read any Adrien salt fics for the sake of reading salt as of recent but because it was a Lukanette fic that happened to also have some salt😂 so yeah they’re all Lukanette whoopsie

Also I don’t know what exactly you’re looking for but most of those aren‘t really super heavy salt? And several salt on other characters as well, so beware. I‘ll try my best nontheless, hope that works for you

From the top of my head, here‘s a few I can think of:

Juleka vs the forces of the universe by @goldenlaurelleaveswrites , multichapter. Juleka is fed up with Mari being „meant for“ Adrien and works against the forces of the universe to get Lukanette to come closer. Beware, it‘s more or less salt against… well, everybody😂

Choice chances by @miraculouscontent , one-shot. Takes place after 5x02. Mari hangs out with Luka and opens up about her not feeling like she has much of a choice for her life. Adrien is only mentioned

Dread string of fate by @miraculouscontent , multichapter. You probably know that one, in which case, go reread it. It‘s a masterpiece

Everything from @miraculouscontent really😂

The one to make it stay by @thesaltyoceanwaves , multi-chapter. S3 Lukanette au. I love everything about it

Live with it by @quickspinner , multichapter. Aftermath of Chat‘s fuck-up in the NY special

The Ladybug‘s knight by Nyx_the_dragon on AO3, one-shot. Chat is being his obnoxious and flirty self and Luka gets akumatized over it.

Patient by 19thcentury on AO3, one-shot. Also NY special salt with mild Adrien salt. He‘s only mentioned

#ask #anon #fic recs #ml salt #adrien salt #yeah all of them are lukanette #and a lot of them are… fairly well known I guess? #eh doesn‘t matter they‘re still great

[yanderecrazysie]

can you write a new part for sugawara's idealized scenario? i'm very curious about the 3rd part and i love your writing style. 💓🌸

Sure and thank you! I feel like this turned out pretty bad, but I did my best.

Requested on Tumblr, Quotev, and Wattpad- so many people wanted this LOL

Part 1: here

Part 2: here

Title: Idealized (Part 3)

Pairings: Sugawara Koushi x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, murder, Sugawara’s gone mad, hasn’t he?

Summary: Sugawara Koushi seems to be completely perfect: good grades, talented athlete, responsible, and a total sweetheart. But, if he’s so perfect, why does your string of fate, that red string that warns you of the most dangerous person in your life, lead right to him?

AU Note: Some people have a “String of Fate” that, instead of symbolizing love like in soulmate AUs, leads straight to the most dangerous person in your life when you’re close enough to them. The string is invisible to everyone EXCEPT the person that would be in danger. Not everyone in the world has a string of fate but those that do have no idea in what way they will be in danger.

idealized

/adjective/

regarded or represented as perfect or better than in reality.

  Sugawara’s voice was sugar sweet. So sweet that you almost forgot that he was calling you from your mother’s phone.

“What happened to my mother?” You demanded.

You could hear the satisfied smile in his tone as he said, “You’re finally talking to me.”

“Please,” you begged, “what did you do to her?”

You prayed that she was okay, that Sugawara had merely swiped her phone. Something deep inside you knew that wasn’t the case. 

“She’s safe. For now,” Sugawara said, “I didn’t mean to go to such drastic measures, I swear. But I couldn’t think of anything else to get your attention. You avoid me like I’ve got the plague. Why don’t you treat others like that? Why is it only me?” His voice raised more and more with each word until he was shouting into the phone, voice choked with emotion.

“The red string of fate,” you admitted, trembling from head to toe, “I saw it connected to you and I didn’t want anything to do with that.”

There was no harm in telling the truth now, especially if it calmed him down. Sugawara certainly had stopped yelling, a silence stretching on from his end as he mulled over your words.

“I guess fate can’t be avoided,” Sugawara mused, “After all, it’s all led to this moment, hasn’t it?”

You gulped audibly, your throat feeling as dry as the desert. “Please just let my mom go. I’ll do anything…”

“Anything?” Sugawara asked, a hint of eagerness slipping into his voice, setting you on edge. Dread seemed to press down on your shoulders, causing you to fall heavily on your bed, trembling from head to toe. This can’t be good.

But did you have a choice? Was there anything you wouldn’t do to get your mom back? No, of course not.

“Anything,” you confirmed softly.

“We’re going to make a trade,” Sugawara replied, “Her freedom for yours.”

You closed your eyes, sucking in a shaky breath. How had it come to this? The teacher’s pet, the popular, handsome volleyball player… how could Mr. Perfect be this cruel? How could he break so many laws just to get his crush to talk to him?

The situation reminded you of Beauty and the Beast. Like Belle, you’d be giving up your freedom for your parent’s. You resolved right then that you’d never, ever fall for the beast, like Belle did. Until the day you died, if it came to that, you would hate him with every inch of your soul.

You felt tears prick your eyes. Until the day I die? You didn’t want to think about that, but wasn’t that what you were promising to him? Or, at least, until he got bored of you. Would that be worse or better? I can’t tell.

“Where are we meeting?” You asked.

Sugawara’s voice trembled with unrestrained excitement from the knowledge that he had won, “My house. Tell the police or anyone else and your mother dies.” He told you the address- a house not too far from yours.

“Okay…” you agreed, tears slipping down your face. You wiped furiously at them, refusing to admit weakness despite losing to him. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see you crying, you were still angry at yourself for being so helpless.

You pulled out a jacket and slipped on your shoes, looking at each room in your house as though you had never seen them before. Your heart felt heavy in your chest. Would you really never return?

The sound of your front door closing behind you seemed so final. You couldn’t bring yourself to hurry, as if you walked slow enough you would never have to face Sugawara. The cold air nipped at your nose and ears but, for once, you appreciated it. Who knew when you’d be allowed to go outside again?

You arrived at Sugawara’s house much too quickly. It was strange how such an ordinary looking house could be dripping with malice. You trudged up to the door, forcing yourself to knock. The door flung open and your tormenter peeked out at you, a smile spreading across his face, making him look so innocent that you could almost forget what he had done.

Then, the red string materialized, tightening around your finger, and you were jolted back to reality. You fought the urge to turn tail and run. This is for Mom.

Sugawara beckoned you inside. If your front door closing had sounded final, it was nothing compared to his door and the click of a lock. You fought back tears, overwhelmed by the reality you’d found yourself in.

