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honeyhotteoks · 2 days ago
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across stardust - one (j.yh)
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summary: you and yunho have worked together for years, idol and makeup artist, but until today you've never touched him skin to skin. when the world tilts on its head from just a brush of his cheek, you realize he's so much more than a crush, he's your soulmate. one | two | three | four
note: please enjoy this truly self indulgent romance. will be four parts total, and i'll post each as soon as they are ready to go. happy comeback week, and i hope everyone enjoys this 💖
tags/warnings: idol!yunho, makeup artist!reader, fem!reader, soulmates au, soulmate identifying marks, soulmate tattoos, tattoed!reader, a lot of fluff and tenderness, love at first touch, shared feelings/emotions/physical sensations, anxiety/stress over what to do, reader's family isn't the best, kq is not the best company for the purposes of this fic!, light smut including - heavy makeouts/grinding, hand kink, size kink, phone sex, sexting, fingering, jacking off, dirty talk, praise, use of good girl, use of pet names like baby/jagiya/sweetheart. basically this fic is an excuse for me to write star-crossed desperate love so i would say it's the literal opposite of a slow burn lmao
pairings: yunho x reader
genre: fantasy, romance, smut || soulmates au
word count: 17.9k
It’s eleven in the morning when your day starts, hiding in the green room of a concert venue in Berlin, and the day feels lost already. With Eunji and Dahan ill that only leaves you and Iseul to handle makeup for all eight members and with how exhausted you are from yet another night of little sleep, you don’t know how you’ll be able to keep up. You’re trying to stay awake, but while the members are all out on stage learning their marks and rehearsing the improvisational moments for this tour stop, the green room is quiet and you keep nodding off. 
“Bad night?” Iseul’s voice startles you out of one of your dips into sleep and your body jerks up right. 
“Fuck,” You breathe, “hey,” 
“Here,” She pushes a bright can into your hands, an energy drink, “you need this.” 
“I need to be sedated,” You grumble, taking it from her, “the time difference is never this hard,” 
“Mm,” She shrugs, “it’s unpredictable,” 
“Yeah,” You sigh, “I guess.” 
The thumping music outside as they run through another track is starting to give you a migraine. You take a long sip of the drink and then leave the can on the table in front of you, choosing instead to hide your face in the sleeves of your sweatshirt and let out another long sigh. 
“Girl,” Iseul nudges you, “you look like shit. Your station looks like shit.” 
“Thank you?” 
“In thirty minutes we’re going to be busier than we’ve been since that Inkigayo stage for Answer,” She points out and you grimace at the reference. Back then it really was just a skeleton staff and one of the makeup artists quit on the spot, too stressed to continue the work and walking out in the middle of doing Yeosang’s foundation. 
What a mess those old days used to be. Nostalgia sometimes makes you forget how late those nights were and just how impossibly tired you had been. This feels too reminiscent of that for sure. 
Iseul taps your shoulder to get you to lift your face as she continues, “I know you’re tired, but I can’t do this shit on my own. I need you.” 
“Okay,” You breathe, scrubbing your hands over your face to jolt yourself awake as best you can, “you’re right, I’m sorry,” 
“Don’t be sorry,” She gives you a sympathetic smile, “I get it.” 
This tiredness feels different though, so deeply ingrained in your body. Something’s been keeping your adrenaline running like a long, drawn out anxiety attack and you can’t understand it. You’ve been on tour before, you’ve been on planes, you’ve had long days, and you’ve worked with this exact group for years. There’s nothing on paper that should be making you so anxious, but the threads of it are humming in the deep back of your brain even now. 
“Come on,” Iseul prompts again, pulling you to your feet, “let’s get you in gear.” 
“Right,” You take another long sip of your energy drink and pray it starts kicking in soon and that the effects won’t make you feel crazier, “let’s do this.” 
She helps you put your station together with ease and then pull yourself together. Within those precious thirty minutes of calm before the storm you’ve downed two cans of pure caffeine, assembled your station and strapped on your brush belt, and tried to make yourself some form of presentable by slicking your hair back into a smooth knot and adding a coat of lip balm. 
As always, the boys have used the ladder game to determine hair and makeup order which means those at the bottom of the list have more time to relax fresh-faced on the couches before getting poked and prodded and wrapped up like presents for thousands of screaming fans. With only you and Iseul available it’s about to be a race against the clock to get them ready. 
Their managers hustle them from the stage to the back rooms where the rest of the staff waits, and the members gather around you and Iseul and your makeshift makeup stations. 
“Alright,” Iseul says as the members quiet down, “we’re down some staff as you know,” 
They nod attentively and you trade a close lipped smile with Hongjoong. 
“We’re just going to do the best we can as quickly as we can,” She explains, looking down at their names on a slip of paper, “Wooyoung, Yeosang, Jongho, San,” she recites, “you’re with me in that order.” 
You run through the names on your slip, “Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Mingi, Yunho, that leaves you with me.” 
Iseul nods as you finish your words, “Please be ready to slot in when the person in front of you is finished, and then you can go directly to wardrobe for your soundcheck outfits,” 
“We’ve got it,” Hongjoong nods, “and if there’s anything you both need,” 
“We’ll be fine,” Iseul assures him, “but it’s definitely going to be cutting it close,” 
“We should get started,” You cut in, “if you’re ready?” 
Hongjoong jumps to your chair immediately and Wooyoung steps to Iseul’s, and before you know it you’re off. 
The room is alight with activity while you both work, only you don’t have a relaxed pace and only two members to perfect. You’re used to working with Wooyoung and Seonghwa, they’ve been your assigned members for as long as you’ve worked with Ateez, but when staff shortages or timing gets tight, it can be a bit of a free for all. 
You stay focused and execute each member’s makeup like a well rehearsed dance, and you do your best to ignore the buzzing anxiety in your veins. For a little while, you handle it like a professional. 
When Yunho finally settles into your chair, about a single second after Mingi leaves it, the exhaustion careens back into you sideways. It takes you a minute to prep your tools this time, and you’re pretty sure that without the artificial pick me up of the energy drinks you’d be passing out on the spot. 
You steady your hands against the vanity in front of you and take a deep breath, and when you look up you catch Yunho’s eyes in the mirror, a tiny crease of concern between his brows. 
“You okay?” He checks. 
You give him a smile, albeit a tired one, “The jet lag is really hitting this time,” you explain, “but I’m fine,” 
He looks sympathetic immediately, “Same for me, I feel like I’m barely sleeping,” 
“That’s not good,” You tell him as you prep your stainless steel palette, “you have a long night ahead,” 
“I’ll sleep tonight,” He says, “I’m sure,” 
“After dancing for three hours I’d hope so,” You smile and pick up your first set of tools before turning towards him. 
“Do you have anything you could take?” He asks, studying your face, “A sleep aid?” 
“I usually don’t like to,” You admit, “I always feel groggy the next day,” 
“And we have another show,” He finishes for you, his lips coming together in a thin line as he thinks. 
There’s nothing really for him to do, but it’s kind of him anyway to be so concerned. They always are, this rare group of eight idols who remember staff birthdays, bring coffee on the early morning schedules, and always, always take extra time to clean up after themselves so it’s not left to anyone else. 
You take a step closer towards him and glance over his bare face and then it occurs to you, “You know what’s funny?” 
“Hmm?” He tilts his face up to you. 
“I don’t think I’ve ever done your makeup before,” You smile, it’s a ridiculous thought. 
“No way,” He blinks, thinking back, “it’s been… forever, are you sure?” 
You nod, “You’re usually with Eunji,” you tell him, “and even when we’ve swapped around, I don’t think so. I think you’re the only member I’ve never done,” 
“Wow,” He laughs, eyes bright, “well, I guess there’s a first time for everything.” 
“Is there anything,” You start to ask him if there’s anything he prefers, anything special about his makeup that he gets done with Eunji that he asks for, but Iseul catches you idle as she pats foundation onto San’s forehead and answers for you. 
“His skin gets dry,” She jumps in, “don’t use too much powder,” 
Yunho grins, a laugh on his lips at the directness of her words. 
“And don’t use that oil,” Iseul adds, “that primer oil you like, he’ll break out by tomorrow,” 
“Thank you, Iseul,” Yunho says, and you watch San’s face as he stifles a chuckle. 
“Noted,” You smile, and you swap out two of the products in your hands before taking up your position by his side again. 
You’ve gotten used to working with idols, to working with Ateez and with Yunho specifically, and yet when you get this close a little flutter of nerves rocks through your belly. He’s handsome, and if you’re being honest he’s just your type. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, or this weird feeling in your chest that you’ve been dealing with all week, but for the first time in a long time you think about what it would be like to kiss his lips. 
“How do you want me?” He asks, breaking your thoughts, and you have to shake off the impending blush at the way his words make you feel. You have work to do, and you had gotten over your silly little crush on him years ago, you need to get a grip. 
You recover fairly smoothly though with a quick smile, “Right,” he’s never worked with you before, and he’s looking to you for direction, “head back a bit, please, and eyes closed,” 
“Alright,” He follows your instructions to the letter. 
“Okay,” You tell him, “primer first. Let me know if anything bothers you,” 
“Mhm,” He hums and stays relaxed. 
He has the loveliest eyelashes, that’s the thought that echoes through your brain as you start working on him, and you wish it never occurred to you at all because you keep glancing up at his closed eyes. He lets you work, he knows you’re exhausted so he doesn’t push you for conversation, and you’re strangely grateful. You know he’s chatty sometimes in the chair, an extrovert through and through and always keeping Eunji company or talking with the member beside him, but right now he keeps still and gives you respite on a hard day. 
You’re patting foundation into his skin with a large paddle brush when Iseul interrupts your thoughts, “Do you have that eggplant liner?” 
“Check my table,” You offer, but with how sluggish your brain is feeling there’s no way you remember a single thing on your station without looking.
“Mm,” She pivots around and pokes through the products and tools behind you, and you glance over as San opens his eyes to watch Iseul rifle through things. 
“Damn,” She mutters, “how much time do we have?” 
“Um,” You glance down at your watch, “twenty?” 
“Perfect,” She scoots behind you and disappears into the hall, no doubt to find your traveling makeup case and the liner. 
You sigh, chewing the inside of your lip at the idea that you only have twenty more minutes, but you really don’t want to rush and have his makeup melt off on-stage. 
“You’re fine,” San assures, his body angled towards you and Yunho now while he waits, “don’t worry about the clock,”
Yunho hums his agreement from below you, “Plenty of time,”
You refocus on Yunho’s skin and notice a long black and white hair from the paddle brush affixed to his cheek, mixed in with the foundation. You take the brush again, wiping off any excess foundation and checking to see if more fibers are loose, and then you work the brush against his cheek in an attempt to free the loose hair but it isn’t coming off easily. Every attempt you make just slides the hair into a different spot on his cheek and covers it with more foundation. 
“Um,” You usually don’t like to do this, but you might have to, “can I just…”
His eyes open but his expression stays smooth, “Can you?” 
“Sorry,” You shake your head, “do you mind if I touch you?” 
“You already are,” He smiles, a small, amused crease between his brows you’ll have to pat out momentarily. 
You tuck your brush away and gesture with your hand, “You just have a hair,” 
“Oh,” He laughs, “of course, yeah,” 
You’re just supposed to touch his cheek, brush away the hair with the pad of your finger and then get back to work, that’s all it is, so you’re completely unprepared for the feeling that rockets through your chest when your skin finally touches his. 
Yunho gasps softly as your fingers brush over his cheek, his eyes blowing wide and his expression blanking, and it’s the only indication you have that he feels something too. A tightness wrenches in your chest, like someone pressed something hot and hard directly into your breastbone and your stomach does a somersault. Your ears are ringing, and you’re pretty sure your heart is about to beat out of your chest now that it’s started up again. 
The tattoo on your chest feels warm beneath your blouse. 
“You,” Yunho manages, his voice shaky and you know for sure he felt it too. 
You rock back a step, “I don’t understand,” 
“Shit,” Someone else says, and then you realize that it’s San and you’re not alone with the only other person in the entire world, you’re in the middle of work in front of at least one other person and it’s only your existence that just got tilted on its axis. Yours and maybe Yunho’s. 
“Oh,” You glance to the side, taking in San’s wide eyed expression, “oh my God,” 
“I’m not insane, am I?” Yunho smiles, his focus entirely on you, and you think you might just pass out, “You felt that?” 
There’s a noise in the hall and San scrambles up to his feet, “Iseul,” he says heading for the door, “do you need help looking?” 
He’s covering for you both, but thoughts are slow to form and all you can manage is blinking at the man in your chair. 
“You did, right?” He asks again, eyes soft and hopeful, and then his fingers brush over the center of his chest. Squarely over his breastbone.
He’s yours. 
You want to reach out and yank up his shirt, check the tattoo over his heart to see if it’s the same looping knot shape as yours, but you don’t need to see it to know for sure. It’s him. 
San says something about forgetting the liner altogether, a little louder so you both know the room is going to get crowded again, and you shake your head to jolt yourself out of your paralyzed position. 
“You didn’t?” His hand falls. 
“I did,” You rush to correct, “I’m, I don’t know,” 
He nods, wetting his lips and shifting in his chair. He moves to reach for you, but reason and sense click back into place immediately and you realize that no matter what your tattoo feels like and no matter what this means, you’re at work and about to have a very private moment in a very public place if you’re not careful. 
You shake your head with a glance at his hand and jerk your head towards the door, “Later,” 
“Right,” He leans back from you, “of course, right,” 
Footsteps to your right draw your attention and Iseul is huffing, checking her own watch, “We’ll do brown,” 
“That’ll be fine,” San assures her, but his eyes are glued on the pair of you. 
Iseul moves to step around you again and realizes you’re just standing there, “What’s with you?” 
“Sorry,” You manage, blinking hard and refocusing, “I just got dizzy,” 
It’s not entirely a lie, given that you felt the entire earth shift under your feet thirty seconds ago and your life is completely changed. Dizzy is the least of how you’re feeling. 
Yunho’s expression shifts immediately, concern across his face, and he curls his fingers into his palms to keep himself from reaching out again, from being too familiar. 
“Oh,” Her eyebrows raise high, “do you need me to finish Yunho?”
“N-no,” You take a breath, “just give me one second,” 
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Yunho asks, and in the back of your brain you wonder if his voice has always sounded this good. 
“Here,” San cuts in smoothly, cracking the seal on a fresh water bottle and passing it over to you, “do you need to sit a minute?” 
San’s hand rests on your upper back between your shoulders as you take a long sip of water, the cold shocking your brain back to reality in exactly the way you need. 
“Thank you,” You tell him honestly, “I think I’m okay, just a headrush,” 
San nods, and when you refocus your eyes on Yunho, you almost laugh. His gaze is squarely on San’s hand where it sits on your back, and you watch the fast, silent exchange between the two men when San drops his hand and Yunho realizes his own reaction. He blushes, ears running red and he dips his head to avoid both your eyes. 
“Iseul,” San steps around you both and distracts your friend, “ready to wrap?” 
“Yeah,” She agrees, “let’s finish up. You’re sure you’re okay, y/n?” 
“Mhm,” You hardly trust your own voice, but you nod anyway, “I’m good now.” 
Yunho tilts his face back up as you step close, and the tension between you is so palpable and so familiar that you can hardly breathe. Your tattoo feels warm and heavy and something tells you that his does too, you can see it in the tenderness of his brown eyes. 
“Dizzy?” He asks quietly, keeping his words just for you. 
You shake your head, “No,”
“That’s good,” He murmurs, but he lets whatever words he wants to say rest on his tongue. 
Your tattoo throbs and you don’t dare touch his bare skin again. 
His makeup takes fifteen more minutes and his eyes don’t stray from your face the entire time. You barely finish on time, and wardrobe is standing by to get them into their first outfits of the night, so when you put the final touches on he’s already being pulled out of the chair before you have a chance to say anything. 
You want to corner him and ask him exactly when he’ll have time to talk later, but despite working together for the last few years, you and Yunho aren’t that close. You’re friendly, but you’re not familiar enough to casually ask what he’s doing later and not have it seem strange. While friendships between staff members and idols are not discouraged, even between the opposite sex, being overly familiar or suggestive would certainly leave a question in everyone’s minds, and you don’t want to draw attention to yourself that quickly. 
This is between you and Yunho, no one else. You don’t want an audience for this. 
So he goes, pulled away by wardrobe and his other members, fitted quickly into his Soundcheck outfit. He has his game face on, so do all the members, and you watch him disappear down the hall without a second glance back at you. 
You collapse into the couch and press your eyes closed, focusing on the singular feeling of heat and soreness from your chest.
A soulmate. 
The tattoo on your chest was one you barely looked at anymore, too focused on living your life to sit in the mirror and wonder about the person who would be your other half, the person that would slot into the gaps in your spirit with a simple brush of skin on skin. But now, it aches. It pulses to remind you that it’s real and that you’ve found him. 
Everything in your life is about to change. Has already changed.
On the couch you don’t sleep as much as you disassociate, still stunned, your buzzing brain filtering out everything Iseul says as she cleans up around you and preps both of your brush belts for touch ups. There’s such a small amount of time between Soundcheck and the concert that you barely get to process, you just exist, playing the moment you touched him over again and again in your mind. Despite how utterly changed you feel, the world is just continuing on around you like a regular day.
Once again, you and Yunho miss each other for every brief moment between Soundcheck and stage.
The shift happens in the wings, in the underbelly of the stage where you and the other staff members for hair, makeup, and wardrobe wait for any last minute quick fixes. The eight of them are almost ready, pumping themselves up between rows of technical equipment and stage scaffolding. 
There’s so much commotion around you and yet your eyes are drawn to him like a magnet, the feelings you once had for him coming back to you full force in a blurry torrent. 
He shifts, stretches, swallows hard, and then looks up directly into your eyes. There’s a question in them that you can’t read, but you manage to smile. 
His shoulders relax just a little. 
You raise your fist, giving him the gesture for ‘fighting’ and he returns it with a wide grin. 
“Alright,” Hongjoong’s voice cuts through, the final step of their pre-show ritual as the concert hall starts to roar, “huddle up.” 
The eight of them circle up with each other, one leg in and one out. 
“We’ve practiced hard,” Hongjoong starts, patting his members on the back, “let that practice pay off, and have fun out there,” 
“Okay!” San hypes them up, getting the tension high. 
“Let’s give it our all,” Hongjoong continues, a wide smile on his face, “fighting!”
They echo it back, and a tense feeling starts to roll in your gut. 
