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ilovemarvel97 · 3 days ago

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Written in Our Souls - Part 13

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Y/N and Wanda’s bond is stronger than ever—but beneath the warmth of their intimacy, unsettling questions arise.

Word Count: 5,272

Warnings: fluff, a little smut, (18+), use of strap (enchanted)

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

A few days had passed since the mission, and Y/N had been basking in the kind of peace that only came from being wrapped up in Wanda—physically, emotionally, soul-deep. But even with the warmth of their bond grounding her, something kept tugging at her attention.

Vision.

Despite everything—despite the clarity of the bond between Wanda and her—Vision had been sneaking out of the compound more and more. Quiet departures in the early morning, late returns after sunset. Y/N had caught glimpses of him once or twice, and each time, something about him seemed… different. Off.

She made her way down to Tony’s lab, hoping for insight.

Tony was hunched over a half-built suit and a cup of coffee, talking softly to himself when she walked in.

“Hey,” Y/N greeted, hands in her pockets.

Tony gave her a once-over, not looking away from his project. “Well, well. Look who came up for air.”

Y/N smirked. “Funny. I was actually here to ask about Vision.”

That earned a pause. Tony blinked, then set down his tools with a sigh. “Ah. Him.”

“What’s going on?” Y/N asked. “I’ve seen him leaving. At weird hours. Something’s not right.”

Tony leaned back against the workbench, arms crossing. “You’re not imagining it. FRIDAY flagged a few anomalies in the compound logs—Vision's been leaving without logging his destination, and encrypting his activity. Not that he has to report to me, technically… but it’s weird.”

“Weird how?” Y/N asked, concern creeping into her voice.

Tony shrugged. “He’s precise. Predictable. But lately? He’s being careful. Too careful. Covering his tracks, locking access, even shutting down surveillance feeds in sections of the lab when he’s working.”

Y/N frowned. “Do you know what he’s working on?”

“No clue,” Tony said. “He always closes the screen or cuts the connection when anyone walks in. Happened twice this week.”

Y/N looked down for a moment, processing. “You think it’s about Wanda?”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “He hasn’t exactly been subtle about that obsession. But I can’t say for sure. He’s not talking. Just... off.”

Y/N nodded slowly, eyes distant.

Tony’s voice softened slightly. “I’ll keep an eye on it. Let me know if he says anything to you. Or if anything feels… wrong.”

Y/N nodded again. “Thanks, Tony.”

As she turned to leave, Tony added under his breath, “Weird behavior from a synthezoid usually means one of two things—an upgrade… or a problem.”

Y/N didn’t respond.

But the knot in her chest said she already knew which one it was.

---

Tony continue to monitor Vision’s behavior.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., where is Vision off to again?” he asked, sipping his coffee as he watched the surveillance feed.

“He has exited the compound through the east corridor,” the AI replied smoothly. “No scheduled mission or clearance filed.”

Tony narrowed his eyes at the screen as Vision walked with purpose across the perimeter and into the tree line, the same path he’d taken three times this week alone. Always around the same time. Always when no one was watching.

Or so he thought.

“Freakin’ sneaky toaster…” Tony muttered. “What the hell are you up to?”

He tapped a few keys, pulling up heat signatures and satellite imaging, watching Vision disappear into the woods again. No obvious rendezvous, no vehicles. Just… him, alone, disappearing deeper into some isolated location.

Tony leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “This is getting weirder by the day.”

With a sigh, he stood up and grabbed his tablet.

---

A Month Later

Gunfire echoed through the dim corridors of the Hydra base, lights flickering as red emergency alarms pulsed across the walls. The air reeked of gunpowder and scorched metal.

Y/N was a blur of motion.

She zipped between agents, disarming them before they could aim, dropping weapons to the floor with clatters that barely registered before she was already gone again. A round of bullets followed her—too slow. They hit empty wall as she reappeared behind the shooter and knocked him out cold with a swift elbow to the temple.

“Got eyes on the main server room,” Nat’s voice crackled over comms. “Cover me while I pull the drive.”

“Copy,” Y/N replied, turning toward the hallway where Nat had vanished.

More Hydra agents spilled into the corridor ahead, barking orders in German. Y/N dashed forward, skidding between them, her momentum sending two crashing into the wall as she swept their legs from under them. She ducked a stun baton, twisted, and delivered a lightning-quick jab to the agent’s solar plexus. He collapsed with a grunt.

“Wanda?” she called into the comms. “You good?”

“I’m surrounded,” Wanda’s voice came through, tight with strain. “Third corridor near the east wing—need backup now.”

Y/N's head snapped in that direction. "On my way, babe."

She shot forward in a blink, wind snapping around her as she dashed through the maze of halls. Along the way, she shoulder-checked a Hydra operative into a wall and vaulted over another, disarming him mid-air.

Sparks flew as she skidded to a stop near Wanda, who was holding her own—red magic lashing outward in brilliant waves. But more agents were closing in fast.

Y/N didn’t waste a second. “Heads down!” she shouted.

In a flurry of movement, she zoomed through the group, disarming, disabling, and knocking them flat in a matter of seconds. The last agent tried to run—Y/N appeared in front of him and sent him flying with a roundhouse kick before he could blink.

Wanda lowered her hands, panting, her red eyes glowing faintly.

Y/N grinned. “Miss me?”

Wanda smirked, stepping toward her. “Always.”

Behind them, another explosion shook the far wall. Nat’s voice came through again: “Got the data. Meet you at extraction in two.”

Y/N gave Wanda a quick wink before grabbing her hand. “C’mon, let’s finish this.”

---

The low hum of the Quinjet filled the cabin as they lifted off from the Hydra base, the engines steady beneath them. Y/N sat with her back against the cool metal wall, catching her breath, her suit smeared with soot and a cut above her eyebrow already beginning to close. Across from her, Wanda was watching her, arms crossed, eyes soft.

Nat was at the console, already decrypting the stolen files, while Clint piloted up front, focused but relaxed now that they were airborne.

“That was clean,” Clint called over his shoulder. “Almost too clean.”

“Speak for yourself,” Y/N muttered, wiping her forehead. “I think I ran enough to power this jet twice.”

Wanda chuckled softly and moved closer, settling beside Y/N. Her fingers gently found Y/N’s wrist and traced over her name, a quiet, grounding touch. “You didn’t hesitate when I called,” she said, voice low.

Y/N turned her head and smiled at her. “I’ll never hesitate for you.”

Nat looked up from the console with an amused eyebrow. “God, you two are worse than Barton and Laura.”

“I’m right here,” Clint said, though he didn’t sound annoyed. If anything, he was smiling.

Then, after a moment, he added, “Hey—before I forget. This weekend, it’s Nathaniel’s birthday. Laura already invited Nat, but I wanted to ask you two as well.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “Oh—really? You sure we wouldn’t be, you know… distracting?”

Clint chuckled. “Nah, Laura loves you both. And the kids are already obsessed with Wanda’s magic tricks and Y/N’s speed. You’re practically party entertainment at this point.”

Wanda grinned. “I’d love to come. It sounds wonderful.”

Y/N nodded. “Count us in. Wouldn’t miss it.”

Wanda leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder, and Y/N instinctively pulled her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her hair.

“So,” Nat said, tone suddenly sly, “how long until we have to start making excuses to give you two alone time again?”

“Don’t start,” Y/N groaned. “We’re just… making up for lost time.”

Clint laughed. “That what the kids are calling it now?”

Nat smirked but said nothing more, returning her attention to decrypting.

Y/N glanced down at her wrist as Wanda’s touch lingered there. The mark hummed faintly, alive with warmth and peace. She smiled to herself and closed her eyes for a moment, just soaking in the closeness.

Even with the low buzz of tech and the hum of the Quinjet, wrapped in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence, everything finally felt… right.

Home wasn’t a place anymore. It was a heartbeat against hers.

---

Back in the Compound

****

A few hours later, their room was dimly lit by the golden hue of late afternoon sunlight seeping through the curtains. The air was heavy with warmth and intimacy, filled with soft gasps and the creak of the mattress.

Wanda was straddling Y/N, her palms pressed against Y/N’s stomach for balance. Her movements were slow, intense, each roll of her hips deliberate, driven by the quiet desperation in their bond. The enchanted strap they’d come to cherish pulsed with magic and connection, bridging the space between their bodies in a way that felt impossibly real.

Y/N’s hands held her waist firmly, guiding her but letting her lead. Her eyes never left Wanda’s face—flushed, lips parted, brows furrowed in pleasure. She looked like a dream. No, more than that—like something sacred.

“Wanda…” Y/N whispered, voice rough with emotion, not just desire.

Wanda leaned down slightly, one hand sliding up to Y/N’s chest for support, their foreheads nearly touching. “I feel everything,” she murmured, breath hitching. “Every inch of you… it’s overwhelming.”

Y/N cupped her face, pulling her in for a kiss as their rhythm deepened. Magic sparkled faintly around them, soft red wisps dancing at the edge of their joined bodies—resonating with every thrust, every gasp, every heartbeat they shared.

They weren’t just touching—they were fused in soul, in love, in something far greater than either of them could put into words.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Wanda’s movements grew faster, more desperate, her fingers digging lightly into Y/N’s stomach as she rode out the rising wave inside her. The bond between them crackled like a live current—magic and love entwined, tangible in every breath, every shared heartbeat.

Their moans filled the room, raw and unfiltered. Y/N’s grip on Wanda’s waist tightened as she thrust up to meet each movement, breath ragged, lips parted.

“Wanda—” she groaned, voice trembling with the effort to hold back.

Wanda leaned forward, one hand cradling Y/N’s face as her forehead rested against hers. “Detka…I’m so close” she whimpers, eyes locked on hers. “Come with me.”

As Wanda cried out, her body trembling through the high, the sensation and their bond sent Y/N over the edge with her. A low moan tore from her throat as she released, the enchanted toy responding with a soft pulse, responding to Y/N climax. Wanda gasped again as she felt it—warmth filling her, real and undeniable—and her lips found Y/N’s in a kiss that was everything: hungry, tender, grateful.

Their bodies stilled, but their connection pulsed stronger than ever. Wanda stayed close, resting her forehead against Y/N’s, both of them breathing hard, tangled together in the soft afterglow.

****

“I’ll never get over this,” Wanda murmured.

Y/N smiled, brushing back a strand of hair from Wanda’s face. “Good. Because I’m never letting you go.”

Wanda lay on top of her, chest rising and falling against Y/N’s, still intimately connected. Her cheek rested against Y/N’s shoulder, the warmth between them steady and comforting. The room was quiet now, save for their slowing breaths and the occasional hum of their bond, soft and pulsing like a second heartbeat.

Y/N lazily trailed her fingers up and down Wanda’s spine. “You know, we really need to stop breaking the bedframes,” she said with a sleepy grin.

Wanda chuckled, her lips brushing against Y/N’s skin. “Maybe you should stop making me lose control, then.”

Y/N smirked. “That would mean denying you. And I’m just not that strong.”

Wanda hummed in satisfaction, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. “I like when you’re weak for me.”

“You’re dangerous when you know your power,” Y/N teased.

There was a quiet pause, filled only by the shared rhythm of their breath, before Wanda murmured, “What do you think Clint’s kid wants for their birthday?”

Y/N laughed, the sound low and full of affection. “You just rode me like a woman possessed and now we’re talking about birthday gifts?”

“I’m a multitasker,” Wanda replied smugly. “Also, I want them to like me.”

“They already do. You helped Lila with her math homework, remember? You’re basically her favorite Avenger now.”

Wanda smiled against her skin. “You think so?”

Y/N wrapped her arms around her, holding her tighter. “I know so!”

They lay there like that a little longer, basking in the quiet afterglow, their hearts calm, their souls at peace. Wanda was mid-sentence about birthday gifts when Y/N suddenly shifted, flipping them both over in one fluid motion.

Wanda let out a surprised laugh that turned into a soft gasp as Y/N settled between her thighs, still inside her, deeper now.

“My turn,” Y/N growled playfully, her eyes dark with renewed desire.

Wanda’s breath hitched, her legs instinctively wrapping around Y/N’s waist as a fresh wave of anticipation rushed through her. “Then take it,” she whispered, voice trembling with need.

Y/N didn’t need to be told twice. She rolled her hips forward, slow at first, drawing a moan from both of them, and then again—deeper, firmer. The room once more filled with the sounds of their love, their bond sparking like wildfire between every breath, every kiss, every movement.

And just like that, round two began—hungry, heated, and absolutely theirs.

---

The city buzzed around them with late afternoon life—horns honking, people laughing, the faint smell of roasted nuts from a nearby cart. Wanda’s fingers were laced with Y/N’s as they walked hand in hand down the sidewalk, both of them in sunglasses and low-key clothes. Still, they had a glow that made people look twice—two women in love, completely immersed in each other.

“Okay,” Wanda said, glancing at the small list she had open on her phone. “Clint said Nathaniel’s been obsessed with dinosaurs lately.”

“Dinosaurs?” Y/N grinned. “Then we’re getting the biggest, loudest, most annoying toy we can find. If it roars, stomps, and maybe breathes fake fire—perfect.”

Wanda laughed, leaning into her. “You really want to get uninvited next year?”

“Absolutely not. I just want Clint to suffer a little. He did make me babysit the gremlins during that mission debrief last month.”

They ducked into a bright toy store a moment later, the kind with spinning mobiles, bright shelves, and too much cheerful music playing in the background. Y/N made a beeline for a massive animatronic T-Rex while Wanda wandered through the science kits and puzzles, already thinking of what Laura might appreciate too.

Eventually, they met in the middle—Y/N triumphantly holding the roaring T-Rex box, and Wanda with a neatly wrapped educational kit about fossils.

“We get him both?” Y/N asked, already knowing the answer.

Wanda nodded with a smirk. “Chaos and balance. Very us.”

As they stepped back outside, bags in hand and the sun beginning to dip lower in the sky, Y/N pulled Wanda into her side and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“This is nice,” Y/N said softly.

Wanda tilted her head up and kissed her. “It is.”

They didn’t rush home. They strolled, stealing kisses at red lights, sharing a street pretzel, and laughing like no one was watching—just a couple in love, picking out dinosaur toys for a kid’s birthday and living a piece of the normal life they'd fought hard for.

---

The Birthday Weekend

The Barton farm was alive with energy—kids darting across the yard with superhero masks and foam swords, music drifting from the porch speakers, and the scent of grilled food in the air. A bright dinosaur-shaped bounce house roared intermittently, thanks to a little button Nathaniel couldn’t stop pressing.

“Why does that thing growl every five seconds?” Laura asked with a chuckle, joining Wanda and Nat under the shade of the big oak tree with drinks in hand.

“Because Y/N showed Nate how to do it,” Nat replied dryly, sipping from her cup. “She’s enabling him. Chaos recognizing chaos.”

Wanda laughed softly, but her attention remained fixed on Y/N. Across the yard, Y/N was dramatically pretending to be a captured villain, wrapped in streamers as Nathaniel and Cooper shouted about locking her up. She stumbled back with exaggerated groans, fell onto the grass with flair, and made the kids burst into delighted laughter.

“She’s good with them,” Laura said, watching the scene unfold with a fond smile.

“She is,” Wanda agreed, her voice quiet, full of something deeper. Her gaze never wavered from Y/N, who now had Nathaniel perched on her back like a tiny superhero riding into battle.

Laura noticed the way Wanda’s fingers brushed absently over the inside of her wrist, where Y/N’s name was marked—her soulmate. Y/N immediately raise her head with a smile she only gives to Wanda, feeling her own wrist tingle. And Wanda just smiles back.

“You two talk about the future yet? Marriage, kids?” Laura ask seeing their interaction.

Wanda flushed slightly but nodded. “We’ve started. Not everything, not yet. But we know what we want. And we want it with each other.”

“That’s the bond,” Laura said knowingly, lifting her own wrist and brushing her fingers over Clint’s name. “When it’s real, when it’s right, you don’t need everything figured out. You just know.”

Wanda glanced at her with a soft smile, then at Nat, who remained suspiciously quiet.

“She’s already yours,” Nat said teasingly, nudging her shoulder. “Even if you weren’t soulmates, the way she looks at you would give it away.”

Wanda’s gaze drifted back to Y/N just as she scooped Nathaniel up and spun him in a wide circle. The boy shrieked with glee, arms outstretched, completely trusting her. Wanda’s heart clenched, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded into the background. All she could see was Y/N—laughing, loving, alive.

“Being with her feels like breathing,” Wanda murmured. “Like I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until we found each other.”

Laura smiled warmly. “That’s how I felt with Clint. It’s soul-deep. Hard to explain, but impossible to ignore.”

“And now,” Nat added, “you two are in the honeymoon stage. Might be stuck in it for a while.”

“Forever sounds fine with me,” Wanda said without hesitation, a dreamy smile playing at her lips.

And as they stood together, watching Y/N collapse onto the grass with Nathaniel giggling in her lap, Wanda knew—with her whole heart and soul—that this was only the beginning of the future they would build. Together.

---

The Barton farmhouse quieted as the evening rolled in, soft laughter still echoing from the kitchen where Clint and Laura were cleaning up. The kids had finally crashed after hours of games, cake, and chaos. Nat had taken one of the smaller rooms, grateful for the quiet. Wanda and Y/N were shown to the guest room upstairs—cozy, with a big window overlooking the back pasture, and a bed that was just the right amount of creaky.

Wanda entered first, kicking off her shoes, her body still buzzing from the joy of the day. Y/N closed the door behind them, flipping the small lamp on. The warm yellow light painted the room in soft golds and browns.

“They really wore Nathaniel out,” Wanda said, pulling her hair out of its ponytail and letting it fall around her shoulders.

“They wore me out,” Y/N said with a playful groan as she stretched, cracking her back. “I think I pulled something when I was pretending to be a villain in the treehouse battle.”

Wanda turned, smiling. “You looked like you were having the time of your life.”

“I was. With you watching? Always.”

Y/N crossed the room, her arms circling Wanda��s waist, and she buried her face in the crook of her neck. Wanda wrapped her arms around her, holding her close, grounding herself in the warmth and scent of her soulmate.

“Today was perfect,” Wanda whispered. “I could do this with you forever.”

Y/N leaned back slightly to look into her eyes. “Then let’s.”

They shared a soft kiss—no rush, no fire, just intimacy and affection and the quiet promise of forever. When they broke apart, Y/N pulled her shirt over her head, and Wanda followed suit, both settling into bed under the thick quilt.

Wanda curled into Y/N’s side, fingers tracing over her chest, then down to her wrist, where her name was etched in elegant script. “It still feels like a dream,” she murmured. “That you’re mine.”

Y/N kissed her temple. “And you’re mine. For good.”

They lay in silence for a moment, listening to the distant hum of the house, the sound of crickets outside. Wanda sighed in contentment and nuzzled in closer.

“Let’s have this one day,” she said, eyes fluttering shut. “And all the days after.”

Y/N smiled, pulling her in tighter. “You got it, baby. Every one of them.”

And wrapped in each other’s arms, they drifted off—soulmates safe, together, and finally at peace.

---

The days rolled by in a quiet rhythm of love, missions, laughter, and stolen moments. Somewhere between early morning coffee kisses and late-night whispers under shared blankets, time slipped past like sand between fingers, and when they realize it was already six months since Wanda stopped rejecting.

“Six months,” she murmured aloud, her fingers brushing over the date circled in red. The day they finally stopped denying the bond. The day she chose Y/N fully, without fear or guilt.

She found Y/N in the training room, sweat glistening on her brow, cheeks flushed from sparring. Wanda just stood in the doorway for a second, watching her—her soulmate. Her partner in everything. The woman who had taught her that love didn’t have to hurt.

When Y/N caught her staring, she grinned. “Hey, babe. You okay?”

Wanda walked over, wrapping her arms around Y/N’s waist from behind and resting her cheek between her shoulder blades.

“Did you know it’s been almost six months?” she whispered.

Y/N paused, her hands settling on Wanda’s. “Really?” She turned around, smiling softly. “Feels like yesterday. Feels like forever.”

Wanda leaned up to kiss her. “It’s everything.”

They sat down on the edge of the mat, Y/N pulling Wanda into her lap as she ran her fingers through her hair. “We’ve been through a lot in less than a year,” she said quietly. “But I wouldn’t trade a second of it.”

“Even the messy ones?” Wanda teased, resting her forehead against Y/N’s.

“Especially the messy ones. That’s how I knew it was real.”

Wanda kissed her again—slow, reverent, full of everything words couldn’t say.

Y/N deepen the kiss making Wanda moan slightly into her mouth. And when they break the kiss Y/N murmur “Do you wanna go eat somewhere with me tonight?”

Wanda smiled against Y/N’s lips, her fingers still tangled in the hem of her shirt. “Hmm… is this a date?”