You followed him down a staircase into a basement, heart sinking as you were met with what looked like a jail cell. Sugawara opened the cage and you knew what you had to do, walking shakily into the cell and taking a seat on the surprisingly soft bed inside. With a scrape against the floor and a creak, the door shut behind you, iron bars surrounding you on three sides. He pulled out a key and locked you inside.

“Now my mom,” you tried to force your voice to remain steady, “You promised you’d let her go.”

Sugawara smiled rather regretfully, “About that. She’s seen my face and knows what I planned to do.”

Your entire body froze, a chill running down your spine. “You promised! My freedom for hers!”

“Well, freedom can mean many things,” Sugawara reasoned, “Like freedom from life, the earth, etc.”

“Please, I’ll do anything! I won’t fight you or anything, just don’t hurt her!”

Sugawara reached a hand through the iron bars, reaching for you. You shrank back into the corner, just out of reach. He frowned in response and retracted his arm.

“I already have everything I want.” Sugawara said softly. He gave you a small wave as he exited the room, leaving you to cower in your cell, tears rolling down your cheeks and helpless sobs escaping your mouth.

For a few minutes, there was silence, except for your hiccups and whimpers. Then… 

BANG.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu!! #yandere one shot #one shot #yandere sugawara #sugawara koushi

[thegreatcrowdragon]

Soulmates au pureshadow would go hard especially with the Red String of Fate variety because. Strings. Puppetry. I’d imagine that pv was always curious about his soulmate, and once he attempted to follow the string only to have to stop because it was going over the ocean. Anyway time skip, the gang is going to Beast-Yeast, and pv notices with growing curiosity that they’re actually going in the direction of his string. More story stuff happens, they get to the village n stuff, and pv is hit with overwhelming dread as he realizes the string leads directly into the tree. The sealed tree. With the Beasts inside of it.

#cookie run kingdom #cookie run #pure vanilla cookie #shadow milk cookie #shadowvanilla #pureshadow #vanilla milkshake #maybe make it blue for thematic purposes #not everyone in the au has a string. white lily for example #why are there so many different versions of soulmates augh #people also can lose their soulmate in which case the string will snap #broken strings typically don’t get new partners but they can (typically other broken strings or people without them) #btw this doesn’t mean the string mends. once it breaks that is IT you can’t fix it #update I’ve decided to call this au the Blue Thread of Destiny

[an-au-blog]

I need to get this ball rolling and to write this au idea out anywhere so pllleeease indulge me and listen to me try to put a spin on Shuggy soulmate au.

Setting: a world in which soulmates are connected by a string of fate that shows only for a short second when two peoples hands touch, doesn’t even have to be romantical, but if you are connected to someone with that string it means your souls are interwoven in some way. Shanks and Buggy share such a string. In the beginning they both believed they were more along the lines of „platonic complete opposite soulmates who’s differences and conflicts drive each other to become their best selfs“ but after Laugh Tale they both realized that at least the „platonic“ part was complete Bull and they become a couple.

The inevitable happens. Rogers excecution, Buggy feeling betrayed by Shanks decision, breakup in the rain, but Shanks still holds out Buggy will come and join him again soon. Then one night Shanks wakes up with a feeling of absolute heart wrecking despair washing over him and at first he thinks he had another nightmare about Rogers execution, but then he realizes that he’s in physical pain, his heart is actually aching and a deep sadness envelopes him as he scream sobs and curls in on himself. Buggy has cut his string.

Years later. They meet again at Marineford and things proceed mostly normal. Shanks doesn’t hold a grudge against Buggy, doesn’t even mention it, doesn’t even confront Buggy about it, he still feels deeply for his soulmate and he never managed to cut his string, because he couldn’t bring himself to do it, but he knows Buggy has moved on. And Buggy is pissed as expected about Shanks being so nice and friendly and “Oh the map? You’re still angry about that?” And GODS he wishes Shanks would be at least a little bit pissed… and part of him is glad he isn’t.

… because thing is, Buggy didn’t cut his string either. Oh he tried alright, and it was as awful and painful as it was for Shanks, an immense physical pain combined with the worst sadness and loneliness he ever felt in his life and that’s saying something coming fresh of his father figures execution. But through the sobbing and heaving he suddenly realizes with dread that the string has reattached himself to him. He once again curses that damn fruit That bereft him not only of his ability to swim but also to cut of the person he never wants to be hurt by ever again in his life. But he can’t. But Shanks thinks he did. And the least he can do after hurting his soulmate this badly, doing the one thing that everyone tells you not to do another human being because the pain is so immense, is to never let Shanks know that he couldn’t cut it.

I'm not even joking when I say that literally half an hour before seeing this ask, I was thinking about red sting soulmates Shuggy omfg get iut of my head ahhagah

Anon imma name you just so whenever you write/post this pleaaaase send me the link! I'm naming you Meltan because anon, this melted me this is amazing :')

The thread hurts like cutting off a part of one's body. Some say it's even worse. Shanks had experienced that already, but it was fueled by the urge to protect. He lost his arm for Luffy and that was fine by him. He still feels bad that he regretted it for a split second because he thought that that was the hand that had Buggy's string on it. If he just prayed to anyone and anything that he never had to choose between the two.

Ever since they realized their bind was more than just platonic, the string felt a bit more lively. "Lively" probably wasn't the best word to call it, but it seemed somewhat vibrant. Shanks took pride in it and in the little time they had together before their breakup, he'd take any chance to touch Buggy and look at the thing that connected them for life. Even if they parted, he thought, they would still fate connecting them and pulling them together.

I'd like to think that Shanks knew, that Buggy's parts always came back to him. But he's under the assumption that Buggy's string isn't on him anymore, so it hurts even more because that would mean Buggy didn't feel their connection as a part of himself.

Shanks sometimes still felt the string but he thought that it was like a phantom limb syndrome. He had one arm less anyway, and he would still feel like it was there, but the string felt more tangible. He assumed it was because it was cut off more recently.

(Dare I improvise that- ) Buggy, when they meet again, started wearing long gloves and long sleeves again. He didn't want to risk Shanks knowing. One late night, Shanks gave him a big hug and for a millisecond their skin brushed. Buggy jumped back in a moment of shock. He felt it. And if he felt it, then Shanks also felt it. It was like a warmth after being in the cold for more than a decade. It felt like the first drops of water after wandering a desert for too long. Shanks maybe tries to tell him what he felt but Buggy denies everything and makes jokes of the sort of "Shanks are you drunk again?" "Haha, okay buddy, time to go to bed now" or just tires to make an excuse to leave. In any case, he rushes to shut the door behind himself because he knew he was going to crumple. He leans against the door and slides down, face in his hands, cursing himself for letting himself feel what he's been trying to stay absent for so so long...

