#fingerprint of the soul

[the-harvest-field]

Working in Tech as an Artist: Blending Creativity with Innovation

http://www.spinnekop.co.za Introduction: In today’s rapidly evolving world, technology is shaping almost every aspect of our lives. From the way we communicate to the way we work, it’s evident that the influence of technology is ubiquitous. However, amid the dominance of technical skills and data-driven decision-making, there is an emerging trend that celebrates the fusion of artistry and…

[aleskiin]

VYKE

A very old drawing i did in 2022 for the Inktober :)

For some reason people on ig and twt really liked it lol, I think I'll redraw this because there are some problems 😵‍💫

[da-janela-lateral]

I've always been curious about esper aura textures. Do they form based on the way psychic energy emerges from its source and weaves itself into an external structure? Do their appearance have a genetic factor just like the very presence of ESP, or its purely a matter of a person's soul? Are there registered patterns in which they can manifest? Do their shapes, colors and movements have a general reason to appear like that, or does it depend on the person? Can the patterns change? Do the patterns interfer in sensorial properties, like perceived temperature, texture or hardness?

Oh that's an anime only thing right.

[her-penetrating-soul]

"Our fingerprints dont fade from the lives we touch"

Judy Blume

[technomancer-01]

On the Nature of Tarnished Souls || Vyke, Knight of the Roundtable ||

No other Tarnished was closer to the throne of the Elden Lord than Vyke. But without announcement, Vyke traveled far below the capital, and was scorched by the flame of frenzy.

Did he make his choice for his maiden, or did some other force lure him with suggestion?

.

Request suggestion from :). Starting to clean up some of my older posts, pull myself out of this brainfog. I have been playing more Tears of the Kingdom lately, I may have to force myself to unwind and relax but I am enjoying it so far! Definitely a shocker from Ocarina of Time but it feels good to game again

Instagram: @technomancer_01

Twitter: @technomancer_01

Not sure how social mediaz works, I’m not going to force people to follow me, it just feels nice to not shout into a void I guess

[lastpersonbehind]

Festering Fingerprint Vyke, Elden Ring

digital doodle, photoshop

[goose-books]

you know how valentine van velt is a novel but also my desperate attempt to communicate my subjective experience of reading the catcher in the rye while being sick in the head. that one short story i wrote at clarion west, if i can ever wrangle it into a shape fit for the light of day, is that for dickens’ a tale of two cities

[cliveguy]

like I can’t talk that much shit because I did read the whole thing and it was entertaining, but red white and royal blue truly read like a fanfiction both plot and writing style lol

i still can't even bring myself to read that one as a joke... literally the president's son and a member of the royal family fucking sounds like something out of a 2012 drarry au

[kguhle]

i start my new job tomorrow!!!!

[motion90affect]

[phoenixrisingastro]

Astro Observations IV: Forbidden Truths & Sinful Secrets

1. Mars in Scorpio people don’t fck, they possess. They don’t chase, they lurk. You won’t even know they want you until they’re inches away from your soul, whispering your own secrets back to you.*

2. Venus in Capricorn doesn’t fall in love; they build empires of desire. If they choose you, it’s because you fit into their long-term vision—your love is a contract, and breaking it means war.

3. Moon square Pluto people don’t cry in front of you. They suffer in silence, alone, in the dark, and when they come back? They make sure you never see the body they had to bury to survive.

4. Neptune in the 1st house people don’t walk—they float. They’re untouchable, ethereal, but also impossible to fully know. You’ll fall in love with them and never realize it was just a mirage.

5. Mercury in Aries people will start a fight just to see you react. If your words don’t have a pulse, they get bored. If your mind isn’t sharp, they move on. They want lovers who can keep up, or they’ll leave you in the dust.

6. The 8th house stellium gaze? It’s hypnotic, seductive, and unreadable. They could be planning your demise or memorizing every detail of your soul. Either way, they’ll make sure you never forget them.

7. Jupiter in the 8th house people don’t just attract money—they manifest wealth through the power of the unseen. When they align with their shadow, they unlock a financial glow-up no one saw coming.

8. People with Pluto in the 7th house don’t fall in love—they get entangled. Their lovers either break them or make them invincible. There’s no in-between.

9. Sun square Moon people feel like they were born into a life that doesn’t fit them. Their head and heart are constantly at war, and relationships feel like learning how to love through conflict.

10. Lilith in the 10th house women are sex symbols even if they don’t try to be. They can be wearing sweatpants, no makeup, and people still assume they’re dangerous. And they are.

11. If you’ve ever been with someone whose Mars squares your Venus, you know the feeling of wanting someone so bad it physically hurts. The attraction is undeniable, but so is the destruction.

12. The 12th house Moon is haunted. They carry emotions that don’t belong to them—ancestral grief, past-life wounds, the collective’s sadness. They feel everything, and yet, they always seem just out of reach.

13. A North Node-South Node synastry connection? It feels like coming home and being exiled at the same time. You recognize them, but you also know you can’t stay.

14. Saturn in the 5th house people don’t get to experience carefree love. Their heart has been weighed down by karma, responsibility, and self-doubt. They don’t trust joy—but when they finally do, it’s unshakable.

15. Venus-Pluto aspects in synastry are karmic handcuffs. You’re drawn in, trapped in the intensity, and even when you walk away, you can still feel their fingerprints on your soul.

16. Mercury in Scorpio people don’t just speak—they infiltrate your mind. You could tell them a lie, and they’ll just stare at you, waiting for you to crumble under their silence.

17. People with their Sun in the 8th house don’t age—they evolve. Every few years, they shed their skin and become unrecognizable, leaving behind a version of themselves that no longer exists.

18. *Uranus in the 7th house? Relationships never go as planned. They fall in love with people they never expected, experience breakups that come out of nowhere, and learn that love is only real when it’s free. *

19. Mars in Leo lovers don’t beg for attention—they demand it. And if you don’t give them the passion they crave, they’ll find someone else who will.

20. Neptune square Venus people always see lovers for who they could be, rather than who they are. They ignore the red flags, rewrite the truth, and wonder why their love stories always end in disillusionment.

21. Moon in Aquarius people love like a midnight breeze—detached, refreshing, but always just out of reach. You can hold them, but you can’t own them.

22. If you have your Midheaven in Scorpio, your rise to success is slow, secretive, and unstoppable. You transform your image like a phoenix, and by the time people notice, it’s too late—you’ve already won.

23. Chiron in the 1st house people were born with wounds that aren’t theirs. They grow up feeling like they have to prove their worth, and only after years of struggle do they realize they were whole all along.

24. People with Mars in the 4th house either had to fight for their safety as children or learned how to build emotional walls so high that no one could ever hurt them again.

25. Sun conjunct Pluto people can’t be ignored. You either love them, fear them, or want to be them. There’s no middle ground.

26. Jupiter in Aries people make their own luck. They don’t wait for doors to open—they kick them down and walk through like they own the place.

