Matters Of The Heart (Anthony/Reader)
here comes the long-awaited, shitty soulmate AU
Length: 2,238 words
Note: everything is explained in the fic (such as what exactly is going on)
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For as far back as human history goes, soulmates have been destined. Two — or more — people, woven together in a tapestry of love, drawn towards each other by the same need that pulls the ocean to the shore, or as strong as how the stars need darkness in order to shine.
Some would say that, like words being written to be read, what was the point of being in love if it was not with your soulmate? What was the point of existing if you had not met your soulmate?
How do you know you’ve met your soulmate? you demanded of your mother one evening as she tucked you into bed, her stories of love and fated lovers meant to send you off to sleep. Instead, they simply heightened your endless curiosity on the subject.
“The flowers,” your mother replied simply, shrugging her shoulders and giving no other explanation.
You did not find out anymore until you were seven, too young and distracted to notice the thin, nobbling vines bearing white flowers when they first appeared at the tip of your index finger, crawling and twisting down the length of it.
When you finally did notice, you rushed to your mother in confusion, demanding an explanation for the sudden, tattoo-like picture that had appeared on your skin, seemingly out of nowhere.
Without telling you much other than to slow down, your mother sat you at her feet, pulling your hand up close to her face for inspection. She traced the flowers with her finger, all the way up to where they stopped, just below the curve of your wrist.
“Do you know what these mean, Y/N?” asked your mother. You shook your head, a frown creasing your forehead. “These are the marks of your soulmate. I’ve told you about soulmates before, haven’t I?”
At that, you nodded. Stories of soulmates, of long-awaited love and fated lovers, had been your favourite ones to hear of. Sometimes, your mother would pull back her sleeve and show you her arms, how her flowers — red in colour, a bright contrast to your white ones — extended until they covered her entire arm. (“I met your father a little late,” she would admit with a chuckle.)
“The flowers will only stop growing once your soulmate has touched them,” your mother told you.