Y/N grinned, her nose brushing Wanda’s. “Of course it’s a date. You think I’d let six months go by without taking my girl out to celebrate properly?”

Wanda’s eyes lit up, the way they always did when Y/N called her that—my girl. She bit her bottom lip, nodding.

“I’d love that.”

Y/N leaned back just enough to catch her breath, her heart still pounding from the kiss—and the look Wanda gave her. “Alright, then. You shower, I’ll shower, and let’s get dressed up. Somewhere nice.”

Wanda raised a brow, teasing, “Nice as in candlelight and violins? Or nice as in greasy fries and milkshakes?”

Y/N pretended to think it over. “Hmm… maybe both. Fries first, violins after.”

Wanda laughed softly, the sound warming the air between them. “That’s why I love you.”

Y/N blinked, heart skipping a beat. Wanda had said it so casually, so confidently—but it landed like thunder in her chest. She smiled.

“Good,” she whispered, brushing a soft kiss to Wanda’s cheek. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m crazy about you.”

“Pretty sure?”

“Hopelessly.”

They kissed once more—gentle and full of promise—before Y/N stood and offered her hand.

“Come on, Maximoff. Let’s celebrate almost-six-months with something that isn’t leftover pizza.”

Wanda took her hand, rising to her feet. “Only if you let me wear the red dress you like.”

Y/N smirked. “Deal. But fair warning, I might not make it through dinner if you do.”

Wanda leaned in with a sly look. “Then we’ll just have dessert at home.”

---

The night started perfectly.

Wanda looked stunning in the red dress Y/N loved—elegant, effortless, and entirely captivating. Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off her, and Wanda couldn’t stop smiling at the way her soulmate kept sneaking glances like she was seeing her for the first time all over again.

They were seated at a cozy corner table, low candlelight flickering between them, the clinking of glasses and quiet hum of conversation creating an intimate backdrop. They held hands over the table, sipped wine, laughed at old mission stories, and toasted to ten months of love, chaos, and finding peace in each other.

But as the food arrived—plated beautifully, rich in aroma—Wanda’s expression changed.

Her smile faltered.

She blinked a few times, then pressed a hand lightly to her stomach. “Sorry, I—I don’t know what’s wrong. I suddenly feel…”

Her voice trailed off. She clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with panic.

“Wanda?” Y/N asked, concerned, already rising from her seat.

Wanda didn’t answer. She bolted from the table, heels clicking in a rush across the floor, and disappeared into the women’s restroom.

Y/N followed without hesitation, ignoring the startled looks from a couple of nearby diners. When she pushed through the restroom door, she found Wanda in the far stall, retching violently.

Y/N’s heart sank. She closed the stall door behind her and crouched beside her, holding her hair back and rubbing gentle circles on her back. “I’m here, baby. Just breathe. It’s okay.”

Wanda didn’t speak for a while, just coughed and heaved until her stomach was empty. When it was finally over, she sagged against the stall wall, panting and pale.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t know what happened. The smell hit me and then—just everything turned.”

“Shh, don’t apologize,” Y/N said, brushing strands of hair from her forehead. “You’re okay. We’ll get you home.”

Wanda nodded weakly, allowing Y/N to help her to her feet. She rinsed her mouth and splashed cold water on her face at the sink, still visibly shaken but grateful.

“I ruined our night,” she muttered, still not quite meeting Y/N’s eyes.

Y/N turned her gently by the shoulders and looked at her. “You didn’t ruin anything. You scared me, sure. But we’ll try dinner again some other time. Right now, I just want to get you somewhere comfy.”

Wanda managed a small smile as Y/N kissed her temple and wrapped an arm around her. She leaned into the touch, letting the familiar warmth of her soulmate steady the trembling in her limbs.

They exited the restaurant quietly, with Y/N flagging down a car rather than using her speed—Wanda looked too shaken to be swept off her feet like usual. The ride back to the compound was silent, but not uncomfortable. Wanda rested her head on Y/N’s shoulder, eyes closed, breathing slow. Y/N held her hand the whole way.

Once inside their room, Y/N helped her out of her dress, letting her change into one of her oversized T-shirts and a pair of soft shorts. Wanda moved slowly, still a little off balance, and Y/N noticed—really noticed—how pale she looked under the warm lighting.

“You want some water? Or tea?” Y/N offered, brushing Wanda’s hair back.

Wanda shook her head. “Just… lie with me?”

Y/N didn’t need to be asked twice. She climbed into bed and opened her arms, and Wanda curled into her side without hesitation. The bond between them pulsed softly, a gentle hum that grounded them both.

Y/N held her close, the steady beat of Wanda’s heart under her palm both a relief and a concern. She pressed a soft kiss to Wanda’s forehead and whispered, “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve never gotten sick like that before. Maybe it’s a bug? Or something you ate?”

Wanda didn’t answer right away. Her fingers toyed with the hem of Y/N’s shirt, a nervous habit, and her eyes stayed trained on some distant point on the ceiling. Finally, after a beat of silence, she said softly, “I’m fine.”

Y/N frowned, gently tilting Wanda’s chin so their eyes met. “Wands. That wasn’t nothing. You nearly collapsed in the restaurant.”

“I know,” Wanda said, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I didn’t want to ruin tonight.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Y/N said firmly. “But you’re scaring me, baby. Talk to me. If something’s wrong, I need to know.”

Wanda’s throat worked as she swallowed, and for a moment, it looked like she might say something more. But instead, she shook her head and snuggled in closer, burying her face in Y/N’s neck.

“I promise I’m okay,” she murmured. “I just needed to be with you. That’s all.”

Y/N didn’t push, not yet. She tightened her arms around her and let out a slow breath, choosing trust over worry—at least for now. But her mind wouldn’t stop spinning. Wanda was rarely this quiet when something was off. And that look in her eyes earlier—that wasn’t just discomfort.

It was fear.

Still, Wanda was resting now. Her breathing had slowed, evening out against Y/N’s chest. Y/N stroked her back in soft, repetitive motions, whispering small reassurances even as her gut twisted with unease.

She was lying. Not about being fine, but about something.

She just didn’t know what yet.

And that scared her more than anything.

Y/N held Wanda a little tighter, her hand resting gently on the back of her head. The rhythm of her fingers slowed against Wanda’s hair as a quiet thought surfaced—last time she got sick like this...

Her mind flicked back to a memory she’d tried not to dwell on too much. It had been months ago, back when everything was still tense and raw. Back when Wanda was still living in the other room. Back when she was still engaged to Vision, when he tried to be intimate with her…

Y/N sighed, her breath slow and heavy, and looked down at the love of her life resting in her arms. Wanda’s brow was still faintly creased in discomfort, lips parted as she breathed softly through her mouth, eyes shut but restless. She looked so vulnerable. So human.

Y/N wanted to ask. Wanted to say “Are you feeling like that again? Did something bring it back? Did Vision try to do something?”

But she didn’t.

Not tonight.

She brushed a kiss to Wanda’s forehead and whispered into her hair, “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about anything. Just rest, baby.”

Wanda let out a barely-there hum, nuzzling into her chest. But Y/N felt the tension still lingering in her spine, like her body hadn’t fully let go yet.

She rubbed soft circles into Wanda’s back and closed her eyes, trying to ground herself in the feel of Wanda in her arms. The bond between them was steady but quiet, like it too was waiting—watching—holding its breath.

Y/N swallowed the unease rising in her throat and tucked it deep down.

Let it pass, she told herself. Let her breathe. Let her feel safe.

Tomorrow, if Wanda was ready, they’d talk. But tonight… Y/N would simply hold her through the storm.

---

Let me know your thoughts in the comment!

#wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda marvel #wanda x fem!reader #wanda x y/n #soulmates

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guppiechuu · 14 hours ago

Text

smoke signals ★ ༄.° l.h.

plug!heeseung x fem!reader

length: 3k

warnings: smut (minors dni), dry humping, drug use (marijuana), kissing, shotgunning smoke, dirty talk

synopsis: rule #1: never fuck your plug. but it’s oh-so hard to remember this rule when your plug is sooo hot and soooo into you.

⤷ chuu's 💌 ── .✦ anon requested stoner!heeseung dry humping and as a DH connoisseur I HAD to oblige :)

——

You weren't supposed to be here.

You had one rule. Don't date your plug.

It was too messy. Too close. Too many girls who were angling for the same thing—twirling their hair round their fingers as they asked for favors, dragging their nails down his bicep, adding extra emojis and letters to all their text exchanges.

You didn't want to be part of the entourage that trailed after him, sliding into his lap at parties, stealing the blunt from his lips mid-conversation. Not your style.

The only problem? He didn't seem to care about any of those girls. He had his eyes on one person. You.

Heeseung had started inviting you over to smoke a few months ago. It was innocent enough—a joint and a movie, most of the time. He was generous enough to let you smoke for free, though it wasn't lost on you why he treated you with such glimmering hospitality.

He made it obvious how interested he was.

And you made it obvious that you were not.

At least, that's what you told yourself.

Heeseung's pursuit was admirable, and you liked the way his attention made you feel, but he probably invited all the girls he supplied to over.

Probably flirted with each one the way he did with you, watched them with the same lazy hunger in his eyes that always had you stumbling over your words. What, were you supposed to believe he'd never had a crush on a customer before? He did this with everyone. It wasn't special.

Even if you were the only person he ever rolled up for.

Even if he always let you hit first, eyes locked on the shape of your lips as you inhaled.

Even if he always sat a little too close when the lights were off.

You stuck to your side of the couch. Kept your arms crossed over yourself like it might stop the tension from boiling up every time he moved and you felt him brush against you.

And usually it worked.

Until tonight.

There was something about being there with him, the way he kept stretching out on the couch, finding reasons to brush up against you. Eyes lingering on you as he passed you the joint, fingers bumping yours on purpose.

"You look tired. Long day?"

You shrugged, trying to ignore the way he was staring. “Just work."

"You should relax.” His face was soft and easy, lips curving into that smirk he always wore around you. The one that said all you had to do was push, and he’d give completely. “I could help with that.”

You threw him a sideways glance, hollowing your cheeks as you inhaled. He watched, shifting slightly. He was always doing that—watching your mouth as you smoked, like he was living vicariously through the joints he rolled you.

Maybe that's why he was always so eager to offer them.

"I'm not one of your girls," You retorted, exhaling towards the ceiling.

He tilted his head. Like you were a challenge he was all too willing to take on. “Never said you were.”

"I'm not just gonna slide into your lap," You said, a little too sharply.

Heeseung grinned. "Didn't ask you to."

Silence.

You ignored him, struggling to decide between being annoyed and mildly turned on. His persistence was flattering, you could admit that much.

He just smirked a little, clearly amused at how easily he was getting to you. “You keep saying no, but you always come back."

Your mouth went dry.

Maybe you were just tired. Overworked and a little lonely—making you extra susceptible to his advances. But there was something in the tone of his voice that was making it hard to remember why you had that oh-so important rule in the first place.

"I like your weed," You muttered, trying hard to focus on the movie playing in front of you.

"Mhm." He was smirking. "You like something."

"Give it a rest," You said, throwing him a look. "I don’t fuck plugs.”

He raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise. "Never said anything about sleeping together either. Where's your head at today?"

Your cheeks burned. God, he was so annoying. He knew exactly what he was doing—teasing you into a corner and then pretending like he had no idea how you ended up there.

You turned back to the screen, jaw clenched, trying to ignore the way your body was buzzing.

It was maddening.

"Watch the movie," You said flatly, not meeting his eyes, which were still locked onto you.

"Rather watch you," He answered casually.

"Not gonna happen, Heeseung."

A blissful fog was beginning to creep into your head, softening all the sharp-edged inhibitions that you normally carried. You settled back into the couch, exhaling softly as your head swam, senses dilating.

Heeseung’s cologne wafted around you, sharp and sweet intermingling with the ashy scent of smoke. You felt the heat of his body beside you—several inches closer than he’d been at the start of the movie—and every subtle movement as he shifted in his seat.

He was fidgeting. Messing with the ring on his middle finger, bouncing his leg every now and then. Like he couldn’t focus.

"You're not gonna kiss me," He said flatly, almost like he was confirming it for himself.

"No," You answered. "I'm not."

"Right." He settled back, leaning against the cushions. “That's probably for the best."

You hummed, side-eyeing him. It was almost amusing, how badly he wanted you.

Part of you wondered what might happen if you relaxed just a bit. If you gave an inch, would he take a mile?

"If you did," He continued, casual, his eyes back on the screen. "I'd let you."

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, really?"

He took a drag. "I'd let you do anything you wanted." He parted his lips, smoke curling up from his mouth. Then he glanced at you, teasing. "Just thought you should know."

You turned your head, studying him. "Anything?" You asked, voice low, almost amused.

His eyes flicked to you. Quick. Hopeful. “Yeah. Wouldn’t even do anything back. I’d just, like, sit here. Then you wouldn’t be breaking any of your precious rules.”

It was half a joke. Half entirely serious.

You nodded, fingers trailing from your lap to his knee. He stiffened beneath your touch, brow quirking up as you leaned forward.

"Didn't realize you were so obliging to all your customers," You said, sliding your finger up the inseam of his sweatpants, knee to thigh.

He flattened his hands on the couch, throat bobbing as he watched your finger move. "Nah, just the ones I really like," He said breathily.

It was hilarious. Watching his muscles tighten under your touch, like he was trying to contain himself. His hands curled into the cushions beneath him, knuckles going white, and in your hazy state you found yourself wondering for the first time:

How far would he let this go?

"I mean... what if I did want to sit in your lap?" You tested, voice light.

His breath hitched.

"Just to try it," You added, glancing up at him. "Doesn't mean anything."

He took a shaky breath. "Y-yeah. Okay."

You smirked, voice dropping almost to a whisper. "And what if I kissed you? But only because you look kinda hot tonight. Not because I like you."

Heeseung let out a sound from the back of his throat, leaning back from your touch like it hurt. Your stomach flipped in delight at the dazed look in his eyes, the way his tongue kept darting out to wet his lips.

You leaned in even closer, palm flattening on his thigh. "Still just my plug," You whispered.

"Mhm," He answered, eyes on your lips like he wasn’t even listening to what you were saying.

You didn't wait for his permission. He'd already given that up months ago. You’d just always been too reserved to take it, scared that he’d find some way to gain the upper hand. Make you the one who was scrambling to gain back control.

Not this time.

You just shifted onto your knees, one hand on his shoulder as you swung over his lap. Easy. Confident. Like you'd done it a hundred times.

And oh, Heeseung had imagined it a hundred times—how you'd feel on top of him, your body flush against his as you sat yourself down in his lap.

Only, you didn't sit.

You hovered, legs on either side of his, fingers trailing down his chest in a way that made his head fuzzy. He stiffened under you, pupils dark and wide, lip caught between his teeth.

"Still gonna let me do whatever I want?"

His fingers dug into the couch cushions. "Course," He said, chest rising and falling beneath your hands. "I'm all yours."

You flashed a wicked smile, enjoying every second of this. You dropped an inch, pressing just enough for him to feel you through his sweats. He sucked in a breath, hands tensing.

"You're such a mess for me," You teased, fingers ghosting over the side of his neck.

He let out a laugh. "You're really enjoying this, huh?"

"Just a little."

He straightened, looking up at you with wide, desperate eyes. “We don’t even have to fuck.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“I won’t even touch you.”

“Really? Thank god.”

He growled, eyes on your lips like he wanted to devour them. “You get off on teasing me?”

Your eyes glinted. “I don’t get off on you at all. That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

You really thought you'd won. That you had him right where you wanted—Lee Heeseung, everybody's favorite plug, king of nonchalance—squirming under you, begging for just a taste.

Until he put his hands on your hips, his voice darkening.

"Sit," He said seriously. "All the way."

You flushed. "I thought you weren’t gonna do anything."

"I'm not. I'm telling you to."

You lowered the rest of the way, biting down on a sound in the back of your throat as you felt him dig into you. Already hard.

Heeseung’s body was humming. He'd been hard since he opened the door. Waiting to get you in this position all damn night. He groaned, digging his fingers into your waist.

"Wearing this fucking skirt, teasing me like you're the one in control. You're smoking my weed, aren't you?"

You flushed, head spinning at the pressure of him between your legs as you nodded.

"And you want more of it, don't you?"

You nodded again, trying not to squirm. He was pressed so deliciously against you, straining against the fabric of his sweats.

He grabbed the second joint he'd rolled from the table, tucking it between his lips and lighting it. "Then come get it," He challenged.

You glared at him, the heat rising to your cheeks. "You’re—"

"What?" He leaned forward, his hands sliding up your back. His chin brushed against your chest as he looked up at you, eyes glassy and red. “You climbed on top of me, remember? All I did was sit here."

When you didn't budge, he shrugged and sat back. "Stay there then," He said, drawing another cloud into his mouth. "Makes no difference to me."

You protested, folding your arms. "And watch you smoke the whole thing yourself?"

"Sure. Unless you're ready to admit what you want."

"I want the weed."

He hummed, blowing the smoke in a stream against your skin. His breath tickled your chest, sending goosebumps rising across your arms. "That all?"

You had half a mind to climb off him, to remove yourself from the situation before things reached the point of no return, when Heeseung looked up at you and asked,

"Ever tried shotgunning?"

Your eyes widened. "No."

He didn't wait for an answer. He inhaled again and leaned forward, his mouth ghosting over yours as he exhaled the smoke into your lungs, breath tickling your bottom lip.

You gasped, startled by the closeness, and inadvertently drew the smoke into your lungs.

He watched as you swallowed it, eyes glinting.

"Good girl," He said, exhaling the rest away from you.

Your stomach clenched. He might not have thought twice about the comment, but it sent a jolt of desire shooting through your stomach. You squirmed in his lap, desire welling between your legs.

"You liked that?" He asked, glancing up at you as you shifted on top of him. "Come here.”

He did it again, pulling you down on him as he breathed into your open mouth, hands firm on your waist. You swallowed the smoke down, chasing the heat of his lips every time he pulled away.

Your head was getting foggier. Thoughts messier. All you could focus on was the feeling of him underneath you. The pressure against you. The way he was pushing you down on his lap, hips curling up to meet yours just slightly. Just enough to make you crave more.

"Your turn," He said, passing you the blunt.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warm. "Still trying to get me to kiss you?"

"Still pretending you don't want to?"

The weed was making him cocky. And bold. It pained you to admit that you liked it.

You took another drag and leaned forward, smoke hitting his bottom lip as you exhaled softly.

"I don't kiss dealers," You murmured, watching the vapor curl between your faces.

He laughed, breathless, eyes darting down to your mouth. "Right. And you don't sit in their laps either."

You answered by leaning back, drawing another inhale of smoke into your lungs. He watched, breathing hard, like the effort of keeping still was taking all his strength.

He brought a hand up to your face as you blew out, dragging his thumb against your lower lip to open your mouth. Smoke spilled out from behind your teeth, drifting to the ceiling.

“Love watching you smoke,” He murmured, eyes locked onto your lips like he was entranced. “Love your mouth. The way you move your lips. It’s driving me fucking crazy.”

You laughed lightly, pushing his hand away. “You use that one on all the girls?”

He nodded lazily, eyes locked on your lips. “Only the ones I really really like.”

Your stomach clenched. This time, when you leaned in with a mouthful of smoke, you pressed your lips fully onto his, breathing smoke into his lungs as his lips parted beneath you.

He swallowed, groaning as you opened your mouth against his. The sound made your head spin.

Your chest flattened against his as you leaned in, hips curling against his. His hands flew to your waist, a stuttered moan climbing up the back of his throat as you began grinding against him.

"Fuck, keep doing that," He hissed, glancing down between your bodies to watch as your hips dragged against him.

You couldn’t help it—you moaned, body flushed with the mix of weed and Heeseung's bulge pressing right between your folds. Your underwear was so wet, you might as well have not been wearing any.

Heeseung didn't seem to care that you were leaking all over him. He grabbed your waist and pulled you onto him harder, bucking up slightly as your cunt dragged over his hard-on.

His head tilted back. "Shit," He moaned, lips parting open. “Fuck, you gotta let me inside you. Y/n—“

You silenced him by kissing him again—no smoke, no excuse. Just your tongue sliding over his as you ground your cunt against his dick, body tensed with craving.

Soon, this wouldn’t be enough. Soon, you’d start wanting more. You knew it. He knew it. It was only a matter of time.

“We’re not fucking,” Heeseung insisted, lip caught between his teeth as he rolled his hips into yours.

He was on top of you now, pressing you into his couch like he was trying to get inside you without removing a single article of clothing.

You kept a tight grip on the fabric of his hoodie, knuckles white. “No, we’re not. And we’re not ever going to be,” You reminded him, unable to keep your head from falling back as the bulge in his sweatpants pressed right up against your throbbing cunt.

