#we’re all stardust baby

[honeyhotteoks]

across stardust - one (j.yh)

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. 

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.

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. 

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.

[maalibuu]

late night car dates with boyfriend!minho

no warnings, tooth rotting fluff

lee minho x gn!reader

late night car dates with minho have always been your favourite. it felt like it was just you and him, while the whole world was asleep.

his car was parked in an empty parking lot, your stomachs were full with delicious food, sharing stories about your day, smiles and enjoying each others company.

„missed you.“ you whispered.

„come here.“ he cooed at you, making space for you to sit on his lap.

not even wasting anymore time, you crawled over the center console, slightly hitting your head in the process.

the pain was easily forgotten because as soon as you sat down in his lap, minho immediately started peppering your whole face with kisses, teasing you a little bit.

„my poor little baby, I think we should drive you to the emergency station right away.“ he murmured, while chuckling at your clumsiness.

„I think I’m already healed, your lips must have superpowers.“ you giggled at him.

slightly leaning back, so you could look at each other, not being able to hide the adoration both of you held in your eyes.

minho slowly tucked some strands of hair behind your ear. softly smiling at you, his eyes glancing down towards your lips, while licking his own. both of your faces leaning in, without even noticing.

„can I kiss you?“ he whispered, lips almost touching.

„please.“ was the only thing you could mutter until gravity was too much.

finally feeling complete with his lips on yours, not being able to stop kissing each other.

it felt like hours, leaving one last peck on his lips before pulling back.

breathless, slightly heaving, but so full of love. mouths bruised, plump and strawberry red.

„the glass is fogged, I feel like we’re the main actors of some teenage rom com.“ he chuckled at you, breaking the silence.

„let me make it just a bit more cliché.“ giving his lips another small kiss, you leaned over so you could touch the hazy glass of the windshield.

the car windows were cold and a little bit wet against your index finger. quite the opposite of minho‘s homey presence and the warm feeling inside your heart, you always had when you were with him.

you could feel him watching you, his dark boba eyes almost turning into the hearts you drew against the car window.

„you‘re made of stardust, baby.“ he mumbled in a low voice.

the love you shared for one another as full as the bright moon in the night sky. every star reflecting one thing you loved about each other.

a/n: soooo my little fur babies threw up all night, turns out they have fleas. I spent my whole day at the vet and cleaning my whole apartment. They‘ve been suffering all day and my smol mom heart is breaking, poor little babies.

I have the whole day off tomorrow so I’ll try to post more. My brain will burst if I have to hold back from writing any longer

but I really wanted to post something today so here u have something small, hope u enjoy <33

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Astronaut AU - Part 19

Masterpost Read on AO3

AU Summary: the boys as modern day NASA astronauts. Taking place in 2025, Bucky is heading to the moon as mission commander of Artemis III while Buck is CAPCOM at NASA. Established relationship (obnoxiously in love).

Author's Note: I hope this chapter makes you all feel as much as it made me feel.

---

Our world may have shattered. But I promise, we will put it back together again. Piece by piece, no matter how long it takes, no matter how much I grit my teeth in pain. With bare, shaking hands I will gather the remains, even if they shred my skin until I bleed. I will not give up on you if you don’t give up on me. 

I won’t give up on me. 

You told me once that it will be hard, that it will hurt, and it does. But no matter how hard it is, no matter how much it hurts, every moment is worth it to see your face when I wake up in the morning. Every moment is worth it to hope that someday, I’ll just be me again. And you’ll be you and we’ll be us, carefree and fearless and madly in love as we find the next adventure. The next small step. The next giant leap. The next stop on the road to everywhere and nowhere. And everything will be back to normal. 

Normal. 

Everyone keeps saying that the hurt and the hard stuff is normal. That everything I’m going through is normal. That the pain and the confusion and the fear are normal. 

But how can it be?

When my normal is so unachievable with the way I am now. Major Bucky Egan. Artemis commander. Wild, reckless, competent.

Broken.

I don’t know what normal is anymore. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel it again. I don’t know what to do if I don’t. Sometimes I think it’ll be unbearable. And sometimes I think, if we can’t find normal, we’ll just redefine it. You and me. We can do that, can’t we?

It does hurt. It is hard. Some days I feel like I’m drowning, and some days I feel so fuckin’ alive. It’s like I can’t keep up. Like I’m sprinting into the future until I run off a cliff, just waiting for the ground to reappear again. I need you to remind me why it’s worth it. I need you to remind me why I fought so hard to keep breathing. I will fight tooth and nail to make our life whole again, as long as you’re there to guide me home. 

We’re all made of stardust, you like to say. And when I look into your eyes, I see it. I feel it. The stuff of shattered stars and baby universes and every atom that has forged this existence in which we live. Every breath that’s ever been taken. Every speck of sunlight that’s ever brightened my day. It’s all right there, staring back at me when you look me in the eye. And you smile. And I feel like I’m drowning, for once, in a good way. 

Maybe our world nearly crumbled to pieces, but it’s still turning. I see it when I look at you, and it gives me the hope I need to keep going. Even when it’s hard. Even when it hurts. We made it this far, and we will make it farther. I promise you, we will find a way to put our future back together. We’ll find normal, whatever that means. 

Our world may have shattered, but I promise we won’t. 

—

December 18 Nassau Bay, TX

Bucky doesn’t know when he started calling Gale “Angel.” 

He called him “Buck” from the moment they met, two lanky kids sizing up their new college roommate, couldn’t be more opposite and yet Gale Cleven was the most beautiful thing John had ever seen. All other men, women, ruined for him the moment he set eyes on that perfect fucking angel with the soft, unsure smile and the messy blonde hair, bright blue eyes locked on the stars just like Bucky’s.

“So what’d’ya say, Buck?” he asked that first night, clapping Gale on the shoulder like they were already old friends. “Wanna see what this college town has to offer?”

“My name is Gale,” Gale muttered back. All Bucky could do was hum noncommittally, because it didn’t even matter. Sure, Gale Cleven had always been, would always be Gale Cleven. But from that moment on, he would also always be Buck. 

From that moment on, they were tied to one another. Even if Bucky never, even in his wildest dreams, could have anticipated how beautiful their life would turn out, they belonged to each other. Their names said so.

Buck. And Bucky.

But, angel? He can’t remember when that started for the life of him. 

That’s what he’s thinking about as he sits alone on the living room couch, staring at the unadorned Christmas tree in their bay window. It sits tall and proud right in the center so you can see it from the street. They pick one out every year, wandering through the Christmas tree lots with a far too critical eye, carefully selecting the perfect one to take home and decorate for the holiday season.

They were late getting it this year, and it still doesn’t have a single ornament on its branches. When Bucky was in the hospital, it hardly even occurred to Gale to decorate for Christmas, much less to buy a tree. He wasn’t exactly in the holiday spirit. After all, the tree was always something they shared. After all, Gale wasn’t sure they’d ever share it again. 

But with Bucky home, their undecorated house suddenly felt so incredibly wrong.

Sure, the guys had taken it upon themselves to string up the lights along the roof the day Bucky came home, but no one had touched the boxes of interior decorations stored in the shed in the backyard. That same day, once everyone had gone, Bucky looked sadly around the house and said “It’s almost Christmas, Buck. Why does it look so… un-Christmassy in here?”

Gale went outside that very moment and started hauling boxes in from the shed.

They spent all afternoon hanging wreaths on the doors and displaying the various decorations they’ve accumulated over their lifetime together. Christmas candles and reindeer figurines and garland and colorful lights to hang around their window. They hung three stockings on the mantle of the fireplace they never use: a white one for Gale, a red one for Bucky, and a green one with paw prints all over for Pepper. That night, while Bucky watched and tried not to fall asleep in his chair, Gale made sugar cookies that filled the house with the scent of vanilla and a certain joy that had been missing for weeks. He hummed as he baked, blushed when Bucky pointed it out, and repeatedly had to smack Bucky’s hand away when he tried to eat the raw dough. 

When, after being home for a few days, Bucky insisted that they needed a Christmas tree, Gale was bound and determined to find one. Usually, they get their tree a good few weeks before the holiday, when Bucky finally convinces Gale to give in to the Christmas spirit. This late, Gale was worried the lots would be picked over, leaving nothing up to Bucky’s standards. But they kidnapped Benny from his house down the road, and the three of them drove out around the Houston area. They had to go to three different lots, but eventually, they landed on something promising.

Gale pushed Bucky between the rows of trees in his wheelchair, turning left or right or backtracking according to Bucky’s whims. Gale was getting nervous that this lot would be a bust, too, but damn near the end of the last row they walked down, Bucky pointed enthusiastically to a tree in the corner, just a hint taller than the others around it. “That’s the one!”

“How can you tell?” Benny asked skeptically as they approached the tree. Gale looked it up and down, studying its trunk, its height, the integrity of its branches. Bucky stroked the dark green needles, smiled brightly, and he nodded. He didn’t answer Benny. Because when you know, you know.

So Gale shelled out the money for their last-minute tree and they got it strapped to the top of the car. Back at home, once Bucky was settled on the couch with Pepper and Meatball, he watched dutifully as Gale and Benny hauled it in through the front door. “Be careful,”  he called out as they struggled to maneuver it into the living room, Benny yelling back a “Fuck you.” As they placed it in the stand in front of the bay window, Bucky helped by saying things like “A little to the right,” or “It’s leaning too far forward,” or “Turn it so we can see its good side… no, the other good side… Benny are you blind?”

Pepper definitely did not almost knock the tree over before they could get it secure or start trying to eat the pine needles as they fell onto the floor, and she definitely didn’t try to drink the water out of the base once or twice or over and over and over again. Bucky definitely did not laugh when Gale came away covered in pine needles himself, specks of green stuck in his blonde hair. And Benny definitely did not flip Bucky off for his ‘unnecessary commentary’ and ‘false sense of superiority.’ 

Their house finally smelled and felt like Christmas, and that was the first day since coming home that Bucky actually felt normal. Or at least like he could feel normal again. Eventually.

The whole process of acquiring the tree drained him, though. Then the next few days weren’t so stellar; he felt sick and lethargic, the brain fog making it hard to focus on anything or move real well. Gale was at JSC for several hours every day, so Marge spent her afternoons with Bucky, “working remotely” even though they mostly ended up watching movies and gossipping. Bucky declared he didn’t need a babysitter, but having her around quelled some of his anxiety, reminded him that he was fine, that low points were part of the healing process and not indicative of his future, not signs of worsening.

So here they are, days after they brought the tree home, and it sits, green and bare, in front of their window. It’s the middle of the afternoon, but Bucky feels like he’s been awake for ages, his brain and body getting tired even though he’s done a whole lot of nothing all day. Gale went to JSC in the morning, but he came home after just a few hours because Bucky texted him I miss you, come home. 

Months ago that text would’ve gotten an eye-roll emoji.

Months ago, Bucky wouldn’t have even been home alone long enough to miss Gale, instead spending all his time in sims or doing training exercises. 

Now, though, those words are enough to make Gale stop whatever he was doing and leave for the day. Bucky felt a little bad about it. It wasn’t his goal to make Gale actually blow off work to come home, truly. Especially because, so far, it’s a pretty good day. His head feels clear. His hands aren’t shaking as bad as they were yesterday, he doesn’t feel nauseous, the pain in his leg is dull enough that he can push it to the back of his mind. He feels… okay.

He sits on the couch with Pepper. She hasn’t let him out of her sight since she came home, dedicated to watching over him and trying to make him smile. He strokes her soft fur and stares at the tree, and he wonders if somehow plants can see, too. Then he wonders if, since the tree was cut down days ago, it’s technically dead, and it therefore doesn’t matter if it can see or not. Then he wonders if, since they have to give it water, it’s technically still alive, and it’s their job to keep it that way for a while.

Like life support.

Like Bucky on Orion. Or in the hospital.

IVs and oxygen and antibiotics and cooling blankets. Beeping heart monitors. Concerned voices. Flashes of fear. Unbearable pain. And his crew’s pure determination not to let him die… You just keep pushing through, alright? Whatever you need to do, Bucky. It’s alright.

“John? You okay?”

Bucky shakes his head. Then he nods, tilts his head as he looks at the tree again, trying to refocus his vision so it’s not just an amorphous splotch of green shrouded with visions of a blurry crew cabin. He feels like he can still hear Curt’s voice ringing in his ear.

“Yeah,” he says absently. He looks over at Gale, who is leaning against the wall in the entryway to the living room, arms crossed over his chest. His hair is messy from running his hand through it too much, but his eyes are bright, the corner of his lip quirked up in a smile. Bucky tries not to stare too much at the way his fitted gray sweater accentuates the muscle in his biceps, then he remembers that Gale is his husband and he’s been ogling him for 15 years. “Just some morbid thoughts about the tree.”

Gale gives him that nuanced look of questioning, amusement, and exasperation that was tailor-made for Bucky, perfected over the years since they met. “Do I wanna know?”

Bucky doesn’t give him a choice. “We killed it. But then we put it on life support.”

Gale squints at him, then at the tree. He considers the water filling the base of the stand. “Okay, sure.”

“We’re holding it captive,” Bucky goes on. “But it needs us to live.”

“It’s a tree,” Gale says slowly, stifling a laugh.

“It’s gonna develop Stockholm syndrome.”

“... it’s a tree.”

“And that means it doesn’t have feelings?” Bucky crosses his arms and exaggeratedly mimics Gale’s facial expression, which is shifting more toward exasperated.

Gale pushes away from the wall and crosses the room to stand in front of Bucky. Bucky grabs onto his waist, one hand on either side, and pulls him close, so he can rest his forehead against his abs. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” Gale says. It’s fond, though, and he strokes his hand over Bucky’s hair, pausing at the patch that was shaved. It’s nearly grown back now, hardly noticeable as it blends in with the rest of his curls. 

