#soulmate!skz

[sweetkpopmusings]

stray kids soulmate aus | l. minho <3

a/n: minho is for real the love of my life...that gent is so peculiar and he means everything to me <333 i really had to collect myself while writing this because eeeeeeeee my minho feels have been so strong :,,,-) i can't believe the skz soulmate au series is complete now ! i hope they have brought you lots of joy, and thank you for all the kind words you've shared <3333 pics not mine~

content: fluff, soulmate au | wc: 2.3k | warnings: none really! | pairing: soulmate!minho x gn!reader | requests: open

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

until you meet your soulmate, you receive one object per year that is a clue to who they are.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

minho’s favorite day of the year was always the day he received his clue about you.

from a young age, minho fell in love with the puzzle of it all. slowly but surely, he developed a ritual for unpacking each clue. he paid attention to every detail, taking thorough notes and letting his mind run wild with theories, no matter how ridiculous they seemed. he recorded everything in a notebook, which was one of his most prized possessions. it chronicled every thought he had about his soulmate, and, whenever he felt sentimental, he’d flip through the pages, smiling fondly as he watched his love turn from something childish into something solid, like the love he felt in his heart now.

minho’s love grew steadily over time, spiking when he received certain clues that were so clearly tied to his soulmate’s personality. once, during his middle school years, the clue was a polaroid you had taken. even though he wasn’t sure what it was of–maybe your bedroom wall or somewhere you spent a lot of time at–minho knew that the image was of a place near and dear to your heart. today, minho flipped through the pages, sighing happily when his eyes rested on that very polaroid. he memorized every centimeter of the image long ago.

unboxing today’s clue felt no different from all the unboxings before. after turning the pages forward to a blank one, minho settled into his chair. butterflies filled his stomach when he held a new clue for the first time because he felt as though he were one step closer to holding his soulmate. inhaling briefly to steady his excitement, he deftly unwrapped the package, surprised to hold a planner in his hands.

“huh,” minho chuckled, “let’s see what you’re getting up to.”

he couldn’t believe his clue would be so blatant about his soulmate’s identity. it felt entirely lucky that, just beyond the cover of this planner, would be details to his soulmate’s life, to you, whoever you were. minho smiled as he flipped through the pages, running his fingertips over your handwriting. he didn’t want to intrude too much, but he reveled in learning about the life his soulmate led. this must be it, the final clue. 

minho’s suspicion–or, rather, hope–was confirmed when he returned to the front of the planner. on the corner of the front page, he read the most beautiful words he’d ever encountered: if lost, please return to y/n l/n. thank you!

beneath your name was your phone number. not wanting to break his ritual, minho scribbled his observations into his notebook. while he didn’t need to theorize your name, he entertained himself by theorizing about the grocery store you went to and what your favorite takeout restaurant smelled like. admittedly, now that he had your name, he also started a list of potential nicknames for you. once he was satisfied with his entry, he picked up his phone. finally, he had the opportunity to test his theories against someone real.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

your yearly clue arrived earlier than you expected. glancing at the clock, you decided to risk being late to work. how could you resist the opportunity to start your day with something connected to your soulmate?

rather than a full package, your clue was sent to you in a small envelope, no bigger than a postcard. inside was a piece of paper with faded designs on the border. it was hard to make out exactly what the images were, but you could tell it was stationary that was popular when you were a young child. it was also apparent that the handwriting on the page belonged to a kid, maybe an elementary school student. your heart jumped when it clicked that this was your soulmate’s writing, these words a special glimpse in their mind as a child. 

hi!

today was very sunny. the weather was cool like spring. is it also spring for you? i guess you wouldn’t live that far away from me. i think it would be fun if you were from a place all the way across the world. maybe we could meet while traveling! or while doing something boring, like going to the store, haha. if we meet at the store, i should buy you something, right? i hope we like the same things. i’ll still buy you want you want, even if it’s gross.

anyways, i am writing this letter because my teacher said we had to practice our new vocabulary words with someone close to us. i used two already. here are the rest: bleak, chilly, windy, humid, falling leaves, summertime, spring day, downpour, foggy. our vocabulary unit was on the weather. i hope you had good weather today too, not weather that was bleak. 

love your soulmate, lee minho♡  

you were so incredibly heartwarmed that you didn’t know whether to smile or cry. when you saw the time, you realized there wasn’t room for either emotional activity. you floated on the street as you made your way to work, feeling invincible from the sweetness of your soulmate’s words. your soulmate, lee minho. 

nothing could ruin your good mood today. not spilling some coffee onto your hand, not misplacing your planner, not even the stranger bumping into you as you exited the elevator. today was perfect because you learned your soulmate’s name, which meant that you could probably figure out who they were. you also learned that, when they were a child, thay considered you as someone close, even though you had never met yet.

daydreams about what your soulmate would write to you in a letter today were interrupted by your phone going off. at first, you were relieved to see the message about your planner being found. your brow furrowed, however, when the message with the time and place to meet was followed up by a message declaring that you would meet your soulmate when you picked up your planner. 

wanting to avoid a potential scam or prank, you decided to ask a question that would confirm their identity. you almost forgot that you didn’t have to dig into the recesses of your memory for specific clues. thankfully, the childhood letter was fresh in your mind, so you asked a simple who are you?

anxiety was replaced by excitement when they replied i’m your soulmate, lee minho.

just like you had this morning, you checked the clock to see how much time you had until you needed to leave for your next destination. leaving early felt silly, but, seeing as your soulmate would be there and expecting you, you didn’t feel like waiting any longer. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

minho sat at a table outside the convenience store with a few beverage options in front of him. he wanted to offer you something when you arrived, so he picked the items he thought suited your taste, based on his instinct and clue investigations. a smile graced his lips when the reality of your nearing presence hit him. while he waited, minho wondered what clue you received that revealed his name. as far as he could tell, he wasn’t missing any identifiable documents. maybe a nametag or souvenir of his ended up in your hands, or maybe it was just a piece of paper with his name on it. regardless, minho wasn’t one to question fate’s methods if it meant that he’d finally meet his soulmate tonight.

minho had texted you a description of what he wore–black pants paired with a white button-down and a beret–but you knew who he was before you even registered his outfit. there was something about the feeling you got when you looked at the man sitting outside the convenience store, your favorite drinks neatly placed in front of him. before you could get too stunned by his beauty, his eyes met yours. he smiled and waved for you to join him. knees weak, you happily accepted the invitation.

“hi, y/n,” minho grinned, “i believe this belongs to you.”

you giggled at the way he smirked when he handed the planner over to you and blushed at the way he said your name. his confident and relaxed energy dissipated your nerves. as cliché as it sounded, being near minho made you feel at home.

“thank you, minho. i would be lost without this thing,” you sighed and placed it in your bag, “it’s also nice to meet you.” 

“likewise,” he gestured to the drinks between you two, “i wasn’t sure which one you’d like best, so i bought a few options. it felt rude to meet at a store and not buy you something.”

you bit the inside of your cheek, thinking back to the childhood letter making the same claim, and then grabbed one of the items, “this one is actually my favorite! how did you know?”

minho was clearly proud, and his eyes gleamed with playfulness, “i used my amazing detective work.”

you laughed, “ah, so i see the clues came in handy for my drink preferences.”

“mhm,” he nodded, “that and other things.”

you raised your eyebrows, “should i be scared of what you know?”

he shrugged, “probably.”

a hand went over your mouth as you laughed, nearly spitting out your drink. minho giggled, reaching into his bag while you regained your composure.

“i have this for you,” he slid a notebook across the table to you.

“for me?”

he nodded. you carefully picked it up, surprised by its weight. when you opened the notebook and saw that it was full of different items, you understood why it was heavier than it appeared. on the first page, you recognized the same childish handwriting from today’s clue. you smiled and looked up at minho.

“what’s in here?”

“every clue i’ve gotten about you.”

his tone was nonchalant, but you were so touched by the gesture you thought you could melt right then and there. he had kept every single clue and wrote entries for each one. now, he was giving that collection to you. you knew from that letter that he was sweet. this, however, was more sentimentality than you could have ever imagined.

“wow, minho, this is…” you held his gaze, so he knew your sincerity, “thank you. i love it.”

he smiled, turning his head to the side in shyness, which made the red tips of his ears apparent, “i’m happy you like it.”

you two smiled at each other for a moment, reveling in your shared space.

“ah! that reminds me. what was your clue today? mine obviously brought us together, but i can’t imagine i’d be the only one to have such a straightforward clue today. was it how you knew my name?”

you grinned at both his playful bragging and the thought of your clue, “it was a letter you wrote me when you were a kid. you told me some of your new vocabulary words about the weather. you also signed it with ‘love your soulmate, lee minho.’ your handwriting was adorable!”

if you thought his ears were red before, now there was no doubt in your mind that he was blushing. minho even stuttered a little out of shyness when he replied.

“i see…was the letter any good?”

“yes, i think you used your vocabulary words well,” you teased, “it was very sweet. i was surprised that you said i was someone close to you, though, given that you were so young and didn’t even know me. why did you choose to write it to me instead of someone like a parent or friend?”

minho hummed, genuinely thinking back to his childhood logic, “honestly? it was never a mystery to me whether i’d love you or not.”

now you were the one blushing, smiling, and struggling to find the right words. it didn’t help that minho looked downright smug at your reaction to his comment. clearly, you were in for quite the ride with your soulmate. you figured you needed to get used to your heart fluttering if you were going to spend the rest of your life with him.

minho sighed, standing up from his seat, “well, y/n, i unfortunately have to go. get home safely, and study well! we should make plans to meet again this week, if you’re free.”

“wait, i have to study before i see you again?” you tilted your head in confusion, causing a smile to grace minho’s face.

“yes, you need to study the book i gave you. there will be a pop quiz on the information next time we meet.”

you eyes darted to the notebook in your hand and then back to your ridiculous soulmate. the proud, mischievous look on his face convinced you that he wasn’t lying about the quiz. 

“what do i get if i ace it?”

“hmm,” minho tapped his finger on the side of his head, “my eternal love and affection.”

you smiled, quickly changing your expression to a playful one, “i thought i already had that? at least, that’s what your letter implies.”

minho chuckled, ears turning red again, “huh, i guess you’re right. i’ll buy you dinner then. but only if you ace it.”

you laughed at the seriousness in his voice, “it’s a date!” 

minho grinned, “it’s a date.” 

he paused to savor the way those words sounded, to relish in the moment of promising to see each other soon. yet again, you felt yourself blushing, flustered by the sweet intensity of his love.

“see you soon, and let me know when you’re home safe, my dear, y/n.”

minho cooed your name, and you giggled. he smiled that proud smile again, fondness reflecting in his eyes. you promised to text him the second you were home and asked that he did the same, so you knew when you could call him. after several more tries, you two finally said a goodbye that sounded a lot more like i can’t wait to see you again soon because i love you!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[staybabblingbaby]

Soulmate Garden AU Ch.4 (Lewisia) a3d2

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 10,680

Notes: Holy shit, it's been like 3 months?????? In my defense, holidays are awful, and this is a fuckin' beast of a chapter. Binnie would NAWT shut up T^T She almost matches the word count for the entire fic so far TT^TT Plus 10 images of texting. Y am i like this??? Huge shout outs to my lovely, patient, amazing betas who made this chapter at ALL possible, @lazyfacecowboy and @brbwritingfanfic. Seriously, this would not have been written without y'all, everyone say thank you! Also special mention for @chancloud8 for negotiating me through the last bit of the chapter LMAO. She kept feeding me fics, they were my reward for doing the writing UvU

Hope y'all enjoy! And I hope it was worth the wait <3

(p.s my ass did NOT do a real final readthrough. If the formatting is weird pls forgive me, I'm sick of looking @ her T^T)

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: Allusions to past domestic violence, flashback of verbal abuse (very vague, but still there), panic attack, she/her reader

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Prev Part | Next Part (Coming Soon <3)

The next morning marks a return to routine.

You roll out of bed half awake, sleep-mused and ready for murder. Your mood isn’t improved by the way you’d gone to bed - still in your work clothes with day-after mascara gluing your eyelids together.

A quick stop by the restroom to strip and scrub your face is a necessity, otherwise you’re liable to just crawl back into bed and rot there. You honestly wish you could. Just rot away and let all this soulmate business pass you by as you slowly return to the earth.

Alas, capitalism waits for no man.

You examine your reflection when you’ve finished, doing your best to ignore the remaining traces of grey streaks down your cheeks where your eyeliner hadn’t been as waterproof as advertised.

You try to hold onto the flash of irritation the sight brings you, to cling to the normalcy of being irritated that your makeup is waterproof enough to be a pain to remove, but not to stay through your tears. Then you remember what you’d been crying over and the pit of fear and shame that’s been your companion the last few days comes rolling back.

You don’t even know why you’d cried. Don’t feel like you deserved to cry. After all, it’s not like you were the one rejected by your soulmate for no reason.

You do your best to shake off the incoming spiral, ambling your way into the kitchen. You just need to fall back on your routines and feel normal for a bit. You’re not entirely convinced that ignoring your problems won’t make them go away, despite the dark feelings trembling in your chest.

You press your lips together to stop the bottom one from trembling and open the fridge. There’s a plate of eggs, fruit, and toast inside.

Taylor, freak of nature that he is, has been up for hours already, you know. He’d probably been up and out the door before the sun had even thought about rising. Weirdo.

Your roommate is well aware of how non-functional you can be in the morning, so it’s not unusual of him to leave you leftovers when he makes breakfast. Especially when he knows you’re not feeling your best. The little note on top isn’t new either: usually a reminder, grocery list, or a little encouragement for your day. The whole thing makes you smile, usually, and you’re always touched by his consideration.

Today that little note makes your eyes prick with a new wave of tears.

‘Give yourself a chance. Bet’s still on <3’

The $20 you’d slapped onto the counter last night is taped to the back. It feels a bit like a stone hand is crushing your heart under the weight of something unknowable and precious when you carefully tuck both the money and the note into your wallet.

You very deliberately do NOT cry, though it’s a near thing. You’d done enough crying last night. But if you sniffle a bit into cold eggs, well...

That’s for you to know, isn’t it?

It’s a Tuesday, so after breakfast you drag yourself back to your room to throw on your largest, rattiest, t-shirt and a pair of leggings to head to the gym. You’ll drag yourself through your routine with leaded limbs if you have to, you’re going to have the most regular day you can manage and everything will be fine. It has to be.

You can’t help it when eyes catch on the newly-bloomed marks on your skin as you strip away your sleepwear. The sight makes you uneasy, almost uncomfortable. It takes you a moment to realize why looking at your mark, a daily ritual you’ve kept for years, feels so foreign to you today.

It’s almost alarming to acknowledge that you haven’t actually looked at your mark since you’d met your first soulmate. The concert feels like a lifetime ago, now, despite having been barely two days ago. You’re a bit ashamed to admit that you’d been avoiding looking at it since you’d felt the first flowers bloom.

It’s no wonder looking at it feels weird, you muse as you study it now. It might as well be a whole new mark, for all the changes that have happened since you last saw it.

You decide, in the name of returning to your routine for good, that you can’t skip even this tiny part of your daily rituals.

You shuffle over to your closet, swinging open the door to reveal the full-length mirror hanging on the other side. You don’t bother with your usual rounds of self-depreciation or daily affirmations. Instead, you find your eyes glued to droopy purple petals and blankets of white stars across your abdomen.

Something wilted and small within you mourns the loss of the buds that had brought you so much comfort since they’d appeared. The new blooms are beautiful, of course, vibrant and radiant and full of so much meaning. Still, the change wounds you.

Only time will tell if it’s the healing sort of hurt.

You find your eyes glued to the fresh flowers. Their names come to mind with ease as you trace gentle fingers over echoes of delicate petals. ‘Bellflowers’ You recite to yourself, drawing your finger up thin stalks and back down dipped heads, ‘for gratitude, affection, and endurance’. Your fingers dance a bit lower. ‘Edelweiss’ you muse, lightly tapping each fuzzy white star, ‘for devotion, nobility, and courage’.

The knowledge comes easily to you, not from any cosmic force, but because of course it does. Your sister hadn’t been wrong when she’d said that asking a person’s favorite flower had been basically an obsession of yours.

The habit had started well before you’d gotten your mark. Before you’d even properly known what soulmates were, really.

It started with lazy summer days you’d been almost too young to remember. A slim hand engulfing your tiny wrist, being made to sit next to your mother while she did something in the dirt, her shadow your only shelter from the blistering sun.

Gardening with your mother had started as a way for her to drag you out of the house to get some sun while keeping an easy eye on you. Before your sister was born you’d spent many hazy afternoons learning to work the soil beside your mother.

After the advent of your favorite gremlin, you’d spent those afternoons tending to the family garden alone.

You remember being grateful to the newborn back then. Those solitary afternoons were some of the most peaceful in your memory.

At some point the ‘family garden’ had become more ‘your garden’. Your mother wouldn’t even bother to plan it out with you by the time your sister had reached her toddler years. She’d drive you to the store, hand you a bit of cash, and leave it all in your tiny capable hands.

You’d spent hours researching the best ways to nurture your plants.

What flowers liked being planted together, which ones should be separated. You learned about soil types and the nutrients found in them. You learned about ph values, how to measure them, and why they mattered. Anything to have your garden thriving more brightly, more beautifully, for longer.

If you weren’t in the garden, you were in the library by your house, nose buried in a gardening book.

You vividly remember the day it all went wrong.

It hadn’t even been that dramatic, as you recall. At least, not in terms of your parent’s usual fights. It was heartbreak—despair— that had marked the day, instead of fear.

You’d been digging up weeds, clawing up deep roots with your gloved hands and a trowel, when your father had come storming outside.

You don’t remember what he’d said. It’d been nonsense, just vitriol for vitriols' sake. Something about you always taking your mother’s side because of your shared hobby, you think.

Never mind that the woman hadn’t put so much as a toenail to the dirt since your sister had been born.

He hadn’t let up for quite a while, if memory serves. Stood there yelling at you in your safe space for close to an hour. Maybe two, but your child-brain couldn’t be trusted with the time.

It may have just been minutes, now that you think about it.

Nonetheless, he’d yelled, and yelled, and yelled. He hadn’t trampled on or broken anything. He hadn’t even made sense.

And yet, when he’d finally left, everything was different.

The blooms you’d worked so hard to nurture were no longer beautiful, the soil you’d once called home no longer safe.

You hadn’t tended another garden after that season. You’d seen your plants to winter, and you’d let go. You’d turned away from the sun and soil and leaned into your books and silly questions to fill the hole left behind.

You’re sure you’d left claw marks in the dirt.

Something like a gentle humming emanates from your soulmark, and its warmth draws you back to the present. You look down at it, noticing how tightly you're clutching at the garden around your waist, your arms wrapped around you in a weak semblance of a hug. Each of your fingers had managed to directly touch a flower.

The awkward sprawl of your fingers feels natural, as if you’d never sought to comfort yourself any other way. As if seeking out your bond, your link to total strangers, for comfort was all you’d ever done.

It was natural, you muse. It was human nature to seek resonance in their bonded. It was the universe’s way of assuring you that you’re loved. Your soulmate’s way of assuring you that they’re still there.

You gingerly pry your hands away and blankly study the crescent moons you’ve left behind, soft skin indented where petals should have ripped.

You wonder if you’ll leave claw marks in this garden too. If they’ll leave claw marks in you.

You tear your eyes away from the mirror, ignoring the warm, gentle tingling up your side where your fingers had dug in. You know it means the people on the other end are pressing against their own marks. You know it shows their care, how that gentle sensation masks the stinging ache your fingers should have left behind.

For some reason, you miss the pain.

You quickly toss on a camisole, forgoing your usual privacy wraps, and your t-shirt over that.

There was nothing for emptying your mind quite like running yourself into the ground at the gym. With full awareness that you’re going to regret your gym session later, you flee your apartment, your mind pleading normal, normal, normal.

Maybe jogging all the way to the gym wasn’t such a great idea. It’d sounded fantastic at the time, a head start on your cardio and a way to remove yourself from your negative headspace before you tried to toss around weights you barely knew how to use.

It had sort of worked, but now you hadn’t even entered the building and you were already a sweaty, panting, mess.

You enter the building after guzzling down half of your water bottle, resignation in your heart. Cardio wasn’t even your focus today.

The automatic doors slide open with their usual swish and you’re greeted by the familiar stale smell all gyms seem to share, no matter how clean. It’s comforting, even if you do kind of wanna go home already.

There’s someone already at the receptionist’s desk when you approach, talking in slow and measured English. You try not to be annoyed with the tiny delay, but while you’d successfully outrun your demons (for now), your bad mood had stuck around.

Alas, you’ve ventured into the public and found the public there. A travesty. Knowing that you just have to deal with it, you cross your arms and bite back the irritation this complete stranger hadn’t done anything to earn.

Luckily enough, the low and measured cadence of the stranger’s voice is soothing enough to zone out to. Unfortunately, he’s also the only thing around to rest your eyes on, so you find yourself studying his form.

His back is broad and built, huge biceps on display in a tight fitting black t-shirt. You kinda wanna squish them. A vivid tattoo sleeve runs all the way down to his wrist, and you find your stare glued to it.

Large, boldly colored flowers take up the majority of the space, vague outlines of crashing waves and rolling mists filling in the rest with a luxurious combination of oriental art styles.

Beautiful as it is, you can’t help but think it doesn’t look finished.

Dragging your eyes away from such gorgeous ink is quite the task, but you don’t want your admiration to be mistaken for judgement. It gets easier when you start to notice just how fine the man himself is.

You really can’t help the way your eyes trace up and down his body, now that you’re no longer anchored to his tattoo. It should be impossible, you think, to somehow bulk up in only the right places, but by Jove this man has done it. You’re jealous, honestly.

Your eyes come to a rest on the stranger’s backside. Quite jealous, indeed.

You try to shake yourself from your admiration, reminding yourself that there were very many well-muscled men in this place and that you’d always endeavored to keep a polite line-of-sight, even when they didn't. It hadn’t even been a hard ask, until now.

You drag your gaze back up to the back of his head.

You’d be polite if it killed you. Even if neither the stranger or the scrawny receptionist had noticed your wandering gaze. Especially then.

While you were.... distracted... the man’s conversation with the receptionist seemed to have gone a whole lot of nowhere. From what you can gather, he’s looking for a short-term membership, and the receptionist is trying to tell him they don’t do that.

You know that’s true, the receptionist isn’t trying to scam the guy. Even the trial period for this place was an entire month. You’d specifically chosen this gym for that reason. If you hadn’t been able to stick it out for a month, you know you’d have never used the place enough to justify a membership.

You send your sympathies to this stranger, it seems he really just needs a little less than a week. You know there are some no-commitment type places not too far though, so you wonder why he’s stuck on this place.

Their back and forth goes a while longer, but it’s evident that the beautifully-built stranger can’t really argue his case properly. Whether because of the obvious language barrier he’s working with, or because he’s run out of arguments, you can’t be sure.

Eventually he steps to the side to make a call, and you’re able to approach the counter.

The receptionist (His name is Jake, you remind yourself by reading his name-tag. The owner’s nephew, if you recall) looks relieved to see you after whatever hassling the stranger had given him.

He lazily waves the clipboard and its sign-in sheet at you in greeting. You take the clipboard, trading him your membership card and driver’s license for it, and turn to prop your knee up on the counter to balance it while you write.

Incidentally, your choice of position keeps the stranger in your line of sight.

It also happens to give Jake a view of his own, but you magnanimously ignore his gaze wandering to your chest. If only because you’re still looking not-so-respectfully at the tattooed stranger a few feet away.

You weren’t close to the receptionist by any means, but Jake is easy to chat to, when you take the extra minute to do so. The type of acquaintance you’d never remember the name of if it weren’t pinned to his lapel, but you've seen pictures of every dog he’s ever had.

It makes it easy to pry him for gossip.

“So what was that all about?” You query as you hand back the clipboard. He shrugs at you, typing a second longer.

“Some big-shot who needs a security detail,” He answers, unimpressed, “Says this is the only gym in, like, five miles of his hotel that he doesn’t need an entourage to go to.”

You hum your understanding, now trying to place if the handsome stranger was someone you knew of.

Situations like that weren’t uncommon for this gym. Celebrities that actually lived in LA weren’t spotted here very often but, since it was settled very close to quite a few high-security luxury hotels, the building saw its fair share of famous faces.

Due to its occasionally high-profile clientele, security was kept quite tightly, and a certain code of conduct was expected amongst the gym’s members. It was another justification for the long trial period, wherein one could only access the front room with the basic weights and machines. All the fancy stuff (including a pool, rock wall, dance studio, and all sorts) was in the back.

Non-members weren’t allowed past reception at all.

It was also another reason you yourself were a patron here. The high security and strict standards made for a quiet and comfortable atmosphere.

At least, as long as you ignored the judgmental looks. Most people who utilized this space were much more fit and put together than you. You tried not to let it bother you.

“What’s the issue, then?” You question Jake, “Doesn’t the owner make exceptions for celebrities?” You phrase it as a question, but you know he does. The unfamiliar faces that pop up for a few days every now and then wouldn’t show up otherwise.

Jake just sighs like he’s had this conversation a thousand times. Considering the celebrity(?) waving his hands around as he spoke rapidly into his phone not far away, maybe he had.

“He does, but he’s out of town and no one else can adjust the contracts.” He eventually explains. He finally hands you your stuff back, and you hum consideringly as you put the cards back in your wallet.

Another glance at the furrowed brows on the stranger’s masked face has pity welling up your throat.

You turn your gaze to focus on Jake.

“Do I still have that visitor pass?” You ask him, knowing that he still has your details up. Jake glances at you with a raised eyebrow, but obligingly checks the computer.

“Yup,” He confirms, “You’ve been paying for it since you dragged your poor roommate in here that one time. Why?”

“Can he use it?” you nod your head to the frustrated stranger. From where you’re sat, still perched on the edge of the desk, it looks oddly like he’s begging whoever’s on the other line.

Your visitor pass wasn’t all-access, of course. It’d just get the poor guy into the main front room plus the locker rooms and showers, but you figured it’d be better than nothing. It wasn’t like Taylor would step foot in here after you’d run him ragged last time, not even for the moral support.

Jake levels you with his most deadpan stare. It’s quite a good one, completely unimpressed. You think it must be something about customer service that allows him to make that face. Or maybe it’s just you.

“You realize that your visitor pass is you vouching for your visitor’s character, right?” He reminds you, “If he does anything, breaks anything, pisses off the wrong lifeguard- it’ll be on your head.”

You just shrug. It’s not like you couldn’t find a new gym if you had to. You’d miss this one, with its quiet atmosphere and abundant amenities, but you didn’t require its security and discretion like some of the other members did.

“I’ve got a good feeling about it.” Is all you tell Jake. It’s not even a lie.

The poor boy just rolls his eyes at you. He still turns to rifle through the desk for the right form for you to fill out though, so you’ll take it.

“You a fan of his or something?” Jake asks, handing you a different clipboard. “There are easier ways to bag a celebrity.”

“Nope!” You answer cheerfully, fully ignoring the suggestion of your motives as you start to fill out the form, “No idea who he is.”

Jakes huffs an incredulous laugh, and turns a considering gaze on your new friend. And the stranger does have to be a friend now, because ‘some guy’ is not an option on your paperwork.

“I bet he’s a wrestler,” he finally says after a long moment, “Or a sportswear model.”

You gently bop him on the head with your clipboard, “I refuse to participate in your speculation.” You admonish, ignoring his whining.

“I’ll show you his picture when you leave,” He smirks back, “and whatever google says about him.” He shrugs when you send him a cutting glare, “What? It’s public information.”

“Respect your customer’s privacy, you weirdo.” You scold. He just laughs as you hand him the form, all filled out and just waiting for the stranger’s signature. You know full well that Jake will go through with his research, regardless of what you say, so you give up easily.

It’s not like he’ll be fired for doing it, as long as you don’t go blabbing about the poor celebrity outside of the gym. Privileges of nepotism.

You exchange farewells as you hop off the counter, and he begins to wave over Mr. Celebrity. You meet the eyes of your on-paper friend and offer him a quick nod before you scuttle off deeper into the building.

Hopefully he’d be too grateful for your offer to find you terribly strange.

You manage to make it all the way through your warm-ups before your good deed gets punished. You suppose you’ll be grateful to the universe for letting you find your zen on your yoga mat before it dropped the other shoe.

You notice the legs in the mirror before you realize someone is trying to speak to you. You accidentally ignore the newcomer for several long moments, assuming they were approaching to use a different part of the mirror. When you finally realize they’re waiting for you to acknowledge them, it’s been just shy of too long.

You ease out of your last stretch and stand up, automatically taking an earbud out as you turn to face them.

“Sorry, did you need me to move?” You question as you finally look up. You‘d had your most emo playlist blasting in your ears during your warm up, an attempt to process your feelings through movement or whatever that one instructor from forever ago had tried to teach you.

So of course it’s with perfect clarity that A. Jay Popoff sings “I am my own worst enemy” into the empty space between you and Seo motherfuckin’ Changbin.

Your mental plea for a normal, routine sort of day dies a horrible death when you make eye contact with the pop-star.

And you realize you really must be your worst enemy as you do, because you easily recognize the outfit he’s wearing and the vivid tattoos on his arm.

Of course your good deed for the day led you to one of your soulmates. Of. Fucking. Course.

You’re not sure what you’d done to Karma recently for her to be throwing all of this shit at you right now, but you’d appreciate it if she’d just let you apologize instead of whatever cruel punishment this is.

Changbin must realize you recognize him, because he shyly raises a hand to fiddle with his earrings as he replies.

“Ah, no, I uh...” The hand slides to the back of his neck and he clears his throat uncomfortably. You quickly school your expression back into a semblance of normality when he glances away. You feel like you might still be a bit wild around the eyes, though.

“I just wanted to say thank you.” He concludes. He looks like he wants to say more, but you figure he might not have the English words to do so easily. It’s okay, you don’t really have the Korean to describe how you’re feeling right now either.

Your first instinct is to offer to speak Korean for him, but the air between the two of you is already wildly uncomfortable. Vastly different causes for both of you, you’re sure, but it’s enough to make you second guess your every move.

“Oh, uh, no problem.” You assure.

You stare resolutely at his nose when you speak. If you look into his eyes again you’re sure you’ll spill your entire life story. And if not that extreme, you’ll at least spill the whole soulmate thing. Something about being directly confronted with your problems makes you chatty.

But also if you look away from his face, knowing that body is supposed to be compatible with yours... It leads to some very impolite thoughts. Cute as it is, his nose is the safest thing for you to look at right now.

You offer the idol a thin-lipped smile when you realize the interaction hasn’t ended. Dear god, why has it not ended?

“Anything else I can do for ya?” you offer, inwardly cursing your manners. You’ve lived here long enough that you know people outside your tiny country-side town take that as an invitation instead of a dismissal.

Sure enough, Changbin starts to speak again, his words slow and careful. You watch him wipe his palms on his shorts, idly wondering if he’s shitting himself internally as much as you are right now. And what he’s freaking out about if he is.

“You... Recognize me? Are you STAY?” He gestures a bit while he talks, like he’s trying to cast a spell on you to understand what he’s trying to say. You think it might work, because your mouth is running off without you before you quite process the words.

“Ahh.. hah, uh,” You chuckle awkwardly, your fingers rising to pinch your lips nervously, “My roommate is. We were at your concert the other day, actually,” And even as you say the words your eyes flick down to his arm. You refocus, hopefully before he could notice the quick glance, but you can’t stop your thoughts from spiraling.

After all, he didn’t have that kind of ink at the concert. You and Taylor were front row, right up on the barricade, you’d seen all eight Stray Kids up close and personal. You’d have remembered such a vivid tattoo. And there were only so many reasons to cover a sleeve like that so completely.

Something complicated settles in your stomach as you realize that Changbin is probably a ‘loud and proud’ kind of soulmate, if he’s showing off his mark like this outside of his work. Work you know prevents him from showing off his mark.

Your mouth keeps running without you while you have your little crisis.