27. The 6th house ruler in the 8th house? Work and death are somehow intertwined. Maybe they work in psychology, healing, or dealing with taboo topics. Maybe they’re just always on the edge of transformation.

28. People with Mars in the 12th house are warriors in the shadows. They don’t fight in the open—they strategize, plot, and strike when you least expect it.

29. A Venus square Saturn woman has a heart made of glass covered in barbed wire. She loves deeply, but only lets a select few inside. If you break her trust, you’re dead to her forever.

30. If you’ve ever been obsessed with someone and couldn’t explain why, check your Pluto synastry. The planet of control and destruction doesn’t just connect people—it binds them.

**Thanks for all the love on my posts! Will keep them coming everyday.

[sbcdh]

In 1967 the government discovered that specific syllable structures combined with specific vocal tones and ultra-low-frequency sounds could speed up the process of unconscious internalization by over 1500%. This became particularly useful for teaching low-level employees large amounts of information, as "hypnophonic learning" could be done while the subject was asleep.

Hypnophone use became standard for new employees of the IRS and SEC, as it made large scale memorization of tax code and financial law significantly cheaper and easier than traditional conscious education.

However, long term use causes the subjects long term memory to atrophy, requiring nightly repetitions of hypnophone use. Some enterprising employees found that the effects could be counteracted with low dosages of LSD to preserve neuroplasticity.

Roughly 1 in 7 employees encountered a strange phenomenon: Mild financial clairvoyance.

One in roughly 50 employees experienced more significant effects, generally those ensconced in large isolated IRS warehouses, which seemed to replicate the monastic lifestyles of historical sages, depriving subjects of ordinary stimuli in favor of becoming attuned to minute changes in the sub-finantial background grid.

Once it was learned that these "enlightened" employees could predict market trends before they happened, the technology was bathed in funding, patented, and made the soul property of the IRS.

Now, these "Plutophants" are kept in nigh-perfect sensory deprivation at all times, fed a constant hypnotic fugue stream of psychic conditioning in the form of "radiosonic neuro-induction" which contains a special form of the United States Tax Code modified for recursive hypnophonic induction, as well as a ticker tape wired directly into the users spine.

The effects achieved are nothing short of stunning. The invisible hand is no longer invisible to us. The market can be fine tuned with surgical precision. The price of bread has maintained a perfect 0.002% +/- variance for over 25 years now, and those who attempt to disrupt the guidelines are regulated by the SECs crack psychonautics division, who are now able to hunt market manipulation via their disruption in the financial dreamscape.

Very rarely, a Plutophant can become so attuned to the guidelines that they achieve a sort of catastrophic neuro-depatterning, their synapses begin to produce a counter-signal to the neuro-induction frequencies; jamming, and eventually overpowering the machine. Study is still ongoing, but it is believed that they somehow perpetuate their own neurological fingerprint into the financial causal background grid itself, literally becoming "one with the market."

Study is ongoing.

[rebelresolve]

tag dump #2: hera's family

[dksfml]

off my face - yjw

pairing: jungwon x reader genre: soulmate au, mega FLUFF word count: 6.6k summary: in a world where each person has a soulmate mark indicating where they will be touched by their soulmate for the first time, there’s jungwon—the soccer team captain you’d like to be ruined by forever—who has no soulmate mark at all. what does that make you, someone whose mark has changed color because of him? author's note: finally!! here's your most awaited blond jungwon fic that i skipped sleep for<3333 inspired by this amazing prompt my friend sent me.

One touch and you got me stoned. Higher than I've ever known. You call the shots and I follow. Sunrise, but the night still young. No words, but we speak in tongues. If you let me, I might say too much.

You sat near the front row, posture perfect, eyes narrowed as Professor Min’s lecture on ancient mythology took a surprising turn. Today’s topic wasn’t just history—it was soulmate lore, the mysterious marks everyone was born with, and the myths that surrounded them. The professor’s calm, seasoned voice filled the room, but the air buzzed with barely contained excitement. Everyone was alert, even the usual back-row whisperers, captivated by the promise of something rare: a sanctioned discussion about their most private marks.

“These soulmate marks,” Professor Min began, his gaze sweeping the room with a faint smile, “are said to be the final traces of a bond forged in a past life. Legends tell us that in each lifetime, we may be separated from our soulmates, lost to distance or circumstance. But the marks,” he gestured to his own faintly darkened palm, “are said to be the soul’s way of leaving a trail—a reminder.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Everyone had a mark, a small patch of inky darkness, as distinct as fingerprints, mapped out on their bodies. Some had them on their palms or fingertips, waiting for the day a handshake or brush of fingers would light up that mark with color. Others had them in more curious places, whispering of fated touches in the most unlikely moments.

"The legend says," Professor Min continued, "that these marks were painted by one’s soulmate in a past life, a vow made in hopes to meet again, to find each other across time."

You clenched your pen a little tighter, the faint tickle of wonder battling the urge to keep your expression blank and unfeeling. You’d always kept your interest in soulmate marks private. They seemed so full of mystery, and the idea of your soulmate waiting for you somewhere was oddly… reassuring. You glanced down, conscious of the mark behind your knee, hidden like a strange secret that even you could barely understand. What kind of first touch would even reach there? The thought was both amusing and baffling, and you stifled a wry smile.

Around you, other students leaned in to chat, loud enough that their conversations blended into a steady hum. Your classmate Arin nudged her friend, laughing as she displayed the faint mark on her palm. “I’ve been dying to know who’ll shake my hand one day,” she whispered excitedly, her eyes glimmering with hope.

But your gaze drifted just beyond Arin, landing instead on a familiar figure lounging in the middle row with his legs stretched out, looking every bit like he was born to disrupt things without lifting a finger. Jungwon. Handsome in a way that seemed almost unfair, with striking, dark eyes framed by lashes that cast subtle shadows on his cheeks, and hair the color of midnight that fell in soft, tousled waves. He had this effortless, magnetic presence that drew people toward him, like he knew he didn’t need to try.

As captain of the soccer team and one of the most well-known faces on campus, Jungwon somehow managed to look both sharp and relaxed, as if the attention his looks or reputation brought him meant nothing. You’d been crushing on him since last year, an avid fan always present at his games, cheering him on like a lovesick fool. Whenever he scored a goal, you felt your heart leap, and you couldn’t help but unleash your inner fangirl, your excitement spilling over as you screamed his name. Right now, he seemed half-listening to his friends, a hint of a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leaned back, eyes drifting up to the ceiling before refocusing on his friends. It was that easygoing confidence that made him impossible not to notice—and, for you, impossible not to think about.

It was a boy from his friend group, Jay, who interrupted the class chatter by slapping a hand down on the table and teasing, “Come on, Won. You don’t have a soulmate mark, my foot. No one gets off that easy.” The comment was light-hearted but loaded, and more than a few students turned to look.

To your surprise, Jungwon didn’t react with one of his usual witty comebacks or careless shrugs. Instead, he just rubbed the back of his neck, a hint of something almost vulnerable flashing across his face. “No, really,” he insisted, almost apologetically. “I don’t have one. I checked a million times as a kid.”

