#swordkill x reader

The easiest description of the soulmate bond has always been one of magnetism. A pull around your entire being, sometimes pulling you off what you feel is the correct course. A lot of people laugh and insist that it's nothing so dramatic- but they've never had a soulmate like yours.

Some days you get tugged down entirely wrong streets, and some days you fight it, failing to ignore the weight in the pit of your stomach whenever you do. You don't know what they're doing, if they fight the pull as much as you do - not because you don't want to meet them, but because you have things to do, things to accomplish, and no matter what, they're always just-

With a strange zinging feeling zipping through your bones, you trip in the street, and fall right into his arms.

"I guess we did have to give in at some point, yeah?" He asks, and helps you back to your feet. The pull is- less. Sweeter, now, a hand on your shoulder rather than a kick in the ass.

"You're coming with me, aren't you?" Swordkil asks, catching at your fingers when you finish bandaging his side. "When I'm healed, I can take you away from here. I can-"

"We've been over this," you say, and you know you should pull away, you should put a stop to this. It's just the mindset he's in, feeling that he has no one but you. It would be a lie if you said you were tempted though.

If you didn’t know better, you’d assume Swordkil has narcolepsy. He falls asleep everywhere, and in some of the most uncomfortable, inconvenient places. The front seat of the car whenever he’s waiting for someone to run and get something from the store. The hallway floor, right in front of the wall heater, somehow managing to block all the doors nearby. 

The stool at the kitchen counter, snoring soundly next to stacks of carefully sorted documents. Part of you wants to wake him and suggest he take your bed, but he probably just passed out. You should bring him a blanket or something-

You hadn’t exactly planned on doing anything with the flower, but it’d looked lonely, lying there on the pavement. It wasn’t a wild bloom, which meant that someone, somewhere had probably lost a few flowers from their bouquet - it was the only one you could spot in the vicinity though. Almost as soon as you have it in hand though, it’s vanished, tugged so neatly out of your hand that you blink in surprise. You would have thought it was due to some kind of vanishing quirk if it hadn’t been for the man standing next to you, grinning and dangling it towards you like some kind of cat toy. 

“Hey-” is all you get out before it brushes your nose and you push his arm away, frowning when he starts to laugh. 

“You remember when things were simple?” Swordkill asks, sighing as he flops down on the couch, forcing you to make room for his head in your lap. 

“I wasn’t trying to eat or anything here,” you complain, trying to balance your bowl between your hand and the arm rest. Swordkill doesn’t seem to care, he just turns, yawning, until he decides he’s found a comfortable spot on your thighs. 

“Well?” He prompts, glancing up at you. “Do you?”

You adjust, frowning at the precarious balance you’ve left your food in, and look back down at him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “When have things ever been simple here?”

“I keep saying,” Wolfram says from behind you, half leaning on the couch, “you’re the only one with any kind of sense. See, Swordkill?” Wolfram says, dropping a kiss on the crown of your head before he moves on, hands full of scrap metal.

“My sensibility says that you should vacate so I can eat,” you try, tensing your thighs beneath Swordkill’s head. You’re not sure what started the trip down memory lane, but you know how things typically end: with Swordkill in grudging agreement with Wolfram, before they drag things - things being you - into the bedroom.You’d like to grab some calories before any kind of workout starts, thanks.  

“Eat while I nap,” Swordkill urges you. “Things used to be simple though. Just us, here-” And he yawns again. “No need.. for...” He trails off, apparently more tired than you thought. You realize Wolfram is standing in the doorway, hands empty and smudged with grease.

“No need for what?” You ask, anxiety beginning to buzz along your spine.