Bucky hums in acknowledgement. Gale’s been telling him that since the day they met. But here they are, married, standing in front of a Christmas tree in a house that they bought together. Gale is officially stuck with him. “Maybe decorating it will make it happy,” Bucky offers.

“You sound like Maggie.”

“I can only hope to be half as smart as that little girl someday.”

Gale looks down at him. “Will decorating the tree make you happy?”

Bucky looks right back up at him, a bright, love-struck grin on his face. “Happier than an astronaut on the moon… even before he almost dies.” Gale goes tense before rolling his eyes, and he flicks Bucky lightly on the forehead. “What?” Bucky asks innocently. “Too soon?”

Gale kneels down in front of him, taking both of his hands in his own. “Too soon,” he agrees. Bucky pulls one of his hands to his lips, though, and presses a kiss to his knuckles. It never fails to make Gale smile, at least a little bit. “Fine,” Gale relents. “I’ll get the ornaments.”

Bucky turns on a Spotify Christmas playlist while he waits, and by the time Gale comes back with the box of ornaments, they’re both singing along to Winter Wonderland. Pepper hops off the couch, wagging her tail in excitement to reflect the relaxed, cheerful energy of her people. Bucky reaches down and grabs both of her front paws, lifting her up so she’s balancing on her hind legs. He moves her paws back and forth like they’re dancing, and he serenades her until she howls along with him.

“Baby girl’s first Christmas,” he thinks aloud as he lowers her back to the ground so she can run over to Gale.

Gale scratches under her collar and kisses the top of her head. “First Christmas as a family,” he agrees, and it makes Bucky’s heart skip a beat. “Now come on,” Gale says, and he helps Bucky to his feet, carefully supporting his weight as they take the few steps over to the tree.

They start by stringing lights around it, Gale winding them around and around as Bucky helpfully – or sometimes unhelpfully – holds them in place, standing with most of his weight on his good leg and a crutch under one arm. Finally, they reach the end of the final strand and get them plugged in, lighting the tree up in soft yellow-white.

Bucky leans against the wall beside the bay window and watches Gale pull an ornament from the box. Every year, it’s the first one to go on the tree – a small glass angel. It belonged to Gale’s mother, and it’s one of the only things he still has from his childhood home. He looks at the tree as he holds it delicately in his hand, trying to decide which branch is worthy. Bucky points to a sturdy one front and center, and Gale nods, carefully slipping it over the pine needles. Bucky watches his lips move, and even though he can’t hear them, he knows they’re the same words that Gale whispers every year: Merry Christmas, Mama.

Bucky hops away from the wall, leaving the crutch behind, and he takes Gale’s hand gently in his. In a moment of sad, loving silence, they look at the little angel in its rightful place on the tree. Bucky has an urge to reach out and touch it, but he doesn’t trust his fingers not to knock it off, shatter it to pieces. “Hey Buck?”

“Mmm?”

Bucky looks at his husband, wondering if he should even ask. “When did I start callin’ you angel?”

Gale thinks for a second, studying Bucky, and then he chuckles quietly, a breathy little huff of laughter. “Of course you wouldn’t remember.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gale lets go of his hand and kneels down to rummage around in the ornament box, deciding which one should go next. “You were drunk.”

Bucky points to an ornament – a space shuttle wrapped in Christmas lights – and Gale pulls it out and hands it to him. “That… that tracks,” Bucky acquiesces. The ornament has a gold string instead of a hook, and his fingers shake as he tries to get them through the loop. He bites down on the inside of his cheek as he tries to concentrate, but eventually Gale has to stand up and separate the loop for him. He tells Bucky to spread his fingers out wide, and he hangs the ornament on them so the loop stays open enough to slide onto a branch. Bucky slips it onto one somewhere above the angel. 

“Thanks,” he whispers self-consciously. Gale wraps an arm around his lower back and kisses him gently on the lips, trying to take away the little bout of disappointment. It’s okay, the kiss says. You’re doin’ just fine. It makes Bucky smile again. “So, I was drunk?”

The story goes that Buck and Bucky were at a college party. This was sometime during the second semester of their freshman year, maybe at the end of spring break, but Gale isn’t clear on exactly when. It was before the big push toward finals, and before the two of them started dating. Now, make no mistake, Bucky had been shamelessly flirting with Gale since the day they met. But Gale didn’t like the idea of jumping into a relationship as soon as he started college, and certainly not with his roommate, a wild-card flirt with a disregard for rules despite being in ROTC. From day one, they were a package deal, to the point that Gale’s pretty sure everyone thought they were dating anyway, but he refused to give them a chance, no matter how Bucky tried to convince him. 

Anyway, Bucky was, in fact, drunk at this party. There was a lot of beer. Some crappy vodka shots. Some shitty concoction they slapped with the label of jungle juice. Bucky was – still is – a fan of beer pong, and Gale is sure he had just lost a game. Bucky claims that that can’t be possible, because he dominated at beer pong, even drunk as fuck. 

Either way, after he was done playing, he wandered over to where Gale – sober – was sitting on a couch with some of their friends. They were playing Space Invaders on the PlayStation – he maintains that it wasn’t nearly as good on a console as it was as an arcade game, but Gale Cleven was, admittedly, something of a legend at it despite having zero interest in any other video game ever made. Bucky collapsed down on the floor in front of Gale, so he was sitting cross-legged facing him, and he rested his chin on Gale’s knee, staring up at him with wide puppy-dog eyes. The distraction made Gale lose the game, and he looked at Bucky in exasperation, asked him what he wanted.

Bucky smiled at him, soft and drunk and in love. Just like he still does now. “I must’ve died and gone to heaven, ‘cause you’re the prettiest angel I’ve ever seen.”

Here in 2025, a small, nostalgic smile plays at Gale’s lips as he recounts the story, his gaze a little far off, lost in the past before he blinks and tilts his head. He looks at Bucky like he’s seeing the entire temporal roadmap of their lives. All at once, they’re college kids and young aviators and thirty-somethings with wedding bands on their hands. They’re them.

Buck and Bucky.

“I don’t remember that at all,” Bucky chuckles, blushing as he stares at the little angel on the tree, holds tighter to the angel in his arms.

“I know,” Gale says. “But you’ve been callin’ me that ever since.”

Bucky looks over at him. Tall and lanky but stronger than anyone would ever know. Messy blonde hair. Pretty blue eyes, light freckles splashed across his cheeks, perfect lips. Everything is softened in the dim glow of the Christmas tree lights. “You are.”

“I’m what?”

Bucky presses his hand to Gale’s cheek, and he kisses him again, soft and slow. “The prettiest angel I’ve ever seen.”

They take turns hanging ornaments, selecting the perfect spot for each until every last one is on its designated branch. Gale helps Bucky here and there when his fingers won’t cooperate, and sometimes Bucky does it all on his own, small little victories. Some of their ornaments are just collections of colorful bulbs from department stores, bought when they brought home their first Christmas tree and realized they had nothing to put on it. But they have personal ones, too. Some are air and space themed, planets and planes and bulbs painted with constellations. Then there’s ornaments from places they’ve visited, like a turtle from Honolulu with a pineapple wrapped in Christmas lights on its back, or an Eiffel tower from France. They have reindeer and snowflakes and gingerbread men and a Star Wars ewok in a Christmas sweater. 

Bucky is balancing on his good leg, focusing hard on placing the ewok on a branch on the side of the tree, when he realizes that Gale isn’t beside him anymore. Once he manages to get the metal hook secured, he looks over at the box, where he finds Gale kneeling on the floor. He’s staring at Bucky with a funny expression on his face, eyes a little glassy, and he’s biting at his lower lip.

“You okay?” Bucky asks.

Gale blinks, and he seems to realize all of a sudden that Bucky is looking at him. He rubs a hand over his eyes and nods. “Yeah. Yeah. All good.”

You’re here, he wants to say. You’re here, decorating our Christmas tree. Your leg is broken and you can barely stand and your fingers won’t work and sometimes you forget where you are but you’re here and for a while, I didn’t think… didn’t dare to hope…

You’re here. 

It stopped him cold. Because just for a second, he couldn’t quite believe Bucky was standing in front of him, putting an ornament on a tree. It made him feel sick and sad and so incredibly happy at the same time and there was nowhere for that emotion to go. But he can’t say that.

There’s no words for that. It’s something you can’t know unless you’ve lost someone. Unless you’ve come too damn close to losing someone.

It’s something Gale knows too well. Has known for too long. Feels too deeply.

But he’s never found the words.

Bucky can’t move real well on his own, so he holds his hand out, and Gale stands up to take it. He steps in close until they’re toe to toe, a single breath being shared between them. It’s so natural for Bucky to put his hands on Gale’s hips, where they belong, but for once, it’s his turn to wrap his arms around Gale’s neck, needing the support to stay standing. Gale’s hands easily find Bucky’s waist, and it feels backward, but it feels good. Safe. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas is playing, and Bucky starts swaying, taking Gale with him until they’re dancing in their living room.

It’s starting to get dark outside, and the lights on the tree glow and reflect in the window, sending dancing, twinkling golden specks across Gale’s eyes. It smells like pine. Like home on Christmas morning. Bucky lets his head fall tiredly against his husband’s shoulder, lets the warmth overwhelm him as he nuzzles against his neck. 

Gale’s smooth voice softly, delicately blends with the music. “So hang a shining star upon the highest bough, and have yourself a merry little Christmas now…”

When the song ends, the energy is sapped from Bucky’s body, but he feels more at peace than he has in months. Gale leans down to pick up the last ornament, a Christmas tree shaped frame with a picture of the two of them. He delicately slips it onto a branch. “There’s something missing,” he observes, even though he knows full well what it is.

Bucky is typically the one to put the star on top, but he frowns down at it when Gale hands it to him. His eyes flick down to his leg and then back to his unsteady hands. “Buck…”

“You can do it,” Gale insists. “I’ll help. Come on.”

He shifts so he’s behind Bucky, his chest pressed to Bucky’s back, and he holds him steady with a firm arm around his middle. His other hand lays over top of Bucky’s, guiding him, and together, they lift the star onto the top of the tree. 

—

Bucky kneels down in the alien regolith, his knees crashing unceremoniously to the surface, and, carefully, he scoops up a small, peculiarly shaped moon rock. Lifting it closer to his face, he inspects it through the glass of his helmet. He’s suddenly glad he decided to take this extra hundred or so yard trek away from the rover in which they drove out to the middle of nowhere. The middle of nowhere meaning far enough away from Starship that he really hopes said rover doesn’t break down or some shit way out here. He can see the lander rising in the distance, but it would likely take too much oxygen to walk all the way back.

“You think we got enough?” Curt’s voice buzzes over the coms, and Bucky looks up, searching for the other astronaut. He’s met with nothing but the horizon and long, dark shadows peeling off the craters in the distance. He can see the Earth, perpetually rising over the lunar south pole. Even from way out here, he can make out the browns and greens of the continents, the white, wispy weather systems looping in seemingly random yet surprisingly predictable patterns around the planet’s curvature.

“Comin’ up behind you,” Curt clarifies, and Bucky can hear him grunting as he tries to navigate the rocky terrain around them.

Rather clumsily, Bucky turns in a half circle, nearly tripping over a divet in the grainy surface. He clutches the rock in his gloved hand. Their second full day on the moon, and he still isn’t used to the one-sixth gravity or the awkward way of moving, even after months and months of training for it. He retracts his gold-coated radiation-blocking visor when he sees Curt bunny-hopping toward him, carrying the scooper that they’ve been using to collect rock samples. Bucky is carrying a large sack that they’ve been dumping the bigger rocks into. Their materials for smaller soil samples were left on the rover so they could do a more thorough pedestrian survey.

“What, tired of pickin’ up hunks of rock?” Bucky asks. He opens up the bag so Curt can dump a few more into it. They look to be mostly anorthosite, though they’ve also found a lot of what Mission Control calls breccias, rocks made of other rocks that were smashed together during meteoroid impacts. 

“‘M tired of you wanderin’ off with the fuckin’ bag.” Curt bumps Bucky’s shoulder. “Get your head on this planet.”

“Moon ain’t a planet,” Bucky retorts. He shoves the bag forward. “You hold it then.”

Gale: “Surface crew, be advised, you have about two hours of oxygen left.”

Bucky: “Copy, angel.

Bucky looks down at the rock cradled in his palm. Curious, Curt crowds against his side and peeks over, so close their helmets bump.

Curt: “Oh so your head definitely isn’t on this planet.”

Bucky: “Fuckin’ shut it.”

Curt: “Buck, be advised, your husband-”

Bucky: “I said shut it, smartass.”

Curt holds up his hands, but Bucky can see the sassy grin on his face.

Curt: “Geez, sorry, commander.”

Bucky shoves him playfully, amused by the lack of force it takes to make Curt stumble back in this microgravity. Rolling his eyes, he keeps the rock clutched in his hand as he heads for the rover.

He’s nearly there, headed toward one of those eerie, long shadows and the rover parked just in front of it, when he blinks, and the world changes somehow.

It’s dark. Bucky looks around, his boots sliding in the fine, dry soil. He can see streaks of sun illuminating the ground far, far away. Wasn’t he just over there? How did he get so deep in the shadows?

Gale: “Major Egan, be advised, you have about 75 minutes of oxygen left.”

Bucky squints, trying to see ahead of himself. He presses the button of his flashlight, smacks it. Why won’t it turn on? “Curt?” He starts walking in the direction he’s facing. He can’t even see where he’s going. Is he still near the rover?