Your pen paused mid-note, and a slight, irrational disappointment prickled in your chest. It was hard to believe, especially about someone like Jungwon, whose very presence seemed destined to leave a mark on others. Soulmate marks might be rare, but someone like him not having one? It felt impossible, like a missing piece that no one noticed until it was too late.

For a fleeting moment, you wondered if maybe he just hadn’t found it yet. After all, some people only discovered their mark when it finally turned to color. Sometimes it wasn’t a visible spot on the skin but something far subtler—a shadow in the hue of their lips that would only brighten after a first kiss, or a darkness lingering in an eye, invisible until the gentle touch of someone wiping away their tears brought it to life. The thought sent a strange warmth to your cheeks as you glanced back toward him, wondering if Jungwon’s missing mark was just waiting for the right person to unlock it.

Still, he looked surprisingly honest, a faint hint of sadness clouding his otherwise bright gaze. For someone so magnetic, it was as if he was caught drifting in space, without any tether connecting him to anyone at all.

“Alright, alright,” Jay relented, raising his hands in surrender but laughing all the same. “Guess someone’s too cool to be fated to anyone, huh?”

The professor’s voice cut back in, and you forced yourself to refocus, though your mind lingered on Jungwon’s quiet expression and the flicker of something in his eyes, something both resigned and deeply private. Could he really be alone in a world where everyone else was bound to someone?

“Imagine having your mark on your knuckles,” Arin whispered beside you with a grin, oblivious to the moment that had just passed. “You’d probably knock your soulmate out before you even realized they were ‘the one’!”

Another round of laughter scattered through the room, like a shared inside joke. The air felt charged, as if everyone were suddenly curious about each other’s marks, glancing around with new eyes. You let out a small sigh, tapping your pen against your notebook with a faint smile. As much as you tried to keep up the class president, model-student act, the idea of soulmates fascinated you in a way you’d never quite admit.

When the bell finally rang, the room filled with that familiar end-of-class chaos. You started packing up, keeping your head down—until you noticed Jungwon slinging his bag over his shoulder, looking effortlessly put-together, as usual. He laughed at something his friend said, his expression relaxed, his dark eyes flickering with amusement. But you couldn’t help catching the faintest flicker of something else in his gaze as he glanced at his friends—like a momentary, unguarded look that felt… wistful?

Okay, maybe that was just you being overly imaginative.

You let out a little huff as you slung your own bag over your shoulder, shaking off the strange pity you’d felt moments before. So what if Jungwon didn’t have a mark? You barely even knew him. Well, you kind of knew him, but from a distance—and with way more daydreams than you’d like to admit. Still, it was silly to wonder about him, right? With your head full of these thoughts, you walked out into the hallway, lost in a world where maybe, just maybe, he was wondering about you, too.

And as you brushed past a group of friends, laughing and shoving each other, your hand slipped over the back of your knee, where your own mark was hidden—quiet, waiting, and as mysterious as ever.

The sky was an endless blue, stretching wide over the school field as your class spilled out onto the grass for PE. With the teacher conveniently on vacation, today’s instructions were simple: enjoy the free time. Most of your classmates took to the field, breaking off into little clusters for a lazy game of soccer, light stretches, or simple gossip sessions by the bleachers.

As class president, you took it upon yourself to ensure no one went too far or caused trouble. Your duty, as you saw it, was to survey your classmates from a slight distance, keeping an eye out with the calm, serious gaze you’d carefully perfected. Yet even from the sidelines, your eyes found themselves drifting toward a familiar figure on the field, drawn to him like magnets.

Jungwon was at the center of the field with his friends, casual and relaxed, but his every move carried an elegance that made your pulse skip. He was laughing at something his friend said, his eyes crinkling as he kicked the soccer ball back and forth, the glint of a confident smirk tugging at his lips. His ease on the field was mesmerizing, a mixture of strength and grace that made it hard to look away.

You reminded yourself to focus, scanning the field to check on the other groups. But before you could pull your attention back entirely, a voice called out, and you saw Jungwon pivot to chase the soccer ball—only for it to ricochet off his foot, headed directly toward you with alarming speed.

In the split second it took you to react, you felt a sharp thud against the back of your knees. The impact sent you stumbling forward, knees buckling beneath you as you tumbled to the ground. Pain flared up where the ball had struck, but it was drowned out by the shock of it all.

“Oh no—are you okay?” Jungwon’s voice was breathless with concern, his steps hurried as he reached you. You barely had a chance to process his arrival before he knelt beside you, face flushed and clearly panicked. His hand hovered awkwardly as if afraid to touch you, his usual calm replaced with something far more vulnerable.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to— Are you hurt?” he stammered, his voice unusually soft. He reached out gently, his hands carefully brushing against your arm as he tried to help you up. “Can you stand?”

Your mind struggled to catch up to the moment, and it took everything you had to keep your stoic demeanor intact. Jungwon was close, closer than he’d ever been, and the intensity of his worried gaze was unexpectedly disarming. Even as pain pulsed through your knee, you couldn’t help but stare, captivated by how intensely he focused on you, as if everything else in the world had fallen away.

“I’m fine, really,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. But as soon as you tried to stand, pain shot up your leg.

Jungwon’s expression shifted to one of determination, and before you could protest, he slid one arm under your knees and lifted you up, his other arm around your shoulders. The world tilted as he held you in a firm, steady grip, his face barely inches from yours. “We’re getting you to the nurse. No arguments.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned by his closeness, by the warmth radiating from him. “Oh—okay.” The words left your mouth almost on instinct, your brain still catching up with the fact that Jungwon was carrying you, his focus set entirely on you. His hands brushed your arm as he adjusted his grip, and you felt a strange warmth bloom under your skin, something unfamiliar and electric.

The walk to the nurse’s office was quiet, but you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze flickered to you, the gentleness in his expression as he murmured, “Sorry again. I’d never forgive myself if I hurt the class president.”

Your lips parted, searching for something to say, but the way he looked at you—soft, maybe even a bit shy—left you wordless. All you could do was nod, your heart pounding louder with each step as you held onto the feeling of his arms around you, wondering if he could hear it too.

It wasn’t until you glanced down that you noticed it—a faint shift of color beneath your knee where the ball had struck. The mark, once hidden and dark, now radiated a subtle but unmistakable bright yellow hue, soft and warm against your skin.

You froze, eyes wide, as the realization settled in. Jungwon was still mumbling apologies, unaware of the discovery you’d just made. Only he could have caused the mark to change; he was the only one who had touched that spot. The idea left you breathless, your mind scrambling to make sense of it all.

In the clinic, the nurse examined your knee with a quick, professional assessment. “You’ll be fine,” she declared, sending you off with an ice pack and a faint smile. But your thoughts were still racing, tangled up in the startling realization that Jungwon might actually be your soulmate.

The whole walk back to class, you replayed the moment in your mind, trying to make sense of it. Maybe it was a coincidence. Perhaps someone had brushed the back of your knee at some other time, and you simply hadn’t noticed. But deep down, you knew the truth—the mark had only changed when Jungwon touched you.