“Alright, one,” Hongjoong starts the count and you feel the tension in your own body rising, enough to make you take a soft step back from the group, “two,” 
On three they chorus it, moving their feet in a synchronized step,  “Eight makes one team! Fighting!” 
They break apart, clapping each other on the back, and your eyes meet Yunho’s for one more fast second before he’s jogging after the rest of the members and finding his mark on the stage risers. 
You feel the sensation of his eyes on you even after he’s gone. You have the length of four songs and their opening ments before members start swapping out on stage for makeup touch-ups and technical adjustments. The sound of the audience is intense, the start of the first song keying up, and you stumble back from your post to get a breath of air away from it all. 
There’s a bathroom along the hallway two doors down from the green room that’s meant for staff and you blissfully find it empty. With shaking hands you flip the lock and sink down into a crouch, your back braced against the wall as you breathe through the sudden wave of feelings filling your chest. 
Adrenaline, that’s what the bitter taste on your tongue is. 
Your heart is thumping, double time like you’re running a marathon, and then you realize it. You can feel him, even now with the bond between you unfulfilled you can feel his emotions coming to you like a wave. Adrenaline, anxiety, euphoria, exhaustion, it all roils through you and you brace your hands on the wall to get your composure back. 
They say the first time you feel your soulmate link it takes you by surprise, but this is an intensity you couldn’t have imagined. It’s all encompassing and honestly terrifying, and you’re struggling to understand which parts of you are you and which are him. You can’t conceive of how an accepted bond would make this feeling stronger when it already feels like your emotions and his are knit together so tightly. 
Anxiety strikes down the link and you realize it’s not stage fright, it’s for you. He can feel your panic and your fear just like you can feel every ounce of his performance and if you don’t get yourself in check you’re going to be distracting him even more than you already are. 
You yank yourself up off the floor and collapse against the sink, turning on the cold water tap and taking slow and steadying breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Counting slowly, relaxing your body with every pulse of oxygen through your system. You hope he can feel it, but you have no idea how this all really works. You’ll have to call your sister when this is all said and done, find out what she felt when she met her wife, but right now in this bathroom in Berlin you have to do this by yourself. 
You hear the pulse of another song thrumming through the stadium as they keep performing, and you feel the thundering beat of his heart in your chest, but you breathe into it this time and try to keep yourself calm for his sake. You splash cold water on your face, keep breathing low and slow, and eventually you pull yourself back up to standing tall to look at yourself in the mirror. 
You look the same as you did a few hours ago, before him, but the warmth in your chest is still present and you wonder if that will ever go away or if that’s just a permanent part of the link. 
With shaky hands you unbutton your blouse and pull your bralette down in the center to reveal what you already know is there. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight. 
The tattoo nestled at the base of your sternum is the only one you were born with. Every other line of ink on your body was put there with intention, but this one you’ve had for as long as you can remember. The maedeup knot is small, but intricate, and until this moment it had always been colorless. Loops of black and gray twining together to make a rounded diamond, unbroken with no beginning or end to the threads. 
Now the ink has changed, a deep red against your skin that makes the knotted josephin soulmark look even more traditional, but the skin is slightly inflamed, tender to the touch as you brush your fingertips along it. It feels like a fresh mark, not something you’ve had since birth, but considering how it’s changed, maybe it is new. A soulmark shifting color is common, you know that, but it still stands out so starkly against your skin and your other black tattoos. You can’t look away from it. 
A pounding on the bathroom door makes you jump and you fix your shirt, covering the mark back up and buttoning it away. You wonder if Yunho’s mark is the exact same like other couples you know and if it too turned red, if it’s warm to the touch, if he felt you brush against your mark through the link. 
“y/n?” A voice comes through the door and you shut off the tap. 
“Coming!” You wipe the excess water on your hands onto your jeans and take one last, fast look to make sure your mark isn’t visible, before opening the bathroom door. 
Wonshik, one of their many managers, is waiting for you on the other side. His eyes narrow when he sees you, “Are you ill?” 
“No,” You assure him. 
“You’re sure?” He presses, “We can’t afford to lose any more staff or risk getting the members sick if you are,” 
“I know, Wonshik,” You nod, “I promise I’m just tired, jet-lagged. I was putting cold water on my face, that’s all. I’m not sick,” 
He exhales in relief, his expression softening, “Thank God,” he says, “I can only take so many surprises.” 
A little sickness is nothing compared to a staff member and an idol under a dating ban being soulmarked, but you hold your tongue. 
“They’re about to come off,” He says, “Iseul was looking for you, she seems like she might start climbing the walls if you don’t get back to help her,” 
“No, of course,” You start back towards the side stage entrance, “I lost track of time, but it won’t happen again,” 
“Make sure you sleep tonight,” He adds, following you closely, “no sleep means no immune system, and no immune system means sick.” 
“Don’t worry,” You promise, winding your way through the dark backstage, “you won’t lose me,” 
“I better not,” He sighs, and then Iseul comes into sight. 
“There you are!” She hisses low under her breath, “I was about to have a panic attack,” 
“I’m sorry, I’m here, I’m good,” In the commotion, your brain starts to ease into normalcy. You’re used to this pace, the speed of lightning fast makeup touch-ups and assisting wardrobe when things start to go awry with their quick changes. The audience feels none of this, they just see smooth change-outs on stage and cool idols in new clothes, but backstage is a wild flurry and it always puts you on an entirely different plane of focus. 
“Here we go,” A stage director starts, gathering everyone’s attention, “four minutes… starting…” 
The stage goes dark and in the venue a video starts to play to the crowd to fill the space between costume changes. You prep your hands, making sure your kit is ready to go and you see the wardrobe specialists out of the corner of your eye readying themselves to help facilitate the quick change. 
Suddenly they’re here, and the stage director interrupts once more, “Now, four minutes people, let’s go.” 
“Mingi,” He gets to you first and he crouches down to drop his face to your height, “stay still one second,” 
He says nothing, but he nods as you pat powder across his forehead and the bridge of his nose, checking him over for any other defects. He looks good and you nod, “Go, go,” 
Mingi peels off to the left of you and you hear the sound of fabric swishing as he and Wooyoung rip off the top layer of their outfits behind the privacy screens and trade garments with the wardrobe team. It’s a fast shuffle, but you stay focused on who’s in front of you. 
“Seonghwa,” You wave to him, pulling blotting tissues out of the pack on your belt, “here,” 
He knows this drill well, you’re used to working with him and you have a clean routine down. He blots the sweat off his brow himself and starts to unbutton his jacket while you shift focus to Yunho. 
For a split second you almost forget what happened earlier in the buzz of backstage, but the minute your eyes hold on his awareness floods you. 
“Hey,” You say, but there’s a time clock shout behind you and you beckon him down, “come here, let me fix things,”
He drops down to your height just like Mingi did and stays steady while you work, but his eyes flick up, “You’re okay?” 
“I’m good,” You nod, “don’t worry,” 
His expression clears a little and you guess you have your answer about the feeling of the link going both ways. 
Hongjoong clears his throat behind you both, “We’re short on time,” 
“Am I good?” Yunho checks. 
Your eyes flick over him fast, “Yep,” 
He’s out of your eyeline a split second later, and you’re grateful for the distraction of both Hongjoong and Seonghwa, otherwise you’re sure you’d dwell a little bit too long on the fact that Yunho’s half naked next to you, privacy screen or no. 
“One minute,” The stage director announces, “everyone’s doing great,” 
The boys are almost done, flying through the last of their zips and getting their hair smoothed down by that team as they finish. You put the last pat of powder on Seonghwa’s nose and give him a nod before he’s gone too, dropping his jacket as he goes and giving you all a quick flash of his bare back. 
You turn back towards the group as they prepare and your eyes zero in on Yunho again. His expression is serious, it’s his game face before he gets back out on stage, and you watch as he corrects the placement of his in-ears and ensures that his mic pack is secured. He runs through his pre-stage ritual and you can’t help but be a captive audience. 
“Good work,” The stage director says as Seonghwa rejoins the eight, fully dressed and ready for stage, “fifteen seconds for act two,” 
The crowd heats up again as the video starts to fade, and the members do their final checks. Yunho doesn’t look back at you once, his eyes forward and focused as he and the other members find their places on the rising platform that will take them back out to the main stage. 
You can see him a little though, in the low light in his white trousers and blue satin shirt. He lifts his hand, adjusting his microphone once again, and then as he drops it back to his side he lets his fingers skim over the familiar hollow of his chest. 
Your mark warms, you feel it as if it were your chest he brushed his fingers over, and your breath stops. 
The platform rises, the crowd roars, and your heart starts beating to a new rhythm. 
He really is yours. 
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It turns out that later means much later. 
You manage to get out of dinner with some of the other staff members, but that just leaves you anxious and alone in a hotel room trying and failing to eat room service. Iseul would be back soon to take up her place in the other bed, and you’re starting to realize that you don’t have Yunho’s number. 
Now that emotions are a little smoother, you can’t feel him. Or maybe you can, but it’s so faint that you’re not sure. All you know is that he’s definitely in the hotel, but that’s partially the solid feeling of your link with him and partially the YouTube live being broadcast from Seonghwa’s room where all of the members are. 
You put the live on and watch, feeling strangely disconnected from the men on screen. You’ve known them for years, but suddenly with this new truth everything feels foreign and confusing. 
You should call your sister, but it’s only six in the morning in Korea and even though this is an emergency of life altering and epic proportions, you can’t bring yourself to wake her on a Saturday. 
You try your best to eat the pasta you ordered and watch as the live eventually ends. Your phone dings and for a split second you think it will be him, but it’s just Iseul telling you she’s heading back to the hotel. 
A soft knock at the door makes your stomach lurch. 
You’re frozen. 
There’s another knock, a little firmer this time but then you feel the warm touch against your mark and you’re on your feet, your hand on the door handle before you can think. 
He looks tired, that’s your first thought. His face is bare again, and his eyes are rimmed in a little bit of red like he just removed the day’s stage makeup. Despite all that, he smiles when he sees you and sighs, leaning against the door frame, “You’re awake,” he says. 
“I waited,” You manage. 
He grimaces, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” his eyes flick behind you into the room and he swallows, “are you alone?” 
“Yes,” You nod, “but not for long, Iseul’s on her way,” 
He nods, “Come to my room?” 
“Are you sure?” Your eyes widen. 
“We need to talk,” He nods, “can you get away for a little while?” 
Iseul will probably expect you to be asleep, but you can’t let this go until morning. If you’re ever going to sleep you need to talk to him now. 
“I’ll think of something,” You tell him, “what room?” 
“2606,” He answers, reaching into his pockets and producing an envelope from the front desk, “take this,” 
He passes you one of his room keys and you nod, “I’ll be up in five minutes, but you should go,” 
“Okay,” He breathes and neither one of you makes a single move to step away from the door until a sound down the hallway pushes you into it. 
“2606,” You repeat and he nods, swiftly moving down the hall before anyone can see him standing at your door. 
You have no idea what you’re going to tell Iseul that would make sense, but you don’t care. You stack up your room service for collection, kick on a pair of slippers, and give yourself the fastest look in the mirror ever on your way out the door. You want to be gone before she gets back, the idea of facing her and lying ten times more difficult than an empty text. 
No problem - I can’t sleep, I’m just going to walk a bit. Don’t wait up.
You don’t stick around to see if she’ll believe it. 
You try to seem casual when walking to Yunho’s room, like it's yours. You don’t want anyone to give you a second glance and wonder where you’re going, so you keep your head up, smile at anyone you pass, and when his door comes into view you scan the card like it’s any other day. 
When the heavy door shuts behind you, you sigh. 
“God, finally,” His voice startles you, and you look up to see him pacing, “I’ve been going insane all day,” 
Your shoulders drop, you aren’t alone, “Me too,”
He runs a hand through his black hair and finally stops pacing, but doesn’t come any closer, “So, this is real?” 
“It feels pretty real,” 
“How did we never feel it?” He manages, “I’ve known you for years,” 
“We’ve never touched until today,” You tell him, and that has to be the reason, it’s the only thing that makes sense. You’ve been turning it over in your mind all night, and with the exception of bumping into him last week in the hall, it’s all been polite bows and waves. 
“How is that even possible,” He breathes, “team dinners? Holiday parties? Work?” 
“Skin to skin,” You murmur, “I think that’s what it was,” 
“I had no idea,” He swallows, gesturing in the negative space between your bodies, “I always liked you, but I thought it was just, you know, a crush,” 
“You what?” Your eyebrows raise. 
“Well,” He backtracks, “not like that, it’s not like I’ve been holding a candle.” 
Your face stays neutral, but he grimaces at his own words. 
“I’m fucking this up,” He takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry, I’m really nervous.” 
Your stomach warms, “Yunho, it’s okay, honestly,” 
“I just meant I’ve always liked you, I thought about asking you out when our contracts loosened up if you were still single.” He clarifies and then you watch his face blanch, “You are single, aren’t you?” 
“Yes,” You nod, “we don’t have to worry about that,” 
He nods and you see him searching for the next thing to say, the right thing. 
“Your mark,” You cut in, taking a few steps further into the room, “did it change?” 
“Completely,” He nods, “did yours?” 
“Yeah,” You wonder the right way to ask him if you can see. 
“Does it feel,” He starts.
“Warm?” 
“Yes,” He nods, “and tender?” 
“Like a fresh tattoo,” You take another step in. 
“I’ve never gotten a tattoo,” He confesses, “but I’ll take your word for it,” 
“Can I,” The words are stuck on your tongue, “maybe this is weird, but I mean, I guess we’re soulmates,” 
“You want to see it?” He surmises. 
“Only if you’re comfortable,” 
His lips quirk, “I’m comfortable,”
Heat twists in your gut and you wonder if he can feel that too. If he does he doesn’t say it, but you watch as he pulls the black t-shirt off over his head. 
You’ve never seen his chest. Any inch of his skin except for his neck and arms really, and you guess that was part of keeping his soulmark covered. Idols always do, even when they’re in the most inconvenient locations, there’s always makeup or flesh colored tape or editing to take care of it. The idea that someone could replicate it and try to fake a connection is far too real for someone famous. 
He drops his shirt onto the bed and pink tinges his cheeks as he gestures towards it, “Well,” 
Your mouth drops, it’s the exact same, down to the size and the placement and every little loop and you stumble forwards to get a better look, “Yunho,” 
“Yeah?” 
“Has yours always been red?” You reach out, your fingertips hovering just over it. 
He shakes his head, “Not before today,” 
“Mine’s the same,” You tell him, your eyes glued to his sternum, “just the same,” 
You know every centimeter of this tattoo. You’ve studied it a thousand times in the mirror, tracing over every curve with your eyes, trying to find the place where the cord starts and ends. He sucks in a sharp breath as your fingers brush gently along his mark, and you feel the ghost of the sensation against your own. 
“I can’t believe we never knew,” You murmur, sliding your finger along each rounded edge. 
“You feel that?” He asks, “Right?” 
You’re nodding and moving to tug off your sweater before you can even think it through. He starts to shake his head, to say that you don’t have to, but you’re already tossing the sweater next to his discarded shirt and tugging down the front band of your bralette so he can see the whole mark. 
His eyes flick over you fast, but with the matching mark in front of him he doesn’t focus on anything else, “It’s exactly the same,” 
“I know,” You reach for his hand, but the minute more of your skin connects with his you feel your chest throb and you drop it like it burns you. 
He winces, touching his chest again, “Is it supposed to hurt?” 
“In the beginning,” You nod, “I think?” 
“Does it always feel like that?” 
“I’m not sure,” You admit, “I was going to call my sister and ask, but it’s too early at home,” 
He smiles, “Your sister found her soulmate?” 
“In highschool,” You smile back, “they’ve been bonded together since they were eighteen,” 
“Older or younger?” He asks, and you realize just how little you know about each other despite how long you’ve worked alongside him. 
“Younger,” You say.  
“I have a little brother,” He replies, “but he’s still in school,” 
You nod, painfully aware that this is such a strange conversation to have with your shirts off just standing in the middle of a hotel room, but somehow it’s easier than any date you’ve ever had. 
Your eyes flick from his eyes to his mark and he reaches out a hand again, “Can I?” 
Your heart quickens and you nod. 
His fingertips graze over the edge of your mark, mimicking your touch from before, sliding along the edges of the tattoo. His eyes widen and you know he’s feeling the sensation in his own mark, a mirror image of each other. 
“This doesn’t hurt,” He observes, letting his fingers linger. 
“I think we have to get used to each other,” You remember that fact from somewhere, “the link has been dormant for a long time, I think it takes a minute to get used to having it,” 
“Makes sense,” He murmurs, his eyes still squarely on your mark, “I’ll be honest though, I still really want to touch you,” 
“Yeah?” Your voice is thready. 
His fingers fall away and he nods, “Don’t you?” 
“Yes,” You agree, painfully quickly. 
He swallows tightly and takes the smallest step forwards, before offering out his hand, palm up and waiting for you.
Your eyes flick from his face down to his outstretched hand, and you reach for him slowly. You let your fingertips skate over the skin of his palm, down each digit, ghost the pads of your fingertips together. It’s warm, sharp and dizzying even just to brush against each other. 
You wonder what more will feel like. 
“Can I try something?” He murmurs, his voice nearly a whisper even though you’re all alone. 
You nod. 
He wets his lips unconsciously and moves a little closer, your bodies now only inches apart. Anxiety, anticipation, thrill, it all runs through your gut like a whirling wind and you shiver at the torrent of his emotions, a grin breaking out over your face. 
His smile mirrors yours, “Your heart’s beating a mile a minute,” 
“You can feel that?” 
“Yeah,” He breathes, grin widening, “this is crazy,” 
You laugh, a little nervous, a little elated, and he finally reaches out his hands. 
He takes a steadying breath, and then his fingertips brush along your jaw. 
You suck in a sharp gasp at the sensation, electric and hot, the feeling rocketing through your entire body. You tilt your face up to his as he continues his gentle touches, your eyes watching him as he studies you. His plush lips are parted, brown eyes wide with awe as he grows a little bolder to brush over your cheeks, down your throat, and back up to your jawline. 
“Feel alright?” He murmurs. 
You nod into his touch and he starts to lift off but you reach for him, “Don’t stop,” 
Your hands land safely on his hips, still covered by his sweatpants and you watch him swallow again at the sudden contact, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Warmth fills the bond, no doubt the first threads of his arousal, and you wonder if he can feel your own. If he can sense how much he’s affecting you with just his fingertips on your face. 