“I didn’t recognize you at reception, I woulda had you sign something for him.” You can’t help the rush of embarrassment that sweeps through you, even as you laugh uncomfortably at your own joke.

Why on earth would you say something like that? This situation is already uncomfortable enough! On so many levels!

Somehow, this seems to have been the right thing to say, though, as Changbin’s eyes light up at your joke, the tension easing a bit.

“I can sign,” He suggests, “It would make me feel...” He starts gesturing again, looking for the word he wants, “Less bad?” He finishes like a question.

And suddenly you understand his awkwardness a lot better. It always sucks to feel indebted to someone.

You laugh a little more freely with your new understanding, “Oh, you really don’t have to,” You assure, “I was just joking.”

He shakes his head, “Think of it as.. trade.” He nods, satisfied with himself.

You bob your head to the side, pressing your lips together with a tiny, frustrated, whine, “I really didn’t want anything from you,” you insist, “I hold onto that pass for my roommate, but he never comes with me anyways. You’re doing me a favor using it, seriously.”

You try to speak slowly and clearly, taking a page from Changbin’s book and letting your hands roam while you speak. You hope your spell of understanding works as well as his did.

He takes a moment to respond, mouthing along to some of your words. It’s kind of fascinating to watch someone translate in real time, especially when the process is written all over their face. It’s a little surreal to be on the other side of it.

Eventually his face clears, and he makes a little ‘ah!’ noise that you really shouldn’t find as endearing as you do. You’re in the middle of rejecting your soulmates, you should not be finding one of them cute right now.

“If it is roommate’s pass, more reason to sign, yes?” He reasons, looking proud of his logic. You huff a tiny laugh at him, absolutely charmed.

“Sure, big guy,” You sigh with defeat, though you can’t seem to wipe the smile off your face, “Sounds like a fair trade. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

The two of you stall for a moment, the atmosphere leagues lighter than before.

When the moment seems over, you make a show of looking down at your pocket-less outfit, and then at the ground around you.

“I don’t have a pen on me,” you trail off meaningfully. He looks surprised for a second, like the possibility had never occurred to him.

“Oh,” He looks around as well, lost for a moment, “I can see if front desk has one?” he asks, like he’s looking for instruction. Another thought seems to occur to him then.

“Do you have...” He starts to gesture again, but you cut him off with a nod, fairly certain you’re sure what he’s trying to ask.

“Yeah, I’m sure I can find something for you to sign,” You point in the direction of the locker room, “I’ll probably have to look in my bag though.” You glance between him, the door to the locker room, and the door that leads out to reception.

“Meet back here in 5?” you propose. He seems content with this plan and nods in agreement. “Oh!” You stop him before he can fully turn around.

“Ask for a sharpie,” you instruct, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to find regular paper.” In fact, you’re pretty sure you’ll be sacrificing the spare ball cap you keep in your bag for this. You hope Taylor likes tie-dye.

With that, the two of you go your separate ways. It takes you no time at all to locate the bright monstrosity of a hat, a souvenir you abhorred from one of your father’s many ‘business’ trips. It would be no loss to you, but you take time to see if you have any actual paper around. You need the processing time.

Stars above, what were you thinking? There was no way you were getting out of this without another soulmate bond, but here you were, casually chatting with the guy instead of getting the fuck out of dodge!

You really couldn’t help it though.

Even when he’d been no more than a stranger to you, you hadn’t been able to help the way you gravitated toward Changbin. Now that you knew he was your soulmate, your actions made a lot more sense to you.

You’d always been on the people pleasing side of helpful, but vouching for a complete stranger was new for you. Even now, you were obediently grabbing an item for him to deface with a signature you don’t even want (no matter how thoroughly Taylor would murder you if you’d passed it up) just because you could tell how uneasy Changbin was with just accepting the visitor pass.

It didn’t help that the man was endearing as hell. Every little thing he did seemed cute to you, and you’d barely known him for ten minutes!

You felt like this was a new low for you. Doing things you didn’t really want to, for a man. Taylor would be so disappointed in you.

Having stalled for maybe far too long, you settle on sacrificing the atrocious hat to Changbin’s pen and put your stuff away. Something heavy and squirmy settles in your chest as you make your way back out to retrieve your prize from the man of the hour.

Surprisingly, there’s no accidental meeting of hands when Changbin autographs your hat. He did give you a bit of a bemused look for the choice of item, but you’d just shrugged at him. It was all you were willing to sacrifice, and Taylor should be grateful for even this much, in your opinion.

Unsurprisingly, the lack of first contact does not ease your mind at all. In fact, it rockets up your anxiety another thousand notches. You can’t help checking over your shoulder at every opportunity, despite the fact that Changbin hadn’t left the weights area since he’d settled there and couldn't follow you through the door to the rest of the facility regardless.

Look, you know how the whole first contact thing worked, okay? Fate would put two soulmates in the same place for whatever stupid reason, and find an even stupider reason for them to make skin-to-skin contact. You’d experienced it twice now, and you couldn’t help but think going out of your way to avoid everything Changbin was wouldn’t help you very much.

Even still, you can’t stay paranoid and vigilant forever. When nothing happens while you finish your cardio, or when you work your way through both the pool and the sauna, you admittedly let down your guard a bit.

Maybe that’s why, after you’ve made your way back to the front room to try and finish your workout, when you’re mid-stretch and staring daggers at a weight machine you’re sure you’ll figure out how to use if you glare long enough, you jump about five miles out of your skin when you hear Changbin’s voice behind you.

Jumping from such a precarious position is never a good idea, and your sudden movement has set your head on a one-way collision course with the gym’s hardwood floors about it.

Hands fly around your middle, catching you awkwardly around your ribs. Unfortunately, all this noble attempt to catch you does is slow your descent, giving you just enough time to flinch violently enough to bring your arms up and prevent your head from meeting the ground and brace for impact.

The rest of you still hits the ground pretty hard, and Changbin’s knees and elbows meet a similar fate, his own head saved by headbutting your stomach, knocking the air out of you even harder than it already had been.

The two of you sit there a moment, groaning with the pain of your fall. At least you don’t have a concussion. You’ll take every small mercy with the way the universe has treated you lately.

Some part of you is cognizant enough to give the heavens a heartfelt thank you when you notice that none of your aches and pains are from your soulbond activating. Somehow, through that entire debacle, and even considering the amount of exposed skin between your t-shirt and his, you hadn’t managed to touch. You’re still safe.

As the shock starts to wear off, you start to become aware of the warmth of large hands still resting heavily against your sides, both soothing and wildly distracting. It’s like every fiber of your being is focused on where he’s touching you, warm and weighty. Changbin’s head still buried in your abdomen doesn’t help with the building fluster taking over your brain.

You swear one of his thumbs has landed squarely on one of the flower buds directly opposite Lee Know’s Bellflowers, and the tingly feeling of the bond weakly trying and failing to establish through the thin barrier of your shirt is not helping your mushy brain at all.

You tip your head back to stare at the ceiling, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to prevent yourself from doing something stupid, like confessing all of your sins to Changbin right then and there.

Maybe you did have a concussion after all.

It’s probably been less than a minute since the two of you hit the floor, but it feels like ten hours have passed when Changbin finally lifts his head, wide eyes finding yours frantically.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” He asks, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, are you okay?” He uses his hold on you to gently lift you to a seated position, removing them in favor of hovering politely as he fusses. You don’t think he’s realized he’s reverted to his native Korean in his panic.

“I’m alright, I’m okay,” you assure him in the same language, “Just bruised a bit, I’m fine.”

He continues to fuss a bit more, running you through a quick series of concussion tests even after you tell him that you hadn’t hit your head at all. It’s only after he’s helping you to your feet, respectfully allowing you to use a clothed part of his arm to help yourself up, that he clocks the language the both of you are using.

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” He teases, “You speak Korean all of the sudden.”

You can’t help the little laugh that escapes you, nor can you help how his smug little smile makes your heart flutter. “I’ve spoken Korean the whole time.” You inform him.

“And you didn’t tell me? You just let me struggle?” The fondness in his smile assures you that he’s just joking, so you respond in kind.

“You were just trying so hard...” You shrug sheepishly and delight in the full body laugh that tears out of him. You wait for him to calm before you ask, “What did you need, by the way? I didn’t catch what you said before, well..” You gesture helplessly at the floor.

It’s his turn to look sheepish now, shoulders hiking up and a nervous hand making its way to his neck, “Ah, that.” he shrugs, “I was just saying that you had a pretty soulmark.”

The sudden compliment catches you off guard, and you suddenly become aware that your camisole has come loose from where it had been tucked into your sweats. Your hand flies up to cover the now-covered skin of your stomach, feeling sick.

You can’t remember when it happened, and the thought of however many strangers seeing your soulmark, no matter how little of it, sends a sharp note of dread through your body. You suddenly feel eyes digging into your skin, despite being covered again as soon as you’d stood up. You feel a bit sick, your skin crawling with discomfort.

You’re aware that your camisole would have ridden up to your lower back, at most, but there’s no telling how much of your mark anyone might have seen. What Changbin might have seen, what he may have noticed.

Changbin must notice your sudden pallid complexion, and continues on, trying to reassure you, probably. You barely hear him over the heartbeat in your ears, your trembling hands trying to discreetly tuck the undershirt back in while he speaks.

“I just meant that it’s very colorful and vibrant,” He explains, smile fading from his face as concern starts to cloud it at your reaction, “Whoever your soulmate is, they’re very lucky.”

“Ah, I don’t know them yet,” You counter. It’s even the truth. You hadn’t spoken much to any of your soulmates so far. Well, until now, you guess.

“Oh, well, I stand by what I said.” He asserts, his easy grin betrayed by the pinch between his brows, “Whoever your soulmate is will be very lucky to have you.”

“I don’t know about all that,” You tilt your head with self-deprecating consideration.

Maybe it’s a lingering guilt for how you’ve been handling your soulmates so far that makes you continue the thought, instead of laughing it off like the joke it should be. Maybe you just want him- want them- to know why you’ve been acting this way, “I don’t even know if I want to meet them, so I’m not sure how lucky they could be to have me as a soulmate.”

Changbin levels you with an absolutely baffled look, as if you’ve just challenged the very foundation of his worldview.

“Why not?” He asks, “Doesn’t everyone want to meet their soulmate?”

You wrap yourself in a loose hug, one hand rubbing soothingly at your elbow, and shrug, “I just... I haven’t had great experiences with soulmates, is all.” You can’t keep your eyes from straying to his soulmark, vibrant and full.

It’s an image that would be hard to elbow your way into, and you can’t imagine a way that the addition of you could possibly enhance it. It still feels unfinished to you, but it doesn’t look that way. You feel both better and worse about yourself, knowing that they didn’t need you.

A glance at Changbin’s utterly lost face has you opening your mouth before you can think about it, shoulders beginning to climb up to your ears.

“Not all soulmates get along, you know?” You mutter sullenly, almost to yourself.

Changbin seems to consider this for a moment, head tilting cutely to the side as he takes in your claim.

“I mean, sure.” He draws his words out slowly, carefully, with a little furrow between his brows. “Everyone fights sometimes, but you get through it together, right? That’s what makes you soulmates. Choosing to stick together.”

You couldn’t hold in the scoff and eye-roll combo that rips out of you if you’d tried. “Yeah, maybe.”

You’d feel bad about the venom in your voice, or the way it causes Changbin to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, but you can’t find it in yourself to care at the moment. Something sick and dark twists around your stomach, and the battle to keep a deep scowl from your face is the only one you’re willing to fight right now.

“I have a feeling that was the wrong thing to say,” Changbin smiles wanly at you, and you meet his eyes for barely a second before you find yourself melting beneath his earnest gaze. The thorns around your heart ease just enough to bleed, and you shrug at him again.

“When people stay together just because they’re soulmates it only makes things worse.” you tell him, “Nothing gets magically fixed just because you’re soulmates.”

Surprisingly, Changbin agrees easily, “Well, yeah, that’s not the kind of sticking together I’m talking about,” He explains, “I meant more, like,” He gestures as he tries to find his words, and your heart positively aches as you realize the habit transcends languages.

You find yourself softening more and relaxing out of your defensive curl out of sheer endearment. You’re sure you’d be making absolute heart-eyes at Changbin right now if the topic at hand wasn’t so deeply uncomfortable for you.

“Ok, let me try an example,” He eventually decides, his eyes following your gaze where it had once again returned to his soulmark without your permission. He flexes a bit, making the flowers on his skin bounce and dance with a small, fond, smile. “I’m soulmates with the other members, right?”

He says it easily, casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You almost nod along, before you remember that the world at large definitely does not have that information, even if you do, and you meet his smug little smirk with wide-eyed shock.

You can’t help but gape at him for the casual confession, glancing around the empty gym like someone else might’ve heard Changbin’s brazen confession. He’s already waving you off before you can sputter out the questions stuck in your throat.

“It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it. It’s not like we try very hard to hide it.” He does a weird little half-nod-half-shrug motion at his soulmark, “But yeah, we’re all soulmates, and we all pretty much knew before debut, even though Innie’s mark hadn’t shown up yet.”

You do nod this time. Slowly, though, as you try to figure out where he’s going with this. Changbin takes it as permission to continue, and so he does.

“Well, Jeongin’s our baby, and even though marks show up at 18, you’re not an adult in Korea until 19, so there’s a lot we had to leave him out on.” He grimaces a little, “Being an Idol is stressful as it is, throwing a new soul bond and puberty and all that on top wasn’t very helpful. We were all volatile and fragile. But Innie definitely took it the worst. He felt left behind and unfair and angry with it all.”

He chuckles and gives a little shrug, “We had our share of knock-down, drag-outs.” He admits sheepishly, “It wasn’t an easy time for us.” He rolls his head toward the ceiling and, despite Changbin’s efforts, you can easily spot the smitten look on his face along with his cherry-red ears.

“But we made it through,” He says softly, “We took the time to dig into all of his insecurities and find what we could do to help him. He made the choice to be vulnerable and honest with us. It took time to get here, but we made it through.”

Changbin meets your eyes again, “That’s what I mean when I say soulmates are about choosing to stick together. You work through the hard times and disagreements together, work toward something better. Soulmates are destiny, but love is choice.”

You let his words rattle around your brain as you get lost in his earnest gaze. Let the idea settle into you like something entirely new, like it wasn’t your understanding of healthy relationships beforehand. Of course that’s the ideal, you know that. No one is perfect and all that, everyone disagrees sometimes. It’s discussing it and finding solutions together that makes a partnership work long-term. You know that.

For the first time, you wonder if you’d just always considered soulmates an exception to the rule.

You’d automatically assigned soulmates as a concept a failing grade at working their problems through. Your parents certainly never worked out their issues, and every soulmate you’d ever seen in the media was an automatic happy-ending. As soon as that bond snaps into place, the story’s over. Happily ever after.

You’d always thought ‘ever after’ must be an awful short time.

‘Love is choice’ echoes through you like something divine.

You break Changbin’s gaze and offer him a half-hearted shrug. “I guess.” you concede, “My soulmates probably have a lot of work cut out for them with me, though. So I still don’t know if they’d want me.”

“I think it’d be worth the work,” Changbin smiles gently at you, “To be your soulmate, I mean.”

You feel heat rush up your neck and bless your genetics for keeping it from showing on your cheeks. You disguise your bashfulness by lightly slapping Changbin’s shoulder (and woah is he solid under your hand when you do) and loudly complain about him being a flirt.

He responds by doing his best to fluster you, clearly enjoying putting those fanservice skills to use. You complain with every flex and smoulder, especially when he starts unleashing the aegyo, and the two of you let the banter and laughter chase away the somber mood.

Eventually you settle, and Changbin nods at the very intimidating machine you’d been staring at what felt like a lifetime ago now.

“Did you need a spotter?” He offers. You hem and haw for a moment, before sheepishly admitting that you need a teacher more than a spotter. When he lights up and offers to be that, too, you can’t help the way your eyes travel up and down his body with open admiration.

He certainly looks plenty qualified, and really, you’re only a girl. If your once-over leaves him with red ears and a smug grin, well. You’ll consider it your revenge for now.

You very quickly realize your mistake in letting him coach you.

Changbin tours you quickly around various machines, explaining their functions and the proper ways to use them to avoid injury. All well and good, and you ask permission to record short videos of him doing so in case you find yourself forgetting his advice, which he graciously allows on the condition you don’t share them anywhere.

You agree after negotiating for viewing rights for Taylor, with the reasoning that the lure of the videos might actually get your roommate back into the gym with you. It makes Changbin laugh enough to indulge you.

And then he actually starts you on a machine, after getting a rundown on what you’d already done today, and you experience hell on earth.

The thing is, he’s unfairly good at coaching you through it. He keeps up a steady stream of warm encouragement and light jokes even as you curse him out for steadily increasing the weights on each machine you work through. He’s right there to help you through the sets the moment you start to get too tired and is almost preternaturally good at pushing you to only just above your limits.

And his hands are always right there. He’s almost always touching you somehow, throughout the whole thing. His touch is light, coaching and clinical, and unfailingly polite. Still, the warmth of his skin through your flimsy gym-wear feels heavy. Nearly threatening. Distracting, at the very least.

You’ll definitely need those videos later.

It’s a relief when it’s over. You’re sore and sweaty and you have to go sit at a desk for six or more hours when you leave, which you’re very much not looking forward to.

Changbin splits with you to hit the showers, but somehow you still come together again before you pass reception.

“Thanks for today,” you say as the two of you stall your goodbyes, “I had a lot of fun. You’ve more than earned that guest pass.” you tease, smile wide and mischievous.

He’s smiling too, even as he shoves your shoulder and complains about you extorting him.

When you run out of things to say, you shuffle lightly in place. It’s not like you expect him to give you his number, he is an Idol after all, but still you can’t quite make yourself leave. You find yourself casting around for something, anything, to say to make the moment last. To stay in his presence just a second longer.

You shake yourself out of it once you notice. You might not be running from them anymore, but you certainly weren’t trying to make friends with your soulmates. The longer you stayed in his presence, the more likely it was that you’d end up with another first contact.

At last, after a far-too-long moment of silence, you hold out your hand and offer a flat, closed-lip smile.

“It was really nice to meet you, Changbin.” You tell him sincerely, eyes locked on his. You swear looking your soulmates in the eye is some kind of hypnosis, the way you always get lost in them when you do. Something about it just makes you feel a tiny bit dumb, like your brain gets switched off.

“You too, y/n.” He agrees, reaching for your offered hand. You only realize what you’ve just done as your name leaves his lips, your eyes widening as they dart down to his hand and yours, but it’s far too late.

Your breath hitches a moment before his skin makes contact with yours, and you watch it happen in slow motion. He grasps your hand and pulls you in instead of settling for the more distant and formal farewell. All too quickly you’re settled into his grasp, completely enveloped in him and dizzy with more than just his warmth as soft prickles dance up your side.

You feel more than you hear him gasp, his hold on you so complete. Your head ends up on his shoulder as you stumble into him from his pull, and you get a front row seat to the top of his shoulder filling in with outlines and shadows from your place tucked against his neck, dull colors adding a definition to the images in his soulmark and settling like they’d always been there.

Distantly, you feel chest tighten with completion, with satisfaction and something smug and proud at the sight, even as your mind starts screaming.

Changbin is solid against you, comforting and almost stiflingly warm from both his workout and shower. You catch a whiff of his soap, the scent muting the alarm bells blaring in your brain even as you lay limp against him with the shock.

And then his hold on you tightens just a bit, only for a moment, but it’s all that it takes for you to break.

Your breath begins to hitch, visions of sweet touches turning sour and threatening violence causing you to flinch violently in Changbin’s comforting embrace. You feel your eyes begin to wet as you start to struggle, needing out, out, out.

It must have been less than a second, but Changbin pulls back, still holding you by your shoulders like he doesn’t know how to let go.

“Y/n?” He asks, voice small. You can only shake your head, breaths coming out in harsh gasps, limbs trembling violently. Changbin hurriedly lowers the two of you to the floor, much more prepared than you are for your limbs to give out halfway down.

He finally releases you as you settle and you curl tightly into yourself. The places where he’d held you feel frozen now, the cold viciously settling into your bones, even as Changbin does his best to get your attention and guide you through a breathing exercise.

You can’t focus on him though, the sensation of flowers blooming on your skin overwhelming, the memory of his touch both welcome and suffocating.

“S- ‘orry, I’m-” You hiccup, “I’m so- so s’rry-” If Changbin is at all put off by your sudden breakdown, he doesn’t show it. He just tilts his head and offers you hushed words of assurance.

“Nothing to be sorry for, y/n,” he assures, “It’s alright, just breathe, ok?”

He offers you a hand and you can’t help but take it, the warmth startling a breath into you that you hadn’t been aware you needed. Changbin guides your hand to his chest, instructing you to breathe with him, and you automatically focus on the heavy thump of his heartbeat under your palm.

He keeps talking to you, trying to keep your attention, but your mind spins wildly away from you even as you finally manage a deep inhale under Changbin’s attention.

You need to tell him that you’d known since he’d first spoken to you who he was. Who he was to you, even, but you can’t open your mouth to do more than gasp another apology. You’re sure he’ll hate you, leave you there on the floor of the gym to die like you deserve, especially after all you’d told him about how you feel about soulmates.

He’ll hate you for putting his soulmates through rejection, for refusing to speak to them or even look them in the eye. He’ll leave you here, humiliated on the gym’s floor, and you’ll deserve it because you’re a horrible person who wouldn’t even give them a breadth of a chance because you were too damn scared-

A hand grasps your spare one, the one not touching him, not keeping you just barely above the waves of hyperventilating, and you hadn’t even noticed it scrabbling at the stretched out neckline of your t-shirt until it’s gently pried away and guided to a wall of firm muscle.

Your fingers instinctively grasp what’s suddenly underneath them, and your vision stutters back in as a soft tingling rockets its way up your arm.

You distantly acknowledge that it was probably a bad thing that your vision had faded off with your eyes stuck wide open, staring blankly at legs you couldn’t feel. Right now, however, all you can experience is Changbin. His mark under your fingers, grip clawing and desperate. His heartbeat under your palm, faster than it should be, but steady and loud and feeling like it’s part of your own body.

Like he knows he has your attention again, Changbin ducks down to catch your eyes. You find nothing in them but concern and a soft emotion you couldn’t hope to pinpoint.

“Y/n,” He calls softly, “Y/n, do you mind if I touch you?” The gentleness he speaks to you with is devastating, like he’s trying to place your panicked mind on a cloud of care. You want so desperately to accept that care from him.

You nod, small jerky movements to indicate your agreement even as gasping sobs still stutter in your chest.

Changbin immediately moves, shuffling closer to you on his knees and releasing the wrist of your hand, the one still grasping at his mark like it’d disappear if you relaxed so much as a millimeter. He uncrosses his arms from the awkward reach he’d had to use to maneuver your hands where he wanted them, and reaches his now free hand to rest gently but firmly on your waist, right over his place within your own mark.

The resonance from his touch is weaker, the material of your shirt in his way, but with both sides active the feeling floods you in a way you could never describe.

You know, in the back of your mind, that you’ve read about resonance before. That you know all about the flood of endorphins and other feel-good hormones that it causes, that you’ve read first hand accounts from all sorts of people swearing up and down it feels better than any orgasm ever could. In the moment though, you feel like your brain has been reset completely. Back to factory settings, entirely blank.

You come back to yourself in slow blinks, resonance still echoing brightly between you and Changbin. Your one hand is still tightly clasped to his chest, and you’re sure you’re only breathing right now due to the steady rise and fall of Changbin’s chest. The two of you are still gripping each other’s marks.

You feel unsettled as awareness returns to your body. You feel floaty and not all there, even as you calm enough to feel the numbness of your legs and the pain in your knees from hitting the floor. An increasingly familiar tingling feeling is emanating from each of your active soulmarks, despite the fact that you know the other two should have no idea how you’re feeling right now.

Your bond wasn’t strong enough for that. You hadn’t given it the chance to be.

The thought that they might just be thinking of you gives you a soft and fluttery sort of feeling.

Finally, Changbin pulls back, removing his hand from your mark and sliding up your arm to gently pry yours from his bicep. You’d wince at the marks your nails had left on his skin if you didn’t still feel like your bones were vibrating on the astral plane from the intensity of a reciprocal resonance.

He gently holds both of your hands in his and settles them between you, catching your eye again.

“You back with me, bubs?” He asks, smile light and tone even. You’d think him unaffected if not for the redness of his ears and the slight haze in his eyes.

Right. Eight soulmates. He’s probably used to it.

He’s also trying to get you down from a panic attack, you remember as your hands begin to faintly tremble in his grip. You nod slightly at his question, apologizing again.

“Hey, no.” Changbin scolds softly, eyes locked on yours, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, it’s okay. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

You shake your head in refusal of both ideas, opening your mouth once, twice, three times, before huffing irritatedly at the lack of words falling from your lips. Changbin squeezes your hands to keep your attention on him, expression open and accepting. His silence allows yours to end.

“I just- It’s just that I-” You breathe harshly through your nose, squeezing his hands back to ground yourself, “I knew from when I realized who you were that you were my soulmate.” you grind out in halting words, the trembling spreading from your hands up to your chest. You take in a shuddering breath, “That’s why I was apologizing. Because I knew and I still said those things to you.”

You can tell your confession takes Changbin off guard. The man blinks rapidly as he takes in the new information, slotting your earlier behavior against your reaction just now and having trouble connecting them.

“Soulmates terrify me,” you confess quietly, before he can ask, “You’re so nice, but you’re so fucking scary to me, I’m sorry.”

With that, you remove your hands from his, and Changbin just sort of helplessly lets you go, a lost expression taking over his face. You try to stumble to your feet, and he scrambles up to help you, caring even through his confusion.

You can feel the trembling travel to your legs, and you’re glad for his steady hold despite yourself. You feel like a stiff breeze might knock you over.

“I need- I- I’ve gotta- argh!” You clench your teeth with frustration, taking a deep, bracing, breath, before trying again. “I need to go home.” You’d like to say it came out strong and self-assured, but the words leave you in a breathless whimper that makes you feel small and pathetic.

Everything about this makes you feel small and pathetic.

Changbin catches your eyes again, brows creased in concern.

Except for him.

“Of course, whatever you need,” He assures, “Can I call a car for you? A friend? Your roommate?”

You shake your head, hopelessly endeared by his need to help you. You feel guilty for refusing him when he’d just pivoted from the bombshell you’d dropped on him to focus on your care but you- you needed to go home. You needed to leave, and it was taking every ounce of effort you could spare to keep from bolting.

“No, I can- I’ve got- I want- shit.” The curse spills from you unbidden, frustration with the vestiges of your panic refusing to leave you building sharply. If anything, Changbin’s concern only grows deeper as you struggle to express yourself.

“I need to move, I’ll walk.” Your mouth finally allows you to spit out, almost aggressively. Changbin almost seems to despair at your declaration.

Looking at your own condition, you can’t blame him. Trembling like a leaf and barely able to speak, you’d never let yourself leave if you’d been in his place. You can’t spare the energy to explain that if anyone tried anything at you in this condition you’d probably try to kill them first and ask questions later.

You don’t handle stress well.

Still, despite his obvious reluctance, Changbin lets you leave his embrace.

You’re more stable on your feet now, and a deep breath fills you with a facade of confidence that will see you home. Changbin’s hands still hover around you, as if waiting for you to shatter apart again.

“If you need anything, please call me, okay? Anything at all, please call me.” He pleads with you. You only manage to give him another tiny nod before you dip into a full bow and turn to flee.

Changbin watches you go with a face full of concern and confusion.

‘I think it’d be worth the work, to be your soulmate’ he’d said. You can’t help but wonder, as the gym disappears behind you, if he still thinks that.

Tag Garden: @brbwritingfanfic , @braveangel777 , @breathlessbookworm , @chancloud8 , @roseynoodles , @katsukis1wife , @alisonyus , @imnotsop , @pixie0627 , @velvetmoonlght , @upsidedownchaire , @unusuallyshy , @interstellar-equilibrium , @staytinyluv , @m00njinnie , @staaaa4 , @yourcrypticreaper , @beas-24 , @stars4jo , @scented-morker , @tirena1 , @min-doesnt-know , @glitterveins992 , @yumuramma , @shoganaiiii , @4ng3l-ch1ld , @linospetsitter

Perma Tags: @mbioooo0000 , @thatgirlangelb (<- you've been added without choice. suffer.)

[chrisbangs]

찬이의 "방" 🐺 200 Episode Special

200! 

I looked back at the message I wrote for you almost 2 years ago now, to see what I said. And honestly, I have to agree with past me. It doesn’t feel like that much time has passed since the first day you showed up on VLive and spoke to us so kind and warmly. 200 episodes later, and well now on YouTube, and you are still doing just that. Week after week, being there for us to cheer us up with your laughter and your jokes and your advice and your terrible pick up lines. I still have nothing in my heart but gratitude towards you, Channie. Thank you for continuing to be the most amazing person ever. 

Let’s meet each other again next week, okay?

[hornyfor-redacted-onmain]

Studio Break

Pairing: 3racha x Reader

Description: Explicit one shot set in the future of Pieces of My Heart. Jisung decides the boys need a break, and what better way to get it than using their weak spot - You.

Warnings: Voyeurism, Manhandling, Foursome (F/M/M/M), Rough Sex, Unprocted Sex, PIV Sex, Fingering, Established Relationships, Polyamory, Slight Dom/Sub

Masterlist | Pieces of My Heart

When you decided to take a nap on the couch in the studio, you weren’t surprised to wake up with Jisung resting on top of you. It was almost expected that if you hung out in the studio long enough, someone would end up needing a quick break, and the couch was the perfect place to cuddle up with one of your soulmates. You were almost tempted to go back to sleep, wrapping your arms around the rapper and letting his warmth seep into your skin.

Chan and Changbin were there too, talking softly to each other about one of the tracks they were working on. You let their voices lure you into a peaceful calm. Jisung shifted above you, letting out a small sigh, and you let your hand drag up his back and slip into his hair, softly scratching his scalp. He let out a groan, shifting his body against yours until his cheek was pressed up against your shoulder, exhale warming your collarbones.

You moved your face so you could press a kiss to his forehead, and his eyes fluttered open.

“Hmm?”

“Hi baby,” You cooed.

Your hand drifted down from his hair and to his back, rubbing small circles in between his shoulder blades. Jisung let out a stretch, his own arms pulling you closer to him. His hips shifted, pressing up against your thigh and letting you feel his morning wood. You let out a laugh as he realized at the same time that you did.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, his mouth moving to press a kiss of his own to your skin. “You’re comfy.”

“Hey, I’m not judging you. I’m flattered.”

His hands moved from your waist to press against your stomach, hand slipping under your shirt. You let out a sigh as he moved his hands softly against your skin, the warmth from his hands chasing the chills the cold studio. Changbin glanced back at the two of you.

“Well don’t you two look comfy,” He said, giving you a wink.

“It’s distracting,” Chan said, eyes still glued to his monitor. “It was cuter when you were asleep.”

“He’s just jealous,” Jisung whispered to you, his hand moving higher so he could brush his thumb against the underside of your breast. “Too busy working, never giving our girl the attention she needs.”

“Jisung.”

Chan’s voice was laced with a warning, one you had heard before. Because of your unique situation, being able to feel a sudden rush of emotions from you proved to be very distracting for him if left unchecked. Chan would never limit the others from being with you, but it was an unspoken rule that if he was doing something important, you were practically off limits. No fooling around when Chan was in a meeting, usually.

When working in the studio, Jisung followed the unspoken rules pretty well. Soft cuddles were fine, laid out on the couch with someone, or sometimes dozing on someone’s lap while they worked through a particular track. It also worked wonders on getting Chan to bed when it was late, refusing to go to bed until he did and letting the combined weight of his tiredness with your own mix together into an exhaustion even Chan couldn’t ignore.

And it helped that he had someone to wrap his arms around at night.

So normally Chan’s warning would send a clear message.

‘Not now, knock it off’.