Why did he need months of rehabilitation every time he saw Shanks again. Why did being sober hurt this much...

#AAAAAA anon/meltan I'm begging you please send me if you ever post this pleaaaaaase I'm crying #shuggy #shanks x buggy #buggy x shanks #soulmate au #answers #op

[getossluttywaist]

String of fate - Geto Suguru

"According to legend, this thread emanating from the heart doesn’t end at the tip of the finger. It continues in the form of an invisible red string, which ’’flows’’ out of your pinkie and goes on to intertwine with the red strings of other people — connecting your heart with theirs. People who are connected are destined to meet"

A Geto Suguru fanfiction - AU where Geto never started the cult and the main character has the power to control the string of fate.

Hi everyone! i essentially was thinking of a power for an OC and come up this the string of fate idea and one thing lead to another and i wrote this :') this is my first time writing like this so if you have any feed back please let me know!! I will probably turn this into a fanfic ~k

The world stopped moving; she felt the little red string that had always been tied to her pinky loosen. She stopped focusing on the enemy she was currently battling, frantically searching for him. She looked down at the string, grabbing it desperately, she pulled other strings to her body to travel to him, her instincts to go to him taking over her. 

 The ringing in her ears drowned out the yelling, the screams for help, the sound of death. She knew the enemy would follow; she knew they would catch up to her. If she lost him, there would be no point in fighting anymore. The string she gripped in her hand, lead to her lover. She hoped that the tighter she held onto him, onto his string, his fate would stay the same. She saw his figure from afar, he was fighting one of the sorcerers. She could feel his string becoming shorter, she could feel his fate changing. 

She hurried her speed, pulling at different strings to try and decrease the distance between them.  “It’s not fast enough,” she cried in desperation to make the strings move her faster, causing her voice to become weak. Her vision was becoming distorted as tears began to fill her eyes. She held onto her tears, she refused to let them fall, refusing to accept what was happening.

She let out a desperate scream, a plea to him, to the gods above, to anyone as she watched the sorcerer deliver her lover's new fate to him. She watched as he stumbled, holding his side. The world started to move slowly as she watched the events unfold before her.  Dread began washing over her body, her eyes were locked onto him out of fear that if she looked away for a single moment he would disappear. 

As she rushed to him, her focus on him caused her to crash into rubble causing her to stumble, she let out a curse under her breath as she tried to increase the speed of the strings attached to her. He looked up at her, watching her rush to him. He smiled softly at her; he was speaking to her but she was still too far to hear. 

She pulled on his fate, trying to change it, trying to save him. She could feel the string loosening around its previous place on her pinky, she was loosing her grip on the string, no matter what she did the string became weaker, it became shorter. The proof of the love they shared, her hopes, her dreams, the reason she was fighting, was slipping from her grasp. 

She detached herself from the strings and rushed to guide him as he fell to the ground, his clothing was saturated in blood, the air carried an overpowering metallic scent to her nose. She was running out of time. She couldn’t think straight; the fear of losing him was consuming her thoughts.

 “I need to heal him; I can heal him,” her voice trembled and broke. She was clinging onto any bit of hope, any delusion where he could be saved, unable to accept the sight before her. She placed her hands on his wound to hold pressure, trying to stop the bleeding. She began looking around, using whatever strength she had left, trying to summon another fate string for him; she frantically searched for a string that didn’t end. she touched every possible fate string, flashes of the inevitable destroyed any hope that remained, they all ended the same.  

 “No, no, no, no, no, there has to be one that doesn’t end!“ she yelled, panic was consuming her. She searched other strings to add to the shortening one, looking for anyone or anything that could heal him.

She could see all of the possible deaths of a person; she could protect a persons fate string; she could have prevented this; she could have saved him. Why didn’t she stay with him? Why did she let her guard down? Why didn’t she see this fate? Every thought of how she failed him was ripping her apart. The guilt was added to the regret and despair that filled her, beginning to overflow.  

As she looked at his wound she noticed the blood was starting to slow; false hope started to fill in her heart. “The bleeding, it’s slowing down!“ she had some foolish hope that if she could convince herself he was okay, that he would be. But the amount of blood that had poured from his body gave her the harsh reality she desperately wished was just a trick. 

He placed his hands on hers, giving then a gentle tap; her focus was back on the man below her. His face was pale, his eyes were dull and sunken in, a stark contrast to the face that she had seen just hours ago. She longed to see his eyes sparkle as he laughed; she longed to see his smile one last time. 

“I’m happy you’re the last person I got to see,“  His voice was weak, his breathing was shallow, he could barely bring his hand to her cheek as he rubbed his thumb over her lips gently. He smiled at her lovingly, his eyes scanned her face taking in every freckle, every blemish every curve, making sure to engrave it into his memory. 

She let out a desperate laugh, at his words. “If I hide my face will that make you stay?” As she spoke, her voice broke; a sob escaped her; her question made him let out a soft breath of amusement. 

“Please don’t leave me, I need you.” She pleaded, the sadness she felt was filling her lungs, She couldn’t breathe; She was drowning. He was all she had left; he was supposed to be there forever. The string that connected the two started to unravel and fade, flashing images of what would have been, in her mind; breaking her heart even more.

“Promise me you will find me in our next life?” His voice had grown softer, the pain of speaking evident in his face. 

“Only if you promise to wait for me,” her bottom lip trembled as his eyes filled with tears, he was scared but he would never admit it; she knew him well enough to know that. She watched through tear filled eyes as he lifted his arm holding out his pinky. 

She placed the finger that once had their future wrapped around it, in his, sealing their new fate. They both watched as a new red string appeared on her finger, neatly tied in a Knot. 

His wound had stopped bleeding. 

She brought her hand to hold his up as she felt his hand become limp. She leaned into his touch letting the pain consume her; she felt as if her chest was being torn open, like her head was being held underwater. He had taken her heart with him, she didn’t stop it. Her heart, her soul belonged with him. 

She looked at the little red string that was tied to her pinky, in the place where the string that once connected the two lovers had been; a reminder of their promise. Her heart sank as she watched another string shortened; she felt a mixture of despair and relief as her fate changed.