His hands settle back on your skin, this time smoothing across you with his palms, one hand cupping your cheek and the other sliding over your shoulder and down your bare back. 
You can barely breathe, the room so silent and around you, like the only thing in the universe that exists is the two of you orbiting each other, standing at the precipice of something so catastrophic and wonderful. 
Your hands adjust, resting on his taut abdomen as you move a little closer together, and his eyes flutter shut as he breathes through the sensation of your hands on him properly for the first time. 
“You’re so warm,” You murmur, your hands softly tracing his abdominal muscles, instinct guiding you to touch more of him, seek out every inch of him as you unconsciously make a map of his body in your mind. 
He hums pleasantly, eyes reopening, “So are you,” 
He feels so right, so essential under your touch. 
Yunho wets his lips softly with his tongue, and a nervous thrill passes through your belly. His eyes flick over you, the pad of his thumb sweeping a line over your lips. You suppress a needy sound, still trying to keep your head amidst the thrumming emotions and steady thumps of your heart. 
He doesn’t stop, just stroking your skin slowly, fingers on your back pressing just a little as he sighs. 
“Yunho,” You shiver. 
“Cold?” He gravitates a little closer. 
“N-no,” Your body is all but pressed flush against him now, and you have to lean your face up even more just to see him as he stands tall over you. 
“I…” He starts to say something but lets the words die off, like he’s thinking something through, but then he sighs, “forget it,” 
His lips are on yours. 
Yunho lifts you, wrapping his arms around your back and tugging you up into his embrace. You gasp against his mouth, finding his shoulders to hold onto as one of his arms bands around your lower back. 
The kiss is shattering, the world tilting once again, a new frequency humming between your two bodies. It’s hot, your skin buzzing from the contact, but the way you move together is fluid and easy. Your legs part naturally, settling around his hips and his free hand finds your plush thigh as he tugs you into place, slotting your bodies together like they were always meant to be. 
“I’m sorry,” He mumbles against your lips when he draws in a quick breath, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. His nose nuzzles against yours, and his lips part at the same moment yours do, tongues meeting in the space between your mouths to flick against each other. 
“Don’t,” You push closer to him, fingers knotting into the back of his hair as you kiss him back. 
He hums, the hand on your thigh sliding up to cup your ass and you shiver as his wide hand stretches across your backside, squeezing your pillowy flesh. 
A tiny whimper does leave you then, liquid heat spreading through your body, the combined sensation of both your arousals giving you a headrush. 
“So beautiful,” He sighs between kisses, “you’re so beautiful,” 
“Yunho,” Your voice is thready, his name a stretched out sound. 
He holds you close, nearly stumbling as he moves. You blink your eyes open just as he spins you both, pushing you up against the hotel wall and pinning you in place with the weight of his body.  You should slow things down, but nothing in your life has ever felt this good and you find yourself diving back to meet his kiss again. 
 His arm slides out from behind your back as he pushes closer, your body fully supported by the flat of the wall behind you and his hips under yours and one hand firmly anchored on your ass. With his arm free he cups your cheek, a pleased sound on his lips as he dips you back into the wall and deepens the kiss. 
Heat blooms through you, your kisses getting needier, artless and desperate just to get a little closer together. The kind of kissing that sounds as messy as it is, tiny pants and moans muffled between you, skin on skin, tongue on tongue. 
“God,” He shudders, his lips breaking away, but his eyes only flick over you for a second before he dives back in. This time his lips travel, hot kisses across your jaw and back to the hollow of your ear, down your throat as he holds you a little higher on the wall for the right access. 
You grip his shoulders with one hand and lock your fingers in his mess of black hair with the other, your head falling back against the wall. He pants against your throat, a soft groan as he kisses, and your stomach tightens pleasantly. 
“Y-Yunho,” You gasp, arousal rolling through you, and unconsciously you rock your hips, desperately seeking some kind of friction. 
He hums low in his throat, kissing back up your neck fast to get to your lips again and his hand slides off your cheek as he crowds you tighter, bracing himself against the wall above your head. His abdomen presses against your core, and even through layers of fabric you feel his heat. Hungrily, you roll your hips again and catch a little pressure, moaning in earnest against his mouth. 
Yunho makes a tight sound and then he breaks the kiss, his forehead pressing hard against yours as he takes in slow breaths, his body all but trembling with need as he holds you. 
“We need to slow down,” He manages. 
You can’t find words, not yet, but you nod against him. 
“You deserve better,” He says, “dates, presents,” 
You laugh softly, your hand in his hair softening from a grip to a gentle hold, carding through the long locks at the base of his neck, “I don’t need all that,”  
He smiles wide, brushing off your words, “Still,” He sighs, still recovering from the heated make out, “I think I have more self control than fulfilling our bond by fucking you into the wall,” 
Reality bleeds back in at that. Soulmarks were just that, indicator marks. A way to find your person amidst a sea of thousands, if not millions. All the shared sensation and emotion a precursor to something more permanent and binding, something only sealed together by sex. 
You lift your head up, and he leans back to mirror you. 
“I lost my head there,” You admit, warm blush in your cheeks, “I didn’t know it would feel like this,” 
He smiles, and you take in his expression. His hair is a mess, mussed and disheveled and his face is pink from his nose down to the dark, well-kissed curve of his lips. His bare chest is flushed bright pink and his eyes are bright and warm. You fight the urge to kiss him again. 
“Me either,” He shakes his head, “it’s incredible,” 
“Overwhelming,” You nod, exhaling softly. 
He makes a soft sound to agree and then starts to push back from the wall gingerly, letting you slowly unwrap your legs from his waist and ease down to the floor. 
He lets you go when you’re steady on your feet and clears his throat, adjusting the waistband of his sweatpants and running a hand through his tangled locks. He’s hard, that much is obvious from the distinct outline of his cock through the gray fabric, but you do your best to look away and not think about how thick and heavy it looked just from kissing you. 
“Jesus,” He adjusts his sweats again, “sorry,” 
“It’s fine,” You cup your own cheeks with cool fingers, “I promise you’re not the only one,” 
His eyes hold yours for a lengthy beat and then he swallows, taking a wide step back and nodding, “Right,” he shakes his head, “we’re supposed to be slowing down.” 
“Slow,” You lean against the wall behind you, crossing your arms over your chest and trying to steady your thumping heart. 
“I’m going over here,” He grins and walks to the far wall by the door to the bathroom, leaning back and crossing his own arms, “we really should talk,” 
A pulse of anxiety flickers through you, and you realize just how quickly you went from his hotel room door to nearly falling into bed. He’s handsome, a kind man, your once upon a time crush, and certainly fated to be a good match for you, but that doesn’t mean you should throw out good sense and rush things. No matter how much your impulses were screaming at you to do just that.
You try to ignore the fact that there’s a bed between you, and you nod, “You’re right,” you finally say, “we barely know each other,” 
Yunho’s smile fades just a bit, “I wouldn’t say that,” 
“We’re coworkers,” The words tumble out, “I know what we’re both feeling, but,” 
His brow furrows as he thinks through your words and he shakes his head, “y/n,” he cuts you off, “do you believe in soulmates?” 
“Yes, of course,” Even if you hadn’t before, the way you’re feeling now would be enough to dispel any skeptic. 
He takes in a quick breath, the sound sharp as he draws it through his teeth and he cocks his head slightly to the side, “You’re scared,” he massages the top of his sternum with his fingers, and you recognize your own chest is tight with anxiety, “I can feel it, talk to me.” 
The instant vulnerability of the bond is startling, and you can feel your own expression crumble. It’s suddenly a bit like being an ant caught under a magnifying glass, too much sharp attention all at once and you swallow tightly, eyes flicking away from his tender gaze. 
“y/n,” He murmurs, “I’m not pushing for more, not tonight,” 
“Yeah,” Your voice is soft, too quiet for your own liking. Something about the way he sees you so clearly and so quickly makes you feel exposed, nervous and strangely childlike. 
“Hey,” He breaks through your little thought spiral, “look at me,”
You straighten up again, finding his eyes. 
“I’m just happy I found you,” He tells you, and you feel the truth of it in your gut, “we can figure everything else out together, and at our own pace, okay?” 
Relief spreads through you, the knot in your chest loosening, “Promise?” 
“Promise,” He nods, raising one hand with his pinky extended, “I just want us to try,” 
You nod, extending your own pinky to seal it, “Me too.” 
He smiles at that, “Barely know each other,” he scolds softly, “I’m offended.” 
“Oh yeah?” Tension bleeds out of your shoulders. 
“Mhm,” His expression is full of cheek, “I’m the one with a crush, remember? I notice things,” 
Your stomach flips pleasantly and your arms relax from their tight position crossed over your chest, “What things?” 
“Let’s see,” He starts, and for a brief moment you think maybe he’s bluffing, but the moment he starts you melt and he holds your gaze as he warmly recites all the little things he’s noticed about you over the years. 
“You only wear silver jewelry,” he notes first, nodding towards you. 
Your tight hands uncurl. 
“You have a ridiculous sweet tooth,” The more he talks the more he relaxes against the far wall, “and you start getting flushed after the second shot of soju, you really are a lightweight,” 
“You always pick a Big Bang song for karaoke, and you’re late to work every Monday,” He laughs a little at that and keeps going, “you don’t wear a lot of color but when you do it’s red. We’re both from Gwangju but you moved to Seoul when you were five,” 
Your heart starts to beat a little faster, warmth filling you again and you don’t know if it’s your affection or his anymore, but it hardly matters. 
“Um,” He takes a deep breath and glances away for a moment and then catches more threads from his memory, “you’re a Sagittarius, you’re a runner, and the last book I saw you reading was Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982. I bought it, but I haven’t had a chance to read it just yet,” 
“Yunho,” You find yourself smiling, a hand over your surprised lips. 
“I’m just saying,” He shrugs a little, “we aren’t strangers. I know this is scary and fast and going to change the rest of our lives,” 
Elation, pure joy, spills over unfettered from his side of your new emotional tether. 
“But I like you,” He confesses, “I have for a while, and this,” he brushes his fingers along his soulmark, “just changes the timeline.” 
He’s yours. 
You push off the wall, crossing the room and all but leap back into his embrace, your arms looping around his shoulders again as you push up on tiptoe to kiss his lips. 
“This is real,” You murmur. 
“Yes,” He cups your cheeks, nodding as he pecks your lips again. 
“You’re mine,” 
“Yes,” He grins. 
“Oh, this is crazy,” You laugh, forehead against his again. 
“We’ll go slow,” He assures you again, “we’ll figure it out together,” 
“Together,” You nod. 
He dips low once more, this kiss more tender, and he separates you both before things can heat up again. “Hmm,” He glances across the bed and makes a small face at the time displayed on the digital clock, “did you eat?” 
“I tried to,” You confess, “I was nervous,” 
“You need to eat,” He snaps up his black shirt from the bed and slips it back on, and your chest warms. It’s strangely domestic, strangely commonplace like you’ve been in this position a thousand times before. 
Yunho adjusts his shirt and then kisses your hair as he passes by you, padding over to the hotel microwave and searching through the assorted snacks and instant meals, “It’s too late for room service,” 
“I’m okay,” You pull your own sweater back on and sit on the edge of his bed. 
“y/n,” He glances back, a softly scolding tone. 
“Really, you need to sleep,” You offer. 
He dismisses that thought, “But I’m hungry, eat with me?” 
You concede, and while he starts whipping up two servings of ramen, you wonder if this is what he’s going to be like. It makes sense, he’s always been a caretaking kind of person, but having it so tenderly directed at you feels right. 
“When we get home,” He says as he pours in the spice packets, “I’ll take you somewhere nice,” 
“This is nice,” You smile. 
“y/n,” He sets the ramen on a side table and sits next to you, “this is cup noodle from a hotel microwave,”
“The company is nice,” You take the ramen happily though, and tuck into the warm meal.
“It is,”
“Mm, you know,” You slurp back some noodles and softly clear your throat, “you weren’t the only one with a crush,” 
He freezes, letting his noodles drop back into his cup, “What?” 
“I’ve always liked you,” Your own confession feels easier after his, “I put it aside since we work together, but I guess, I mean, what I’m trying to say is that we both felt it before the mark, you’re not alone in that.” 
 “I had no idea,” 
“I’m very professional,” You tease him lightly. 
He nudges you and tucks back into his noodles, “How long?” 
“Hmm,” You get more comfortable, crossing your legs and scooting back a little onto the mattress, “I thought you were cute when we first met,” 
“God,” He groans, “we were such kids,” 
You nod, swallowing another bite, “Mhm, you had that blonde hair,” 
He laughs. 
“I remember thinking, ‘that one’s trouble’,” You confess. 
“Me?” His eyebrows perk up, “I’m perfectly nice,” 
“Trouble as in you’re my type,” You roll your eyes, “but I don’t think the crush properly came until later. You’ve always made me laugh, and when I realized how I was feeling I just did my best to keep some distance,” 
He nods, face getting a little serious, “I know what you mean,” 
That knowledge leaves you both a little quiet. The late hour, the adrenaline come down, all of it barrels into you at the same moment as the next anxious thought. How in the world were you both going to navigate this with a contract as tight as theirs and the public eye always watching? 
“Yunho,” You murmur, the last of your noodles left to go cold as you sit with that thought, “Are we going to be able to figure this out?” 
“Figure what out?” He looks genuinely confused by your question, “Us?” 
“You’re an idol,” You nod towards him, “I’m staff,” 
He rests a hand on your knee, “We’ll be fine,” 
“Aren’t your contracts,” You trail off, letting him fill in the blanks. 
“They’re strict, yes,” He nods, “year seven,” 
Dating, romance, even the perception of it was more than discouraged by companies in this industry, their artists contractually obligated to be single and available and dedicated only to their fans. Five years would have been the industry standard to prevent any idol from being caught out with a partner, let alone a potential soulmarked one, but seven is excessive. 
You blanch, “That’s almost two years away,” 
“We will find a way,” He says, “we’re not the first people in the industry this has happened to,” 
“Really?” You perk up, “Who?” 
He falls short, “Well, I don’t know exactly, but it’s bound to have happened.” 
“And then ruined their careers,” You groan, flopping back flat on the mattress and covering your face with a hand, “which is why we’ve never heard of them,” 
Yunho laughs, earnestly laughs, and takes the half empty ramen cup out of your hand to discard, “Maybe, but for now, let’s just stay positive. Get to know eachother better,” 
You nod. 
“Nothing can change the fact that we found each other,” He points out, dropping down onto his side on the bed next to you, “and I’m okay with that.” 
“So we just lie to everyone?” You chew at the inside of your lip, staring up at the white ceiling. 
“Hey,” Yunho’s fingers tuck under your chin and draw your eyes to him, “I know you’re anxious,” 
You sigh, letting his softness calm you again. 
“I know,” He repeats, “I am too, but we don’t have to decide anything tonight. We’re both tired and it’s been an emotional day,” 
“Okay,” You nod, “okay, yes, you’re right,” 
His thumb strokes over your cheek again, and you watch him exhale and sink further into your touch, “Will you stay tonight?” 
That wakes you up. 
Your eyebrows raise, “Stay?” 
“Just to sleep,” He assures you, “I just… I don’t want to be without you yet,” 
“I need to get back before Iseul wakes up if we do that,” You note with a grimace. 
“What time?” He glances back to the clock. 
“Seven,” You say, “her alarm is set for seven-thirty,” 
“We can do that,” He grabs his phone off the side table and sets an alarm, “we’ll get up,” 
The pull between your bodies is so strong you’re fairly sure you would have stayed no matter the consequences, but you nod, “Then I’ll stay,” 
He grins and pushes himself off the bed, “I’ve got clothes, if you want to get comfortable,” 
“Sure,” you sit up and wait for him to find things in his still packed suitcase. 
“Um,” He pulls a pair of black sweatpants from the bag, “these should work, and if you get cold,” 
You smile as he grabs a gray hoodie and comes back to you. 
As you start to pull off your sweater again, he turns around and leaves his back to you, “Sorry,” 
“Thanks,” You chuckle, making short work of changing. You’re swimming in his clothes, but his sweatshirt smells like him and you just want to bury your face into it, “you can turn around now,” 
His shoulders relax as he turns back, and you watch his lips part as he takes you in. 
“What?” 
“You look cute,” He clears his throat, shrugging off his reaction. 
You smile and ease back onto the bed, “Oh, I get it,” you laugh, “is your guy brain on fire because I’m wearing your clothes? Is this some kind of… you won the competition, ownership thing?” 
He scoffs and rolls his eyes, kneeling on the bed to shuffle closer, “No competition when you’re literally fated for me,” 
“Right,” You let the word drag out on your tongue to tease him. 
“But I like taking care of you already, and now you’re warm and comfortable,” He collapses next to you onto the mattress with a sigh, “and I know I don’t own you, but you are mine, just like I’m yours now. I won’t apologize for liking you in my clothes or in my bed, for liking when you look like my girlfriend,” 
Warmth blooms in your cheeks and you duck your face into the sheets. 
“Now come get under the covers,” He maneuvers the duvet, “it’s late, you were dead on your feet today,” 
His voice is so warm and familiar, and you slide into the covers beside him. 
In bed you keep a little distance, and despite the number of times both of you say that you should go to sleep, your conversation is almost impossible to stop. Yunho holds your hand in the middle space of the mattress between your bodies, and in the dim lighting of the hotel room you whisper thought after thought back and forth. A million things coming to mind you need to tell each other so suddenly now that you’ve found each other. 
As you talk his fingers travel, restlessly stroking your skin, up and down your arm and tapping out patterns. When his palm slides back and forth over the sharp lines of the tattoos on your upper arm, and you feel the question slipping out of your lips and revealing more about yourself than you intended before you can catch it. 
“Your parents,” You blurt out, “will they be happy?” He’s spoken about them so much over the past hour that you can’t help but ask him that question point blank. 
“So happy,” He responds with ease, a laugh on his lips, “they always worried me being an idol meant I’d never be able to find the one and settle down, they’re going to love this story,” 
You smile at the easy way he calls you ‘the one’, but the question you really asked still remains unanswered and you exhale softly, “But,” you manage, “will they be happy with me?” 
Yunho stills, reaching across the bed to hook his finger under your chin and draw your eyes up to his again, “Very happy,” he says, “just like I am.” 
Your muscles relax, his words a soothing balm, and you adjust your position on the pillow beneath you, “Just checking,” 
“Mhm,” He studies your face, “jagi, why wouldn’t they be happy with you?” 