Blink.

His heart rate is too fast. He needs to control his breathing, or he’s gonna run out of- 

Gale: “Major Egan, be advised… your oxygen…”

Bucky: “Buck? What was that?”

Gale: “John? Are you there?”

Bucky: “Gale?”

Silence.

An alarm is sounding in his helmet. He clutches the rock in his palm, finds that it’s gone. When did he lose it? Where did he lose it?

He stops in his tracks and turns in another circle. The slope of the ground beneath his feet is strangely familiar. “Curt?”

Silence. 

Okay. Okay, this is fine. Everything’s fine. 

Blink.

His flashlight flickers to life, and he finds that he’s alone. Somewhere at the base of Shackleton Crater. The ringing in his helmet is getting louder as he unsteadily walks across the slippery rise towards the rover. Something in his brain is screaming at him not to get on it, but he doesn’t see what choice he has, out here in the middle of nowhere, alone and with his oxygen depleting fast. 

Bucky: “Houston? Do you copy?”

Gale: “Can you hear me, Major Egan?”

Bucky: “Yes, yes Buck. Do you copy?”

Gale: “Bucky?... gonna be… just breathe… Bucky?”

Blink.

Bucky feels his lungs constricting. His vision is fading in and out as he turns on the rover. That alarm won’t go away; it’s getting louder, louder, louder.

Gale: “Don’t… the rover… Ple-. John.”

Bucky: “Gale? I can’t hear you.”

Bucky feels like his heart might beat out of his chest with how fast it’s going. He can’t breathe. He can barely see. Where is Curt?

Gale’s voice is ringing in his ear when he feels the impact crush his body into the ground.

If iron can kill a star it sure as hell can kill you. A supernova in the dark.

“John, darlin’, come on, sweetheart. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Bucky’s eyes snap open with a gasp so deep that it sends him straight into a coughing fit, withholding oxygen from his lungs until tears stream down his cheeks. Gale’s steady hands help him to sit up, and Bucky grapples to find purchase on his arm, his fingernails scraping fragile skin as he desperately searches for something to hold onto, to ground him. When the coughing subsides, he holds his breath and squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Look at me, John.”

Bucky blinks as Gale tilts his chin up, and their eyes meet in the dim light of the bedside lamp. He feels the weight of gravity holding him down. A full 9.8 meters per second squared. He feels the soft blanket brushing against his bare abdomen. He feels the itchy cast on his right leg, which is throbbing with pain. He feels Gale’s hand brushing back his sweaty hair. He feels the mattress shift as Pepper whines and tries to lay down in between them, and he feels a small, reassuring weight on his hip as she rests her chin on it, watching with wide eyes.

His hand is shaking so bad as he reaches out to her, resting it on her head. Something soft. Something real. “W-What day is it?”

Gale shifts so that he’s pressed close to Bucky’s side, and he pulls him in so he’s laying propped up against his chest. He takes Bucky’s other hand and rubs soothing patterns across his knuckles. “It’s December 23rd. 2:30am. You had a pretty bad dream.”

“Clearly,” Bucky mutters, but he tries to let himself relax. He feels like he can’t move, and everything aches like he got crushed by that rover all over again.

“You feel okay?” Gale asks. Bucky realizes he’s trembling because of how tense he’s holding himself. He tells himself that he will not cry over this, but Gale wipes a tear off his cheek anyway. “You didn’t take the max dose of your meds, so I can get you more if you want. Or maybe some water?”

Bucky shakes his head and more fully tucks himself against Gale, holding as tight as he can to his husband’s hand. “Just stay, please.”

Bucky feels Gale press his lips against the side of his head. “Always.”

—

December 23

A lot of people assume it would be really difficult to sleep in space. In reality, though, the sleep Bucky got on the station was some of the best in his entire life. In zero gravity, there’s not much sense of direction. No real up or down. Close your eyes and you could be facing any which way, so it doesn’t matter what orientation the sleeping bags are in – mostly, they’re upright against the walls of the cabin. They sleep strapped into them so they don’t drift away, and once they get used to the zero G sensation – and the increased sinus pressure and the flashes of EM radiation – having nothing weighing them down feels like sleeping on a goddamn cloud. 

Orion was similarly set up. At least, on their moon-ward bound trip. The trip back Bucky doesn’t remember so well, and what he does remember was rather unpleasant. As for Starship, he couldn’t complain. The hammocks they slept in were the same as those on Orion, except on the moon they had some semblance of gravity to contend with. Bucky and Curt are military men. They’ve slept in worse accommodations, and the quiet of the moon, the darkness of the cabin, made for a pleasant, if eerie, stay. He could look out the window and see the cosmos beyond, stretched out to infinity with constellations sewn together in the fabric of space and time. He could count the stars until he lost his place, until his eyes drifted closed, and he fell asleep knowing that he was exactly where he’d always wanted to be.

If Bucky’s ever had trouble sleeping, it’s been right here on planet Earth.

He yawns as he sits in a chair across from a news reporter in their living room, and it makes his ears ring. He slept terribly last night, isn’t convinced he got even a couple hours of real shut-eye. After that nightmare, he couldn’t sleep. His heart rate was too high and his head was pounding. If he wasn’t in pain, then he was having a coughing fit that had his chest aching and his face burning. Or Gale had to help him stumble to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Or Pepper was moving around too much and making too much noise. Or there was too much goddamn noise in general even though there was nothing but the rustle of leaves outside.

By the time the sun came up, Gale tried to convince Bucky to stay in bed and rest until OT. Bucky had agreed to an interview this morning – his first since splashdown – but Gale insisted they could just reschedule. Bucky was so pissed off, though, that he threw in the metaphorical towel and refused to stay in bed. Now he wishes he’d listened, because the lack of sleep makes absolutely everything worse.

He pushes through the interview with a cocky grin, a level voice, hardly even a cough. It’s easier in the morning. He manages to hide his shaking hands and stay focused. 

He felt a pressing need to let the media see his face. The rhetoric over him going to the moon in the first place – and then over him nearly conking out up there and whose fault it was – was just too damn loud, and he needed to shut it up. So Gale helped him shower and gel back his hair and get dressed in a white t-shirt and a NASA flight jacket. 

He lets the cameraman get shots of his cast, because he isn’t hiding the fact that he got hurt up there – he’s not about to feed those conspiracy theories. He talks openly about his injuries and the TBI. He answers painful questions about what he remembers, what happened, what it was like. He talks about his good memories of the moon, too, trying to remind people of why they’re going. 

“A lot of people are wondering if a new lunar program is too risky,” the interviewer says. “I think we’re all wondering. Is the risk worth it?”

“It is absolutely worth it,” Bucky insists. He watches her glance down at his broken leg, at the way his fingers shake as he grips his knee out of the camera’s view. But he looks right at her. “Sure, space travel is dangerous. We’ve known that since the 50s. But we’ve learned so much. And we have so much to gain-”

“Even at the expense of your life?”

“I’m here ain’t I?” He can see that she isn’t sure what to say. If she should point out the obvious – that he almost wasn’t. So he goes on. “Listen, did this-” he motions to himself – “suck? Yeah, it sucked. But I’d go back. This program is exactly what science and the public need right now; we are doing amazing things. And you know, I’m glad it was me up there, working through these problems.” Bucky rubs a rand over his mouth as he thinks about how he wants to say this.

“You wanna talk about risk?” he asks. “Of all the things that could’ve gone wrong, the thing that did was so small – a bad wheel on a rover. It could happen to any of us here on Earth. It was just… wrong place wrong time. You better believe that NASA’s learned from that. And you better believe the reason I’m here right now, actually functional, is ‘cause I had a top tier crew up there. Curt, man, he saved my life every second of every day. And Rosie, that’s a true professional, right there, keepin’ my ass alive. Alex came in and took over when I couldn’t do my job, and he did it beautifully. My crew, my team on the ground, my husband, I am so lucky to have had such an amazing team working to get me home. And that’s what we do at NASA. We have the best of the best, and we are dedicated to making every mission as successful as possible.”

He takes a deep breath, looks at the interviewer, at Gale, at the camera, back at the interviewer. “And, well, we’ve learned a few lessons. Sure. We learn something new every time we go up, whether it’s to the station or to the moon. And NASA will take those lessons and use them to make expeditions safer for future astronauts.”

The interviewer looks a little taken aback by his answer, in a good way. Like she’s in awe of him, and it fuels his ego just a bit. “And speaking of future astronauts,” she goes on. She glances at Gale, off screen. “The commander of Artemis 4 is Major Gale Cleven, your husband. Do you have any reservations about him going into such a dangerous situation?”

Bucky laughs, and he laughs more when he sees Gale’s raised eyebrow. “Buck? Listen. I mean, sure, he’s my husband. I love him with everything I have. I worry about him all the time. I worried about him when I was the one dyin’. But we both know the risks. We’re astronauts, and we’re Air Force. We’ve been throwin’ ourselves into danger since we met.” He looks away from the reporter, towards Gale. “Buck Cleven is one of the best pilots in the world. And he’s a hell of an astronaut. He’ll get the job done, and I’ll be here for him when he comes home.”

By the time the reporter and cameraman leave, wishing Bucky and Gale happy holidays, Bucky feels like he’s lived through a whole day even though he’s only been awake for a few hours. After having to focus and act like cocky Major John Egan for so long, he completely zones out as Gale helps him get ready to head to occupational therapy – his second appointment in the last week. He hardly even remembers getting in the car, or walking through the door.

He didn’t want the media to see it, but he’s still in the early stages of a healing process that will likely take months. The pain has been slowly receding, but it won’t leave him be. His fine motor control hasn’t improved since he was in the hospital. The brain fog gets better and worse, better and worse, accompanied by mood swings.

He has another appointment for a CT – or is it an MRI? He can never remember which is which – just a few days after Christmas, to see how the TBI is healing. Right now, he isn’t particularly hopeful. He won’t talk to Gale about it, doesn’t want to utter the words aloud, but he’s terrified that he’ll never get better. He’ll be stuck just shy of normal forever, never again to feel a jet’s power in his hands or look down on this Earth from space. 

“John? John, can you hear me?”

“Bucky?”

Bucky blinks, and he sees his OT across from him, staring at him in worry over top of their current activity set-up – a bunch of objects of varying sizes on the table and a small basket to his right. Gentle fingers are stroking his hair back. 

He looks down at his hand, clasped firmly in someone else’s. Wonders why his fingers aren’t shaking anymore. “You with me, sweetheart?” The second voice says.

Gale. It’s Gale. 

Bucky tries to squeeze Gale’s hand back, but he can’t get his muscles to work right. He glances up at his husband, who looks just as worried as the OT as he kneels beside Bucky. “There you are.”

Bucky frowns and pulls his hand away. “Sorry,” he mutters.

The OT smiles at him. Too perky. “No worries, hon. It’s normal.”

Bucky is tired of hearing that. Because nothing about any of this is normal. But he sighs and nods, because it’s not worth fighting. He looks at Gale. “I’m alright,” he tells him. Gale looks skeptical, but he kisses Bucky’s cheek before returning to his seat in the corner of the room, where he’s been observing. Every once in a while the OT has him come over to show him how to help Bucky work on these skills at home. 

She reaches across the table now and puts her hand over Bucky’s. His fingers are shaking again even though he isn’t even trying to do anything with them. “I just need you to focus for a little while longer.” 

He nods again, stifling a yawn. “Yeah,” he says. Even though, right now, he’d rather do literally anything other than this, fighting with his brain and body to accomplish something as simple as squeezing a piece of putty or writing his name on a whiteboard. 

But she told him when they started: these simple tasks are the first hurdles on his road back to the cockpit. “You will fly again,” she promised. “But this is where we start.”

Bucky doesn’t understand how she can be so certain. He’s always been a cocky son of a bitch; at least, that’s what people tell him. So why doesn’t he feel cocky now?

But no matter how badly he just wants to crawl back into bed and hide from the world, the words of Gene Kranz echo in his head: “Failure is not an option.” They have guided him his whole life, and he isn’t about to let them go now.

He picks up one of the objects. It’s a square building block, the biggest on the table and the easiest to grasp. His hand shakes, his brain too exhausted even for this, but he manages to drop the block into the basket. Then a stress ball made to look like the Earth. Into the basket. Then he picks up a small toy jet, not even as long as his hand, and his fingers struggle to wrap around the textured plastic. 

But he can see the pattern in these objects, the subtle way the OT is trying to keep his mind on the prize, and he takes a deep breath, grits his teeth, focuses with all of his energy on gripping the toy. In his head, he can’t let this plane fall before it reaches its target. Can’t let it tumble out of the sky. 

—

By the time they leave the outpatient clinic, Bucky isn’t feeling much like holiday cheer, no matter how many festive decorations they put up in the lobby. He’s on crutches today, with his balance and strength slowly improving, but he’s starting to feel overwhelming fatigue set into his whole body. The world feels off-kilter around him, and he has to focus too hard on each step. Gale stays right by his side as they make the slow, slow progress back to the car.

Bucky slumps in the passenger seat, not even complaining when Gale reaches over to buckle his seat belt for him. As tired as he is, though, he notices when they don’t turn the right way to go home. “Um. Buck?”

“We have another stop to make.” Gale doesn’t even take his eyes off the road.

Bucky thinks about the road they’re on. The direction they’re going. “No. No, Buck. No.”

“I just need to grab something from my office. We’ll be in n’ out.”

“I don’t wanna go there.”

Gale sighs. “You can’t avoid it forever, John.”

Bucky scowls and crosses his arms. His eyes flick over to Gale before he looks away, out the passenger side window. “Haven’t even been home from the hospital for two damn weeks.”