#geto suguru #jjk #jjk geto #suguru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jjk au #geto x reader #jujutsu geto #kenjaku #fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fanfiction

[babsvibes]

Louigan Week Day 2: Idea/Pretend

Art by @zzattur | Commission info available through DM!

“It’s all bullshit. Tells are supposed to be representative of the person; they’re supposed to balance each other. But destiny screwed mine up."

A soulmate AU where each person has their own identifying tell, and Louise isn't happy with hers. You can read Dread String of Fate here!

#babsbles #louiganweek23 #louiganweek #louigan #louigan week #louise/logan #louise belcher/logan bush #louise belcher and logan bush #bob’s burgers #louise x logan

[the-writing-mobster]

Where I can read your fics? They seem pretty interesting!

Thank you for the ask, love! Fic links, anyone?

You can find all of my fics on Ao3! I need to make an actual like... Official link post, don't I? I used to have one pinned but other things take priority.

So I guess I'll sprinkle the links to my fics here for your immediate viewing pleasure instead of sending you on a wild goose chase ;)

IMPORTANT NOTE — A lot of my fics are locked so only people with confirmed AO3 accounts can read them. This is because of AI scraping, obvs. TMDG is the only one that I think is unlocked since it's fairly new. But it'll eventually get locked as well.

~

| The What Do You Want Duology | 🥀 💀 |

(YWIW, the sequel, still lies unfinished, unfortunately, but WDYW is completed and currently under revisions!)

Summary (for those still not in the know):

Frisk spent most of her life fighting to survive in a cruel world where her only upper hand was her soul's Determination and her feminine charms. After angering the most dangerous man in her life, she is thrown down into Hell to be ripped apart and destroyed by the demons said to inhabit it. With her soul refusing to give up, of course she survives.

However, when she is taken hostage by the infamous Gaster brothers, she finds herself trapped in the strange, abyssal gaze of Sans the Skeleton. With political and sexual tensions on the rise, can these two work through their differences? Or will they forever be asking each other, "What Do You Want?"

—

| Baby Face - UF Highschool AU | 💖 🤘🏻 |

Technically an au based off of my characterizations of the UF characters in wdyw. This one is tooth rottingly sweet and set in a surface Ebbott City in the 90s. Inspo was movies like Clueless & the documentary Kid 90. I actually loved this story so much I completely reworked it and turned it into an original novel.

Important to note that this fic isn't really a romance. It's more about platonic love and friendships than it is about Frans romance.

Summary:

Seniors should not date freshmen. No matter what. Not even if the freshman is hot. Not even if the freshman says it's ok. Not even if the freshman makes moves. That’s the mantra Sans lives by, and even though Frisk, one of the cutest girls according to all of his friends, catches a crush of epic proportions on him, he makes it a point to keep his distance. She’ll thank him later.

Or

Sans is in a rock band and Frisk has a big ole unrequited crush on him.

—

| The Most Dangerous Game | 💙 🔪 💔 |

The dreaded serial killer dead dove fic we've all been raving about recently!!!

It's important to note that this one isn't a romance. They are (albeit obsessive) enemies through and through.

Summary:

Frisk Starling should've been used to cases like these. After all, it was her duty to investigate. Give the victims their voice back, catch the sick freak who did it and give the broken families the justice she couldn’t have for herself.

That is until a string of murders throughout the tristate area begin to appear. Women used like toys, mutilated and disposed of for the cops and journalists to find with only the tiniest slivers of useless evidence and the glaring fact that all the women...

Every…

Single…

One…

Look almost exactly like her… Frisk begins to wonder if maybe… the monster she's hunting down has turned her into the hunted.

And God, does she make the most exhilarating, delicious prey yet…

—

Honorable mention One Shots:

| The Witch, The Judge & the 3 Card Gamble | ♠️♥️♣️ |

Probably my best prose ever. Genuinely.

Summary:

After suffering a gruesome bullet to the ribs, the vengeful Witch hovers over a dying fire, praying her campsite isn’t spotted by vagabonds who’d surely make her pay for existing…

But as a shadow blots out the stars if not for the two red pricks of light glaring her down, she fears her true nightmares have come to claim her after all; The Grim Reaper, the judge of her fate.

And she doesn’t like her odds.

—

| We'll See - Christmas Rom Com | 🎄 💕 |

I wrote this as a secret Santa present to @themsource. It is very cute and fucking funny if I do say so myself. It puts the comedy in Romantic Comedy.

Summary:

Sans has some inhibitions about Christmas, clouded with cynicism and bitterness. But if there's anyone to make him have a change of heart, it's Frisk; Ebbot City's own Little Miss Mother Teresa.

—

☣️ HONORABLE MENTION SMUT ONE SHOTS ☣️

| French Kisses | Smut | 🫧💓 |

Summary: Sans has landed a well-paying position as a senior accountant and Frisk has a few ideas on how to reward him — one of those ideas involves a French Maid dress.

| The Librarian's Assistant | Smut | 📚💓 |

This one was pretty steamy...

Summary: Frisk's days working as a librarian can get pretty quiet and repetitive... Until a new patron with an obvious infatuation with her starts becoming a regular visitor.

Eventually she can't help herself...

.

.

.

I hope you are satisfied with my thorough answer! If you do end up reading, I'd love to hear from you again on your thoughts! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

‼️ Also — join my discord for readily available updates and fun discussion! DM me for the invite since those invite links expire ‼️

#ask and answer #mob answers #the writing mobster #fic links #fic resource post #mob's fics #THESE ARE ALL OF THEM #all of my published fics! #wdyw #underfell #underfell sans #underfell frans #frans #fanfic #underfell frisk #undertale #baby face #highschool au #tmdg #serial killer au #sk! sans #final! frisk #smut fics #westfell #3 card gamble #we'll see #christmas rom com #ywiw

[judjira]

heartbreak playlist

| non-idol!lesserafim x reader | soulmate au |

Everyone has a soulmate. Written in the stars, connected by the red string, fated to meet and fall in love.

It’s a tale as old as time, and everyone seeks to tell it again, and again. And who wouldn’t?

Someone fated to be yours, in this lifetime, and maybe even the next. Someone to hold, to cherish, to love, and someone who will do the same for you.

It sounds too good to be true.

And perhaps it is.

Everyone says that when you meet your soulmate, the dots connect, the stars align, and the world makes sense.