And when you returned to class, he was there, hovering near the door with a worried frown. He looked up as you approached, eyes bright with relief.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a slight smile breaking through the concern etched into his features. “I was worried about you.”

Your heart skipped as you nodded, doing your best to keep your voice steady. “I’m fine. Just… a bit shaken up, that’s all.” You felt the weight of the new secret pressing down on you, but you forced yourself to smile.

Jungwon’s shoulders relaxed, and he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck in that effortlessly charming way of his. “I’m glad. I’ll be more careful with my aim next time.”

You smiled back, feeling the weight of the mark’s new color, of the quiet truth only you knew. As Jungwon returned to his seat, your gaze drifted to the back of your knee, where the mark lay hidden under the fabric of your clothes, now touched by color—by him.

In the days following the incident on the field, the world seemed to shift around you, humming with an energy you couldn’t quite shake. The back of your knee, where Jungwon’s touch had changed your soulmate mark to a soft, distinct yellow color, was a constant reminder of the possibility that your crush—Jungwon, the ever-handsome and kind soccer captain—might be something even more significant than you’d ever dared to imagine.

“How’s your knee?” he asked, his voice warm and tinged with that familiar gentleness that made your heart stutter.

“Oh, it’s fine, really!” You waved it off, attempting to tuck your leg further under your desk, hoping he wouldn’t notice the faint new color to the mark that still lingered behind your knee.

Jungwon didn’t seem to buy it. “Are you sure?” he asked, his brows furrowing as he leaned down, intent on seeing for himself. Before he could get a closer look, you tugged your skirt down a little farther, hiding the mark as best as you could.

“I’m sure, really,” you insisted, trying to keep your tone casual. “It’s just a little sore, nothing to worry about.”

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze lingering on you, unreadable. Then he nodded, standing up with a quiet, sheepish smile. “Alright. I’ll trust you, but only if you promise to let me know if it starts hurting again.”

You managed a nod, clutching your books a little tighter to keep your hands steady. “I promise,” you said, hoping he didn’t notice the flicker of nerves in your eyes.

Your third shared class of the week was English, and just as the teacher assigned the day’s group work, the class began to shift into pairs. Coincidentally (or so you told yourself), the seating arrangement placed Jungwon near you that day.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft as he approached. He offered you one of his signature, heart-stopping smiles. “Mind if we pair up? I mean…if you’re okay with it.”

With an effort to keep your expression neutral, you nodded. “Sure,” you replied, your voice steady even though your heart was anything but.

Settling at a table near the window, you both pulled out your notebooks. The task was straightforward—analyzing a poem about soulmates. You caught a breath at the irony, and Jungwon, seemingly unfazed, began reading the passage aloud. His voice, low and calm, wove through the words as you listened, though your mind kept wandering to his every movement, the way his eyes flickered thoughtfully over the page, how his fingers held the pencil lightly but with intention.

“What do you think?” he asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You cleared your throat, willing your focus back to the assignment. “I think…well, it’s romantic. But it’s also kind of tragic, right? There’s always this sense of waiting—like, what if they don’t meet?”

Jungwon’s gaze flickered up, lingering on your face a little longer than necessary. “Yeah, that’s true,” he agreed, his voice thoughtful. “The idea that you’re waiting your whole life for just one person…it’s a lot of pressure.”

He paused, eyes settling on you, as if searching for something beneath the calm exterior you held so tightly. “Do you… believe in it? Soulmates, I mean?”

Caught off guard, you looked down, your fingers tracing invisible patterns on the edge of your notebook. You thought of your parents, of their own lovely story about finding each other through their marks, and how you’d grown up with those tales of destiny. And now, here you were, sitting with the very boy who might be your own fated match.

“I think,” you began slowly, “that I want to believe in it. My parents…they have one of those classic stories. It’s hard not to believe in soulmates when you’ve heard stories like that all your life.”

He nodded, listening intently. “I get that. I guess…sometimes I wonder what it would be like. But it’s hard to picture when you don’t…you know, have any marks yourself.”

The quiet sadness in his tone took you by surprise. You’d never considered what it might be like to go through life without a soulmate mark, to feel like something intrinsic was missing, a feeling that destiny had passed you by. Suddenly, your thoughts flickered back to the legends the elders told—how markless people were said to carry the weight of unrequited love from a past life, doomed to wander without a soulmate to mark them in this one. The idea hung heavy in the air, mingling with your sympathy for him.

“Maybe it doesn’t matter, then,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “Maybe people without marks find their person too, in other ways.” You couldn’t help but think that perhaps Jungwon was one of those souls, burdened by a love that never came to fruition.

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. Jungwon seemed lost in thought, his gaze drifting out the window as he considered your words. And just then, a strange sense of comfort washed over you, knowing that even if he was unaware of it, you shared a connection that went beyond what either of you could see.

“Maybe,” he said finally, and then he flashed you a lopsided grin. “Well, even if soulmates are real, maybe it’s a good thing I’m mark-free. I don’t think I’d want someone to find out I was their soulmate because I hit them with a soccer ball.”

His laughter rang out, and you couldn’t help but join him, but beneath the mirth, your heart clenched. You wanted to tell him everything—to reveal the secret that could bridge the chasm between you. But as the words formed on your lips, fear gripped you. What if you were wrong? What if he truly didn’t have a soulmate mark, and this moment of connection was just a fleeting illusion?

So you swallowed hard, plastering a smile on your face that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Well, let’s just keep that between us, then,” you replied, hoping to mask the anxiety swirling inside you.

Inside, the truth weighed heavy, a secret that felt more like a burden than a bond. Keeping it hidden seemed safer, easier—even if it left you feeling like a ghost, drifting alongside him but never truly reaching out. The thought of him being one of those markless souls—the ones who carried the pain of a love never realized—made you ache. You didn’t want him to feel that emptiness, and yet, here you were, hiding a truth that might shatter the fragile connection you shared.

Perhaps it was better this way. Better to hold onto your heartache in silence than risk shattering the bond you had built, no matter how tenuous it felt. As you returned to the assignment, the bittersweet taste of longing lingered on your tongue, mixing with the thrill of possibility, leaving you torn between the hope of what could be and the fear of what might never come to pass.

Finally, during your biology class, your teacher assigned a laboratory cleaning rotation. By the luck of the draw—or maybe a twist of fate—you found yourself paired with Jungwon. It was supposed to be a simple task, but as the two of you gathered supplies and began tidying up the classroom after hours, you felt the weight of every quiet moment.

Jungwon appeared beside you as you straightened a stack of textbooks, arms full of markers and erasers. His casual, laid-back attitude only heightened the quiet thrill that being near him sparked in you. As he handed you an eraser, your fingers brushed slightly, and you pulled back quickly, heart racing.

"Are you always this… serious?" Jungwon teased, his lips curving into a half-smile. "I mean, you don’t have to look like we’re cleaning the whole school."