“Usually nothing can keep you away. Remember, I had to beg you to come home for dinner.” Gale stops short of saying before our wedding. He doesn’t want to fight right now.

“That was before.”

“So?”

Bucky clenches his jaw, digging into the way it makes his head hurt the harder he does it. “I’m kinda fuckin’ broken right now,” he points out, motioning to his leg and his head, waving his useless fucking hands. “Did you forget? Don’t really think they’re expectin’ me at work.”

“It’s not just work, Bucky,” Gale says, his voice level despite his frustration. Bucky, admittedly, has always admired that: Gale’s ability to sound calm even when Bucky himself is being a prick. “It’s your family.”

They don’t speak the rest of the drive.

“This is Mock-up,” Bucky observes, unimpressed, as Gale slows down approaching the parking lot for a large, warehouse-like building. The lot is mostly empty two days before Christmas.

“Benny left some files in there. Asked me to grab ‘em.” Gale glances over. “Wanna come in? They’ve got the HALO module set up. Not complete, but it’s kinda surreal.”

The hint of excitement that creeps into his voice makes Bucky’s heart a little lighter. His husband has done little but worry and fuss over him the past two weeks. There’s something here that feels “normal,” whatever that even means for them. And Bucky’s glad Gale has that. Really, he is. But it’s also the antithesis of everything Bucky’s brain is feeling right now.

He shakes his head, closes his eyes and sighs as Gale puts the car in park. “Not today.”

It took some convincing, but in the last week, Gale has finally started spending more time at work, catching up on training protocols, reorienting himself to Artemis 4 in the wake of 3. He never stays the whole day, but he’s trying to find that sense of normal, even as neither of them know if or when it will come. He insisted on taking off today to take Bucky to occupational therapy, and yet here they are anyway. At the space center. 

The place Bucky has been avoiding. Gale may be chasing normalcy, but Bucky can barely stand to think about the Center right now. He thinks about the mission enough, that’s for damn sure. Gale has offered to bring him a couple of times, but Bucky always says no. He isn’t ready, even just to visit. He can’t walk, for fuck’s sake. He still has a lingering cough and was still sick up until late last week. His brain still gets all weird and he can’t even buckle his own seatbelt. He’s rather useless, really. 

He can’t stand the idea of being here, when absolutely nothing about him is up to those NASA standards that landed him here in the first place. He can’t stand to be here when he doesn’t know if he’ll ever make it back. They wouldn’t let him go, he knows that. If nothing else they’ll stick him at a desk, make him a flight controller, maybe put him in some directorship role. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

But John Egan wasn’t born to sit at a desk.

Gale unbuckles his seatbelt. “Are you sure?”

“Didn’t wanna be here at all,” Bucky mutters. The idea of seeing the vehicle mock-ups fills him with some drifting sense of anxiety that he can’t get a grip on. Part of him thinks that if he could just see them, he’d feel better. If he could just run his hands over Orion’s hull. Wander through Gateway. Feel the awe of what they’ve done here, what they’re doing… maybe everything would feel okay.

Or maybe it would send him spiraling.

Gale nods quietly, trying to hide his frown, and Bucky has half a mind to feel bad at the attitude he’s giving his husband when he’s done absolutely nothing wrong. “I’ll be back in five minutes,” Gale tells him. Then he opens the car door, steps out, and Bucky watches him walk toward Building 9, leaving him alone in the car with Christmas music playing softly on the radio.

Ever since they started pre-launch quarantine, Bucky has been with at least one other person at almost all times. Since he survived re-entry, there’s always someone watching over him, trying to help him, making sure he’s comfortable, that he’s okay, that he’s still alive. Sometimes he finds himself just wishing everyone would leave him be. 

And yet, being left alone never feels as satisfying as he thinks it might. Usually, it just makes him feel on edge, unsafe. He doesn’t get why. He never once had an issue with being alone before Artemis. But since he came home, every time he finds himself left to his own devices, he feels hollow, dizzy… scared, maybe. And now isn’t any different. His leg hurts from all the activity today. He has a headache. He misses Gale the moment he’s out of the car and wishes he’d just gone in with him.

He picks up his phone, and he tries to choose some social media app to scroll through, but his fingers shake, his muscles and brain too exhausted from therapy, and it makes him grit his teeth in anger as he reminds himself not to violently throw solid objects in his husband’s car. Instead, he unthinkingly slams the phone down on his leg, sending ripples of pain through it that make him scream “Fuck!” into the void of this lonely, empty parking lot.

He hates this. He knows he should be grateful for his life. He should be grateful that he came away with so few permanently debilitating injuries and symptoms. He knows he should be grateful for all the people who have worked tirelessly to keep him alive, for his crew and his husband and the flight controllers and the hospital staff… He has so much to be fucking grateful for. 

But he just wants to be Major John “Bucky” Egan again – carefree, limitless, adrenaline junky, wild child. One of NASA’s favorite pilots.

He wants to be the man who put humanity back on the moon. Not the man who almost died on the moon.

He wants all of the pain and the fear to stop. He wants everyone to stop worrying about him. He wants to stop worrying about himself. He wants to stop feeling too much and too little at the same time all the damn time. He wants… Fuck…

Chalk it up to a bad day. A bad night. This is just what happens when he doesn’t get enough sleep right now. Yet another thing that the doctors tell him is “normal.”

Michael Bublé’s voice comes on over the radio, low and soothing. I’ll Be Home For Christmas. Please have snow and mistletoe… And presents on the tree… 

It reminds Bucky of Gale, and he turns up the volume. He remembers Gale singing this song to him in the hospital, one of his first truly lucid moments here on Earth. There’s something warm about it, and also something haunting. He stares out the window at the massive building in front of him. The vehicle mock-up facility.

God, Bucky feels like he’s spent a whole lifetime in there. Training to go to space. To the moon. He logged hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of hours in that Orion sim, running through every possible situation they could encounter.

He remembers one day, early this year, when they were in there for hours. Gale, Benny, and Helen were running the sim for the four crew members, and they were absolutely crushing them, sending them into impossible situation after impossible situation. Bucky, Curt, Rosie, and Alex were all exhausted, half delirious probably. But they wouldn’t give up. Just kept on going, insisting they needed to “run it again, run it again.” 

They were over their scheduled time, but at JSC, what the lunar crew wants, the lunar crew gets. So they kept on going. “Don’t you think you oughta take a break boys?” Gale asked them through the coms.

“Fuck no,” Curt responded, taking the words right out of Bucky’s mouth. “We ain’t leavin’ ‘til we start actin’ less like a buncha kids playin’ spaceman and more like we belong here.”

“Don’t even think about throwin’ somethin’ easy at us,” Bucky added. 

Before the CAPCOMs could start up a new sim, though, Marge came in, pulling Gale aside. Bucky could hear it through the coms. He was flaking on his scheduled interview, she told Gale. The crew wanted to run more sims, he replied. They went back and forth, bickering like siblings, as the whole crew stifled laughs inside the mock-up. Finally, Gale agreed to give the reporters waiting outside a moment of his time, staying silent when Marge reminded him that he’d already agreed to it days ago.

“Bucky, how’s it feel to know that your fiance’s already got a wife?” Alex teased. 

“Pretty sure Marge wears the pants in that relationship,” Rosie chuckled. 

Bucky reached behind him and threatened to sock both of them in the face. 

“Well fellas,” Gale’s voice cut in. “Let’s see if you’re laughin’ in thirty minutes.” They could hear as he gave Benny and Helen instructions. “Run them through scenario 22C. If they’re not done with that by the time I’m back, they need to do some serious review of their spacecraft if they wanna be home before Christmas.”

“Don’t worry, angel, I’ll be home for Christmas,” Bucky reassured him, smiling as he settled back into his seat. In exaggerated tones, he started to sing, “You can plan on me…”

Fuck, he misses those days. When they were all so cocksure, on the precipice of making history. He felt lighter, then. Now, he doesn’t even know how he feels. When he feels fine, he feels good. When he feels low, he feels fucking low. Like he’s scraping at the sides of a hole in the ground, trying to climb back out. Like he fell into Shackleton crater instead of down it.

The world around him feels a little blurry now, and he squints his eyes as his ears ring, some feeling of nausea rising up in his stomach. 

Gotta be home for Christmas. 

Promised to be home for Christmas. 

Not gonna be home for Christmas. 

The pieces of what happened in Starship don’t fit together right. The border between conscious or unconscious was so blurry. Alive or dead. Dead or dying. Wanting to live or wanting everything to stop. 

But for some reason, that moment in the sim broke its way through the haze one day. Or night. Or somewhere in between. Don’t worry, angel. I’ll be home for Christmas.

And all Bucky could do was lay there, half alive, knowing he needed to wake up wake up wake up but he couldn’t. His brain wouldn’t focus. But through the pain and the fog, the understanding that he probably wouldn’t make it home to his husband for the holidays after all rang in his ears with a deafening volume that sent what was left of him spiraling into panic until he couldn’t feel any of it anymore. 

He remembers Curt’s voice cutting through, drifting like mist around him. “His heart rate is spiking… oh god, what the fuck…”

And then Bucky was gone again, flickering out like dying starlight. I’m sorry, angel

He distinctly remembers knowing that he was about to die. 

“Hey, hey now.” Bucky is startled back to reality by a hand on his cheek, a thumb stroking away a tear he didn’t realize even fell. “What’s wrong?”

He blinks, feels more unshed tears force their way between his eyelashes. His body doesn’t feel right. His head. He looks out the window, finds the SVMF staring back at him, not the lunar landscape. 

Christmas music is still playing. He looks at Gale, can’t remember him getting back in the car. Why can’t he remember him getting back in the car? Surely he should’ve noticed. He looks back out the window, trying to sort it out, but his brain won’t work right and he doesn’t understand what just happened. 

He can’t breathe. His chest feels fluttery, his limbs somehow disconnected from the rest of his body, like he’s floating. But he’s on Earth. In a car. At JSC. He’s not in space. He’s not in space not in space not in-

His face feels hot. 

He needs oxygen. Why can’t he breathe? 

“You’re alright, darlin’, look at me. Come on, look at me.”

Gale’s voice is steady, but Bucky can hear the subtle trace of nerves winding through it. “Look at me,” he says again. So Bucky does, and the way Gale smiles at him, relief and worry mixing together, starts to clear the noise swarming in his head. “There you are,” Gale whispers. “Take a breath, okay?”

Bucky parts his lips, tries to say that he can’t. But Gale takes his hand and presses it to his own chest, takes a deep breath in, out. “Feel that?”

Bucky nods. 

“Good. Now breathe in with me.” He feels Gale’s chest rise beneath his hand, and, shakily, he draws breath into his own lungs. Because he’s alive. On Earth. With his husband. 

Christmas is in two days. He made it. He fucking made it. 

“There we go,” Gale is saying, and Bucky’s senses start to calm down. They breathe together, in, out, in, out, for what feels like ages. “Feel okay?” Gale asks.

Bucky nods. “Yeah.” He looks away from Gale, pulling his hand away from his chest but letting their fingers lock together. “I just… I dunno. I get lost… up there. Sometimes. I-“ he shakes his head. 

“It’s alright,” Gale tries to say. He’s been good about not pushing Bucky to talk when he doesn’t want to. 

But Bucky needs to say certain things. Talking is supposed to help or some shit like that. “No. I just… I promised you I’d be home for Christmas, y’know?” He laughs shakily to calm his nerves. “There was a point, on Starship, when I didn’t think...”

Gale stays quiet as he looks out through the windshield, his face giving nothing away even as his stoic, silent expression says everything anyone needs to know. Bucky looks down at his lap, letting his words hang suspended inside the car, their echo mixing with Have a Holly Jolly Christmas on the radio. He tries to curl his fingers into a fist, stretches them back out, watches them shake. They both know there was almost a reality, just millimeters to the side of this one, where Gale would’ve spent Christmas grieving. Where Bucky made him a widower.

One where not a single Christmas decoration adorned their house and Benny and Marge had to drag Gale out of bed, hold him up even as he tried to tear the world down, hold him tight when he didn’t think he’d ever be whole again. 

There’s no words for that. There’s so. many. almosts. It still makes both of their blood run cold, drives both of them to a fearful, grateful silence, stops them short at even the most mundane parts of their day. And there’s no words.

So Gale just nods, squeezes Bucky’s hand tight. They’re here now. It’s Christmas. Those almosts, they don’t matter. They can’t matter, even when they try to matter with all their might. Gale glances over with a wobbly, barely-there smile that grounds Bucky to this planet, calms the storm, reins in the tides. It doesn’t fix everything, but it makes this moment easier. “Come on,” he says. And he puts the car in drive. 

—

When they park in front of the astronaut office building, there’s significantly more cars filling the lot. Gale turns off the car, unbuckles his seat belt, then reaches over and unbuckles Bucky’s. Bucky glances over at him. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Gale sighs, looks down at his lap, and runs a hand through his hair. Bucky knows he’s been less than cooperative since they left the house. He started the morning by refusing to eat breakfast, refusing to talk about anything that was bothering him, and after the interview, Gale basically had to carry him to the car because he didn’t want to go to OT. But no matter what, Gale isn’t giving up here.

“Please just come in with me.”

Bucky slouches down and crosses his arms over his chest. “Why?”

“Cause I’m asking you to.”

Bucky frowns. “Buck.”

“Bucky.”

Bucky works his jaw and rolls his eyes like the petulant child he’s pretending to be. But he meets Gale’s eyes, sincere and hopeful and just as tired as his own, and he feels the fight leave his body. “Fine.”

Gale nods, opens the door, and asks, “Do you want the crutches or the chair?” Both are stowed away in the back. 