But as the letters begin to form on your skin, the letters that will spell out the name of your fated person, you can’t help but feel a sense of dread.

As if this will end in heartbreak.

masterlist:

august - flipturn

i don't wanna dance - coin

close to you - dayglow

i don't know you - the marias

AN: wahahaha i actually pushed through with that damn poll nyahahaha it's funny cus i'm barely even done with it, but i feel as if i should begin prepping this. anyway, another exploration, character study, whatever you call it, thingy! not much to say besides i hope you guys enjoy ! (PS: will probably add some graphics here later on !)

#heartbreak playlist #masterlist #le sserafim imagines #le sserafim x reader #lesserafim x reader #chaewon x reader #kim chaewon x reader #sakura miyawaki x reader #yunjin x reader #huh yunjin x reader #kazuha x reader #nakamura kazuha x reader #kazuha nakamura x reader

[labradorite-skies]

Flufftober Day Eighteen ~ Doppo Kunikida

✧･ﾟ: * Prompt ~ Soulmate AU ~

A red ribbon only you can see, one end tied to your pinky, the other to your soulmate’s. There were so many stories, whispers of people whose string didn’t lead anywhere, or that a friend of a friend knew someone whose string was tied to someone, but they had a string tied to another. Even though the sources of those rumors were often harder to trace than the strings themselves, the doubt they created ran through the minds of those who hadn’t found their “other end”. The idea of seeking romance outside of the string wasn’t uncommon, either from those who just wanted to mess around in the meantime or from those who decided that they didn’t want to wait. Doppo Kunikida, though, is a man of ideals, a man of plans, a man of standards. His plan encompassed his entire life, down to the minute. But to his annoyance, fate isn’t as easily accounted for as a traffic jam or a rush at the restaurant he was going to visit. So the reminder of his soulmate on his finger was both a blessing and a curse, the idea of a perfect match elated him, but the unknowns that came along with it kept him wondering. The number of people who never met their soulmates was difficult to dismiss, and with how volatile his work could be, that concern weighed heavy on Kunikida. But he wouldn’t settle, as long as his soulmate could be out there, he’d wait for them.

The day started like any other, waking up, eating breakfast, getting dressed, and tying the ribbon he always wore to work before heading out. But when the door opened for a new client, Kunikida’s eyes widened upon seeing the hand of the figure in the doorway. On their pinky, the other end of the red string he’d been both captivated by and dreading was tied. He clears his throat and walks over to where Dazai had started flirting with consulting the client. With his hand on the brown-haired man’s shoulder, he offered to assist with this case. The smirk on Dazai’s face revealed he had an idea of what was happening, and he left with a wink and some excuse for not stopping someone from doing his work for him. His ability to be annoying even when being helpful still astounded Kunikida, but Dazai’s antics were the last thing on his mind when you spoke up and introduced yourself. The blush on your face seemed to indicate you also noticed the connection, and the blonde couldn’t hide his smile as he stated, “Doppo Kunikida, I’m happy to help with anything I can. And, if I’m not being too forward, I’d love to take you out to dinner sometime, I think we have a lot to discuss.”

2022 Flufftober Masterlist ~ Requests | CLOSED | ~ Prompts: @flufftober

#bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs fic #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs fic #bsd x reader #bsd x y/n #bsd imagines #bsd fic #bsd x you #bsd kunikida #kunikida x reader #bsd doppo kunikida #doppo kunikida x reader #doppo kunikida #flufftober #flufftober2022 #drabble

[boundinparchment]

Dream a Little Dream of Me - LV

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Fic is rated explicit; MDNI. Mind the tags. Chapter on AO3 here. MC's dress || Waltz No. 2 by Dmitri Shostakovich, performed by The Dixie String Quartet is on the Spotify playlist.

You nestled the last pin in your hair and admired your handiwork in the vanity for a moment. Perfect. Nothing would interfere with your mask nor felt uncomfortable.

In the mirror, your eyes flickered to the doorway to your dressing room, where Zandik leaned against the doorframe halfway dressed. He’d been there ever since you began working on your hair, suspenders dangling, only moving his head to momentarily look at something else. Some might have found such moments unnerving, this habit of his to watch and look and listen; for you, his presence was akin to a hug or a kiss on the forehead. Just another demonstration of his affection.

Tonight, you would go without the extra headpieces to conceal yourself. Hiding your hair would only draw more attention, after all, and you were already at the mercy of entering the ball alongside Zandik.

To do anything else, such as enter apart but spend the rest of the evening with him, would only bring more questions.

Hiding you, shielding you and keeping you to himself made sense, once upon a time. Deep down, you were certain Zandik still wanted to. There was a flatness in his bottom lip about the topic and he often held you tighter when you were alone, savoring the private intimacy.

But he, of all people, knew the importance of freedom, of recognizing one’s true nature.

Make-up and hair finished, you rose from the vanity and made your way to the door. You pressed a hand against his chest, his once-soft dark navy shirt stiff under your touch from being starched and ironed. As you cupped his cheek, absently noticing his lack of earring, Zandik turned his head and took your hand in his, reverently pressing a kiss to your palm before his lips hovered over your pulse.

“Go finish getting ready, mon rêve.”

Zandik pursed his lips slightly, lowering his head before he pointedly kissed your wrist again and closed his eyes.

He didn’t want to go. It didn’t take being his soulmate to figure that out. Anyone of his caliber would prefer to be working and making progress over social formalities. As often as he carved out time for you, be it dinner or a training session or simply a quiet evening reading while you played, he sent letters explaining a delay or a missed meal.

“Am I not allowed to savor you?” he asked, his breath tickling your skin. “Before the trappings of formalities take us both?”

You certainly couldn’t argue with that.

He lingered only a second longer before a knock at the door broke the moment like a hammer to a mirror. Zandik gritted his pointed teeth, baring them for a second in a frustrated snarl, as he turned his attention to the sound.

“About time...took long enough...”

You parted, grazing your fingertips across his cheek in apology, and he left to address the interruption.

Left to your own devices, you closed your dressing room door and finished getting ready.

At first, you hadn’t been certain about the lace you picked out on a whim. Columbina sweetly terrorized the shopkeeper so you could browse in peace. Most colors would potentially show through the gown, leaving you with only a few options. The handwoven material was soft against your thighs and waist, the garter belt straps far easier to use than the ones you recalled from home (although perhaps that was simply the benefit of handmade anything).