The endearment slips off his lips with ease, and a burst of warmth spreads through you. You’ve never needed pet names and softness like this from a partner, but from him it makes your heart quicken. 
The momentary elation fades though, and his question comes back into your mind. You take a deep breath, you owe it to him to tell him now, “My family won’t be happy,” 
“With me?” His eyebrows raise. 
“It’s me,” You shake your head, “my parents have difficult ideals, and I’ve never pleased them. It wouldn’t matter who you were, they… they’ll find a way to not be happy for me.”
His eyes soften, and his thumb strokes along your jaw, “I’m sorry,” 
“It is what it is,” 
“Are your parents soulmates?” He asks softly. 
You shake your head, “No, they don’t really believe in soulmarks,” 
You watch his eyes widen in surprise. 
“Unless,” You can’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes, “the match is ‘fortuitous’,” 
“For status?” He surmises. 
“Status, money,” You shrug, “connection. But I think I could marry the next president and they’d still find a way to be disappointed in me,” 
His jaw flexes tense for just a moment, before his expression smooths over again. 
“Anyway,” You clear the bad thoughts away as quickly as they came, “my sister and I never went along like they wanted, like my cousins and the rest of my family, so we are the great disappointments. It’s not… it’s fine, but, I guess you should know before we, you know,” 
He smiles, a bit of amusement in his expression that you can’t place, “Did you think having bad parents would scare me off?” 
“It could,” 
“No,” He slides a hand under your side and tugs you across the mattress to press a fast kiss to your lips, “it never could.” 
“But I’m,” You start, all the reasons why a partner might care ringing in your ears. 
“Beautiful?” He cuts you off, “Just my type? If it’s anything else I don’t want to hear you say it,” 
Your stomach flip flops hard and you push lightly against his chest to get him to stop. 
“The thing is,” He brushes your hair back from your cheek, “my parents are soulmates. I grew up in a house full of a lot of love, even when they were being strict and scolding us.” 
Your smile at his warm expression. 
“So I know they’ll love you,” He explains, “they know what this feels like, what it means. I have plenty of family for us both,” 
Your throat constricts, tears threatening for a moment. 
“Your sister, though,” He grounds you out of the bad thoughts without even thinking, “you two are close?” 
“Very,”
“I’d like to meet her,” He smiles. 
“You two would get along great, my sister and her wife both, actually,” 
Yunho nods, listening attentively, “Do they have kids?” 
“Not yet,” You groan, “but I’m dying to be an auntie,” 
His thumb drags a comforting line across your cheekbone, his expression warm and affectionate, “Cute,” 
You sink into the pillows, a yawn creeping up to your lips, “She’s going to lose her mind when I call her,”  
“Yeah?” 
“Mm,” You huff a laugh, “she thought that when I started working here I should have found an inconspicuous way to bump into all of you to test possible bonds. She’s going to be riding the ‘I told you so’ train.” 
“She’s funny,” He smirks. 
“Very,” You sigh, unconsciously cuddling into his warmth. 
“Has it been a while since you’ve seen her?” He asks softly, adjusting his arms around you so that you’re cradled against his chest with the pillows at your back. 
“Mhm,” You yawn again, the warmth of his body settling the last of the adrenaline inside you, “a while,” 
“Let’s find a day off after the tour,” He tucks the duvet around you. 
“Yeah?” Your eyes feel heavy. 
“Yeah,” He kisses your forehead. 
“Yunho,” You yawn again, dipping your forehead into his chest, “God, I’m so tired again,” 
“Mhm,” He yawns too, “me too, jagi,” 
You hum softly, fingers slipping under the edge of his shirt just to feel a little skin, “I like that,” you murmur, “I like you,” 
“I like you too,” He chuckles, “now go to sleep,” 
A piece of you wants to protest, wants more time cocooned in this day with him, but something about his body feels so right. After a week of sleeping poorly, your body tight and anxious and heart fluttering for no reason at all, when he touches you, your mind goes blissfully blank. 
Your muscles relax, your breath dropping low and soft in your chest. 
Nuzzled against his tattoo, you drift.
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You’re supposed to wake up to an alarm. Early enough that you could slip back into your hotel room and your own bed to yawn and stretch next to Iseul and make her believe you were there the whole night. That’s what was supposed to happen. 
Instead, you wake to the heavy sound of a hotel door and Seonghwa’s voice, Yunho jolting awake beside you. 
“Oh my god,” Seonghwa says for what sounds like the third time to your fuzzy sleep-addled brain, “oh my god?” 
“Hyung,” Yunho pushes himself up, his arms unwinding from around you, “hey, don’t freak out,” 
“Don’t freak out,” Seonghwa’s eyes blow wide, “are you fucking kidding me? Hongjoong is going to kill you,”
“You don’t understand,” Sleep is still heavy on him and he shakes his head to try to pull himself away. 
“I understand plenty,” Seonghwa counters, “how long have you been lying to us?” 
His reaction surprises you, and you ease yourself up to sit next to Yunho. You’re not sure what to say or not say, you don’t know what they’ve discussed in the past when it comes to dating and relationships, but by  Seonghwa’s outburst you can guess it’s honesty at a minimum. 
Yunho’s face falls, “No, it’s not that,” 
“I can tell you what it looks like,” Seonghwa lowers his voice to what amounts to a stage whisper. 
“Hyung,” Yunho rubs his eyes, running a hand through his mop of black hair. 
“It looks like you’ve been sneaking around,” He continues, “how long have you two been fucking?” 
“Hey,” Yunho’s voice sharpens, and his hand crosses your body to anchor on your opposite thigh. 
Seonghwa’s eyes track it and he shakes his head, “This is so stupid,” he steps back in surprise, “you’re both being so, incredibly stupid.” 
Yunho gives you a squeeze and opens his mouth to reply but Seonghwa keeps going. 
“Naive is what it is,” 
Irritation bubbles in your gut and you can’t stop yourself, “Seonghwa, will you shut up for one second?” 
He stops in his tracks, mouth falling open, “What?” 
“Can you please,” You hold his gaze, “please, just listen to Yunho for a minute before you jump to conclusions.” 
He shifts, taking a step back and crossing his arms, and then he looks to Yunho. 
Yunho finds your eyes quickly, silently asking, and you give him a nod. 
“Okay,” Yunho runs a hand through his hair again, “I’ll just say it.” 
Seonghwa waits, his expression completely neutral except for the irritated corner of his lips.
“y/n is my soulmate,” Yunho squeezes your thigh again and you slip your hand into his to twine your fingers together, “we didn’t know, but now we do.” 
Seonghwa’s brows go high, shock filling his features. 
“We’re not hiding,” You add, “we just… it’s just,” 
“How long?” Seonghwa manages. 
“Soundcheck yesterday,” Yunho says, “we haven’t known long enough to lie, hyung.” 
“You’re sure?” He looks between you both, and you know what he’s thinking. How could it be possible to know each other for years and not know. 
“We’re sure,” You answer confidently, calmly, “I swear,” 
“It’s real,” Yunho’s thumb strokes across knuckles, “it’s very real.” 
Seonghwa swallows, taking in the news and sinks back against the hotel dresser, “Well, fuck,” 
“Yeah,” Yunho laughs. 
“You were off timing yesterday,” Seonghwa points out, “and distracted,” 
“It wasn’t that bad,” Yunho grimaces. 
“No, but,” He shrugs, “I know you and you’re never off time.” 
“It wasn’t easy to focus on the show yesterday,” Yunho admits. 
“I’m sorry,” You nudge him with your shoulder, knowing a huge portion of that must have been the panic flooding his side of the link. 
He shakes his head, “There’s nothing to be sorry for,”
When you look back up, Seonghwa is smiling and he sighs, “Oh, you’ve both got it bad.” 
“Obviously,” You hide your face in your sweatshirt sleeve. 
“So, what’s the plan?” Seonghwa asks, “Because you can’t act like this around anyone else,” 
Your mouth feels dry. 
“We don’t know,” Yunho answers, “we have to figure that out, for now I think we just try to keep things normal.” 
Seonghwa nods and then leans forward, “Listen, I know you’re not asking for my advice,” 
You both wait. 
“But you're my brother,” Seonghwa says unequivocally, “so I’m going to give you some anyway.” 
Yunho nods. 
“You wear your heart on your sleeve,” Seonghwa points out, “and I’m sure it will be hard to act like acquaintances in front of everyone, but you have to do it, at least until you make a plan.” 
“Yeah,” Yunho’s cheeks are a little pink and he squeezes your hand. 
“No one fires the idol for things like this,” He reminds you both, “so for her sake, put it away for today.” 
“He’s right,” You nod, “today we go back to coworkers,” 
Yunho draws your clasped hands up and kisses your fingers, “Okay,” 
“You’re lucky I offered to check on you,” Seonghwa sighs heavily, “if any of the managers came in,” 
“Check on me?” Yunho perks up at that, “Hwa, why,” 
Things come into focus for you at that moment, how bright the hotel room is with sunlight, how well rested you really feel. You twist in the bed and look at the digital clock, “Oh no,” 
“You were late,” Seonghwa explains, “we figured you overslept, I offered to use the spare key to get you up.” 
“Fuck,” Yunho curses. 
You both slept straight through Yunho’s alarm. 
“Iseul is going to fucking kill me,” You roll out of bed, your hands breaking apart as you scramble for you phone, “what the hell am I going to tell her?” 
Your phone reads nine-thirty. In thirty minutes you’re supposed to be packed into a van and on the way to the venue and when you look at the collection of notifications your stomach churns. 
Three calls from Iseul, and a lengthy string of text messages. 
Did you already get up and get ready?
Your work bag is still here…
Not funny, girl, where are you?
Did you make it back last night? 
Can you answer me?? 
I’m getting worried. I haven’t heard anything - You haven’t even read these? 
You better not be dead in a ditch, I’ll kill you myself. 
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Your hands are trembling as you tap out the fastest reply - Alive, be right there.
Yunho’s a whirlwind behind you, stripping out of his sleep clothes and yanking on whatever outfit is at the top of his suitcase, “It’s fine, it’s going to be fine,” 
“Sure,” You search the floor for your jeans and dart into the bathroom, “my best friend is going to murder me though,” 
You change at lightning speed, swapping his sweats for your jeans and then tying up your hair into a messy bun before pushing back out into the main room. 
“Everyone’s downstairs,” Seonghwa offers, “you shouldn’t run into anyone on the way back to your room.” 
“Good, okay, good,” Your heart is pounding, “where’s my room key?” 
“Here,” Yunho darts forwards and finds the little envelope, passing it to you, “take a breath,” 
“I have to go,” You manage, “I have to think of something,” 
“Don’t kiss and tell,” Seonghwa offers and he’s being funny but it’s vaguely helpful. 
“Wait,” Yunho grabs your hand and tugs you back, snapping your phone out of your hand. 
“Yunho, I don’t,” You start to say but he waves you off. 
He types fast, adding himself as a contact in Kakao Talk, “My number,” he explains. 
Seonghwa huffs a laugh. 
You take the phone back and tuck it into your pocket, “I’ll message you later,” 
“Good,” He dips forwards and presses one warm, tender kiss to your lips, “now get out of here,” 
You kiss him back, just once and fast, a little shred of self indulgence before you have to act like he’s just another guy, and then you’re darting out of the room, shouting back a thank you at Seonghwa as you go. 
You navigate the halls fast, and opt to take the stairs to get down one floor faster and more inconspicuously. You take a deep breath when you get to your hotel door, and then you dive. 
“So you are alive,” Iseul’s waiting, just like you thought she might be. She’s sitting on your still made bed, her phone in her hands and a tense expression on her face, “I was just about to tell the managers you were missing,” 
“I’m so sorry, seriously, I didn’t mean to worry you,” You take a few steps into the room. 
Her eyes flick over you, and you realize at the moment her eyes widen that you’re still wearing Yunho’s hoodie, your sweater still discarded on his bedroom floor. 
“You hooked up with someone?” Her voice spikes, “Are you kidding me?” 
Thankfully the hoodie is plain, just a heather gray with no identifying attributes that scream his name, but you’re still swimming in it and it’s clear you’re rumpled from bed. 
“Listen,” You hold up your hands, “I didn’t mean to not text you, I just fell asleep,” 
“With some guy?” She stands. 
“Yes,” You settle on some version of the truth. 
“Who?” She flounders, “We’re supposed to text each other,” 
And you always did, when either one of you went home with someone there was always a little preemptive safety report. A name, an address, a shared location, something so that you weren’t completely alone in the world with a strange guy. 
“I’m sorry,” You say again. 
She studies you, and it’s like she’s looking through you. 
“Oh my god,” Her eyes widen, “we know him.” 
“Iseul,” Your cheeks heat. 
She points at you, “I’m right!” 
“It’s not a big deal,” You skirt around her words. 
“The only reason you wouldn’t text me is if you were with someone we both know,” She narrows her eyes, “so give it up.” 
“I can’t,” You press, “leave it,” 
“Why are you being so weird?” 
“Iseul,” You sigh, avoiding her gaze, “I just woke up in a panic, and I have like fifteen minutes to get showered, can you give me the third degree later?” 
“I’m not letting this go,” 
“Yeah,” You pull off Yunho’s sweatshirt and head to the bathroom, “I know, but we have work.” 
“Work with a coworker you slept with,” She stands in the doorway while you start the shower, and you realize her tone isn’t so much as angry anymore but probing. 
“I didn’t sleep with him,” You groan, “well, I guess I did, but we didn’t have sex, okay?” 
“That’s awfully cozy for a one night stand,” She crosses her arms, “unless you’re seeing someone? Are you seeing someone?” 
“No,” You test the water heat and unbutton your jeans, “I swear I’ll explain another time, but can you just drop it for today? Or do you want to stand here and watch me shower?” 
“Fine,” She concedes, “you will tell me?” 
“I swear,” You nod, “I want to tell you, but I’m not ready yet, okay?” 
Her eyes soften up at that, “Are you okay?” 
“Yeah,” You nod, “but I’m having big feelings about it and I need to work it out,”
“Oh,” In all the years you’ve known her, she’s never seen you in love or even close, and she just blinks, “got it,” 
“Can I shower now?” You gesture towards the running water. 
“Yeah,” She steps back, “yeah, but I’m still mad you didn’t text me.” 
“Okay,” 
“And I’m still going to guess who it is,” She smirks. 
“Fine,” 
Her smile widens and she rolls her eyes, “I bet it’s one of the BB guys, isn’t it? You always like a dancer,” 
She turns the corner before she can watch you blushing harder, so nearly on the money with her guess, but you put it all out of your mind for now and focus on your day. You’re late, and it’s about to be another long one. You’ll have time for everything else later, if you can just keep your cool. 
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Work is bizarre to say the least. You and Yunho both do an excellent job of not looking at each other except for when he’s in your makeup chair, and you’re getting better and better at ignoring both San’s and Seonghwa’s nervous glances. 
This time you start the makeup early, less time pressure with the schedule adjustments, and the night goes off without a hitch. Soundcheck to stage to VIP benefits, it’s a whirlwind and you’re grateful for the distractions everywhere you look. 
You can still feel him, emotions from his side of the link ebbing and flowing throughout the day, but the sharp intensity of yesterday has dulled a bit after your night together. In quiet moments you find yourself thinking about his lips, or the way his hands held you as you tumbled into sleep, but you push it down and stay professional. 
As the show ends, Iseul ropes you into team dinner, desperate to observe who you interact with and how, still on her quest to find your mystery bed partner, but the boys aren’t there and so there’s nothing for her to really see. 
Later, with Iseul passed out from one too many shots of soju, you slip back into Yunho’s hoodie and cuddle into the warmth of your own bed. You need more sleep, you know that, but your brain isn’t cooperating. You toss and turn in the sheets, body feeling like a taut cord, and all you can think of is him. 
You miss him. 
It’s not even two days of having him in your life like this and you feel nervous and achy without him. There’s no way you’ll survive two years of this. 
Over an hour passes as you sigh, changing positions again and again, and then your phone finally buzzes. You scramble to see if it’s a message from him, nearly dropping your phone in the process. 
Can’t sleep? - He must be feeling your restlessness. 
Not at all - You reply, chest feeling warm at the contact. 
Little bubbles pop up immediately to indicate he’s typing and then another message pops on your screen - You’d think after last night we’d both be exhausted.
So you’re as awake as I am? 
Just can’t relax. I liked having you here last night. - He confesses. 
You roll over in the bedding onto your front and push the pillow under your chest before you keep texting - I liked it too. I’d come up except Iseul wouldn’t lay off guessing who I was with this morning. 
Oh? Did she guess correctly? - You can practically see the smirk on his face. 
Nope - You tease back. 
Was she upset? - He asks. 
At first, but I told her I would tell her soon I just needed some time - You reply. 
That’s good, honest. - His message makes you smile. 
How was Seonghwa? - You tap out. 
Fine…. stressing and acting like a hyung, you know - He says. 
You smile and type out another message - Is he keeping this to himself for now?
Yes - Yunho’s message comes in, and then another - For now, he knows we need to decide things first. 
That’s good - You send back. 
Things lull for a moment, and you try to think of something more to say, but Yunho swoops in with a question that makes you bite your lip to keep from laughing - Who did Iseul guess you were with? Was I even on the list?
I thought you’d be happy she didn’t guess - You reply. 
Bubbles appear immediately, then another message - I’m a little offended, I’m the obvious choice.
Why’s that? - You tease him. 
You feel something warm in your chest, and his next message flies back - I thought I was your type? 
You stifle another laugh - You are, she’s not very observant.
So who did she guess? 
Your belly flip flops and you hide your face in the pillow for a moment. His obvious jealousy, even just to tease you, is making your heart quicken and you can’t stop yourself from making it harder on him. 
You take a breath and reply - About half the BB crew and a few of your managers.
The replies don’t come for a moment, and you nervously refresh the chat. 
Finally a message comes in - I’m trying to think of something funny to say, but I’m actually just irrationally jealous. 
She was just teasing, no need to be jealous - You smile into your hand. 
Doesn’t matter - He says - Now I’m just here alone wondering which of our coworkers Iseul thinks you have chemistry with
He is jealous. You swallow hard, trying to ignore the swooping sensation in your belly and press your legs a little tighter together. If you close your eyes you can feel the echo of his hands on you from last night, and all you want in the world is for him to come down here and kiss you hard like that again. 