“Might fall over if I have to use the crutches for another minute.”

He doesn’t know what he expects, walking back into JSC for the first time since the day he left for quarantine back in October, but they don’t get far before he realizes that Gale needing to get something from his office was a load of bullshit. And yet, no matter how much he’s been actively avoiding everyone in his life, Bucky can’t deny that seeing them all lifts his spirits, at least a little.

The lobby of the building is filled with holiday decor and NASA personnel wearing Santa hats, but the banner strung across the wall says “CONGRATULATIONS ARTEMIS III” and the massive sheet cake on a table to the side has their crew photo plastered on top of it. Behind it are four large portraits displayed on easels – their Artemis portraits, to replace their ISS ones. The entirety of Mission Control is here. Every single person who kept Artemis III online, kept Bucky alive. He spots his crew, all three of them, chatting with Harding and Croz and Benny. 

“What the fuck?” Bucky whispers, and Gale laughs as he wheels him toward the crowd of people. 

Curt spots them, grabs Rosie and Alex, and they start heading for Bucky and Gale. “There he is!” Curt exclaims. “Our commander.” He gently shoos Gale away, taking over the job of pushing Bucky himself as Rosie and Alex flank him on either side.

“What is this?” Bucky asks.

“Our party,” Curt tells him, like it’s obvious. “We never got our welcome home celebration, since you had the nerve to almost die and all.” 

“Attention everyone!” Alex calls out. “Please welcome home, from the brink of death and the expedition of a lifetime, Mission Commander, Major John Egan!”

The upset from just minutes ago starts to melt away as Curt brings Bucky to a stop, and everyone in front of them raucously applauds. Four crew members stand – or sit – in a line; Alex, Curt, Bucky, Rosie. American astronauts. American heroes.

“Thank you, thank you,” Bucky calls out, waving his hands in the air like a king addressing his subjects. “I know how devastated you all would’ve been to lose your best pilot.”

Everyone laughs, even though the memory, the fear, the dread of losing Bucky Egan is still fresh in their minds. The almost. The what if. It’s something that he would’ve said before, too, over far more trivial things. Something normal.

“But it’s Christmas,” Bucky goes on. “I’m alive. We had a hell of a mission, and we’ll have many more! So let’s fuckin’ celebrate.”

Cheers go up around the room, and Bucky’s crewmates clap him on the shoulder and ruffle his hair. Chick ducks through the crowd to get to him, and Bucky finds himself looking up at this man who he’s looked up to for years, who gave him this dream life to run with, who John and Gale have come to see as family. 

“Hey Chick, you comin’ over for Christmas?” Bucky asks as the man puts a hand on his shoulder. Somewhere behind the wheelchair, one of the crew members – Bucky thinks Rosie purely by how gentle the hands are – puts a Santa hat on his head, and Bucky has to shove the pom pom at the end out of his face.

Chick nods. “You can count on it. Wouldn’t miss your wife’s cooking for anything.” Bucky can’t help but laugh, a real, bubbling, joyous laugh that surprises him after the day he’s had. Chick chuckles, too, and he leans down to wrap Bucky in a half hug. “Welcome home, son,” he says quietly. “Can’t tell ya how glad I am to see you back here.”

Bucky’s heart lurches, caught off guard by the emotion those words stir in him, and he finds himself hugging Chick back, holding on tight.

He thought he was home when he landed in the Pacific, blue skies and sunlight above. He thought he was home when Gale wrapped him in his arms, warm and strong and safe. He thought he was home when he rolled through the front door of his house, when he saw Pepper again for the first time.

He thought he was home already. But turns out there was still a missing piece.

He looks around at his friends, his chosen family, gathered in the astronaut office building of Johnson Space Center, celebrating him and his mission. He looks at his Artemis portrait, at how happy and competent he seems. He looks at the spaceflight photographs and astronaut portraits adorning the walls all around him. A history of spaceflight – a history of everything he ever wanted to do and be – and he can’t believe he was scared to come back here.

Because now, really, he’s home.

—

December 25

John gets a full night of sleep on Christmas Eve. Doesn’t even wake up until Pepper is standing on his chest, licking his cheek, wondering why the hell he’s still in bed. His alarm clock, which hasn’t been set since he’s been home, says 7:30am. Bright morning sunshine is streaming through the window. 

It takes him a moment to realize it’s Christmas. It never really feels like it when he wakes up down here; he misses the snow. The cold. He misses waking up on Christmas morning to a blanket of white, teasing Gale for being wrapped head to toe in a blanket on top of his sweats.

“Buck?” Bucky groggily looks over to the other side of the bed, shoving Pepper away. But other than her, it’s empty. 

“Gale?” He calls out again, kicking the blanket off with the foot he’s capable of moving. He grunts as he sits up, seething through his teeth as he tries to get his broken leg off the bed. He feels a strange, unbidden sense of panic rising in his chest as he realizes he’s alone. “Gale?”

He eyes the crutches resting against the wall by his nightstand, just barely out of his reach, and Pepper whines, like she’s warning him: don’t do it. 

His husband clearly knows him too well, because he comes barreling through the door, sliding on the hardwood in his socks with a spatula still in hand, eyes wild and worried. He’s wearing Bucky’s Yankees sweatshirt, and it’s dusted with flour. “Stop right there,” he commands, pointing the spatula at Bucky. 

Bucky freezes as he’s leaning over, reaching for the crutches. He looks at Gale, and he laughs at the messy morning baker look he has going on. The panic instantly drifts away. Gale motions with the spatula, telling him to sit back down. Bucky puts his hands up and watches as Gale calmly walks around the bed, grabs the crutches, and hands them to him. Then he helps Bucky climb laboriously to his feet and get the crutches positioned under his arms. 

“Good?” he asks. 

Bucky nods. Good enough to get out of the bedroom at least. “Are you making pancakes?”

“Feel up to it?”

Bucky is very, very up to it. Last time he had pancakes, he still couldn’t eat without getting sick, but his appetite has been coming back, and holiday pancakes sound like the best idea Gale’s ever had. They eat on the couch with the TV turned to one of those channels that shows a Christmassy fireplace all morning and plays Christmas music in the background, and they argue about the best pancake flavors and toppings and whether or not butter is necessary if you use syrup. Gale went all out while Bucky slept, apparently, and Bucky is shocked he didn’t wake up to all the noise he surely made in the kitchen. There’s plain pancakes and blueberry and chocolate chip and banana. Three flavors of syrup and fruit to top it all off. It’s too many pancakes for them to even eat, but Gale didn’t know which kind Bucky would want this morning – he has a new decided favorite every time they make them – so he just made it all.

Bucky could kiss him. And he does, lips sticky and sweet with syrup and blueberries.

Gale even made a mini pancake that he tears into pieces and feeds to Pepper when they’re done. She eagerly licks each piece from between his fingers before trying to get at the leftover syrup on his plate, and he has to shove her away. As he stands to clean up, though, Bucky reaches his hands up and waves them insistently until Gale reaches back down to haul him to his feet.

“What?”

Bucky smiles and pecks him on the lips, their noses bumping. Then he kisses him again, clutching onto him for balance as he presses closer and closer and gently bites at Gale’s lower lip.

“Hey now,” Gale whispers.

“What?” Bucky asks innocently. Another kiss. Deeper. Gale tastes like chocolate and maple syrup. Bucky grips his soft hair between his fingers as best he can. “Thanks for breakfast,” he breathes.

Gale smiles against his lips. “Merry Christmas.”

They’ve had gifts stacked under the tree for a few days now, Gale having finally gotten around to wrapping Bucky’s, once he was sure he’d be able to give them to him after all. Bucky had to ask Marge to help wrap Gale’s – otherwise, they all would’ve been stuffed haphazardly into gift bags since his fingers fumbled too much with the wrapping paper and scotch tape. They open them after breakfast, throwing crumpled wrapping paper at each other or kissing each other silly in thanks in between. For Bucky, there’s a 2025 Yankees World Series sweatshirt, a baseball signed by Aaron Judge, whiskey glasses that say I went to the fuckin’ moon, and a few new vinyls for their record player. For Gale, there’s a new flight jacket, new headphones for his morning runs, a fancy travel mug, and plane tickets. “We’re gonna go on our honeymoon,” Bucky tells him. “I know it’ll be over a year overdue, but when you come home from Artemis 4, we’re gettin’ outta here, doll. You and me.”

Gale hugs him tight, tucking his face against Bucky’s neck, and he doesn’t let go for a long time.

Finally, there’s a gift from Marge that she tucked in among the others when she came by to help Bucky the other day. Framed prints of some of their favorite wedding photos – their first look, the moment before their kiss, Pepper crashing it, and their first dance. They stare at those photos just as long as they did the first time, and for just a moment they can almost – almost – believe that they’re just typical, run-of-the-mill newlyweds, nothing special other than the fact that they see the whole world in one another.

Even Pepper gets presents, spoiled almost as much as a real child. She gets treats and bones and several new toys. There’s a new frisbee that Gale tells her they’ll play with later in the backyard. And there’s a new stuffed cow squeaky toy that he gives her immediately. He even gets down on the floor to wrestle and tug with her, mimicking her playful growling noises and making Bucky laugh as they make even more of a mess of the shreds of wrapping paper scattered about.

Once all their presents are open, they sit surrounded by the carnage. The fireplace is still on TV, and Pepper lays in front of the tree gnawing on a new bone while Gale sits on the floor in front of the couch, his head resting against Bucky’s leg. 

“Hey,” Bucky says. He’s idly playing with Gale’s hair, but he lets go as Gale tilts his head and flicks his eyes up towards Bucky, even though he can’t really see his face. Something about it makes Bucky’s heart flutter; they’ve been together nearly half their lives, and these little moments still make him feel warm and nervous and so, so lucky. “I have something else for you.”

“Oh?” 

Bucky nods. “A couple things, actually. They’re on the shelf in the closet. In the corner behind my briefcase.”

Gale narrows his eyes skeptically, but he slowly, reluctantly gets up and walks to their bedroom, his socked feet shuffling tiredly on the hardwood floor. “Be careful,” Bucky warns. “They’re fragile.”

Gale comes back with two square boxes, neither one wrapped. The larger one is about eight inches wide and covered in protective fabric. The other… is a ring box.

“You do know we’re married, right?” Gale asks. “Or did the TBI affect your memory that much?”

“Thought we said it was too soon for jokes,” Bucky shoots back. He motions for Gale to set both boxes on the coffee table and sit beside him. “Now, I know we’ve talked a lot, since I’ve been back. About, y’know, what happened. And feelings and shit. But, before you open them, I just… I need to say it again.”

He takes a deep breath and coughs weakly when it aggravates his chest. Gale takes his hand, and it makes Bucky feel stronger even as it makes the words harder. It’s Christmas, and he desperately doesn’t want to bring the mood down, but he needs to say this in order for everything to make sense the way it should. The way he wants it to. “When I was up there,” he starts, focusing on keeping his voice measured. He looks Gale in the eye. “I thought about you every day. Constantly. And not just ‘cause you were on the other side of the coms. I meant what I said in my vows. I went to the fuckin’ moon, but marryin’ you was the best thing I ever did. And not just ‘cause I got hurt real bad up there either… I really do think you kept me alive, Gale. And, I dunno, I-I can’t help but think that I should’ve died. I th-thought I was gonna die. I was so sure…”

He breathes slowly, carefully, forces himself to smile, tells his heart to calm down, and he tilts his head like a nervous tick. Too much emotion and nowhere for it to go. Gale grips his hand tighter, telling him it’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay.

Bucky swallows thickly. “And it’s been hard,” he admits. “It’s been so fuckin’ hard since I’ve been back. And I know it hasn’t been easy for you. I know that. But I am so grateful, too. That I made it home. And I’m grateful to you, every day, even when I don’t say it. So this, uh.” Bucky motions to the two remaining gifts on the table. “It was planned before I even set foot on the moon. But it feels so much more important now.”

Gale opens his mouth to say something back, but Bucky shakes his head. “No, just… can you just open them? The big one first.”

Gale chuckles a little nervously, raising an eyebrow in confusion, but he reaches for the larger box. Bucky tells him to be careful again, leave it on the table and just take off the fabric covering it.

“John,” Gale breathes out as he pulls off the protective cover. He’s so stunned that he pulls his hands away from the display case sitting before him, not wanting to damage it. His lips part again, and he doesn’t even know what to say as he leans over closer to the glass. “This- You brought this-”

Bucky can’t keep the grin from taking over his face, and he nods, satisfied and excited in that giddy kind of way when you know you gave someone the best gift they’ve ever gotten. It mixes with the emotion still filling the air between them, making his voice a little strained as he tries to explain. “It’s a moon rock.”

Gale looks back over at him, eyes wide in wonder. “You found it?”

“Picked it out special for you,” Bucky tells him. It was the only part of his dream the other night that was real, Curt teasing him as he looked down at a perfectly shaped moon rock cradled in his palms. Now sitting in the center of a display case, it’s dark gray in color, and it’s shaped roughly like a heart. When he found it on the surface, he so carefully packaged it up in its own bag, and he labeled it with a sharpie, ignoring every one of their protocols: ‘FOR BUCK CLEVEN FROM HIS HUSBAND.’ 

“It’s amazing,” Gale says, still in complete awe as he studies the rock. That doesn’t even begin to describe what he’s feeling right now, but it’s yet another thing that he finds he doesn’t have the right words for. “How’d you even get it away from NASA?”

“Curt really came through,” Bucky laughs, and that’s all he can say because that is legitimately all he knows. He points to the black velvet box. “Now open the other.”

Gale wants to stare at the moon rock forever, but he picks up the box as instructed. When he flips it open, he quirks an eyebrow. “It is a ring.”