It felt strange to be without a corset but the dress draped over you and took care of the structure and shape, as discussed with the seamstress. The neckline was twisted and asymmetrical, a swath of fabric covering your left shoulder while your right was bare, save a single strap as delicate as spider’s silk. Your back was bare down to the dip of your waist where a short train fell and pooled behind you.

The dress shimmered and sparkled with the faintest blush. It passed for a soft white, the slightest contrast to Zandik’s crisp and cool preferences.

Your satin heels were simple, as were your earrings. By other standards, including the Tsaritsa’s, you appeared quite plain. But anything beyond the mask in your hand felt excessive, given its prominence.

When you emerged, Zandik was in the sitting room, dressed and idly twirling something between his fingers. He wore mostly white, with the exception of a light blue satin waistcoat, cinched, and a blue and white feather pinned at his lapel. The usual gem worn in his harness was pinned to the center of his white cravat. His inanimate mechanical bird rested over his shoulders, shrouding him in a mantle of feathers. You caught a flash of light blue in the tails of his coat as they curved and fell past his knees.

His lips moved but you didn’t quite catch the sounds he made, the words foreign and low as his ears burned pink. For effect, you gave a small twirl, and it was impossible to miss the sensation of his eyes skimming across your bare back.

“I take it you like it, then?” you said, smiling softly.

Zandik closed the distance between you with slow steps and stopped only when he was just in front of you.

“You look like crystal stardust,” he replied after a beat, lips grazing your forehead. “Similar to when you activate your Vision in a fight. Quite striking.”

He took your hands in his and you felt warm metal slide over your ring finger. When he pulled away, you looked down and found a rectangular aquamarine roughly the size of your last knuckle.

“Zandik, what…”

“I did say it was not the Tsaritsa’s place to determine what jewelry you wore. A ring seemed...efficient. Wouldn’t get in the way of you playing but be enough of a conventional statement to keep others at bay.”

He took your hand in his and ran his gloved thumb over the edge of the stone. It glowed softly, similar to his absent earring and the various ornaments he wore almost daily.

“Whenever I think of you, it glows. It should also be able to carry short messages but that hasn’t been thoroughly tested.”

The glow faded slowly, reluctantly. Zandik let go of your hand and reached into his inner jacket pocket, seeking something.

“I modified the communications technology I used elsewhere. Gemstones prove more...difficult than liquids such as primordial seawater or Irminsul sap, naturally.”

“Presumably, it has a partner?” you asked, eyes flicking from his hand to his face.

You were rewarded with a raised eyebrow. “I can never surprise you anymore, can I?”

His mouth softened into a smile as he found what he was looking for. Zandik extended his hand and you reached out to pick up the cylindrical topaz earring, clear and without inclusions, the perfect shade of golden yellow.

Your power, you, in place of...

Zandik angled his head and you fed the wire through the piercing, securing it when it was seated properly. The curling tendril of his bangs wrapped around it. It didn’t look as out of place as expected, given the golden accents of his suit, but it would be striking for those who knew his usual appearance.

Last night’s dance swam in your head, overriding any remaining anxiety as the topaz in turn began to light up from within.

“Can’t surprise me? Absolutely not true and you know it,” you whispered.

Please with himself, he threw you a playful grin before he slid his mask into place. You did the same, fussing with the straps in hopes your hair wouldn’t be ruined.

Hand in the crook of his arm, the two of you made your way downstairs, ready to get this over with.

Formality dictated that, given you were not publicly known nor the spouse of the Second Harbinger, you were to enter the ball unescorted as any other guest. But Zandik was not one for convention and his enjoyment at the expressions on his colleagues faces was palpable as you descended the stairs together and joined the awaiting Arlecchino, Columbina, and another man with white hair and a single visible eye.

“You’re on time, Doctor. It’s a comfort to know someone can tear you away from that workshop of yours,” the white-haired stranger said.

He approached, his figure as imposing as the Captain’s from what you recalled. Even Zandik had to adjust his neck to look at the other man.

The introduced himself as Pierro and you curtsied, the gesture ingrained in your muscles; in turn, you received warm lips on your knuckles.

“I have not yet had the time to watch you play, as most of my subordinates and Her Majesty have. But hardly a day goes by without your music gracing the halls and I look forward to hearing what you’ve composed.”

“Thank you, Lord Harbinger,” you replied, reminding yourself to soften your smile.

“You’re familiar with the room’s layout, where the orchestra is set up, your cue?”

“Yes, I am, sir.”

He nodded, offered a kind smile, and then said something to Zandik in a tongue you’d never heard before. Your partner clicked his tongue, ears pink, and you caught something pass over Pierro’s expression when he thumped Zandik on the back twice.

“He was the stranger in the desert,” Zandik supplied quietly as Pierro walked away. “One of the few who can say they’ve seen my...evolution, so to speak.”

The rest of the gathering was a blur. Columbina hovered behind you, head on your shoulder as she asked Alecchino if the fabric of your dress was something she should consider next. You suppressed a shudder as you recalled the Third’s kaleidoscope eyes and tried to pair them with a fabric that looked like liquid stardust.

“You certainly would be able to hide not wearing shoes, my dove,” Arlecchino conceded.

To Zandik, the Knave said, “Interesting change, Doctor. I never thought gold was your color.”

“Of course it is, Arl,” Columbina chimed in. “It’s not like Regrator has a monopoly on a color. Besides, our Doctor looks quite healthy now, wouldn’t you say? A little less sallow? Happy, even?”

Zandik let a breath out of his nose. “Is that so?”

You stifled a laugh and were thankful that, not long after, you followed the expected protocol and found yourself in the center of the ball room. You weren’t the only guest (Capitano, Pantalone, and even Sandrone were not unaccompanied), which you were thankful for, but their faces were exposed, known.

Zandik flexed and you squeezed his arm in return as you settled into position awaiting the Tsaritsa. The Archon was escorted by Pierro, her dress as light as air despite the volume of the layers. The fabric whispered against the floor in the hushed silence.

She addressed the guests with a quiet but warm authority, not unlike how she first greeted you. Compared to the performances from Focalors in the Opera Epiclese, the Tsaritsa’s praise of Her Harbingers was grounded, full of pride and yet never reaching the fantastical exaggerations the Hydro Archon was prone to. The Tsaritsa’s eyes sparkled as much as the shining star on the sash, pinned over her heart as always, but there was a falsehood to it; a layer of ice that would never truly thaw.