With a slow exhale you return to your phone - Don’t be jealous, Yunho. We both know I’m yours.
Yeah? - His reply comes after a beat - No need to be jealous then.
Exactly - You reply. 
I bet you like it a little though - His message flies in as yours sends.
You feel warm all over and you run a nervous hand through your hair before replying - No, I don’t. 
Jagi, you forget I can feel how worked up you’re getting. 
Your stomach clenches, drops and twists. He’s going to be the death of you and you’re still just flirting.  
You work up the courage and finally send your reply - You’re the one that pinned me to the wall last night. 
I’ve been thinking about that all day - The message reply is fast. 
You smile and bite your lip, snuggling further into the mattress and trying to ignore the growing pulse between your thighs - You did seem distracted during rehearsals.
You feel warmth in your chest, and you know exactly how much your flirting is affecting him. Another text pings through and you shiver when you read it - How could I not be distracted with you there? All I could think about was the way you said my name last night. 
Your thighs press together - Yunho?
Yes, jagi?
Or more whiny, was it? Yunho-ya? - You type it out fully, emphasizing the extended sound, knowing exactly what he wants to hear from the way he gripped you last night. 
The room is suddenly hot, and your heart beats faster to sync with his. 
It takes a moment for him to respond, bubbles popping up and then receding again and you wonder how he’s lying in bed. If he’s hard already, if he’s palming himself? You wonder if he sleeps naked when he’s alone and youre core clenches, arousal pooling in your gut and you know he can feel the threads of it. When he finally presses send on his message you have to cover your mouth to keep quiet. 
Feeling needy? Are you squirming around in that hotel bed wishing for me, sweetheart?
You feel that message from your top to your toes and you steal a fast glance at the bed next to you. Iseul is sound asleep, turned away from you and snoring softly, and you let out a relieved, shuddering breath. 
You could pump the brakes here, tease him and find a way to say goodnight, but you simply can’t. Need and arousal overwhelms you and you tap back your reply fast - I’ve been aching all day.
Do you have headphones? 
The question catches you off guard, but you write back - Yes, airpods.
Put them in - He says, and you swallow tightly, reaching for the little headphone case on your bedside table. 
Your fingers are shaking as you take them out of the case and put them in, making sure they’re connected before you reply - Done. 
His call lights up your phone, ringing in your headphones and you swipe to answer with a panicked glance at the bed next to you, but Iseul sleeps on, none the wiser. 
“y/n?” His voice is so rich and quiet, a little raspy edge after singing all night and you nearly moan. 
“Hi,” You whisper as soft as you can, “I can’t,” 
“Don’t talk,” He soothes you, “don’t wake Iseul up, I’ll talk to you and you can text me back, okay?” 
You minimize the call and open your chat back up, sending him a quick emoji to acknowledge his words. 
“Perfect,” He laughs softly, “this is way easier than texting. Listen, I know we said slow, but I’d love to help you relax if you want that. If not, I can just say goodnight, it’s up to you.” 
You exhale softly, a needy thrill in your gut - Let’s relax together. 
“Oh,” He sighs pleasantly, “yes, I’d love that.” 
You want me? - You ask. 
“You can feel how much I do,” He responds, “I’m sitting here convincing myself not to come downstairs and get my hands on you.” 
You hum softly, shifting in the sheets and relaxing deeper into the pillows. 
You hear his own breath, the way he parts his lips with a wet sound, “Can you tell me what position you’re in?” 
You tap out the reply - Lying on my front, on my stomach. 
“Hmm,” He sounds pleased, “I bet you look so cute, all twisted up in the sheets and blushing,” 
I was tossing and turning. 
“I bet you were,” He groans a little, “I tried everything. I hit the gym, cold shower, did some deep breathing, but you have me so keyed up I can’t sleep,” 
You send him another emoji, the blushing face. 
He laughs, the rumble of it too deep and warm in your ear with your headphones in. 
You tap out another message - What position are you in? Trying to picture it. 
You hear him shift around in the sheets, “I’m on my back,” 
Wearing? 
He chuckles, “Aren’t I supposed to be the one asking what you’re wearing?” 
I asked you first.
“Fair,” He shifts again, and you picture him restless on his back in the bed you shared the night before, “just boxers,” 
A heavy sigh passes through your lips. 
“And you?” 
You wish it were sexier all of a sudden, but that just wouldn’t be practical in a room with your friend so you tell him honestly - Pajamas, the button down kind, they’re gray. 
“God, you’re adorable,” The covers on his end shift again, “wish you were up here with me.” 
Me too 
“This is probably better,” He says though, “I don’t think I could hold myself back for another night.” 
Me either - You confess. 
“y/n,” His voice warms, low in his chest, “jagiya, can I help you? Can I tell you what I want you to do?” 
Your hands are shaking and you type the reply so fast there’s a typo that you have to fix - Pfease - Please.
He chuckles, “Alright, get comfortable, just listen to my voice, okay?” 
You message him one last thought - What about you?
“I’m… I’m, uh,” He lets out a shaky breath, “I’m already stroking for you,” 
You press your lips together to keep from making a sound, dropping your forehead to the pillow in front of you. 
That’s so hot - You text him quickly when you hear him say your name, probably a little nervous he came on too strong. 
He hums, “Good,” he says, “then don’t worry about me, just listen to my voice.” 
You set your phone to the side, snuggling into the mattress and the pillows just like he asked for, sparing one more glance at Iseul to confirm she’s still completely out of it. 
“Comfy?” He asks when you stop shifting around. 
“Mhm,” You murmur in a whisper. 
“Good,” He sighs, “now slip one of your hands under your cute little pajamas, between your thighs.” 
You slide your arm down, tucking it under your body and into your sleep pants. 
“Under your panties too,” He says, his voice a little husky. 
“Mhm,” You murmur again, following his words. 
“Tease a little for me,” He instructs you, “not too fast, just your fingertips on the outside,” 
You breathe low and slow, gently passing the pads of your fingers over your slit, just barely ghosting against the hard nub of your clit. 
“I bet you look so pretty right now,” He groans a little and you hear the sound of sheets, “you make the cutest faces when you’re feeling good,” 
You make the tiniest noise of acknowledgement, fingers still brushing your cunt. 
“Can’t wait to see you fall apart for real,” He confesses, a strain in his tone as he sighs, and you picture him. His long legs spread wide in the bed, stretching from corner to corner, his boxer briefs pushed down and his hand fisting his cock. 
You’re going to lose it when you finally get to touch him again. 
“You can touch now,” He murmurs, getting your attention back, “are you wet?” 
You push your fingers through your folds and sigh when you feel just how slick and swollen you are. With your other hand you find the phone nearby and tap out a quick message - So wet
“That’s good, that’s so good,” 
Your fingers start to circle on your oversensitive nub and there’s no way he won’t have you coming in five minutes or less with it feeling this good and his heavy breath in your ear. 
“R-rub your clit for me,” He pants and your eyes roll, you can hear the sounds of the sheets rhythmically swishing as he pumps his cock harder, “get your fingers nice and wet,” 
You whimper into the pillow, biting down hard on your cheek to keep yourself in check. 
“Oh, fuck,” He groans, “sound so pretty,” 
You rub harder, faster, your legs stretching wide under the downy comforter to give you better access. 
“Baby,” He gets your attention with that, “push two fingers inside yourself, imagine I’m there with you,” 
You shift, hand slipping lower and body arching to slide your middle and ring finger as deep as they’ll go. You stay mostly quiet this time, but your breathing is heavy and you’re sure he can hear it. 
“Close your eyes,” He murmurs, “picture my fingers,” 
You gasp softly. 
“Grind,” He tells you, “grind your pussy on my palm and feel my fingers fucking you,” 
You bite back a moan, only the slip of a soft sound into the microphone as you start to rock, rolling your hips and working your clit against your hand as you sink into his fantasy. You always took him for soft, the romantic type who’d blush at saying the word ‘pussy’ let alone talking you through what’s bound to be the headiest orgasm of your life, but you’ve never been so happy to be wrong. 
“Yes,” Yunho moans and you shudder, “I can hear you moving, you’re doing so good,” 
Pleasurable stars burst behind your eyes and you grind harder into your slick palm. 
“So good,” He groans and you hear him roll in the bedding, his voice changing to something lower and breathier, and then the rhythmic rock of sheets from his side of the phone tells you all you need to know. You can almost see it, Yunho braced on his forearms, hips thrusting to drive his cock in and out of his hot fist, his face buried in the pillow you slept on the night before. 
Heat melts through you, your body alight, and you grapple to find the phone again - Close
“Already?” He says in a flushed exhale, “You’re so hot, that’s so hot,” 
You need him to talk to you, you need him to tell you what to do, and you whimper into the bedding as you work your body faster up to the peak. 
“You gonna come for me?” He murmurs, “Yeah? Hmm?” 
You drop the phone and press a hand over your lips, stifling the threat of a real moan. 
“Let go,” His voice is so low in your ear you can practically feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, “come for me,” 
Your legs are trembling, knees digging into the mattress and sweat gathered on your brow, and you feel the pressure start to crack open inside you, “Coming,” you whimper into your fingers so he knows, and then it breaks. 
“God, good girl, yes,” He groans, “I’m coming with you, fuck,” 
Your body curls into itself as you release, locking up in pleasure as you feel wave after wave of heat. You bite down on your knuckle to keep from making a sound, silently falling apart, dimly aware somewhere in your gut that half the heat you felt was his, that part of that pleasure was his own. 
Yunho moans in your ear as you ride the sensations, panting and cursing and you can’t wait to feel him pulsing inside you while he sounds this good. 
You’re not sure how long it takes you to recover, but when your brain starts to connect again you realize you’re panting against the cool flat of the mattress and both your phone and pillow are nowhere to be found. You swallow hard and pop your head up, but Iseul hasn’t moved an inch and you thank god for her liberal use of melatonin while traveling. 
In your ear you register the sound of Yunho’s breath and the end of a sentence, “still there?” 
He must have been talking, and you try to focus in on the sound of him now as you slip your hand out from between your sticky thighs. 
He exhales slowly and you hear him shifting around, “y/n, baby, are you there?” 
 “Uh-huh,” You manage. 
“Sleepy?” He murmurs, misreading your sound, “That’s okay,” 
You make a tiny noise of protest and search the bed for your phone. 
“Baby?” He’s confused and you grin at his sleepy sated tone. 
Sliding off the bed onto nearly boneless legs, you find your pillow off to the side and your phone underneath. You snap it up and send a message quickly - Wait
“Wait?” He breathes, “Sure, I’m not going anywhere, I’m here,” 
You tiptoe to the bathroom as quietly as you can and then shut yourself behind the heavy door, flicking on the light and collapsing to sit on the closed toilet lid. 
You disconnect your earbuds and bring your phone to your ear, “Hey,” 
“Hey,” He murmurs, “you okay?” 
“Yeah,” You smile, still a little breathless, “Hiding in the bathroom for a sec so I could actually talk to you,” 
He hums, a quiet, lazy laugh, “Ah,” 
“Are you okay?” You find yourself asking, a little nervous tumble in your gut. 
“Me?” He says, “I’m incredible, you’re incredible,” 
“Yeah?” You draw your knees up, wrapping your arms around yourself and smiling into the phone. 
“That wasn’t too much, was it?” He checks, but you still hear the sound of him calling you ‘good girl’ and you shiver. 
“Not too much,” You sigh into the phone. 
“Good,” He hums, “I thought so, I was trying to pay attention to how you were feeling, but it was a little,”
“Hard to focus?” You offer and he laughs. 
“Yeah,” He sighs again, heavy and sated. 
“I can’t wait for this tour to be over,” You confess, “I just want to be with you,” 
You feel a pang in your chest and listen as Yunho rolls in the sheets, “I know, I want that too,” 
A little lump forms in your throat and you breathe through it, “Yunho,” 
“Yeah, baby?” 
“Have you ever felt like this before?” Your thundering heart has started to slow, and you let your eyes close as you murmur the question. 
“Never,” He murmurs, “but I felt this way before we touched,” 
You feel his tenderness wrap around your heart as if he were in the room with you, and with a small smile you whisper, “I thought you said you weren’t holding a candle?” 
“I lied,” He says softly, “it’s been you for a long time,” 
He doesn’t say it, not in so many words, but you feel the way he loves you through the link in a wave. It’s as good as any confession to you, just as honest if not more so. 
“I wish I could come upstairs,” You manage, tears pricking your eyes. 
You hear him swallow and breathe a slow breath through his nose, “Soon, I promise. We’re going to do this right,” 
“I know,” 
“Are your headphones still in?” He asks
“No, but I can switch back,” 
“Put them back in and go get back in bed,” He softly instructs, “it’s late, but I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep, okay?” 
“Okay,” You swap back over to your earbuds and adjust them. 
“Get back to bed,” You can hear the smile in his voice. 
“Yunho,” You interrupt him, “thank you for staying with me,” 
“Always,” He says, and for the first time in your life when someone says they’ll be there, you believe it. 
“I’m going back out,” Your voice drops to a whisper, “good night,” 
“Mhm,” He listens as you slip back into bed, “just get comfortable, just breathe. I’m right here with you, jagiya, I’ll be right here.” 
He murmurs to you softly until your mind is sinking into darkness, body finally unspooling and letting you drop off into sleep. It’s not the same as his arms around you, but it settles you more than any meditation, his voice a steady whisper through your dreams. 
In the morning when you wake the call is still connected and the first sound you hear is his slow breath and the steady beat of his heart.
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suckishima · 3 days ago
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okay im gonna go full eating/food as drive/motivation theme on a teeny moment here for a second but like.
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hinata stealing the bag of buns right away to take as much as he can in a way that could be inconsiderate to others (hmmm reminiscent of his behavior toward other things, maybe the ball boy arc perchance?? how his motivation was over zealous??? the way he forges forward full steam with thoughts for the consequences????)
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and then IMMEDIATELY we see ukai for the FIRST time and he chastises them for being rowdy, before turning to daichi to tELL THEM TO EAT A PROPER DINNER????? this man who doesnt even have a glimmer of a thought to be their coach yet and is just annoyed by their noise still offers them this advice that ends up becoming one of the central themes of the entire show (repeated by him!!!) later on. LIKE hes not even coach yet and no one has asked him for anything but it's a "coach what should i eat?" precursor, come oN
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and then just this small addition too of tanaka offering the buns to yamaguchi and tsukki as they approach and yamaguchi runs forward excited (a few steps AHEAD of tsukki??? hm???)—he IS excited to learn more and to eat—while tsukki yeah, hangs back and doesn't change his pace (gets a passing grade but never 100%) i meeeeaaaaaann
this whole sequence is literally just about them eating meat buns but it actually reflects SO much about each of them and their journeys and i'm pretty sure furudate didn't have any of this planned or thought out at this point and honestly probably didnt even intend for this stuff to match up later and IT MAKES ME INSANE
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bullet-prooflove · 2 days ago
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Hello! Okay so this is my first ask!
Could you please do number 30 "If I told you that I didn't need you, well that would be a lie" from the pocket full of hope prompt list you recently posted for Stuart Scola and Sasha please?
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Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @noxytopy @district447 @stelacole @abby-splace
Companion piece to:
Every Inch Of You (NSFW) - You and Stuart spend the night together after two years apart.
Escapee - You and Stuart are reunited when a face from your past escapes from prison.
Safehouse - You and Stuart discuss moving forward now you're back in NY.
The Life You Could Have - You get a glimpse into the life you could have with Stuart.
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You’ve been in the safe house for three days before you start to get restless. Stuart can see it in the way you pace the living room, tidying Jack’s toys, stacking the books in a neat alphabetised order.
This happens sometimes when you can’t go for a run or hit the boxing gym, that relentless energy you have, it starts to build and build inside you. It makes you impulsive, reckless.
“You’re going to leave aren’t you?” He asks you that night after he’s tucked Jack into bed. You’re drying the dishes on the draining board, putting each one back in its rightful place. Outwardly you’re the epitome of calm, but he knows you, knows your brain is going a mile a minute.
“It’s the only way to end it.” You tell him, folding the towel before you sigh placing your hands upon the surface of the counter. “I’m not sure how much longer I can stand being cooped up like this, it feels like I’m trapped in my own skin.”
It’s the ADHD, you’ve never received an official diagnosis but Stuart sees it in you, he always has. He mentioned it a couple of years ago back before you got married and you conceded he was probably right. You hate the idea of being shoved into a neat little box so you handle it on your own and it works mostly…
Until you end up a position like this, trapped in a house without the usual mechanisms you use to cope.
“Sasha.” He says softly, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, trying to sooth you. “You just gotta hold out a little longer-”
“That’s not really how it works with me.” You remind him.
You may have been apart for a few years but he hasn’t forgotten the other way you deal with his feelings. His fingers thread in yours and he guides you to his bedroom, closing the door behind him so Jack doesn’t hear the noise. The way you fuck him that night, it’s wild, untamed. He’s forgotten that it can be like this with you, he’s forgotten how he can be when he’s with you. It’s bite marks and scratches, bruises that’ll last for days and finally it’s ecstasy, the most intense euphoria he’s had in a very long time.
When he wakes up the next morning it’s to an odd sense of unease. He runs his hand over the sheets to find your side of the bed empty and a cloying, ominous silence seeping through the house.
It’s then he sees the note propped up on the nightstand and his heart sinks because he realises the truth now, that last night wasn’t really about burning off that excess energy, it was really about saying goodbye.
Stuart? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.
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babyjakes · 20 hours ago
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baby barnes | homecoming.
〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉
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summary | upon returning from a small solo mission, natasha has something to give to steve.
characters | steve rogers, natasha romanoff, bucky barnes, other assorted avengers, 'baby barnes' (original character)
warnings | all warnings from the original headcanon probably apply (slightly above canon level violence, child abuse, major character death.) very angsty, steve cries a lot.
word count | 1,440
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an | based on my baby barnes headcanon, with some slight changes to the universe and storyline. in this version of events, after bucky is killed, nat goes on a solo rage mission to kill everyone at the hydra facility and bring baby barnes home to steve 🩷
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"Sorry. This place is a mess."
As hard as he tried, Steve just couldn't pick his gaze up off of the floor as Natasha stood there in the doorway to his living quarters. "It's okay. Things have been hard, I know." The redhead's voice seemed as though it was trying to float through a thick screen of smoke, or maybe Steve was just underwater. Maybe he had been drowning for weeks.