And normally Jisung would listen. He loved to push his limits, but he respected Chan’s decisions and his work, knowing it was important. You weren’t sure what was different this time. Maybe it was because the three had been working late the past week, or the fact that the particular track they were currently working on was for a comeback that would potentially take months to come about, maybe even a year. They had time, and it wasn’t important.

Maybe Jisung had noticed what you had, the lingering frustration that Chan had been holding back. The tension in his shoulders, the stress of a bigger issue he was having a hard time communicating. Maybe he realized that the eldest member needed a break, but wasn’t willing to take one.

Either way, Jisung didn’t stop.

He lifted his head momentarily, meeting your eyes and giving you a questioning look. You bit your lip, eyes darting to Chan’s tense figure sitting across the room. Changbin had turned back around and wasn’t paying attention to either of you anymore. You turned your gaze back to Jisung and gave him a small nod.

He grinned.

His hand pulled back and he moved so that he was hovering over you, hands on either side of your face, and he pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “Maybe you and I should get out of here, leave these old men by themselves and go have some fun.”

Changbin spun around at that, giving you two a shocked look. “Excuse me?”

Jisung hid his smile. “Ahh, maybe not?”

“Don’t be so mean,” You played along. “Who knows, maybe they’d want to watch.”

“Yah, you two cut it out. We’re working,” Changbin complained, but the way he shifted in his seat betrayed just how much your words affected him.

“Hmm, you’re right. I guess we should give them a show then, huh?” Jisung said, pressing his hips against yours. You bit your lip to keep from moaning out.

Changbin was watching you two closely now, leaning back against his chair and pressing a finger to his lips in thought. His eyes glanced over to Chan next to him, and you followed his look. The Australian was tense, still staring at his screen as if he hadn’t heard anything that was said, but you knew that even if that was true, there was no way he wasn’t aware of what was going on. The heat that was building under your skin and the ache between your legs would have clued him in immediately.

But he didn’t say anything, didn’t even seem to be breathing as Jisung continued the slow roll of his hips against yours, muffling your moans with his heated kisses. His lips drifted down your neck, so you pressed your own hand against your mouth to prevent any noises from escaping. You were still in the JYP building, still in a public location where anybody could hear you, even though you were sure these rooms had a least some soundproofing to them.

You weren’t willing to risk it.

Changbin was staring at the two of you with hooded eyes, his arms gripping the arm rests of his chair with a tight grip. He swallowed harshly, eyes darting over to Chan as if he was unsure whether or not he should be stopping you two, even though it seemed like he didn’t want to. He must have seen something on his leader’s face because he suddenly straightened up, wide eyes meeting yours. Jisung, oblivious to what was going on, pulling back so he was kneeling on the couch, his hands pulling you up with him.

And in one swift movement, he was pulling your shirt over your head and throwing the fabric towards the desk, your shirt landing right in between both producers.

Everything was silent for a split second before the squeak of a chair rang out, Chan suddenly standing up so quickly that his chair toppled over behind him. He took of his earphones and placed them down on the desk softer than you would have expected given the way his shoulders hunched together.

He marched towards the door.

For a moment, you shared a panicked look with Jisung as Chan passed by the two of you, wondering if you had finally gone too far, pushing the leader past his breaking point.

But he stopped in front of the studio door, and instead of storming out like you were expecting, he took a deep breath. And then he locked the door.

“You want a show, Jisung. I’ll give you a show.”

You all watched with baited breaths as Chan walked towards the couch, his hand grabbing the back of Jisung’s neck with a tight grip, his other hand pushing against his chest. Jisung toppled back onto the couch from where he had been kneeling, and Chan tapped his nose.

“Don’t move.”

He turned to you then, standing next to you on the couch and meeting your wide eyed gaze with a heated look. You knew that Chan could be incredibly gentle, passionate, and patient in bed.

But the last time he had looked at you like that, you didn’t walk for a week.

His fingers curled around the front of your bra, pulling you up with a sharp tug and slipping the fabric up until your breasts were exposed. The moment you were on your feet, he moved behind you and with a quick movement, had unhooked your bra and thrown the fabric blindly in the same direction as your shirt. He gently massaged your shoulders, lips pressing to the shell of your ear.

“Take your pants off, sweetheart.”

And then he was moving back to the desk without checking to see if you would follow his instruction, your back suddenly exposed to the cold air. He picked his chair back up, spinning it around so it was facing the couch, and sitting down with his legs spread. You felt your body flush under the stares of the three men, but you did as you were told, slowly sliding your bottom off and leaving yourself exposed.

Chan’s voice was deep and laced with lust as he spoke. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Changbin is going to have some fun with our girl, and you’re going to watch. When he’s done, I’m going to have my turn, and you’re going to watch. And while both of us have our fun, you’re going to sit right there at the end of the couch, and you’re not going to say anything. You’re not going to touch yourself. And if you’re good, and you follow the rules, then maybe I’ll let you have a turn when we’re done.”

Jisung let out a whine, head hitting the back of the couch. “Fuck.”

“Do you understand?”

“Hyung-“

“Do you understand?” Chan’s voice didn’t leave any room for argument. Jisung nodded, his hands tightening to fists.

“Yes.”

“Changbin.”

At Chan’s words, you pressed your thighs together in need. All it took was one look from the eldest rapper and you were stumbling forward, letting him pull you down onto his lap once you were close enough. You kissed him softly, and he smiled against your lips when you reached for the band of his sweatpants, grabbing your wrist in his hands. You leaned back with a pout.

“Don’t tease me,” You whined.

“You’re not getting out of this, jagi. You called me old.”

“Jisung called you old! I told him not to be mean.”

“Ah, I guess that is true,” Changbin reached in between your bodies, swiping his fingers through your folds. “You’ve been a good girl, right?”

“Always,” You breathed out, hands flexing against his grip. You wanted nothing more than to touch him, but you knew that he wouldn’t let you until he was ready.

You shifted your hips so that his touch moved higher up your sex, brushing up against your clit. He clicked his tongue, and let your hands go so he could use his free hand to push your thighs wider apart. He then pressed two fingers against your opening, and with a soft whine, he pushed into your warmth.

“Fuck, Binnie.”

“Shhh, I got you.”

His fingers moved slowly back in forth, and with your now free hands you gripped Changbin’s shoulders to gain more momentum, fucking yourself on his fingers as he watched you with hooded eyes. He inserted another finger, and the pressure combined with the constant movement made you reach your high quickly.

Changbin slowed down his fingers. When you finally got your breathing under control, he stopped completely. He kept eye contact with you as he pulled out, smirking at the whine you let out before reaching up to lick his fingers.

“So needy,” He hummed.

He motioned for you to stand back up, giving him just enough space to pull his cock out before he was pulling you back into his lap, pressing a heated kiss to your lips and then your neck. You found yourself quickly riled up again, grinding down against his member. Changbin groaned, lifting you up so he could reach his hand in between you two, gribbing his length in between his hands. He lined you up against his tip, swiping it through your folds before he pressed into your entrance.

You slid down slowly, head falling back at the stretch. “Oh god.”

“Good girl, so good,” Changbin growled, pressing his lips to your chest. “So tight.”

“It feels so good,” You moaned.

He rolled his hips against yours, thrusting shallowly up into you. You heard Jisung let out a groan from behind you. As the two of you rocked together, the knot in your stomach began to grow, and you found your breathy moans getting higher in pitch as you reached your peak. Changbin let out a groan as your core fluttered around him. His hands pulled your hips down against his two more times before he was spilling into you.

“Fuck.”

You rolled your eyes to the side, where Chan was leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he watched the two of you. His pupils were blown wide, gaze focused on the place where you and Changbin were connected, lips pulled in between his teeth. You let out a moan as Changbin pulled out of you, and Chan shuddered at the sight.

 Changbin pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Your turn, Channie-Hyung.”

“You two are going to be the death of me,” You complained, standing up on shaky feet. Changbin slapped your ass as you turned around, and you shot him a look.

His cum was sliding down your thighs, and Jisung was fixated on the sight. Just like Chan, he had also been leaning forward, but his own hands were tightly pressed against the couch seat, his face flushed and eyes wide. He swallowed harshly when he met your eyes.

Chan stood up slowly, stalking towards you like a wolf walking towards their prey. Your eyes slid close when he gripped your jaw, pressing his lips hard against your own. You moaned as he suddenly pulled you up into his arms, the sudden show of strength making your core ache.

When he dropped you onto Jisung’s lap, both you and the young producer moaned. Determined to keep his hands to himself, Jisung shoved his hands under his thighs and tilted his body back away from you, but Chan just pushed until your back was pressed against his chest, giving Jisung a smirk.

“No touching Hannie,” He warned.

Chan kneeled down, pulling open your legs with his hands and motioning for you to grab the, holding yourself open for him. He pressed his tongue against your center, seemingly unbothered by Changbin’s cum that coated your pussy and inner thighs.

He moved his mouth against you slowly and sensually, bringing you close to another high, but never enough to get you there. When one of his fingers joined his tongue to circle your clit, you found yourself getting closer, but he pulled away just as you were on the edge.

You huffed out a laugh. “Oh my god, you suck.”

“Hmm, I want you cumming around my cock, sweetheart.” He pressed his tip against you, pushing in with one fell swoop. “Besides, we’re supposed to be giving Jisung a show.”

“Please-“ Jisung breathed from behind you, but he quickly buried his face into your neck to keep himself from saying anything else.

Chan let out a chuckle. “Thats two strikes baby. Better keep quiet, or you wont get a taste.”

From under you, you could feel Jisung pressing up against your lower back. When Chan pushed forward, the friction from your body created a drag against Jisung’s still closed member. You thought it was cruel, knowing Jisung was the most vocal member of the group when it came to sex, and not allowing him to make any noise while you were fucked against him.

Chan went hard and fast, thrusting into you and pushing back out with a grunt, one leg raising up to the couch and giving him enough leverage to jackhammer into you.

You couldn’t even catch your breath enough to make any noise, mouth open in silent scream as you were thrown into an orgasm so strong your body shuddered. Chan didn’t slow down, continuing to plow into your core with deliberate intensity.

“Come on baby girl, you can give me another,” He coaxed, voice wavering from the force of his thrusts.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” You reached behind you, arms wrapping around Jisung’s neck as you found yourself overwhelmed from the continius pressure. “I- I can’t. Chan, it’s too much.”

“One more,” He insisted, fingers dropping down to you clit.

You squealed, the sudden touch making your body quiver from pleasure, and you found yourself once again reaching an orgasm. Chan let out a groan, climaxing along with you. He gave a few more shallow thrusts as he came inside of you, nearly collapsing on top of both your and Jisung, who was uncharacteristically quiet.

It took you a moment to recover, unable to even open your eyes until Chan started to pull away, in which you snapped your eyes open to capture the look on his face. He looked downright smug as his own cum spilled out of you and onto the fabric of Jisung’s pants. You glanced back to the man behind you, only to find Jisung biting down on his own hand to muffle his moans.

You giggled, carding your fingers through his hair.

“Poor baby, trying so hard to follow the rules,” You cooed.

“Shouldn’t have been such a brat,” Chan said, slumping down onto the couch next to you.

“Hyung, please. Can I- I did what you asked. Please,” Jisung pleaded, voice breathy with need.

Chan raised an eyebrow. “That’s not for me to decide. You should ask her.”

And then all three men looked at you. You were too sore for another round, but you could feel Jisung still pressed against you and knew that it had to be painful. You weren’t cruel enough to leave him hanging like that.

You took pity on him, slipping off his lap and to the ground below.

As you pulled Jisung’s pants down (he excitedly raised up his hips to help you), you felt a warm blanket be placed over your shoulders, and you sent Changbin a grateful look. He offered both you and Chan a bottle of water, which you took gratefully.

“Thanks,” You whispered, handing your half empty bottle to Jisung.

It didn’t take a lot to bring the rapper to the edge. You slipped him into your mouth, letting him gently thrust into you as you used your hands to caress the parts of him that didn’t fit. His gently thrusts started to get sloppy after only a minute, and you pressed one of your hands to his stomach to keep him from thrusting up too far. You pulled him out just enough until his tip was still in your mouth, and you sucked. Jisung came with a loud moan, hands tangling in your hair.

You swallowed down the bitter taste of his seed and laid your cheek against his thigh, looking up at him with a goofy smile.

“You up for another nap?”

[whimsimille]

Our Bond Reaper

Minsung x Fem!Reader

Soulmate AU

Words: ~8000

contains mentions of 18+ content, sex, drug use, abuse of substances, nsfw undertone, established relationship (jisung x minho), oral (f and m receiving), piv, mxm, threesome, overstimulation, handjob, dry humping,

a/n: should i continue?

Chapter 1: Jack Daniels

Hook. Straight to the jaw. Side dodge. Low kick. Uppercut.

Boxing isn't easy. Sweat trickles down the temple, runs down the neck and soaks the tank top, clouding the mind. Raw skin protests every time an impact occurs, and knuckles burn beneath the bandages. Purple bruises appear along his arms, and his muscles shake from the strain of maintaining his vigilance. Nonetheless, if Minho didn't have this outlet for all the accumulated pressure of idol life—the endless travels, exhausting recordings for the new comeback, and the imminent move from the dorm he shares with Jisung—he probably would have imploded or smoked until his lungs turned to coal. Boxing is his purification ritual, his way of breathing when the world gets too heavy.

Yet, not everything can be that simple.

Light switches are predictable—flip them up, darkness dies. Simple physics, no philosophy required. But soulmate bonds? They're like someone took his brain's wiring and twisted it into art. Every time Jisung's thoughts leak through their connection, it's electricity dancing across Minho's synapses. Right now, his soulmate has colonized the space beside the punching bag, sprawled out like some blue-haired cat claiming its territory, completely oblivious to the fact that this is supposed to be Minho's escape room, not his personal reading nook.

Crumbs from Minho's protein bars (the ones he specifically labels "DO NOT TOUCH HAN JISUNG" in angry red Sharpie) dot his oversized hoodie as he devours yet another dusty tome.

Sweet fucking Psyche, Minho thinks, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. It's not that he isn't grateful for his soulmate—for Jisung's heart-shaped smile, the manhwa labyrinths across their bedroom floor, even those 3 AM trot concerts that drive the neighbors mad. Yet, just like you know hitting a switch will flood a room with light, Minho knows that every time he steps into this gym, Jisung's thoughts will flood his mind. His complaints about chalky protein bars, his excited rambling about dusty tomes, and his constant mental chatter—it's all there, derailing Minho's focus from the punching bag that's practically begging to be hit, unstoppable even if he slams the switch.

"Min," Jisung pipes up, his tongue darting out to catch the crumbs while his fingers tap a rhythm on the book's spine. "You ever wonder if maybe... maybe they haven't told us everything about soulmates? Like, what if there's more to it?"

Minho's fist freezes mid-trajectory, his heart stumbling over its next beat. "Han..."

"No, shut up for a second," Jisung sits up straighter. "I had this dream last night—we were somewhere old, like ancient-ancient, and there was this feeling in my gut. Like... you know when you're doing a puzzle and you're missing the centre piece? That kind of incomplete."

"For fuck's sake, we're not starting with this story again."

Here's what everyone knows about soulmates: they're as rare as winning the cosmic lottery, as unpredictable as Seoul's summer storms, and about as controllable as a sugar-high toddler. Whether you are cleaning your cat's litter box or running for coffee in the morning, the bond can strike at any age. Some couples are so emotionally invested in one another that they can tell when their partner is having a rough day from across the globe. Finding your soul mate, though? And three souls? That's fairytale territory, kind of bedtime story parents tell wide-eyed kids before tucking them in—right up there with dragons and honest politicians.

What Minho didn't tell anyone—not even Jisung, especially not Jisung—was how that whole soulmate business terrified him. In his 25 years of life, he had witnessed enough to understand that love was a force.

When the news leaked—three blurry photos of him and Jisung sharing that characteristic glow of soulmates during a rehearsal—it was as if a bomb had exploded in the middle of K-pop. The hashtags #MinSung and #SoulmateDuo dominated social media for weeks. Fansites shut down in protest. Other groups began canceling appearances at the same events as Stray Kids. JYP almost dissolved the group, citing "public image concerns.".

It was Chan who saved everything, planting himself in front of the CEO like a human wall and swearing he would resign from his position if anyone was forced to leave.

And now Jisung comes with this story about medieval dreams and a third person? As if the chaos of two men discovering they were soulmates in an industry that sold the illusion of eternally single and available idols wasn't enough. As if Minho didn't already spend sleepless nights trying to decipher why fate had chosen precisely him—pragmatic, cynical, broken—to complete someone as brilliant as Han Jisung.

"The dream was different this time," Jisung insisted, sitting up and letting the book fall to the floor with a dull thud. "We were wearing heavy clothes, like robes and cloaks. The river was freezing—I could feel the water on my feet, Min. And we were shouting for someone... a woman. I couldn't hear the name, but the feeling..."

Minho closed his eyes, his hands falling heavily at his sides. The problem wasn't not believing Jisung—it was believing too much. Because if there really was a third person, if those dreams were more than just his partner's hyperactive imagination... well, history had proven time and time again that love rarely came without its dark twin: destruction.

"I..."

"No, wait. Come see this." Han patted the space beside him with that infectious enthusiasm that made his eyes sparkle like city lights reflecting off the Han River at midnight. “Please? I swear it's important this time."

The older one gave in—because that's what he always did when Jisung deployed that specific tone, pitched somewhere between a whine and urgency. Similar to a fishhook stuck deep in his stomach, their soul bond yanked, and Minho found himself sliding down next to him.

Their knees brushed—just the lightest touch of skin against denim—and Jisung shuddered visibly. Minho was still drenched in sweat from training, the gray tank top clinging to his body.

"Holy shit, you smell like a CrossFit demon had a baby with a sauna," Han teased, his nose scrunching up in that way that made his cheeks bunch up adorably, but Minho noticed how he actually leaned closer.

"Fuck off. You're the one who invaded my training session like some kind of blue-haired gremlin."

"Technically," Jisung drawled, gesturing expansively with his free hand. "This gym belongs to the dorm. So it's ours. Collective. Communist. Like our hearts, you emotionally constipated fool."

"For the love of—" Minho fought back a smile. "Just show me the damn thing before I change my mind and go back to beating the shit out of that punching bag."

Laughing, Jisung folded back a page of the tome. For a heartbeat, Minho's breath caught in his throat—there was something hauntingly familiar about the illustrations sprawling across the yellowed pages, like déjà vu in ink and parchment.

"Look at this."

The illustration seemed to pulse with its own life—the kind of arcane artwork you'd expect to find in some medieval witch's forgotten grimoire, tucked away in a basement. The page edges were singed, as if someone had tried to burn away its secrets. Two soulmate marks intertwined—waves in a tempest, the other dancing like flames. In his abdomen, where his own mark rested just below his ribs, Minho felt an answering tingle. His fingers itched to trace the familiar patterns—identical to his and Jisung's marks, the latter's etched onto the soft skin of his side like a divine signature.

Minho's nose wrinkled as his eyes tracked over the strange characters crowning the page, his brain struggling to make sense of the alien script. "This title is wrong. It doesn't match what I'm seeing here. It looks like... like Latin got drunk and hooked up with something even older."

"Min..." Jisung’s hand crept up Minho's thigh like a curious spider. "You've always been absolute shit at dead languages. Remember that time you tried to help me with Ancient Greek and somehow translated 'divine wisdom' as 'cosmic chicken'?"

"Go to hell." Minho swatted away the wandering fingers, ignoring how his skin tingled. "Fine, they're our marks. Now unfold the rest before I lose what's left of my patience." He crossed his ankles, right foot bouncing in the air.

A third mark appeared from the yellowed folds of the page as Jisung unfolded it. It was a spiral of leaves and flowers entwined with the other two, so complex that it hurt your eyes to try to follow its pattern.

"What the hell is this?" Minho backed away as if the book were a snake about to strike, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. "Where did you dig up this crap? No, wait, don't answer. I don't want to know."

"At the national library," Jisung answered anyway. "Had to bribe three employees and promise a private show to the librarian. Even autographed her planner, can you believe it?" His eyes shone with that familiar intensity, like a child who discovered where the candy was hidden. He leaned forward, closing the space between them until Minho could count every microscopic freckle on his nose. "Min, aren't you connecting the dots? It's exactly like the dreams! The same curves, the same patterns we see every night!"

"Don't start."

Minho stood up as he returned to the punching bag. Lactic acid burned in his muscles like tiny fires, protesting the abrupt movement.

Sweat trickled from the tip of his nose and clouded his vision, and the punches had become unpredictable and uncontrollable.

"Damn it, Jisung." Punch. "Can't we just accept that it's the two of us and that's it?" Hook. "Do you have to keep digging up old stuff?" Uppercut. "You're like my grandma rummaging through family albums. Always looking for stories where there aren't any."

"You become such a fucking coward when you're scared, Lee.”

Goosebumps ran up his arms as the air conditioner hummed against his hot skin. "If I could have a straight talk with Psyche right now, you know what I'd say? Go fuck yourself. Because tying me to this hard-headed lunatic wasn't enough torture, right? Had to make up more drama. Had to keep pushing and pushing until everything breaks."

Jisung launched forward. Through their bond, he could feel exactly where Minho's defenses were weakest. His hands found the older one's shoulders, spinning him around with enough force to send Minho stumbling back, his spine hitting the punching bag.

"Look at me, you stubborn piece of shit."

"Get off me, Jisung."

"Lee Minho."

"Han Ji-fucking-sung."

Their mouths crashed together like waves breaking against cliffs. It was not kind; Minho dragged his teeth along his tongue in retaliation as Han's tongue pushed past his lips, causing their teeth to clank.

"I'm not just some fucking complication you can file away in that brain of yours. I'm your damn soulmate. Your other half. The flame to your tide." Jisung’s thumb brushed over Minho's swollen bottom lip, pressing just hard enough to sting where he'd bitten earlier. "And if there's someone else out there… Well, you'll have to swallow that truth too, darling. Because I'm not going to stop looking.”

Deflated, Minho lowered his forehead to Han's shoulder. Sweat mixed with that Dior perfume that Jisung insisted on wearing—Sauvage, he always corrected, saying it with a French accent just to irritate—in a sickening way. Moving to Minho's nape, Jisung's fingers played with the wet hair there.

"I just wanted some peace, damn it," Minho mumbled against the fabric of his soulmate’s shirt. "Is that too much to ask? I'm starting to feel like a Mexican soap opera protagonist. Any minute now, La Usurpadora's theme song will start playing in the background."

With his nails lightly scratching Minho's scalp, Jisung laughed. "Peace? With us? Make me laugh, darling. As if you don't know me after all these years of sharing a dorm. Peace is for the weak. And you," he gently pulled Minho's hair, forcing him to look into his eyes, "have never been weak a day in your life."

"I want to be fucking weak right now. Just... just for a moment."

Jisung's humming vibrated against Minho's throat as he pressed open-mouthed kisses there. With his fingers tightening on Han's hips, the older man's breath caught. This kiss was different—slower, deeper, Jisung controlling the pace while Minho made these desperate little sounds that he'd deny later. Hands mapped familiar territory, one sliding down to press against the small of Minho's back while the other traced the line of his jaw.

"Look at you," Han murmured against his mouth, teeth catching Minho's lower lip. "Already trembling. Your skin's so hot I could burn myself."

"I swear to god, Han Jisung, I will end you." But Minho's head fell back against the punching bag, exposing the long line of his throat.

"You're wound so tight, hyung. Let me help you forget for a while."

"Han—"

"Shh," Han breathed against his skin, "just let me take care of you."

And Minho surrendered, because that's what always happened with Han. He felt like that antique music box from his grandmother's shelf that haunted his childhood memories—a delicate ballerina spinning on worn gears, twirling gracefully until the mechanism wound down. The melody promised "eternal dance," but the dancer always ended up frozen mid-pirouette, her mechanical grace failing until someone wound her up again. Staring at the ceiling, feeling Han's heartbeat against his chest, Minho couldn't help wondering if this mysterious third person from Jisung's dreams would be the missing piece that could make him function properly, or if they'd be the force that would finally make his gears crack and splinter.

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

2 weeks later

"Unnie, holy fucking shit!" Bora bursts through the door. Doc Martens squeak against the freshly waxed linoleum, leaving zigzagging scuff marks that'll make the cleaning lady curse tomorrow. She doubles over, gasping, her hand shaking. "I need the special ink. The one in the red bottle. The heavy-duty stuff."

"Define your emergency," you murmur without looking up, wiping away crimson droplets from your client's hip.

Bora always gets like this—dramatic, overflowing with empathy she can barely contain. Unlike Mina, Bora explodes. She paces, she curses, she stress-eats entire packages of banana milk cookies. Even so, both of them try to shoulder burdens they weren't meant to carry, attempting to ease suffering through temporary tattoos when neither has the cursed gift of truly breaking bonds.

On the table, Jiyeon lies face-down, her designer crop top pushed up to expose pale skin. Mascara-stained tears drip onto the leather cushioning while her fingers trace the edges of the fresh tribal design—thick black lines and sharp angles now covering what was once a vine pattern, her soulmate mark. The same mark that tied her to Seo-yeon. After Jiyeon discovered that Seo-yeon was organising a spring wedding with her ex—the jerk who left her arms with bruises resembling cigarette burns—she stopped responding to her texts.

You don't comment on the crying. Several years of breaking bonds, and you've witnessed enough shattered connections to understand Psyche's judgment weighs heavier than any earthly pain. That ancient, otherworldly voice that scrapes against your skull like broken glass, whispering condemnations that echo through time itself. Every fucking day you hear it too.

Destroyer. Defiler. Burner of destinies. How dare you sever what the goddess has joined with her own hands?

"Stop touching it," you say, your voice softer than usual as you gently bat away Jiyeon's exploring fingers. Placing your palm over the fresh tattoo, you feel it.

Rainbow-colored boba pearls explode between teenage teeth. Clumsy fingers weave friendship bracelets during marathon study sessions. Graduation caps soar toward summer sky while joined hands squeeze promises of forever. Then reality shatters—screenshots of late-night texts between Seo-yeon and Eunkwang flood Jiyeon's phone. "He's changed," Seo-yeon insists while Jiyeon traces finger-shaped bruises blooming across old photographs. A wedding invitation arrives in a rose-gold envelope.

Under your touch, the soul bond flickers like a dying lightbulb. An once-vibrant pink glow that represented Jiyeon's side of the connection has faded to a sickly rose, the golden cosmic threads unraveling.

"Two days," you whisper, more to the universe than to anyone in the room. "Maybe less."

"Fuck me sideways," Bora hisses through clenched teeth, her lip piercing clicking against her canine. She paces the room. "The guy out front, Y/N... it's bad. Like, soap opera bad. Caught his mom fucking his soulmate in their family vacation house. He tried to burn the mark off with fucking bleach. Chemical burns everywhere. And my machine picked today of all days to shit itself, and you know I can't—"

"Out of ink," you cut her off, dragging your forearm across your eyes. It leaves another streak of black around them but it doesn't compare to how they're burning from three sleepless nights of the same recurring dream—a viscous sensation of seaweed wrapped around your ankles, invisible chains pulling you to the bottom of the river, voices distorted by water calling your name with a familiarity that makes you nauseous.

Punishment from your ancestors, who must be turning in their underwater graves.

"Damn, the guy's really messed up, Unnie!"

With a sigh, you pick up a bottle of lukewarm water from the table. Cleaning gel sticks to the plastic. "Tell him to come back tomorrow. I'm going to the supplier tonight, after the last client." The bottle is empty in four gulps. "If he's really struggling, there's Jack Daniel's in the bottom drawer. New bottle. Offer him a double shot; he'll need it."

As Bora leaves your room muttering a litany of creative curses at deities you didn't even know existed, Jiyeon finally gets up from the table. The movement is slow—like someone testing a broken bone. Her high-waisted jean shorts barely cover the bandage.

"You're kind of bitter, aren't you?" she murmurs. "Cold. Full of... walls. The true Bond Reaper. That's what they call you out there, you know? In the Telegram groups, on the forums..."

You shrug, already starting to dismantle your machine. "And what else do they say in those little groups?"

"That you charge in dollars. That you only take... complicated cases. That you almost died when you burned your mark. They say your heart stopped for seven minutes."

Shit...

Every Sunday morning, you still recall your father kneading dough while humming old Beatles songs, the flour sprinkling his dark hair like early snow. How your mother's sewing machine would provide percussion to his off-key rendition of "Hey Jude," guiding fabric through the needle. The way three-year-old Hyewon would toddle around the kitchen in her yellow polka dot dress, stealing bits of cookie dough when Dad wasn't looking. Despite Mom's objections, you were fifteen at the time, sitting on the counter and assisting Dad in measuring ingredients while daydreaming about your soulmate mark.

Then came that Tuesday in March. The sound of your father's belt when your mother used it to hang herself, three days after he ran away with his "true" soulmate, a yoga instructor. Following the dull thud of the body striking the bathroom tiles, there was the creaking of leather against the rusty metal railing. Hyewon's screams from her bedroom, where you'd locked her in with her stuffed rabbit when Mom started acting strange.

Then came your aunt Soo-jin, who was dying in her flat because her soulmate had wrapped his Mercedes around a lamppost in Manchester. Then came your high school friend Min-ji, who swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills after finding her soulmate in bed with her twin sister. When her mark turned ash-gray, indicating her husband's death in a fishing accident, your neighbour Mrs. Kim just stopped eating.

To keep Hyewon in school, you worked double shifts at convenience stores for three years, cleaned office buildings at night, and slept on newspaper-wrapped park benches when you could not afford rent. Somewhere between cleaning toilets at two in the morning and paying for Hyewon's school uniforms with your mother's cherished sewing machine, your sunny personality died.

Since then, you prefer your days fueled by weed from Park in 302 and bottom-shelf vodka from Mrs. Lee's corner store. Your nights are filled with casual sex with people who don't ask about the elaborate tattoo between your breasts.

Form, structure, and physical boundaries were desperately needed in the world to contain the primordial chaos that this soulmate nonsense threatened to unleash at any moment.

Much as a jellyfish was forced to develop an exoskeleton to survive on solid ground, you transformed your curse into art, your pain into livelihood. Just as precisely as they create beauty, your hands can break divine bonds. It was inevitable to succumb to the need for containment, to the visceral dread of remaining undefined, so you chose your own chains and forged your own prison with ink and needles. And if Psyche wanted to curse you with the gift of destruction, well... you would make this curse your masterpiece.

"Bitter? Die? Me? No way! They're just stories, dear. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to prepare the room for the next client. Mina handles payment at reception—cards, transfers, divine favors... hell, she'd probably accept your firstborn if Psyche deemed it worthy."

Jiyeon's fingers twist the strap of her designer purse. "Thanks... and thanks for listening too. Not many people understand the whole..." She swallows hard. "Best friends who were soulmates thing. And then with her marrying my ex..."

"Honey, I've seen bonds between twins shatter. Marks appearing on corpses.” You grab a fresh needle, testing its weight. "Your story? It's Tuesday afternoon in my world."

"The aftercare..."

"Right. Lukewarm water, mild soap, three days." You demonstrate the cleaning motion in the air. "No direct water contact. Healing ointment—the expensive kind, not the corner store garbage."

"And no swimming or gym," she mumbles, shoulders hunched forward like she's trying to make herself smaller.

"For two weeks minimum." The machine whirs to life in your hands, its familiar buzz drowning out the voices for a blessed moment. "If it gets infected or your friend starts fighting the severance—and trust me, she will—come straight back here. Don't play doctor with drugstore remedies."

Jiyeon shifts her weight from one foot to another, her expensive heels clicking against the floor tiles. "One more thing? How... how do you do it? Day after day, hearing these stories? The goddess's gift... is it real? The voices everyone talks about... do they..." She gestures at her head.

In the pocket of your apron, your fingers locate the pack of cigarettes. "Psyche's not some benevolent matchmaker—she's a cosmic chaos agent with a sick sense of humor. Some get marks, some don't. It's a divine lottery where everyone's ticket is already rigged. And some of us?" Your free hand unconsciously moves to your chest. "Some of us are born marked but spend every day wishing we weren't. As for the voices and that whole near-death drama? Just stories people tell to make sense of their broken hearts."