You hoped your composition captured her oxymoronic nature.

Following your verbal cue, you stepped away from Zandik and passed through the crowd on the edge of the ballroom, escorted by one of your usual companions. Columbina floated ahead of you, her soft slippers gliding over the polished floor. A sea of familiar faces awaited you as you took your position and picked up the baton waiting for you.

You couldn’t use the one Zandik made for you, not without the risk of summoning your claymore over the heads of your musicians.

Percussion and strings came first to create a subtle yet solid foundation of the rhythm. A single woodwind picked up their cue, joined after a bar by the rest of their section for a warm, if melancholic beginning. Flutes picked up and carried the tune not unlike the birds that always welcomed the sun whenever it broke through the icy clouds every morning.

You wove the string section in, rounding out the composition. Grandiose in the middle, you gestured for a little more volume, listening carefully for any off rhythm or out of tune. Columbina’s harmonic vibrato rang through, an eerie chill dancing along the melody.

Everyone hit their climactic cue as practiced, as perfected, and relief flooded you. Halfway done.

Without an idea of what was happening behind you, you could only move forward and continue to pull everything together, beat by beat. Natural instinct took over, nerves steeled, and you let the notes envelope you as you moved everyone into the next section.

Your arms ached not due to exhaustion from conducting but longing. The last time you’d performed for an audience properly was lackluster, a shadow of your skills and heart, the strings on your cello more akin to sand between your fingers. A distant memory that felt so far away now. You felt full, proud, in the same way you did when you slashed your claymore through a mech and allowed your Vision’s energy to pass through you.

In this moment, every note, every gesture, was tangible, real. Coaxed and carried into the air, nurtured by the musician and by you, given a purpose and a place to exist.

You guided everyone into the final bar and closed the song with a flourish, the last of the brass section echoing off the walls of the ballroom. Applause exploded as everyone returned to rest position and you smiled, ushering everyone to stand and bow. Your success was theirs as well and when you turned to gaze out at the crowd, you caught a glassiness to the Tsaritsa’s expression that hadn’t been there before.

You turned and arranged the sheet music for the other conductor as you thanked everyone; there was little time for much else when you’d invigorated the crowd.

Expectations were shattered.

And now the evening was yours to enjoy.

Even when you were apart from Zandik, however temporary, the air felt charged. You half expected lightning to strike at any moment as eyes lingered on you. The Second was immediately swept up into conversations that were directly related to ongoing events. He was spared a single moment to congratulate you before his attention was divided, the vein in his neck prominent from annoyance.

Columbina pulled you along, Arlecchino never far behind, wine glass in one hand as the Third prattled away. The Dove kept most at bay, deterring only the brave or the foolish who wanted to ask about your education, your connection to the Doctor; what kind of person were you to write a musical composition and yet accompany a man so logical and cold that he often spent such events looking for a victim to toy with all evening?

Sandrone approached you only once, not deigning to look at your companions, and congratulated you in a tone you recognized as polite disdain. It was the same kind of placating that you received in Fontaine, a falsehood that exposed itself as the words were spoken. She, too, was among those who did not understand why, precisely, the Doctor would have brought you back with him. A musician with a talent for composition, who wielded a weapon on occasion, was nothing special.

There were others better suited to his interests, his passions, she said in closing; you smiled enigmatically into your glass and wished her a good evening.

The cognitive dissonance would disappear eventually once your soulmate finished his social rounds.

“Is she always like that?” you asked the two Harbingers.

“Weirdly possessive and thinking highly of herself? Yes,” Arlecchino replied. “Her mechanical knowledge is rivaled only by Dottore’s but she can never quite position herself to climb higher. I suppose that’s what happens when you shed your humanity and limit yourself to being a puppeteer of other marionettes though.”

Soon enough, however, the Third and Fourth had their own duties to tend to. Across the room, you watched Zandik’s earring glow faintly, and he turned to look at you for a moment. He nodded in acknowledgment before turning his attention back to the matter at hand. You would be reunited soon enough.

You looked around and made your way to the perimeter of the ballroom, where tables and chairs were set up to allow guests to rest. Not far from you, you caught sight of a large figure overlooking the room, his black uniform cutting a striking contrast against the white and gilded décor of the wall behind him.

Greeting him with a curtsy, the Captain nodded to you in silence and then returned his gaze to the rest of the room.

“You are the talk of the evening, Maestra. I hope you do not allow common gossip to concern you tonight.”

The Captain was a man of little words and yet when he spoke, he always managed to make the most poignant remarks.

“I cannot recall the last time nasha Tsaritsa and her Jester smiled as they danced,” the Harbinger continued. “She lost her true ability to love when Celestia took her beloved Sovereign from her and froze him under the sea. The Doctor is not the only one affected by your presence and skill.”

His head turned and you saw nothing but an inky abyss through the opening of his helmet.

“You would do well to remember that, Maestra.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

He straightened and didn’t speak again, instead continuing through the perimeter, ever vigilant.

Your ring glowed and cast the slightest tint of blue against the glass of sparkling wine as you raised it to your lips. You looked around and nearly jumped when you found Zandik behind you. The Third and Fourth excused themselves with a biting comment about lovebirds and slipped into the crowd.

“I trust you were in good company in my absence?” he asked.

“I was,” you replied, an errant hand reaching out to straight the feather on his lapel. “Finished for the evening?”

“My obligations have been met and I have every intention of spending the rest of the evening uninterrupted.”

Zandik held out a hand in silent request. You abandoned your glass on the nearest table before placing your hand in his and breaking through the throng of people to the dance floor. A jolt jumped through his fingertips to yours and ran up your arm, your heart expanding of its own accord.

Just like the previous night, you fell into rhythm quickly, Zandik precise and in-step as he led. The sensation of eyes crawling up your back, skimming your joined hands and how closely you danced, was offset by the way his scent lingered and how perfect you felt against him. The closest feeling to this was stepping into a warm room on a rainy day or entering your favorite cafe. Being pressed to him, in his arms, was like being home.

Around you, the air felt charged again, only this time you were certain that if it struck, you would die fulfilled.

“You were right,” you murmured as he spun both of you around.

“Of course I was. But what about?”

“I missed it. All of it.”

The hand on your waist moved to your back, fingers pressing into the exposed skin at the small of your back. Words failed to truly encompass what you meant and the thumb stroking your spine reminded you that they weren’t necessary for the man dancing with you.