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile. “It’s just how I work. I take tasks seriously.”

He nodded, still smiling. “You’re impressive, you know. It’s like…you’re always so composed, like nothing rattles you.”

Caught off guard by his observation, you froze momentarily, not sure how to respond. Behind your serious exterior, you were anything but composed—especially around him. Before you could answer, he turned away to tidy the bookshelves, leaving you wondering if he’d picked up on the effect he had on you.

After a while, Jungwon returned to the task at hand, dusting off a few of the windowsills. It was quiet for a few minutes, the sounds of your combined effort filling the room. You both worked in sync, a silent rhythm that had developed without either of you realizing it. And then, with an abruptness that caught you off guard, he spoke again.

“Hey,” he said, hesitating. “I know this might be a weird question, but… where’s your soulmate mark?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with implications you weren’t ready to unravel. Your heart thudded as you carefully set down the books you’d been holding, gathering your thoughts.

You felt a flush creep up your cheeks. "Um, it's… it's on my knee," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The intimacy of the moment made you shy, and you instinctively shifted your weight, the hem of your skirt falling to cover your knee even more.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, curiosity glimmering in his eyes. “Oh? Is it… already in color?”

You hesitated for a brief moment, weighing your words. “Uh, yeah,” you replied, biting your lip. “It changed a while ago. But it’s not a big deal.” You left out the part about him possibly being your soulmate, feeling the weight of that truth settle heavily in the air between you.

His expression shifted slightly, disappointment flashing across his features before he masked it with a casual smile. “That’s cool,” he said, his voice a bit quieter now. “I guess… it must be nice to have that certainty.”

“Yeah,” you said, trying to keep the mood light despite the sudden heaviness in your chest. “I mean, it’s comforting, I suppose.”

But beneath your words, a sense of longing stirred. You noticed how his gaze faltered for a moment, and it struck you then how much he had hoped for something different. He had seemed eager, maybe even hopeful, and the realization stung a little.

Jungwon cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled over you both. “So, um… did you see the last soccer game?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. “I think we really need to work on our defense.”

His attempt at lightheartedness felt slightly forced, and you could see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Still, it was nice to see him trying to shake off the heaviness from moments before.

“Yeah, I caught a bit of it,” you replied, grateful for the shift in focus. “You guys played well, though a couple of those goals were pretty close calls.”

He chuckled, the tension easing just a little. “Yeah, I think I almost gave our coach a heart attack with that last-minute save,” he said, grinning. It was an infectious smile, and you found yourself smiling back despite the weight still resting in the back of your mind.

The annual school festival arrived faster than expected, and the campus buzzed with activity and excitement. Classrooms were transformed into themed booths, hallways were draped with handmade decorations, and students wore colorful festival shirts and badges, their faces bright with paint and laughter. You found yourself stationed at the face-painting booth, brush in hand, ready to tackle the endless line of eager students.

You’d always enjoyed events like these—participating in the festival offered you a rare chance to relax and feel connected to your classmates outside of the usual seriousness you maintained as class president. Here, you were just another student, painting stars, hearts, and stripes on familiar faces.

“Hey, what’s up? Need a painter?” your friend Taeyoung called out to the next group approaching your booth. You followed his gaze and felt your heart skip when you recognized Jungwon and his friends heading your way, laughing and jostling each other. He wore a loose festival shirt with sleeves rolled up, a casual look that somehow made him even more handsome. You quickly glanced down, suddenly hyper-aware of your paintbrushes and the paper towels you clutched a little too tightly.

The booth was busy, and with most of your fellow painters occupied, it didn’t take long for Taeyoung to pair Jungwon with you. “Hey, Y/N, looks like you’ve got a VIP customer! Captain Jungwon wants to be a canvas today,” he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he nudged Jungwon playfully.

Jungwon chuckled, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—an eagerness mixed with a hint of shyness. “Yeah, I guess I’m in your hands now,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “No pressure, right?”

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure as your heart raced. “Uh, right! No pressure at all,” you replied, your voice a little too bright. “What do you have in mind?”

You forced yourself to meet Jungwon’s eyes, fighting back the nervous excitement bubbling in your chest. “So… what would you like?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jungwon’s usual confident smile softened a little, and he seemed slightly hesitant, rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture that made your stomach flutter. “Maybe a couple of stars on my cheeks? And… maybe a small cat on my forehead?”

You stifled a laugh at his request, realizing that behind his composed demeanor, he had a playful side you hadn’t seen before. “A star and a cat. Got it,” you whispered, dipping your brush into white paint. You reached out carefully to steady his face, tilting it slightly toward the light. Your fingers lightly touched his cheek, and you couldn’t ignore the spark that jolted through you at the contact.

Jungwon closed his eyes briefly, letting out a small breath. You tried to ignore the slight flush you felt creeping up your neck, focusing on drawing a perfect star on his left cheek. You painted in silence, but every so often, he’d open his eyes and glance at you, making your heart race each time.

With one cheek finished, you moved to the other side. He leaned in closer, giving you the perfect angle. The space between you seemed to shrink with every second, the sounds of the bustling festival fading into a distant hum. You were hyper-aware of everything—the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating from him, and how your fingers gently brushed his skin. When you finished with the stars, you pulled back slightly to look at your work, meeting his gaze as you did.

“They look good,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

You swallowed, breaking eye contact to reach for a new brush and dip it in black paint. “Now for the cat,” you said, trying to stay calm. “Hold still.”

You carefully moved to part his hair at the center of his forehead. As your fingers brushed through his bangs, you froze, your eyes widening as you saw something strange—a small patch of his dark hair was shifting, lightening to a soft honey-blonde under your touch.

“Um… Jungwon,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as you stared at the transformed lock of hair falling against his forehead. “Your hair…”

“What about it?” He turned to you with a hint of confusion, glancing up as if trying to catch a glimpse of the change. “Did I mess it up?”

You shook your head, the words tangling in your throat as disbelief washed over you. “It’s… it’s changing color.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard, then brushed his fingers through the area you’d touched. His movements stilled, the warmth in his expression fading, replaced by something deeper—something unreadable. The air thickened around you, a heavy silence filled with unspoken questions.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, his gaze searching yours as if trying to decode the truth hidden beneath your surprise.

You nodded slowly, your heart racing. “Yeah, I… I thought it was just the paint at first, but… it’s definitely not.”

The realization hung in the air, electric and palpable, igniting a spark of tension that sent shivers down your spine. Jungwon’s fingers gently traced the newly lightened strands of hair, his expression a mix of wonder and trepidation. You could feel your pulse quicken, an exhilarating rush flooding through you as you grasped the meaning behind this strange phenomenon.

Time seemed to stretch in that moment, each heartbeat echoing like a drum in your chest. Here he was, the boy you’d admired from afar, unexpectedly transformed before your eyes. Jungwon—the one who had unwittingly painted your world in vibrant colors, now literally changing right in front of you.