He growled, head dropping against his chest as his thrusts grew more frantic. Your stomach tightened into a coil of burning nerves, your thighs aching where they were clenched around his hips.

“Hmhh— fuck,” Heeseung whispered, as if he didn’t want you to know how much he was enjoying it. Like he was scared you’d tell him to stop if you did.

“Don’t stop,” You said, voice low with warning.

You’d taken things this far. No way you were walking out of his place empty-handed.

He whimpered, body flush against yours as he rubbed his dick against your pussy, marveling at the way you’d soaked the entire front of his sweatpants.

“Gonna make you cum,” He gritted out. Determined. “Gonna make you wish you’d wanted this sooner.”

“Don’t push it,” You answered, gasping as he leaned back, grabbing your hips and dragging you roughly up against his cock.

“Gonna make you beg for it,” He rambled, jutting his hips against yours sloppily, like he was a second away from the edge.

“Heeseung—“

“Fuck, you’re so bad.” He whined, ignoring your stuttered gasps. “Wanted to fuck you so bad, but you never let me. Still aren’t letting me. Why won’t you let me fuck you, y/n? Wanna make you feel good.”

You moaned, rolling your hips in his hands to chase the friction of his bulge wedged between your folds.

“Yeah, you feel good right now, don’t you? I’ll show you. You’re gonna come back begging for more.”

“Heeseung,” You cried, grabbing the back of his couch as your muscles tightened. Your legs began to tremble, your breaths growing short and harsh.

“Fuck—just like that. You want it bad, don’t you? God, you’re gonna be the first girl who’s ever made me cum in my fucking pants.”

You stuttered against him, tossing your head back as your pussy clenched painfully around nothing. He rammed his hips into yours, groaning as his cock twitched beneath his sweats.

He moaned, pressing a few last exhausted thrusts against you as he collapsed over you.

His breath was hot against your neck, chest heaving as he dug his fingers into the couch below you.

He pulled back, just enough to look at you, his eyes blown, cheeks flushed. You stared back, head spinning, brain struggling to catch up with what had just happened.

“So… about that rule…”

“Shut up, Heeseung.”

#guppiechuu ⭑.ᐟ #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #lee heeseung #enhypen smut #lee heeseung x reader #lee heeseung smut #enha smut #enha hard hours #stoner heeseung

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alisonsfics · 1 day ago

Text

calm in my storm

pairing: carmy berzatto x reader

summary: carmy berzatto loves his girl. like it’s his whole personality. and he makes sure you and everyone else know it. this specific time, it’s buying a chain with your name engraved on it.

word count: 1.3k

You glanced down at your watch and then back at the front door.

Carmy was supposed to be here by now.

Today was The Bear’s monthly deep cleaning day where the whole team came in super early to deep clean the kitchen and dining room. It was notoriously the most stressful day of the month.

Cleaning day always made Carmy’s perfectionist tendencies come out, which was lethal when mixed with Richie’s desire to get under Carmy’s skin.

As Carmy’s girlfriend and one of the only people Richie listened to, it became your job to keep them from jumping at each other’s throats.

So, you were just hoping to survive the day and make it out in one piece.

“Guess I’ll give out the cleaning assignments since Carmy’s not here yet.” You said, grabbing the clipboard and getting everyone’s attention.

“Cousin expects us to clean while he’s probably still at home sleeping?” Richie complained. You agreed that it was abnormal that Carmy was late, but you wanted to prevent a big fight between Richie and Carmy.

“He’ll be here, Richie.” You assured him.

Richie groaned, taking a swig of his coffee. “I think you’re the one to blame if Carmy isn’t getting enough sleep.” Richie teased, winking at you.

You jokingly swatted his arm with the clipboard. “Stop being a child or I’ll make you do Carmy’s chores too.” You threatened. He quickly held his arms up in surrender.

“I’m sorry. I should be thanking you. He’s so much more tolerable when he’s getting laid.” Richie said with a deep chuckle. The whole team sighed, shaking off Richie’s comment.

It was too early for the mental image of two of their friends fucking.

You flicked Richie’s forehead, earning a wince from him. “Richie, can we please just get this over with? We’re all tired, and we want to go home as soon as possible.” You complained.

He nodded his head, gesturing for you to continue speaking.

You had warned Carmy that it was risky letting Richie know about your relationship— but Carmy couldn’t bare to keep his hands off you long enough to maintain a secret.

Carmy’s love language was definitely physical touch. He loved showing you off as his to everyone he could.

He always had at least one hand touching you, and if he didn’t, he had that lovestruck expression and was staring at you.

You gave everyone their assignments for the day. Just as everyone was standing up and about to start working, the front door was tugged open and revealed Carmy.

“He lives!” Richie sarcastically cheered as he walked towards the kitchen.

Carmy caught your gaze. He stared back at you with an apologetic expression. He gave you a soft smile— ignoring everyone else in the room.

He crossed the room towards you. “Good morning, sweetheart.” He greeted, giving you a quick kiss.

You noticed the extra chain around his neck, tucked securely into his shirt. You were going to ask, but you were worried if you kept Carmy from starting his chores any longer that Richie would riot.

“I got these for you.” Carmy said, pulling out a bouquet of flowers from behind his back.

It was a beautiful arrangement— wrapped in brown paper with gold ribbon tied into a bow. “Carmy, it’s six in the morning. You didn’t have to stop to get me flowers.” You told him.

He shrugged. It was second nature for him at this point. “But I walked by this farmer’s market that was setting up, and I saw this bouquet. The colors reminded me of your eyes.” He told you.

“You’re so sweet. I love you. Thank you so much.” You said, smiling up at him.

“Of course. You deserve the best.” He said, giving you one last kiss before you both got to work.

As the whole team cleaned all morning, Carmy would always find your gaze and smile at you or blow kisses your way.

It was finally lunch time, and the team had finished all the cleaning that needed to be done.

Carmy finished putting away some of the cleaning supplies. It was an understatement to say he was ready for lunch. Richie had complained all day about the fact that Carmy had been late.

Carmy was ready to have some time without the chaos of Richie screaming.

He snuck into the office, knowing you’d be in there. He quietly closed the door behind him. When he turned around, he saw you sitting down on the couch.

A smile was instantly on his face as his eyes locked with yours.

“You needed some peace and quiet too?” You asked him, patting the space beside you on the couch.

“I just needed to see you.” He said, collapsing next to you and practically melting into your touch. He rested his head on your shoulder, letting you scratch your nails through his hair.

“You make me feel so calm despite all the chaos out there. Being with you is the only time it’s quiet in my brain. God, I’m so fucking broken.” He said, chuckling as he wrapped his arms snugly around your waist.

You were speechless. The words flowed from his mouth like poetry. Praising you was like a language Carmy was fluent in.

“Carmen Berzatto, that is the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” You said, shifting yourself onto his lap.

His eyes focused on you, watching to see what your next move was. When you leaned in and connected your lips to his, he didn’t waste any time kissing you back.

His palms pressed up against your back— staking you as his with every touch.

Your fingers slipped under his shirt, exploring and memorizing how his skin felt under your fingertips.

Before you both knew it, you were tugging his shirt off over his head.

He buried his face in your neck, kissing the skin. It was sloppy, but also methodical. He knew how much you loved it.

Out of the corner of your eye, a glint caught your eye— the sun reflected off his chain. It caught your attention.

It wasn’t just an extra chain that he was wearing. It was a new chain with a heart pendant. Your heart warmed at the gesture.

Then, it flipped against his skin. The delicate engraving caught your eye, and you realized it was your initials.

Carmy felt you freeze and stopped working on the hickey he was giving you. “You feelin’ okay?” He asked, letting his hands land on your hips.

He gave your hips a squeeze— the reassuring squeeze that he often gave you when he checked in with you.

He grew more concerned as you sat there speechless.

Finally, you reached out and took the pendant between your fingers. “You got a necklace with my initials?” You asked as you admired the details.

He kissed your cheek. “Of course I did. You’re my everything.” He said, simply.

There was never any doubt in his words.

Carmy wasn’t like the other guys you’d dated that had skated around the idea of commitment. Carmy let you know that he was yours and he would continue to be for as long as you allowed him.

“That reminds me,” he said, tugging a small box out of his pocket. His eyes lit up as he handed you the box— so genuinely excited to see your reaction.

You popped the box open and saw a simple bracelet, then noticed the engraving on the inside of the band.

You’re the calm in my storm ~ Love you, Bear

“I love you so fucking much.” You said, cupping his face and kissing him. You both smiled into the kiss— smiles so big that it almost made you both laugh.

He grabbed the bracelet from the box and delicately clasped it around your wrist.

“You’re so perfect. I don’t know how I got so lucky.” You said, studying his face as you raked your fingers through his hair.

“The feeling is mutual.” He said, kissing your forehead.

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#carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto fic #the bear #the bear fanfiction #jeremy allen white

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rhettrosunsets · 19 hours ago

Text

Danger Zone - Bob Floyd X Fem! Retired F1 Driver

Pairing: Bob Floyd X Fem!Retired F1 Driver

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff!

Summary: You've kept this part of your life held close to your chest for years, it doesn't matter that millions of people watched you live on TV. But when Bob Floyd wiggles his way into your secluded life, you realize that he deserves to know, and his reaction only makes you wish you would've told him sooner.

Based off this ask: here!

Warnings: Readers a bit of an over-thinker at times, mentions of F1 crash, illusions that reader has been used for being a driver in the past, mentions of reporters being assholes, no description of reader, no use of Y/N. Mentions of doctors, hospitals, bruises, etc, Mentions of reader having a scar across their forearm and wrist from the crash. Reader used to drive for Haas (yes, that deserves it's own warning.)

Notes: Thank you anon who requested this!! I hope I made it fluffy enough with all the world building I had going on here lol. I absolutely loved this request and am so happy that I got to write it. I had so much fun with this as it felt like my two worlds colliding. I hope I did the request justice :)

The crash didn’t end in screaming agony or dramatics like most thought, it had ended with silence.

You hadn’t raced since, the rehab had ended up taking months, with the doctors saying you were lucky you’d only shattered your wrist and not your spine considering the amount of bruising you had. Haas had sent you flowers, started working on press releases immediately, and gave you a contract release form buried under one too many thank you’s and “we’re so sorry, praying for your recovery” to make you actually appreciate any of it.

You had been just twenty-two years old at the time. You had come seventh place in Spain and your best result yet as you dragged your lifeless car as far as you could with what you could manage. You were the only woman in Formula One, barely into your early twenties, and clawing your way into points like your life depended on it, having a fire in your eyes, something to prove.

Then Monza happened.

Now, three years later at twenty-five, San Diego was the only place that didn’t make you feel like you were being haunted by memories you couldn’t run far enough from. You’d grown up here, before karting and the Formula Series had turned you into a never ending headline.

You’d missed it while being gone for so much of your teenage years. You missed the gentle sea breeze that would cover your skin in a soft chill even on the warmest of San Diego nights. You missed hearing the aviator jets as you were lulled to sleep in your bed at night, the sound of crashing waves and the jets enough to knock you out instantly as a kid. You missed San Diego, and you missed who you used to be when you once lived here.

So here you were, barefoot in the sand as you stared out at the ocean, your hoodie sleeves rolled up just enough to expose the scar across your wrist and forearm that you didn’t bother hiding anymore.

You were trying your best to distance yourself from what you had lost, trying to focus intently on the way the seagulls were flying over squawking at anyone in sight, or the way that the water reflected the beautiful sunset happening in front of your eyes. But your wrist ached like it always did when the temperature dropped and you heard a loud engine backfire in the distance, giving you an instant reminder of everything you had lost all at once.

You needed something to pull you out of your own head, just something to distract you and make you forget about the last three years of your life, if even just for a moment. That’s when you heard music drifting from the beachside bar behind you. You heard loud joyous laughter, loud music, and the sound of Glasses clinking every so often.

You turned toward it, brushing sand from your ankles and pulling your hood down. Just one drink, you told yourself. Just something to take the edge off for a minute. You didn’t know it yet, but that bar was about to change everything.

You walked into the bar and slid onto a barstool and quickly ordered a drink, quickly brushing excess sand off your calves with a soft groan at how the sand still tried to stick to you. And that’s when you heard a voice beside you, it was low, polite, and a little shy. Something you weren’t used to hearing much these days.

“You, uh..come from the beach?”

You turned your head and blinked, looking up at the man next to you. He was tall, blonde, and had wire rimmed glasses that sat just a little crooked on him. You also noticed he had the kindest looking baby blue eyes you’d ever seen. He wore a flight suit, the name tag reading Floyd.

Something between the soft look in his eyes and the way he wore his quiet smile made your shoulders unclench from the tense state they always seem to be permanently locked in. “What gave me away?” you asked.

He chuckled quietly, lifting his drink. “Well, the sand spilling off of you may have given me a bit of a hint.” And you laughed, for what felt like the first time in weeks.

“I’m Bob” he said, offering his hand. You hesitated slightly, so used to people asking you for things immediately, or asking you wildly inappropriate questions. But for some reason, this felt different. So after hesitating just a beat longer, you took his hand and smiled up at him, saying a soft “Nice to meet you, Bob.”

The evening changed. You didn’t tell him your last name that night, still carrying fear with you everywhere you went. But instead you just talked, you talked about anything and everything. About what types of music you both like, about books you’re reading. He didn’t ask what you did, and he didn’t seem to care when you didn’t mention it at all throughout the evening. When he walked you to your car later, his hand brushing lightly against yours, as he insisted on opening your car door even if you were going to drive it home, you knew something had shifted.

Now, a few months later, you were nervous, something that you really hadn’t felt in years.

It was quite absurd when you considered the fact that you had driven 200 mph into corners with half an inch of space between you and the wall and hadn’t even blinked, deeming it second nature. You’d skidded through the rain at Monza and survived after hitting a barrier so hard that your wrist would never be the same and your career would be over. You went through Formula One as the only woman on the grid and had to learn how to deal with horrific interviewers, awkward questions and things that would make anyone shiver.

But meeting you boyfriends team? That's where you drew the line, that was absolutely terrifying to you.

The team was loud, close enough to be considered family, and extremely chaotic. Yet, they welcomed you at The Hard Deck like you were already one of their own, like you were family.

Phoenix had shot you a smile and whispered into your ear that “Bob’s one of the good ones, I'd keep him if I were you.” which made you giggle and automatically like the girl, feeling much more confident than when you walked in. While Rooster gave you a casual nod before tipping back his beer and grabbing the pool-stick from Fanboy. Hangman, however, leaned in with that trademark smirk of his and immediately asked you “So what do you do?”

“I used to drive, but I’ve always loved photography, so I'm pursuing that for now.” you said simply, not wanting to dive into your entire career story right now, not when the night had been going so good and you had been in such a good mood. “What, racing or something?” Hangman had teased, clearly not expecting you to say yes. You nodded, swallowing the strange twist of emotion in your chest that came into your throat and left a painful hitch. “Yeah. Something kinda like that.”

You didn’t elaborate much further, your shoulder’s hunching slightly inwards, and Bob, your sweet, caring, ever observant boyfriend caught that immediately as his hand reached under the table to wrap around yours, giving it a firm squeeze and rubbing his thumb gently over yours without saying a word. You knew at this moment that you truly loved Bob Floyd. And he deserved to know about the other part of your life that you’ve kept so tightly hidden to yourself for the last few years, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to try to bring it up and talk about it, all the memories and emotions flooding back as you do.

A few weeks had passed since you had met the team, and you knew that you wanted Bob to meet your family. You wanted your family to meet the man who treated you like gold, massaged your wrist out for you when it started aching on bad days, the man who opens every door for you and hugs you like you’re all he ever needs. You decided it was finally time.

You invited him to dinner with your parents at their house, your nerves through the roof as you imagined how this would all go down.

Bob had come straight from the base, his shirt half tucked into his jeans, and a bouquet of grocery store flowers in hand as he hugged your mom, and shook your dad’s hand, introducing himself before giving you a gentle kiss. Your mom had practically swooned at the sight, asking him all sorts of questions about his job, how he became an aviator, and all the questions about how you two met. Bob had just laughed and smiled that shy smile of his that makes your heart skip a beat and answered all your moms questions intently, not brushing over anything or making her feel like she asked a stupid question when it came to the mechanics of being a WSO.

Your dad had grilled him with narrowed eyes, asking every question in the book that he could think of, and saying the normal "What are your intentions with my daughter?” before breaking into a grin halfway through dinner as he saw the way Bob interacted with your mom and the way he never let his hand falter from yours, seeing the way Bob constantly would give a nod to you as if to ask if you were okay. After that, Bob was met with a big “Welcome to the family, Son.” and a clap on the back as everyone gathered their dishes.

But then, then the part you’ve been dreading since the moment this evening happened.

Bob had gone to the bathroom, walking down the hallway you know has every photo, memory and award hung up gracing the wall. He came back five minutes later looking stunned.

You followed his gaze to the hallway wall he was still glancing at, his eyes taking in every photo and memory. Dozens of framed photos lined the wall. Every race win since you were in karting, every podium you’ve ever had while being in the Formula Series, every photos of you each season with your team. There was one of you at eleven years old, it was your parents' favorite photo. It captured you grinning widely as you were in your tiny karting suit, holding your first ever trophy above your head.

Others littered the wall, like one from when you were in Formula 3, your helmet under one arm and your racing suit smeared with grease and champagne as you smiled big at your team principal. Then one of you during your Formula 2 days, it was you on the podium, your smile so wide you felt like you were reliving the memory just by looking at it. And then, well then there was the photo that you never wanted to look at again. The photo that you had worked so hard to get to the point of being able to take, a photo that your parent’s cherished and you grimaced at. It was you in the Haas garage, arm slung around your engineer as you laughed just before your first ever F1 debut, the whole garage smiling at the fact that they had a women driver, and she was about to debut, not in a practice session, not in pre-season testing, no, she going to debut on track in a race.

Your body deflates slightly and Bob notices, walking away from the years worth of memories and gently wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he leads you back to the living room, where the rest of your family is waiting, eager to hear more about you two together.

Soon you bid your family goodbye, and start heading back to your car, Bob’s hand firmly placed on your back grounding you despite the anxiety you feel about the inevitable questions he’s going to have.

Bob opens your car door, softly helping you in, before gently pressing a kiss to your forehead before closing your door and heading around to the drivers side, opening the door and getting in himself, and starting the car.

As he pulls away from your parent’s house his hand finds yours, giving it a firm squeeze and softly saying “I’ve got questions Baby, I would love to know why my girlfriend is such a badass and hid it from me all this time. But, I can tell this is a sensitive topic for you and if you don’t want to talk about it yet then we aren’t going too. This is something I want you to tell me in your own time, Hun.”

Your eyes instantly well with tears, because Bob, your amazing boyfriend who has been nothing but thoughtful and caring to you since you met him just saw the hidden part of your life, the one you hide with a mask, and isn’t pushing you like others, isn’t drilling you with questions about what the rest of the drivers where like, asking what your crash felt like. Bob’s just there, holding you hand firmly, and letting you process how you need too.

It’s at this moment that you decide to tell him, not because you feel the pressure too, but because you trust that he will accept every part of you. You know Bob, and he’s not going to compare you now, to the you that you once were. You know Bob doesn’t care about how many trophies you’ve won, how many podiums you’ve made, the people you’ve met, Bob just cares about you, and not because you were once a formula one driver, but because you're his girlfriend. His girlfriend who tries to make him lunches when you stay over at his apartment, the one who always litters his face with kisses after a long day to make him smile.

You know Bob wants you, all of you. As the car pulls into his apartment, and you guys go in, you tell him everything.

How you started karting when you were six after a friend’s birthday party made you wanna keep doing it. How you rocked a barbie pink helmet at eight years old and never let anyone tell you different, how the boys never took you seriously in karting until you started winning big events, which made you only more determined to keep doing it.

How as you got older and older you knew that this was what you wanted to do in life. How you fought your way through F3 and F2 as a teen, fighting to let everyone know that a girl could beat the best of the best, always giving interviews with grace even when you wished you would’ve punched some of them for the questions they’d ask you. You told him how you sobbed in your moms arms when you got the F1 call up saying you were going to be racing for Haas. You told him how everyone said a girl couldn’t make it, that you'd get cut from your seat within just a few races, and how your first finish in the points felt like spitting in their face, telling everyone who ever doubted you just because you were a woman to get fucked.

And then? Then you told him about the crash, about how when you turned that corner and felt the grip go and your car begin sliding, you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop the physics of what was going to happen. You told him about the sound of your car crumpling and how it’s something that’ll never leave your memories, and how after you crashed all you heard was ringing and then silence.