“You’re talented, rooh 'albi. You don’t need me to tell you that. There is a beauty, a strength, that only comes with wielding that knowledge and hard work. If the cursed principles were so dead-set on pairing me, I’m glad it is to you.”

You settled your head onto his shoulder as best you could, even if it wasn’t befitting of the dance, the bird feathers tickling your nose. His scent was intoxicating, sandalwood and mint and musk, and for the last movements of the song, you pushed out all other noise and sensations except for Zandik.

“Can we go get some air after this?” you asked. “I’m tired of being surrounded.”

Zandik pressed his lips to your ear, his breath hot.

“You read my mind. I’ve just about his my threshold for nonsense for the evening.”

The song ended, and you resisted the urge to kiss him as you pulled away, your faces a hair width apart despite your masks. Not here, you reminded yourself, even though every part of you burned with something beyond pure need.

Your soul longed to feel his, connect and tangle and weave itself. It was more overpowering than any sensation you’d felt before.

And cut short too soon when a familiar voice sent needles up your spine and broke your reverie.

“Would you do me the honor of a dance, Maestra?”

In a stupor, you turned your head towards Pantalone, a congenial smile on his lips and his eyes closed; he wore the face of a host pleased with his guests’ experiences.

You hadn’t seen the banker all evening, actually, now that you considered it, o ther than the line-up at the beginning. It was only polite that you danced with Zandik’s closest colleague, regardless of your own sentiments. Your partner had yet to let you go and if you truly had a choice, you would have preferred to decline and stay in Zandik’s arms.

But there were eyes on you and gossip spread quicker than wildfire.

“My pleasure, Lord Harbinger. But only the one.”

Zandik relented and you took your position with Pantalone as the next song began. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched blue hair and bird feathers as the other Harbinger moved about the room.

Did he suspect his colleague, you wondered. You’d told Zandik of your experiences, how cautious you preferred to be around the banker as of late, and he was no stranger to Pantalone’s machinations, either.

The banker led you in the dance in a familiar tug that made your stomach drop to your feet. He was on beat, smooth in his steps, but he expected you to follow him. You stiffened considerably, grateful that his gloved hands never seemed to touch your bare skin other than your hand.

“A wonderful performance, as expected,” Pantalone said. “You managed to pull a smile from Her Majesty, one that hasn’t been seen in years. A testament to your skill.”

“Thank you, my lord. It wouldn’t have been possible without the musicians I worked with, however. A conductor, let alone the composition itself, is only as good as those playing the music.”

“Ever humble, Maestra. For every commonality, there is a corresponding difference between you and the Doctor. The further you ingratiate yourself, the harder this will be, you know, when those differences truly take root."

You followed his cue to spin you out and when you returned, you narrowly avoided stepping on his toe as a response.

“He forgets himself with you around. I remember what it was to be enamored, attached, bonded. They succumbed to illness long before their time. So long in fact that I cannot remember their face clearly. But I recall their touch, their presence, and you would do well to remember that your Zandik has centuries on you. He will outlast you, surpass you, because that is who he is.”

What was Pantalone getting at?

He dipped you backwards, so low you swore you intended to drop you. For a man with a lithe figure, he had more strength and reflexes than he led on. When you were upright again, you spat the first words that came to mind.

"I don't intend to go anywhere. Face the truth and set aside whatever bias you hold, Lord Harbinger."

"And watch my closest colleague suffer when he experiences the inevitability of the lies you've created? Watch my nation wonder about the mysterious woman who is not a Harbinger but managed to seat herself so closely to the Doctor that she has to be some fearsome entity, bewitching even the Tsaritsa herself? I think not."

The music swelled to a close and Pantalone stepped away almost immediately. He bowed only low enough to be polite, gold eyes glittering through his lashes with malice.

“Enjoy your evening, Maestra.”

You were shaking by the time you wove your way through the crowd, grabbed Zandik’s hand, and found the nearest exit from the ballroom. Both of you found a courtyard, dusted with frost, and stepped outside. The cold air was crisp against your hot skin and grounded you almost instantly despite the goosebumps breaking out across your arms.

“What did he say to you?” Zandik asked firmly as he cast off the feathery mantle and draped the bird over your shoulders.

“That you forget yourself with me present. That you’ll outlive me, that I’m lying to you, worming my way into the Tsaritsa’s favor.” You paused, rounding your shoulders to press your face against the metal bird. “None of it is true. How can he come to such conclusions, Zandik?”

“Whatever nonsense Pantalone said is unique to his situation, one I’ve studied extensively. He’s given me a mouthful of drivel on more than one occasion, rooh 'albi. One’s experiences always color their perspective and they always think they’re right; they cannot see beyond themselves.”

You turned and faced Zandik entirely when his hand reached for you. Instinctively, you cradled his face in both of your hands, feeling the slightest hint of stubble already beginning to grow despite his shave this morning.

“It would be more painful to be apart,” you whispered. “Than to not know what this feels like.”

“A conclusion that doesn’t have enough evidence to support. But it is the driving hypothesis behind why we agreed to explore this, isn’t it?”

“Will you outlive me? Am I condemning you to an existence of absence, mon rêve?”

“I’m hardly immortal. I’ve extended my life and with a handful of exceptions, I’m human. I’ll die one day, same as you.”

Your breaths came out in smokey puffs, the chill burning your nostrils and yet you didn’t want to go back inside. Trembling, you angled your head and captured Zandik’s lips with yours, finding nothing but steady warmth, certainty.

When you opened your mouth, his tongue found yours with reflexive ease, tasting you. You craved more, one hand slipping from his cheek to cradle the back of his head and give yourself a bit of purchase. Hunger, need, far deeper than mere carnality, swirled in your chest.

Zandik broke the kiss first, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip with a satisfying pop.

“Uncertainty and fear do not become you. Forget the rest. What do you want?”

He breathed the words against the skin of your neck and the courtyard spun around you as his teeth grazed your flesh.

“You. Us. Whatever we carve out of this world for ourselves.”

Zandik peppered kisses along your jaw.

“Then you shall have me, musiqaa ruhi. All of me. Even long after every last star in the sky is gone and we are free of the shackles of fate that tie us together.”

The words carried both of you out of the courtyard and deep into the night, never out of reach of one another.

#dottore #il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #dottore/female reader #il dottore/female reader #dottore x female reader #il dottore x female reader #genshin impact reader insert #soulmate au