“Pull it out and bring it over here.”

Gale leans back on the couch, letting his weight fall against Bucky’s side, and Bucky wraps an arm over his shoulders. Gale pinches the ring between thumb and forefinger and holds it up so they both can see.

“So, I understand if you’re attached to the wedding band you already have,” Bucky starts to say. “But, see that line?” He points to a mottled dark streak with a glimmering, glittery sort of quality going all around the middle of the silver band, about a third of the width of the entire ring. Gale rubs his thumb over it, just like he does to the one already on his finger, and it makes Bucky smile. “It’s an inlay. From that rock.” 

Gale follows Bucky’s finger, which is pointing to the moon rock so casually sitting on their coffee table. Because that’s a typical thing in any American household, right? “How…?”

Bucky shrugs. “Helps to have good contacts at NASA. Had geology take a sample from the rock, and turns out one of their guys does this kinda thing as a side gig. Obviously, usually with things found on Earth.” It also helps to have almost died on the fucking moon; people tend to want to do things to please you after that.

Gale blinks again, staring at the ring. His brain isn’t working right, like he’s short-circuiting. But it’s in a really, really good way, instead of the doomed universe-collapsing feeling that he was experiencing in this living room a month ago.

“Well put it on,” Bucky insists.

Carefully, Gale removes his old wedding band and slips the new one over his knuckle. It fits perfectly. “I… John.” He doesn’t know what to say. 

“I know you’re going to the moon, too,” Bucky tells him. “But I wanted to bring you back something anyways. Somethin’ outta this world for my beautiful wife.” Gale rolls his eyes, but Bucky goes on. “And I know it wasn’t easy for you, startin’ our marriage with me jetting off the planet. God, you started our marriage not sure if you’d ever see me again…”

Gale bites his lip as he hears Bucky choke on the words, but Bucky takes his hand, and he meets Gale’s gaze even though they both feel like tears could well up in their eyes at any moment. “But these missions, they’re a part of us. And I want you to remember the good of it, not just the bad.”

Gale looks at the rock, at the ring. His heart doesn’t know what to do anymore, and he feels like it’s lodged in his throat. He rubs his thumb over the band again, feeling it beneath his skin. A piece of the moon to carry with him. A piece of Bucky. He looks up at his husband, and he sees the depths of the universe in his eyes.

Stardust.

Later today, their house will be full again, with their crew, their friends, Chick, even Maggie and Jane and old Mrs. Mason. But for now, Gale tucks himself against Bucky’s side, and Bucky mindlessly messes with his husband’s fingers as they exist in this moment together. For now, it’s just them and Pepper, sitting on the couch in the comfort of their home on Christmas morning. 

Some semblance of normal. 

A world can shatter. But piece by piece, it can be put back together again. 

I’ll Be Home For Christmas is playing. 

“John?” Gale says. 

“Yeah?”

“I love you.” Gale looks up at Bucky, then down at his ring finger. He twists the new ring around and around until Bucky grabs his hand, lifts it to his mouth and presses a kiss to his knuckles. 

He looks up at Gale as he does so, clear eyes and a soft smile. “I love you,” he says. “To the moon and back.”

---

---

Epilogue

[loveshotzz]

Leighanne’s June Fic Rec’s

inspired by @superblysubpar & @ghost-proofbaby I reblog as much as I can but I’d like to try and do one of these once a month to share some of my favorites. (also these all came out around various times of the year, just some of my faves i think of from time to time.)

all of these writers blogs are 18+ please respect their boundaries and read all their warnings and make sure to go and tell them how much you loved whatever fic by them you read. it truly fuels our creativity knowing people like what we’re doing. i can’t tell you how many times literally one person saying something nice about my writing has made my whole day. I think about your sweet reblogs all the time and re read them on my bad days 💕 and i know other writers do too.

Eddie Munson

@carolmunson - Love Language

@chestylarouxx - Bite Me, Please

@courtingchaos - Braised

@superblysubpar - Might Love Me, Baby

@newlips - That feel good baby? // The Sheep

@abibliophobiaa - Begin Again

@boomhauer - Disjointed

@lilacletter - Eddie listening to you when you get spoken over

@ghost-proofbaby - Summertime & Stardust

@bewilderedbunny - Weed Man

@trashmouth-richie - Best friends Blurb

@myosotisa - I’m starvin’ darlin’

Steve Harrington

@rustedhearts - The King of The Ring

@stevenose - Camboy Steve Series

@carolmunson - Always Something There To Remind Me // PBV!steve series

@superblysubpar - We’ll Call It Love & Summertime Magic - Steve’s story

@sweetsweetjellybean - If Tomorrow Never Comes

@upsidedownwithsteve - A Slow Motion Love Potion

@abibliophobiaa - Beyond

@lilacletter - Keep Trying // It’s golden, like daylight

@dr-aculaaa - Dad!Steve series

@roanniom - The Shift

@usedtobecooler - Alt!reader x king!steve (my request 🥰)

@wroteclassicaly - going crazy for steve’s happy trail

Steddie x Reader

@sweetsweetjellybean - Aftermath

@newlips - dtotd steddie x reader

@upsidedownwithsteve - Something Unholy

@blueywrites - To Know You’re Mine

@lilacletter - invisible string

Gator Tillman

@courtingchaos - Shared Inflicted Pain & the oneshots that follow.

@wroteclassicaly - Gator shows you he owns you

(I’m sure I forgot so many, but there’s always next month. I love all of you so much 💕)

[sakkiichi]

BETTER THAN REVENGE.

you and your ex ended on bad terms. you want revenge. your annoying best friend might be the answer.

ft. Childe x gn! reader.

cw/genre: romance, fake dating, friends to lovers, mild angst, fluff, modern/college au, very brief mention of alcohol consumption.

word count: 2.6k.

i dreamt about this idea months ago, and i thought my first genshin crush’s birthday would be a good day to write it hehe. happy birthday ajax <3

What did you ever see in that asshole, you will never know.

You hate him. Of that, you are certain.

You really tried to put effort into your relationship, made time for him, prioritized him.

It seemed to always go unreturned.

And that much is made clear tonight, the sight of him making out with someone else at this party you don’t even know why you decided to attend, being the last straw.

“We’re done, you jerk.” Are the words you spat at him, throwing the remnants of your drink at your now ex-boyfriend.

You regret it now. Having wasted half a drink, that is.

The music blasting through the speakers is soon replaced by crickets chirping and the night wind ruffling through the trees. You spare a glance at the moon above. Full, its rays seemingly lighting up a liquid silver trail leading to you.

“Leaving so soon?” A familiar, and, might you add, annoying at times, voice questions.

Well, at least it’s better than hearing your ex, you muse to yourself, as you turn around to face your friend.

His ocean blue eyes glimmer in the summer starlight rain, matching the color of his baby blue t-shirt.

A smile makes it to your face. You always loved to steal that one when you had sleepovers.

“Nothing gold can stay, am I right, Ajax?” You retort, a mirthless grin plastered on your moonlit features.

Your friend takes a few steps forward, coming to stand next to you, shoulder playfully bumping against yours.

“I’d rather you stayed, though.” He says, a melancholy smile tugging at his lips.

You close your eyes, a sigh escaping you into the night.

“Let’s just say… I’ve had enough for tonight.” You mutter, exhaustion beginning to catch up to you.

“Anything happen?” Childe asks, ginger strands swaying around his face in the warm zephyr.

You bark a dry laugh, yet all you feel running through your veins is boiling anger.

“Well, I saw that asshole kissing someone else.” You cross your arms over your chest. “So I made it clear we’re done. I also wasted half my drink on that shithead when I spilled it on his face.” You tilt your head to the side. “Pity, that cocktail was much more worth it than him.” You add, matter of factly.

Ajax chuckles. He always liked your unapologetic remarks.

“You really did that?” He laughs. It’s nice, sincere. Then: “He didn’t deserve you anyway.”

“Eh, probably not.” You shrug. “I just really want to piss him off now.”

“Oh?” Your friend’s usually dull marine eyes light up in amusement. “Any ideas?”

“Huh, not yet…” You ponder, worrying your thumbnail between your teeth.

Childe levels his gaze with yours, that impish grin meaning he was up to no good not unlike the edge of the moon above.

“Date me.” He smirks, just like that.

And at that moment, you’re too aware of the heat rising to your cheeks, of the wild pounding of your heart against your ribcage, of the constellations of freckles dotting the bridge of Ajax’s nose. “You know, just as show, to spite him.”

And perhaps it’s the sweet intoxication of your half drunk cocktail, or the way a lake of stardust seems reflected in his eyes, but you find your pinky linked with his before you have half the mind to back off.

“Deal.”

—

On hindsight, perhaps you were impulsive.

Was it really a good idea to involve your best friend in this game of spite?

Readjusting your bag on your shoulder, you walk to your first period class.

Students, some more sleepy than others mill around campus, a collage of headphones on, hands busy on screens and chit chat filling the early morning air.

“Morning, babe.” Are the first words directed at you today, followed by a chaste kiss to your cheek.

“Ajax…” You whisper-shout, frowning, face warming up. “You know you just need to pretend.”

“I’m very aware of that.” He whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear, as his voice lowers a little more. “He’s looking, sweetheart.”

Despite your quickened heartbeat, a devilish grin makes it to your features, arms wrapping around your best friend temporarily turned “boyfriend”.

“Ajax!” You coo, sweetly. “I had missed you so much! Ah! How am I going to endure six hours of class without seeing you?”

The redhead embraces you, arms tightening around your waist, dangerously close to your hipbones. His face buries in the crook of your neck, nuzzling into you, lovingly.

“Good, he just stormed off.” He murmurs, giving your waist a reassuring squeeze.

You smile brightly, luminous eyes meeting his crinkled up ones.

His hand slides into yours, pressing it reassuringly, before you two part, promising to meet afterwards.

Oddly enough, when you sit at the back of the seminar, six hours feel like an eternity.

But, like all things, your classes come to an end, eventually.

Mindlessly scrolling through your phone, you leave the building.

It’s weird, this sensation, though.

You’ve been close with Childe for years, you’ve hugged countless times, slept at each other’s place just as many.

So, why now? Why did you feel all jittery and giddy at his subtle touches just earlier?

Perhaps you’re still shaken from your breakup, as much as you can’t stand your ex.

“Hey there, pretty.”

You look up from your phone to be met with the colors of oceans and sunrises, Ajax’s grinning face centimeters away from yours.

“Childe.” You bluntly greet him. It’s unfair how the early evening sun kisses his skin just right, the light dusting of freckles over his nose and cheeks reminding you of the stars that soon will start decorating the sky. You clear your throat, then:

“You know we just need to look like we’re dating, right? I thought I’d made myself clear.” You don’t know if your statement is more directed at him or at yourself.

“I know,” the ginger smiles, falling in step by your side. “But we need to make it look convincing, don’t we?” He winks, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“You’re insufferable, as always.” You grumble.

And yet, despite no one really being around at the moment, you make no effort to push the man away. And you definitely don’t complain when he switches to your other side, hand lingering on the small of your back, so that you take the innermost half of the sidewalk, away from the cars.

If someone were to ask, however, no, you certainly are not leaning into Ajax’s comforting hold.

—

A few more weeks go by, with most of your free time spent with your “fake boyfriend.”

And as much as you’ve always cherished him, despite his, at times, obnoxious nature, you certainly are confused right now.

What is it you feel for him? You like these newfound moments of shared tenderness between the two, so much that you wish they weren’t fabricated sometimes… What would it be like to love someone truly? To have someone love you?

What do his lips taste like? You wonder, as you have a few more sips of your iced peach juice.

You shake your head. No, you definitely did not think that. Must be the heat, messing with your head, surely.

However, willing fantasy or not, it turns out fate had indeed planned for you to indulge in your cravings.

The door of the establishment opens, the small bell above it signaling the entrance of another customer.

“[Y/n?]” Ajax calls, from the sit across you.

You tilt your head to the side, your redhead friend’s eyes focused on something behind you.

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

“What?” You almost shout, the sound dying down to a whisper the moment his thumb brushes over your lower lip.

“Do you trust me?” He smirks.

“Yes, but-“

“You said yes.” Are Childe’s words before leaning in.

To say he was a good kisser would be an understatement.

His lips on yours feel like a roaring ocean, notes of spearmint and sunshine contained in the secret message in a bottle the waves of him carry. Ajax’s calloused hands cup your jaw, ruddy locks of hair tickling you when he angles his head to the side to deepen the kiss.

You wish this was real.

But would it really be a crime to play your part right now?

Your fingers tangle in his tangerine hued strands, slightly tugging at them as you bring him closer to you.

You don’t care if this is swimming against the current, if you did drown right now, you would go happy.

But because he’d be damned before he let you drown, your best friend pulls away, allowing air back into your lungs.

That’s the very best goddamn kiss you’ve ever been given.

But, alas, sometimes you think “stupid” should be Ajax’s middle name.

When you glance his way, he keeps looking at something beyond you, that shit eating smirk plastered on the lips you want to kiss again.

When you spare a peek over your shoulder, you spot him. Your ex, sitting with some girl, his face ashen as he looks in your direction.

So that’s all this was.

You should have figured, you chide yourself as you fiddle with the straw of your juice.

If you had payed attention, however, you would have noticed a pair of starry blue eyes not leaving you.

—

And after that arrives the day you realize you are screwed.

This was all just supposed to be a make believe charade, not you actually falling for your friend.

Because you can’t deny it anymore; whatever it is Ajax is to you now, it goes way past platonic.

You can’t let these feelings be known. Ever.