You told him the way you’ll never forget the smell of the burnt rubber and carbon fiber, and then you told him about the way your wrist shattered against the wheel as it got stuck, breaking your wrist and multiple fingers to the point where you needed five different surgeries to correct the nerve damage that had been created.

You told him about the pain when you woke up in the hospital after managing to climb in the ambulance before promptly passing out. You told him the pain of waking up and knowing you’d never race again, as you saw the state of your body and hands, knowing you were going to have to completely relearn how to use your right wrist, how to write, how to hold things, all of that was going to have to be completely redone.

Bob didn’t once interrupt you, ask you questions to go more in depth, he just listened. His presence calming, and his gaze on you firm with concern and love. “I miss it. so much” you said, your eyes on the ceiling as you lean back against the couch the tension in your body fading to something softer, something sadder. “That feeling, It was like flying. When I was in those cars nothing else mattered to me but the line I was going to take. Always trying to push the limit, go a bit further than the person before, take a risk and see the payoff from it.”

He doesn’t speak, he just keeps his hand warm on your thigh, gently squeezing it to let you know he was there when he could tell you were getting emotional.

“I just. I really don’t like talking about it because I hate sounding bitter. I can see the way people pity me and look at me like I'm wasted potential, like they’re always wondering what could’ve been if I had continued, yet never acknowledging what I did do. I see those races on TV, or playing at the bar and it just guts me, because that should’ve been me, that was me, and now it’s all a faded away memory that I keep locked close to my chest.” You admitted softly

He finally turned toward you, his eyes full of quiet awe and something that looked like admiration. “You’re not bitter Baby, you’re brave, you changed the game darling. You became what little girls looked up to. You made it possible for someone else to believe they could do it too. Sure, you may have not ended the way you wanted, but what you’ve done can’t be erased”

You blinked hard, trying to fight the tears trying to escape your eyes, but failing as they began to wall. “And yeah” he continued, his thumb brushing away a stray tear on your cheek “Maybe your wrist doesn’t work the way it used to, but that doesn’t take away a single thing you’ve done. You’re still you, and I love every version of you because I want all of you, not just the girl who once raced, and not just the girl who I get to curl up with everything. I want you baby, all of you.”

You let out a shaky breath and leaned into him burying your face in his chest, while he held you on that couch while you fell apart in his arms, and not once did he make you feel bad for it.

Later that night, you're wrapped in his sheets and lying against his chest, your thoughts beginning to spiral again. “You okay?” Bob whispered, his voice raspy from exhaustion.

You hesitated before humming a gentle “Just thinkin.” He pressed a kiss to your temple and softly asked “You ever think about driving again? Just for fun?” You tilted your head up a bit confused “What? Like sim racing?”

“No,” he said, a smirk quirking up in the corner of his mouth despite his tired eyes “Like go karting, the real kind. Maybe’ we take the team sometime. You know Hangman’s too competitive not to talk trash everyone. I’d pay to see my badass of a girl leave him in the dust.”

You snorted, a smile finally growing on your lips as you shake your head softly.

“Oh come on baby, It’d be so much fun. You would get to be in your element again without all the stress, and I'd get to watch my girl absolutely destroy everyone's egos.” Bob say’s trying his best to convince you.

You laughed loudly, the real laughs that Bob always manages to pull out of you even when you think it’s impossible. You curled closer to him, burying yourself further into his hold, relishing in the way his arms gently squeezed you closer to him. “Thanks, Bobby” you whispered quietly.

“For what?” He asks softly, peering down at you through tired eyes. You smile, meeting his gentle gaze and softly say “For making me feel like I still have a purpose, like I haven’t reached my full potential yet.”

He kissed your temple. “You haven’t, Baby. Not even close.”

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winterarchives · 2 days ago

Text

Blood, Sweat and Tears part l

Soulmate AU pairing - OT7 x reader , BTS x reader word count - 13.8k+ summary - You are an up and coming author for M-Buzz; Manhattan, New York’s popular and new news source, set with the task of interviewing the globally famous band, BTS. You also have a bit of a glitch in your system. While everyone else has a set of initials and a birth date to signify who their soulmate is, you have a set of 14 letters and 21 numbers, something unheard of and rather stigmatized; and something that confuses you, that is, until you meet the men you’re interviewing. warnings - cussing , eventual smut , MDNI , early writing (literal years ago) pls go gentle on me

Alright, you’d be the first to admit that there were wonderful advantages to the job you’d landed three years ago. You spoke 3 languages fluently, which made you the go-to person for Korean and Japanese interviews with a language barrier. You could meet celebrities that other ordinary American interviewers couldn’t truly connect with on your level, while saving your company a few bucks they’d otherwise spend to book an actual translator.

Other interviews with the bands, actors, and high-profile socialites would be limited to watered-down conversations held with those celebrities and their translators. So, yeah, you’d pretty much been given the highly prestigious press title the moment your employer had seen the “fluently speaks 3 languages” bullet point on your resume.

“KPop and Japanese anime have blown up in America over the past few years!” She’d told you excitedly. “You’d be an amazing addition to our team.”

And so you had started working your ass off immediately. Currently, you have interviews with Hideo Kojima, Hayao Miyazaki, Hajime Isayama, EXO, and BLACKPINK on your belt. You were looked up to in your work environment because of your dedication to the interviewing process. Plus, your income kept you comfortable. You were happy, for the most part. However, at times, you felt complacent.

Sure, your job was amazing. Being able to speak 3 languages alone was a feat in and of itself, but at the end of the day, you felt lacking. Your social life had dwindled, something your family had been worried about since the second month of your working career, and although you thought it a nonissue at first, the loneliness built until it was something you could hardly stand to endure, but it was also inescapable.

You didn’t have the initials and birthdate of your soulmate etched in black ink on your left wrist, as everyone did at birth; instead, you had 14 letters and 28 numbers. The long sequence of characters had earned you confused looks from doctors at your yearly check-ups and a lack of social life. You’d had them memorised by heart.

K.S.M.Y.J.H.K.N.P.J.K.T.J.J The stutter in the last two letters irked you to no end. And the numbers were a complete mind-fuck.

12.4.92.3.9.93.2.18.94.9.12.94.10.13.95.12.30.95.9.1.97. What any of it meant was a fucking mystery to you and everyone around you. You were an enigma.

It wasn’t an existence you were keen on, and you know that it was a huge chunk of your family’s worrying. But you’d accepted long ago that you weren’t going to have a soulmate, that you’d either have to find someone else who was as misfortunate as you, or just settle with being alone save for one-offs and porn. It wasn’t like you weren’t living damn close to those truths now.

You can still vaguely hear your mother chastising you for having such a full schedule. “You’ll never find your soulmate if the only thing you care about is your work,” she’d told you, thinking the overabundance of black on your wrist was a clerical error, and your lesser-than history of romance was a result of you not looking for them hard enough. It took everything in you not to break down at her harsh words, but you mustered a weak, “I’ve found them already, Mom, my work is my soulmate,” and left her townhouse. That was 6 months ago, and you’d not seen her since. You still stuck by your words, because even if you were lonely, you were beyond appreciative for the job you had, soulmate be damned.

But sometimes the loneliness was deafening, and it left a question ringing in your head like a church bell. Was the writing really worth it?

Friends from college couldn’t keep up with your hectic lifestyle of needing to be ready to board a plane at any given moment for an immediate press conference or high-profile interview your boss had scored you. You couldn’t have a pet out of fear of never being home to care for it, and your family couldn’t pause holidays because you’d have a layover flight that day.

So, long story short, yes, your job was amazing and had definitely provided you with some of the best moments of your life (it’s not every day that you get to ask Hideo Kojima about Death Stranding,) but it’d also enhanced the evergrowing emptiness of your solitude, and piled on your shoulders round-the-clock work hours.

“Y/N! Thank god you’re here,” your co-worker, Elle, greets you. She’d been the one person you could rely on the most since your first day. She’s a pretty girl, a few years younger than you, her colorful pencil skirts and chiffon button-ups always brightening your day as soon as you walk into the office.

“Good morning to you, too, Elle.” You tell her, shocked when she quite literally hugs the breath out of your body. “What’s gotten into you this morning?” You ask her, stepping back to look into her eyes.

“I had a few too many cups of coffee…” She smirks, “But, you’ll be proud of me! I got your interview with BLACKPINK edited, and it’ll be fresh on the press and on YouTube within the next few hours or so.”

“That’s great! Thanks, Elle. You do need to be careful with your caffeine intake this early in the morning, though. We don’t need a repeat of Christmas.”

She cringes at the reminder, vividly recalling the day she’d forgotten to eat and passed out when she’d gotten a papercut opening her Secret Santa gift. It’d cost her a week’s pay in medical bills once she’d been released from the hospital with a few stitches she’d scored from landing on her face in the office’s rec room.

“Point taken,” she grimaces.

You chuckle, nudging her shoulder as you work your way into your office, Elle on your toes the whole time. Your focus drifts as she tells you about her late night and early morning, because this is routine for the two of you now. You’re both free to chat amongst yourselves if you’ve finished your current assignments, something you’re grateful for, until your boss either emails you or makes her way into your office to assign you your next task.

“Y/N?” Elle asks you, dragging your jaded attention from the swirling of the hot chocolate she’s readied on your desk, back to her face.

“Huh?” You ask drowsily.

“I said, did you hear that the Bangtan Boys are going to do a mini-tour around Seoul, Daegu, and Busan before they go on a break?” She says, exasperated by your lack of interest in her earlier monologues.

“I actually hadn’t heard of that, yet.” You reply lightly, interest piqued, “is anyone from our office covering the tour yet? I know Andrew speaks some Korean, albeit not as fluently as I do.”

“I haven’t heard anything in the office yet,” she answers. “But, that leads to the question, er, well, favor I have to ask of you.”

You eye her questioningly, already cautious.

“It’s just, I know that you’re sometimes allowed to bring a tagalong when there’s big stories like this to cover, so I don’t know… I was wondering if maybe I could be your plus-one if you get the story?”

“Ugh, Elle, you know we don’t really get to choose the stand-in reporters for those trips,” you groan.

“Andrew told me that when he’s been given big stories that he always takes Cam with him,” she whines. “And I’ve never been out of the country, let alone the continent. It’d be an amazing opportunity for me to be able to leave New York for once.”

She pleads at you with her eyes, full pink lips puckered and trembling.

“If- and I mean if,” you emphasize, seeing how her pout turns into a near-blinding smile, “if I get the story, because honestly, we don’t even know if there is one; then I might consider asking Mrs. Powell if you can assist me as a co-writer.”

“Yes!” Elle shrieks, jumping up and down, chiffon bouncing and blonde hair waving across the room wildly. “I knew I could count on you! God, you’re so awesome.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you huff, checking your email. “Powell wants me to write a follow-up on the BLACKPINK interview, so I’m going to start on that. I’ll find you around lunch so we can discuss what I summarize,” you tell her, “oh, and Elle?” You say, stopping her in the doorway of your office before she leaves. “Remind me to kick Andrew’s ass later for being such a mushroom.”

Elle laughs, stepping out of your office with a skip in her step.

You didn’t exactly hate Andrew, but you trusted him about as far as you could throw him. He was ruthless in his interviewing and even more so in his everyday life. Beyond that, you guys had the same working position, prospective head reporter for M-Buzz, an up-and-coming Manhattan news source, and both you and Andrew wanted the head reporting position that only one of you would get.

Four hours, three cups of coffee, and two bathroom trips later, the follow-up is written; the 4,000 words glaring at you from the computer screen. You type in Powell’s email address and hit send, letting out a sigh as you watch the check mark change from grey to green.

Your mind, the persistent bastard, decides to wander back towards the dreaded soulmate topic, and although you weren’t too keen on staying in the mindset, you can’t shake it.

At 21 years old, you’d never met another individual with a lack of ‘the signature,’ as most Americans referred to it. You’d moved cross country a multitude of times, studying various current events that arose, and interviewing until your mind was numb, but you’d not once encountered anyone with the same blank canvas that your wrist housed.

You’d seen the way some people would glance at your wrist, nosy tendencies flaring, and then the way they’d raise their brows in shock, looking to you like you were some sort of circus animal. The pity in their eyes was acidic and made you want to vomit.

You’d also have witnessed the irritation that would swell in your chest when you saw people treating their soulmates poorly, or ignoring their existence altogether.

Cam and Elle could deny it all they wanted, but they were, in fact, soulmates. No amount of repression and cold insolence would change fate. They couldn’t deny their cosmic attraction forever, just like you couldn’t deny your cosmic solitude.

There’s a small knock on your door, and then Elle is peaking her wide-eyed face through a crack, looking sorry for interrupting your train of thought.

“Mrs. Powell just asked for you and Andrew to go to her office,” she tells you.

“Wonderful,” you quip, standing up and straightening your pencil skirt, not at all excited at the uncomfortable situation you’d be in once you entered your boss’s office.

“I really think it’s about BTS…” Elle says shyly, walking alongside you towards the elevator.

“It most likely is. She’s probably going to have us kill each other for the story.”

“You were always a scrapper,” your friend jokes.

“Don’t give me too much credit, Elle. I grew up in Washington. The closest thing to a fight I’ve been in was trying to squeeze into a bus with ten other people during a rainstorm.”

“I’ve seen how you get when you want a position,” she tells you as the elevator doors start to slide shut, “you’ll knock 'em dead.”

Her face disappears behind the metal panels, and the elevator rises.

You could go for the job, yank it out from under Andrew’s nose, and enjoy Seoul, you hadn’t been to before, and you did very much enjoy traveling. Or you could simply stay home and watch Friends reruns, edit another reporter’s papers, and drink champagne. You could buy some Ben and Jerry’s and take some sick days, go to a spa, and just relax.

The latter wasn’t you, though. You were driven, adventurous, and properly bored with New York. You needed a change of scenery, even if it were only for a few weeks, and if you could take Elle, that’d only make Seoul more enjoyable.

With your mind set, and the doors to the elevator opening upon arrival to the thirtieth floor, you step out and walk with purpose towards the office marked “Powell.”

“Thanks for finally joining us, Y/N,” Andrew mutters as soon as you’ve stepped foot into the room.

“Nice to see you, too, Andrew.” You smile, masking irritation with friendly courtesy.

“Cool it, Klein,” Powell huffs, eyeing Andrew coldly. “Go ahead and have a seat, Y/N,” she motions towards the chair opposite where she’s sitting at her desk, and you take it, avoiding the glare Andrew sends your way as you sit to his left.

“I’m sure you’ve both been bombarded with notifications throughout the day about the ‘Persona’ tour taking place in South Korea later this month?” She asks, smiling, when you both nod. “Great, well, I had Margaret over on the tech floor set us up with better alerting algorithms last month, and they’ve worked magic for us today. We managed to book a two-person reporting gig for the entirety of the tour-”

“You’re sending me with Y/N? Doesn’t that seem a little redundant, given we’re both going for the same job?” Andrew groans, running his hand over his pointed face.

“Let me finish, Andrew,” Powell snaps, “I was going to say that you guys could pick who, amongst yourselves, would go with an apprentice, but given your outburst, I am choosing to send Y/N. We’re sending a reporter to interview the band and review the tour, not fight amongst coworkers.”

You hold back a laugh, shocked that you’d gotten the job without having to lift a finger. “But- I didn’t mean to”

“But you did,” Powell states dryly. “And now Y/N will be going to Korea for three weeks while you continue covering the President’s tweets.”

That, you do laugh at. “At least you’ll have a lot of content,” you joke.

Andrew huffs, grabs his coffee from the end table between your chairs, and leaves the room swiftly, jaw locked and scowl present.

“So,” Powell shifts her gaze from the slightly slammed office door to your still-shocked expression, “your trip is pretty much all set up, you leave in three days, and the tour starts in five. The hotels will be paid for, of course, I just need to know who you’d like to bring along with you and whether you’ll be needing a spare room or just one with two beds when we book your stays.”

“Oh, just one room will be fine,” you tell her, “I’ll bring Elle along with me, she does a spectacular job of helping to revise my articles already.”

“Sounds great, I’ll just let HR know who’s being sent and fill out some paperwork, and you guys should be set. Your first interview with BTS will be the night you land, so you’ll have to get situated in the hotel quickly. From there on, I’ll continue emailing and calling with updates and schedules. Pretty smooth sailing, all and all.”

“Just how I like it,” you smile, shaking her offered hand and leaving the room.

You don’t expect Andrew to be waiting for you at the elevator, but there he is, in all of his angry-man glory; face red and temper very obviously still flaring.

“Andrew, I really don’t thi--”

“No, you listen here,” he stops you, voice low and threatening. “I’ve worked my fucking ass off to be where I am today and I will not have my career ruined by some up-and-coming 20 year old floozy. You hear me?” He shouts, finger waving in your face as sweat beads on his forehead.

“I don’t understand why you even-”

“I don’t care if you don’t understand! My point is, watch your fucking back and stay the hell out of my way.” He spits, pushing past you and towards the stairs on the opposite side of the hallway.

What the fuck?

“He said what?” Elle asks, shoving another forkful of ramen into her mouth.

“The man’s fucking insane,” you tell her, twisting your own noodles with your fork, “it’s not like I targeted him as soon as I walked into the office! I literally just sat there and listened. Didn’t have to utter a peep.”

“I can’t believe he called you a floozy. Is he stuck in the ’60s?” She mocks. “Listen, I know you’re upset, and after a situation like that, no one can blame you… But, Y/N, look on the bright side. We’re going to have so much fun in South Korea. I can’t thank you enough for letting me come with you. I really can’t.”

“Buy me lunch once a week for the next two months and we’ll call it even,” you joke.

“Deal,” Elle replies instantly. “You’re the only person I know who will eat noodles every day with me and not get tired of them.”

“It’s good food,” you reply, “people are just ungrateful.”

It’s almost as if you’ve blinked and you’re getting off the plane in Seoul. The last few days passed by in a blur as you and Elle attended a few meetings, going over company policies and general rules of thumb. No sexually explicit questions, no touching the interviewee, be on time for the interviews, dress appropriately, etc.

“It’s colorful here,” Elle exhales, stepping to your side as you wait for a taxi. “Kind of exhilarating.”

“It’s pretty breathtaking,” you agree, smiling at a taxi driver who finally acknowledges the two of you and pulls to the curb. You give him the hotel address once he’s situated your luggage in the trunk, and you rest your back against the leather interior as the car begins to weave through traffic.

“Where do you wanna go first?” Elle asks after nearly half an hour of silence, “We could go to a local restaurant? Cam told me about a few places he’s been to that have completely ruined American cuisine for him.”

“Well, first we have an interview.” You placate her, “food, after. Maybe we could walk the streets later and sightsee?”

“Mmm, fair enough.” Elle smiles. “Thank you, Y/N. No, I really mean it,” she says, shrugging off the interjection that’s ready to roll off your tongue. “I know people usually say thank you just to serve their own egos, but I really mean it. You’re a good friend, and I appreciate that.”

You blush, not quite knowing how to respond.

“We’re going to have a great time,” Elle adds, filling the silence, “this will be the best work trip either of us has ever been on, I swear it.”

“Alright, you’re getting sappy,” you chuckle, nudging her shoulder. “Save it for when we reflect on the trip a few months down the line, huh?”

“You’re not very emotive, are you?” She jokes.

“Hey, I can be emotional. I just choose not to act on my emotions in front of other people. I promise you, inside- very deep inside my body, my psyche is curled in the fetal position and crying from just how you’ve moved me.”

“Shut up,” she scoffs, shoving you lightly. Her eyes light up as she glances out of the passenger window from her back seat. “Is that it?”

You follow her gaze to the gargantuan building ahead of the taxi, and your mouth gapes. “That’s it…” You breathe, completely taken aback by how luxurious the hotel looked.

“Wow…”

“You can say that again.”

You pay the taxi driver and bow, thanking him in Korean. Elle is already out of the small vehicle, pulling her luggage out of the trunk with a few grunts. You couldn’t hold off your work forever, despite how nervous you were growing. You could do this. You knew you could. Turning to the nearest bellhop and signaling him over, you begin to pull your suitcase out of the trunk.

“We have roughly 2 hours before we’re supposed to be downtown to meet with BTS for the interview,” you tell her. “So that gives us an hour to get ready. Powell said Big Hit offered a driver to us during the tour.”

“A driver? But we’re interviewing them, not the other way around,” she replies, following you and the bellhop as he escorts you to the front desk inside the massive building to retrieve your key.

“I guess they really appreciate American media covering them,” you tell her, “maybe they’re considering another U.S tour sooner rather than later,” you shrug.

“Your keys, Miss L/N.” The bellhop tells you, handing you the golden objects on a ring. Room #901, that’d put you pretty high up.