Suddenly, self-consciousness washed over you like a cold wave. You averted your gaze, stepping back instinctively. “I—I should go finish with the others. They’re probably waiting for me…” Your voice wavered, betraying the rush of emotions threatening to spill over.

Before you could dwell on it, a paint container wobbled on the edge of the table, knocking into your elbow. In your panic, you stumbled, sending brushes and colors sprawling over yourself. “Oh no!” you yelped, scrambling to clean up the mess.

“Y/N, wait!” Jungwon exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise. He stepped closer, his hand closing around yours, halting your frantic movements. “Stop. Just breathe.”

His grip was steadying, grounding you amidst the chaos of your racing thoughts. “Let’s find somewhere quiet, okay? You need to clean up.” His voice held a calmness that contrasted sharply with the storm inside you.

You felt a rush of warmth at his concern, but your mind spun with confusion. “But… the booth—”

“Trust me,” he said, his gaze unwavering, a silent promise passing between you. “Just for a moment. Let’s talk.”

With a nod, you allowed him to guide you away from the festival’s noise, your heart racing not just from the moment, but from the undeniable connection building between you. The thrill of discovery was tempered by the anxiety of what it all meant, and yet, in Jungwon’s presence, you felt something shift—something new and exciting, just waiting to be explored.

He led you through a quieter section of the campus, where the walls were lined with colorful murals painted by students, the air filled with the faint scent of paint and creativity. The laughter and chatter from the festival faded into the background, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves overhead and the distant sound of music drifting from the booths.

As you turned a corner, Jungwon paused, the air around you suddenly thick with anticipation. He glanced around, ensuring you were alone, then leaned against the cool brick wall, his posture relaxed yet focused. His gaze locked onto yours, intensity radiating from him. “My hair… it’s slowly turning blond. Isn’t this what soulmate marks are supposed to be like?”

His words hung in the air, electrifying the space between you. You felt the weight of the moment press down, your heart racing like a wild drum in your chest. “Right… your soulmate mark,” you stammered, the tremor in your voice betraying the chaos inside. “I didn’t want to say anything because I thought it might just be a coincidence, but now… it's all starting to make sense.”

Jungwon stepped closer, the seriousness in his expression deepening. “You mean you knew?” His voice was low, the edge of urgency evident. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

The air crackled with tension, and you felt your pulse quicken. “I didn’t know it was you! I thought—” you cut yourself off, frustration bubbling within you. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship or make things awkward. You’ve been my crush longer than you’ve been a friend. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep things from being awkward with you, especially when my mark changed?”

Jungwon’s expression shifted, vulnerability breaking through his confidence. “Your mark... is it.… when did it change? Am I—was it before… or after we met?” His voice was tight, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.

You took a deep breath, feeling the memories rush back. “The day you carried me to the nurse’s office, you idiot.”

He blinked, taken aback by your response. “Wait… that day? But I thought...”

His expression softened slightly, the intensity in his eyes shifting as he took a step closer. You held your breath as he knelt down, his fingers hovering over your soulmate mark. The moment felt electric, a mix of vulnerability and anticipation coursing through you.

“Can I…?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, giving him permission to touch it. As his fingers brushed against your skin, a shiver ran down your spine. Jungwon chuckled softly, the sound breaking some of the tension between you. “Can you believe this? It feels just like yesterday when I accidentally hit my crush with a soccer ball at her knees,” he said, shaking his head with a bemused smile. “The same crush I’ve wanted to approach since 10th grade but was always too afraid to mess up, especially with how she glares at boys.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the image of a younger Jungwon fumbling with his words as he tried to impress you suddenly vivid in your mind. “I didn’t mean to scare you off,” you admitted, your heart swelling with warmth. “I thought you were just… confident, you know?”

He shrugged, a hint of shyness creeping back into his demeanor. “I try to be. But it’s hard when you’re crushing on someone who’s out of your league.”

“Out of my league?” you repeated, incredulous. “Jungwon, you’re the captain of the soccer team! Everyone looks up to you.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous around you,” he replied, his gaze locking onto yours, sincerity pouring from his words. “It’s different with you. You make me want to be better.”

The air between you thickened with unspoken emotions, each heartbeat echoing the connection that had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged. You both stood on the edge of something monumental, the laughter of the festival fading away, leaving only the two of you and the promise of what lay ahead.

The next day, Jungwon strolled confidently down the hallway, his head of hair transformed into a stunning honeyed blonde that turned heads with every step. The shift was striking—bold, noticeable, and oddly fitting—making it seem as though he had always intended to embrace this change. Whispers and awestruck glances followed him like a gentle wave, yet beneath that cool exterior, you could see the spark of mischief in his eyes, especially when they met yours.

“Wow, he really went all out,” Arin murmured beside you, her voice a mix of surprise and admiration. “He must’ve bleached the whole thing. I didn’t think Jungwon had that in him.”

You nodded, trying to maintain your composure while your heart raced. “Yeah… surprising, isn’t it?” you replied, though a smile betrayed your nonchalance as you watched him navigate the crowd like he owned the place.

Unaware of the true significance of his transformation, your classmates continued their commentary. “Looks good on him, though,” one girl remarked, her tone infused with genuine admiration. “Like he was meant to have it all along.”

Jungwon seemed completely unfazed by the attention, wearing his new look with a blend of pride and ease, as if his blonde hair was a badge of honor that only you understood. It was a mark that connected the two of you in ways that no one else could fathom—an intimate secret wrapped in boldness.

As the hallway thinned out, he lingered by his locker, his casual demeanor slipping just a bit as he caught your gaze from across the hall. He lifted a hand, brushing back his hair with an effortless charm that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach—a subtle nod to the secret you shared.

You walked over, your heart pounding just a little faster than usual. “It suits you,” you said, keeping your voice low, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

His eyes softened, gratitude shimmering in their depths. “Good to know,” he murmured, his tone low but filled with warmth. “After all, it’s your fault it looks this good.”

A faint blush crept up your cheeks at his words, and before you could respond, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice even more as he added, “And don’t worry. The secret’s safe.”

In that crowded hallway, with laughter and footsteps echoing around you, it felt like you and Jungwon were enveloped in your own little world. His blonde hair, like a silent vow, was a reminder of what only the two of you understood: a hidden connection, pulsing with promise and anticipation, waiting to be explored.

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Fingerprints

main masterlist | marvel masterlist

summary: bucky remembers every time your fingers graze his skin

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of torture, bucky is touch starved

timeline: set in an au after civil war

author’s note: touch starved!bucky barnes is so heartbreaking </3. (picture this bucky during the story, but he has the vibranium arm)

Bucky remembered every bad thing he did as the Winter Soldier. Like scars on his soul, he remembered watching the life drain from their eyes. He remembered every grueling torture session Hydra subjected him to.

He hated how well he remembered his past, and it haunted him nightly. The only thing that was keeping him sane was… you.

He had met you several months ago during the mess with the Sokovia Accords, but he’d only really known you a couple of weeks now. The moment he re-met you, your kind nature swept him off his feet. Up until then, he’d only received kindness from the Wakandans and Steve. But here you were, a stranger who only knew his worst sides, yet you were so gentle with him, so soft-spoken.