But how are you supposed to ignore all of his sweet gestures? His tender touches when holding your hand; the way he remembers your favorite ice cream, smoothie and coffee orders; how he brings you lunch when he ends up cooking too much for his siblings; or the way not only are you stealing his t-shirts on nights you fall asleep at each other’s rooms, but how he now drapes his hoodie over your shoulders, the night breeze uncharacteristically chilly for this time of year.

And that kiss. That goddamn kiss.

And perhaps your last breakup scarred you more than you let on; or maybe you love Ajax too much to keep up this lie with him. But before you can think twice, the words are out of your lips, glacial shards of a broken dream on a midsummer’s night:

“Ajax? Let’s stop doing this.”

Those eyes of his that sparkled in sapphire hues dim again at your statement.

He searches for your gaze, but you won’t look at him.

“Why? Something wrong?” Childe tries for his usual carefree tone, but you know better; the hurt and strained fear in the words he doesn’t speak are clear as day to you.

“Yes! I mean no! I mean…” You sigh. “I don’t think it makes sense anymore.”

In reality, what doesn’t make sense is pretending this relationship of yours is just for show. But you can’t let him know that.

“Got cold feet?” Your friend, or whatever he is now, asks, oceanic gaze glazed over, not a single star reflected in it when he stares skyward.

‘If only you could know’. Is the sentence you don’t let out through bitten lips.

Instead you offer:

“I don’t think this makes sense anymore.” Unconsciously, you adjust his hoodie a little tighter around your figure. “I just- I think I’ve gotten the revenge I wanted. I… I don’t know, I just want to hang out with you again, but honestly, not like this, not for an audience…”

You stop walking, standing a few paces before him.

“We don’t have to do any of this for the public, you know.” Your friend, crush, partner in crime? assures, shortening the distance between you with his long strides.

“But we do.” You sadly whisper, averting your eyes to the side. You can feel wetness pooling on them. Great, just what you needed. “I… I don’t want more fabricated romantic moments, I’ve had enough of love that was never anything to begin with before.” You humorlessly add. “I just, I want the next time I kiss someone or hold their hand… I want it to be real, for it to mean something… and I can’t keep stealing moments like these from you either, Childe.”

Salty droplets start to dye the grey pavement as you keep your eyes glued to it. Everything feels so complicated, so messy…

“I know this was your idea but… I can’t keep-“

“What makes you think it wasn’t real?” Familiar calloused fingers caress your cheeks, gathering the starless wetness sliding down them. “What makes you think you were stealing these moments from me?” Strong arms envelop you, akin to the early morning rays dancing over gentle waves lapping at the seashore. “It was my idea, right? You said it yourself. Why do you think that was?”

“I don’t know!” You sob into his chest. “I guess you were looking for fun, or you wanted to help me…” You wonder, voice a breath away from becoming fragments of a shattered snowglobe.

Ajax chuckles, soft. His hold on you tightens a little. Then:

“You know, sometimes you can be so dumb, [Y/n].” He utters, tone devoid of his usual teasing. “It was my plan, on that you are right.” His hands rest on your shoulders, as he pulls away to look at you. “But I guess now would be a good time to tell you why.” He shifts his weight on his feet, an unusual dusting of pink creeping up his neck caught by the streetlights. “Truth is, I was scared to, well, ask you out normally, I was scared of you saying no. When you started dating him, I hated him, but I hated myself more, for not having been able to prevent it. You looked unhappy.” He shoves his hands in his pants’ pockets. “So I don’t know, I figured maybe if we pretended, we’d keep it up for a while, or maybe if I was lucky, you’d really fall for me… kinda dense, right?”

You sniff, a smile tugging at your lips despite your cries.

“Yeah, definitely stupid.” You laugh softly, through the tears. “But effective.” You admit, glossy eyes searching for the molten northern stars in his stare.

“Wait, so you actually fell-?”

“Ajax. Kiss me. For real this time.” You plead, clutching the front of his baby blue t-shirt, urging him closer to you.

“What makes you think it wasn’t for real the first time?” He smirks, as his lips link with yours for the second time.

Your arms loop around his neck, his hands digging on the flesh of your lower waist, his palms a searing wave under your shirt. Childe’s kiss tastes of fireworks reflected over a still ocean, the quiet of the minutes before midnight in stark contradiction to the wild drumming of your infatuated heart. You stand on your tiptoes, desperately meeting his tidal wave at its zenith, the caress of the blossoming moon above and Ajax’s tongue swiping over your swollen lips sending shivers down your spine.

The clock strikes twelve, and a beeping sound interrupts the reverie.

Grumbling, you fish your phone out of your borrowed jacket’s pocket.

“00:00

Thursday, July 20th.

Ajax’s bday !! <3”

Your lit up screen reads.

You both let out a chuckle.

“Hey, Childe?” You call him. “Make a wish.”

“I don’t need to.” Constellations are reflected in his azure gaze, lovestruck with images of you dancing amongst them, the smile on his face dopey and entranced.

“Let me give you another present, then.” You tell him, pulling him close again. “Happy birthday, Ajax.” You breathe, as his hands hook under your thighs and your lips crash together again, no onlookers but the moon and stars this time.

[johnwickluva]

Death

Summary- You’re excommunicado and go to John for help at first but he doesn’t like the conclusion you come to.

Word count- 2k

Tw- in depth suicide

You knocked on the wooden door repeatedly and when he didn’t answer you began to pound on the door with two hands.

“John. John, it's me, please open the door.” You yelled out, crying.

Just as you finished speaking the door flew open and you fell forward, into a pair of arms.

“Oh thank god. Oh thank god. I’m in big trouble, a lot of trouble, John.” You rambled out so fast he could barely understand what you said.

“What?” He asked you.

You shut the door and locked it. Pants left your body as you tried to catch your breath. The two of you stood like that for a few seconds before you stood up straight, still trembling. You were terrified and made your way to his couch. Shaking you sat down and that’s when he noticed you were covered in blood. His eyes widened. Your throat felt dry and his stare was making you uncomfortable.

“Could I get a glass of water please.”

John nodded and went to get you a glass of water. As he was in the kitchen his phone went off. He was getting the text you were excommunicado you couldn’t stop yourself. You whipped your gun out and pointed it at him as you couldn’t take any chances. He looked at you shocked as your arms trembled.

“Put your phone down.” You warned him.

“I already saw.” He responded.

“I can’t take any chances.” You started to cry again.

“I’m not going to kill you, tell me what happened.” He said.

See the two of you were sorta friends. You didn’t talk much but when you did you could for hours. The two of you had helped each other on a couple hits and that was it. You being at John’s was pretty random and you didn’t know why you came to him. Probably because you knew he was a good guy. Even though he was the Baba Yaga he was different.

You began to explain how you were seeing the man who held your marker. It was a stupid thing but you had fallen for the fucker. Never should you have dated the one who owned your life basically. You truly fell in love so when you found him with another woman you couldn’t help but shoot him, right between the eyes. You’d plead temporary insanity if The High Table would listen but they wouldn’t.

You had a few days before they found the woman he was with. With her as a witness they knew it was you in no time. Since then you’d been fighting and fighting. You were tired and injured. At the end of the day John really couldn’t help, but deep down you knew he wouldn't kill you. When you finished he still had his hands up. You put the gun down.

“I’m in deep, deep shit. John.” Your voice broke.

“There has to be a way.” He answered you. “I can help you.”

The two of you stood in silence while you thought. John still barely knew what exactly was happening but he knew what excommunicado meant. He couldn’t help you. You could see no way out. Maybe the best way out would be to just do it yourself...

“I think I have to kill myself.” You admitted and sat back down on his couch.

“What?”

“You can’t help me and they won’t stop. Life doesn’t mean anything to me. Not really. Some things are nice but I don’t know? I die and it all stops and I become one with the Earth again. It doesn’t sound too bad to me.” You told him as you shrugged your shoulders, “we’re all stardust baby!”

It was said in a joking tone John didn’t find funny. He came to sit next to you. You sounded way too serious about this. Your hand found his and you squeezed it reassuringly.

“Killing myself gives me the ultimate freedom. If they kill me I lose that freedom. I know it doesn’t make sense to you but you’re not the one they’re after. Plus if you help me you’ll be punished or excommunicado as well.”

“No. You’re not killing yourself, we will find a way.”

“I have the willpower to do it. At this point I want it. It’s the only way I go out my own way. Not with a bullet in my skull or a knife in my throat or stomach.” You stopped crying by now.

John looked at you a bit disturbed before shaking his head. You had decided this was the best bet. You were going to die and you knew that. There was no way out. The horror stories you heard of those that had tried scared you more than death. You couldn’t do that. Suicide wasn’t the worst option right now.

You took a deep breath and exhaled, feeling weirdly calm.

“Stay here the night and think about it.” John said.

“My mind is made up but I will thank you.” You smiled at him.

The two of you talked all night about stupid things with John constantly throwing in ideas how to help you. Some of those ideas included hiding you, changing your identity, pleading your way out or killing your way out of it. Each time you argued why it wouldn't work and then changed the subject. By the end of the night you were exhausted and fell asleep to one of John’s stories.

When you woke up you were on the couch with a blanket. How sweet, you thought. You got up and stretched, enjoying the feeling one last time knowing today would be your last day. Not caring it wasn’t your home you made yourself a cup of coffee and listened to your favorite songs with headphones in. You’d have to leave soon before John woke up.

While you listened to your music you thought about ways you’d do it. Gunshot to the head, slit wrists, pills, hanging… All options seemed like a good idea until you thought of the best plan. You would take pills and throw yourself out to sea. It seemed like a beautifully poetic way to go out. A huge ‘fuck you’ to The High Table. There was a cruise leaving tomorrow perhaps you could sneak on.

That way, when you threw yourself over the edge, you could give back as the animals and fish of the sea would feast on your decomposing body. At least you would be useful in your death. The High Table would probably cremate you and just get rid of the ashes so you liked your more artistic idea.

It was also summer time. Which meant you could relax before you did the deed. As you stood up to leave you bumped into John who had somehow snuck in the room while you were daydreaming. He didn’t look pleased that you were leaving without saying goodbye.

“Ah sorry.” You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly.

“Going somewhere?” John asked.

“Just out.”

He stared at you with a deadpan look for a few moments.

“YN.” He said.

You continued to have a mini staring contest with him before sighing and rolling your eyes. Your arms crossed and you started tapping your foot.

“So what? Am I on suicide watch now? Is this what we’re doing?” You were getting annoyed.

You understood he was against the idea, most would be, but most didn’t function like you did. Maybe if he was in this situation he would fight. John seemed like a fighter but you weren’t. You wanted to die painless, enjoying the little things you appreciated. Like drinking and relaxing in the sun.

Your life was not important to you. Not in a depressed way, in fact, you’d love to live but you could still see no other way. You were going to die one way or another. This was now your dying wish, to go out your own way. John would have to understand that or…

“Move or I’ll fight till you kill me. Your choice. I’m dying either way. Hey, you could collect my bounty.” Your tone was playful but the seriousness was laced within.

“You’re giving up.”

“No, I’m saving myself.” You countered. “From a death I don’t want.”

“How can you act so nonchalant about this?” John asked in disbelief.

At this you just shrugged your shoulders. You didn’t know, you just didn’t care. In a way you felt more at peace than you ever had before. You felt free. John still stood before you and you went to grab your gun. Your eyes widened when you felt nothing at the side of your hip. He had taken your gun.

You muttered a ‘fine’ before cracking your neck, preparing for a fight. John went from speaking to you with disbelief to looking at you with it. Your mind was made up and he couldn’t change it. He didn’t want to fight you or hurt you and he wouldn’t. Just when you thought he was about to get into position, he stepped aside.

“Wait here. Please.” He went into his room and then came back out with a gun in his hand. “It’s fully loaded.”

“Thank you.”

You hugged him goodbye and left.

*

You had been drinking all day, deciding getting drunk was the best last thing to do. The cruise ship was packed with people and you worried about being able to find a private spot. You knew you would though, you just had to wait till night time.

Getting in was easier than you thought, only having to fight a couple hit men on the way. You felt relieved you didn’t have to fight John. That sounded painful and you were trying to have a relatively painless last day. You were glad they still had last minute tickets even though they cost an arm and a leg. It didn’t matter, money didn’t matter anymore.

You gambled big at the casino and spent it all on high grade alcohol. Then you laid on the deck in the sun all day and danced with random people as the sunset came. It was a nice day but sadly it had come to an end. Why didn’t you do this in the first place? You didn’t need to kill that jackass.

You knew that was the booze talking anyways and decided to slip away from your group. Back in your room you opened up your small bag, the only thing you brought, which had rocks and a bottle of pills in it. You sang your favorite song as you started to pack your pockets with them.

Your head rocked back and forth as you bopped your head to the song you sang. Once you felt heavy enough you grabbed the pills, slipping them into your already too full pockets and stood up. Enjoying one more good stretch, you reached for the ceiling and bent backwards a little bit. You smiled as you finished, always loving a good stretch.

Grabbing your last drink, you made your way towards a more private part of the boat. The left side back, where the rooms were. There would be a couple people but you could pass yourself off as a drunk person who needed air. When you got there though you weren’t alone.

There stood John with his hands in his pockets.

“Holy shit! Have you been here this whole time?” You asked him loudly, feeling the effects of the alcohol.

“Yeah.”

“Wow. You’re crazy for that I had no idea! Are you here for the bounty? Because you’re running out of time.” You slurred and pulled out the pill bottle, showing him.

“No. You don’t have to be alone.” Was all he said.