“Thank you,” you tell him, smiling widely. “Would you be able to lead the way and get our bags up there? We’re on a time crunch,” you tell him in his native tongue. He nods his agreement and grabs a silver luggage cart from behind the front desk.

You’re shocked that M-Buzz has put you and Elle on the top floor, not quite expecting the obvious pampering.

“This is just so exciting!” Elle chirps, nearly scaring the poor bellhop. You offered him an apology for her outburst and huff. “I mean, the top floor? Cam has never mentioned being treated to a top-floor suite.”

“It’s not what I figured we’d be getting, that’s for sure.” You mumble, “Maybe there’s some sort of catch? An extra 50,000-word write-up? Deducted pay?”

“Oh, give M-Buzz some credit, Y/N.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it, I do, and I’m not complaining in the slightest. I just didn’t expect it. We’re only going to be in Seoul for a week or so anyway. We have two other major cities to go to after.”

“You have a point,” Elle agrees, “but I don’t think they’d dock our pay. The write-up seems more realistic. But you have gifted fingers, it’ll be a breeze for you.”

“Magic fingers?” You question her, cheeks blazing. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Y/N. Everyone around the office calls you Magic Fingers because of how quickly you can pull a five-star article out of your ass.”

You send her a pointed glare, this time verbally apologizing to the bellhop for her crudeness. You only had ten floors to ascend, and then you’d be free from the claustrophobic confines of the elevator and the awkward social setting looming inside of it.

“I just write whatever pops into my head, I don’t overthink it…” You explain, feeling completely self-conscious, breathing out a sigh of relief when the elevator doors finally open, revealing a large hallway with only one door on either wall.

“Penthouse 901,” the bellhop announces, shoving the key into the lock and pushing the door open for you and Elle.

“Holy crap,” Elle squeaks.

“Thank you,” you tell the bellhop, handing him a 10,000 won tip, hoping it’ll cover the cost for Elle’s loose lips. He bows and exits the room, leaving you and Elle to gape at the extravagant room alone.

“This is kind of amazing,” you whisper, eyeing the white marble floors and granite countertops in the massive kitchen.

“Kind of amazing? It’s fucking incredible, Y/N,” Elle corrects you. “They even sent us a bottle of champagne.”

“For a reporting job?” You wonder aloud, still not quite grasping the intricacy of the penthouse you were situated in.

“Who knows?” Elle answers, “I’m not complaining.”

You shake the slight unease you feel, and start to unpack your belongings, makeup bag, and toothbrush, some of the first things you grasp. “I’m going to find a bathroom in this castle and get ready. You should do the same,” you chide, pulling your hair into a loose ponytail.

“Meet you back here in an hour?” Elle shouts, already at the opposite end of the mini-mansion.

“Sounds good!” You holler, pushing open a door and gasping at the bedroom in front of you. Satin sheets, dark maroon walls, wall-length mirrors, and a massive television screen glaring at you with purpose. “Wow,” you whisper, openly admiring the intricacy of the carpet and bedding. “Later, Y/N,” you order yourself, refocusing your whirling mind on getting ready for the interview mere hours ahead of you.

You had drafted a multitude of questions for said interview while on the flight, thankful that Elle had drifted asleep for the entire duration you were in the air. God knows you would’ve gotten nothing done had your coworker been awake.

Aside from clothing and a tad bit of makeup, you were ready. Beyond ready, in fact. So why were nerves still prickling at the back of your psyche and rendering you a shaking mess right now?

You want to break down and have a good cry, but you know that’ll serve you no good. You have a job to do here, and you weren’t going to let M-Buzz and Elle down. Maybe if you did a great job you’d have more extravagant trips to look forward to, Elle included.

You splash your face with water from the connecting bathroom, and look at your face in the mirror. Nerves definitely had done their work on you, your pupils were still slightly dilated from your strange near-panic attack and you had cold sweats.

Thankfully, you had packed your favorite lavender body oil, which always seemed to soothe your anxiety when huge work or life obstacles such as this clouded your mind. A pat of the scented liquid against your throat and wrists, a natural makeup look completed with a mauve lip, and your new black pencil skirt paired with your pastel pink blouse and a high bun had you feeling rejuvenated and even excited for the interview. You didn’t even trip once in your nude Miu Miu heels on your way from your bedroom to the living room.

Elle waited, as she said she would, in the entryway of the luxurious penthouse. “I thought you said Powell was going to hook us up with a one-bedroom?”

“She did,” you tell her, “can you please not use the phrase ‘hook us up with’ in a sentence, please?” You groan. “It sounds like you’re talking about us fucking the room.”

“You are especially frisky today, Y/N what’s gotten into you?” She asks, wiggling her brows suggestively.

“Nothing has gotten into me, Elle,” you shout, “I’m just excited to do the interview, that’s all. I wanna bring up astrology signs and stuff,” you explain, “it’s going to be fun!”

“For you,” Elle quips, leading you out of the room and into the elevator. “Not everyone is as involved with astrology as you are, you know.”

“I’m not involved with astrology,” you huff, “readers like to learn this stuff about their celebrity crushes. It’s not far-fetched,” you grumble.

“I’m just teasing you,” she laughs, nudging you. “I’m sure the interview will be fun. I know you were plotting out questions and topics the entire flight.”

“Wha-”

“You type loud,” she shrugs. “It’s good to be prepared, don’t be embarrassed.”

You want to argue with her for the sake of your ego, but you know she was right. She’d embarrassed you, not necessarily a hard feat for her, given how well she’d come to know you.

“Powell wants me to try and interview them in mainly English, but she said that if I think it’s easier to do it in Korean, that would work, too.” You tell Elle, kicking at the elevator floor as it continues its slow descent. “I don’t like it when she leaves me to make the big decisions.”

“Oh, Y/N. You always do this.” Elle groans, rubbing her hand against her face.

“Do what?” You ask, slightly defensive.

“Psych yourself out before the interviews you do. You second-guess everything, and then the second we walk into the interviewing room, you completely shift. It’s like you were never worried in the first place, you just… go with the flow?” She explains, “it makes the worrying you do beforehand incredibly frustrating. Especially knowing how confident and driven you are outside of interviews and work.”

“I’m sorry…” You say, sad that you’d made her even an inkling upset.

“Don’t be, it’s very you. I’m not frustrated you experience it, just frustrated you don’t seem to credit yourself enough on how spectacular of a job you do all in all. And as far as the English or Korean topic goes, the guys have been learning more English from what I’ve learned, so they might surprise you and make the decision for you.”

“I appreciate that,” you tell her, because truthfully, you do. “I’ll try my best not to be a mope the rest of the tour, I swear!” You hold out your pinky, grateful that she doesn’t leave you hanging as you lock in your promise.

The elevator finally dings, and the two of you step out, crossing the lobby quickly and hopping into the black SUV that waits outside of the hotel with your name in the passenger window. The driver greets you, quickly explaining his job at Big Hit, which literally consists of driving interviewers and members of Big Hit to and from locations during tours and press conferences.

“We appreciate you driving us,” you tell him in Korean, leaning towards the front seats so you can see him better, and noting his slight blush and the creases that form at the corners of his eyes as he takes your compliment.

“We will be arriving at the Big Hit building in ten minutes,” he tells you, “it’s a pretty short drive.”

“That’s great. We’ll make it on time, then.” You smile, repeating his statement in English for Elle as she watches the night scenery flitter by her outside of her window.

“Do you think they’ll be as beautiful as they are on screen in person?” Elle asks.

“More than likely,” you answer her, “but we aren’t here to pine over them. You’ve got a soulmate back home to worry about,” you chastise her.

“Yeah, but you don’t.” She replies dryly after a few minutes pass, “and I am still single, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave her off, “you and Cam have both made that abundantly clear.”

“Shut up,” she mumbles, pulling her cardigan tighter around her body while she sulks. “It’d be weird if we got together.”

“Why?” You ask her, interest piqued, “Because you work together? Don’t give me that.”

“No, because I dated his brother in high school.”

You were not expecting that. Whatsoever.

“You dated his brother?” You ask incredulously.

“Yes, his brother. Adam.” She snaps. “Didn’t end all too well.”

“I’m sorry, Elle,” you tell her honestly, “I didn’t know. If I did, I wouldn’t joke about it.”

“It’s okay, there are reasons Cam and I don’t bring it up.” She shrugs. “Oh, look!” She points, and you follow her finger, seeing the mostly-glass-constructed building that’s lit up down the expansive driveway you’ve turned onto.

“That’s a lot of windows.”

“Nice assessment.” Elle laughs.

“Thanks. It was exhausting to make.” You joke back, pulling your notebook you kept with you during interviews, out of your purse.

“I can’t believe we’re going to meet them,” Elle smiles, “I’ve been listening to them since 2 Cool 4 Skool was released.”

“I listened to Wings when it was released, but aside from that, research is my extent of BTS knowledge.” You tell her.

“Wait, what?” She asks, taken aback.

“I just kinda stopped listening to music and paying it any attention after my dad passed away in high school.” You shrug. “They released that in my senior year, so I gave it a listen. It was good, but I don’t know. I didn’t want to listen to music like I did when my dad was around, I guess.”

The car comes to a stop before Elle can reply, and your driver steps out to open your door. You bow, thanking him and heading towards the Big Hit worker who waits for you and Elle at the front door to the Big Hit establishment.

“Y/N?” The young woman asks.

“That is me.” You answer kindly, shaking her offered hand.

“The boys are waiting for you and your co-writer in the main room. I am Mai, and I will be guiding you there and staying on hand for any questions you may have during the interview.” She tells you.

“That’s wonderful! Thank you.” You answer her, following her and signaling for Elle to do the same as she leads you over the threshold and into the marvelous entryway of the building.

“This way,” she directs you, stepping down a small flight of stairs and into a ridiculously well-lit room, every piece of furniture and decor white, save for the three chairs and two sofas that are burgundy.

You can feel sets of eyes on you as you enter the room, but you wait until you’re sat in the lounge chair that Mai directs you to stand in front of to raise your chin and look the boys in the eyes.

To say they’re gorgeous is quite possibly a disservice to them. They’re ethereal, otherworldly.

“Hello,” you address them, your voice surprisingly steady given your inward disarray from simply looking at them. “My name is Y/N L/N, I’m a reporter from M-Buzz, an up-and-coming news source in Manhattan, New York.”

Some of the boys are glancing at you with confused expressions on their faces, and you can swear that two of them look at you with complete shock and bewilderment. You save yourself a lengthy self-analysis and repeat your introduction to them in Korean.

“Woah! Are you fluent in Korean?” One with a giant smile, black hair, a yellow Gucci crewneck, and an exuberant voice asks you.

“Hoseok, we haven’t even introduced ourselves,” another rebukes the man who must be Hoseok, his voice a velvety, rich sound that nearly has you blushing.

“I’m so sorry!” Hoseok rushes, bowing to you, “My name is Jung Hoseok, or JHope! It’s nice to meet you.”

You smile gently at him, “It’s nice to meet you, too, Hoseok.”

“I’m Kim Namjoon, or RM,” the one with the rich voice tells you, bowing as Hoseok did. He’s very well defined and the tallest of the bunch. His lips are drawn up in a smile, but you can tell that they’re shapely. You absentmindedly notice his hands, the size of them, and the muscles that shift in his arms as he plays with his hands in his lap.

“Don’t keep her all to yourselves,” another voice rings out. You glance at the owner of the new voice, pleased with what you see, though you’d never say that aloud. His lips are full, eyes bright, and hair a butterscotch blond. “I’m Kim Seokjin, but ARMY calls me Jin, or Worldwide Handsome.”

You smile, returning his bow.

“I’m Kim Taehyung!” A man with a bandana tied across his forehead to keep back his chocolate brown hair smiles, eyes bright and boxy-smile infectious. “ARMY calls me V.”

“I’m Jeon Jungkook!” The muscular figure next to Taehyung introduces himself, his smile wide and cheeks flushed as you shift your gaze to him. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.” He smiles even wider, a feat you thought impossible.

“I’m Park Jimin!” The next introduces himself, his smile sweet, but something lying beneath his eyes tells you that sweet is something he can be far from. His hair is a light pastel pink, his eyes crinkle as he smiles at you, bowing. You recognize that he’d been one of the men to look at you in shock.

You look to the last figure, sensing his eyes still on you. They are. He looks to you with the same expression Jimin had prior to the introductions, eyes serious as they take you in. “Min Yoongi,” he says simply, nodding his head towards you.

You smile at him, slightly uncomfortable with the way he and Jimin seem to be fixated on you.

“It’s nice to meet all of you. This is my co-writer, Elle.” You motion towards your protege. “She doesn’t speak Korean.” You explain.

“Ah,” Namjoon speaks up, “they aren’t all fluent in speaking English yet, but they’ve been practicing and understand most of it. We can do the interview in English and then translate what needs to be translated into Korean. If that works?”

“That’s great!” You answer him, breaking into English to explain the conversation to Elle. You smile when the guys all introduce themselves to her in English. The beginning of the interview goes about how all interviews ever go.

The cameras are set up, you redo your introductions, and you ask the basic questions. Favorite colors, favorite songs on their current album, favorite songs of theirs in general, celeb crushes, etc.

You’re excited when the first thirty minutes pass and the interview opens up to the part you’re most hyped for. Astrology. This had been fun to come up with.

“So, for this next part of the interview, I’d like for us to talk about our astrology signs in order from oldest to youngest. The fans are really excited about this.”

“Dinosaur Jin!” Taehyung shouts, earning guffaws of laughter from everyone but Jin.

“You won’t be laughing when you’re 26 and exhausted,” he pouts.

“So, Jin-hyung is the oldest. When’s your birthday?” You ask, preparing your notepad.

“December 4, 1992.” He tells you, and your brain momentarily comes to a stop. 12.4.92 plays on a loop in your mind. “That makes you a Sagittarius,” you tell him, “your sign is an archer! Your element is fire, your birthstone is topaz, and your ruling planet is Jupiter, the biggest one.”

“As it should be.” He quips, wiggling his eyebrows at his bandmates.

“Who’s next?” You ask, nerves building.

“Suga!” and “Yoongi” are immediately shouted out, and the man in question tears his eyes from you to look at his members.

“Huh?” He asks.

“You weren’t paying attention again, hyung! You have to tell Y/N when your birthday is,” Mai interjects from her director’s chair.

“Oh, sorry.” Yoongi mumbles, turning back to face you, gaze heated. “My birthday is March 9, 1993.”

You freeze, more of the code on your mind ringing in your ears. 3.9.93.

“That makes you, uh…” You trail off, thinking. “Pisces! That’s it. Yeah, your sign is two koi, your element is water, your birthstone is amethyst, and your ruling planet is Neptune!”

“Cool,” he answers emotionlessly, still gazing at you, looking nothing short of perplexed.

“Next?” You call.

“Hoseok!” Namjoon tells you, looking at his friend proudly.

“My birthday is February 18, 1994! I think I was already told that I’m an Aquarius!” He explains happily.

You’d love to reply with enthusiasm, but the numbers are rolling in your mind, and now you’re tying the letters into them as well. Jin’s birthday was the first set of numbers on your wrist, but his initials were S.K? Wait, no. If you used Korean, as you should, his initials were K.S.

Your feet lift you out of your seat and out of the building without a second thought, and you race for the car, already asking the driver to take you back to your hotel immediately. He looks concerned, but acquiesces, pulling out of the driveway swiftly. In your haste, you’d left your notebook and Elle, but you’d shoot her a text or call her once you got back to the penthouse. You’d needed to do some research and figure out if you were right on this.

Because there was no way in hell that BTS, in its entirety, was your soulmate(s).

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Kim Seokjin. December 4, 1992. The name and birthdate correspond perfectly with the first set of initials and date. You could chalk it up to coincidence, but looking more into it had your heart threatening to leap from your throat.

Min Yoongi. M.Y. The second set of initials, another match. March 9, 1993. Another flutter rose in your chest.

Jung Hoseok. J.H. February 18, 1994.

Kim Namjoon. K.N. September 12, 1994.

Park Jimin. P.J. October 13, 1995.

Kim Taehyung. K.T. December 30, 1995.

And Jeon Jungkook. J.J. The stutter at the end of your frustratingly long list of numbers. September 1, 1997.

You’d need a massive bottle of vodka to wash down the events of this evening. The Big Hit driver, Shei, you’d learned his name on the drive back to the hotel, had asked you numerous times what was happening. You couldn’t blame him; you’d essentially shoved him back into the SUV and ordered him to take you back to the hotel as if your life depended on it.

He didn’t hesitate; you’d figured that wasn’t in his code of conduct. He obliged immediately, peeling out of the Big Hit Entertainment driveway without a care to give.

He did want answers, as any person under the amount of stress and complete confusion you’d forced onto his shoulders would be. But how were you supposed to explain that during the most pivotal and important interview in your career to date, you’d discovered and found that not only did you have a soulmate, you had seven! And to make a confusing situation even more confusing, all of your soulmates made up one of the most sensational boy groups ever? Shei would probably make a U-turn on the freeway and take you to a psychiatrist, which, now that you think about it, could be helpful.

“You left me!” Elle shouts through the phone, “I had to wing the rest of the interview, and the boys all got really quiet after we finished the astrology skit!”

“Wait- finished it? How?” You question her, momentarily forgetting about the inner soliloquy.

“You left your notebook in your chair! I told them about your horoscope and then mine.” She huffs. “That’s not what matters, though! Don’t try and get me sidetracked. You left me alone, and I didn’t know what to do! I just listed out your questions like a robot!”

“You told them my horoscope?” You choke out, breathing becoming more difficult with each passing second, she doesn’t answer.

“What the fuck, Y/N? Weren’t you going to? The notes said to compare and contrast our horoscopes with theirs!”

You mentally slap yourself, angry with yourself that you’d forgotten your notebook and that you hadn’t prepped Elle better, for her own sake, before the interview.

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear…” You sigh. “I just… I had to come back to the hotel.”

“Why?” Elle argues, and you feel the bitter pang of guilt well in your chest. She’d never spoken to you so harshly, and what hurts more is that you know she’s not in the wrong. You were unprofessional. “What was so important that you left me and BTS hanging? You know, we’re going to have to speak to HR about this?”

Fuck. You really didn’t think your actions through at all.

“I can speak to HR,” you reassure her. “There’s no excuse for leaving the interview like that. I know that much. I just- I don’t know! Have you ever had a fight or flight instinct kick in?”

“What? No?” Elle answers. “I don’t understand what that has to do wi-”

“I had to leave, Elle.” You explain, exhaustion and jet lag sinking in and catching up with you. “I just-I went into a weird shock and I needed to leave.”

Elle remains silent for a few minutes, and you almost check the call to make sure she hasn’t hung up on you. “Okay…” she sighs.

“Thank you-”

“No, no, no. Don’t shove the thank you’s onto me right now. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, still. I’m not completely stupid or oblivious, Y/N.” You can hear her grimace through the phone line. “I saw the way that the guys froze up when I told them your birthday.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“And I know for a fact that Yoongi and Jimin looked at you like you’d shocked them with tasers when you gave them your name!”

“Elle-”

“No! Don’t ‘Elle,’ me. Explain to me what’s going on!”

You grip the phone tightly against your ear, afraid to say what you know is most likely the truth. The words are about to slip out of your mouth, but a sob emerges instead, shocking you and most likely scaring Elle.

“I just- there’s so much going on and I don’t know what to do.” You stammer out, shaking on the loveseat you’re curled into. “I can’t even begin to tell you what’s going through my mind right now.”

“Holy shit, it’s that bad? Did one of them hurt you?” She asks, and you can vaguely hear her asking, no, more like ordering, someone to drive her to the hotel.

“No!” You shout, “No! They didn’t hurt me. I’ve never met any of them before.”

“You swear?” She asks, voice slightly wobbly with worry.

“I swear on my life,” you reply instantly. “It’s just way too much to explain over the phone, can’t I just tell you when you get back?”

She hesitantly obliges, but forces you into staying on the line with her until she gets off the hotel elevator onto your floor. You can tell she’s been worrying her ass off when she walks into the living room of the penthouse, eyes wide, pupils dilated and breathing labored.

“Now,” she breathes loudly, “care to explain what the actual hell is going on?”

You scooch over, patting the cushion next to you, and Elle sits down, gaze worrying at your teary eyes and confused face.

You bite your bottom lip, wondering if showing her would be easier than explaining. You know she’d seen the lengthy piece of ink on your wrist before at work, but you’d explained to her that you were just an error in the universe’s system. Certainly, no one in existence, even someone with the largest imagination, would deduce that you had seven famous soulmates.

“Just- look.” You breathe out, deciding on ‘fuck it,’ and shoving your armsleeve up to your elbow. You twist your wrist, giving Elle a very clear view of the long list of numbers and letters. She takes her time, eyeing all of the black print before looking at you, still confused.