**

“Morning sunshine,” you chirped from the compound’s kitchen, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. “How’d you sleep?” you asked Bucky as he sat down at the kitchen island, facing where you stood.

“Slept fine,” he replied. His eyes were tired, burdened with the memories of the nightmares last night had taunted him with. He kept his focus on you. He watched as you stirred creamer into your coffee and as you blew on it through pursed lips to cool it down.

“You okay?” you asked, noticing how intensely he was watching you. 

“I’m fine,” he repeated the word.

“Uh huh, sure hun.” You nodded your head. “Want some coffee?”

“Yes please.”

“Coming right up.”

You grabbed a Stark Industries mug from the cabinet and poured him some coffee. After asking if he wanted any you poured in some creamer as well. You slid the cup across the counter and your fingers brushed his knuckles as he took it.

“Thanks, doll,” he said. He wasn’t just thanking you for the drink, he was thanking you for the fingerprints you left on his right hand, the hand that now held the warm cup of coffee. “How’d you sleep?” he asked, wanting to keep the conversation going but unable to think of a topic change.

“I slept fine,” you replied in a lowered voice, mimicking his. The impression worked because he let out a short laugh.

**

Bucky thought about this short interaction all day. He thought about it as he trained in the gym and as he took a quick shower afterward. He thought about it as he fell asleep that night; he thought about your soft hand brushing his calloused one. He tried to focus on the thought of you as he drifted off the sleep, yet his dreams were still plagued with ghosts of his past.

The next few mornings went about the same.

“How’d you sleep?” you’d ask.

“Fine,” he would respond.

You would ask him if he wanted coffee and he always did. You’d give him the cup and each time lightly brush his hand with the tips of your fingers.

It was barely an interaction. But to Bucky? He looked forward to it. He looked forward to the soft touch of your hand, he looked forward to the smile lines that would deepen when he made you laugh, and he looked forward to the brief conversation the two of you shared each morning.

One morning was different for Bucky, though. He could barely get himself out of bed; images of his dreams still swirling in his mind. He all but collapsed onto the kitchen chair as he sat to speak with you.

“Whoa, you don’t look so good, Bucky. You alright?” you asked, your voice laced with concern and kindness. 

“Just didn’t sleep great, that’s all,” he grumbled, slightly slurring his words.

You shrugged it off and began making his coffee just how he liked it. When you handed it to him, your fingers brushed against him like they had done mornings prior. He savored the moment of skin-to-skin contact before it was broken again.

He thanked you and began sipping the coffee. You watched him intently as he did so.

“What’s wrong, Bucky?” you asked him after a beat of silence.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he protested.

“Are you sick?” you asked. You walked around the island table and stood closer to him. “Can I touch you?” you asked as you brought your hand up to cup his cheek.

He couldn’t believe his ears. You’d just asked for his consent to do something to him; something as gentle as touching his cheek.

He couldn’t get the word out fast enough; “Y-Yes.”

You quickly put your hand on his cheek and furrowed your brows with concentration. You then put the back of your hand against his forehead.

“You don’t seem to have a fever,” you commented.

It was official; Bucky was in heaven. He was relishing in the feeling of your touch. Your left hand on his forehead, your right hand resting on his shoulder. He felt like he had been in darkness for ages and had only now begun to see pure light. 

It was over too soon when you pulled back.

“Maybe you need some more sleep, Bucky,” you suggested.

**

It’d been two weeks since Bucky’s favorite moment with you. Since then he’d barely gotten alone time with you; it was always interrupted by Sam or Steve coming into the kitchen for breakfast. 

He cursed the timing; he’d sit down just as Sam and Steve entered the kitchen, completely disrupting the routine he had going.

Today was no different.

“Morning gorgeous,” Sam exclaimed when he walked into the kitchen. “You make me those pancakes again?”

“You know it, stud.”

Bucky hated the “will they, won’t they” tension you two seemed to have going. He didn’t know you both swore up and down it was platonic flirting.

“You’re too good to me, baby.” Sam smiled widely.

Bucky stared daggers at him, wishing the earth would swallow himself or Sam up whole, anything to put an end to this torment.

But then you glanced his way and suddenly all his annoyance dissipated. The color of your eyes, hair, and lips under the harsh kitchen lighting made him feel like the luckiest man in the world just to be in your presence. 

“Bucky, you want some?” you offered him a plate with two pancakes. He happily accepted yet your fingers didn’t brush his hand when you gave it to him. Stupid plate, being big enough for two people to hold onto at the same time. 

He began eating the pancakes along with Steve and Sam.

“Goddamn these are good,” Sam practically moaned dramatically. “You are an angel, woman.”

“Oh stop it,” you laughed off his comment. Bucky hated feeling so jealous of Sam. 

**

The next time Bucky touched you was during a sparring session in the gym. Several trainees along with Sam, Steve, Wanda, and Nat were paired up and fighting each other. You were partnered with Bucky, Steve was partnered with Wanda, and Sam was partnered with Nat.

You threw a punch and he blocked it just as you expected, you kicked at him and again he blocked it. 

After a while, Steve yelled “Switch,” which meant it was Bucky’s turn to play offense. 

As he was punching you missed a block and he punched you square in the cheek with his vibranium hand.

“Fuck,” you gasped, covering your right cheek with both hands. “Oh fuck, that hurts!”

Bucky hadn’t felt such pure, immediate guilt in so long.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he said quickly. “Shit, fuck, I’m so, so sorry!”

“It’s okay, not your fault,” you said between pained gasps. While you were a trained fighter and Avenger, you weren’t a super soldier. And without powers, a vibranium punch hurts like hell.

Bucky wanted to punch himself in return for hurting you. He wished to take the bruise forming on your cheekbone and give it to himself instead.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, sounding defeated.

He had been so excited to be partnered with you for training, he had been looking forward to it for days (Steve put the pair schedules up early) but now he wished you had been paired up with Sam instead.

“Let me kiss it better,” he could imagine Sam saying if he had made the same mistake. The bruise wouldn’t be half as big if it had been Sam’s left hand instead of his own. He could imagine Sam would pull you into a hug to express his apologetic sorrow, yet Bucky assumed you’d rather not get a hug from himself.

“Not your fault,” you told him again. You could tell by the expression on his face what he was putting himself through. “Make it up to me by walking me to the freezer for some ice?”

He was shocked by your words. You wanted him to accompany you to the gym’s kitchen? You weren’t going to immediately run to Sam and ask him for help instead?

“Of course,” he said. “Anything you need.”

“Ice that wound, Y/n,” Steve said from a few yards away.

“Already on it, Cap,” you replied.

**

You sat on a bench inside the gender-neutral lockers with Bucky on your left. You held the ice up to your cheek as you both stayed silent for a while.

“I’m really sorry, doll,” Bucky whispered, wanting to break what he felt was an uncomfortable silence.