Words die before they reach Jiyeon's lips as her mouth opens and closes like a landed fish.

"Save your breath.” Once, twice—the metal wheel scrapes against your calloused thumb. Third time's the charm, and the flame dances to life. Destroyer. Defiler. Burner of destinies. Smoke billows out of your nostrils and you fancy yourself some ancient dragon, not hoarding gold but guarding a collection of bonds. “Just take care of that tattoo. And when you need another cover-up..." Before it falls and scatters on the floor, the ash column grows dangerously long. "You know where to find me. I'll be right here, giving the middle finger to destiny."

The door clicks shut behind her.

As soon as you feel safe and lonely enough, you trace the outline of the mark through your shirt. That cursed patch of skin that refuses to forget. Trembling between your fingers, the cigarette hovers closer to your chest. Closer. The heat seeps through the cotton, a promise of pain, of release. Just one quick press and maybe... Your breath hitches. Maybe this time...

When something—or someone—slams against the front door with enough force to make the ink bottles on their shelves dance akin to inebriated soldiers, the studio erupts in chaos. The cigarette slips from your startled fingers, landing on your thigh. "Son of a fucking—" Pain explodes across your leg as the ember burns through denim and finds flesh. Your fingers scramble to brush it away, skin blistering against hot ash.

Through the thin walls, Bora's voice rises like a war cry: "Oi, shitstain! Try that again and I'll rearrange your face so badly your own mother won't recognize you at Chuseok! Some of us weren't raised in a goddamn circus!"

"Christ on a cracker," you mutter, picking gray ash from your jeans.

It didn't work. Again. It never does. You’re too coward to burn the skin only to see it intact a few weeks later.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite agent of chaos." Mina materializes in your doorway like an urban legend, all dramatic timing and knowing smirks. From the recent burn on your trousers to the spot where your hand is still hovering over your chest, just above that cursed mark, her dark eyes dart. She clicks her tongue against her teeth. "That murder-suicide energy you're radiating could power half of Gangnam, and Bora's about to commit a felony in the waiting room. You know how she gets when entitled assholes treat this place like their personal fight club. The vibes in here?" She wrinkles her nose. "More fucked than that time Park Jin-young tried to cover up his ex's name with a portrait of his cat. Want me to tell your next client to fuck off? Park-ssi's been around long enough to know the drill. Wouldn't be the first time you've needed space to..." She waves her hand vaguely, "Process your shit."

Lavender incense—the kind she religiously buys from that ancient grandmother with milky eyes at Gwangjang Market every Thursday—weaves through the air. It combines with the sting of ink and your personal scent to create a mood that veers between a crime scene and a temple.

She moves through your space like water finding its level, the hem of her thrifted black dress whispering secrets against legs covered in Korean mythology. Dragons chase tigers across her calves, while dokkebi dance around her ankles.

There's always been something otherworldly about Mina, but today it pulses stronger, like a radio picking up signals from another dimension. Every word of your conversation with Jiyeon must have reached her ears through the paper-thin walls of this dilapidated building. And Mina, sweet, cursed Mina, has never learned how to shut off that cosmic antenna of hers, picking up pain frequencies that should stay buried in the static.

It's her fucking birthright after all—this ability to absorb others' emotional garbage like some metaphysical recycling bin. Psyche's golden child. The unofficial therapist of Seoul's walking wounded.

"I said I'm fucking fine," you snap, but your hands betray you, trembling worse than that time you tried to quit smoking cold turkey—another souvenir from that night in the burned-out palace gardens, when Psyche decided to make you her cosmic janitor. " Just... drained. This week's been absolute shit wrapped in more shit. Five bond severances back-to-back, and that perpetual disaster Park Jin-young showing up again wanting to tattoo what's-her-face's name over his chest. For the fifth fucking time! Fifth! I swear to god, that man's skin is more crossed-out names than actual skin at this point."

"And those dreams are back, aren't they? About the voices underwater?" Mina twirls one of her purple-dyed dreadlocks around her finger, a habit she's had since that rainy night four years ago when she crashed into your life—quite literally—by falling through your apartment's window while chasing what she swore was Psyche's spirit animal. 

You remember how she sat there, surrounded by broken glass and your sister's scattered Barbie dolls, blood trickling down her temple, looking at you with those huge doe eyes and announcing, "The goddess sent me to find you."

She takes another step forward now, her collection of silver anklets jingling softly. "I heard you last night. Screaming about chains and seaweed and something about a book." She pauses exactly two steps away—close enough that you can smell her bubble tea, far enough that you won't feel cornered. "Listen, my cousin Seo-yeon—you remember her? The one who caught her ex trying to burn down her apartment? She's a therapist now. Specializes in post-severance trauma cases. Got her master's in Soul Psychology from that university in Bangkok—"

"No." You stand up abruptly, your thighs hitting the metal table hard enough to knock some needles that clatter against the floor. "I don't need therapy, honey. I don't need anyone else trying to get inside my head. I just need..."

"Just need what, unnie?" Mina's hand lands on your shoulder.

"I need you to stop trying to save me like I'm another one of your divine charity projects. I'm not a lost soul for you to rescue, dammit."

"What if I don't want to stop?" Mina challenges, lifting her chin stubbornly. "What if this is my purpose? My destiny? To heal what you break?"

Prior to your protest, she leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, right where your third eye would be—according to her endless spiritual babble. It's quick, almost chaste, almost sacred, a profane blessing. The kind of gesture she started making when she first noticed how the souls' voices wouldn't quiet in your head, how they screamed louder with each bond you severed.

"Psyche brought us together to be soul sisters, remember?" She murmurs against your skin. "Light and shadow. Healing and destruction. Yin and yang."

In some ways, kindness has always hurt more than cruelty, so you pull away as though her touch burns. 

Your knees protest as you bend down to pick up the needles from the floor. "I just need to work, okay? The busier I stay, the less time I have to think about..."

"About how you still feel the bond even after burning it? About how Psyche cursed you in that garden, giving you the gift you feared most? Or about how you secretly like this gift because it gives you a perfect excuse to keep everyone at a safe distance?"

As if your own body were betraying you, you keep picking up needles from the floor, ignoring the fact that your hands are shaking more and more and that your fingers do not seem to be able to grasp the metal.

"Here's what I'm gonna do," Mina says, fishing her phone from the pocket of her dress. Her nails tap against the cracked screen. "I'm getting us coffee. That fancy shit from the place near Hongdae, not the vending machine piss you've been choking down."

"Don't waste your time, Min."

"See, that's your problem right there," she cuts in, already backing toward the door. Her fingers find the obsidian amulet she hung above your door last full moon—"for the dark energy," she'd said, while Bora rolled her eyes and muttered about superstitious girlfriends. "You think every kind gesture is a waste, every connection is a trap waiting to spring." One boot is already in the hallway when she stops. "News flash, unnie— Some people stick around because they want to, not because they have to. Some bonds heal instead of hurt. But your thick skull is too busy building fortresses to notice the difference."

Some bonds heal instead of hurt, you repeat mentally, but how can you know which ones are safe when even your own soul can betray you?

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

"When will I see you again, love?"

"When I run out of ink, Junho." You slide off his lap, adjusting your lace. "And that might take a while; I just got a new shipment."

"Are you kicking me out?" He laughs, that deep, husky laugh that makes your stomach do a treacherous flip. His fingers fish out a cigarette from the crumpled pack on the nightstand. On his bare shoulders, the old lamp's yellowish light dances. "I thought we had something special. You know, after that thing you did with your tongue..."

You roll your eyes while searching the bedroom floor for your shirt. Finally, you find the fabric under a stack of old sheet music, still damp with sweat, sticking uncomfortably. 

"The only special thing here is your ability to not take a hint." A bottle of soju is half-empty when your fingers find it. The liquid burns down your throat, already hoarse from earlier moans. "Don't complicate what's simple, guitarist."

"Simple?" Junho exhales smoke slowly as he forms perfect circles in the stale air. "You call this simple? Three months of late-night meetings, coded messages, and nail marks on my back? The way you tremble when I touch—"

Bile rises in your throat, acidic and familiar. You know this tone, have heard it from others before him—that possessive edge that creeps in like poison ivy. It would be easier if this was just about dramatic choices, lightsabres, and villains to defeat. Real life, however, is not a film with definite heroes and villains. Small decisions like accepting a second date, letting someone stay until morning, or acknowledging that the warmth in your chest is not just the soju talking are what can ruin you. These mundane decisions are the ones that can shatter your walls, and unlike a seatbelt click or a dramatic battle scene, there's no manual for protecting your heart from the slow poison of attachment.

"You don't even feel anything," you mutter, more to yourself than to him, as your fingers finally locate your combat boots under his vintage armchair—that hideous moss-green velvet monstrosity he swears came from some artist's estate sale in Hongdae. Still wrapped in its brown paper, your knuckles brush against a new bundle of inks and needles as you touch the top of it.

"What did you say?" Junho's voice carries that puppy-like eagerness that makes your stomach turn. He's too invested, too hungry for validation, for connection.

"Nothing. Just thinking about my next appointment with Lee Jiwoo. That cover-up piece won't ink itself."

"Come back to bed," he purrs, patting the twisted sheet. "I could reschedule my morning practice with the band. We could order that spicy tteokbokki you like!"

"What you're doing is pathetically obvious," you cut him off, yanking on your left boot. "The constant questions about my clients. The 'accidental' glimpses at my phone when you think I'm sleeping. Those calls you take in the bathroom." Your laugh is a broken thing. "What's the going rate for information about the bond reaper these days? Or did Detective Park promise to clear your assault record from that bar fight in Itaewon instead?"

Junho's face drains of color faster than soju spilling on concrete, his fingers clutching the bedsheet like a shield. "Jagi, I don't—you're not making any—"

"Spare me the stuttering act." You stand, ignoring how your knees crack from kneeling too long on his cheap laminate flooring. "You're not the first to try gathering intel between the sheets, and hell, you won't be the last. But here's some free advice: next time you're playing undercover cop's lapdog, don't keep your burner phone in the same jacket pocket as your guitar picks. Amateur move."

That carefully constructed puppy-dog sweetness melts away as his expression contorts. Something darker emerges, something that was always there, lurking beneath his gentle musician facade. "You went through my fucking things?" His voice cracks on the last word. "You paranoid psycho—"

"Oh, baby," you drawl, watching his jaw clench at the pet name he once begged you to use. Your lips curl into something that might look like a smile but feels like a wound. "I've been going through your things since that first night at the jazz bar. The police reports stuffed in your guitar case? Sloppy. Those surveillance photos under your mattress? Embarrassing. But those encrypted messages to Detective Park about my 'suspicious late-night clients' and 'possible illegal modifications of soul bonds'?" You trace a finger along your bottom lip. "Now that was some riveting bedtime reading."

With the coordination of a drunken toddler, he lunges forward, but you are already subconsciously affected by six years of street survival. Your elbow finds his solar plexus—right where that hideous compass tattoo points perpetually north—and he crumples. A puddle of regret and cheap tobacco forms as the Chamisul smashes against the floor and mixes with his dropped cigarette.

"Fucking—" he wheezes between gasps, one hand pressed against his stomach where tomorrow's bruise is already blooming, "—crazy cunt."

"See?" You retrieve your ink bundle from the chair, careful not to step in the growing puddle of soju. "That honesty suits you better than all that 'jagiya' bullshit." At the door, you pause, not bothering to look back at him sprawled among the wreckage of his failed operation. "Oh, and Junho? Next time Detective Park wants to investigate suspected bond modifications, tell him to send someone who can at least fake sincerity. This?" You wave vaguely at the rumpled sheets where you'd wasted three months letting him think he was getting close to proof. "This was just embarrassing. Even that rookie he sent last spring—Kim Minseok, wasn't it?—at least knew how to forge a convincing backstory."

As you descend the stairs of his shithole apartment building, past the perpetually broken vending machine that dispenses warm Sprite and the wall where someone spray-painted 'dreams die here' in neon pink, you don't feel anything. Not betrayal, not anger, not even disappointment. Sex had been decent, and his connections for rare inks had been useful. That's all it ever was. All it could ever be in a world where burning soulmate marks is whispered about in dark alleys, where even the suggestion of being the infamous "bond reaper" could get you disappeared into some government black site.

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

When you get home, the low sound of some Korean drama—seems to be True Beauty from the theme song playing—leaks through the door. Mina and Bora are on the couch, a tangle of limbs and soft sighs. Bora, with her hair spread like a fan across Mina's thigh, has a thread of drool running onto her girlfriend's silk shorts. The caramel popcorn bag is tipped over on the Persian rug.

"Unnie!" Mina's voice is thick with sleep as you drape the blanket over them. Her fingers fumble with the remote, pressing random buttons. "Tell me everything about guitar boy. Did he do the thing with his tongue and the cigarette smoke again? We closed early just for your date, you know."

"Your concealer's smudged all over your chin," Bora interrupts, face still buried in Mina's thigh. "And you've got that look again—the one where you just crushed someone's soul into dust and maybe enjoyed it a little too much." She snorts, finally cracking one eye open. "Poor Junho-oppa. Bet he thought he was being so smooth with his undercover act."

"Both of you, sleep," you whisper, pressing a kiss to Mina's forehead. Her skin is warm, slightly sticky from the face mask she never properly washed off. When you kiss Bora's temple, she swats at you with the precision of a drunk cat, nearly knocking over the soju bottle. "We can dissect the train wreck that is my love life tomorrow, after I've had at least three shots of espresso and maybe some soju."

Bora mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like "You're just scared of feelings," but her words dissolve into soft snores before you can argue.

When you first arrive at the flat, you are met with its familiar chaos, which is the inevitable outcome of living with two artists who view organization as a suggestion and an eight-year-old whose life's work is to collect every piece of Stray Kids item ever made. You hang the jean jacket in the hallway closet, wincing as the floorboard under your left foot lets out a betraying creak. The living room floor has transformed into an obstacle course of your sister’s scattered toys—plushies, abandoned coloring books, and what looks suspiciously like Felix photocards arranged in a perfect circle ("It's for summoning him!").

In the kitchen, yesterday's ramyeon bowls still crowd the sink like ceramic mushrooms, and a stack of bills—mostly from Mina's black card adventures at Gucci and her newfound obsession with some obscure Japanese streetwear brand—threatens to avalanche off the dining table.

Your eyes catch on the newest masterpiece stuck to the fridge—Hyewon's latest attempt at capturing Felix's essence. Despite the wobbly lines and questionable proportions, there's something endearing about how she captured his signature heart smile. The messy hangul beneath reads "The prettiest boy in the world!!!" with at least seven exclamation points. Next to it, held by that ridiculous rabbit magnet Bora won at some arcade in Hongdae, Mrs. Jung's neat handwriting reports, "Hyewonnie cleaned her plate today! Even asked for extra kimchi (progress!). Oh, parent-teacher meeting tomorrow at 2PM—talent show preparations.”

Gently, you fold the note and slide it into the pocket of your torn jeans.

In her room, the bedside lamp is still on. Hyewon sleeps hugging the official SKZOO pillow, and her long black hair, identical to yours, is spread across the pillow.

"Mom?" Hyewon's voice cracks with sleep, her small fingers rubbing at her eyes. She started calling you that when she was three, after your mother died. Back then, she'd cry herself hoarse asking for "mommy," and somehow, between midnight feedings and endless diaper changes, the word stuck to you like honey. "Is that... wait, ugh, why do you smell like an ashtray?" Her nose scrunches up. She pushes herself up on her elbows. "And that's definitely Uncle Junho's cologne."

You sink onto the edge of her bed and your fingers find their way to her hair, working through a stubborn knot near her temple. "Hey, detective squirrel, enough with the interrogation." You try to keep your voice light, but something must slip through because she tilts her head, studying you with that perception that makes her seem older than eight. "Tell me about your day instead. That dance routine you were working on..."

"Wait, no, this is way more important!" Sleep vanishes from her face like magic. She jolts upright, her knee catching the edge of her water glass. It wobbles dangerously before you steady it. "Mrs. Jung told me I could finally tell you! She made me do the super special pinky promise with the thumb press and everything!"

She scrambles out of bed, her feet barely touching the floor as she moves. There's a moment where she trips over her giant Wolfchan plushie, arms windmilling, but she catches herself with that natural grace you never inherited from your mother's side.

"Look, look, look!" She slides across the hardwood floor, coming to a stop at her desk. Under the soft glow of her star-shaped night light, four VIP tickets gleam. "Mrs. Jung got them as an early birthday present! They're not just regular tickets—they're VIP! Front row! We could actually see Felix's freckles!" Her words tumble out faster than her breath can keep up. "Can we go? Please? I'll do all my math homework first try! I'll even eat the green parts of the kimchi!"

The paper feels expensive under your fingertips—thick, textured, with a hologram that catches the light just so. These tickets probably cost more than what you make in a week covering soulmate marks for trainees and politicians with secrets darker than their coffee. Your thumb traces the embossed date, mind already calculating risks and escape routes.

"Hyewonnie..." you start, watching her bounce on her toes. Her small fingers twist the hem of her oversized sleep shirt. She's practically vibrating with hope, and something in your chest aches. "Baby, you're only eight. These concerts... they get pretty wild. People push and shove, and sometimes—"

"NINE!" she corrects indignantly, her voice rising an octave as she straightens her spine and cheeks puff out. "I'm turning nine in exactly—" she counts on her fingers, lips moving silently, "—forty-three days! And Mrs. Jung confirmed she's going with us! She even said we can bring Mina unnie too! They're the ones who made me become a Stay! They showed me the 'God's Menu' video seventeen times in one day!" Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "Please, Mom? Pretty please?”

You sigh, watching as she squeezes her pillow so tightly that poor Wolfchan's ears stick out at odd angles. The truth hits you like a brick—your baby sister, this tiny human who still can't reach the top kitchen shelf even on tiptoes, has been completely and utterly converted into a Stay by your chaotic roommates. She learned the names of eight boys before she could properly write her own name in Hangul.

"Mrs. Jung really thought of everything, didn't she?" You smile despite yourself, sliding the tickets into the desk drawer. They disappear beneath a scattered constellation of photocard. "We'll have a proper talk about this tomorrow, okay? Right now it's way past little Stays' bedtime."

"But you'll think about it? Like, really think about it?" She burrows under her blankets. "Chan oppa would be so disappointed if I didn't go... and his dimples get all sad when he's disappointed... and then I'd feel terrible forever and ever..." Her voice trails off into a yawn that she tries to hide behind her hand.

"Unnie will think about it. Promise. Sleep well, my little Stay." You press a kiss to her forehead.

Through heavy eyelids, she mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like 'I love you.'. Her small fingers—still sticky from the candy she definitely wasn't supposed to have before bed—curl around the hem of your shirt. It's the same instinctive gesture she's had since she was a baby, as if making sure you won't disappear while she dreams.

She was so small, impossibly small, like a sparrow that had fallen from its nest too soon. You remember how her fingers, no bigger than guitar picks, had latched onto your old Nirvana shirt with surprising strength, as if she already knew you were all she would have.

In the hallway, you trace the marks on the wall—each line a complete story, each number a small revolution. "Look, unnie, I grew two centimeters!" Her voice echoes in your memory, bouncing on her tiptoes to appear even taller. The last mark, made just two weeks ago during a lazy Sunday morning, shows she's already past your elbow. Soon she'll be your height, maybe even taller.

"For fuck's sake," you mutter when your phone vibrates again. The blue-tinted screen illuminates the dark hallway. The photo—you and Junho at Namsan Tower—feels like a lifetime ago.

His voice message arrives, that infuriating little 'ping' that makes your jaw clench: "Listen, jagiya,” . The ice cubes in his whiskey glass (probably his third) clink against each other. The familiar jazz from Sol Music Bar—where he first tried to impress you with his terrible English pickup lines—bleeds through his words. "I know you hate when I do this shit, but we need to talk about what went down today. You can't just—"

Delete. Block. Your thumb hovers over the screen for a moment before choosing both options.

"Unnie?" Bora's leaning against the doorframe like a ghost from a Joseon painting, platinum blonde hair creating a halo around her face. "Got any soju left? That fucking dream again... the one with the blood and the—".

"Bora-yah," you whisper, gathering the fallen blanket from the floor. "You have work tomorrow. The exhibition at Seoul Arts Center, remember? The one you've been preparing for months?"

"But, unnie..." She rubs her eyes with her knuckles, smearing what's left of her eyeliner across pale skin. Her bottom lip trembles—just slightly, but you catch it. "I saw Mina again. In the dream. She was wearing that stupid hanbok, the one from the palace, and her hands were covered in—"

"We'll talk about your not-so-prophetic dreams tomorrow, okay?" You guide her back to the couch, where Mina's sleeping form creates a perfect curve.

"They're not prophetic," she mumbles, voice muffled against Mina's shoulder. Her words slur together. "They're memories. From before. When we were—when you were—" She doesn't finish, already half-asleep.

You watch as they gravitate toward each other, even in sleep. Mina's fingers find Bora's wrist instinctively, tracing the outline of their matching marks—twin sunflowers, eternally blooming, stems intertwined in an endless dance.

Your phone buzzes again—once, twice, three times. The vibrations travel through your pocket and into your bones. You switch it off completely, watching the screen fade to black.

In your room, where half-finished tattoo designs and anatomical sketches create a wallpaper of controlled chaos, you sink into the desk chair. Old wood protests under your weight, a familiar creak that sounds like an old friend's greeting.

Lifting the sketchbook—that lovely, awful thing with its tattered black cover and sin-thick pages—from the drawer, your hands tremble. Another of Mina's gifts because she always seems to know exactly what you need before the thought fully forms in your mind. The pencil moves across the paper with a will of its own, like a Ouija board planchette guided by unseen hands.

An ancient castle rises from the depths of memory. Its towers pierce a clouded sky, stone walls holding centuries of secrets. In your mind's eye, you can hear the echo of footsteps—your footsteps—bouncing off corridors. Air fills with the musty sweetness of black mold and the sharp tang of melting wax, so real you can almost taste it on your tongue.

"Quick, quick!" you whisper to yourself, your words ricocheting off the damp walls. A rebellious strand of hair escapes from the linen scarf that holds your locks. Your fingers press the breadbasket against your chest as you descend the spiral stairs of the royal kitchen. The thick apron brushes against your ankles.

In the street, under a sky that begins to lighten at the edges like a burned parchment, the line is already forming—dozens of thin, pale faces, sunken eyes shining with a hunger that goes beyond the physical. The cold dawn wind makes tattered clothes dance around bodies too fragile, too worn by the Lunaris kingdom's misery.

It pains your heart, knowing that even when Chrysalis delivers their crops after the marriage ceremony in two moons, the distribution will be anything but fair. As a Solaris baker, you are left with few choices in a castle where people mock the loss of your kingdom. You were saved by the kindness of two soldiers whom the captain trusted when the others had been too eager to kill you and your infant sister. Still, you persist in your small acts of rebellion. Mina and Bora, bless their souls, run interference when the head chef notices your absence, their quick tongues spinning tales of errands and duties that never existed.

"By the old gods, look who's here!" Mrs. Jung's weathered hands reach out. The finest weaver in the Lunaris Kingdom, now reduced to threadbare clothes and hollow cheeks. "Our Solaris angel, bringing warmth to our cold mornings."

"Careful with those words, Mrs. Jung," you murmur, pressing the still-warm loaf into her hands. Your fingers linger on hers, trying to share what little warmth you possess. "The castle has ears, even at this hour."

More children emerge from the shadows like spirits. Against the cold cobblestones, their feet, encased in strands of fabric ripped from old clothing, produce an eerie cadence. You recognize the makeshift bandages as pieces of the royal banners that once flew proudly over the gates.

"Unnie!" Soo-yeon's teeth chatter as she tugs at your apron. "Jin-ho's here today. His first time." She points with her chin toward a boy who's pressed himself so far into the shadows that only the gleam of his eyes gives him away. The military coat he wears—his father's, you'd bet your last copper on it—hangs off his frame like a tent, the sleeves rolled up six times just so his hands can peek through. "His mama caught the winter fever."

"Come here, little soldier," you beckon to Jin-ho, watching how his fingers drum an anxious rhythm against his thighs. You extract an extra portion wrapped in cloth. "This one just came from the ovens. The crust might burn your tongue if you're not careful, mind you. Small bites, like a proper nobleman."

You catch Min-ah trying to inhale an entire roll like a snake swallowing its prey. Her cheeks bulge impossibly wide, crumbs dusting her chin. "Saints above, sunshine! Did the orphanage run out of plates?" Your hand shoots out to pat her back as she makes a sound between a laugh and a choke. "Remember what happened with Bora last week? Poor thing went whiter than the palace sheets when you started turning blue."

Your attention splits as Soo-yeon shuffles closer against you, drawn by the warmth radiating from your body. Your fingers find her hair, working through knots that would make a sailor weep. "And what's this mess, my little star? These braids look like they've been through a war." Your thumb brushes away a smudge of dirt from her temple. "Where's that pretty ribbon I gave you? The blue one?"

"Lost it," she mumbles, eyes downcast. Her lower lip quivers. "During the guards' raid. They—they tore through everything looking for—"

"Shh," you cut her off gently, cupping her chin. "Visit my compound later, after the morning bell. We'll fix these braids properly." You lean in close enough that your breath stirs the wisps of hair around her face, voice dropping to that special whisper that never fails to make her eyes sparkle like dewdrops in sunlight. "And if you can sneak past that grumpy old Master Lee without making a sound, we might just find some honey cakes that survived the night. Enough to share with Hyewon too, if you’re feeling generous."

Between the frost-covered windows of the castle, your eyes dart. Usually, the guards sleep until the sun rises high enough to break their stupor, their bellies full of wine and meat from the feast last night celebrating the impending union of Lunaris and Chrysalis. But Commander Jung, that snake in armor, has grown suspicious. Just last week, his eyes followed your movements through the corridors. His thin lips curved into that knowing smirk that made your blood run cold, the same expression he wore when he ordered the burning of the Sun Temple.

Suddenly, there’s smoke curling around your feet and you no longer see their faces.

The ornate room feels like a gilded cage, suffocating in its opulence. The Venetian mirror reflects three souls caught in an impossible web—one small figure and two tall ones.

"Your Grace, please try to steady your breathing." Your hands adjust the formal attire. The familiar scent of mint leaves, coffee beans, and something uniquely him—like summer rain on hot stones—wraps around you.

"Does it pinch here?" Your fingers trace the embroidered seam along his shoulder blade, feeling the way his muscles twitch beneath the fabric. When he shakes his head—a movement so slight you almost miss it—you catch sight of his eyes in the mirror. They're swimming with unshed tears, and something in your chest splinters. Those eyes, god, those eyes. You can't remember his name or the exact shape of his face, but those eyes are burned into your memory—the same ones that danced with mischief as you three raided the kitchen's sweetmeats at midnight, the same ones that grew soft and liquid while reading poetry by candlelight in the library's hidden alcove. "My l—"

"Don't." His fingers spasm toward yours but retreat. "Please. Not—not today. I'll shatter if I hear that word from your lips."

Across the room, he—the other he, your morning star to this one's evening moon—paces like a caged beast. His teeth worry at his bottom lip until you see a bead of blood well up.

As you hold him, servants flit about with ribbons and flowers as the wedding preparations whirl around you like some hideous funfair.

"Your Grace," a maid's voice pipes up, "the bride is ready."

Time crystallizes like honey in winter when she enters. Her wedding dress ripples like liquid moonlight against marble floors that reflect her silhouette in fractured pieces. Red roses tumble from her hands; you watch a single petal break free, spiraling down in lazy circles until it kisses the marble floor like a drop of blood. The sight makes your stomach lurch.

A shudder runs through him, his breath hitching against the curve of your neck, warm and damp and desperate. "Can't—can't breathe. Why does it feel like we're conducting a funeral instead of a wedding?"

Without a word, you simply draw him farther into the shadows where the tapestries provide cover. The guards won't see their war captain like this, won't witness how his knees almost buckle when another wave of perfumed air carries the scent of roses. For God’s sake, in mere minutes, he'll have to represent the military! Kneeling before their next queen and king with a face carved from stone. 

And there, at the altar draped in Lunaris silk, the crown prince stands like a man facing his executioner.

However, there's happiness too, isn't there? Memories as sweet as honey wine: lazy afternoons in secret clearings where the grass grew tall enough to hide three bodies. His head in your lap—dark hair spread like ink on your skirts, cat-like eyes half-closed in contentment—while the other's fingers trail patterns on your arm. Wildflower branches woven through dark hair while the summer sun painted everything gold.

"That crown suits you better than any other, my sunny queen." A playful tug on a flower stem sends petals cascading around your shoulders.

"Shut up and pass me another daisy," you mutter, but your voice trembles slightly. Your hands fidget with the stem, weaving it into the growing crown.

"He's right, you know?" The other one shifts closer, his knee brushing against yours. "You were born to wear crowns. Even if they're made of wildflowers." His thumb brushes your bottom lip, the calluses from years of swordplay creating a delicious friction. "Though I prefer you in the morning, wearing nothing but sunlight. Solaris blood really runs in your veins—you practically glow."

By the riverside, where the air smells of herbs and magic, ceramic pots bubble with mysterious concoctions. Steam rises in spirals, carrying the scent of crushed moonflowers and dragon's breath herbs. Your hair curls in the humidity, becoming wild and untamed.

"Be careful with that one, kitten; it might explode!" He lunges forward, muscles tensing beneath his thin shirt. His hand reaches for the pot, but you swat it away.

"For the love of the old gods," you hiss through clenched teeth, your fingers still tingling from the contact. "I know what I'm doing. I've been brewing potions since before you learned to hold a sword properly. My kingdom actually specializes in that, if you've forgotten."

"Of course you do, our little sun." The other one laughs. His feet dangle in the river, creating ripples that distort his reflection into fragments. He leans back on his elbows, dark hair falling across his forehead in a way that makes your heart stutter. "Remember when she turned your hair green for a week? You looked like a walking garden." His shoulders shake with suppressed laughter.

"That was an accident!" you protest, but your lips twitch traitorously. "Besides, the color brought out your eyes."

"It brought out something alright," the first one grumbles, running his fingers through his hair as if checking it's still the right color. "The castle guards couldn't look at me without laughing for months."

"Oh please," you roll your eyes, adding a pinch of crushed starflower to the mixture. The potion turns a deep violet, exactly as it should. "You loved the attention. You practically strutted around like a peacock."

"Speaking of attention," the second one's voice drops lower, more intimate. He catches your wrist gently, thumb pressing against your pulse point. "That merchant's son couldn't take his eyes off you at the market yesterday. Should we be concerned?"

"Jealous?" You arch an eyebrow, trying to ignore how your skin burns under his touch. "Of a boy who still trips over his own feet?"

"Never," they say in unison, and the synchronicity makes something warm unfurl in your chest. The first one moves behind you, his chest pressed against your back, while the other tugs you forward by your captured wrist. You're caught between them, like always, like destiny.

One pair of honey-golden hands, calloused from wielding swords and scaling castle walls to get to your window, always gentle when wiping tears from your face, are the hands you remember like a prayer. The other pair, pale as ivory, stained with ink from writing poetry and royal decrees, skilled at braiding your hair in the traditional style of his homeland.

Remember sleeping squeezed in the middle of a too-large bed, even though you hated being in the center (you always preferred the edges, or even the floor, much to their amusement). One would whisper poetry in your left ear while the other sang softly in your right, old lullabies from the Lunaris provinces."

"I hate you both," you'd lie, voice muffled by silk pillows, trying to hide your smile.

"No, you don't." They'd say in unison, making you laugh despite yourself. Then one would start tickling your feet while the other stole your pillow, and the serious moment would dissolve into childish wrestling.

Suddenly, there's fire—so much fire it steals the air from your lungs. You try to burn an ancient book, its yellowed pages curling and blackening as flames lick at your own clothes. The smoke stings your eyes, or maybe those are tears. The leather binding crackles and pops.

"I can't let them find out!" Your voice breaks on the words. "They'll hurt you both. They'll—" A cough interrupts you, smoke filling your lungs. "I have to protect you. Even from yourselves."