“Kim Seokjin,” you point towards the first set of initials, “born on December 4, 1992.” You point to the corresponding date. She knits her brows together, refocusing on the puzzle on your arm.

“Min Yoongi,” you point again, “March 9, 1993.”

“Jung Hoseok,” she whispers in awe. “Kim Namjoon, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jungkook… Holy shit.”

“And now you see my dilemma.” You conclude, cocooning further into the giant hoodie you’d shrugged into once you got back to the suite. “I always thought that this,” you wave your left arm around dramatically, “was just a sign that I was pretty much condemned to isolation. But, nope! I’ve got seven fucking soulmates and they’re all ridiculously famous. How the hell is any of that supposed to work?”

“Wait,” Elle stops your monologue, “does this mean that they’re all each other’s soulmates? Or is it just your initials and birthdate on their wrists? Or…” she starts, “maybe nothing of yours is on their wrists.”

“Well-”

“No! Because Jimin and Yoongi looked like two fish out of water when you told them your name, and the rest of them looked the same after I’d told them your birthday.” She explains.

“So we can assume that my initials are on their arms?” You question aloud. “I don’t know if I want to jump to that conclusion yet.” You huff, “This all just seems so… ridiculous? I don’t understand how I’d end up with BTS as my soulmate, or is it soulmates? I didn’t think you could even have more than one!”

“It’s not unheard of,” Elle tells you. “My great-grandmother had both her first husband’s and second husband’s initials and birthdates.”

“Yeah, but those are two people,” you say, remembering when she’d told you of her great-grandmother. It’d been on a work trip some months back, if you remember correctly. “I have seven people tattooed across my wrist. And I didn’t plan on marrying seven times.”

“Maybe you don’t have to.” Elle reasons, “We don’t know how their relationship works. We don’t know if they’re just working together or if they’re something more. We don’t know how many initials they have on their arms. They cover them with makeup before every public appearance they make.”

“I guess you’re right…” You grumble. “I just don’t understand. Why me?” You ask no one in particular.

“Maybe you’ve got enough moxie for seven guys,” Elle jokes, nudging you playfully. “C’mon, Y/N. You’re hot! A complete catch. Why shouldn’t you have seven devastatingly attractive men pining for your affections?”

You roll your eyes, groaning at the thought of seven fully grown men trying to get your attention. “It’s a headache waiting to happen,” you tell her, rubbing your temples.

Both of you jump when Elle’s phone rings. You look at her, confusion running amok through your mind. She shrugs, answering the call with a smooth ‘hello.’

“Oh! Hi!” Elle chirps, mouthing ‘Big Hit’ to you. “Ah, that’s so generous of them!” She smiles, “Yes, of course. Nerves can get to anyone,” she points a glance at you. “Tomorrow? That works!” Pause. “Thank you so much, I can’t express how much we appreciate this opportunity.”

She taps off the call, turning to you immediately with a blinding smile.

“The boys worked their magic and have told Big Hit not to file a complaint over your work manners,” she laughs, “and they’d like to meet up again tomorrow for a rerun. At a restaurant they’re having rented out!” She squeals.

“They’re renting out a restaurant?” You cough out, completely taken aback. “And they stopped a formal complaint from being filed?”

“They’re your knights in shining Gucci tuxedos.” Elle laughs.

“Not funny…” You snap. “That’s too much to expect from them…” you sigh.

“You didn’t expect anything,” Elle reasons, “they’re being nice, and honestly? They might be trying to break the ice.”

“What ice?” You groan, offended at her cliché wording.

“You know, the awkwardness that today probably blew up like a helium balloon. You did literally sprint out of the interview after Hoseok mentioned being an Aquarius.”

You blush crimson at the reminder, “Thanks for that.”

“Hey, you’re the one who turned into Usain Bolt during an astrology reading. Not me.”

“Fuck off!” You shout, throwing a couch pillow at her and hitting her directly in the face.

“Uncalled for,” she whines, hitting you back with it. “You have to go see them.”

“No, I don’t!” You argue, “I have options. I could flee the country, or the continent! Go home, pack my little townhouse, and move to Alaska.”

“Alaska?” Elle asks, exasperated. “Really?”

“It’s far enough away.” You shrug.

“Don’t pull this! You should at least meet with them and see what they think of everything. I’m sure they’re as confused as you are.” Elle chides.

“Fine!” You shout, standing from the couch and heading for your bedroom, “but don’t be shocked if I’m in a shitty mood in the morning!”

You hear her laughing as you seclude yourself into your room, the events from the day rendering you beyond exhausted. You let out a big sigh, climbing into your bed and under the covers. You’d be meeting up with the boys for the second time within 24 hours tomorrow.

You honestly couldn’t tell whether you were excited at the nearing reunion, or completely fucking terrified.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You bolt straight up, cold sweat dripping off your body. You’re confused initially, remembering very vividly how you were drowning a second ago. It takes a few minutes for your body and mind to adjust, the realization that you were dreaming slowly resounding in your mind, slowing your breathing, and calming your racing heartbeat. Your fingers loosen their vice-like hold on the silken sheets beneath your trembling body.

You were in Seoul, and you’d landed, you glance at the clock on the bedside table, roughly 7 hours ago. The number ‘7’ lights up in bold script behind your eyelids. 7 soulmates. BTS.

Your mind whirls through the damn near delusional happenings of the day before, trying to piece together some sort of explanation or resolution to your dilemma, but you come up empty handed. You scoop your phone off the bedside table, immediately opening ‘Google’ and typing in what you assume you should type given your… predicament.

‘What does it mean to have more than one soulmate?’ glares at you, the brightness of the phone screen only adding to the discomfort you feel when researching such a topic at 5 AM. You turn the blinding graphics down, making a sound you can only compare to a car engine failing to start, as the only search results that pop up are for people who have anywhere from 2-4 sets of initials and birthdates.

Okay, having 4 was probably frightening, too. You couldn’t be too harsh on Google or the human race for not having dealt with your specific situation. 7 soulmates? You’d never even considered the possibility of such a pairing.

The same questions Elle had the night before race through your mind as you sit in the hotel bed, at 5 AM, in Seoul, alone.

What if they didn’t have your initials on their arms? What if not all of them had your initials on their arms? What if they were going to make you choose between them?

You felt sick. Sick to your stomach. Not wanting to soil the expensive bed sheets in your room, you rush to the connected bathroom, kneeling pitifully in front of the toilet and emptying your stomach into the porcelain bowl and water below.

You rest against the cool tile of the floor once the heaving has stopped, hair sticking to your forehead, and your head aching. You reach lamely for a courtesy bathrobe that’s tied to the bathroom door, wrapping it around you like a blanket, and use a pile of hand towels as a makeshift pillow, before falling asleep on the bathroom floor.

“Are you okay?” Elle shakes you awake, her blond hair pulled into a ponytail, and eyes wide and worried as she looks at you.

“M’fine.” You grumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Just had a bad dream.”

“So you fell asleep in the bathroom?” She asks you, confused.

“No, I felt sick when I remembered what happened last night…” You breathe out.

“Ah,” Elle sighs, “yeah, I can’t imagine what’s going through your head right now.”

“Too much,” you answer her, slowly sitting up.

“I’ll make you some breakfast!” She chirps. “That gives you time to get ready for the meeting with the boys later!”

“Shit, I almost forgot about that. Why’d you have to remind me?” You groan, standing up and grabbing your toothbrush.

“You need to at least talk to them, Y/N. They saved our asses from possible suspension at work and they clearly want to speak to you about the whole… situation.” She mumbles. “Plus, maybe they’ll tell you some stuff we can use in our articles.”

“Tell me?” You question her, toothpaste spilling out of your mouth and onto your pajamas. “You’re going with me!”

“Uh, no. I’m not.” Elle shrugs at your shocked expression, “I don’t need to be there, and frankly, I shouldn’t be there. They asked to meet with you, they didn’t ask for me by name as well; and there’s some pretty, er, intimate things they might want to ask you.”

“What?!” You choke, the toothbrush falling from between your lips and into the sink.

“I don’t mean it like that,” she laughs. “Although that’d make for an interesting read.” She jokes, “I mean, they might want to get to know you personally. Me being there would make things incredibly awkward.”

“Can’t you at least wait for me close by? You could be my savior if I need to get out of there quickly…” You explain, spitting your toothpaste into the sink and rinsing your mouth.

She looks ready to protest, but you silence her by placing your hand over her mouth. “I brought you on this trip with me, Elle. Not as a coworker, but as a friend. It’d mean more to me than I could possibly begin to explain if you’d be on standby for me while I’m talking to them.”

She rolls her eyes at you, but nods her head in agreement. “You owe me, big time.” She scoffs, “Now take a shower, and I’ll make you some breakfast.”

The woman is true to her word. Once you’re out of the shower, smelling fresh, and dressed decently enough (a cream colored sweater and a new pair of tight jeans you bought before the trip), she places a massive plate of waffles in front of you.

“Eat.” She orders, sitting next to you at the kitchen bar, and digging into her own plate.

“I’m nervous,” you explain, poking at your food, but taking a large bite when she eyes you.

“I don’t blame you at all. Just try not to hyperfocus. Their wanting to meet with you and helping us avoid trouble yesterday speaks volumes. They more than likely just want to talk. Nothing extreme.”

You nod at her reasoning, thankful that she’s there to at least try and keep you level-headed.

“I’ll be just a few blocks down,” Elle tells you, the Big Hit driver, Shei, had put up the partition in the SUV, allowing the two of you what little privacy you could have.

“Thank you,” you tell her earnestly, meeting her friendly gaze.

“You’ll be fine,” she reassures you, “they’re really nice guys from what I saw last night.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I feel so stupid.” You groan, curling in on yourself in embarrassment.

“So you don’t want to hear about how worried they were when you split?” She asks you. You peek through the sleeve of your hoodie, interest rising. “Ah, looks like I’ll have to explain later.” She smiles, “We’re here.”

You drift your gaze out the window, noting the bodyguards and Big Hit employees trying to blend in with the outside world. The restaurant, as previously discussed, has clearly been rented out. Upon seeing the SUV, one of the Big Hit employees, a woman you haven’t met, sends a signal to Shei. He seems to understand immediately and turns into a nearby alleyway. It takes you a moment to realize that you’d be entering through the back of the eatery.

“I feel like a sack of drug paraphernalia.” You mope, getting unbuckled and ready to squirm your way out of your seat. You turn to Elle, nerves bubbling. “I’ll call you as soon as I’m done here.” You tell her, meaning every word.

“Sure, sure. Just get in there before a fan sees you and bombards you.” She laughs, nudging you out of the door that Shei has opened for you.

“Thanks,” you mumble to him, allowing another employee to lead you through the back door. The restaurant itself smells absolutely amazing, you couldn’t even begin to fathom how amazing the food would taste once it touches your taste buds. A few kitchen workers bow to you, and you return the kind gesture, feeling extremely out of place in the pristine kitchen.

Soon enough, tile floors turn to wooden panels, and you look up to meet some of the eyes you’d run from the night before. Namjoon’s gaze is gentle on you, Jin’s is approving, taking in your figure as you stand before him. Taehyung and Jungkook are too busy playing some sort of napkin game they’ve created to acknowledge your entrance. Hoseok waves enthusiastically, a massive grin split across his bright face.

Jimin, beautiful as ever, smiles his eye-crinkling smile that has your stomach doing cartwheels within the confines of your body. Yoongi’s eyes are serious on yours, hands fidgeting atop the table they sit at; his hair is hidden beneath a beanie that makes him look more boyish than he did yesterday.

“Er- hi.” You say awkwardly, waving slightly at the men once you stand in front of their table.

“Ah!” Jungkook jumps, dropping the napkin-ball once your voice hits his ears.

“Ha!” Taehyung whoops, jumping in his seat excitedly, “you lost, Kookie!”

“Can’t you two be normal for once?” Jin asks, shaking his head disapprovingly, but affectionately, at the two youngest members.

“That’s a ridiculous request, hyung.” Jimin smiles, nudging Jungkook lightly. “Besides, weren’t you playing table football with Kookie and V last week?”

Jin blushes a rosy red, clearly embarrassed he’d been outed.

“It’s okay,” you rush to reassure him, not quite understanding your sudden need to alleviate his discomfort, “I still play Nintendogs on my DS.”

Jin raises his eyebrows at you, along with most of the members, save for Yoongi, who still looks at you with a nervous expression.

“Isn’t that the game where you can have a Shiba?” Taehyung smiles, “I’ve always wanted one.”

“That’s the one,” you reply, feeling your own embarrassment flare up as the ridiculously attractive men all keep their gazes on you.

“My friends in school would play those games all of the time,” Jimin smiles, pulling a chair at the head of the table out for you before returning to his seat. “Do you like to play games, Y/N?” He smiles a toothy smile, and if you weren’t a reporter whose life consisted of reading subliminal messages, you wouldn’t have caught the sensual innuendo beyond the question.

“Jimin-ah, let’s not talk about games right now,” Yoongi speaks up, flickering his impassive glance from you, to Jimin, to you again.

“Yoongi is right,” Namjoon nods. “We were worried last night that you wouldn’t show up.” He explains as you take your seat, keeping your hands in your lap so you don’t fidget too much or too obviously. “Some of us were worried we’d scared you off before we’d even had the chance to properly introduce ourselves. It’s safe to say we’re relieved you’re here.”

You smile, somewhat consoled, knowing that they’d been nervous, too.

“Is there anything you’d like to eat?” Jin asks, “We’ve ordered 8 servings of rice and vegetable stir-fry already. The chef said it’d be a half hour or so.”

“Rice and stir-fry sounds great,” you answer him, “could I get a cup of water?” You ask, your throat feeling dry from your ebbing nerves.

Jin nods his head and goes to retrieve a pitcher of water and some glasses from the kitchen. He pours your drink gingerly, long fingers holding the pitcher with exceptional care.

“From your exit during the interview, we’re assuming you know why we invited you?” Namjoon asks, eyes kindly analyzing your posture.

“I, uh- yeah. I assume it’s about this…” You lift your left hand atop the table and push back the cream-colored fabric, revealing the numbers and letters that haunted you your entire life.

Two of the three maknaes smile once they eye the black ink on your wrist. Taehyung and Jimin looked to be far more comfortable in the situation than Jungkook, who still resembled a deer caught in the headlights.

Hoseok makes a noise similar to a pelican, rounding the table and showing you his wrist. The letters and numbers are all the same as yours, save for one. Where you had his initials and birthdate, he had yours.

“Show her,” Hoseok chastises his team, waiting for them all to mimic his actions.

They do. You’re shocked as you realize with finality that you had 7 soulmates, and so did they.

Whereas most people had another half, or third, and rarely a fourth, of their soul waiting for them inside someone else, you and the seven men in front of you had each other.

“I can’t believe we’re finally meeting you,” Taehyung smiles, hugging you to him.

“Taehyung-ah, give her a minute.” Jin orders.

You’re thankful he does. You weren’t disappointed in the men huddled around your dining chair, far from it, in fact. You did, however, feel the room closing in on you.

“I just need a second…” You explain, rising to your feet, “Excuse me.” You bow to them, excusing yourself to the bathroom.

Hardly recognizing the pale woman who stares back at you in the mirror, you douse your face with cold water from the sink, appreciating the relief it provides your heated and muted skin. You give yourself a while, not wanting to overexert your emotions and head back into the room quite yet.

The air is cooler in the bathroom, anyway, and easier for you to breathe. You pull your phone from your back pocket, ready to text Elle and ask her to pick you up, but you glance at yourself in the mirror again, seeing the way that color is returning to your face and your breathing has regulated itself. You could do this.

Shoving your phone back in the confines of your jeans, you push the bathroom door open. The boys wait for you at the table, all of them quiet and anticipating your return. Taehyung catches your eye, his expression regretful and dejected.

“I’m sorry I hugged you like that,” he tells you, voice radiating his honesty like a heater, “I just got so excited to finally know that you were real.” He explains, “The thought of you being uncomfortable didn’t occur to me. I’m so used to having the hyungs around, and being able to express everything that I forgot you didn’t have any of us to express yourself to growing up.”

“It’s okay, Taehyung,” you tell him, meaning the words from the bottom of your heart. “I just get very anxious when new things blindside me.”

He smiles at your acceptance of his apology, boxy features warming your heart.

“So, how long have you all known about this?” You ask, pointing to your wrist.

“Since we banded together,” Namjoon answers. “It’s actually one of the main reasons we decided to debut.” He shrugs, “When I met Yoongi-hyung at a BigHit meeting and he saw my wrist, it was like I wasn’t alone anymore.”

Yoongi smiles a gummy smile, looking at Namjoon. “I felt the same way,” he agrees, “growing up was difficult. I was ashamed of my marks and hid them. I thought they meant I’d never have a successful relationship. But when I saw Joon at the meeting, and he had his sleeves rolled up without a care to give… I just saw my initials and the rest we share, and I didn’t feel empty anymore. There was someone I could connect to.”

“And then Hoseok showed up, loud and energetic,” Namjoon laughs. The man in question smiles, blush creeping its way onto his face. “We were both shocked,” he signals to Yoongi. “The chances of us meeting each other were slim enough, but a third showing up? It was crazy.”

“You guys would have been lost without me,” Hoseok groans, “you’re both so messy.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, and Namjoon laughs. “Once Jin signed on, we kind of just let the rest play out. Figured that if luck stayed on our side, we wouldn’t need to look for ourselves.” Namjoon explains. “It was pretty smooth sailing for a while. Jungkook signed on, and then V. Jimin was last.” Jimin smiles at the mention of his name. “We only had one more person to wait for.”

“After ‘Wings’ was released, we kind of lost hope,” Jin adds. “We thought maybe you weren’t real. We’d met people with your initials, but when we asked when their birthdays were, we got nothing.”

You nod your head, “I grew up in Washington, went to college in California, and then moved to New York for work.” You tell them, grateful that they provide you with their undivided attention. “You know where I work, so there’s no need to explain that. There’s actually not much to explain, really. I move around a lot for reporting gigs, so I don’t have time for friends and stuff.”

They look saddened by that, and your heart pangs in response. “It’s okay,” you reassure, “my life has been full of amazing experiences and opportunities because of my work.”

“It sounds like it’s held you back, too…” Jungkook says, voice heavy with concern.

“Only socially.” You reply, “I have a decent home and enough money to keep me going.”

“Have you dated?” Jimin asks.

“Jimin-ah!” Jin scolds him, flicking his forehead.

“It’s okay!” You tell him, “It’s a fair question. I haven’t seriously dated anyone. I’ve casually dated, though.” You explain. “Once it turns towards serious conversations and ‘what are we’s,’ I book it.”

Jimin thinks over your answer, enamored by the casual way you gave it.

“If we had known, we would have reached out,” Namjoon confesses, turning the conversation back towards the elephant in the room.

“If anything, I’m to blame,” you laugh. “You guys are globally famous, your names are everywhere, so are your birth dates. If I had paid more attention, we might have met sooner…” You trail off.

“Don’t blame yourself!” Hoseok consoles you, eyes unwavering as they convey his sincerity to you. “We’re meeting each other now, and that’s good enough for us.”

You smile at his reassurance, appreciating how wholesome and bright he truly is with finality.

“Thank you, Hoseok.” You tell him gently.

He nearly transforms into the heart-eye emoji at you saying his name, his features softening immensely and leaving a dopey grin on his face. Jimin pats Hoseok’s shoulder, shining his crinkly-eyed smile at the older man.

“How are you feeling about all of this?” Yoongi asks, big brown eyes looking at yours with concern, the first discernible emotion you’ve seen on him since entering the room. It nearly knocks the wind out of you. The softness of his face mixed with the molten emotion beyond his eyes renders you wordless.

“Erm-” you gape. “I, uh- I’m definitely still shocked, but I feel more at ease now,” you manage to push the words out of your mouth. “It’s way more comforting knowing that I’m not just a glitch in the system.”

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“I always thought that I was meant to be alone,” you shrug.

“But you have the mark,” he cocks his head, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“Yeah, but I’ve never seen someone with my extent of it.” You explain, “typically people have one or two initials and birth dates on their wrist. I have seven. I figured that maybe I was just a reject.”

He looks saddened by your explanation, “Well, you’re not.”

“Yeah, Y/N! You’re not alone.” Jimin smiles.

“You have us,” Taehyung adds, putting an arm around Jimin and Jungkook each.

“I also live in America,” you remind them, sipping at the water Jin had poured you earlier. “I can’t just leave my job and my home to come to Korea.”

“Would you ever be open to the idea?” Namjoon asks.