“I forgive you, Bucky,” you said. You wished he could understand it wasn't his fault, but at the very least you wanted him to know you forgave him. “Besides, it was kinda my fault for not blocking that punch, I should’ve seen it coming a mile away.”

“I thought I went too quickly,” he admitted.

Truthfully, he hadn’t in fact thrown too quick of a punch. In reality, you had been distracted by the color of his eyes under the gym’s harsh lighting. The way they shone such a beautiful, bright blue had you so mesmerized you failed to block the (fairly slow because Bucky was going easy on you) punch.

“Not at all, hun,” you assured him.

Again you both sat in silence. You didn’t mind it, you didn’t mind Bucky’s company. Bucky, however, felt awful about the silence and thought it was a sign you didn't want to talk to him. 

“Can you do me a favor?” you asked. “It’s kinda a big one so feel free to say no.”

“Sure,” he replied. “Anything for you, Y/n,” he wanted to say.

“My hands are getting really numb, would you mind holding the ice pack for a bit?”

“Okay,” he said. You turned to face him, moving your left leg so you were straddling the bench as Bucky did the same with his right leg. The two of you now faced each other as Bucky asked; “Can I touch you?”

That warmed your heart and you nodded.

He reached out his vibranium arm and cupped the ice pack against your cheek as you let go of it. You smiled warmly and put your hand overtop his.

“B-Better?” he asked, his nerves running wild.

“So much.”

**

The punch had sent your relationship with Bucky back lightyears. Every time you talked with him he couldn’t help but stare at the swollen bruise he’d caused.

It bothered you how guilty he still felt even after you willingly took the blame. You could tell he was losing sleep over it so one night you decided to confront him while he stayed up past three AM.

“Bucky, what’re you doing up so late?” you asked, walking into one of the living rooms and seeing him sitting in the corner reading a book. “Is everything okay?”

You took a seat near him on the couch, your brows furrowed with worry.

“Could ask you the same thing, doll,” he retorted.

“I’m serious, Bucky, I’m worried about you.”

“You’re worried about me? Why?”

“Cause I’ve noticed how tired you are when you talk to me each morning, and I notice how you strain yourself trying to focus when you look at me.”

“You don’t have to worry ‘bout me, I’m fine.”

“I know I don’t have to, Bucky,” you said softly. “I worry about you because I care about you.”

“You… care about me?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

“Of course,” you replied quickly and reached out your hand. “Can I touch you?” He nodded and you rested it on his knee. “You matter, Bucky. Your health matters. And if you wanna talk about whatever’s keeping you up, I’m here for you.”

Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off your hand. 

“Thank you,” was all he could choke out. 

**

He eventually began to open up to you. Bit by bit, night by night, you were truly getting to know the great Lieutenant James Barnes.

The more you got to know him the deeper in love with him you fell. You felt selfish for wanting to kiss the pain away, but you couldn’t help it. All you wanted to do was hold him tight till he fell asleep in your arms. But that’s not what he wanted, you assumed. He seemed to be barely okay with the brief touches up till this point.

Whenever you could, whenever you weren’t too exhausted, you would stay up with him. A couple of times you both ended up sleeping on the couch because you fell asleep and Bucky didn’t feel right moving you without your permission. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep next to you, but it happened anyway.

One night you went to speak with him like you had done before but this time was different.

You stood in front of where he sat and when he looked up at you the light caught the glint in his eyes and made you aware of his tear-stained face. 

“Can I touch you?” you asked, just as you had done time and time again.

“Always,” he replied. You cupped his face with your hands. 

“Is this okay?” you asked, hands moving to tangle with his hair. 

“It’s more than okay,” he replied, leaning on your stomach as he brought his hands to rest on your hips. “Thank you.”

He wasn’t merely thanking you for staying up with him, but for the fingerprints you were leaving on his very soul. The lingering feeling of your soft touch on his trauma-filled skin.

He didn’t dare tell you about his most recent dream — a dream in which the Winter Soldier took your life.

[zwei-rhunen]

Lucia: *gets a death ping on her grim reaper pager*

( death is old and unbounded by the restrictions of time's passage... unfortunately, so is the technology :( )

.....

Lucia: gears up (a snap is all it takes), grabs her scythe and poofs to the location

*looks down*

Pictured:

One familiar-looking Miqo'te. face down, eating dirt, dead as a doorknob.

One familiar-looking jester, a clown-of-a-man, bent over the listless corpse.

She exclaims and strides over to them both, eyes wide in shock.

"Oh my Gods. You've...

"changed your hair color," she comments towards the empty husk on the ground.

Unsurprisingly, it does not respond.

The other figure hums loudly in affirmation, though Lucia isn't quite certain if he is being a team player and answering on behalf of his deceased companion, or merely humming for his own entertainment (very likely a mix of both).

Movement catches her eye and she looks up slightly to see the clown twirling one hand in the space above the body, wrist gently twisting to the cadence of an invisible tune. His fingers are the most distracting as they delicately, gently twitch and move and sway to an unannounced rhythm.

He has another hand balled into a fist behind his back, arm casually relaxed as though he just needed to put it somewhere out-of-the-way.

Out of sight, out of mind.

.... It's nothing important, really. Most definitely not holding a knife, or a poisoned blow dart.

When left alone with his teammate, who survived with just a sliver of health, he would never think of becoming the deciding force that led to severing the connection betwixt body and soul.

Never, ever ever.

Especially when the team healers are currently distracted with other matters, and haven't noticed their teammate hanging delicately in the balance.

Perish the thought.

But it wouldn't require that much additional damage to push them over the edge. Certainly not exactly the amount in the vial tucked away in the folds of his jacket (he kept it for emergency purposes, surely you understand).

Not that he would know anything about that. It's just a thought experiment.

And it wasn't a tempting one, either.

He hadn't been tempted, no no no.

....And yet.

it would have been so

easy.

So quick.

So simple to replace, say, a health potion with a potion of a different sort. An un-health (ehehehehe) potion, even.

Or, better yet. Why do all the work when you can just silently press it into the palm of their hand? Why go through all that effort? When one could sit back on their heels and watch as they sealed their own fate in one, swift gulp?

Hypothetically speaking, of course. For a delicious opportunity to hasten someone else's embrace of death would just beTerribly Dreadful.

He could never.

He, would never.

Lucia finishes viewing the memory of the past 5 minutes and lightly pinches the bridge of her nose in some unidentifiable emotion.

She exhales slowly.

...Death's Incarnate had warned her about accepting any "gifts " or "acts of service" , as his definition of helping was.... very different.

Meanwhile, Kefka peers at the air between his fingers, entranced with their movement.

To the untrained eye, he is merely making fanciful gestures in the air, his fingers dancing sprightly as if conducting an invisible orchestra with one hand.

But Lucia sees through the veil, and knows better otherwise. He's her clown, after all.

She gives him a look that is neither surprised nor bothered. Maybe a little annoyed, if you squint a bit. If anything, perhaps a mildly exasperated "of course it's you two." air settling around her presence.

"....Quit toying with her aether."