Then you're drowning, being pulled into the depths of dark and icy waters. The cold bites through your clothes, into your bones. Hands—those same hands you know better than your own—extend desperately, trying to reach you. Their faces blur above the surface as you sink deeper.

"Don't let her sink!"

"Hold my hand, love, please!"

When you finally blink, returning to reality in your Seoul apartment, you realize you've covered twenty pages with the same intertwined marks: turbulent waves like a stormy sea swallowing whole ships, dancing flames shaped like fire serpents, and an intricate spiral of black roses and sharp thorns connecting the two in an infinite pattern.

"Shit," you whisper to the empty room, letting the pencil roll across the desk with a metallic tinkle. "Shit, shit, shit."

The pain is sudden and overwhelming. Like lightning cutting through your chest, the sensation burns between your breasts with an intensity that makes you drop the notebook and slip from the chair. The impact with the cold floor makes your teeth clash. Your fingers tremble as they tear at your shirt buttons, desperate to understand what's happening, your nails leaving red marks on your skin.

Love, is there any pie left? I woke up hungry. That apple one you make, with extra cinnamon.

Where is he? Did he go to war? He promised he'd return before the solstice!

I have a duty before love. You knew this from the beginning! The crown weighs more than my heart.

Please, don't make me choose between you. It's like tearing pieces from my own soul.

The roses are dying in the garden without you here.

And there it is—beneath the covering, beneath the old burn that marked the breaking of the bond, your soulmate mark pulses with a life of its own. The pink scar tissue glows with its own light, as if something were trying to emerge from within your skin. You close your eyes, fingers brushing the sensitive area, and see: lines green as springtime vines, pink as the dawn sky, and purple as amethysts intertwining, restitching something that should be permanently broken.

"No, no, no." Hot tears stream down your face as you plead into the void, knees hitting against the wooden floor: "Psyche, my lady, please, stop. Why are you doing this to me?"

The goddess cursed you, didn't she? Condemned you to keep breaking bonds while dealing with the voices of ancestors and the loss of your soulmates. The echo of her laughter haunts your nightmares and you can still see her furious face, beautiful and terrible, when you tried to burn the mark without divine permission. Why now? Why rebuild the bond? Could this be your true punishment—making you remember everything you lost?

The pain is so intense that you barely register the moment Mina bursts through the door, her own eyes wide with panic, hair still messy from sleep. The air seems to vibrate with static energy around her. Of course—she would feel it too. Your soul sister, designated by Psyche herself to keep you in check, to heal the souls you leave behind like breadcrumbs on a dark path.

"Unnie!" She kneels beside you, cold hands against your feverish face. The lavender scent of her night cream is almost sickening. Her fingers tremble when they touch the pulsing mark, and you see the exact moment she understands—her eyes widen even more, color draining from her face. "What did you do? The bonds... they're..."

"I didn't..." Your entire body convulses, muscles spasming as if trying to reject your own skin. Sweat makes your clothes cling uncomfortably, and you taste copper on your tongue where you've bitten the inside of your cheek. "I didn't do anything, I swear by the old gods and new. It's... it's coming back on its own. They're coming back, Min. All of them."

The last thing you saw before consciousness slipped through your fingers like water was Mina's face, contorted in a silent scream, and Bora's figure sprinting down the corridor, her gold hair streaming behind her like a comet's tail.

"Hey! Y/N!" Their voices seem to come from underwater, distorted and far away.

And then, your mind plunged into a darkness so complete it felt solid, the deep resonating toll of ancient temple bells echoing in your skull like a funeral dirge.

[starseungs]

from the past, beyond the present, and into tomorrow. ksm. ( teaser )

kim seungmin x fem!reader — following the last wishes of her beloved grandmother, y/n finds herself moving back to her family's hometown. deep into the countryside and miles away from the bustling noise of the city, the change was supposed to be a new experience. that was, if only the mayor's son didn't bring along years of unknown familiarity with him.

GENRE/S — drama, slight angst, slight fluff, just sentimental, soulmates au, multiple lifetimes, high school au, a slowburn • teaser: 2.1k words (10k+ overall fic)

WARNING/S — y/n gets referred to with she/her pronouns, setting is heavily influenced by japanese environments (but still made vague enough for other preferences), main characters are aged eighteen, possibly more to be added upon release.

NOW PLAYING — tracing that dream by yoasobi

( ✒️ ) this is the product of seungmin covering one of my favorite songs ... now im gonna make him a shoujo anime love interest !!! and yes the teaser is long asf. i, too, am concerned about the total word count of this fic. (road to 20k wc i guess)

( 📌 ) STATUS: UNRELEASED • TAGLIST IS OPEN !

2024 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

You had dreamt of a specific scene once when you were thirteen.

At least, you were the one who considered it a dream. It was something you had tried to bury in the depths of your mind—locked away in a tiny chest placed in the furthest corner and behind closed doors. If it were someone else, you knew that they would’ve already exhausted all means to figure out what the dream meant.

After all, it certainly wasn’t every day that you got to dream of something that felt so vividly real to the point you could’ve sworn it was a memory.

But it wasn’t. It could never be.

Why?

Because in no reality could an authentic memory be of a time that shouldn’t even exist yet.

“I won’t ask you to congratulate me,” the vessel you were seeing the world through spoke. In the scenario being played out, you could feel yourself smile warmly. You could only guess why the positive action was contrasted by such a somber tone of speaking. “Never once have your eyes lied in front of mine.”

The sound of joyous laughter that surrounded the area almost felt too jarring to compare to the mood present between what was supposed to be you and another male. He sat completely still, unmoving amidst the dim evening despite your earlier comment. Flickers of embers from the sizable-looking campfire reflected in his eyes, telling of the fact that the absence of a response was not because of a lack of focus but rather his inner thoughts getting swallowed up by the burning flames.

His looks would range him older than eleven. Yet, you didn’t seem phased by it—not even in the slightest. Perhaps this was something you should have expected. The voice that came out of you was notably not one of an eleven-year-old either. So you gave up on the matter.

Instead, you waited for an answer to what you had previously uttered. Even if it was just a simple hum that came out of his mouth.

He let the fire crackle a bit more.

“Does it make me a bad man to say that I envy you?”

The breath that you didn’t even know you were holding escaped your lips the second he spoke. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you mean,” was your reply.

The silence came back for a second. Surprisingly, it didn’t seem as heavy as the one you two had just broken. You watched his movements, almost mesmerized, as he took his eyes off the fire. The concentration only faltered when his sight came up to meet yours. “You’re off to go do greater things over in the big city,” he starts. “And yet, here I am, getting left behind in this quiet town. A place not a single soul even yearns for—where everyone starts off but never stays.”

It was odd. The way you felt your heart race at his words.

To be completely honest, you didn’t think much of what he had just said. You didn’t even know exactly what it meant—both for you and for him. Yet, the sudden spike of adrenaline in your veins told a different story. It was making you feel breathless while also making you tear up.

“You could always come with me.”

He shook his head. Did he just reject your offer? “It’s no use. My life’s responsibilities will still lie here. What would I even gain from leaving this place?”

Another beat. You could care less if it was of silence or your heart. In what seemed like a blink, the environment felt too overwhelming for you to function in. It was almost like you were sinking. Down deep to who knows where.

Though muddled, you tried your best to bring yourself back to the forefront by listening to the variety of other sounds outside the small bubble you two had created. Children running around screaming with laughter, adult men howling with amusement at whatever conversation they were in, and a female voice yelling to prepare the fireworks.

How fun. A celebration right next to a brewing storm. All under the same night sky.

“But,” you forced the words out. “You also have your own dreams.” His eyes softened at the mention. The way your heart shattered echoed a little too strongly throughout your body.

“That’s why I’m letting you go like this.” The young male smiled, making sure to let you know it was only directed at you. “So that at least one of us gets to achieve them.”

Your lips quivered. “Why do you speak as if I’m never going to come back for you?”

Silence again. You were beginning to develop an intense dislike for them.

“That’s just the way the world works,” was the response that came to soothe your growing anxiety. “It doesn’t revolve around a certain person. And it certainly doesn’t revolve around me. Go and live the life you want without any regrets. When the time comes that you’ve done everything you’ve wished for in life, come and find me again.”

A shake of a head.

“I could always just stay.”

A weak chuckle.

“Then, neither of us will be able to grow.”

A clench of a hand.

“What if I take too long?”

A minute passes by. You’ve come to really hate these momentary pauses.

He stands up. “There will be no such thing,” the young male assures you, moving closer only to stop at arm's length. You fought the urge to reach out and hold him. “Even if it takes multiple lifetimes, I’ll always be here. Waiting for you.”

“What if you forget about me?”

The world fell into one last hush. Your well-held tears finally started falling one-by-one, just like the first drops of rain. He sighs at your state, taking another step forward.

“I really don’t think I ever will.” He cups your face gently to look at him. “That’s why to you, who my heart will always choose in every lifetime—”

A loud bang. You watched as the fireworks bloomed into the sky through his glistening eyes.

“—Please live well until you come back to me.”

Hushed whispers filled the room.

You should’ve expected this. No matter the place, all high schoolers were bound to be the same, either one way or another. If you really had to make sense of it, your best guess would be that it was simply human for them to act this way. Universal traits are what makes a species. Perhaps you would’ve found it much more uncomfortable if the students in front of you didn’t find your situation interesting. After all, the genuine interest seeping out of those youthful eyes did make the atmosphere a lot lighter. At the end of the day, you could never actually fault them.

Still, enduring the poor attempts of adolescents trying to keep their curiosity hidden for more than a tick of a clock was harder than you thought. A part of you so badly wanted to believe that it was because this whole ordeal was tiring—bothersome, even. Unluckily for you, your brain knew a little bit too much for its own good.

Next to the classroom’s front door, one of your female classmates drops a pen accidentally. You watched it roll down two seats away, only to stop underneath the chair of a guy who was animatedly discussing something with another that was to his right. The latter enthusiastically reciprocated the conversation; his seemingly dominant hand spinning a blue-colored pen while doing so. You balled your hands, only to release them not even a beat later. They felt slightly damp.

You were nervous.

“Settle down now, class!” The homeroom teacher, Mrs. Cheon, ordered. Like well disciplined soldiers, the students quickly ceased all sound. Their undivided attention made you swallow heavily. “Starting today, we have a new addition to our class. Let’s all listen to her introduction.”

Your eyes almost popped out of their sockets at her order—only barely holding back from painting shock all over your face. This was not the plan you were made aware of. You wanted to protest. Throw a tantrum like a little child at the way she had just thrown you into a den filled with lions with no choice but to fend for yourself. Back in the faculty room, she had clearly stated that she was the one who was going to introduce you to the class. What was the point of asking you all the standard information about yourself if she wasn’t even going to use it?

Mrs. Cheon merely stood there, anticipating for you to start. Her neatly managed fingers were laced together behind her back, presenting the dark purple dress she was wearing in all of its glory. You kind of wished it was brighter; just so you could complain about her blinding you without seeming rude. Now you realized that you shouldn’t have trusted her words in their literal sense. It was foolish of you to believe that all you had to do for your formal introduction was to stand there until you were settled.

You took a discrete, heavy breath.

“Hello to you all. My name is Y/N,” you start off as cool as you could manage. “Eighteen. I just moved here from the city, so I am still in the process of getting familiar with the environment. Please take care of me.”

If you could give yourself a pat on the back at that moment, you would’ve. Unfortunately, you had yet to get a grasp on how things worked around here, so it was probably better not to do anything that would make you stand out more than you already did just by being new. And who even transfers schools two months into their last year of high school? Plus, with their stares so intently directed at you like they were studying a fascinating specimen, you couldn’t lift a single finger anyway. So you settled for pursing your lips instead.

A male student with puffed cheeks from the second row raised a brow at you. You bit your cheek lightly. Great.

“It seems like that’s all for Y/N’s introduction,” Mrs. Cheon says, clearing her throat. You internally glowered at the way she awkwardly moved on. You could only wonder how painful your introduction now seemed. “You’ll be seated next to Seungmin. Raise your hand, please.” She ordered.

To which not one soul followed.

If you had not enforced every single ounce of control you had, you were sure your jaw would’ve dropped to the ground. This was already proving to be one of the worst moments of your life, and yet life seemed way too eager to make it even more unforgettable. Your eyes snapped to the figure sitting on the slot in the back row, right next to the windows.

Granted, you already knew who this ‘Seungmin’ was. It was quite obvious, really. The only other desk free to use in this entire room was the one next to the guy you were currently burning a hole through with your gaze. He was staring out the window without a worry in the world, seemingly lost in his thoughts. His posture screamed relaxation, and anything more than that meant infusing into the wooden chair he was leaning back on.

While normally you would have found this guy relatable, right now you could just wish that he finally acknowledged Mrs. Cheon’s call so that you could now erase your presence for the rest of the day.

Luckily for you, it seemed like your homeroom teacher was also getting impatient.

“Kim Seungmin!”

The male with the same name as the one just yelled out leisurely broke off his staring contest with that one cloud in the sky to give you two at the front a glance. It was then that you finally got a good look at him.

His black hair was cut short, brushed down into bangs, but not enough to cover a notable undercut. Despite his clean appearance doubled by the meticulously ironed uniform that hung on his figure, his face was grim in a way that showed great dislike for the situation. You wanted to scoff at the frown decorating his lips, sending everyone the clear message that he had just been bothered. Fighting off the urge to twitch an eye at the slight scrunch of his nose was proving to be the most difficult challenge of the day.

“Oh?” He reacted monotonously before raising his hand as requested. That obviously meant he did hear Mrs. Cheon. “Yeah, here.”

You grit your teeth, already feeling an overwhelming sense of annoyance radiating out of you. From what it looked like, he felt it too—shifting his gaze from Mrs. Cheon to meet yours. Yet, your eyebrows furrowed as the feeling dissipated the moment your eyes locked.

Huh.

How come he seems awfully familiar?

FIC TAGLIST ━ STATUS: OPEN — ASK OR COMMENT 🫶

@fairyki @hysgf @euncsace @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @hyunverse @wnbnny @xocandyy @minluvly @moon0fthenight @estellaluna @hanjsquokka @starlostastronaut @soobnny

[sleepycoffeecas]

Puppy love chapter 1 🍙

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@hug4helios @hyunmikim @katchowbbie @chanchansgirly @lo-dssrt @fic-for-readers @minhoie @estella-novella @jisungs-iced-americano @rhonnie23

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[justastraymoa]

Yet Unnamed

Chapter 11

Masterlist

Warnings for Yet Unnamed: Kidnapping, cuffs, injuries, drugging by injection, mentions of needles, lots of swearing, kissing, fluff, angst, idiots in love all around.

That night after showering, Felix crawled into bed with you. He seemed unsure of his welcome and without a word you turned onto your side and pulled on him until he was situated in little spoon position against your front. You hooked one leg over his hip and sighed as you nuzzled into his long hair.

Felix shifted slightly to get comfortable and pulled your hand up to his chest. You felt a soft warm touch to your fingers as he kissed them. “Are you okay?” He asked hushed in the darkness of the room.

He was, of course, referring to the reactions to your video and the overall reveal. Starting tomorrow you will need to be treated like your soul mates. You would need security and escorts, and you would have absolutely no privacy. You finally deleted your social media so that was at least one less thing to worry about. All the changes on top of the general hate from fans was a lot to handle.

You had successfully hidden in 3rachas music room and buried yourself in work all afternoon and well into the evening. As such, you were able to ignore the whole thing until now.

You also didn’t know how to properly explain how you felt. How to communicate all the jumbled feelings you had going on inside you.

“I don’t know.” You finally settled on several seconds later.

“Don’t worry. You have all of us. We will always be on your side. Nothing will happen to you.” He promised.

You didn’t respond. There was nothing really to say. You both knew there was only so much they could do. They weren’t with you 24/7, and it was impossible for them to be.

So instead, you nuzzled into him once more and settled in to sleep, falling into dreamland easily with Felix breathing a peaceful lullaby and his thumbs rubbing your hand soothingly.

~

Early the next morning you saw everyone off before getting to work. You were at home today, several hours on video call with Binnie, Lino, and Ayen for today’s interview just seemed easier from home. And in between them you were cleaning up the shorts the boys had filmed yesterday and getting them queued to the socials. And then approving more of the boys’ replies and new posts. Now that you were officially revealed they all seemed to want to post about you, using pictures you didn’t even know they had.

Luckily even though you needed to be on video call for 2 hours, their interview went smoothly, without surprises. And the people you dealt with were friendly and respectful. Exactly the kind of people you needed to deal with after yesterday.

The hate was more prominent on the socials today as more people saw the video and it was meme, clipped, and gifed thousands of times. You were all over Tumblr and X.

Stray Kids, and your name, were top searches and hashtags on nearly everything. Stray Kids 9th member was a trending topic. Someone had even gone as far as hunting down where you grew up and posting childhood photos.

You were on the video call with your three traveling soulmates when you found a picture of your grandfather and you posted to someone’s blog. It froze you in your tracks.

Seeing the picture unexpectedly knocked the wind out of you. Your eyes immediately start to burn, and your breath turns uneven. Your shoulders tighten so much they start to hurt.

“What’s wrong, Y/n?” Ayen asked, noticing the change almost immediately.

His question got the attention of Bin and Lino who leaned forward.

Taking a deep breath, you shake your head and get yourself back under control, shaking your shoulders out. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. STAY just unearthed something I hadn’t expected to see.”

Lino squinted into the screen, scrutinizing you. “What did STAY find?”

You cleared your throat. “A picture of my grandfather and i. I didn’t know it still existed. Nothing to worry about, I promise.” You clicked out of the photo and to the replies instead, morbidly curious what people had to say.

The comments were pleasantly neutral for the most part. Mostly about how strict he looked and the words ‘Tiger Grandpa’ were used a lot. You could tell the Korean natives from the nonnatives as natives tended to be more respectful of your grandfather, but harshly judgmental of me and my Korean-ness. It seems they didn’t think you were Korean enough to be in Stray Kids soul group.

Since two members were Australian Korean, it didn’t make a whole lot of sense to say you weren’t Korean enough because you didn’t grow up here. And your grandfather made sure you knew and followed your heritage and traditions. It was very important to him.

“What are they saying?” Bin asked after a minute, correctly guessing what you were doing. Ayen was back on his phone, typing.

You shrugged. “The usual, nothing I wasn’t expecting going into this.”

“Y/n-“

A door opened behind their end of the video call, interrupting whatever Bin was about to say and a tech announced that they were ready for them, officially bringing the conversation to an end. Lino grabbed the phone as they walked out.

You were set on a stand near the main camera to watch and listen to what was going on. The boys looked like they were having a lot of fun during the interview. It was one that played out kind of like a game of truth or dare with challenges and punishments. For sure you had a great time. Most of the call you were trying not to laugh so you could make proper notes. You mostly failed.

When it ended Ayen grabbed the phone and they all went back to their ready room. “Your laugh is so cute, Y/n!” He gushed with a wide, dimpled smile.

You blush. “You could not hear me! I was not that loud!” You protest.

Lino held up his pointer and thumb close together. “Just a little bit. Promise.”

You were so embarrassed. Everyone there could hear you being extremely unprofessional! How were you going to get people to take you seriously if you do stupid shit like this! “Dammit! I’m sorry, guys.”

Bin snorted. “It's not like you were alone. I'm pretty sure one of the assistants wet themselves.”

That information didn’t make you feel any better, but you didn’t feel so alone in your unprofessional behavior, that was something at least.

Your notifications chimed again, grabbing your attention. “That was your last item to do until your flight. For now, get changed and relax.”

“Bye Y/n! Thank you!” Ayen cheered from off camera.

You waved. “Bye loves! See you soon!” You ended the call and immediately started dialing for another meeting with a potential new ambassadorship offer.

Bin, Ayen, and Lino were on track to get home just before midnight. And you wanted to be done with work for the day so you could sit out in the living room and wait for them. They hadn’t been gone long, but you were anxious to see them again. And you had worked hard all day with very little time for breaks, so an early night was called for.

So about two hours before they were set to land you were curled up on the couch in some fuzzy pajamas, a soft blanket over your legs and a comfort movie playing softly on the TV so you didn’t bother anyone trying to sleep. They had all gone to bed already, it was just you awake. They needed to rest for a full day of learning new choreo tomorrow.

It was a full day of choreo for you too. You were bringing back the original dance practice videos and adding a bit more ‘human’ to them. A right from the beginning video where everyone got to see – carefully chosen and edited – mistakes. You would be in the practice room with the boys all day filming from multiple angles. Taking more shorts for social media, and getting clips and photos for insta as well. You had the easy job. And you got to spend all day with your soulmates.

Now that you were settled and comfortable you opened the photo of your grandfather again. You had saved it to your phone and personal drive on your computer now. You weren’t sure if you wanted to keep it there or frame a physical copy and hang it up. There are mixed feelings, and you weren’t sure if this photo made you happy or sad or even angry.

You loved your grandfather, of course, but he was a difficult and strict man. Tough but fair, very stern. Not known for bending. Even so, you loved him, and you are grateful he was so insistent on you learning your culture. Especially now.

“That your grandfather?” Chan asked from over your shoulder making you jump and almost throw your phone. He almost got an elbow to the face out of instinct.

You glare at him as you click off the picture. “Don’t scare me like that. And it's rude to read over someone's shoulder.”

He smiled, not even a little apologetic. “Thats the picture STAY found?”

Signing you turned back around. “Seems like they already tattled on me, why bother asking.”

“They were concerned. You were upset and they wanted to make sure you were alright.”

The explanation was completely reasonable, of course, but you were still annoyed knowing that they were talking about you behind your back. Even when you specifically said that it was nothing.

“I'm fine. Thanks for the concern.”

“See. You are upset.” He pointed out. He circled the couch to sit next to you, crushing your feet under him.

“What about those words said that I am upset? I am not upset about the picture! I don't know how to feel about it, if you must know.”

Chan, being the annoying pest he is, poked your thigh repeatedly, trying to get a reaction out of you. “Then what are you upset about?”

The irritation built in your chest with each poke. It was actually starting to hurt a bit too. Growling you swat his hand away. “Go to bed, you big annoying freak!”

“You know I can't sleep. Might as well find out why you are upset. Kill some time.”

“I am not upset!” You snap.

Chan just blinked at you silently, waiting for you to realize. Waiting for you to give in.

He is a stubborn, annoying, pestering, stinking, MAN! You give in. “I’m unjustly annoyed that you guys were talking about me behind my back.” You look away when you say this, avoiding his triumphant look as he won the standoff by being annoying. His persistent ass would just keep going until you told him. Fucking manchild.

He jerked away slightly, confused. “It's not like we are saying bad things about you. Mostly we just talk about how adorable you are and share pictures of you.” He paused and shrugged his shoulders. “And occasionally share worries when we notice something.”

He reached into his pj pants and pulled out his phone, tapping at it a few times before handing it back to you with the group chat ‘Unapologetic Y/n simp support group’ pulled up. “You can do what you want. None of us would mind. We have nothing to hide. Not from you.

Your mouth was open in shock. You looked at the phone in your hands. The few messages you could see without scrolling already had you blushing. They were hopeless. There was a picture of you on the couch yesterday with Felix and Minnie both sleeping on you. You were running your hand through Minnies hair with a look of pure unhidden peace.

You immediately hand the phone back without scrolling further. “Thats okay. I don't think I would be able to handle it.”

Chan chuckled. “We do get pretty bad. Especially if we don't get to see you all day.”

“Ugh! You are all horrible! Go to bed!” You freed a foot and pushed at his thigh with it, trying and failing to push him off the couch.

He laughed and stood anyway. “Okay, okay. You are sure you're okay?”

Smiling toothily, you nod. “I promise. The picture only caught me off guard.”

He got serious again, looking at you with a strange unnamable look. “I know this is all very difficult. It was for us too, in the beginning, and sometimes even now. You can lean on us. We can handle a little extra weight.”

You nod, feeling a swell of affection in your chest. Behind you the soft sound of a door opening reached your ears and you looked over.

A super soft, sleep rumbled, half asleep Han came around the corner, rubbing his half open eyes like a kid. You really wanted to coo and swaddle him up.

“Hyung, are you coming to bed?” He mumbled, big eyes finding Chan, glassy with sleep.

“Go. Your baby needs you.” You told Chan.

“You’re my baby too. Find us if you need us.” Chan leaned in and kissed your forehead.

You watch as he went over to Hannie, picking him up from under his armpits like a toddler and cradling him close. Hannie locked his ankles around Chan's waist and rested his head on his shoulder. Then they both disappeared into Hannies room.

You snuggled back under your blanket to wait for the others to get home. If they were still running on time, they would be home in just over an hour, and you hoped you could stay up that long to greet them properly.

Unfortunately, you didn't manage to do that. A soft brush of wind and strong arms scooping you up under your shoulders and knees woke you gently. You immediately recognized Bin by smell and the feel of his chest under your cheek.

“M’elcome bck.” You mumble opening your eyes just a slit.

“Hello Angel. Did you wait up for us?” This was Lino from your other side.

“Obviously not.”

“It's the thought that counts.”

You snort, still half asleep and blinking slowly. Your sluggish brain picked up on someone missing. “Ayennie?”

“In the kitchen. He slept through the in-flight meal and is starving.” Binnie answered, chest vibrating with his words.

Blindly you reach up to pat Bins cheek, getting his ear instead but going for it anyways. “Glad you're all home. Missed you.”

“We missed you too.” You could feel Bins cheeks lift with a smile as he spoke.

There was a crunching sound. “Oh, hey Y/n!” Ayen sounded way too awake and chipper for the hour.

You wiggle your fingers in his direction while simultaneously realizing Bin was still holding you. For a long time now actually. You had to be really heavy.

You twisted to stand up and release him of your weight, but he just moved with you, gasping in panic. “Yah! Careful, babe, you're going to fall!” He complained.

“I’m heavy.”

At this Bin outright laughed. “Trust me, heavy is the last word I would use to describe you. Ever.”

“Thats a nice lie, Bin”

“For once I agree with him.” Ayen put in between mouthfuls of whatever he had found to snack on. You just hope it wasn't the veggie chips you had stashed in the cabinet.

You gave up, too tired to argue with them. “Whatever. Bed time.” To prove this, you snuggled further into Bins chest and let out a deep, slow breath.

There were a couple of ‘nights’ and you felt Bin begin to walk. You expected him to take you to your room, but was surprised to feel unfamiliar sheets under your skin. Not the soft cotton you had on your bed. You opened your eyes in confusion, disoriented. You were in Bins room, laying on his bed.

“Hope you don't mind. I've just really missed my bed.” He tucked his blankets around you.

Instead of verbally responding you freed your arms and made grabby hands at him, wanting to cuddle.

He gently took your hands. “Give me a few minutes. I want to shower off the flight.” You pout but let him leave with little fuss, watching as he left the door open a crack.

This was actually the first time you had slept in any other member's bed. You weren't against it. It was more intimate, private. You felt like you needed an invitation. It felt invasive to just plop into someone's bed without permission. It made you really happy that Bin had given you this honor.

You know you dozed off waiting for him to get cleaned up, but you still managed to wake up when the door softly squeaked open again. Bin immediately climbed into the bed, radiating wet warmth from his shower and smelling softly of the same soap you had used that first day here.

You vaguely note that he had placed himself between you and the door, now firmly shut. Odd observation, but you had a teacher once who told the class that men tended to sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door. Most of the time they didn't even realize they were doing it. Just some ingrained need to be between what was important to them and any possible threats. You had always thought that it sounded romantic and wanted a man who would do that for you. Protect you without even thinking about it. Without consciously realizing that he was even doing such a thing.

Bin wrapped himself completely around you, pulling you as close to himself as humanly possible. You kissed the bit of bare chest that peeked out from the collar of his sleep shirt, about the only part you could get to so firmly secure in his arms like this. Then, without another word, you both fell asleep.

~

Hyunjin woke you up in the morning by forcing himself in between you and Bin. He was fully dressed and ready for the day, the rough texture of his pants unpleasant against your skin, you curled away from it. Groaning in protest, you roll over and cover your head with the blanket.

“You two are going to be late.” Hyune sing-songed patting at your butt in time with his words.

“I'm quitting. Effective immediately.” You grumble, far too tired.

Bin hadn't even twitched the whole time, still completely conked out. One hundred percent in dreamland and two hundred percent a-fucking-dorable!

“Resignation not accepted. Get moving!” Hyune was kicking at Bin now to wake him up. Bin woke up far less forgiving than you did and Hyune ended up on the floor with a thump.

You chose a practice room that had ample space so you didn't get in the way of any of their work. You also chose one with no windows and far away from where anyone else was working for the day, just in case. It was darker walled and sparsely decorated, not one of the fancier made up ones, but good for what needed to be done today. And the dark walls would be a good backdrop.

You immediately started setting up the cameras, expertly avoiding getting the other cameras in the shots, while your soulmates changed and warmed up around you. They occasionally brushed against you or flicked at your hair and clothes.

As you attempted to adjust the lighting with everyone moving around Chan called over to you. “What's the plan, Hun? What do you need us to do?”

“Face the camera so I can check the lighting. And stop moving!" You ordered studying the screen. The 8 of them immediately obeyed, lining up and staying mostly still. You had to make sure it was right. You didn't want to wash anyone out. That would just give you hours more work that you could have avoided with just a few minutes of double checking now.

“What else?” He asked when you were satisfied.

You looked around. “Nothing. Let me adjust the rest. Then do your thing. I'll try and stay out of your way.” You stepped to the next camera and they turned to keep facing you helpfully.

“Nothing?” Seungmin double checked.

Were you supposed to have them do something? “Yeah. Just learn the choreo. The video and pictures are my job, I'll worry about angles and editing.”

They all seemed stunned by this. “There isn't a skit or lines or anything?” Chan had to make sure.

“You are missing the point of a dance practice video. All you need to do is dance. Don't worry about looking good, either.” You moved to the next camera to check the lighting again. They followed, like flowers following the sunlight. “I will make you look good during editing.”

“Have I mentioned how much I love that you are in charge of all this now? Because I do. You can never leave.” Felix stated firmly. Everyone looked strangely happy, relieved.

You smiled up at Felix, moving to yet the next camera. You were very glad they liked the way you did things. Even with Chans assurances the other day, you couldn't stop the nagging doubt. That was just your nature and would probably never truly go away.

From what you knew of dance practices – admittedly very little - this one seemed to go very smoothly. You bounced from camera to camera, constantly adjusting them. In between you were on the floor or on top of a chair you found, finding good angles for photos of each member.

When they took a lunch break you decided to skip eating in favor of taking a nap. You were exhausted and you hadn't even been dancing all morning! You curled up in the corner of the dance room, using someone's hoodie as a pillow. You could eat later.

Hyunjin again woke you when break was over. “You keep waking me up and imma start hating you on principle.” You yawned, taking his offered hand up.

He kissed your temple in apology and wiped some drool from the corner of your mouth. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, embarrassed. “You are too cute when you just wake up though. All soft, sleepy, and pouty.” Hyune said as he fluffed up your sleep matted hair for you. You couldn't even be mad at him now, damn it.

Now that they knew the basic steps of the choreography, they were having more fun with it. Testing it out and tweaking it to fit more their style as a group. It was interesting to watch them experiment and throw out ideas. They worked really well together, though they were all tired. Even when they got frustrated messing up or not figuring out a move they wanted.

The backup dancers would be added in and it would start to be blocked out tomorrow. So, you would all be right back in here to do this all over again.

Near the end, when you had been done with taking pictures and were focusing solely on the video now, Ayen ran over and pulled on your arm. “Come dance with us!”

You laughed nervously and stayed planted where you were. “Ah, no. I'm not a dancer.” You were not about to embarrass yourself in front of all them. You were so bad you didn't even classify as having two left feet – you were worse than that!

“So? It's just for fun! Please, please, please!” He was starting to attract the others' attention.

“Ayen, no. I'm still working. The video!”

In response he pouted at you, eyes big and lower lip jutted. You really wanted to melt and give in, but resisted. The thought of showing them just how horrible you really were kept you from letting the look sway you.