You sit on the question for a minute, deliberating in your mind the pros and cons. The cons were intimidating. You would have to leave the job you worked so hard for, you’d leave behind your family, you’d leave behind Elle, and you’d be starting all over on a new continent. The pros, however… You could rebuild, make a new family because you weren’t around your biological family much anyway, you could still visit Elle and FaceTime her every day…

But you were getting ahead of yourself.

“I might consider it some day,” you answer Namjoon, noting the relief that fills every single member’s eyes. “But that’d be down the road a ways,” you add, “it’s not something I could just do at the drop of a hat.”

The men nod, understanding and appreciating your answer. You don’t bother asking them the same, you know their love for their country and the people in it. It was visceral, unwavering, and stronger than any fan-artist connection you’d seen, ever. It’d be selfish to ask them to leave their livelihoods. They could still make music in America, but the emotions behind the music? The reason for making it? The heart of BTS would always remain in Korea.

“We have another question to ask,” Jimin speaks up. You look at him and nod, giving him the go-ahead. “Well, you see, we were wondering if any of the initials on your wrist look different to you? Like maybe one seems thicker or darker?” He asks.

You furrow your brows, confused, but raise your left sleeve again and really look at the bold lettering. The food arrives as you examine your wrist, the waiter delicately placing your meal on the table in front of you.

Sure enough, a lettered pairing does stick out from the rest. You’re at a complete loss as to why you hadn’t noticed it before. You’d spent hours upon hours of your life glaring at the ink. How were you only just realizing the imperfection permanently etched atop your skin now that Jimin mentioned it?

“Yeah…” You breathe out, looking at Jimin's waiting gaze. “I’ve never noticed it before.”

“It’s pretty microscopic,” Namjoon explains. “It’s only really noticeable once someone addresses it.”

“That’s strange…” You murmur, looking back at your wrist. The letters only seem to have grown bolder, nearly looking italicised now that more time has passed. “It looks more bold now…” You explain, meeting the eyes of the man the bulkier text belongs to.

He looks back at you, eyes softening as they look into yours.

“Are mine thicker for you?” You ask him.

“They are.” He replies.

“What does it mean?” You ask Namjoon.

“Well, we hunted down a woman in Daegu, she calls herself a ‘reader.’ She was pretty difficult to find, but Big Hit helped us. She specializes in the marks, has books upon books on them. She told us that there have only been a handful of cases like ours,” he tells you, “and that the bold initials are present every time. She said that the bold initials signify the strongest bond within the soulmates. For me, my strongest bond is with Hoseok.” He looks to the cheery man beside him. “As his is mine.”

“What does that mean for you and the others?” You ask him, taking a bite of your stir-fry.

“We’re all still soulmates,” he answers. “Nothing will ever change that. Hoseok and I just connected on a deeper level. It doesn’t mean we’re more intimate with each other, it doesn’t even mean we love each other more than we love any of you,” he motions towards everyone at the table. “It just means we’re closest with each other on a spiritual level. He’s like my twin flame. I think that’s what Americans call it sometimes.”

You’re not unfamiliar with the terminology, but you never considered it true. You thought it was just an excuse for people to seek other relationships when they had a soulmate, or an excuse for some soulmates to be excessively smitten with each other.

“Do you all have twin flames?” You ask the remaining members. They all nod.

“Mine is Kookie,” Tae smiles.

“And mine is V,” Jungkook replies.

“Mine is Jimin,” Jin tells you. Jimin nods, “and mine is Jin,” he adds.

“And you’re mine,” Yoongi tells you, eyes still soft and warm on yours. You flush under his direct gaze, turning into a melting pot of emotions.

“How long have my initials been bold?” You ask him, voice wavering from the force of emotion that’s threatening to crack you open.

“Since our debut,” he replies, taking a drink of his water. Full lips pressing against the fogged glass of the cup sinfully. He takes your ogling as a mere loss for words, “you’re here now, though. That’s all that matters.”

You snap out of your reverie and realize that had you not been smitten by the way he drank his water, you most definitely would have been apologizing for taking so long to show up.

“Even so, I’m still sorry for taking years to find you guys.” You tell them all, tearing your gaze from Yoongi’s soul-stirring one to address the rest of the members, your soulmates. “I do have a question, and I don’t want it to come off as rude.”

“I’m sure it won’t,” Namjoon reassures you.

“Well, I was just wondering why you guys hide your marks? Elle said you guys cover them for interviews and public outings.”

“We do,” he answers, “we didn’t want to go public with anything unless we had to, at least, not until you were here. We didn’t want to make any decisions unless we all had a say in them, especially given our careers.”

You nod thoughtfully, appreciating his answer and the meaning behind it.

“That’s thoughtful of you all,” you say, smiling as you look to each of them. “Thank you.”

They smile back.

“If you guys want to go public with it, I’m fine with that. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” You explain.

“Are you sure?” Jungkook asks, eyes and voice full of concern.

“We could cover your initials for now,” Jin suggests, “you are the youngest of us, so it wouldn’t be a hassle. And we could uncover it once everything’s more secure? For instance, if you move here?”

You run over the option in your head, seeing no direct harm that could come from doing so.

“That might be a better option,” you agree, “would that make you uncomfortable, Yoongi?” You ask him, concerned that it might cause your twin flame even an ounce of discomfort.

“No,” he answers, and you can tell from the look in his eyes that he means it. “As long as you’re safe and happy, we’re fine with doing whatever we need to.”

You melt at his words, finding immense comfort in them. It’d only been an hour of you being with them, and you’re already feeling an immense relief. Was this what it felt like to be around your soulmates? Was this what you’d been missing out on?

You couldn’t even begin to fathom the difficulty Elle and Cam had when they were around each other. BTS had been in your company for not even a day, and you could already feel a gravitational pull towards them, anchoring you to them in a way that left you feeling complete.

“Thank you,” you tell Yoongi, grinning at the flush that spreads across his full cheeks at your praise. “Thank you, all.” You tell the rest of them, your appreciation seeping through your very pores. “I can’t begin to express to you how much it means to me knowing you all support me so much already.”

They smile at you, taken by your words. You can feel the mood in the room lift substantially, and you thank the heavens above for allowing this brunch to go so much better than originally planned.

The rest of the food is devoured quickly by the eight of you, and it feels like all of 10 minutes have passed before the food is gone, and Elle is calling you nonstop. You reluctantly tell them you have to go, heart aching at the drop in their expressions at your announcement. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow! At the show!” You tell them, texting Elle to have Shei come get you. Their expressions brighten slightly, but you can still see that they don’t want you to go.

“How about this? I’ll give you guys my personal number, and we can start a group chat. Plan some hangouts and see where that takes us?”

They nod enthusiastically, pulling their phones out and quickly inputting your information into their contact lists. You can feel your phone vibrating in your back pocket at least 10 times as you say your goodbyes and thanks.

You bow to them, following the waiter out of the restaurant through the kitchen and into the back alleyway. Elle and Shei are waiting in the SUV, and Elle pounces on you as soon as you step foot into the large vehicle.

“You are telling me everything when we get back to the hotel.” She orders, you’re about to object, but she covers your mouth with her hand, “Nope. That’s my payment for not getting a single update from you in two and a half hours.”

You roll your eyes and mumble a ‘whatever,’ but her hand blocks out any sense you might have made. She laughs at you, finally pulling her hand away.

“Did you have a good time at least?” She asks.

“It actually went really well.” You answer, blush rising. You turn towards your window, watching the scenery pass by, when you receive another text.

You pull out your phone, unlocking the screen and entering your texting app.

8 unread conversations greet your eyes. 7 singular text chains, and one group text.

The first text you’d received in the restaurant is a simple ‘hi’ that’s signed ‘Jungkook.’

The next is longer.

‘Hello, jagiya! It’s Taehyung!’ A purple heart sits at the end of the sentence.

‘Worldwide Handsome here, checking in on his beautiful soulmate. Xxx Jin’ The next reads.

‘Y/Nie! It’s Hoseok! Text us when you get to your hotel safely! We had fun today :)’

‘Hello, Jagi!!!! Jimin here ;) We miss u already xxx’

‘Hi, Y/N. It’s Namjoon. Make sure to save our numbers so you don’t think we’re strangers texting you all the time. I’ll set up a group chat after I send this. :-)’

‘Hey, it’s Yoongi. Your twin flame.’ You smile at that, noting that he’s sent another since then. ‘You obviously know that, please disregard that message… oh, and check the group chat.’

You do as you’re told, and smile at your phone. There are introductions, but what sticks out most to you is the picture of you and Yoongi gazing at each other at the table. Judging by the angle, Jungkook or Taehyung must have taken it. It’s flattering and captures the ambience of the early afternoon.

You hug your phone to your chest, emotion flowing through you hotly. You reply to the texts and follow Namjoon’s advice and save their numbers. The group chat goes crazy after you reply, Taehyung and Jin spamming it with animated gifs, and Jimin sending a few selfies.

You don’t miss the pointed glance Elle sends your way as she watches your face dance with happy emotions during the car ride home.

Typically, you’d snap at her in embarrassment, but the happiness and complete full-feeling you’re experiencing now prevent you from feeling anything short of euphoric.

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sheerfreesia007 · 2 days ago

Text

Heat Rising

Pairing: Changbin x Reader

Word count: 2,454

Content warnings: Fluff, kissing, suggestive

Summary: After a late-night gym session leaves you sore and breathless, you suggest to Changbin winding down together in the new hot tub—only for him to be completely undone by your surprise bikini. Between teasing touches, deep massages, and tender words, the steam rising around you is nothing compared to the heat building between your bodies.

A/N: Divider was created by @saradika-graphics, thank you for sharing your dividers with tumblr!

SKZ Taglist: @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @inlovewithstraykids, @channiesrightasscheek, @kaiyaba

@bookswillfindyouaway, @m-325

Part One: Pool Games

The gentle hum of the overhead lights and the soft clang of weights hitting against each other became the background music to your workout session. You were running on one of the treadmills in the gym while listening to your playlist and while you tried to focus on your run your eyes kept darting over to Changbin who was lifting dumbbells over by the mirrors. The way his body was so controlled as he effortlessly lifted the weights in his set made your body heat with desire for him. The way his muscles flexed and bulged in motion made your heart race with want. He was just the perfect specimen of man to watch as he did something he truly loved.

The gym was quiet this late in the evening—mostly cleared out, the air cooler, Changbin had asked you to join him after being cooped up in the studio all day producing and you had gladly agreed since you hadn’t had time to get in a good workout lately knowing that he’d work you until you were sore. And you had been correct as you felt your muscles growing fatigued as you finished up the last of your run. Your eyes darted over to Changbin once more and saw him beginning to clean the weights, you slowly lowered your speed on the treadmill before doing a cool down walk. When you finished you cleaned off the treadmill just as Changbin walked over to you with a soft smug smile on his face.

”You good?” He asked as he handed you your water bottle and you nodded at him while taking the towel you brought with you and wiped some sweat off your forehead.

”Yeah I’m good. Knew you were gonna wear me out.” You said to him while grinning widely at him. He scoffed softly at you before shaking his head in disagreement.

”Nah, you crushed it tonight. Even I was struggling to keep up with you.” He said easily as he smiled softly at you. “You feel it though?” He asked worriedly and you smiled at his concern before resting a hand on his shoulder.

”A little. The gym just built a hot tub in the pool area, I was thinking of trying it out to see if it’d help ease some of the ache. Wanna join me?” You explain to him before asking hopefully with a wide grin and an eyebrow wiggle thrown his way. Changbin’s face heated with a soft blush before he nodded his head at your question. When you squealed delightedly and bounced on your toes with excitement he couldn’t help but chuckle at you. “I’ll meet you in there!” You told him before racing off towards the locker room leaving Changbin to stare after you with a look of slight awe on his face.

When you finally walked out into the pool area you gasped softly at how well the new addition to the gym seemed to fit in. The new pool area had only opened about a month ago and you’d been dying to try it out ever since you got the flyer in the mail. The tiled floor had a pretty color mosaic design to it while the pool glowed with soft underwater lights that would change colors if you pressed a button on the wall.

But what really caught your attention was the trio of hot tubs in the corner of the room. Changbin was already over there examining the dials and buttons before he began setting up an ideal temperature and jet pressure program for the two of you. You grinned to yourself and padded over to his side while hiking up the towel that you had wrapped around your body. Ever since the pool day with Changbin and the boys a year ago you and Changbin have been exploring the more romantic side of your relationship. And it was such a sweet, soft transition for the two of you, your friendship was still there but it was more enhanced now that you were both free to express your affection and love for each other freely without any worries.

Tonight though you had a surprise for Changbin, one that you had a feeling that he would really enjoy. You had recently gone shopping for a new bathing suit since the one you had worn a year ago had become frayed at the edges of the straps that criss crossed over your body. The bathing suit you had chosen was slightly different than the last one, it was a softer pastel pink colored bandeau bikini that had a large golden circle in the middle of the top and the bottom part of the bikini riding high on your hips showing off a lot of your legs whenever you wore it. You loved the bikini, it made you feel gorgeous and you were eager to see Changbin’s reaction to it.

When Changbin was done setting the right program for the hot tub he turned his head to look at you and you noticed his eyes quickly widening as they traced along your bare shoulders before darting around the room and leaning in towards.

”Yeobo, there are other people here at the gym.” He whispered softly to you and you nodded your head in agreement with his words as your eyebrow furrowed with confusion.

”Yeah I know Bin. What about it?” You asked, still confused as you tried to make sense of what he was so worried about.

”Are you naked under there?” He asked in a whisper loud enough for only you to hear as his eyes darted around the empty pool area behind you. You grinned wickedly as you realized why he was so nervous and you decided to have a little fun.

”You mean under my towel?” You asked as you kept it clutched tightly to your chest while widening your eyes at him. Changbin turned his eyes back to you and nodded his head quickly. You smirked sultrily at him before quickly opening your towel causing Changbin to lunge towards you in a panic before his eyes landed on your pretty bikini. You laughed brightly and happily as he groaned softly at your teasing while realizing that you were in fact wearing a bikini.

”You’re killing me Yeobo.” He groaned as he lifted a hand to run tiredly down his face. You laughed as you laid your towel over the edge of the hot tub and then climbed in. When you stood in the middle of the hot tub you turned to look back at Changbin and saw him staring at you frozen in place, a sinful smirk slipped onto your face.

”You alright?” You asked him knowingly and Changbin’s head snapped up to stare at you before his eyes raced up and down your form once more. Your eyes widened when you heard the soft whispered curse word slip out of his mouth.

”Just give me a second to survive this.” He mumbled and you burst out in laughter once more before you slipped into the water taking a seat on one of the benches in the hot tub. From your spot you watched as Changbin blinked rapidly before shaking his head and then scrambled to climb into the hot tub with you.

When he was finally in the water he lowered himself fully into the water letting it come up to his shoulders before sliding easily through the water to be closer to you. You shivered when you felt his hands find your waist and effortlessly move you to straddle his waist as he sat on the bench. You settled yourself over him with your knees on either side of his hips and shivered once more as you felt his hands slide up your thighs kneading the muscle there easing the ache and strain. The feeling of his warm, wide palms gliding over your skin slowly, kneading into the muscles that had taken a beating during your workout cause you to sigh out softly in relief. “Let me help you Yeobo, let me work out the stress.” He said softly to you as he looked up at you adoringly from his spot underneath you.

As his hands travel down to your calves you whimper softly and Changbin focuses his eyes on you. Your head falls back on your neck and another whimper slips from your mouth as his fingers dig into your calf muscles. “Right here?” He asks softly in a whisper and you whimper again in response.

”Mhm.” You hummed as your hands that were gripping the edge of the hot tub slip onto his shoulder and grip tightly. “Hurts, but in a good way.” You tell him and he nods his head before completely working the kinks and tightness out of your claves. When he’s satisfied with how boneless you seem to grow his hands trail back up your body to your hips where his fingers play with the strap of your bikini bottoms snapping it back against your skin under the water. You chuckle softly as your head tilts to see him staring at your bikini top in slight awe.

”When did you get this one?” He asked as he lifted his head to stare up at you. You smile softly at him and lean down pressing a quick kiss to his mouth as you relax in his lap and his hands slide around your hips to cup your ass keeping you steady on his lap.

”Bought it about two weeks ago to replace the strappy one that was falling apart. Wanted to surprise you with it tonight.” You told him softly as your arms slipped further onto his shoulders and you pressed closer to his chest.

“Oh so you had ulterior motives tonight huh?” He asked with a smug teasing smirk on his face.

“No, no. Don’t get it twisted.” You scolded him softly as you shifted closer. “I needed the workout tonight with you. Haven’t been able to get a good one in lately and you’re the perfect workout partner. But I saw an opportunity.” You told him softly as your fingers danced across the backs of his shoulders. He grinned widely at your words loving that you appreciated his workout tenacity.

”I love how hard you worked today. Love that you can always keep up with me.” He said softly as his hands gripped your ass tightly in his palms. “You didn’t stop for a second. Even when I could see you were growing tired.” He commended you as he looked up at you prasingly while you exhaled shakily feeling his tight grip on you causing your eyelids to flutter shut in pleasure.

”Couldn’t stop.” You murmured to him before grinning wickedly at him. “You were watching.”

”You didn’t even notice how I almost dropped a dumbbell on my foot as I watched you do squats.” He pouted at you and you chuckled softly at him as your fingers carded into the back of his hair that was starting to curl up from the heat and water of the hot tub.

”Oh I saw it, Binnie. But it was just motivation to keep going.” You teased him gently and he smirked up at you.

”You always look good when you workout.” He says honestly and you preen at his words. “But this bikini?” He says, sounding reverent as one of his fingers dips under the hem of your bikini bottom making you gasp loudly. “This isn’t fair.” He grumbles quietly to you and you grin at him.

”You act like you don’t always call me beautiful.” You say with a soft grin aimed at him and he pouts up at you.

”Because you are.” He whines softly and you melt against him knowing that it’s the truth for him. His hands come up to cup your face and keep you gazing into his earnest eyes as he speaks up once more. “In the gym, in this hot tub, in pajamas, with your hair all messy in the morning. Doesn’t matter. You’re absolutely beautiful to me.” He vows softly to you and you feel your heart melt into a puddle of goo in your chest.

Leaning down you kiss him slow and warm, like the steam curling around the both of you. His hands moved again, this time slipping up your back to hold you close. Your skin slid against his, slick from the water and he pulled back just enough to press kisses along your collarbone then lower to the top of your bikini sitting right over the curves of your breasts. You whimpered softly as he began to suck kisses into your skin while your fingers twisted in his hair trying to keep him close as his hands splayed against your back keeping you pressed to his hungry mouth. His mouth was hot and wet against your skin, his touch steady, grounding. Not rushed. Just present. Worshipful.

”You always know how to make me feel good Bin.” You sigh out to him softly as the steam curls higher and higher in the air around the two of you. He lifts from your chest and smiles widely before pulling back slightly as his eyes take in your relaxed figure above him.

”Your turn after this. You’re not hogging all the massage time.” He tells you cheekily and you grin down at him before your hands slip down his broad chest to his waist underneath the water causing him to shiver.

”Fair’s fair.” You husk out to him and he groans softly.

The two of you spent the rest of the evening tangled together in the heat, alternating between deep muscle work and featherlight kisses. Every knot you worked out of him earned you a soft moan, every brush of your hand under the water a reward in itself.

The steam eventually began to dissipate, but the warmth lingered between the two of you, in your muscles, in your chest, in the shared wordless looks exchanged between kisses. And when you finally stepped out of the hot tub; dripping, flushed and relaxed to your bones; Changbin pulled you in for one last kiss beneath the gentle hum of the pool lights.

”I’m putting in a request right now.” He hummed against your lips as a smile broke out on his mouth.

”For what?” You asked curiously.

”This hot tub. You. That bikini. Repeat. Weekly.” He said cheekily and your eyes widened at his teasing bold words before you grinned widely at him.

”Any time, hot stuff.” You said sultrily before sauntering away from him towards the locker room to go get changed. Changbin grinned in response before whistling lowly to himself as he followed you happily.

#my writing #stray kids #skz #skz x reader #seo changbin x reader #seo changbin #changbin x reader #changbin

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reignpage · 18 hours ago

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“Nanami Kento had another encounter with the nameless mermaid. Many such, in fact. Some of these encounters are details in letters he sent letters to Professor Yaga. They detailed his recent discoveries and confirmation of months of his research building up to his posting in Gibraltar.

Excited, he told him everything, barring the budding romantic feelings he knew he should not have encouraged for fear that the respected professor would question his priorities and admonish him. While waiting for a reply, the student dedicated the remaining day since he recorded his first late-night meeting with the specimen to overcoming the issue to do with his incapability to swim.

In his rush, one can only assume, he made no record of what spell or device he had discovered and used, though there are many theories to be had. This remains a great tragedy.

