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Lily Luck | BTS

“You get five chances to meet your soulmate. Five opportunities to look them in the eyes and be overwhelmed with the feeling of love. To find a little red line around your pinky finger. Yet, the feeling dwindles with each missed opportunity. Each missed opportunity comes with a scar where that red line should be. It’s a game of fate and luck, and the latter doesn’t seem to be on your side.”

›› AU: Soulmates ›› Genre: Angst / Fluff … I think? ›› Rating: R (implicit sexual content) ›› Pairing: Mystery Member x Reader, MxM pairings ›› Word Count: 10.7k  ›› Warnings Include: Swearing, alcohol use, romantic angst and anxiety, very slight implicit sexual content, a very drunk Jungkook, soulmate scars. This is not a nsfw 18+ fic! A/N: Hi there again, @spicykoreantatertots. Here it finally is! I hope that you enjoy what I did with the entire story. Thanks for talking to me a bit after I posted the teaser. It’s what sparked my idea for the last scene ;) there’s some stuff hidden there for you. Please enjoy! Happy late Valentine’s day. — Lily, aka Gwaen. 

Soulmates of the first mark are the most devoted. Their love is pure and all-consuming.

You’re late. It’s your first class of the semester and you’re terribly late. The worst part is that you got up at six in the morning to make it and you’re still late. As one of the only fifteen people to make it into this class you consider yourself lucky. But if you’re late you will also be promptly replaced by someone on the waiting list.

So you’re running, darting across campus because your train had been stuck at a red sign and made you just those five minutes late which could cost you your spot in this class. Out of breath, you swerve a corner, nearly tumbling over as the sole of your boot gets caught on the pavement. You shouldn’t have worn platforms.

You’re gonna make it. No matter what. Continuing your sprint towards the building at the south end of campus, you check the time on your phone. Four minutes left. You can d—

Colliding straight into someone’s chest, you topple forward. Your bag skirts over the stones and you curse out loud. The guy does the same, having landed straight on his backside with you sprawled over his lap.

You don’t have time for this. All you see before you scramble up is a messy mop of blonde hair and a very exotic — not messed up — bouquet of lilies.

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