“Oh, please come dance! I bet you are better than you say.” Felix added in, joining in and pulling gently on the arm Ayen wasn't.

“I’ll only tease you a little bit. Promise.” Lino joked, smile far too mischievous to be truthful. He would never let you live it down and you knew it.

“Bin smiled, waggling his eyebrows and shook his hips to entice you. The whole picture made you crack up in loud laughter. He is such a Babygirl, and he owned it!

You were beginning to feel outnumbered and you knew this would only get worse, so you gave in with a sigh and a roll of your eyes. Unplanting your feet and letting Felix and Ayen pull you forward to the middle of the room with the others.

Because you watched them practice and learn the dance all day long, you knew the moves, in theory. But knowing them and doing them are two very, very different things.

Shaking off the feeling of self-conscious embarrassment, you tried to just let yourself have fun with it. This was just for fun. Just fooling around with your soulmates. No big deal.

On the second 8 count you tripped over your own foot and landed hard on your butt, laughing at yourself even as the dull pain subsided from the landing.

“You weren't kidding when you said you couldn't dance.” Lino joked with a smirk. Still laughing you kicked out at his shin.

Channie lifted you to your feet from behind easily. “Honestly it was pretty bad. But not horrible. Try again.”

Why were they taking this so seriously? “I’m not stretched, warmed up, or dressed for this, guys.” You whined getting back into position.

"GUYS! Are we just guys to you! You wound me, Y/n!" Hyune gasped from his spot, you smiled and rolled your eyes at his dramatics as he clutched dramatically at his chest and swooned in on Han who caught him.

“You have been twisted in unnatural angles all day long to get good shots. You are stretched and in good clothes.” Chan ignored the theatrics going on behind him, used to his kids and now a master at selective hearing.

The music started again and you let your head fall back, but began on que. This time you stayed on your feet, but missed a step or messed it up several times. Twice you went one way while the others went the other.

For whatever reason they actually started to seriously teach you the dance. Stopping to help or reposition you several times when you needed it. Lino especially seemed to really be enjoying teaching you and watching as you struggled before eventually getting it right.

You, however, were not having a good time. You were panting and dripping sweat. Disgusting.

“How long have we been doing this?” You asked, accepting a bottle of water from Minnie.

“45 minutes.” He deadpanned.

“45 minutes! How in the hell have you been doing this all day! I’m dying!” You gasped out in a shout in between your panting breaths.

This got you a chorus of chuckles. “Lots and lots of practice.”

“God I’m not going to be able to move tomorrow!” You complained sprawling out on the floor face down.

Someone smacked your ass lightly and then sat on it, crushing your pelvis almost painfully into the floor.

“I know where you sleep, Lino.” You warned the floor.

“You are welcome in my bed anytime, Jagi.” Lino teased, voice not coming from where you expected it to. “But I am not sitting on you. I am nowhere near you.”

You strain your neck to see it was actually Channie sitting on your butt. He was playing on his phone without a care in the world. “Why are you sitting on me?” You ask.

“Why are you laying on the ground?” He countered.

“I’m lying on the ground because my soulmates tried to kill me. I'm tired!”

“You would have more energy if you hadn't skipped lunch.”

“Pretty sure my nap gave me just as much energy as food would have. And I enjoyed it more.”

“You two argue like an old married couple.” Seungmin pointed out.

“We are married.”

There was a spitting sound and you felt a fine wet mist settle over you.

“Did you just fucking spit on me!” Your voice was high pitched as you rolled over to look at Minnie in disgust, knocking Chan off you in the process.

Minne was staring at you, mouth hanging open, still dripping water. You furrowed your brows confused about his reaction. What was he so shocked about? You knew JYP said on that first day that he had you sign the soul bond marriage certificates when you were drugged. Did Minnie somehow not know? Did he forget? Maybe he just didn't believe it.

“You're freaking married?!” Hyunes voice was high as well in disbelief.

Looking around the room it quickly became apparent that the only ones who knew about the marriages were the 4 of you that were in the office that first day.

“You didn't know?” You breathe. Your heart was racing. How could they not have been told? Surely it had come up before now. It had to have been mentioned at least in passing!

“A lot happened that day.” Chan seemed stunned.

“It just...slipped my mind.” Felix actually looked a little sick.

“You knew too?” Bin was a mixture of angry and ready to cry.

“We didn't not tell you on purpose! There were just more important things going on at the time!” Han tried to defend all of you.

Bin scoffed and turned away from the room, hand going to his mouth.

“More important than telling us Chan and Y/n are married?” Lino had a hurt look on his face that made your heart hurt even as it still raced.

“She is married to all of us. JYP had her sign when she was drugged.” Chan corrected.

You stood up and dusted yourself off. “Not helping, Channie.” Chan looked over at you with a shrug and gestured to the others with both hands, eyes begging for help. “Look, point is, we didn't keep it from you on purpose. It was an honest mistake.” This situation was getting tense and you all had to remember you were in public. Ears and eyes were everywhere.

“Is it even legal? You were drugged and forced to sign, after all.” Ayen asked. Bin made an angry noise from where he faced away from everyone, shaking his head.

You move to turn off the cameras and pack up. They were still recording, catching this whole disaster. “We can talk about this at home.” You warned them, quickly shoving your things into their bags.

Chan stood with a grunt and a few cracks. “Y/n is right. This is not the place to discuss things like this.”

No one argued with him, moving to gather their own things and get ready to go home. It had been a long day, and this evening promised to be even longer

🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹Yet Unnamed Taglist: @fackeraccount @velvetmoonlght @hyunjinstolemyheart @vampkittenb82 @happy-jj @estella-novella @demigoddreamon-blog @tiana-maxivar @ms-flowergirl @jennibahng @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @mimimiloomeelomi @simpforskz143148 @xxeiraxx @lil-bear08 @brbwritingfanfic @jisungs-iced-americano @zofia515 @malyxsoulpersonal @silentreadersthings @pixie0627

General Taglist @stellasays45 @beebee18 @weird-bookworm @velvetmoonlght

[skz-haikyuu-epic-girl]

Soulmate trope with Minho: Pet Swap:

So this is where soulmates pets swap. Just imagine Minho coming home to his cats and seeing Soonie, Doongie and a random black cat? He would be so confused like hi new cat bit where is my Dori. Cue his phone ringing and picks up without check due to being still so confused to where the black cat has come from. Turn out is someone who rang the number on Dori's collar and says so I have your cat but I don't know where my cat is. Minho ask if their cat is a black cat by any chance. Due them both figuring out their soulmates and having to find a way to return each others cats.

[skzstannie]

"My Soulmate"

SKZ -> Hyunjin x fem!reader

genre: slight angst, crack, vampire/soulmate AU wc: ~2,200 cw: none

summary: being kidnapped and brought to your vampire soulmate is something you never knew you needed... until now.

A/N: Hello again! Life's been crazy, and I've actually had this written since forever ago, so I decided to go ahead and edit and post it! Hope you enjoy :)

Alsoooo, I survived the Ticketmaster war and was able to snag some SKZ tickets to the Chicago show!!!

Happy Scrolling! | Masterlist

"Please be careful. That area is so sketchy, especially at night. Infested with those dastardly vampires, I'll tell ya."

"Mom, I'm fine. The bus station is only a mile down the road, and I'm almost there," you speak into the phone.

Your mom gives a disappointed sigh from the other end. "Sweetie, I've heard so many stories of girls going missing on that street. I really wish you would've listened to me and taken a different way home."

"I've always taken this way home from work; why are you so worried about it now?" The more you speak with your mom, the more paranoid you become. All the shadows out of the corner of your eye appear as humans, lurking behind buildings and in alleyways.

"Because a girl was killed just last week walking around down there, not to mention she was by herself. Just like you!" she screeches over the line. You have to pull the phone away from your head to protect your poor eardrums. "It was a gang that took them! What was their name again? Stray dogs? Stray... Stay? I can't remember."

"It's Stray Kids, mom. I'm sure they're not even around these parts anymore now that the cops are looking for them."

Too focused on your surroundings rather than the ground beneath you, you trip and fall over a large lip in the sidewalk. Your body hits the ground, and you immediately clutch your knee. Your legs are littered with scrapes and scratches, but your knee in particular has blood dripping down it. Pieces of dirt cover your skin, unpleasantly sticking to your wound and the oozing blood.

You startle from the sudden cold breeze you feel over your shoulder. You turn abruptly, hissing when your leg rubs against the ground. Another gust of wind brushes past your front, and you're quick to twist around again. Your heartrate picks up at the eeriness of the situation, your hands turning clammy.

Suddenly, a being materializes in front of you. A scream catches in your throat when another appears next to him. Both are dressed in normal clothing, albeit entirely black in appearance, the only color emitting from the two beings in front of you coming from their pale skin. It's almost sparkling under the glow from the streetlights.

They stand and stare for a moment, and the silence is palpable. As you make eye contact with them, you take notice of their eye color- a deep, fiery red. You feel as though you’re in a hypnotic state as you continue to stare into their eyes. Your surroundings become blurred the longer you look, and you begin to feel dizzy as the world around you begins to spin.

You can faintly hear your mom screaming at you through your phone, calling out for you with panic in her voice, but you can't seem to look away from the boys in front of you.

The dizzier you feel, the calmer you become. It's a weird sensation, feeling all your anxiety and fear just slipping from you. The last thing you see is the muscular man in front of you approaching before you close your eyes from the exhaustion. It came out of nowhere, but it's all-consuming as all thoughts leave your head, and you're left their laying limp and vulnerable.

~ ~ ~

Your eyes feel heavy as you open them, and the bright lights are blinding as they invade your vision. Reaching up to rub your eyes, you quickly realize that your arms are tied behind your back. Becoming aware of your surroundings, you feel the cool plastic chair beneath you. Looking down, you see the zip ties around each of your ankles, anchoring you to the chair.

You appear to be tied up in a cell of some sort. Black, solid bars seal you off from the outside of the room. The cell is small, only about 8 ft by 8 ft if you had to guess. The floor is nothing special, just some concrete. While you can't see much from where your seated in the corner, the room around you seems empty and cold. A desk sits in the middle with a few stacks of paper on top.

Your eyes tear up at your predicament as the memories of the men dressed in all black come back to you. Question upon question spring into your head; where'd they come from? Where'd they bring you? What do they want from you?

Your worries seem to multiply by the second, and you are filled with dread as you consider the possibilities.

You know you must look amess as sweat starts to pool on your forehead, not only from the temperature of the room but also the imminent danger present upon you. Tears stream freely down your cheeks as you desperately pull at the zip ties holding you hostage.

A door creaks open while in the middle of your struggle, and you freeze. Voices fill the open space, and your mouth runs dry at the thought of meeting your captor.

"I told you, we won't be getting our next shipment of blood for another couple weeks. You're just gonna have to hold off-" the voice cuts off as the man walks around the corner. He makes eye contact with you. He shares the same eye color as the men that took you, but you know from the facial features that this isn't the same one.

The man heaves a sigh, his eyes never leaving yours. "I've gotta call you back," he says before hanging up the phone. Without uttering another word, the man walks back out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts once again.

It feels as if hours have gone by the next time you hear the door open. This time, cries of pain fill the silent void. You become alert at that, straightening up in your seat. Curiosity fills your gaze as you’re welcomed with the man from earlier, this time accompanied by two more.

The two men are being dragged by their ears, which appears uncomfortable if the sounds of pain are anything to go by.

The man from earlier releases them once they are standing right outside your cell.

"Explain yourselves," he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Both men start talking over each other immediately, making it impossible to understand either one. "One at a time you pabos!" he interrupts them, creating an uncomfortable silence.

The buff one, which you now recall as one of the accomplices to your kidnapping, gestures roughly to the other man. Taking this as his cue to explain, he begins, "We swear she's the right one this time!" His words are rushed as he gestures towards you.

"You're kidding," the man in charge says, bringing his fingers to grasp at the bridge of his nose. "We've already been over this. You two can't keep kidnapping women from off the streets just because you believe them to be Hyunjin's soulmate."

Your heart races as your brought into the discussion. Soulmate?

You've heard of soulmates, but only ever in fiction, like books and movies. From what you've read, vampires are the only beings who can initiate the soulmate bond. Thereafter, the human can feel the bond, as well.

Suddenly, the pieces fall perfectly into place as you consider all the factors. Materializing out of nowhere, the red eyes, the hypnosis. These guys are vampires. How you didn't put it together sooner, you're not sure.

The bravery you're hit with is astounding, and you can't hold yourself back from interrupting the conversation. "Who are you guys and what do you want from me?" The man's rambling stops as all three look to you.

"Hi..." the man rambling starts, "I'm Jisung, and this is Lee Know and Changbin. We've brought you here because we believe you're our friend's soulmate."

"Please just let me go. I promise not to tell anyone about this!" you plead. You don't know what being the soulmate of a vampire entails, but you surely don't want to find out.

"Oh, we can never let you go," the man in charge, Lee Know, answers. "You've seen us, experienced our presence. You either have to stay with us, or... well, we kill you. You can thank these idiots for that," he gestures to Jisung and Changbin. Jisung brings his hand up to the back of his neck, rubbing it awkwardly.

You let out a sob at the ultimatum. You don't want to stay here forever. You want to go home, shower, and complain to your mom about work. You want to call your best friend and talk to her about the cute guy that you saw. The thought of never being able to do those things again envelopes you with sorrow, and more prominently, fear.

"Please don't cry," Jisung says, his hands coming up around the bars of the cell. "We would never want Hyunjin's soulmate to be sad."

"Jisung, we don't even know if this is his soulmate," Changbin says, his gaze piercing the side of your face.

"I'll prove it to you," he says before running out of the room, the door slamming behind him.

"I swear, I will kill both of you if this isn't the right girl. You said that the time before this was the last, and I'm getting tired of hiding dead bodies," Lee Know tells Changbin.

The hair on the back of your neck stands up, and you suddenly really hope you are this guy's soulmate. While this doesn't sound like the greatest of situations, at least if you live you'll get a chance to escape.

Changbin and Lee Know talk amongst themselves, and your anxiety starts to build once more.

~ ~ ~

It feels as if hours have gone by the time there's movement outside your cell again. Changbin and Lee Know, having gotten tired of standing, had taken a seat on the couch towards the back of the room, busying themselves on their phones.

You're still stuck in the same position. You've been wriggling your hands around, but you've realized there's no use in trying to escape. The two men would surely notice if the zip ties came undone, and even if they didn't, you're still stuck in this cell. You don't know what lies outside this room, but you're scared to find out.

You finally hear the door swing open, and you recognize Jisung's voice, this time accompanied by another stranger. The two come into view, and your breath hitches in your throat when your eyes meet the man Jisung brought with him.

He is easily the most beautiful man you've ever seen. His eyes meet yours, and you're immediately captivated, unable to look away. It's a strange feeling, but you suddenly feel all the worry and fear being washed from you, leaving you with a feeling of peace and serenity. It's almost like you've known this man for years, the way he brought you immediate comfort in this unfamiliar place.

"My soulmate," he whispers, and at this point you can only assume this is the 'Hyunjin' they were talking about.

In the blink of an eye, he materializes in front of you, now inside the cell. He quickly brings his hands towards you, and you feel no fear. The dread that once filled your body is no more as you allow him to carefully undo the zip ties from around your wrists and ankles.

Tears still slip down your cheeks, but the emotional pain you once felt is no more. You're overcome with unfamiliar emotions, and the tears don't stop.

You feel as if you recognize Hyunjin from your dreams. Always the hero, saving you from whatever dangers are out there for waiting for you.

Once the zip ties are off, you immediately rise to your feet and reach out to hold him. He embraces you even tighter, his arms wrapping firmly around your exhausted figure.

"This is such a strange feeling, but I feel at peace now," you whisper to him, your head resting on his shoulder.

"It's because we're together. The soulmate bond, I initiated it, and you've accepted it," he whispers back. "We can be together now."

"Have I seen you before?" you ask, taking a step back to admire his beautiful features.

"Maybe in your dreams. I've visited you there before. I've known what you looked like for a long time. That's how these guys found you," he says, gesturing behind him to Jisung and Changbin.

"Yea, and it only took us two tries! Do you know how vague of a description I had to go off of?" Jisung complains.

"Because I didn't expect you to go out and try to find her!" Hyunjin exclaims, exasperated.

"Well, I figured since your birthday was coming up, I could do something nice for you. And it only costed us one casualty!"

"Which I'm still dealing with, by the way," Lee Know says.

"Yea, yea. I just had a gut feeling about it this time."

[five-star-stay]

Lmao han's sheepish yet fond face as he indulges lee know and changes his answer to saying they were fated to be<33

[sweetkpopmusings]

stray kids soulmate aus | b. chan <3

a/n: i was knocked out by a migraine for days and the main motivation for me to get better was so i could write this au :,-) i love sweet chan and this prompt in particular has been a favorite of mine my whole life !!! i hope you enjoy it <33 pics not mine~

content: fluff, soulmate au | wc: 1.8k | warnings: none really! some mentions of food | pairing: soulmate!chan x gn!reader | requests: open

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

soulmates meet in dreams every night, but your paths won’t cross in waking life until the time is right.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

whenever chan had a rough day, he would crave sleep more desperately than on his worst insomniac nights. today was one of those days. he couldn’t say that it was a bad day, but they were nearing the end of the tour, so his emotions and physical exhaustion were running high. he rushed through his nighttime routine, aching to fall asleep and see your face. he knew that, even if it were brief, being with you would keep him from completely falling apart.

“it’s about time you showed up!” you teased, grinning at chan when he walked into the living room you two designed.

“i’m really sorry, y/n,” chan sighed, falling onto the sofa, “these last few shows have messed with my sleep schedule more than i expected. i feel so bad that i haven’t been around as much.”

your heart broke when you saw his frown, “chan, i’m not mad. please don’t feel bad. i just miss hanging out with you, and this is the only place i can do it. i’m grateful for any time we get together during your busy schedule!”

“y/n…” chan’s frown turned into an adorable pout, “that makes me feel even more guilty. you can’t be so nice and understanding!”

you laughed when he put his head in his hands. you wrapped him into a hug, appreciating the giggles that escaped his lips at the close contact. 

“i miss you more,” chan mumbled against your clothing.

you shook your head, which, surprisingly, chan noticed, “don’t disagree with me! it’s true!”

chan smiled widely when he saw you laughing. he paused to enjoy the sound of your laughter. then, once your laughs quieted, he held both of your hands in his.

“i promise that i’ll rest a ton once i’m back from tour, okay? i’ll be on break for a while, so i’ll make sure i am at your beck and call every time you sleep. i’ll do everything i can to make it up to you, to make up for the lost time. i swear.”

the combination of his grasp and sincere gaze was almost overwhelming. chan always made promises with his full heart, and you knew that to be especially true right now. 

“i believe you,” you smiled, which prompted chan’s shoulders to relax, “thank you, chan. you don’t have to make it up to me. but you do need to get some more rest. i don’t want to have to scold you to take care of yourself the first time we meet!”

“you’re going to anyway, no matter what i do,” chan teased, laughing hysterically at your glare.  

you moved the conversation into lighter topics, soaking up his presence. though the visit was once again fleeting, you two enjoyed your time together. it was always healing to be with chan. whether you spent your dreams seeing the world or relaxing in a familiar space, you woke up feeling rested, all thanks to spending the night with your other half.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

after chan returned from tour, both of you happily settled into your normal routine. he kept his promise of resting more, much to your delight. rather than having to rush conversations, you could enjoy each other’s company throughout the night, only parting when your alarm went off in the morning. it was easy, natural. of course, there were days when the sunlight hit your eyes and left you feeling empty because that action alone separated you from your person. most days though, you beamed with gratitude because chan was recovering from his strenuous tour and returning to the happy-go-lucky man you knew him to be. 

last night’s dream was particularly wonderful. you and chan strolled around your favorite neighborhood while he told you all his favorite stories from tour. your heart always soared when you listened to the way he talked about seeing stays and joked about the antics he and the boys got up to while traveling. truly, the best part of it all was seeing him happy. the sparkle in his eyes and the upbeat tone of his voice were like a rush of sugar, the sweetest thing in the world. you confessed this to chan when a comfortable silence fell over you, and the last thing you heard before waking up was the sound of him giggling, highlighted by chan’s blushing skin.

perhaps it was chan’s sweetness that had you craving a treat as soon as you opened your eyes. stretching and soaking in the peacefulness of the late morning, you decided to go to your favorite bakery. it was the weekend, after all, and you wanted to do everything you could to maintain the happy mood chan put you in. after getting ready, you made your way to the bakery. the familiar route allowed your mind to wander, unsurprisingly to thoughts of your sweet soulmate.

the first dream you shared with chan was when you were six years old. you swung back and forth on the swingset in a quiet playground, covered nicely by the shade of a large tree. from beside you, a voice you had never heard before asked can i swing here too? you looked over, curious and unalarmed. when you saw the boy with curly brown hair smile shyly at you, you felt the tiniest of butterflies flutter in your stomach. you nodded, introducing yourself when he sat down on the swing next to you, i’m y/n. what’s your name? he grew more confident after hearing your voice, grinning charmingly as he said, i’m chan. it’s nice to meet you, y/n. you two watched the clouds float by, calling out the shapes you saw. in your childhood innocence and bravery, you suddenly asked, are you my soulmate? even as an adult, you could never forget the way chan’s ears turned bright red. how heartwarming it was for him to blush at the word “soulmate!” you didn’t need to hear him say yes, because the pink on his cheeks and the hopefulness in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. you wondered, heart pounding in your chest, if he’d look at you like that the first time he saw you in the real world.

the sound of the bakery door’s bell ringing snapped you out of your reverie. you inhaled the decadent smells of the shop, fresh baked warmth fit for a saturday. your lovestruck thoughts of chan could wait. you had business to attend to. 

you greeted the employees, browsing the items on display. you took your time, selected your treats, and paid at the register. the place wasn’t too full, so you figured you could take a seat at a table near the window to appreciate the cozy ambience for a bit. you scanned for the closest empty table, nearly falling over when you locked eyes with someone.

well, not just someone. chan.

your mouth opened, but you couldn’t produce anything more than a few stammering syllables. chan’s eyes were wide with shock, quickly twinkling with happiness. soon, he started laughing. the sound bubbled out of him as though he were a child set free in a candy store, delighted beyond belief. you started laughing too. before people started to stare, chan waved you over to his table, pulling out a seat just for you.

“fancy seeing you here,” chan giggled through the cheesy line.

you rolled your eyes, smile never leaving your face, “don’t get me wrong. it is absolutely the best surprise in the world to see you here right now. but how does drinking a large coffee count as resting?”

chan lifted the coffee cup between you two, “oh this? i only got this because i couldn’t find a nap buddy anywhere. it looks like my luck might have changed though.”

he winked, making you blush and giggle like a teenager. not wanting to let him have all the fun, you grinned and replied, “i guess my first official duty as your soulmate is getting you to take a nap, isn’t it?”

now it was chan’s turn to blush. your body flooded with fondness, seeing the way his ears turned bright red at the word soulmate as it had when he first heard you say it. chan accepted your order when they called out your name, excitedly commenting on how good your taste was. the pep in his step was visible, though anyone who saw you would say that your pace matched his exactly. you two practically skipped the whole way back to your place, conversation flowing as though seeing each other was your plan all along. 

“can we take a second to talk about how crazy this is? that we finally met? after all these years, we’ve been only a handful of miles away from each other, and we met today?”

chan’s expression was full of glee and disbelief, and you agreed with his sentiment fully, “they really aren’t lying when they say you won’t meet until the time is right,” you paused, reminding yourself that this moment was real, “i do think it’s ridiculous we’ve practically been neighbors this whole time though. no wonder it always felt strange when you were on tour.”

chan pouted, “don’t remind me…that’ll make me feel even worse about leaving…” then, a smile replaced his pout, “at least now we know that every time i come back from traveling, i’ll be coming home to you!”

you returned his smile, only looking away to unlock your door. you slipped off your shoes and made room for chan to come inside. while you’ve dreamt of chan your whole life, nothing was more surreal than seeing him in your home. he looked so much like he belonged there, as though he had been inhabiting the space for as long as you. yet you stood there, staring, unable to believe that your dream had finally come true.

“what are you staring at, mon rêve?” chan asked, smiling sweetly.

“it’s just…” you walked across the room, meeting him halfway, “i can’t believe you’re here.”

chan hummed in agreement. without another word, he intertwined your hands, looking at you intently. you led him to your favorite nap spot, adjusting it so everything was just right. instinctively, your bodies molded together, finding comfort in the shared embrace. mere seconds after thank you left chan’s lips, you both slipped into sleep, breaths falling into your natural harmony.

you weren’t sure how much time had passed when you opened your eyes. it was strange, almost unnerving, to wake up from a dream that did not include chan. before the panic or sadness could settle in, you looked over to the man in your arms. you stared in awe at his lips curling up ever so slightly, his hair in disarray, and his chest rising to the beat of the precious heart you belonged to. every little detail of chan was at your fingertips, and it was more beautiful than any dream you had ever had.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[staybabblingbaby]

Soulmate Garden Completed Chapters Master List

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Current Total Word Count - 24,634

Soulmate Garden AU (Prologue) a2 d4 - 1,308 Words, Posted 9/02/24 Soulmate Garden AU Ch.1 (Dahlia) a2 d5 - 5,368 Words, Posted 9/02/24 Soulmate Garden AU Ch.2(Anemone)a3 d2 - 4,218 Words, Posted 9/21/24 Soulmate Garden AU Ch.3 (Daffodil)a2d2 - 3,060 Words, Posted 10/04/24 Soulmate Garden AU Ch.4 (Lewisia) a3d2 - 10,680 Words, Posted 1/25/25

Tag Garden: @brbwritingfanfic , @braveangel777 , @breathlessbookworm , @chancloud8 , @roseynoodles , @katsukis1wife , @alisonyus , @imnotsop , @pixie0627 , @velvetmoonlght , @upsidedownchaire , @unusuallyshy , @interstellar-equilibrium , @staytinyluv , @m00njinnie , @staaaa4 , @yourcrypticreaper , @beas-24 , @stars4jo , @scented-morker , @tirena1 , @min-doesnt-know , @glitterveins992 , @yumuramma , @shoganaiiii , @4ng3l-ch1ld , @linospetsitter

[causeilikelix]

Rose Garden - Part Two

↳Pairing: Prince!Lee Know x Maid!afab reader

↳Words: 12,500~ (oops)

↳Warnings: SMUT obviously so as always minors DNI, unprotected sex (don't do this! but its not like these two had any other choice), p in v sex, oral (m and f receiving), fingering (f receiving), creampie, overall very vanilla stuff. Mentions of nausea but no one does on-screen. (For someone with emetophobia, I write about nausea a lot). Pregnancy scare?, ANGST

If there's anything else I missed, let me know!

TAGLIST: @ohmy-moonlightx , @junebug032 , @giyusatorou , @skzfelixlove , @kittkat44 , @nap-of-a-starr, @ventitto , @blankdyean , @lethallyprotected , @poisonivy21 , @nobody3210 , @chuuswifereal , @hisokasimp1, @lookitsjess

(Strikethrough means unable to tag, if I forgot someone or would like to be added then please let me know!)

↳Notes: I finished this first week of May then got taken out by a mystery illness for basically the whole month (respiratory infection I think). Anyway, today is my 27th birthday so I am giving all of you a gift!

PART ONE

↳Ready on my AO3: Here

“CAN’T YOU BE more gentle?” You groaned as your ribcage tightened.  With every tug of the laces on that infernal corset, your ribs condensed and your breasts swelled.  You could have sworn that a seamstress could thread you through a needle at this rate.  You often wore a corset of your own to work, but it was more for general support than to actually suck you into the point of suffocation.  The whale bone threaded through the offensive garment assured you that once you were in, nothing would move.

“That’s how this works, Y/N.  You should know, you entrap me in my corset every morning.”  Joy muttered through gritted teeth.  Her fingers worked on the laces to make sure they were perfectly snug and not going anywhere.  “It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

“I can hardly breathe.”  You gasped out.

“Maybe so but you will be the picture of perfection.  This dress is going to look amazing on you.”  Joy promised. 

Your eyes darted to the dress laid out on the bed.  For the day, the queen had assigned guest quarters to every visiting lady with the invitation to spend the night if it fit in the travel plans.  Joy, of course, had jumped at the opportunity for a night away from home.  Especially if that night was to be spent dancing away at the palace.  That meant the pair of you had a private bedroom that could be used to change your identity.  The grand four-poster bed was large enough to sleep four comfortably.  You had a feeling that she would insist on sharing the bed with you.  Poor thing never did like sleeping alone.  You didn’t mind. 

“What is wrong with you?”  You panted.  Your lungs worked overtime to get used to being in such a compact space.  “How can you people wear this all the time?”

“They train us young.”  Joy muttered.  “Aha!  Done!  Let’s get you into this gown, shall we?”

Before you knew it, you were drowning in a sea of blue and pink fabric.  The skirts were never ending and created a full ball gown silhouette, though your bone underskirt held most of the fabric away from your legs.  The gown was made of rich peacock-blue silk and layers of delicate tulle that sparkled and shimmered under the light.  Silver lace appliques decorated the bodice and the top half of the skirt.  Some light tulle fabric hung just off your shoulders, creating a sweetheart off-the-shoulder neckline.  You had to admit that the colors were absolutely stunning.  It didn’t feel right that someone like you should wear a gown so beautiful. 

However, once the garment was secured in place with some lacing, you fell in love with it.  The gown hugged your waist and pushed your breasts up just enough.  The skirts swished when you moved and glittered in the light.  

“Y/N,” Joy breathed, “You look beautiful.  Come, let me do your hair and put on your jewelry.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one getting you ready?”  You asked as Joy guided you to sit down at the vanity. 

“There is time for that.  There’s no harm in being a little late if we need to.  The ball will undoubtedly go all night.”  Joy waved it off.  She pointed at a hairbrush on the table and you passed it over your shoulder to her.  “All of that playing dress up when we were kids was totally worth it.”

“Ow…” You muttered under your breath as Joy brushed out the tangles in your hair.

“I wonder who the Queen chose to be the princess.  Surely it’s not me or we would have received some sort of notification.”  Joy mused as she ran the brush through your hair.  “I wonder why they would have all of these lavish parties if they’re not going to choose one of the ladies who attends them.  Whoever the princess is surely is very lucky.  Prince Minho is quite handsome and I’m sure he will make beautiful babies and-”

“Miss Joy.  My apologies but I’m nervous enough as it is.  I’m terrified of being in the same room as the prince.”  You cut her off, wincing as you did so.  Your training clearly specified never to interrupt your lady but all this talk of Prince Minho marrying someone else was beginning to make your heart feel heavy in your chest.  

You hadn’t found the time to tell Joy about what happened.  You wanted to scream it out to the world that Prince Minho was your soulmate but there was no telling if anyone would even believe you.  When you first met him, he was trying to escape from his duty but after he fucked you he dove head-first into it.  You wondered if someone could die from having their soulmate marry someone else. 

In the end, it would all come down to if Prince Minho would confirm the fact that you were soulmates.  If he were to deny you then you would have to live your life without your other half.  The difference in status would make any kind of relationship difficult regardless of Prince Minho’s feelings.  

You weren’t sure if you had the strength to go through with this facade but you were already dressed.  You’d already made the decision.  You couldn’t back down now.  The dress was on and Joy was carefully putting your hair in a simple updo.  She took a few pins from the hair kit you brought for her.  Each pin had a diamond on the end.  The hairdo you had planned for Joy would use most of the pins, so as she worked on your hair you tried to think of what style you could do instead. 

“Y/N, are you okay?  Your head is up in the clouds.”  Joy’s voice softened. 

“Yes, miss.  I am merely thinking about what hairstyle to do for you.”  

“No, I don’t think you are.  You’ve been gone since Prince Minho’s appearance at tea.  Are you alright?”

“Miss… I don’t know.  I feel strange.  I think me coming with you was a terrible idea.”  

“What?  How could you say that!  I don’t know what I would do without you by my side!.”