Later in the day, he took to the sea in a rush and agreed with the mermaid to go somewhere secluded, where they would not be seen by another in broad daylight, and decided upon a nearby cave accessible only by boat or strong swimmers.

Part of the meeting was recorded by the student via Pluma Memoria and the transcripts were recovered some time later alongside contextual notes made by him.

As we all know, the Inter-dimensional Research Committee and St. Eden's Board of Administration's issued formal requests for the exiled student to relinquish all of his possessions related to his research, including information on how to enter the underwater kingdom, their weaponry, their political system, and just as importantly, the specimen.

These requests were denied.

It is unclear why.

In today's class, we still study the excerpt, focusing especially on the historical and cultural significance of Nanami Kento's rebellion and asking ourselves the question:

Did he regret it?”

Nameless Specimen: I've been watching you.

Kento: I thought you might have. Somehow, I felt you, I think. Something was encouraging me, urging me forward. It was odd but...comforting.

Nameless Specimen: I understand…I was not supposed to want you to find me. My pod have tasked me with ensuring people like you never find our home. And indeed, I worked tirelessly to lead others astray, leaving what they thought were clues so they would search in circles and grow frustrated. But just an afternoon spent following you revealed a truth I cannot verify: you are different. You are not like the others who have come before you.

Kento: I'm not?

Nameless Specimen: No…they were fuelled by greed, by a desire to reap all the wealth off our land. They trample over the wildlife, made no effort to connect with the villagers, choosing arrogance over community, and relied solely on their spells and potions. It was the kind of laziness and irreverence that confirmed the decision our ancestors made a long time ago — keep the gates to Atlantis closed.

Kento: And no one has ever been successful?

She held my hands and swam us around the jagged floor of the sea, tickling the bellies of fish as she went. I was growing more and more accustomed to her anatomy, to the point that the agility of her scaled tail did not surprise me anymore, though the captivating colour of them never waned in my eyes.

Nameless Specimen: Only once. Two men. Students just like you. One was closed off but polite, the other friendly but deceitful. My ancestors welcomed them in, nursed them back to health after their ship hit the rocks and capsized, and even shared our air so that they may tour our home. Back then, my people had not known the cruelty and gluttony of others. They were simply excited to learn about the outside world and to exchange wisdom.

I kept quiet. She was sharing knowledge I would have killed to hear just weeks ago. Now, I was grimacing, much too aware of man's potential for destruction. History lessons were not without constant warnings for the new generations to do better. To be better.

Nameless Specimen: The polite one, records say, was truly interested to learn, to be a part of our community. He was energetic and enthusiastic. It did not take very long for him to be seen as one of us…And the other…had his eyes on our gold, our pearls, and our scales. During their stay, people went missing. Even our young. It was a slow, eventual development. At least, that is how it is explained to us. I believe our Elders simply do not wish to confront the fact that our people were just naive. They knew the truth of that visitor from another land and chose to trust in the kindness of one another than aggrieve their guests with accusations...until it was too late.

Kento: ...what happened?

Nameless Specimen: He must have developed some sort of contraption. It is hard to say exactly what happened...the devastation was far and wide. To this day, we mourn our loss and feel the echoes of the tragedy. Whatever he had found or received caused death on a scale unfathomable to our young… The Elders do not like to talk about this part but whispers among my peers claim that one morning, our people awoke and could not see through the thick cloud of blood thickening the water.

I gasped. A deep pit formed in my stomach and it has not left since. I do not think it will ever. There was a sad smile on her lips, like she pitied her ancestors and resented the innocence of her people at the same time, though, ultimately, she could not blame them.

Nameless Specimen: That day…they released more bodies into the field of lights than they ever had prior. Generations lost. Bloodlines ended. Dignity stolen. The dead were stripped of their scales, fins, hearts and eyes. Sold, I can only imagine, to the highest bidder. The hardest part of it all was identifying who was who. There remains to this day a large section of the field housing the bodies of those who were never claimed.

I was speechless. No words could ever be uttered to begin to apologise for the crimes that were committed, for the injustice, for the murder of so many. I know them not, but I hold them in my heart. The sins of the past will be brought to life. I will be sure of it.

Kento: I am so sorry. That should never have happened. W-we have laws, regulations, a-an honour code to abide by. I'll tell my school, my professor. Everyone. We will advocate for reparations, a galaxy-wide apology—

Nameless Specimen: That is not necessary. We grieve in our own way. And in any case, we know not everyone is bad. That's why I'm here. Why the two of us can be together like this…We do not want to stay closed off forever. There is a whole world out there that my people deserve to see. We do not want to live in fear for eternity. There might even come a time where we must rely on the help of others for the future of our pod. It is therefore up to my generation to prepare for that. To change and innovate. We will soon welcome others like you…Never again will we be exploited like that. We have learnt. Adapted. Survived. That is the way of my people.

She swam around me, grazing her tail against my legs. Her lips brushed my cheek.

Nameless Specimen: In the meantime, I hope this is enough for you.

Kento: It is. You are.

She laughed, bubbles escaping.

Nameless Specimen: Thank you for listening. I have never shared this before. We don’t get visitors at all. There are not even others like us…as far as we know.

Kento: No, thank you for sharing. I learnt so much. For this, I will forever be indebted to you.

Nameless Specimen: I learnt much from you too. While I watched you fumble about on the surface, you spoke on and on about interesting facts about your world. Spells you were frustrated by. Potions you wanted to perfect. Professors you disliked and classes you missed. It was all so entertaining. You are an interesting man.

I was awestruck by her beauty and the tender warmth with which she spoke to me. The sound of her voice, the melodic bliss it elicits, the comfort…I feel as though I am still in the cave with her — weightless and free.

Kento: You're the first person to have ever said that to me…Most people find me annoying. Even my best friend. Though I rather think that is because I remind him of a lecturer, which he has naturally learnt to tune out automatically.

Nameless Specimen: That is unfortunate. A smart man like you must be heard, no? That is how we function in my pod; everything worth saying must be heard in an assembly. Every voice is equal to begin with, but the brighter minds deserve a special respect. You are one such.

Her revelation made me blush. It was embarrassing but she only smiled patiently. Of course, I have heard my fair share of compliments — winning as many awards as I have would warrant that. But, when those flatteries leave her lips, I felt inclined to shy away from such niceties.

Kento: You barely know me…

Shaking her head, she pulled herself closer to me until we were flushed together. To that, I did not shy away from. Not when it felt right.

Nameless Specimen: I feel as though I have lived a lifetime with you.

Kento: I do too...I feel as if I...loved you in a past life. And in the next.

She smiled again and placed a hand on my cheek. I was surprised to find the flexibility in her joints, webbed as they are. Her thumb adjusted my glasses which were threatening to float away from me.

Nameless Specimen: It is odd, is it not? For two souls to have just collided and feel this way...it seems as if we have been veering off course, heading straight for each other.

I don't know what expression I held. But something about it made her eyes soften, not in pity but something akin to sadness. For herself and for me. Like she thought it a universe's worth of regret to have met so late. Like she knew, since having met her, I've realised that all my life I have only ever known loneliness. Like she felt the same way.

Then, she reached out and met my lips.

I feel no shame in admitting much of the time we spent together is dedicated to talking about things which held no special importance, and to kissing. There was much more to be learned from her lips and her body than words, I believe. It is because of her that I became privy to the secrets of the universe and beyond all while tethered to the only home I felt bound to.

Her kisses spoke of promises. They breathed life into me. Urged me to desire for more than shallow trophies and meaningless discoveries.

We joined together like we've done it many times before.

These moments filled me with a new sense of purpose.

They were moments to protect, to cultivate, to watch grow.

They were moments I would cherish till my last breath...

#The Call of Atlantis #divider by @enchanthings-a

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boopiemadz · 15 hours ago

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Dear Owl, Love Sparrow.

Summary: Years ago, they were two students writing anonymous letters under the names "Sparrow" and "Owl." Through words alone, they fell for each other. Now, working side by side at the FBI, neither of them knows they’ve already loved each other once before. When fragments of their old letters turn up at crime scenes, everything comes back - and the truth changes everything.

In college, you were part of a psychology experiment - a correspondence study meant to test intimacy through anonymity. Each student was paired with a stranger from a different school. You, at Columbia University, were told you'd be paired with a student from Caltech. The project was funded by a cross-campus research grant on emotional intimacy through language. You signed your letters "Sparrow." Your partner signed his, "Owl."

The letters started formally - discussions of books, fears, dreams, and ideologies. The first letter you received was short, no more than two paragraphs. He introduced himself simply: Owl. He said he liked libraries, maps, silence, and things that made other people uncomfortable. You remember reading his letter in your dorm, beneath a lamp that barely lit the corners of your desk, and smiling for the first time in days.

You wrote back: brief at first, nervous. Told him you didn’t like the word "lonely" but often felt it. That you believed in ghosts - not supernatural ones, but emotional echoes. You talked about old poetry. About T.S. Eliot and grief. About your mom’s music collection and why you never slept with the door closed.

His reply was longer.

And from there, it took off. The letters became your ritual. Wednesday mornings were for envelopes tucked into the red campus mailbox. Saturdays were for hiding in your dorm to read his words alone. You never missed a week. It became real. It became sacred.

Owls handwriting was precise. He drew diagrams when he didn’t have the words, sketched out ideas in half-maps and graphs. His tone was painfully sincere. Sometimes fragmented. He confessed he hated the way people pitied him for being smart. That sometimes his thoughts moved too fast for his mouth. That he memorized everything and still felt like nothing stuck.

You wrote back that you felt unmoored, too. That the world often moved without your permission. That you didn’t know who you were supposed to be but felt safer telling him anyway.

You never met. Never spoke. The rules of the study forbade it. But there was something intoxicating in the not-knowing. You imagined Owl in pieces - his fingers ink-stained, maybe. His dorm filled with books. You pictured him sitting on the floor of a silent library, headphones in, scribbling thoughts he couldn't say aloud.

Then, with no warning, the letters stopped.

No goodbye. No explanation. You waited three months before you gave up.

You kept every one of his letters. Bundled by twine, in an old shoebox. You finished school. Took the FBI exam. Worked your way through the field, quiet and capable. You never forgot the mysterious stranger you found yourself falling for. You stopped waiting, but never forgot.

Years later, you’re at Quantico, sitting in a conference room across from Dr. Spencer Reid. You’ve worked with him for over a year. He’s strange. Brilliant. Guarded. But kind, in his own awkward way. You’ve always felt something around him - like you’ve known him longer than time allows.

The file on the table is grim. Three murders in Southern California. One victim posed with a cracked mirror. Another with a string of symbolic items: a chess piece, a pinecone, and a library card from Caltech’s main archives. All of them professors or scholars. All of them staged with purpose.

"There are notes," Hotch says. "Poetic phrases found written next to the bodies. None of them traceable to published work."

Garcia clicks through slides. The fourth reads: "To find truth, one must go alone into the dark." You freeze.

You wrote that. To Owl. In your sixth letter.

The room fades out for a second, the air too thin. You pull your attention back thinking, it must be a coincidence.

Later, after a long jet ride, you review the files alone in your hotel. You find another note photographed next to one of the victim’s: "Ghosts speak loudest to those who never stopped listening."

Letter twelve. Yours.

You don't sleep that night.

Over the following days, more letters appear in and around places the victims routinely visited - echoes from your past in the mouths of the dead. The phrases are too exact to be coincidental. Someone has copies of your letters. But how? And why?

At first, you try to convince yourself it’s an impossible coincidence. But when the third victim was positively identified to be one of the co-researchers on the original project, your stomach drops. Dr. Cho. Missing for two months. Presumed dead. Now confirmed.

"What kind of experiment was this again?" Morgan asks. You glance up from the screen.

"Cross-institutional letter exchange," you say. "Students were paired based on psych profiles. Asked to write for three months anonymously."

"What was the control?"

"There wasn't one. The goal was to study how anonymity affects vulnerability and connection."

Spencer tilts his head. "That sounds... familiar."

You look up sharply. "Did you do it?"

"I was at Caltech. Second year. They pulled some of us for a writing study. We had codenames. I was... Owl."

It’s like the floor disappears beneath you.

You nod, slowly, guarded. "What do you remember about your pen pal?"

He shrugs, thoughtful. "She was poetic. Sad, I think. But brilliant. We wrote about libraries and grief. The nature of memory. I burned the letters after Gideon left. Didn’t want to remember how much they meant to me, holding onto the hope we would find eachother was too painful."

He doesn't recognize you.

You excuse yourself. You go back to your hotel room and open the shoebox you had brought with you once you realized what the quotes were from.

You read them. All of them. Your own handwriting, responding to his. His quiet observations. His drawings. The dream about walking a spiraling staircase and ending in a mirror. His frustration at being told he was too much, too intense. The way you once signed a letter: "If you’re ever a ghost, haunt me gently."

Two days pass before you tell him.

Not until another body is found - with an origami bird in her hand.

You find Reid on the steps outside the precinct. He’s drinking coffee, flipping through his case-notes. "I need to tell you something," you say. He looks up. Blinks. "Okay."

You sit beside him. "I was Sparrow."

He doesn't speak for a long moment. Just stares at you. Then blinks again, slower.

"From the experiment?"

You nod.

"You're..."

"Yeah."

He sets his notebook down slowly. "Why didn’t you say anything before?"

"I didn’t know it was you at first. And then when I did, I didn’t know if you’d want to know."

He exhales, hand to his temple. "I burned them, the letters. I regret that now. But I remember some things, most things, eidetic memory..."

Your voice is smaller than you intend. "Someone’s using our letters. Just ours."

"The unsub must have accessed the electronic archive they entered every letter in, it was created to keep track of the results... he must have been one of the moderators for the project who got a little too attatched to you..." he says. "But that doesn’t explain the origami. That wasn’t in the letters."

"No," you whisper. "That was just us. I folded one into the last envelope. He- well I guess you, never responded."

He goes quiet again. "I didn’t get that one."

You look at him. "That’s why you stopped writing. He must've intercepted my last letter before it got to you."

The trap was set. You draft a new letter together. You write it by hand. He adds notes in the margins. It’s strange - working side by side with the person who once only existed as black ink on cream paper.

You sign it: "Yours, still, Sparrow."

The reply comes in a matter of hours. A bound volume of your letters, printed out, annotated in red. Obsessive. Worshipful. Violent.

Inside is a single line: "He never deserved you."

The unsub sets the stage in his response - a private library close to the precinct you were working out of. He wants you to come alone. One last letter. One final act.

You walk through the stacks like you’re underwater. Every wall echoes. Every breath feels borrowed. The unsub waits, hands gloved, holding your letters like scripture.

"You were Sparrow. You were mine."

"You never even knew me," you say.

"But I read everything. I saw you."

"You saw what I gave someone else."

"He wasted it. He burned it."

You stare him down. "I forgive him."

The signal is given. The team bursts in. Reid tackles the unsub himself.

Weeks had then passed since the chaos settled, since the unsub was caught and the shadows of your shared past briefly lifted.

Then, the package arrived.

It was unassuming, wrapped in brown paper, the edges frayed like an artifact from a forgotten time. No return address. You peeled it open with a slow reverence, your hands trembling just slightly, as if handling something sacred.

Inside lay a leather-bound notebook, worn at the edges, the supple cover faintly scented with old books and ink. You traced your fingers over its spine, a shiver rippling through your chest.

You opened the cover.

"For Sparrow, between the past and this moment."

The dedication was written in Spencer’s precise, looping handwriting. Ink slightly faded, but every word vivid as if whispered directly to you.

The notebook rested on your lap, its leather cover worn soft by time and countless nights spent open on Spencer’s desk or his favorite café table. This was no longer the stranger of distant letters - these were poems written for you, the woman he worked beside every day, the woman whose presence unsettled and inspired him in equal measure.

Each page felt like a secret unfolding.

“I watch you from the edges of crowded rooms, The way you tilt your head when lost in though., A careful quiet broken only by laughter. That slips like sunlight through autumn leaves.”

You traced the words, imagining the countless moments he observed you - unnoticed, unspoken, the way he pieced together fragments of you like clues in his case files.

The poems turned inward, revealing his fears - his worries that his feelings might break the fragile balance between you.

“I fear the chasm between us, wide and deep, Built from silences and things unsaid. Yet I find myself reaching across the void, Yearning for something I cannot name.”

You could feel the tension in his words, the battle between wanting to protect himself - and wanting to let himself fall. Between the poems, his handwriting sometimes faltered, lines scratched out, rewritten, almost as if he doubted his own courage.

One poem was followed by a small drawing - a park bench beneath two sprawling oak trees, their leaves sketched with delicate strokes. You paused, heart quickening.

“If ever you find yourself lost in the crowd, Or weighed down by shadows too dense to bear, Know there is a place where the world grows still, A bench beneath oaks that hold whispered prayers.”

The imagery was unmistakable: the quiet park near the city’s edge, where you sometimes went to escape the noise and the weight of everything. You remembered those afternoons alone, the feel of rough bark beneath your fingers, the way the setting sun painted the leaves gold.

The poems grew bolder as the pages turned, each one a step closer to confession.

“I’ve fallen in love with the way you move through light, With the quiet strength that anchors storms inside. If only you knew the weight of my hope, You’d let me in, no longer denied.”

You paused again, fingers trembling slightly, heart beating unevenly as if the poems themselves were alive, pulsing with something urgent and fragile.

“I write these words in the hope they might reach you, Across the distance we pretend to keep. If you ever tire of shadows and want to find me, Look for the bench where silence and daylight meet.”

Your breath caught. The final poem was folded carefully at the back, sealed with a faint imprint of a purple Sparrow and an illistration of a red Owl.

You read it over, letting the lines settle:

“When the dusk drapes the sky in amber hues, And the world softens into whispered truths, Come find me where the oaks embrace the breeze, Where two souls may speak beyond words and pleas. I am waiting, not as a shadow or name, But as a man who has loved you just the same.”

Your fingers closed the notebook gently, your heart pounding with anticipation.

You knew where he meant. The park. The bench. Tomorrow at dusk.

The next evening, as the sky softened from gold to rose and the breeze stirred the leaves with quiet whispers, you approached the park. Your steps slowed, breath catching as your eyes fell on the familiar figure seated beneath the spreading branches of the oak.

There he was - the man whose words had cradled your heart, whose silent love had shaped so many quiet moments.

You stood frozen, the world narrowing until it was only the two of you, breath mingling with the fading light.

And then your eyes met.

Spencer stood just a few feet away, eyes fixed on you, searching for words that had taken him years to find. His voice was low, steady, carrying the weight of everything he’d held inside.

“I loved her,” he began, voice a little rough, “Sparrow. Even when I didn’t know who she was, even when it was just letters on paper. I loved her words - the way she spoke of loneliness, hope, pain... how she saw the world. Somehow, through the distance and the silence, I felt connected to her, like she was the only person who really understood what it meant to feel broken but keep going.”

He swallowed, his eyes never leaving yours. “And then... I started noticing you. Not as Sparrow. Just you. The way you looked when you were thinking about something too complicated to say out loud, the way your laughter filled a room, the way you carried your quiet strength. I realized I was falling for you.”

You felt your chest tighten as his words settled over you. His vulnerability, so rare and precious, wrapped around you like a soft shield.

“And now,” he said, taking a hesitant step closer, “here you are. Both the writing I once knew and loved, and the girl I've found myself day to day captivated by. And I love you. I love you - more than I ever thought I could love someone.”

You swallowed hard, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Your voice was quiet but certain. “I loved him too. Owl. Even before I knew you were him. I loved the way he thought, the way he cared so deeply but hid it behind numbers and facts. I thought he was unreachable, and I was scared to fall for someone I didn’t know. But I did. I fell for you - without even knowing it was you.”

Your gaze softened, and you reached out, your fingers brushing his cheek. “And now you’re here. Real, in front of me. And I love you too.”

Spencer’s breath caught, his lips parting slightly. Slowly, with the gentleness of a whispered prayer, he leaned in. Your lips met - soft at first, tentative, savoring the moment as if making sure it was real.

Then the kiss deepened, passion blooming between you, years of longing and unanswered questions melting away in the warmth of shared breath.

When you finally parted, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the cooling air.

You smiled, with a quiet confidence of someone who’d waited a long time. “I was hoping... you'd come home with me.”

His eyes widened in surprise and delight. “I’d like that. More than anything.”

You slipped your hand into his, fingers lacing tightly with his own.

He pulled you gently into his side as you walked away from the park, the night unfolding around you like the beginning of everything you both had waited for.

A/N-

Im SO insanely proud of this dude. I feel so creative when Im usually void of original ideas :/ anyways lmk how you like this!

#bleh #viral #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid / you #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #x reader #kinda fluff #idk the genre #cant tag #pls reblog #i hoep this doesnt flop

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