It was quiet as the woman entered, slipping her shoes off on the mat near the door. Steve could feel her careful eyes taking him in, assessing the damage. Every word he pulled from his throat felt like a fishing line digging right back into his burning flesh as he questioned quietly, "Would you like some tea?"
He didn't have to lift his gaze to tell that she had shaken her head. The pair moved further into the room in silent tandem, Steve leading the way over to the long beige couch. The blonde's focus was fleeting as his eyes fell on his friend's lap, before shifting over to the old photo albums on the coffee table, then to the front door, then back to his own folded hands. Natasha cleared her throat, and Steve almost found it amusing, the way she was preparing to speak like she could possibly find anything to say in that moment that would somehow make things better.
"The mission was successful," was what she finally stated, the underwhelming words drawing a knowing look onto the supersoldier's face.
He nodded, doing his best to keep things polite. It wasn't Natasha's fault that he had fallen so out of love with the world; he knew that. "I'm glad," Steve hummed, thinking back to the telephone brief he had received about the agent's assignment before it had been launched. "She's just going in to clear out a suspected outpost. Nothing major," Stark had told him. The captain didn't like sending anyone off on solo missions, but he wasn't in any state to tag along, and thankfully it didn't seem like he was needed.
Through the heavy air, Natasha took another breath before finally speaking again. "I have something to show you." Her hand slipped quietly into her pocket before appearing again, holding a small photograph by its corner. When she handed it to Steve, the man couldn't help but begin to weep.
For a moment, all he could see was the girl's tender face. The face that had haunted his dreams for the past several months, ever since that first 'baby barnes' tape had arrived in the mail. In the photo, which he held tight with both of his shaking hands, the infant's big brown eyes were looking up at something. Her cheeks were round and soft, rosy as ever. Steve couldn't help but wonder when the picture had been taken, how close it was to capturing the baby's last moments on earth before she was put to rest like her father.
Finally shifting his attention away from her angelic face, the blonde trembled as he started scanning the rest of the photo for any clues. Brow furrowing in confusion, he was immediately puzzled by the plush blanket that sat in a messy pile surrounding the baby's little bottom and legs. "What's this?" he paused quietly as he thought back through all the tapes that were permanently engraved in his memory, like an endless reel of vivid film looping across the walls of his troubled mind. Not a single one had shown the infant with any sort of blanket or covering; that would go directly against the purpose of the project. She was deprived of any warmth, human or inanimate, as a simple yet effective form of torture. The blanket in the photo simply didn't belong. Steve was absolutely sure of it.
The next indicator that something was off was the state of the baby herself. She was unusually clean, her ivory skin appearing fresh and well-kept. Her medium brown whisps of hair laid neatly over her small head, lacking the usual knots and mats that he had grown used to seeing. Swallowing hard, Steve was struggling to understand why she looked so different, almost as if someone had been caring for her for the first time in her short life.
Desperate for any sort of explanation, the captain kept studying the photo, trying to make sense of each little detail he could make out. The background itself was insignificant, just a simple wall of dark metal paneling that didn't give any insight as to where or when the picture was taken. But then, in the very corner of the photo, Steve was finally given his answer. The edge of a jacket sleeve was just barely visible against the floor, the navy fabric recognizable to him anywhere; it was Nat's, an old garment from the team's days with SHIELD. The man's breath hitched in his throat as he began to stammer.
"N-Natasha," his voice wavered. "Nat. Where... how... wh-when was this-?" Steve continued staring at the small photo, more tears building in his eyes as he choked back something between a whimper and a sob. "Wh-when did you... w-was this, were you-?"
"This morning," the agent told the supersoldier softly, reaching out to place a steadied hand over one of his shaking ones. "Bruce and I got her all cleaned up and sorted out in the med bay. She wasn't a big fan of the bath, but we got a little smile out of her when we blew bubbles with the soap." Natasha's gaze was tentative, not knowing how Steve would take the news. But as she sat there, watching the revelations sink in for her friend, she couldn't help but let slip what she had been wanting to tell him since the moment she laid eyes on the infant while breaching the lonely Siberian outpost. "After what they did to Bucky, I knew what I had to do," she said quietly. "I had to save her for you, Steve. You would've done the same for me."
All at once, Steve could feel nearly a month of tension and agony lifting from his bones as he took what seemed like his first breath since witnessing Bucky's last through a screen. If he hadn't been seated, he would've fallen to his knees right there, maybe before God or maybe before his dear friend, the one who he now understood had brought the baby back safely after an undoubtedly perilous mission. The baby, the baby, the baby... that was all the captain's mind could hold onto as he sat there, clutching her photo as if both of their lives depended on it. She was alive, she was safe. And she had been brought home to him.
"Natasha," Steve choked out the young woman's name through tears, his voice like warm hands cradling their years of partner and friendship. There was something so unspeakably profound about the endless ways they were willing to live and die for each other; neither of the two could put it into words, but the feeling was certainly present all around as they sat there in the man's small living room, holding onto each other in a moment of shared silence. The gravity of Nat's actions was quick to settle in, and the significance of what she had done- all on her own, without being asked- was nearly unbearable to Steve. "Y-you went... all on your own? You could've-"
"I had to, Steve," Nat cut him off gently, her certainty on the matter unmistakable as it flashed across her face. "You were in no condition to fight, and the others would've only been in the way." As much as he didn't like what he was being told, Steve knew it was the truth. Things had gotten bad for Nat after Bucky's final tape; her decline was much more subtle than that of the captive's best friend, though he was still quick to notice it. It was only his nature. Now Steve understood that when she went dark like that, little could come between the agent and what she set out to do. As much as it worried him sick, that worry couldn't quite outdo the larger sense of relief that was flowing through him like water.
Steve's gaze drifted back to the tiny girl sat posing in the photo, another wave of grief washing over him as he saw a shadow of his late friend gazing back at him through those familiar brown eyes. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, Natasha finally made the proposition, "Whenever you're ready, I'll take you to see her."
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astral-wings · 3 days ago
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I wasn't expecting this post to blow up, I really really appreciate it aaaa tysm! So happy other ppl found it helpful!
Here's some more witchy tips from me! This time aimed towards closeted witches who aren't able to be open about their practice
Tips and tricks for broom closet witches! Sincerely, a fellow broom closet witch
Sigils are your best friend. They can be any symbol, image, whatever, as long as they are created and charged with the intention in mind. They can be placed anywhere, from the bottom of your shoe to your body wash to the tags of your clothing. Be creative! You can even trace the sigil using your finger. I personally like to write it on a bit of paper, fold it, dip it in moon water, and then tear it up as a way of activating them.
Speaking of moon water, that's a great ingredient! It's very potent, especially if created under a full moon. Simply place a jar, bottle, or anything that can carry water under the moonlight. This can be done on a windowsill or outside, whichever you prefer (or is the safest). Moon water has endless uses in spells, especially ones that involve protection or warding. It can also lend a power boost. Sun water is similar but is charged during the day and has great cleansing properties.
Charged water in general is just really good for closeted witchcraft because who tf is going to question your glass of water? Other charged waters include crystal water (I recommend quartz and tiger's eye, however do research before randomly dropping your favorite rock in a bowl of H2O. Certain crystals, such as selenite, dissolve in water and can become very toxic. Generally avoid exposing any crystal ending in "-ite" to water!), blessed water from a spirit or deity, and rain water.
If the witch-haters go through your room, I don't recommend having things such as tarot cards, witchcraft books, or anything that screams "I'M A WITCH!!!". Crystals and rocks should be fine. If they ask, just say you think it's pretty
Digitalize everything. I'm serious. Make the notes app on your phone your grimore, download witchcraft books as pdfs (HERE'S AN AMAZING SOURCE I FOUND!!!), keep everything behind a password. Obviously if your device and internet usage is heavily monitored then don't (I completely understand, I was in this position before I turned 18). As a bonus, here's a great moon phase app I use
Spirit work and deities. You don't need an altar to worship/work with them! They will understand. There's other ways to devote yourself to them, such as jewelry, taking your meds, eating dinner, and self care.
You can make a small, inconspicuous area your altar, such as a corner of your desk or windowsill. Small boxes can function like small, on-the-go altars. Outside in the woods is also a great secretive spot!
Astral projection and meditation. Nobody's going to know what you're doing; to them, you're just lying down asleep. The power of the mind is amazing
My final tip is that you don't need tools to be a witch. You don't need all these fancy materials, overly decorated pinterestcore altars, etc. The spirit of witchcraft is using what you have! No crystals? Rock. Go get a rock from outside. No tarot? Learn cartomancy and use playing cards instead. Create your own form of divination. Use spices from your mom's cabinet and gut teabags for herbs. Forage outside! Make showering a cleansing ritual. Hell, you can make flushing the toilet a spell. Be creative! Creating is the "-craft" part of "Witchcraft" afterall :}
Be safe, my fellow witches!
Here's a list of ingredients with various protective and cleansing properties that I've found useful in my closet witch practice! Note that I'm not an expert and these are just my own experiences and interpretations.
Eggshells! Great protection qualities and can also be used for renewal spells as well. A good easy spell would be sprinkling bits of it around the front of your home with the intent of providing protection
Salt, a classic cleansing ingredient that you'll find in your mom's kitchen. Various kinds have slightly different properties. Tip: if you add ashes to it, then it becomes black salt, which in my experience is very a strong cleanser especially if you add a bit of moon water. It becomes a paste and can be used for various things such as sigils
Iron nails. Not only protective, but can deflect back. Like a "back the fuck off" kind of protection. Bonus if it's rusty
Thorny vines, barbs, etc can function like nails
Pinecones. Similar to eggshells, but a bit more spicy (mess with me and I'll nip you back) but not as intense as nails. Also has great renewal properties since it's a seed
Obsidian, a great protective crystal to have on hand
Custom protection sigil, all you need is a pen, paper, and intuition. Or just write it with charged water on yourself
Moon water, especially full moon water. Very strong cleansing
Incense and smoke cleansing, I like using rose. DO NOT USE WHITE SAGE
Enchant jewelry or something you have on you on a regular basis with protective and positive energy properties. It can be as easy as making a sigil for it and activating said sigil by burning or tearing it up or dipping it in charged water. Very secretive!
Pepper! Again, similar to the nails, but with an added kick and slightly different way of carrying out things. Instead of deflecting immediately, it deflects over a slower period of time, like how burns do
Ask a deity or spirit you're working with to bless a charm. Very effective! Can be literally anything!
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lara-cairncross · 5 hours ago
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Hi! how are you? I hope fine!
I wanted to know if you could recommend me some Mikey angst fanfics. I feel like I've read them all and at the same time I haven't, hehe.
Love your fairy AU its verry beautyful
(My english is not the best 😅)
heya! i'm glad you like the au :D
I can definitely give u some recommendations for michelangelo fanfics! can't guarantee you haven't read them already, but hopefully a few of them are novel. also gonna tag @roronoacoldbrew, @desterea, and @appleblondie0397, cuz y'all asked for some mikey recs too!
I'm not gonna include all my recs, cuz that would take ages, but I DO have a collection on Ao3 that has like, ~250 entries. and they're 90% mikey-centric, sooooo there's a lot more there! it's linked at the bottom of this post :D
i'll be your detonator -> rottmnt, 4k one-shot, oh my god this fic/series deserves so much more attention. bad future timeline, follows Mikey being THE coolest motherfucker while having several mental breakdowns and arguing with Leo and missing his brothers a lot. the writing style of this author is probably my favorite on this entire list-- like, I would read a novel written like this!!! please read it oh my GOD. and then message me to tell me you read it so I can have somebody to talk about it with I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH
atrophy -> 2012, 36k two-shot. ohhhhh boy this one is NOTHING but angst. follows Mikey reflecting on his life and his relationships with his brothers, right before a suicide attempt. second chapter is his brothers reflecting on their relationships with him as they try to save his life. if I'm being honest, the language is a little too flowery for my taste at certain points? but it's also VERY visceral and graphic, and if you're looking for angst this is literally as angsty as it gets!! like seriously check the tags on this one
1660 days ago -> rottmnt, 4k one-shot human au that isn't exactly mikey-centric?? but basically, follows Donnie's POV after he, Raph, and Leo all die in their family home and stay behind as ghosts. Mikey is a little kid who moves in and is the only one who can see them, and they all begrudgingly adore him. ITS SO CUTE AND IT NEEDS MORE ATTENTION PLEASE. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
over the rainbow -> 2012 x rottmnt, by @vanillavengeance! I think a lot of people have read their other fic (which is also amazing and definitely recommended), but their most recent one is SO GOOD ALREADY and it deserves more attention. Rise!Mikey opens a portal as a tot, falls straight into the 2012 verse, and gets found by Karai-- so he ends up in the hands of the Foot Clan! SUCH good Mikey angst and the relationship between 2012 Raph and Rise Mikey is absolutely adorable, I love them so much :,) 2012 RAPH IS SUCH A BIG BROTHER AND I WILL NEVER SHUT UP ABOUT IT
house away from home -> 2012, AuDHD Mikey rep!! and also anxiety and self-esteem issues and dysfunctional family activities and swufhehnfenhhjrr HEY I LOVE THIS FIC but it does. hit a little close to home. REALLY WELL WRITTEN AND FANTASTIC EMOTIONAL ANGST THO! and also Woody is here :D completed, but the author has it listed as 3/4 chapters, so don't be scared off by that!
choose wisely (or at all) -> rottmnt, 8k one-shot, turtle tots!!! this one is SO CUTE omg-- basically, Mikey is his brothers' favorite playmate, but because he's so little all three of them just kinda??? make him play whatever they wanna play? LIKE ok it's hard to explain but it's literally just a fic about little kids messing around and how being the youngest sibling sucks and learning to speak up for urself and it's PERFECT. THIS IS MY COMFORT FIC. its sweet its fluffy its (slightly) angsty and i love it dearly!!!!
stalling -> 2012, 1k one-shot. VERY short but pure Mikey angst. he stays behind to fight Shredder to give his human siblings time to escape and warn the other turtles :,)
walk with open hands -> 2012, 10k two-shot by @goodlucktai. Mikey gets his hands on one of Renet's time-traveling clocks after Splinter dies, and jumps around the timeline to try and save him. takes some really cool cues from Rise!Mikey's powers! GOD I CANNOT RECOMMEND THIS FIC ENOUGH. like this altered my brain chemistry the first time I read it.
--actually now that I think about it. basically ANYTHING BY THIS AUTHOR IS AMAZING. so much fantastic 2012 Mikey-centric stuff!!! you do have to go back to their older works, since most of their recent fics have been about Rise Leo-- but it's worth it! a few of my other favorites by them are:
the entire give up the ghost series -> 2012 human au where Donnie dies, Mikey is the only one who can see him, and he becomes a paranormal investigator in college because of it;
problem child -> 2012 human/highschool au that's basically 100k words of the 2012 boys fucking around and being family and overcoming difficulties together and Mikey being the most annoying lovable golden-retriever ray of sunshine to ever exist;
traveling so far to get there -> 2012 one-shot where Mikey and Raph end up in a post-apocalyptic world and just kinda,,, chill? until they don't. idk how to explain it but it's really fun, I love how Mikey and Raph's dynamic is written here :D
either way, we're not alone -> rottmnt, 16k one-shot that takes place over the course of the Kraang invasion in the bad future timeline, all from Mikey's POV. another one that doesn't have NEARLY as many hits as it deserves oh my god-- I love love love fics that take a look at this timeline and how fucked up it was! and this is a rly nice mikey-centric one :)
promise -> rottmnt, 8k two-shot by @dysfunctional-doodle. Listen this author has so many amazing Mikey fics from basically every iteration, BUT. THIS ONE. THIS FIC IN PARTICULAR. IS ABSOLUTELY MY FAVORITE. follows Mikey in the good timeline as he grows his mystic powers, with the caveat that he starts seeing visions of the future. I ain't spoiling anything more than that but GOD plz read this one it makes me insane, and the second chapter??? HEARTBREAKING the angst is 10/10. I also really really love this fic by the same author, so that's another one I recommend checking out if you haven't read it before!
big siblings, big family -> 2012, 2k one-shot. this one's pretty short BUT ITS SO CUTE. Mikey gets sick with a virus that only infects mutants, so all his human siblings get to take care of him-- featuring big brother Casey and big sister April and big sister Karai, and hey. hey what if I screamed. i love this concept so much THOSE ARE HIS BIG SIBLINGS!!! AND HE'S THEIR LITTLE BROTHER!!!! this makes me so happy, not super angsty but Mikey does get REALLY sick so you can count it as hurt/comfort :D
orenjinohana -> rottmnt, currently 120k+ words by @geoblitzz and @urlocalllama!! this fic is SO fucking angsty and delicious and terrifying,,, like I would get sick to my stomach with anxiety whenever a new chapter dropped. Mikey catches the eye of a really dangerous yokai and gets kidnapped, abuse and gaslighting and angst ensue. you gotta be especially careful with the tags/trigger warnings on this one tho-- not gonna spoil too much, but things get dark. this fic isn't complete, but it's reached a very natural end to its first arc in my opinion? so you can finish it without feeling like you've read an incomplete fic :) also check the comment section on every chapter if u wanna see me going insane I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH
the better half of better things -> 2012, 4k one-shot, ITS SO FUCKING CUTE. Mikey and Leo hanging out at 3am, Leo comes out as transfem to Mikey, sibling bonding ensues. this is another author that I LOVE the writing style of, but this time it's more for their humor??? like the comedic timing in their fics is SO GOOD. this fic in particular is my favorite but they've written some really fun Rise ones too! not angsty at all but as the CEO of baja blast duo I needed to include it lmao
wanting, getting, needing -> rottmnt, 2.5k one-shot. Mikey dies saving Leo during the events of the movie, and everything kinda falls apart without him. this one's pretty short but ngl I LOVE this concept, Mikey is always depicted as the heart of the team in every iteration so it's super fun to see what happens when he's no longer there!
remember your mission -> 2012, 60k words. IT'S A FUCKING MIKEY-CENTRIC PACIFIC RIM AU. I love this fic to death. it's got ANGST it's got COMFORT it's got SIBLING BONDING it's got,,,, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. but also the sillies being silly!!! anyway the ending broke me. read this one at ur own risk but like,,, DO ACTUALLY READ IT LMAO and then. once again. yell at me that you did so I can talk to somebody about it. Mikey being able to drift with basically any of his family members??? and the four main boys all being interchangeable because they're just THAT close????? perfection
someone to protect -> 2012, 3k one-shot. Mikey's brothers get turtlenapped during a mission that goes wrong, he gets to be a badass and rescue them, and ends up getting seriously injured in the process. hurt and comfort! yay!