“If I hadn’t come then I never would have-”  You paused to blink back your tears.  Joy paused her styling with a quiet gasp,  “I never would have met…”

“Who is it?”  Joy whispered knowingly. 

“I can’t tell you.  It would ruin...”

“Y/N, dear, please tell me.”  Joy moved to your side and bent over to be at your level, “I promise there is nothing you could say that would make me think less of you.”

“It’s not me it would ruin.  It’s him.  He and I can never be together.”

“Y/N, please.”  Joy reached up and gently brushed away a few of the tears that had escaped your eyes.  You couldn’t stop crying.  “Tell me and maybe I can help you.”

You looked her in the eye, hoping that maybe she could read your mind.  You and Joy had been friends for as long as you could remember.  You grew up in the same house.  Your mother was Joy’s mother’s maid.  You, in turn, became Joy’s.  Even as a maid, Joy always preferred to treat you as a friend.  

To no avail.  Joy remained clueless. 

“He’s…” you took a deep breath, “My soulmate is… Prince Minho.”

Joy’s jaw dropped.  She stumbled back a bit and sat down hard on the bed.  She stared at you with wide eyes.  If only, that made you cry harder.  At this rate she would never allow you to go to the ball.  Who in their right mind would let you attend a ball when your soulmate was the prince?  

“Do not lie to me, Y/N.”  Joy warned.

“Have you ever known me to lie to you?”

“I suppose not.  You’re sure it’s him?”

“After what we did in the garden, I would know him anywhere.”

“My god, you performed the soulmate act already?”  Joy gawked, her eyes swimming with questions.  “Tell me everything.”

“I don’t know…”

“I am asking as a friend, Y/N, but I will ask as your lady if I have to.”  

“Okay, well… I wandered off.  I didn’t mean to!  But I needed a break from the sun and-”

You told her the story from beginning to finish.  Meeting him in the garden and thinking he was the gardener, the accidental touch, the intensity of the soulmate act, and the way he’d turned cold afterwards.  You explained how you’d searched for him and how your stomach had churned when he was announced as the Prince.  

“It’s all hopeless!”  You wailed, dropping your tear-stained cheeks into your hands, “We can never be together.  After tonight I may never see him again!”  

“Perhaps not…  But what say you to see if we can get you two to meet one last time.  At least share some words, a kiss, something!”

“How would we do that?  He doesn’t know who I am.  He doesn’t know my name or anything.”

“You’re going to the ball tonight, of course he’ll find you!  If he doesn’t then I will speak to him.  I will tell him his angel is looking for him.  Come on, my dear, let’s get you looking perfect!”

~!~!~!~!~!~

YOU WERE CERTAIN that you were going to pass out at any moment.  The corset was bound too tightly and it was as if you were walking through hell’s inferno.  In reality you were only walking down a long corridor warmed with fireplaces, but it may as well have been the same thing.  

A finely dressed butler escorted you and Joy through the palace to the ballroom.  Joy held your hand as you walked, her grip like an iron vice.  She looked beautiful.  Once it was your turn to make her up, her hair was worthy of the princess’s tiara.  Her forest green ballgown was made of the finest silk that rippled like water when she walked.  She held her head high and turned to look at you with a bright smile. 

“You would fit right in here.”  Joy whispered lowly so the butler couldn’t hear your conversation.

“Maybe in the kitchens.”  You sighed.  “You look more like a princess than I do.”

“Nonsense.  I wasn’t born to be a princess, unlike you.”

“Lady Joy, I definitely was not born to be a princess.  Maybe the gods made a mistake.  They’ve been known to do that, right?”

“There is no way this is a mistake.  It’s clear that you belong here!  You’re the most beautiful noblewoman I’ve ever seen, cousin!”  Joy squeezed your hand pointedly. 

Muffled music played through the doors and you suddenly felt sick.  You pressed a hand to your stomach and stopped walking.  Joy stopped as well.  The butler continued on for a few steps before realizing that you weren’t following.

“I can’t do this.”

“Y/N!  Are you with child?”  Joy whispered and nodded to the hand on your stomach.

“What?  No!  It only happened this afternoon.  It takes longer to develop a child.  I’m just sick to my stomach.”

“It’s only nerves.  Once we get into the ballroom, everything will be okay.  We’ll dance a little bit and then we’ll enact the plan, alright?”  

“I can’t.  This was a terrible idea, let me go back to the room and-”

“No!  Y/N, no!  Just take a deep breath.  I’ll be right there by your side the entire time.”  Joy promised, “Let’s go.”

She pulled you along and the butler continued leading you through the palace.  The music got louder and louder until the butler paused at a large set of double doors.  Joy turned to smile at you one last time before looking forward.  

A pair of butlers opened the doors, revealing a lavish, golden ballroom.  Several crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling with candles casting flickering rainbows on the walls.  The dance floor was packed with ladies and gentlemen alike, dancing away in celebration.  A handful of musicians played a waltz.  

Your eyes were immediately drawn to a raised platform at the back of the room.  A triad of ornate golden thrones with purple velvet and diamonds were perched atop.  In the center throne, a woman in an enormous embroidered gown with a huge crown atop her head tapped her fingers to the time of the music; the Queen.  To her left sat the young princess, no older than fifteen but old enough to be at her brother’s party.  She stared out into the crowd with a polite smile.  Then, your gaze landed on the man you wanted to see. 

Prince Minho sat to his mother’s right.  He wore the same outfit as before, except he’d taken his crown off and hung it off one of the posters of his throne.  He lounged a bit in his chair, not really paying attention to anyone around him.  He sipped on a goblet of wine.  The prince, instead, stared at the ceiling. 

He looked just as beautiful as the moment you first saw him.  Something about the candlelight made his skin glow.  

You sucked in a breath when you laid eyes on him.  It took every ounce of self control in your body and Joy’s hand to keep you from running through the ballroom to be with him.  Something tugged on your heart like an invisible string, urging you forward. 

When you stepped through the door into the ballroom, Prince Minho cocked his head suddenly.  He turned his gaze away from the ceiling and scanned the throngs of dancing people.  He scoured the dancers before turning his attention to the walls.  Servants were stationed by the wall or in the corners where they couldn’t be easily seen unless you were looking for them.  Just out of sight, but there in case they were needed.  Prince Minho searched the face of each one until his gaze passed over the doors you’d just walked through.  

Then came the double take.  He looked on the other side of the room for a moment before turning his head back in your direction. 

When you made eye contact, you gasped and gripped Joy’s hand a little tighter.  Joy immediately snapped her head to look at the prince.  She followed his gaze and found you as the person in question.  He raised an eyebrow in question but said nothing.  He knew your true stature but he was in no position to tell anyone anyway.  

“Come, let’s find something to eat.  You need your energy.”  Joy whispered, pulling your attention away from the Prince.

“But… Prince Minho…”

“There will be time for that.  We have hours before the Prince will retire.  He’s seen you, so there is no doubt in my mind that he will seek you out.”  Joy assured you.  

She pulled you through the ballroom to a dining room.  There were several tables lined with food piled high on silver platters.  Dishes like pork, chicken, rolls, roasted vegetables, you name it.  Instantly, your mouth watered.  You could not remember the last time you broke fast and your dehydration this morning left you with a pounding headache.  

“I am pretty hungry…”  You mused.

“Let’s get you something to eat and then I’ll tell you everything about my plan.”

~!~!~!~!~!~

JOY’S SUGGESTION DIDN’T sit right with you at first, but she eventually convinced you to dance with the very first man who asked.  You’d barely caught the man’s name, Christopher something-or-other.  He was staggeringly handsome, though he could hold no candle to your Destined. 

Christopher spun you around the dancefloor for two whole dances.  He was careful to keep his touches over your clothes but you noticed that his eyes kept dipping down to your mouth and to the swell of your breasts out of the dress.  You wore long silver satin gloves up to your forearms, as was the fashion and the social assurance that no one could find their soulmate at these social events unless you tried really hard.  

At the end of the second dance, a whirlwind of a waltz (where you definitely stepped on his foot more than once), you were beginning to feel a little out of breath.  Joy was off dancing with another man, a complete heartthrob who had introduced himself as Peter.  Joy had promised that she would watch you all evening, but Peter had her absolutely captivated.

Christopher gazed down at you with big, brown puppy dog eyes.  He pursed his lips before opening his mouth to ask you to dance a third time.  However, a terse voice cut through the atmosphere.

“Sir Christopher, do you mind if I cut in?”  The voice sent a shiver down your spine.  You would recognize it, recognize him, anywhere. 

“Oh.  Um, of course, Sire.”  Christopher bowed before disappearing into the crowd. 

Prince Minho took his place in front of you.  You looked at him for a moment before dropping into a deep curtsy.  Your eyes turned to the floor.  Your heart pounded so loudly in your chest that you thought you might faint.  

In an instant, Prince Minho was touching you.  He put his hands on your shoulders to pull you out of the curtsy and one of his hands moved to your chin.  With his soft fingers, he guided your face until you were looking directly into his eyes.  The same grief from this afternoon clouded them and his eyebrows were pulled together.  

The music started and other couples around you began to dance.  Skirts swirled, girls giggled, shoes tapped on the wooden dance floor.  However, none of that mattered.  The outside world became a blur until the only thing you could see was the man in front of you.

He called you an angel before, but you were certain that the angel was actually Prince Minho.  He glowed under the candlelight and his crown looked like a halo.  Prince Minho grasped your waist and took your hand.  You gasped at the contact. 

“Take my arm.”  He commanded.  You quickly set your hand on his shoulder. 

Before you knew it, Prince Minho spun you into the crowd of dancers.  How he managed to lead without taking his eyes off yours, you may never know.  You had so many questions but you had absolutely no idea where to even begin.  All you knew for sure is that this would most likely be the last time you ever saw him.

“What’s your name?”  Prince Minho asked. 

“Y/N.”  

“Beautiful.  I knew your name would be beautiful.”  A smile played on his lips,  “How did you manage to come tonight?  I thought you were a ladies maid.”

“I am.  Lady Joy is more a friend than a lady.  We grew up together.  She asked me to come with her tonight.”  You explained, your voice weak. 

“Damn.  I’d hoped that perhaps you’d fooled me in the garden.  If you were a lady then my mother might have allowed us to marry.”  

“Couldn’t we still pretend?”

“My mother, the Queen, is very resourceful.  She would look into your family and find that you’re of common birth.  Unless, of course, you can provide undeniable proof of noble birth.”

“I’m afraid I don’t think that will be possible.”  Tears brimmed in your eyes at the thought. 

You couldn’t explain it but your heart swelled with affection for him.  You barely even know the man.  However, you could practically feel every cell in your body aching for him and needing to be with him.  His touch sent bolts of lighting through your veins.  His lips were eye level with you and all you wanted to do was claim them as yours.  Party-goers and the Queen be damned.  This man was your soulmate and you wanted everyone to know. 

“My love,”  Prince Minho smiled sadly and moved his hand from your waist in order to brush away a tear that had fallen.  He replaced his hand before you could fall out of step with the dance. “We will find a way.  Maybe it won’t be today but I must have you by my side.  I want to know everything about you.  Please, my angel, don’t think of this as an ending.  Merely a rocky and uncertain beginning.”

“How can you be optimistic about this?”  

“I am a prince.  We have a way of getting things done.”  Prince Minho smiled warmly.  The assurance that he was feeling the same way as you in this absurd situation made your heart ache a little less.  “Dance the night away with me, my love.”

How could you possibly refuse him?

You spent the next three dances in the circle of your prince’s arms.  Sir Christopher asked for your hand for one dance but Prince Minho stole you away the moment it was over.  You twirled around the ballroom, talking and laughing with one another.  He searched your mind, asking about your past, your family, your life.  He wanted to know your favorite meals, your favorite colors, artists, and flowers.  He, in turn, told you all about his favorites. 

More and more things began to line up between the two of you.  With every new thing in common, it became extremely apparent why he was your soulmate.  He was your perfect match in every way.  He was everything you ever could have wanted in a life partner.  He was charming, witty, a fantastic dancer, and he cared deeply about his country and his duties. 

Eventually, Prince Minho led you from the dance floor and onto the terrace outside.  The air was cool against your skin and you hadn’t realized you’d been sweating.  The party continued behind you, grand and gold.  There were three sets of tall glass doors that were propped open between the terrace and the ballroom.  There were fewer people outside, so it gave you and your Prince a quieter place to talk.  

And talk you did.  For hours it seemed, you spoke and shared things about your life.  There wasn’t much for you to share but you wanted to know every detail about him.  

“You must be dreading your marriage.”  You sighed.

“I am… but I know it must be done.  The last thing I want is to be with someone who isn’t my soulmate.  However, I understand that it is what I must do.  My father would have wanted me to do the same as him.”  Prince Minho explained.  “In the garden earlier, I was prepared to run away from it all.  I still wish I could escape.  However, now I know that I cannot escape my duty.”

“The same as your father?  What do you mean by that?”  You asked.  You bit down the stinging pain in your chest from all the talk of him marrying another.  Though, you had to admit that it made sense.

“My mother was not his soulmate, you see.  He never told me who it was but I’m not sure that they ever got to be together before he died.”

“Your parents managed to have children, though!  That is an accomplishment!  I heard that fertility rates between non-soulmates is very low.”

“I think it worked because my mother has never met her soulmate.  She truly loved my father and I believe that it was her love that made my sister and I come into existence.  Or maybe it was pure luck.”

“Do you believe in true love?  Love that isn’t born of soulmates?”

“Well, I suppose I’ve never thought about it.  I don’t think that I have ever loved anyone before.  I fancied a few of the ladies when I was younger, but I always knew that I would either find my soulmate one day or I would have to live without them.”  Prince Minho gazed out into the garden.  The paths were lined with torches that cast a golden glow on the ground.  Two or three lone couples strolled through the garden. 

“I apologize, My Prince.  We can discuss something else.”  

“Angel, it is alright.  There is no way you could upset me.”  Prince Minho assured you. 

He reached out and cupped your cheek with his hand.  He guided your head to make sure you were looking directly into his eyes.  “This situation is less than ideal but it is in no way your fault.  It’s crazy.  It feels as if I’ve known you all my life.”

“I know… I wish I didn’t have to leave.”

“I wish you didn’t have to go.”

Minho guided your face a little closer to his and pressed a fleeting kiss onto your cheek.  His soft lips lingered on your skin for a few long seconds.  His musky scent filled your nose and overwhelmed your senses.  You closed your eyes and breathed him in.  Something deep in your core wished that he would have kissed your lips instead. 

However, all good things come to an end. 

“HEAR YE, HEAR YE.”  A voice boomed from inside the ballroom, “ALL SUBJECTS APPEAR BEFORE THE QUEEN FOR AN IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT.” 

Prince Minho pulled away from you and looked towards the ballroom.  The music had stopped and all of the guests were venturing towards the center of the room to listen to the announcement.  He turned to look back at you.

“It’s time, my love.”  Prince Minho offered you his hand.

Your lower lip quivered and you blinked back the tears brimming in your eyes.  You stared at his hand.  You forced yourself to swallow a sob.  Gently, you took his hand.  He led you back into the ballroom.  The stifling heat made it nearly impossible to breathe.  Your chest ached.  Your heart pounded in your ears.  

Once you got deep enough into the room, Prince Minho pulled you to a careful stop.  He looked deeply into your eyes for a few long seconds.  You stared back, desperately trying to memorize the way his eyes glowed like honey in the candle light.  They sparkled a little and with a start you wondered if he was about to cry.

“I’m going to miss you.”  He whispered. 

“And I you.”  

He gently pulled you closer.  You thought for a moment that he was going to kiss you.  The air between you thinned as his face inched closer.  He cupped your cheek in his hand and pressed your foreheads together. 

“Your lady is Lady Joy, correct?”

“Lady Joy Park.”  You affirmed. 

“I will send for you this evening, my love.  Fear not, this will not be the last time we see each other.”

With that, he vanished into the crowd.  His hand dropped from your face and he let go of your hand.  The other guests of the party bustled around you.  The air in the ballroom ran hot, but you shivered.  You searched the faces around you desperately, hoping that perhaps he would emerge from the crowd and come back to you.  

Prince Minho did emerge from the crowd, but only when he stepped back up onto the platform and reclaimed his throne.  His stoic face was set and he stared blankly into the crowd.  Your eyes welled up with tears and you blinked to try to keep them at bay.  

How were you supposed to go on without your soulmate?  All you wanted to do was run up to the throne and tell the entire room that he was yours and that no one else could have him.  

Almost as if she read your thoughts, Lady Joy appeared at your side.  She took your hand and gave you a reassuring squeeze.  

“How did it go?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

The Queen cleared her throat so loudly the chandeliers quivered.  She rose to her feet and instantly all chatter in the room ceased.  Someone coughed.  

“It is with regret that I inform you that our dear prince has not found his soulmate.”  The Queen began, “Despite all of our efforts to find his destined partner we were unsuccessful.  However, we still have call for celebration this evening.  I am happy to announce Prince Minho’s betrothal to Princess Anna from the Roman Kingdom!  The nuptials will be held next week and invitations to the event and the following balls will be sent henceforth!  They will honeymoon on the island Sicily, where our dear princess was born before they return home to us.  Please, let us congratulate the lucky couple!”

Everyone in the room applauded politely.  Prince Minho rose to his feet and bowed before sitting back down. 

You were absolutely positive that you were going to be sick.  

“Lady Joy?”

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Get me out of here.”

Joy wasted no time. 

She tugged on your hand, urging you to follow her.  She weaved through the crowd of people.  On your way, the man you remembered as Lord Peter stopped Lady Joy.  They whispered to each other for a few seconds, including something about a promise to see each other again soon.  With that, Joy set off again.  Lady Joy beelined towards the doors and urged the guards to open them.  They gave her a puzzled look, but followed her silent command.  

Your lady pulled you into the hallway and you couldn’t help but glance back one more time.  To your relief, or perhaps horror, Prince Minho noticed the opening of the door and his gaze found you immediately.  You locked eyes one last time before Lady Joy led you down the hall, out of sight. 

The heavy doors slid shut behind you, the heavy thud making you wince.  

How were you supposed to leave Prince Minho behind you?

~!~!~!~!~!~

“IS SHE QUITE well?” The butler’s concerned voice carried through the large bedroom.  You heard him even over your crying.  You sobbed into the pillow that was damp with your tears and yet you couldn’t stop.  Your body shook with crying and you could not seem to stop it.  Lady Joy stood at the door, accepting a pile of dry pillows that she’d requested after you’d dampened all of the others with your tears. 

“She is well, do not worry.”  Lay Joy assured him.

“Should I send for a doctor?”

“Heartbreak is something a doctor cannot fix, I’m afraid.  I will call for you if we require anything else.”  

With that, Lady Joy shut the door and made her way back to the bed.  She tossed the pillows at the foot of the bed before climbing under the luxurious duvet with you.  She wrestled with the neverending fabric of the blankets and her nightgown before she settled in and returned her attention to you.  

Both of you had changed out of your ballgowns as soon as you’d returned to your quarters.  You managed to hold back your tears just long enough to get out of your corset.  Then the waterfall began and hadn’t stopped.  Joy did her best.  Supplying you with things to dry your eyes and drink to keep your body from drying up but there was only so much she could do.

You told her everything.  You told her about the dancing, about your conversations, and about how Prince Minho promised that he would call for you.  What made it worse is that it was hours ago.  You’d already gone through at least half a candle, if not more.  The music from the ball could be heard faintly through the window.

“Perhaps he’s still there.  It would be rude of the host to leave prematurely.”  Joy reminded you.

“I can’t help it!  I don’t know what to do!”

“Oh, my dear Y/N, I wish I could help you.”  Joy gently stroked your hair.

“Will the pain fade?”

“Perhaps with time.  It’s getting late, Y/N… you look exhausted.  Let’s try to sleep okay?  In the morning we can escape from this wretched place.”

Your eyes ached from crying.  Your cheeks were sticky with tears.  Joy grabbed one of the dry pillows from the end of the bed and replaced the one you were using.  She slipped out of bed once more to blow out all of the candles in the room. 

Once the room was dark, Joy slipped back into bed with you.  You buried your face into the pillow and sniffled.  Your eyelids grew heavy and you begged sleep, or perhaps death, to overtake you.  You squeezed your eyes shut and forced yourself to think of other things. 

Tomorrow you would have to spend hours doing laundry.  You would be washing all of the undergarments and skirts, ironing dresses, polishing jewels.  The task would probably take the entire day.  The banality of your day to day work would be sure to wipe away your feelings of dread. 

It must have only been moments after you drifted into a restless sleep when someone pounded on the door.  Your eyes shot open and you found Joy had also been startled awake.  You stared at each other for a few seconds before the pounding on the door came again.  Joy abruptly sat up.  She wrestled with the blankets for a few long seconds before she successfully freed herself and hurried to the door. 

You sat up when the door creaked open.

“Is there a young lady here by the name of Y/N?”  A male voice spoke from beyond the door.

“Y/N… is there another name?”  Joy asked. 

“Angel.  Prince Minho sends for her.”

You perked up immediately.  You threw the blankets off and clamored out of bed.  Joy put a hand up and you froze in place.  

“Yes, sir, she is here.  Please allow me a moment and I will fetch her.”  Joy spoke calmly.  You bounced on the balls of your feet. 

“Yes, my Lady.”  

Joy shut the door and turned to you, eyes sparkling with excitement. 

“Y/N, take off your nightgown.”  Joy stared at you expectantly for a few seconds.  “Make haste!”

~!~!~!~!~!~ 

YOU CHEWED ON your lower lip as you stared at the large pair of ornate double doors.  The butler who had been sent to get you waited patiently nearby, waiting for your command to open them.  You couldn’t explain why the nerves and fear that overwhelmed your heart as the butler led you through the dark hallways of the palace.  

Perhaps it was the silence.  The butler didn’t say a word to you unless to remind you to follow him.  Or it was the dark hallways, lit only with a few lone candles.  

Or perhaps it was the nightgown that swirled about your ankles.  Joy insisted on giving you hers.  Your nightgown was a plain white smock but Joy’s was made of the finest pink satin and was decorated with lace and satin flowers.  It came paired with a matching silk robe that tied around your waist.  The sleeves and the skirt billowed as you walked.  It didn’t feel right to you to be wearing such a garment but Joy insisted.  If you were meeting the prince, you had to be dressed accordingly. 

You couldn’t argue with your lady so you agreed to switch nightgowns with her.  Once she had yours on, she promised to get you a nicer nightdress for your birthday.

“Anytime, Miss.”  The butler pursed his lips.  “The prince does not like to be kept waiting.”

“Open the door, please.”  You barely recognized your own voice. 

The butler pulled the door open and gestured for you to enter first.  You took a deep breath before striding through and into a bedroom about twenty times as ornate as the quarters provided to Lady Joy.  The lofted ceiling should have made the room cold, but a large fireplace was lit ablaze and crackled away.   

The door slid shut behind you.  When you glanced back, the butler hadn’t followed you. 

You slowly walked deeper into the room.  You passed through a lush drawing room, surely meant for entertaining.  A study where a large oak desk dominated the space.  A door was cracked leading into a bathroom where the bathtub alone was the same size as your room back home.  Until finally you reached the bedroom.  A large four poster bed stood tall against one wall and a chaise and a few plush couches surrounded another active fireplace.  Against the wall opposite from you stood a pair of floor to ceiling glass doors that were open and led out onto a balcony.

And there he stood.  Prince Minho had his back to you and he leaned against the balcony railing.  He stared off into the night.  If he heard you enter, he did not say.  For a few moments, you stood in the middle of his bedroom and waited.  You weren’t sure if you should say something or not.  Besides, it was not in your nature to speak before spoken to.  You wondered what he was thinking about.  

“Come, my love.”  Prince Minho glanced over his shoulder and gestured for you to join him.  Your feet carried you past the threshold and onto the balcony.  You didn’t have a chance to see the view before you were crushed in the warmest hug you’d ever received. 

Once you were close enough, Prince Minho pulled you into a tight embrace.  He buried his face in your neck and breathed in deeply.  His warmth enveloped you and his body hid you from the cool night air.  You didn’t hesitate long before your arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him into you.  The soft breeze around you ensured that his rich scent invaded your nostrils and you ached to have the smell imprinted on your very soul.  You wanted to remember how he held you.  He held you as if it was truly the last time.  

“We will find a solution, I promise.”  Prince Minho murmured into your neck.

“I wish I could stay.”  

“I could command it.”  

“I can’t leave my lady.”

“I can’t bear to be wed to another.”  Prince Minho pulled away just enough to look at your face.  “This entire kingdom should be yours.”

“As long as you are my soulmate, the entire kingdom is mine.”  You assured him with a small smile.  Even though your entire body ached with sadness and you wanted to cry, you couldn’t.  You didn’t want to cry in his presence. 

“Look at it.”  Prince Minho moved behind you and wrapped his arms around your middle.  He moved until you stood at the railing.  “No matter the circumstance, as a prince you are my princess.  When I am king you will be my only queen.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the sight and his words.  From here, you could see the entire gardens as well as the golden glow coming from the ballroom.  The city sprawled out around the palace, warm and alive.  The lights below glittered and you could almost make out the subjects walking the streets.  For them, their days were just beginning.  The city extended as far as the eye could see until it met the black ocean.  From there, only inky blackness.

“Look.”  You pointed towards the city,  “You see the clocktower?”  

“I do.”

“When I have time to myself I like to go to a park nearby for a walk.  I get a day off a month and I usually spend it there.”  You explained, then pointed somewhere else.  “I take my lady to a seamstress near the tavern over there.”

“Where do you live?”  Prince Minho’s breath fanned against your ear.

“Over there.”  You pointed off to the side, “Just out of sight.  Beyond that spire.”  

“My angel… tell me something lovely.”

“Like what?”

“It matters not.  Tell me something lovely that makes you feel happy.”

“Hmm…”  You mused for a few seconds, “The feeling of grass under my feet on a warm summer day.  The ocean breeze through my hair.  The tiny noises of a puppy.  Crawling into bed after a long day.  The smell of freshly baked bread.  The rich scent of roses.”

“Roses… I may never look at them the same way again.”  Prince Minho chuckled. 

“I don’t think I will, either.”  You giggled.  “What about you?  What are some lovely things?”

“Well…”  Prince Minho’s lips pressed onto your neck and he hummed.  His hair tickled your skin and you couldn’t help the giggle that came from your throat.  “Your laugh is the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard.  The smell of old parchment.  Having a warm bath after a hunt.  Biting into a perfectly crisp apple.  Kissing the skin of your beloved.  Pink silk nightgowns.”

Between each offering, your prince pressed a warm kiss on your skin, trailing from your neck to your shoulder.  His fingers gently moved the fabric of your nightgown aside so he could press kisses on all of the skin he could.  You sighed and tilted your head to the side to give him more access.  Your eyes slid shut. 

“Prince Minho,” you sighed when his fingertips traced your collarbones.  

“To you, I am no prince.  I am merely Minho.”  he whispered.  His fingers trailed down your chest to the silk ribbon holding your robe shut, playing with the fabric and running it through the pads of his fingers.  “Will you let me love you?  Let me shower you with my love and bring your body so much pleasure.”

“Pleasure like in the garden?”

“Just like that, but tenfold.”  

Your body trembled with nerves, but you nodded all the same.  Minho pressed soft kisses on your skin and you sighed at the feeling.  He slowly pulled the ribbon free and your robe fell open for him.  He smoothed his hands over your stomach and hips and you sighed at the contact.  You leaned your head back to rest on his shoulder and he accepted your weight willingly.  He wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly. 

“You can say no,”  Prince Minho whispered, “It’s okay.  I can love you in more ways.”

“I want to but… I’m nervous.”  You admitted.  You ached to have him again, if the aching between your legs was anything to go by, but now that the soulmate urge had passed the thought of having something so… big inside of you again made your heart flutter.

“My love, I would never hurt you.  We can take this as slow as you wish.”

You stayed in that position for a few minutes.  Your head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around you and holding you as close to his body as possible, both of you staring out at the kingdom below.  Your mind wandered, giving you visions of royal life.  Perhaps working in the palace so you could at least be closer to him.  Getting to sleep in his room each night, slipping out in the morning.  You could never be queen.  Joy taught you to read but you never quite understood the classic literature that everyone of noble birth had to read to be educated.  

You imagined attending parties, dressing up, and dancing the night away in beautiful golden ballrooms.  You imagined eating food prepared by the palace cooks each and every morning.  If what the cooks prepared tasted as good as what you had for dinner, you thought you could get used to this life.  Honestly, you didn’t even want to be queen.  Or even a princess.  You just wanted to love him.  Freely.  Openly.  

“All I want is to know you.”  You whispered and Minho hummed to encourage you to keep speaking, “I want to know you inside and out.  I want to grow a partnership,  I want to know what you hate and I want to know what you love.  I want to know how you take your breakfast, how you take your tea, your favorite walking paths, where do you hide when you need to get away from it all?  I don’t want to leave in the morning.”

“Then don’t,”  Prince Minho tried again but he knew your answer, “Stay with me in the palace.  We could figure something out and I will make sure that you stay by my side.”

For a few long seconds, you stayed silent as you contemplated his words.  As the seconds ticked on, Prince Minho heard his answer. 

“I’m sorry, my lord.”  

“Then let us focus on this night.  Let us spend our time focusing on each other.”  Prince Minho turned you around in the circle of his arms so he could gaze upon your face.  His eyes glistened with tears and you wished you could take his pain away.  “Please… call me Minho.”

“Prince-”

“No,” he cut you off, pressing his lips to your forehead for a few seconds, “Just… Minho.”

“Minho…”  You breathed, “Bring me pleasure.  I will bring you pleasure tenfold.  Please.”

“Angel, you never have to ask.”  

His lips crashed onto yours with no more ceremony.  Your heart swelled at the contact and you kissed him back eagerly.  His lips tasted so sweet.  Your favorite sweet could never compare to his taste.  Your arms wrapped around his neck and he pressed you into the balcony railing.  He twisted his head a little and kissed you deeper.  You accepted everything he had to give you.  

Minho put his hands on your shoulders and pushed the robe off.  The fabric pooled around your waist and he started on working the robe off your arms but you pulled away a little. 

“Wait.  Not here.”  You whispered.  Minho pulled away from you.

“No one can see us up here, Angel.” 

“Still… I… I don’t want to lose the robe.  It belongs to my lady.”   You admitted.

“When you are mine, I will give you hundreds of nightgowns made of the finest silk in all the land.”  Minho pressed warm kisses on your jawbone and neck as he spoke, trailing his lips along your skin and leaving trails of fire in his wake. 

“I’m already yours.”

“Don’t you forget it.”

With that, Minho swept you up into his arms and carried you bridal style back into his room.  You yelped when you initially lost your footing but giggled as he carried you.  You held onto him and nuzzled your nose into his neck.  Minho paused in the middle of his room and looked towards the fireplace then towards his bed on the other end of the room.  After a few moments of deliberation, he made his way over to the bed and gently laid you down on the plush mattress.  He was over you in an instant, pressing his knees on either side of your hips. 

“Angel, I want to see you this time.  I want to see all of you.”  

Minho’s hands ran over the fabric of your nightgown.  His eyes trailed over your curves.  His hands moved to gently cup your breasts.  He squeezed them and pushed them together to watch them swell under the fabric.  His thumbs ran over your pebbled nipples and you gasped at the surprisingly pleasant feeling that came from it.  Minho smiled softly and repeated the action again and again, rubbing his thumbs in circles around your nipples.  Your back arched into him and your eyes slid shut so you could enjoy the stimulation.

He moved one of his knees to press at the seam between yours.  Your legs easily fell open to accommodate him.  Minho leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.  He resumed his task of helping the robe off your body.  You assisted him by pulling your arms out of the sleeves and tugging the offending fabric away so it could pool on the ground.  Minho gripped your thighs and worked on pushing the silky fabric up your legs so he could touch your bare skin.  

Your hands busied themselves with pulling his blouse up and over his head.  He broke the kiss briefly to rip his shirt off and toss it on the floor before kissing you again.  He didn’t give you the chance to admire his figure, but your hands traced his strong shoulders and strong chest and abdominal muscles.  