our hearts beat louder (than thunder) -> rottmnt, currently 5k words by @belleyells and still being updated as far as I know! Mikey gets injured during a battle and loses his memory; cue older brothers being worried sick and trying to prevent Mikey from freaking out and being scared of them. I'm so excited to see where this one is going!! it's angsty, but Mikey with memory loss is also just,,, really fun to read about in my opinion ahdhehfhrh
the night at rucker park -> rottmnt, 78k words. Shellshocked fic!!! honestly, one of the few Mikey/Miles fics where I feel like both of them are characterized really accurately? anyway its ~80k words of the two of them falling in love and fucking around and being idiots and-- in Miles' case-- slowly experiencing cellular decay! Yay for angst! I know I keep saying this but GOD I LOVE THIS FIC. IT DESERVES MORE ATTENTION. give it some love plz, it's also one of the only finished Shellshocked multi-chapter fics I could find (coming from somebody who currently has an unfinished multi-chapter Shellshocked fic shhhhhh)
be like your brothers (and never like yourself) -> 2012, 25k words. this is another author who has so many FANTASTIC mikey-centric fics from multiple iterations, but this one is definitely my favorite from them!! Mikey's self-worth is so low that he starts picking up specific traits from each of his brothers in an effort to be more "useful", which. doesn't go very well. very angsty, lots of mikey hurting (emotionally and physically), but also pretty cute at the end! hurt/comfort my beloved mwah <333 I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH something about it itches my brain
feed me poison till i drown -> 2007, 8k one-shot. Leo leaves, everything kinda falls apart, aaaaand Mikey ends up being convinced to join the Foot Clan by Karai! and the eventually his brothers find out and everything goes very terribly wrong. and i love it. the ending is also left up to interpretation, so it's a really cool read! not super angsty, but Karai's mind games leave Mikey as an unreliable narrator, and the breakdown of his relationship with his family is really well done :D plus anything with Karai and Mikey bonding makes me happy sooooooo
trust is earned (not freely given) -> 2007, 2.5k one-shot, from the same author as the previous entry I believe? mikey's brothers slowly realize that something is wrong with him-- they can't read his emotions or his actions anymore, he dodges questions, etc etc. eventually donnie realizes that they fucked up and he doesn't know how to fix it! no real resolution, just angst and dysfunctional families YAY
when you can't sleep at night -> rottmnt, 7k one-shot. follows three separate instances in Mikey's life where he had trouble falling asleep for whatever reason, went to his brothers for help, and got all the sibling love and comfort he deserves :D primarily fluffy but there's definitely some hurt/comfort in here, especially for the part that takes place after the events of the movie! this is another comfort fic for me ahdhehfhher it's just. very cute. and it reminds me SO MUCH of my little brother when he was a toddler SO IT MAKES ME FEEL SAD AND HAPPY AT THE SAME TIME RAHHHHH
so, I guess we all have issues -> 2012, 122k, human au. OH MY GOD. LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN EVERYTHING BY THIS AUTHOR IS SOME OF THE BEST SHIT YOU'LL READ IN THIS FANDOM BUT THIS FIC IN PARTICULAR WAS SOOOOO FUCKING GOOD. super fucking angsty, but also a lot of sibling bonding??? technically found family??? basically, the 2012 boys all get reincarnated as humans, but Mikey is the only one who remembers their past lives and the fact that they're siblings. he goes on this whole journey to find out where Leo and Raph and Donnie ended up (kinda? cuz in the end they all sort of come to HIM instead but yknow), and has to convince them of the fact that they were mutant ninja turtles in a past life. so that's fun! also raph is trans and leo has PTSD and donnie is struggling as a child genius AND ITS SO GOOD AND SO ANGSTY AND SO FLUFFY AND ITS COMPLETED SO THERES NO REASON WHY YOU SHOULDNT READ THIS RIGHT FUCKING NOW RAHHHHHH
other fics (specifically mikey-centric) by the same author because i swear to god they're LEGENDARY TO ME:
on the flipside -> rottmnt one-shot where April and the boys get hit with some kind of species-swap spell, and April ends up as a mutant turtle while the boys end up as humans;
exhaust trails through space -> 2012 one-shot where Donnie and Mikey need a fucking vacation from Earth (don't we all), so Donnie gets a spaceship from Bishop and Pb&J duo get to fuck around the cosmos for a few weeks and ignore their problems while actually enjoying each others' company;
(un)reality -> 2012 two-shot where Mikey gets captured by the Kraang during his stint in Dimension X and basically gets brainwashed to the point where he tries to kill his brothers when they finally come for him;
play the fool, pity the fool -> 2012 two-shot with MEGA depressed Mikey, this one in particular is really well written-- his downward spiral into depression, his suicide attempt, and his eventual recovery are all written beautifully and realistically and MMM it's so fucking good;
if i could have it back -> 2012 one-shot human au/apocalypse/zombie au, where Mikey and Donnie get separated from the rest of their family and have to survive long enough to find them again;
these days -> 2012 multichapter, unfinished BUT basically Mikey and Donnie get fed up with the way Leo and Raph are acting after Splinter's death (this fic definitely bashes them a little but it's still a good read), and decide to leave the lair and build their own home away from their dysfunctional family;
division difference -> 2012 multichapter, also sadly unfinished BUT it's about Donnie and Mikey getting separated from Splinter and their brothers as tots and growing up feral-- super intriguing concept, and very well written :DD
the broken and the helper -> rottmnt, 9k words. Mikey playing therapist for literally his whole family except himself and completely burning out. and then his brothers figure that out and talk to him and its all very fluffy and sweet in the end and sometimes that's what i need. not super angsty, but definitely hurt/comfort!
angelo -> rottmnt, 4k one-shot. AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MIKEY GETTING THE NICKNAME "ANGELO" FROM LEO BC LEO SEES HIM AS A GUARDIAN ANGEL. baja blast duo fics you have such a special place in my heart (I need more of them) AND THIS ONE IS JUST SO CUTE IM SORRY. a little bit of angst bc of,,,, movie events? but still very cute :)
consuming darkness -> 2012, 68k words. Mikey messes up on a mission and it ends up getting Donnie seriously injured. he gets blamed by his brothers, internalizes it, gets serious with his training and basically becomes this like??? cold-blooded murderer on a revenge mission??? LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN I am. SUCH a lover stories where a character loses/sacrifices everything about their personality to become what they think everyone wants them to be. THIS IS THAT STORY. and then when Raph and Leo realize what's happened to Mikey and have no idea how to "fix" him??? THATS THE GOOD SHIT OH MY GOD. love this fic inject it straight into my veins. on fanfiction.net instead of ao3 (and sadly unfinished), but it's really good for Mikey angst :3
new tricks -> 2012, 3k one-shot, another one from fanfic.net! this one isn't angsty at all, just Mikey and Splinter hanging and bonding together :D I love it though, it's such a cute little fic and very comforting to read ahdhehfhehfhr
no one is alone -> rottmnt, 23k words currently! follows Mikey dealing with everyone's emotional shit after the events of the movie,,,, except his own obviously lmao so he turns to self-harm as a way to relieve stress and anxiety, eventually gets found out, anddddd his brothers help him through recovery :) it's currently unfinished but still being updated as far as I know, and if you want angst, there you go!
temporal differential -> 2012, 7k one-shot. follows Mikey getting stuck in Dimension X for a lot longer than he lets on, and losing hope of his brothers finding him. this one's part of a mini series that kinda revolves around Mikey's time there? and the aftermath? there's a ton of fics that follow this concept but this one isn't tagged very well and doesn't have a lot of hits, so there's a chance you haven't read it if you're looking for new Mikey angst fics to read! plus mikey gets to be smart :333
breakfast for sensei -> 2012, 6.5k one-shot. WHILE WE'RE ON THE TOPIC OF DIMENSION X. this one's about the aftermath!!! AND it has Mikey and Splinter bonding at 3am so I love it so so so dearly. Mikey struggles a lot with nightmares and insomnia after he gets stuck in Dimension X, and eventually opens up to Splinter about his time there and how LONG he was alone and gets some much-needed advice and love. good angst, good comfort, Splinter being a good dad, love love love this one. plus you get a free breakfast recipe! yay!
we'll burn them down -> 2012, 9k one-shot. OKAY LAST ONE ABOUT DIMENSION X I PROMISE. sunset duo focus-- Raph is the first one to figure out that something is off with Mikey, and he's gotta decide how to deal with it! Mikey gets to be a scary badass after surviving alone for so long, Raph gets to be a worried older brother, and Donnie,,,, gets to be there too i guess lmao like i said it's very much a sunset duo fic. enjoy the angst! the hurt/comfort! it's lovely!
empty canvas -> rottmnt, 43k words. I honestly don't remember a lot about this one, BUT Mikey basically takes Leo's place in the prison dimension after opening the portal to get him out?? very very angsty, lots of hurt Mikey! sadly it's unfinished (and it doesn't seem like it'll be updated anytime soon), but what's there definitely qualifies as Mikey angst if that's what you're looking for :) and ofc lots of worried older brothers, which I adore.
--and then ofc, I have a bunch of my own Mikey-centric fics here! I've really only written for Rise so far, but I'm dedicated to mikey angst o7
and like I said, I also have a whole collection on ao3 dedicated just to my favorite TMNT fics! there's genuinely SO MANY MORE I could recommend, but I tried to stick to ones that are older/don't have as many hits?? Kinda?
The rest of my recs would be in this collection! Most are Mikey-centric, but there's a few in there for the other boys too:
for my rottmnt hyperfix | Archive of Our Own
I should warn you though-- I didn't have my collection moderated originally, so people could add their own fics to the collection if they wanted! but then some weirdo Tc*ster ended up adding their shit to it, and I'm pretty sure there's at LEAST one tc*st fic in there somewhere. I've locked it down since then and don't allow outside contributions anymore, but you might wanna filter those tags out :( I contacted ao3 about removing those fics but I never heard anything back. just a warning!!
anyway. hopefully this is helpful for the, like, five people who ALSO feel like they've read every single Mikey fic in existence lmao
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rubyboobidoo · 2 days ago
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mine | dark!sofia gigante x reader
sofia cant bear to live without you so when you threaten to leave her, she takes matters into her own hands
A/N: hi!! this is my first ever post eek - i got tired of refreshing the sofia x reader tag only to see like 4 posts 😔 if you have any requests or constructive criticism please lmk! (if you saw me post this days ago then delete it no you didn’t)
warnings: new writer, fem!reader, kidnapping, restraints, kissing, alcohol, pet names, suggestive material (17+)
the pulse of your own heart draws you from your sleep, your tired eyes met with the familiar sight of the dimly lit sitting room of the falcone mansion. you make a fruitless attempt to hoist yourself from whatever seat your on, only to be stopped by the restraints binding you hands at your back and ankles to the chair.
you can feel the warmth of the fire place just behind you, its flickering light casting shadows across the room, when a figure dressed entirely in black approached from your left. even in the darkest of rooms, you could recognise sofia.
she pulls up a chair in front of yours, elegantly crossing her legs as she sits.
tracing your jawline with her nail, "don't you remember?” she cocks her head “last night when you threatened to leave me... i couldn't bear the thought of losing you."
your mind can’t help but wander to the night in mention.
“sofia,” your lips tremble in the search for the right words “i can’t do this anymore. i can’t act like i don’t see the things you’re doing and i can’t act like they don’t bother me” with the little strength you have you turn in the direction of the door when sofia stops you, grabbing at your upper arm. you can feel her nails digging into your flesh as her gaze locks onto yours “y/n, you know i did this for us baby. i need you to understand that.”
the memories from that night seem hazy, slipping through your fingers.
she leans in close, her hot breath breaking you from your trance “so i decided we needed so alone time, just you and me.” you look up at her, tears welling in your eyes, the reality of your situation crashing down on you.
sofia straightens up, smoothing down her black silk nightgown. “oh don’t look at me like that, y/n. everything’s taken care of. now we can focus solely on us."
she smiles, but there's a coldness in her eyes "isn't that what you wanted, y/n? for me to show you how much you mean to me?”
“then why did you do those things sofia?” you practically spat.
“well we can’t have our perfect little life with monsters like my family in the way, can we?” she stands, sauntering to the fireplace and pouring herself a glass of wine from a bottle on the mantle.
“but they were your family-
“no. you are my family.” she turns to face you, eyes glinting dangerously in the firelight. "they were evil, just like my father. They deserved what they got." she takes a sip of her wine, tilting her head. "just like you deserve to be here with me, where you belong."
she sets her glass down, walking towards you with predatory grace and takes your jaw in her warm hand. it’s so strange how easily you can fall back into old habits, melting to putty in her palm.
“will you forgive me, princess?” before you can process a response you find yourself looking up at her through doe eyes, eagerly nodding.
she leans in, brushing her lips against yours in a tender kiss. suddenly, you’re overcome with need as the kiss becomes desperate. sofia’s lips move hungrily against yours. “please untie me sof, ‘wanna touch you” you plead.
she pulls away, seemingly satisfied with how easy you submit to her. she reaches behind you, unbinding you wrists before before working her way down the restraints at your ankles. as you wrap your arms around her neck, she guides you to your feet in a swift motion.
“i’m gonna take such good care of you, tesoro” she purrs, pulling you close against her “all you have to do is be mine.”
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brightlight-dazzlingeyes · 7 hours ago
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sympathy for the devil | ruben dias
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🩸 synopsis: You've been working at your childhood dream club, Manchester United, for a few years, but the reality of chaos, mess, and constant changes is taking its toll. Lately, you’ve been finding comfort in an unexpected place – Rúben Dias, a player from your club's biggest rival. tags: established situationship, rivals-to-lovers, mention of smoking, sports drama, arguing, mutual pining. (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) (around 3.3k words)
part 1
You slip out of the locker room the moment you can, making a shitty excuse. No one questions you – they’re all too wrapped up in the post-match high, riding the wave of a rare, dominant performance. You should be celebrating, but instead, there’s this sense of dread clawing at your gut.
You’ve been here a few years, but it feels like you’ve lived a lifetime of disappointment, false promises, and crushed hopes.
How many times can you start over before it breaks you?
You step outside, the heavy stadium door swinging shut behind you with a dull thud. It’s cold – November in Manchester always is – but you barely feel the chill as you fish a crumpled pack of cigarettes from your coat pocket. Your hands are shaking a little, either from the leftover adrenaline of the match or the exhaustion that’s been creeping in at the edges of your thoughts for months.
Your lighter flares, a small circle of warmth in the dark, and you inhale deeply, the nicotine sharp and bitter on your tongue. It doesn’t really calm you, but it’s something to do. A familiar habit, a routine that hasn’t changed even when everything else has. You lean back against the rough brick wall, your shoulders sagging, and close your eyes.
They’re all talking about him – the new guy. The Portuguese manager who’s exactly what the board thinks they need to clean up the mess. You’ve seen this cycle before. Another savior, another man with a plan. You’ve learned not to get too attached, not to trust the optimism that comes with each “new era.” You’re tired of being yanked along, like a hamster on a wheel, running in circles while everything around you stays the same.
You take another drag, feeling the smoke burn in your throat. It’s all physiological, you tell yourself. The anxiety, the repetition. It’s just your mind playing tricks on you. But it doesn’t change the fact that this new manager freaks you out. You’re not even sure why, maybe it’s because you know how these things go, or maybe it’s because there’s a chance you won’t even make it to the end of the season with your job intact.
High chances you won’t, if he decides to only work with his own people. Your role’s not exactly critical, and even if you’ve been here for years, that doesn’t make you untouchable. You’ve worked hard, you’ve kept your head down, you’ve given everything you had to this club, but it might not be enough. It never seems to be enough.
You flick ash off the cigarette, eyes unfocused as you stare out over the parking lot, empty except for a few scattered cars. Somewhere deep inside, there’s a tiny bit of relief at the win, but it’s buried under layers of exhaustion and anxiety.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket, but you ignore it. It’s probably Ruben, your Ruben, the one you should have nothing to do with. You’ll deal with that later. Right now, all you want is five more minutes of peace before you have to go back in, put on a smile, and pretend like you’re ready for whatever comes next.
Because Monday’s coming fast, and you know what that means – another fresh start. Another clean slate. Another spin on the wheel.
You stub out your cigarette on the concrete and crush the butt beneath your heel, exhaling one last cloud of smoke.
part 2
You show up at his place later than planned, you told yourself you wouldn’t let work bleed into this, but it’s impossible not to carry it with you. You know you’re dragging that weight into Ruben’s apartment the moment you cross the threshold.
You toss your bag next to the door and kick off your shoes, feeling the tension in your muscles. The sight of him, the comfort of his place – it should feel like a break from the chaos, but tonight it doesn’t.
You exchange a quick greeting, the kind that’s little more than habit by now, and settle next to him on the couch. It’s not awkward exactly, but there’s a distance between you tonight. He looks tired – more tired than you’ve seen him in a long time. 
“Hey,” you say, nudging his knee with yours, trying to draw out something, anything. “How’s the leg?”
He shrugs, not taking his eyes off his phone. “Better,” he says. “Physio says I’ll be fine in a couple weeks.”
That’s all you get. No sarcastic comment, no playful complaint about how much he hates sitting out. He just goes back to scrolling, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You were expecting him to be in a mood – City’s been struggling lately, and the timing of his injury couldn’t be worse. But still, it’s strange, the way he’s shut down. You fall back into the cushions and pull out your own phone, scrolling through Instagram.
When this started a year ago, it was never like this – there was no room for awkward silence or distractions. It was just heat and hands, tearing at each other like you couldn’t get enough. Now, there’s a lot more of this – just spending time together, filling the quiet with the small, mundane things.
Most of the time, you don’t mind. Most of the time, it’s kind of nice, this understanding you’ve built. But tonight, you feel like the air’s too thick, and it’s bothering you. You scroll aimlessly, barely paying attention to what you’re seeing, and it’s only when you hear the soft thud of his phone dropping onto the couch that you look up.
He’s staring at you, his brows drawn together in frustration, like he’s been holding back for as long as he can. “Have you been smoking again?” he asks suddenly, and the question catches you off guard.
Your stomach twists, but you keep your expression blank, fingers still moving on the screen as if you didn’t hear him. “And what does that have to do with you?” you ask, voice flat and dismissive, not even bothering to look up.
It’s a low blow, and you know it. But you’re not in the mood to be called out, not by him, not tonight. He’s watching you from the other side of the couch, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed in that way that tells you he’s annoyed but trying to keep a lid on it. You don’t bite. Instead, you scroll past another filtered photo of someone’s perfect life.
“What does it have to do with me?” he echoes, his voice low and tense. “Maybe because you said you were done with that. Maybe because it’s not good for you.”
You still don’t look up. It’s not that you don’t care; part of you does. He just doesn’t get it. Nobody does. The exhaustion, the stress of working at a club that feels like it’s constantly collapsing in on itself. It’s just a cigarette. It’s not like it’s going to fix anything, but it’s something. One small moment of control when everything else is spiraling.
“Yeah, well,” you mutter, tapping aimlessly through stories you don’t even care about, “things change.”
He sighs, and you hear the frustration in that exhale with the way it rushes out of him. He shifts on the couch, one knee pressing into the cushion, body leaning closer. “You’re just going to ignore me?”
You finally look up, locking eyes with him, and it’s like you’re seeing him clearly for the first time all night. There’s a heat behind his eyes that you’ve seen a hundred times before, but this time a bit different. Angrier. More desperate. You almost want to ask him why he cares so much, but you know the answer would be another fight.
He’s never been good at hiding his feelings, not when he’s like this, wounded in ways he doesn’t want to show. It’s not just his injury, or the losses, or the fact that he’s benched while everyone else heads off for international break. It’s all of it, pressing down on him like the weight of a season that’s already going wrong, even though it’s barely November.
“What’s going on with you?” you ask, more to break the silence than because you really want to know. It comes out sharper than you mean it to, and you see the way his expression shutters, defenses slamming back into place.
“What’s going on with me?” He lets out a harsh laugh, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. “What’s going on with you? It’s like you’re not even here anymore. We barely talk unless it’s about–” He stops himself, cutting off whatever he was about to say.
“Unless it’s about what?” you snap, putting your phone down. It’s an instinct, this need to go on the offensive before he can twist the knife any deeper. “About football? About how fucked up everything is at my job? Or about how you get to sit around feeling sorry for yourself because your team is losing for once?”
The second the words are out, you regret them. You can see the hurt flash in his eyes, quick as a blink but unmistakable. You’ve seen him pissed off before, plenty of times, but not like this.
He nods slowly, like he’s forcing himself to accept what you’ve just thrown at him. “Wow,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, “I didn’t realize we were keeping score.”
“It’s not about that,” you say quickly, too quickly, the words tripping over themselves as you try to reel them back. “I’m just–fuck, I don’t know. I’m tired, Ruben. I’m so tired of everything.”
He looks at you for a long time, his eyes searching, trying to figure out if you’re lying or if this is just another one of the walls you throw up when you don’t want to deal with the truth. You can almost see the moment he decides it’s not worth fighting. He leans back, sinking into the couch cushions, and picks up his phone without another word.
The silence stretches out between you, and this time it’s suffocating. You pick up your own phone, but the Instagram feed blurs in front of you. You can’t focus, can’t even remember what you were looking at before he interrupted. You’re both here, sitting less than two feet apart, but it’s like a wall has gone up between you, solid and impenetrable.
“I should leave,” you say, standing up and running a hand through your hair, trying to steady the tremble in your voice. “In fact, I shouldn’t come here when I’m in a bad mood.”
He doesn’t even look at you at first. Then, when he does, his eyes are full of –  it’s either anger or disappointment, maybe both. “That was never a problem before,” he says, each word adorned with a bitterness that catches you off guard. “But yeah, maybe you should leave.”
You don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything. You just grab your bag from the floor, fingers clenching the strap so tight it’s a wonder the leather doesn’t tear. There’s a part of you that wants to drop the bag, to sit back down, to tell him you didn’t mean it – that you’re sorry, that you’re just so fucking tired of pretending that everything’s fine when it’s not. But you can’t. 
“I’ll call you,” you say, even though you both know it’s a lie. You can hear the emptiness in your own voice, and the way he laughs without any humor just twists the knife deeper.
“You won’t,” he says, his tone harsh, too raw, and you see the hurt behind it, the way he’s holding himself together by a thread. “But that’s fine.”
You hesitate, just for a second, standing there in the doorway with one hand on the knob, caught in that familiar push-and-pull of wanting to fix this and wanting to run away before you make it worse. He’s watching you, eyes unblinking, like he’s daring you to stay, and you hate him a little for that – hate him for caring when you don’t know how to anymore.
But you don’t stay. You close the door softly behind you, the click of the latch sounding too final in the quiet apartment. The weight of your bag feels heavier than it should as you make your way out into the cool night air, and you tell yourself you’ll call him tomorrow. You’ll apologize, explain, make it right. But the truth is, you don’t even know if you have the energy to try.
You know, deep down, that he’s right. You probably won’t call.
part 3
It hits you the next morning, sharp and sudden, like a punch to the gut. You wake up too early, tangled in your sheets, and the first thought that drags itself out of the haze is him. It shouldn't feel this intense, shouldn't have you wide-eyed and shivering before the sun’s even up.
But it does. It does, and the weight of it scares you.
Your whole body feels wrong, you skip breakfast, try to force down a cup of coffee, but it doesn’t help. Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles with a strange, feverish heat. You’re cold, so damn cold, but the sweat gathers at your temples and slicks your palms.
Emptiness settles in your chest as you go about your day, an ache that tightens every time your thoughts drift back to the night before. To the way he looked at you. And you hate yourself for it, hate that you need him, that your body is betraying you, craving something you can't let yourself want.
It's ridiculous. It's unbearable. It’s like you’re going through some sort of withdrawal. Just the thought of him – of his hands on you, his voice in your ear – sends a shudder down your spine, and you can’t even focus on the emails piling up in your inbox. You’re not used to this, not used to feeling so raw and exposed, and it makes you feel weak.
Lunch comes and goes, but you barely touch the food, staring blankly at your salad until you push it aside. Your appetite is gone, stolen away by the need that tightens your chest and messes with your breathing. You try to distract yourself, but it's like he's burned into the back of your eyes. Every other thought circles back to him, to the echo of his laugh, the feel of his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.
By mid-afternoon, you’re practically vibrating with it. The restlessness, the discomfort, the absence of him. You can feel it in your bones, this weird kind of panic that has your skin clammy and your hands shaking. It’s not normal, this kind of reaction, and it’s making you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.
What if you can’t stop feeling this way? What if this is just how it’s going to be now – this constant ache, this physical need that won’t let you breathe properly unless he’s there, grounding you?
You end up sneaking out early, your boss too busy with last-minute prep for the new manager to notice. You don’t know where you’re going, don’t have a plan. But your feet take you in the direction of his place anyway, like you’re on autopilot, the city blurring around you. Your phone buzzes with a message – something work-related, but you can’t even look at it.
All you can think is that you need him. You need him now.
part 4
You hesitate outside his door, you’re jittery, nerves buzzing under your skin, and your fingers hover over the wood, half-afraid to knock.
What if he doesn’t want to see you? What if he’s busy or worse – what if he’s not alone? You feel stupid for not calling ahead, for showing up unannounced like this. But it’s too late to turn back now. You take a deep breath and knock, your knuckles rapping against the door in a shaky rhythm.
Your heart is in your throat, the seconds ticking by in agonizing silence, and you wonder if this is how it all ends – him opening the door with a surprised look, gently telling you he’s got plans, and you slinking away like you never showed up in the first place. You’re ready to walk away, to put yourself out of this misery and pretend you never came, when you hear the deadbolt click.
The door swings open, and there he is, looking more surprised than annoyed. He’s wearing a loose t-shirt and joggers, barefoot, like he wasn’t expecting company. His hair’s a mess, and you realize with a weird sense of relief that he was alone.
“Hey,” he says, and you just stand there, because you don’t know what to say. Hey feels too casual for the way your heart’s racing, for the desperation that drove you here in the first place. He looks at you like he’s trying to read your mind, his eyebrows drawing together.
“I – I should have called,” you stutter, feeling heat rush to your face. 
“No, it’s... it’s fine,” he says, stepping aside to let you in. There’s a weird, careful distance in his voice, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like he can tell there’s something different about today. “Come in.”
You walk inside, brushing past him. You feel his eyes on you the whole time, tracking your every movement. It’s stupid how much you want him to close the door, to pull you close and tell you he’s missed you, that he’s felt the same aching emptiness since you left last night.
But he doesn’t. He lingers by the door, watching as you settle on the edge of the couch, your hands clasped tightly in your lap to keep them from shaking. He knows you’re holding back and is waiting for you to say why you’re really here.
You force yourself to look up, meeting his eyes.
“I needed to see you,” you blurt out. You see surprise flicker across his face, but he doesn’t move, just stands there waiting for you to go on. You swallow, your throat tight, and push the words out. “I just... I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s driving me crazy.”
His eyes widen. Then he’s crossing the room, sitting down beside you, his hand reaching out to touch your knee. It’s gentle, hesitant.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft, and it’s the concern in it that makes you want to cry. You nod, even though you’re not sure you are, not really. You’re still scared, still feeling that horrible emptiness clawing at your chest, but he’s here, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters right now.
You let out a shaky breath and lean into him, pressing your face against his shoulder, and his arms come up around you automatically, holding you close. The relief is instant, a flood of warmth spreading through you, and you realize how desperate you’ve been for this, for him. His hand moves up to your hair, fingers gentle as they brush through it, and you can feel the tension in your body start to unwind, little by little.
“Why didn’t you call?” he murmurs against your hair, and there’s something almost fragile in his voice, like he’s been waiting for you too, like maybe he needed you as much as you needed him.
“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “I was afraid you wouldn’t want me here.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face, and you can see the frustration and tenderness mingling in his eyes. “You’re an idiot,” he says softly, but there’s no bite to it, only a strange kind of relief. Then he kisses you, hard and urgent, trying to make up for all the things you didn’t say.
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shivtomdivorce · 1 year ago
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gerard way deprivation
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special-support-section · 2 years ago
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doroinoue · 5 months ago
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medicalunprofessional · 6 months ago
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never change, man !
#phantom of the paradise#potp#swan potp#nightmaretheater#65 layers and about 24 hours . Eeeyyuppp#Look into my beautiful mind boy#Its a bit unusual to what i usually draw#but i had to push a specific look for this piece#hopefully you all are picking up on the corperate look . the advertisment look#Sneeze. Anyways my point is industry destroys creative people. This includes swan#I feel like phrases like these ; how he was put on a pedistal…. it lead him to be Like That#as awful as he is he desperately needed help#it might seem like vanity on the surface#but i think its… more than that#long story short: we need to destroy the beauty industry. the skincare industry. the anti-aging industry#It ruined his psyche forever and he cant let go of the ideal version of himself he will never truly be again#i dont think he can at this point. hes in too deep and hes suffering for it no matter how much he feels hes fixed his problems#he cant accept a version of himself that isnt that perfect young man. because he never confronted his problems. he just ran away#anyways . Hi swath *punches him**kicks him*#i dont care if nobody gets me lalalalla my truths and headcanons are awesome forever and i live in my own reality lallaallal#sorry i think im gonna be posting about swan alot for a few months hes making me sick#i wass gonna post this earlier but my internet was real bad#*lays down in my pile of pillows* eat up boys. haha#sidenote: drawing white blond people is horrifiying. Boy your skin and hair are the same color. Introduce some contrast to yourself. Please#adding on: its inportant to note this focuses on him looking st himself in the mirror alot on purpouse#to remind himself what he ‘’’’really’’’’ looks like#the 4 middle pannels all represent that too . u have to be in my brain ri get this#sorry for unleashijg another swan essay in my tags. will happen again lol
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hauntingofhouses · 9 months ago
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Very interesting to me that a certain subset of the BES fandom's favourite iterations of Mizu and Akemi are seemingly rooted in the facades they have projected towards the world, and are not accurate representations of their true selves.
And I see this is especially the case with Mizu, where fanon likes to paint her as this dominant, hyper-masculine, smirking Cool GuyTM who's going to give you her strap. And this idea of Mizu is often based on the image of her wearing her glasses, and optionally, with her cloak and big, wide-brimmed kasa.
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And what's interesting about this, to me, is that fanon is seemingly falling for her deliberate disguise. Because the glasses (with the optional combination of cloak and hat) represent Mizu's suppression of her true self. She is playing a role.
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Take this scene of Mizu in the brothel in Episode 4 for example. Here, not only is Mizu wearing her glasses to symbolise the mask she is wearing, but she is purposely acting like some suave and cocky gentleman, intimidating, calm, in control. Her voice is even deeper than usual, like what we hear in her first scene while facing off with Hachiman the Flesh-Trader in Episode 1.
This act that Mizu puts on is an embodiment of masculine showboating, which is highly effective against weak and insecure men like Hachi, but also against women like those who tried to seduce her at the Shindo House.
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And that brings me to how Mizu's mask is actually a direct parallel to Akemi's mask in this very same scene.
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Here, Akemi is also putting up an act, playing up her naivety and demure girlishness, using her high-pitched lilted voice, complimenting Mizu and trying to make small talk, all so she can seduce and lure Mizu in to drink the drugged cup of sake.
So what I find so interesting and funny about this scene, characters within it, and the subsequent fandom interpretations of both, is that everyone seems to literally be falling for the mask that Mizu and Akemi are putting up to conceal their identities, guard themselves from the world, and get what they want.
It's also a little frustrating because the fanon seems to twist what actually makes Mizu and Akemi's dynamic so interesting by flattening it completely. Because both here and throughout the story, Mizu and Akemi's entire relationship and treatment of each other is solely built off of masks, assumptions, and misconceptions.
Akemi believes Mizu is a selfish, cocky male samurai who destroyed her ex-fiance's career and life, and who abandoned her to let her get dragged away by her father's guards and forcibly married off to a man she didn't know. on the other hand, Mizu believes Akemi is bratty, naive princess who constantly needs saving and who can't make her own decisions.
These misconceptions are even evident in the framing of their first impressions of each other, both of which unfold in these slow-motion POV shots.
Mizu's first impression of Akemi is that of a beautiful, untouchable princess in a cage. Swirling string music in the background.
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Akemi's first impression of Mizu is of a mysterious, stoic "demon" samurai who stole her fiance's scarf. Tense music and the sound of ocean waves in the background.
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And then, going back to that scene of them together in Episode 4, both Mizu and Akemi continue to fool each other and hold these assumptions of each other, and they both feed into it, as both are purposely acting within the suppressive roles society binds them to in order to achieve their goals within the means they are allowed (Akemi playing the part of a subservient woman; Mizu playing the part of a dominant man).
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But then, for once in both their lives, neither of their usual tactics work.
Akemi is trying to use flattery and seduction on Mizu, but Mizu sees right through it, knowing that Akemi is just trying to manipulate and harm her. Rather than give in to Akemi's tactics, Mizu plays with Akemi's emotions by alluding to Taigen's death, before pinning her down, and then when she starts crying, Mizu just rolls her eyes and tells her to shut up.
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On the opposite end, when Mizu tries to use brute force and intimidation, Akemi also sees right through it, not falling for it, and instead says this:
"Under your mask, you're not the killer you pretend to be."
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Nonetheless, despite the fact that they see a little bit through each other's masks, they both still hold their presumptions of each other until the very end of the season, with Akemi seeing Mizu as an obnoxious samurai swooping in to save the day, and Mizu seeing Akemi as a damsel in distress.
And what I find a bit irksome is that the fandom also resorts to flattening them to these tropes as well.
Because Mizu is not some cool, smooth-talking samurai with a big dick sword as Akemi (and the fandom) might believe. All of that is the facade she puts up and nothing more. In reality, Mizu is an angry, confused and lonely child, and a masterful artist, who is struggling against her own self-hatred. Master Eiji, her father figure who knows her best, knows this.
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And Akemi, on the other hand, is not some girly, sweet, vain and spoiled princess as Mizu might believe. Instead she has never cared for frivolous things like fashion, love or looks, instead favouring poetry and strategy games instead, and has always only cared about her own independence. Seki, her father figure who knows her best, knows this.
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But neither is she some authoritative dominatrix, though this is part of her new persona that she is trying to project to get what she wants. Because while Akemi is willful, outspoken, intelligent and authoritative, she can still be naive! She is still often unsure and needs to have her hand held through things, as she is still learning and growing into her full potential. Her new parental/guardian figure, Madame Kaji, knows this as well.
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So with all that being said, now that we know that Mizu and Akemi are essentially wearing masks and putting up fronts throughout the show, what would a representation of Mizu's and Akemi's true selves actually look like? Easy. It's in their hair.
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This shot on the left is the only time we see Mizu with her hair completely down. In this scene, she's being berated by Mama, and her guard is completely down, she has no weapon, and is no longer wearing any mask, as this is after she showed Mikio "all of herself" and tried to take off the mask of a subservient housewife. Thus, here, she is sad, vulnerable, and feeling small (emphasised further by the framing of the scene). This is a perfect encapsulation of what Mizu is on the inside, underneath all the layers of revenge-obsession and the walls she's put around herself.
In contrast, the only time we Akemi with her hair fully down, she is completely alone in the bath, and this scene takes place after being scorned by her father and left weeping at his feet. But despite all that, Akemi is headstrong, determined, taking the reigns of her life as she makes the choice to run away, but even that choice is reflective of her youthful naivety. She even gets scolded by Seki shortly after this in the next scene, because though she wants to be independent, she still hasn't completely learned to be. Not yet. Regardless, her decisiveness and moment of self-empowerment is emphasised by the framing of the scene, where her face takes up the majority of the shot, and she stares seriously into the middle distance.
To conclude, I wish popular fanon would stop mischaracterising these two, and flattening them into tropes and stereotypes (ie. masculine badass swordsman Mizu and feminine alluring queen but also girly swooning damsel Akemi), all of which just seems... reductive. It also irks me when Akemi is merely upheld as a love interest and romantic device for Mizu and nothing more, when she is literally Mizu's narrative foil (takes far more narrative precedence over romantic interest) and the deuteragonist of this show. She is her own person. That is literally the theme of her entire character and arc.
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fumifooms · 7 months ago
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That. That screentone on Chilchuck’s chest in the low open collar. Is Chilchuck having chest hair canon Kui. Kui? Gripping my knee
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abiteofhoney · 4 months ago
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i always tell myself that i need to interact more with the people on here and that ill be happier if i do, but i also have this paralysis that keeps me from doing it. i want to create bonds and friendships!!!
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lambouillet · 2 months ago
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silly little jester !
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