That telltale arousal began to pool between your legs.  The same heat you felt in the garden licked up your spine and made the junction between your legs ache.  Your hips unconsciously rolled upwards, only to catch on Minho’s pants.  The sudden friction made a moan slip from your lips.  Minho pulled away with a gasp.  

“Please make that sound again.  I will worship the ground you walk on.”  Minho moaned out.  He pressed his thigh closer to the apex between your legs until it pressed firmly against your heat.  You gasped at the contact but winced when you remembered that Joy’s silk gown still covered you.  You grasped the skirt and pulled it up over your hips and Minho moaned again.  “Nothing underneath, angel?  Were you hoping I would fuck you?”

Mindlessly, you nodded, choosing not to remind him that it was, in fact, him who ripped your undergarments to the point where they could not be used.  Instead, you pressed your core against his thigh and moaned at the pleasure that sparked through you.  Minho flexed his thigh and urged you to grind against him.  Your hips moved slowly as you got used to the rhythm and the new pleasure.  You whimpered as the pleasure grew but you weren’t sure if you would be able to climax like you did in the garden. 

“More,” you whimpered thoughtlessly.  

“My angel wants more?”  Minho cooed.  He stared down at you with such awe, as if perhaps there was an actual angel below him.  “What do you want?  I shall give it to you.” 

“I…”  you trailed off, your mind going blank, “I don’t know.  I want you to touch me.”

With that, Minho pulled his knee away and pushed your nightgown up to expose your core to him.  Instinctively, you parted your legs a little more.  Minho’s gaze flickered down to your center and pulled his lower lip between his teeth.  Your folds glistened in the low glow from the fireplace across the room.  Minho moved a hand and gently swiped one of his fingers through your folds and brought it to his mouth.  His eyes rolled back in his head at the taste of you.

“Angel, can I taste you properly?”  Minho’s gravely voice sent a wave of arousal through you.

“You just did…”

“I want to put my tongue on you.”  Minho slowly lowered down the bed until his face hovered just above your core, “If it’s too much tell me to stop.”

With that, Minho flattened his tongue against you and your back instantly arched off the bed.  You let out a choked gasp as the dizzying sensation swept through you.  His warm, wet tongue licked through your folds, mapping every ridge and dip and curve.  He swirled his tongue around your opening to gather your wetness in his mouth before he moved up to suck on your clit.  A keening moan left your throat as he sucked and nipped at the little bud.  You couldn’t stop the small moans and gasps you let out as Minho’s tongue played with you.

 “You taste so good, angel.”  Minho moaned.

He licked down to your entrance and slowly wiggled his tongue past the barrier.  He moaned against your core and pushed his tongue deeper into you.  You moaned at the feeling and tilted your hips up to chase his face, as if he had any intention to move.  He lapped at your walls greedily, like a man who’s never tasted water before.  Minho’s eyes slid shut as he savored your warmth in his mouth.  His nose nudged your clit with every few pushes of his tongue and it was enough to build the most amazing feeling in your stomach. 

You recognized that feeling now, it was the same one from the garden.  As if on instinct, you reached for his head to keep him against you before you paused, realizing that this was the prince you were about to touch without permission.  He’d told you a hundred times that you could, but the doubt still hovered.  

As if reading your thoughts, Minho reached up and grabbed your wrist.  He led your hand to the back of his head before hooking his arm under your leg to hold you against him.  Your fingers slid through his silky locks easily.  You gasped out at a particularly harsh suck and you gripped his hair tightly.  Minho let out a moan into your pussy and the vibrations, in turn, made you moan.  

Minho refocused his efforts, moving up to wrap his lips and tongue around your little clit.  His other hand slid between you until his fingertips prodded at your swollen hole.  You gasped at the contact, but tilted your hips up to chase the feeling.  You could feel him smile against you.  The coil within you tightened and you gasped. 

“Aw, sweet girl, are you going to cum?”  Minho cooed.

“Yes!  Yes, please, I need more.”  you moaned out.

“You want my fingers?”  Minho drew a small circle around your hole with a fingertip.

“Fuc- yes!”  You choked out a moan when he pushed one finger into the knuckle. 

“Mm, you’re so tight.”  Minho murmured those last words right against your clit before sucking it into his mouth.  

You were certain you had died and gone to heaven.  The added stimulation of his finger and the incessant swirls of his tongue sent you hurtling towards a release in record time.  Like the wave inside of you, your moans also rose like a crescendo.  Growing in pitch and frequency, you couldn’t hold them back.  You gripped onto Minho’s hair like a lifeline as the pleasure peaked. 

“Cumming- sir!  Sir, I’m cumming, please!”  You all but shrieked as you came into his mouth.  

Your legs shook, even as Minho slowed his ministrations to ride you through it.  Even though he’d just given it to you, he pulled his finger out and moved his face a little lower so he could lap gently at your pulsing hole.  You quivered and moaned as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you until it slowly turned to pain.  After one soft lap, you winced and let go of Minho’s hair. 

He took this as a sign and pulled away from you.  He sat back on his knees and tilted his head back.  He closed his eyes and rested his hands on your legs, just to keep some form of physical contact with you.  You watched as he ran his tongue along his lips as if to gather every single drop of your sweet essence. 

“You’re so beautiful when you cum.”  Minho commented, opening his eyes once more to look into yours.  

“I want to make you cum, too,”  you declared, sitting up and placing your hands on his hips.  

His noticeable and very neglected erection strained in his pants.  You kept your eyes on his as you moved your palm to gently cup him.  Minho’s eyes fluttered shut at the contact for a moment before he opened them once more to look at you.  He cupped your cheeks in his hands as you palmed him through his pants.

“And you will do so once I am inside of you.”  Minho’s low voice slid easily down your spine and you shivered. 

“But Minho… Can I taste you, too?” 

“How can I say no to that when you’re looking at me so sweetly?”

Minho’s nimble fingers immediately got to work on the laces on his pants.  He flopped down on the bed next to you and worked his pants off his hips until they were a forgotten pile on the floor.  His shirt was thrown on the floor next, leaving him completely bare.  His fingers played with the hem of your nightdress and his eyes twinkled.  

Slowly, you lowered yourself to get a closer look at his cock.  Long, thick, and heavy.  The dark pink head oozed precum and you licked your lips in anticipation.  You could hardly believe that this is the thing that had just been inside of you this morning.  Only a few hours ago, this thing had made you cum so hard and it was about to do it again.  

Unable to wait any longer, you leaned forward to press a wet kiss to the leaking head.  Minho moaned on contact, throwing his head back into the plush pillows as you suckled it into your mouth.  You ran your tongue over the velvety skin, sighing as he leaked more precum.  Salty and musky but overall not unpleasant.  Minho’s deft fingers swept through your hair and pulled it back so it wouldn’t get in the way.  You lifted your gaze to meet his and he just about blew his load right there. 

You looked so sweet, gently sucking on the head of his cock while looking at him innocently through your eyelashes.  Your petal pink nightgown hung down just enough for him to get a clear look at your tits that swelled with each breath.  The sight alone made him moan louder.  

“Am I doing it right?”  You pulled away slightly to blink at him. 

“Fuck, yes.”  He responded, laughing softly, “Keep going.”

Not one to refuse an order from your future king, you lowered your head and put him back in your mouth.  Minho moaned softly, the sweet noise encouraging you to take a little more of him.  Minho panted as he watched you take more and more of him until your nose lightly grazed his stomach.  His tip prodded the back of your throat and you choked a little.  Minho rolled his hips up into your mouth and you let out a little gasp. 

“Run your tongue along it.”  Minho guided you.

You wasted no time and swirled your tongue along the underside of his cock.  You bobbed your head up and down his length, swirling your tongue as you went.  Occasionally you rose all the way up and sucked on the head like you would a cube of ice on a hot day.  This action would make him whimper and writhe under you.  Every time he made a noise of pleasure, your core clenched and dripped even more for him.  You couldn’t wait to take him again. 

Minho used the grip he had on your hair to guide you up and down his length.  He kept his eyes on your lips as you accepted him into your warm, wet mouth time and time again.  The knot in his stomach kept tensing, threatening to spill his release down your throat but he wasn’t done receiving all the the pleasure your body could give him.  Maybe one day he would paint your face and lips in his cum, but today was not that day, 

All too soon, he pulled you off of him roughly.  He tugged you up to be face to face so that he could kiss you.  His plush lips caressed yours hungrily, coaxing your tongue into his mouth to suck on.  If he minded the salty taste of his precum on your lips, he didn’t say anything.  Just like you didn’t say anything about the taste of yourself on his tongue.  

“If I don’t fuck you right this instant, I may die.”  Minho murmured against your lips.

“How do you want me, my love?”  

“Naked.”

Minho clawed at your nightdress and pulled it over your head.  The flimsy fabric joined the pile on the floor.  The air hit your exposed chest and your nipples perked immediately.  His hands came to gently cup your breasts and he kneaded them slowly.  His thumbs gently traced matching circles around your nipples and pleasure sparked through you with every touch.  You arched your back, pushing your chest into his hands more.  Minho grinned mischievously before he leaned up and closed his lips around one of your hardened buds.

“Oh!”  You gasped as his tongue circled your nipple.  His teeth caught on the sensitive peak and you moaned and threw your head back.  “Minho!”

“Yes, angel, tell me who’s making you feel good.”  Minho whispered as he moved his mouth to your other breast and latched on.  He sucked and swirled his tongue on your nipple like he would die tomorrow and the only thing that could save him was you and the essence you could promise him.  “Just imagine these beautiful works of art filled with milk for our baby, hm?” 

“Yes,”  The thought of bearing his child sent another wave of arousal through you.  Though you knew it would never happen, you decided to let him play into the fantasy.

“My angel, you would look so beautiful.  Giving our baby life, giving me life.”  Minho sucked harshly on your nipple and switched one last time to the other side.  “I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from tasting you every day.”  

“Minho!”  You moaned when he lightly bit down on your swollen nub. 

“Good girl.”  Minho pulled away with a quiet pop and blew onto your damp skin.  The cold stream of air on your wet breast made you shiver.  “Lay down.  I want to see your face when I enter you.”

You scrambled onto your back, your hands hastily brushing your hair out of your face as Minho crawled over you.  As natural as opening your eyes in the morning, you opened your legs for him.  He smiled as he settled between your thighs.  His cock brushed your inner thigh and you both shuddered at the contact.  He buried his head into your neck and sighed.  He breathed you in, kissing your skin deeply.  

“Minho, please.”  You urged, your hands finding purchase on his slim waist and pulling him closer to you.  Your core ached, wet and empty.  

“I’m going to make love to you now.  If you need me to stop, tell me and I will.”  Minho rolled his hips into yours.  His cock slid through the wet lips of your pussy and caught on the hood of your clit.  

“I never want you to stop.”  

Minho moaned into your neck and kissed his way up to your lips.  He kissed you deeply, dipping your tongue into your mouth to drink in your moans.  One of his hands dipped between your bodies to grasp his cock.  He ran the tip through your soaked pussy, pushing it against your clit to illicit moans and gasps from you.  Each pass made your hole even more soaked and empty.  

“Angel, you feel so good.”

“Put it in.”  You whined. 

Minho pulled back from you just enough so that he could watch your face when he pushed into you.  The head breached your hole and you let out a keening moan.  Your hooded eyes watched his face contort into pleasure as he slowly inched inside of you.  His length caressed your walls as he sunk in, inch by glorious inch.  His eyes never left yours, even when he hit a dead end.  

He bottomed out, his thighs pressed firmly into yours.  You could have sworn the tip of his cock was hitting the back of your throat.  

“You look so beautiful when you’re full of my cock.”  Minho moaned.  His skin was tinted a rose color and the vein in his neck looked close to popping.  “You’re so tight, Angel, I could cum right now.”  

“So full,” you choked out, hardly able to form words around the stretch of him in your cunt.  

“Wanna fill you up even more, Angel.”  Minho buried his face in the crook of your neck again.  He rocked into you slowly, hardly even moving at all.  If he moved too much too fast he was worried that he would cum far too quickly.  Your tight heat choked his cock and coated him in your sweet wetness.  His slight movements in and out of you made your pussy squelch around him.  

“Move,”  You begged.

“I’m going to make you cum so hard.”  Minho promised. 

With that, he pulled his hips back until just his head remained sheathed by your walls.  Then he pushed forwards with all the force he could muster and your combined moans were like music.  Your cunt clamped onto his cock as he fucked you with earnest.  He rolled his hips into yours slowly but with so much force behind them that you were sure you’d be sore tomorrow. 

Tonight, you couldn’t care less. 

You rolled your hips up to meet every thrust.  Minho’s precise thrusts rubbed against all of the perfect spots inside of you.  His girth stretched you wide and you wondered how it was possible that there would be enough room inside of you for his cum.  

Minho wasn’t faring with that thought any better.  Your tight cunt gripped him like a vice.  Every time he entered you, you clenched so tightly that he was worried that every thrust might be his last.  The last time he fucked you, things had gone by quickly and he hadn’t had the time to really feel you.  This time, he was careful with his thrusts so he could feel every inch of your slick walls around his aching cock.  Your walls clenched and clamped onto him.

“Angel, you feel so good,”  Minho moaned, leaning down to suck a mark into your neck, “I don’t think I’ll last.”

“Me either.”

You were surprised with how quickly the pleasure mounted within you.  Your core ached like before, but this wasn’t a quick fuck like in the rose garden.  Minho was making sure that you could feel every single inch of him and that he could feel every ridge and bump of your walls. 

When he fucked you behind the rose bushes it was quick and rushed.  He’d pounded into you like he was going to die if he didn’t.  The orgasm he’d coaxed you through was powerful and quick. 

This, however, was the exact opposite of that.  Each movement was slow and calculated.  Each deliberate roll of his hips made you shudder with pleasure.  It was like he was trying to get his entire cock into you with every thrust while also taking the time to feel every inch.  

“Faster,”  you choked out.

“Want to feel you, angel.”  Minho grunted, “Want to feel you cum on my cock.  Can you do that?” 

“I-it’s too much-”  you choked after a particularly brutal thrust.

“Come on, love, I know you can do it.”

Minho’s hands trailed down your body, to your legs, to hook under the back of your knees.  He hiked your legs up until you had your ankles hooked behind his back.  This gave him a new angle to thrust into you.  His pubic bone grazed deliciously against your clit with every pass.  You were certain that you would lose consciousness at any moment.

“I can’t.”  You sighed out.

“It’s okay, angel.  Just relax and let me take care of you.”  Minho urged.

Only moments later, the string in your tummy pulled taut.  You moaned softly into his neck as he delivered each of his perfect thrusts.  Your back arched off the bed and you pushed your hips up to meet his.  This created the most beautiful and intense pressure in your cunt.  

“You’re squeezing me so tight!  Are you about to come?”  Minho moaned into your ear and you nodded.  “Good girl, let me feel it.”

It was like your body waited for his command.  Your orgasm crashed over you and you couldn’t stop yourself from throwing your head back and letting out the loudest moan of the night.  Minho continued fucking you through it, chanting words of praise into your ear.  Your cunt squeezed the dear life out of him and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d last.  You tightened your legs around him in order to keep him inside you. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” He promised, “I’m going to come inside of you, mark you as mine so you keep a piece of me with you wherever you go.”

“Yes,” You moaned out, still shaking through your powerful orgasm.  

It was all the confirmation he needed to bury himself as deep inside you as he could to release.  The warm sensation of cum filling you up spread through your belly.  Your pussy spasmed around his length, milking him for every single drop.  He thrusted into you shallowly a few times until he was completely empty.  

Finally, your legs dropped from around his waist and he took that as a sign to carefully pull out of your spent hole.  Minho sat up on his knees to watch as his softening cock left your tight hole.  His cock was coated with your slick and shone in the low light from the fireplace.  

He collapsed on the bed next to you and wasted no time in pulling you into him.  Minho held you tightly, neither of you minding the tacky stick of your sweat-slicked skin.  You clung to him as well, burying your face into his neck.  Together, you came down from your highs, breathing hard and holding one another tight. 

“Please stay.”  Minho whispered into your hair, “I won’t command it, but will you please stay with me until dawn?”

“Yes, Minho.  I promise, I’ll stay.”

~!~!~!~!~!~

THE CALL OF the rooster roused you from your sleep well before you were ready.  Your eyes peeled open and the sun had barely even kissed the horizon.  You sighed and pushed the blankets away and sat up.  You glanced up at the pink silk nightgown that hung from your door.  Lady Joy refused to let you give it back, but you couldn’t bear to wear it again.

Gone were the fine silks and wools of the Prince’s palace bedroom.  Here to stay were your maids quarters with its scratchy sheets and windows that you could never quite get clean.  You gently lifted your hand to touch your lips.  Those very lips had touched the Prince’s months ago.  

Slipping out of bed that morning had nearly gutted you, but you redressed in your lady’s silk gown and returned to her quarters.  All before the prince even awoke.  

Eons ago.  The ball and the roses and the gowns were eons ago.  So why did you still feel his touch on your skin?  Why could you still hear the orchestra playing the waltz that your prince whisked you away to?  

You were thankful that his wedding bells hadn’t rung on your day off for the month.  Lady Joy attended the ceremony but left you at home with a long list of chores to complete.  Most of them were mindless busywork but she knew to keep you distracted.  

Since the ceremony, life simply returned to normal.  Your daily tasks resumed and you cared for your lady to the best of your ability.  Which, as of late, was not much.  Lady Joy did her best to be accommodating, which you were more than thankful for. You just wanted to get back to work.  You had a feeling that the grace she was giving you was beginning to frustrate her mother.  

You forced yourself out of bed and you quickly dressed.  You swallowed down the wave of nausea that climbed up your throat and made your way to Lady Joy’s chambers.  The curtains were drawn and the embers of a fire crackled in the fireplace.  Lady Joy was curled up in the center of the bed, fast asleep.  Her light snores provided some white noise as you rekindled the fire and prepared her vanity for her morning routine.  

Eventually, you flung open the curtains and the warm light from the sun streamed into the room.  You sighed as it hit your skin, basking in the warmth for a few moments.  Joy groaned behind you and shoved her head under her pillow. 

“Rise and shine, my Lady.  You have many duties to attend to today.”  You chided her. 

“Like what?”  Joy groaned, muffled by the pillow.

“There is a tea party this afternoon.  Duchess Loh is hosting and is expecting your attendance.  Then Lady Mina is requesting your presence at dinner this evening.”  You explained, moving from the drapes to the closet.  You threw open the doors and perused the gowns available for the day.  You were admittedly a little behind in your laundry.

“I think we should cancel.”  Joy groaned, “I’m feeling quite ill today.”

“Ill?  Are you alright?”  You retreated from the closet to sit on the edge of her bed.

“My stomach is turning.  I’ve been feeling ill for several days.”  Joy gently rubbed her stomach.  “It usually passes in the evening but perhaps dinner disagreed with me?”

“For the last several days?  That sounds quite serious.  Perhaps I should call for the doctor?”  You cleared your throat, wondering if you should tell her that you’d been feeling the exact same way. 

“Perhaps it is simply the pain of my courses.  I’m supposed to bleed soon, right?”  Joy finally pulled her face from the pillow and sat up. 

“Have you not begun yet?”

“No…”  Joy trailed off.  “Oh, lord have mercy.  The ball was three months ago now, right?”

“I suppose so.  Oh no…”  You trailed off, “My Lady, what happened when I left for the Prince’s chambers?”

“I… made a promise not to say a word.”  Joy chewed on her lower lip, “Sir Peter came to find me.  We had such a stimulating conversation and he wanted to continue it.  It was an accident, but we touched and…”

“Lady Joy!”  You gasped, covering your mouth with your hands, “Why has he not come to call?”

“He’s from Rome, like our princess.  He left the next morning.”  Joy wailed, a dam breaking within her and her tears flowed down her cheeks.  “Dear Y/N, I am so sorry I didn’t tell you!  I thought you wouldn’t want to hear it after everything with the prince and-”

“You need not apologize to me, my Lady.”  You took her in your arms and patted her hair while she cried for a few minutes,  “I know it must be so difficult to be without him.”

“It feels like my heart has been torn from my chest!” 

“My Lady, please let me fetch the doctor.  If you are with child then we must know.  While he’s here, I think he should see me, too.”  You winced as you spoke.

Lady Joy pulled away from you instantly, her eyes as wide as saucers.  Her eyes dipped from your face down to your stomach.  You chewed on your lip, wondering if it was seriously possible that both of you were with child at the same time.  You hadn’t experienced the nausea that most women report but you noted that your courses were late last month, and certain smells that once pleased you were now nauseating.  

“Would that mean that…”  Joy trailed off. 

“I believe so, miss.”

“Fetch the doctor.”  Joy scrambled out of bed and threw the drapes closed.  “And… fetch mother.  I fear we will need to retire to the countryside for the rest of the season.”

Your hand drifted to your stomach, now churning with fear.  You met Joy’s eyes and for a moment.  Anxiety swirled between you as the consequences of your actions hovered over your shoulders.  

For a moment, both you and Joy remained still.  

Then, you did what you do best.  You rose to your feet and walked head-first into your duties and your future.  Without your prince.

[hornyfor-redacted-onmain]

May The Odds Be Ever In Your Favor

Pieces of My Heart - Chapter 1 Stray Kids OT8 x reader, Soulmate AU

Masterlist | Next Chapter

When you first arrived in the city, it was in the middle of the night. The sights had blurred around you, your dinner had felt tasteless, the forced smiles to the hotel staff and strangers you boarded the elevator with making your cheeks ache. You wanted nothing more than to just crash in your bed and go to sleep, which was exactly what you did.

In contrast, the second day felt like waking up in a movie.

You would have contributed your good mood to the concert, but it wasn’t until tomorrow. There was just something about the air around you as you got up and got ready, the way that the city sounds you’re your open window made you smile instead of feeling irritated like it had last night, or the way you’re your smile to the strangers in the elevator felt a lot less forced. Maybe it was the anticipation of being in a city you had never been in before, the new sights that you hadn’t been able to appreciate the night before.

There was an extra skip in your step as you made your way out into the streets.

Your first stop was to a café you had googled the day before that was only a 15-minute walk from your hotel. It had great reviews and offered your favorite treats, so you wanted to get something to eat before you decided to visit some of the city’s landmarks.

The café wasn’t particularly full when you arrived, only 3 people in the line in front of you, but somehow the small chatter and the colorful menu managed to distract you until there was only 1 person still in front of you.

It was only then that you realized the red string that disappeared through their chest. And your heart skipped a beat.

For as long as you could remember, the floor around you was littered with red strings. When you were younger, your mother explained to you what a soulmate was, explained the stories and myths behind it, tried to explain the science behind it, but the thing that grabbed your attention the most was how insistent she was that you never tell anyone how many strings you had.

8 strings.

“Not everyone has a red string”, you remembered her telling you. “Some people have words, the first words their soulmates will say to them. Some are lucky, they have names. Some people don’t know what their soul bond is until they meet their soulmates, some never get any at all.”

“But I got 8,” You had exclaimed proudly with a smile, the excitement of having 8 people to love all you could think about. You were too young to consider the ramifications of having so many soulmates. The constant harassment you would endure, the words people would whisper behind your back.

Most people got 1 soulmate. Some were lucky, and they got 2 or 3. Not all soulmates were romantic, some platonic or even familial, but since the vast majority ended in a romantic relationship, the idea of multiple soulmates was frowned upon.

You had learned from a very young age to ignore the strings that followed you around.

But this one was impossible to ignore.

The man in front of you shifted, enough that the string followed his movement. It was leading directly to him, not just passing through. You had deduced a long time ago that your soulmates lived very far away, since their strings rarely changed directions. You had never seen it this high, never seen it move so easily, and there was no doubt in your mind that your soulmate was directly in front of you.

Your brain froze.

“Thank You! Next?”

The barista’s voice snapped you out of your stupor, and you snapped your head to the side to follow the string (and your soulmate) as it moved to the seating area of the café. You forced yourself to look away, your heart still beating hard, and impulsively ordered the first thing on the menu. You gave them your name and stumbled to an open table near the café windows, on the other side of the store from where your soulmate now sat, scrolling through his phone.

‘Talk to him’ a voice in your head screamed at you.

‘What do I even say to him?’ the logical side argued. ‘What if he had the first words soulbond? You don’t want your first words to him to be something stupid’.

The other voice grumbled in agreement, and you struggled to think of something to say. Something flirty, maybe? Or something sweet, reassuring, so you knew they grew up with kind words on them. What if they didn’t even have a first words soulbond at all? They couldn’t have an indicator type bond, otherwise they would have noticed you by now.

And like a flip had been switched, you were suddenly very aware of the other 7 strings that sprouted from your chest, and the movement that came from them. Two of them were behind you, swaying slightly as if affected by a small breeze, and the other 5 were at eye level, disappearing into the distance through the café windows, out into the city.

Not just into the distance. Up above.

All of your soulmates were here close by, possibly even in the very same city as you. The thought made your already nervous heart nearly burst out of our chest. You nearly jumped out of your seat when the barista called out your name, and you rushed to the front to grab your drink only to realize that your soulmate was no longer in the last place you had seen him.

You turned in your spot, eyes darting around frantically, and you spotted his blue jacket just as the café doors closed behind him. Through the windows, you watched him make his way to the left.

Moving so fast that your hot drink splashed against your fingers, you stumbled out of the café behind him, eyes trying their hardest to keep sight of his retreating back as it blended into the crowds.

“W-wait!” You shouted. A few people around you stopped to look, but not your soulmate.

You were running now, panicked at the idea of losing sight of your soulmate, the person that destiny had created to match with you on every level, the person you had dreamed of meeting your entire life. You yelled out again, nothing coherent and certainly not witty or flirtatious or nice, but it was enough to get them to look back.

God, you really hoped they didn’t have those words on them forever.

The man, your soulmate, had his face hidden by a mask, his eyes covered by a hat and yet somehow you could sense the panic that was coming off him in waves by his body language along. It was enough that you suddenly lost your confidence, stumbling to a stop in front of him as you took a deep breath, staring into his wide eyes with your own.

He held his coffee in front of him as if he had been prepared for you to tackle him, his entire body tense.

“You-“

Your voice seemed to get stuck in your throat, and so you took a second to swallow. Your soulmate used that moment of silence to lower his raised arms, his shoulders seemingly relaxing but still holding tension.

“Ah, hello.” He said.

In Korean.

You blanked, your words immediately dying. You started to panic, thinking to yourself ‘shit, he speaks Korean. Does he speak English? How were you going to explain this situation to him now?’ when he continued.

“Oh, do you need … something?”

These words were in English, heavily accented and a little slow, as if he was unsure himself of what he was saying. But it was enough reassurance that even if he didn’t speak English well, he had to know enough to understand what you were about to say.

You really hoped he did.

“You’re my soulmate!”

Both of you stared at each other with equal degrees of shock. Him at your words, and you at your bluntness.

‘God, really hope he doesn’t have first words’.

At his silence, his lack of reaction, you began to have doubts. What if you had been wrong somehow? The string attached to your chest definitely connected to him, but maybe it was a one-sided connection. One sided soulmate bond was extremely rare, but you had 8 soulmates.

Maybe this was simply a mistake.

Your panic must have shown on your face because he suddenly moved, raising his hands in reassurance and babbling something quickly in Korean. You only understood ‘its okay’, watching as his own panic seemed to overcome him as he looked around. You weren’t sure what he was looking for, but as his eyes landed on your own drink, he was suddenly right in front of you, pushing your drink up towards your face.

“Drink,” was all he said, urging you to do exactly that.

At his sudden movement and weird manhandling, you began to pull away from him, confused. “What, wait what the hell man!”

But then he let you go, mimicking with his own drink what he wanted from you. “Drink, please.”

And then it hit you, that he wasn’t just being weird. He wanted you to drink your drink, because he wanted to see if you were actually his soulmate.

It wasn’t unexpected for some people to use a soulmate bond as an excuse to get close to strangers, to take advantage of others, and the fact that you didn’t think about that before suddenly springing this on to a complete stranger made you want to hit yourself in the face.

So, with a nod of understanding, you were quick to down your now cooling drink. It wasn’t bad, not your usual go to choose, but it had a strong after flavor. You grimaced at the sensation, running your tongue over your teeth to get rid of the taste.

And then you were being pulled into a hug.

It was like something inside of you clicked, like a piece of the puzzle being put together. All your worries were gone, all your thoughts empty, the only thing you could feel was peace. The rest of the world just disappeared.

Your weren’t sure how anyone could confuse someone for their soulmate, not with this feeling to confirm.

He pulled back, saying something once again in Korean, and then pulling you back in for another hug. “You are my soulmate! Ah, I’m so glad. I … wait a very long time.”

“I, I’m really glad too,” You whispered, trying hard not to cry at the sudden emotions that overwhelmed you.

You held him just as tightly, breathing in his scent and familiarizing yourself with the way your arms fit perfectly around his shoulders. When you finally pulled away, you were suddenly aware of the fact that the two of you were in the middle of the street, and while it wasn’t odd to see soulmates meeting in public and it was usually common curtesy to give them space, some people were glaring as they walked around the two of you.

Woops.

Your soulmate seemed to realize at the same time, and you weren’t surprised when he grabbed your hand to pull you off to the side. What you did find odd was the sudden panic at he pulled his cap down further, turning away from the crowd and pulling you close so that you were hidden behind him. You tried to look behind him to see what he was hiding from, but he pulled you back in.

“Ah, no. Please. Uh …. Not safe.”

“Huh?”

His eyes narrowed as his nose scrunched up, and he scratched his neck. “I … um. Fuck. I am a … celebrity.” He gave an exaggerated point to his face, waving his finger around the mask specifically, and you nodded in understanding.

Then your brain caught up.

Having a celebrity for a soulmate was definitely unexpected, but you supposed it wasn’t impossible. You had seen a couple of celebrities announce their soulmates were random people, sometimes even fans, but you had never once entertained the idea that you could be one of those people. However, with 8 soulmates, it was bound to happen.

And then your soulmate gave another quick glance around, and he turned back at you with a soft gaze.

His hand reached up to grab his mask, pulling it down just enough for you to see his lips move with his next words.

“My name is Yang Jeongin. It’s nice to meet you.”

You would have found the way he slightly bowed his head in greeting adorable if you weren’t too busy freaking out. He quickly pulled his mask back up and asked you what your name was, but you couldn’t get your mouth to close from where it had dropped. And while he tilted his head to the side in confusion at your silence, he quickly righted himself as he seemed to realize what had happened.

“Ah, are you Stay?”

You could tell he was smiling. Your mouth closed shut so quickly it made an audible snapping noise, and you stuttered out your name. When his smile only seemed to grow, you quickly hid your face behind your hands and let out a groan, not even complaining as Jeongin seemed to laugh.

What were the odds?

“So cute,” he cooed. “My soulmate is Stay. Good.”

You had been saving up for months to afford the plane ticket, the hotel, the concert. The concert you were supposed to go to tomorrow.

“It’s okay. Don’t hide, please. I’m happy!”

Jeongin’s hands covered yours, pulling them away from your face so he could see you clearly. His eyes were so soft, so full of emotions you couldn’t begin to comprehend, and you couldn’t stand to see him, so you buried your face into his shoulder instead. He didn’t complain, pulling you into a hug and letting out a hum in content.

“Finally,” He whispered. He said something else in Korean, but your little knowledge was not enough to translate what he said, and he didn’t repeat it in English, so you weren’t even sure he was talking to you.

What were the odds that you would meet your soulmate the day before their concert?

[whimsimille]

Our Bond Reaper: MASTERLIST

Minsung x Fem!Reader

Soulmate AU

Words: ~20000

contains mentions of 18+ content, sex, drug use, abuse of substances, nsfw undertone, established relationship (jisung x minho), oral (f and m receiving), piv, mxm, threesome, overstimulation, handjob, dry humping,

a/n: should i continue?

Chapter 1: Intro.

Chapter 2: The Ritual

Chapter 3: All of you

Chapter 4: Meeting you across the centuries