“Well that’s sweet of you. Today has been the best day out of the shittiest week I’ve ever had. I had my heart broken and now a death sentence. Damn.” You rambled on, trying to open the bottle which was proving to be hard in your inebriated state. “This life kinda sucks.”

John nodded but watched you struggle. When you finally got it open you did a mini cheer before pouring the whole bottle into your hand. He looked at you with a broken expression that caught you off guard. You physically shook your head and looked at him.

“Well same shit different day. That’s how life goes.” You shrugged your shoulders and knocked back the pills with vodka.

John looked on in horror but stood still. This is what you wanted. It took him all his willpower not to rip the bottle out of your hand and shove his fingers down your throat. You chugged the rest of your drink and panted when you finished. This was too easy though it hurt that your friend had to be there to see.

You threw your arms around the railing of the boat and let the wind and sun hit your face. It felt nice and you were suddenly comforted with the fact John was there. You felt warm and calm.

“YN please there has to be a different way.” John pleaded with you.

“I don’t believe there is. Not without you becoming involved and I can’t have that.” You smiled at him. “Having you here is a bit nice but don’t stay if you’re going to stop me.”

“They wouldn’t kill me.”

“No, but they would outnumber you.”

John stopped trying to argue with you, instead he did something that surprised you. He started to cry. A couple tears rolled down his face and his shoulders shook. You stood up straight. This was ruining it. It felt painful to watch him weep at your death. You had the willpower but he was making it harder.

It was starting to hit you that John considered you more than a friend. Maybe not even romantically but something strong was there. You felt bad because you just didn’t feel the same way. Maybe if you guys had more time but you couldn’t entertain that thinking anymore. There wasn’t any more time.

“John. I do this because I have to die anyways, I broke rules. I killed the one who held my marker, they will kill me.” You almost wanted to yell at him. “Let me go out on my own terms. Please!”

John took a moment before forcing back the tears. He knew you were only getting loud because he was changing your mind but you were also right. With all his years of experience and training he put distance between the two of you. You were just a friend, a little more than a casual acquaintance. He could pretend you paid him to do this.

John had no choice but to watch you die. He could leave. But he couldn’t because in the end, no matter how hard he tried you weren’t a stranger and he didn’t want you to be alone. You could almost feel a coldness about him as you felt a shift in the atmosphere changing. The warmth he felt for you was leaving him. It stung but you understood. He nodded at you.

“Thank you.”

You flopped back onto the railing and let out a sigh of relief, feeling tired. Your legs almost lost their balance as the medication started to take effect. It was almost time to throw yourself overboard. You tried to hold yourself up as the wind hit your face one more time. This really wasn’t that hard, even with the little blip.

As you got more and more tired you looked back to John who was still staring toward you. His fists were clenched but he stood like a soldier whose orders were to stay put. His eyes looked glazed but far away as they looked past you, out into the ocean. Soon you would be food for marine life and you’d never see his beautiful face again.

You looked up, bending so far backwards against the railing you felt like you could roll back and fall, towards the stars. They looked so pretty, almost as pretty as him. Why were you having these thoughts? You always knew John was an attractive man but it never seemed as true as now. Oh well, it was too late anyways.

You stood up, fast, and as straight as you could and stumbled almost falling over the edge. A laugh escaped you and you looked at him one more time, keeping your footing. You were glad you didn’t feel sick or any pain. He stood there. You took a deep breath, feeling the air fill your lungs and tasting the salty air one last time.

“Goodbye John.” You said.

The ship hit a wave causing you to trip and fall over the ledge. You felt the cold water consume your body and like that, you were out. John stood on the ship and let a tear fall before walking to the ledge. He couldn’t even see your body in the dark. You were gone.

“Goodbye YN.”

[stellarren]

Okay, I reallyyy wanna make something for the wedding so I’m going to do headcannons. I had ea but I wanted to wait for everyone to get it so we can all be happy together. I also want to write something for the quiet part of the listeners car ride so I’ll probably do that next. And if you see anyone that makes something about that please let me know, would love to read it.

-I feel like all the couples were matching together, especially Milo and sweetheart.

-I think all the mates planned it and babe and angel made it official.

-when Milo heard about this he started to freak out.

✰ “sweetheart, we gotta go shoppin’”

“Milo, it’s not for another 5 months. We have time, and we have sooo much matching formal wear.”

“No sweetheart, it’s a weddin’. We need to look…we need to look like we’re the next ones getting married.”

Sweetheart looked at him with a shocked expression that turned to a smile and nodded

“We can go shopping tomorrow, honey”

Sweetheart whispered to themselves, “next ones getting married..” and that stuck with them for the rest of the day, and they still think of it.

-I just know that darlin’ had to style Sam. I feel like he hasn’t been to a wedding since he was turned and even then was a long time ago.

-I feel like they wore red and black. Sam knows his way around when he needs to be outside during the day but darlin’ wanted to make him comfortable..and live out a little fantasy.

-sooo since I think darlin’ has a lot of time on their hands, they made him a black cowboy hat with some red detailing that matched with the detailing on their suit. (My darlin’ is more masc)

-I think David and angel wore light pink, it was angels idea and David couldn’t say no, and they both looked great.

-Asher and babe wore white and gold and it was actually Asher’s idea.

✰ “I know I don’t get dressed up for you a lot babe, but for the wedding I wanna go all out”

Babe looked at Asher with a soft smile

“Oh, let me guess! You wanna do..baby blue? I remember you talking about that in the past.”

“Actually…I wanted to do something nicer. You know, look a bit cleaner. So I was thinkingggg..white and gold. What do you think?”

Babe was surprised to hear this but couldn’t say no. She smiled at him and nodded.

“Can’t wait to see you in it baby”

And the conversation ended with a kiss on the cheek.

-Way before the wedding, darlin’ taught Sam to dance formally, without there being any….aftermath.(iykyk)

-I think that angel tried to get sweetheart to sneak in the room with David in it to see what he looked like but sweetheart knew they would get caught by the guard dog. (Darlin’)

That’s it for now, I’m probably about to post what I think there outfits looked like with pictures because I’m bored. So yeah, thanks for reading. Leaving you with stardust and wishes, Stellarren☆

(Also please leave some requests for me cuz I wanna write more)

[poppybros-jr]

Dazor:Hey, Cosmo. I was wondering how you feel about your siblings? Uh- Good luck in the tournament.

…I mean, sure. I’m more than happy to talk about my siblings. I’m not sure why I started talking like that, to be honest. I’m very sorry, it won’t happen again. Just… get comfy, ‘cause I’m the fourth of five siblings so this might take a while!

@a-stardusted-sky

WARNING! This ask is a very long one, and it also delves into more serious territory than usual, so it goes under a cut. Content warning for mentions of divorce, parental emotional abuse/estrangement and childhood trauma resulting from the disappearance of a sibling.

Also tagging this as propaganda because we’re getting into backstory. @kirbyoctournament

Firstly, Stella! My twin sister! She hatched half an hour before I did, and we joke that it’s so she could be there to help me out of my shell. Because that’s what she still does even to this day!

We used to perform together under Stella’s name, using our identical looks to pull off a ‘teleportation’ trick. We were only kids at the time, so that was the only trick we did in the whole show. It got boring pretty quick, and I didn’t like that I didn’t get to have my name on the posters, but I was scared to say anything. Stella wasn’t, though! A couple of years ago she said she wanted us to be a proper double act, and that if I didn’t get recognition for my skills she simply wouldn’t perform. It worked! I actually figured out I was a boy not long after that, so I’m really glad we don’t have to be perfectly identical anymore. She’s trying to encourage me to perform solo, too, but I don’t have the same charisma she does, so I don’t know if I can do it as well as she does.

I’m really glad she’s my big sister. She’s the most supportive, kindest sister ever. And the most fun! She can be a little annoying sometimes with how excitable and silly she is, and sometimes her energy wears me out, but I’d never want her to change. She’s the best. Like a ray of sunshine!

Celeste is the baby of the family. She’s very shy.

She was only little when Marx ran away, and our parents apparently decided to use her as a… do-over, I guess? Our mum especially wanted her to be everything Marx wasn’t and put a lot of pressure on her to fit her expectations. But Celeste really didn’t like performing, so she got more and more quiet… We’re staying with our aunts at the moment because of our parents divorcing, though, and she’s starting to feel much better. She’s trying out different things to find something she likes. She seems very interested in the production side of the circus, like music and lighting. I think that no matter what she does when she grows up, she’ll do amazing. She’s really smart! Much smarter than I was at her age!

She hardly ever talks, but she’s an absolute sweetheart, and if anyone tries to hurt her I will DESTROY THEIR LIFE. :)

Since we live with our aunts now, our cousins the Poppy Bros are like our honorary siblings!

Poppy Bros Sr (Pop for short) and Poppy Bros Jr (Poppy for short) are the owners of the circus! Well, Pop is. Poppy will co-own it when they’re an adult. Poppy is also part of the Star Allies and helped out with that whole mess with the weird shadowy heart things a few years back! I want to join someday too so I can help protect Popstar!

Pop is a great boss. When I was a little kid I thought he was intimidating, but he’s really just a big softy! He’s always asking me how I’m doing and listens to all my ideas. He’s very understanding if I’m not feeling well enough to perform or get stage fright, and he never pressures me. I don’t know him that well, though, since he’s a lot older than me.

As for Poppy? I like them! After Marx ran away, they stepped in to be our older sibling since he couldn’t do it anymore. They still look out for us even now! They stand up for us whenever we need backup and they always have time to hang out with us. They were best friends with Marx before he left, so it must have been very hard on them at the time, but they always put on a brave face. I respect them a lot! They’re still a massive nerd who’s obsessed with bombs, though. They specialise in confetti firework bombs that look really pretty! If I count Pop and Poppy as my siblings too, that makes me sixth out of seven instead of fourth out of five.

Did I remember everyone? I feel like I’m forgetting someone… Oh, right! This jerk.

I’m gonna put this out here right now, okay? I do NOT condone the crimes Marx committed. He did some really bad things! That is not okay. That said, I’m talking specifically about my own relationship with my big brother, okay? Okay. Here we go.

I think Marx is a great brother. He’s not much older than me and Stella, so we were very close growing up and we still are even now. Some people are surprised to hear that I’m close to Marx, ‘cause most of the time we spend together, we’re either insulting each other or daring each other to do gross or dangerous things. I think those people have never had brothers.

It hurt a lot when he ran away. Stella and I both knew he wasn’t happy. He got into fights with our parents a lot and was always causing trouble. But we tried very hard to help him feel better. We played with him all the time. After he left, we thought it was our fault for not trying hard enough, but after he came back to Popstar he told us it wasn’t. I still feel bad about it sometimes, though. He doesn’t live with us anymore because he doesn’t want to be around our parents, but our aunts take us to visit him as much as possible.

Sometimes I still have bad dreams that he ran away again and died, or turned into a monster, or other bad stuff. It’s scary. I usually call him when that happens so I can talk to him. He doesn’t care if I call him in the middle of the night. He doesn’t sleep much anyway. And then the next time I visit he gets me donuts. The kind with the blueberry jam filling that I like.

He’s definitely not perfect. Not even close. Sometimes his insults get too mean. Or he’ll play a prank on me that upsets me. But he always says sorry and tries to make it up to me once he realises he hurt me. That’s more than what some people will do. I’m scared of a lot of people, but I’m never scared of him.

I do think he’s a stinky loser with a face like a Scarfy that got stuck halfway, though. :)

…

…

…

… Okay, that was definitely everyone! All of us are accounted for! Thanks for the question, Dazor, and I’m sorry I kept you so long. Here, take an ice lolly with you! You get first choice!

[euphoricfilter]

Star girl || JJK ~ teaser

Pairing: Jungkook x F. Reader ~ ‘Stardust’ couple

Genre: Fluff || Angst || Smut || Established Relationship || Non-idol au

Summary: Sometimes life just feels like too much, where the solace of the night no longer feels as healing as it once was. Luckily Jungkook is there when everything feels like too much.

Tags/ warnings: fluff, angst, unhealthy habits, boyfriend kook is there to make everything feel better, smut in the forms of: unprotected sex (don’t be stupid, this is fiction), holding hands during sex :(, it’s all just very soft and healing, creampie

Notes: this is part of the ‘Stardust’ universe, however it can be read as a standalone.

✯ ✯ ✯

You’d always believed the night to be cathartic, something almost healing about simply living while people slept. Expectations washed away of an evening with a shower, dampened mood sated with soft sheets and far fetched dreams.

Where the moon was your only friend, no words needed between the two of you, as you simply lived among the stars. Street lamps bleeding muted orange light into your room, curtains pushed open so you could watch the world and wonder what it be like to explore the milky way.

It’s daunting how catharsis can mutate into something a little more wretched. How loneliness can creep up on you, how it lurks in the shadows during the day— following you with silent footsteps. How it slowly consumes a little more of you with each passing night. How you don’t seem to notice the clouds that take over the sky, how the stars in your universe don’t seem to shine as bright as they once were.

You don’t miss the jingle of keys outside your door, nor do you make any move to sit up when you hear your boyfriend milling through your apartment in search for you. You’d have felt an ounce of shame if Jungkook hadn’t seen what can happen when you get into a bit of a tizz, locking yourself away so you didn’t have to be a functioning member of society.

“Oh, pretty thing” Jungkook coos, bed dipping under his weight as he sits by your feet. Gentle not to startle you.

You pull the duvet down under your chin, “Kook?” you murmur, watching his lips tug up into a soft smile; a look of understanding washing over his features.

“Hey, baby. You doing okay?” a silly question on his part, but at least he knew you were alive.

You nod, albeit hesitant. “Why are you here?” you murmur, eyebrows creasing.

“You haven’t answered any of my calls, I was worried” his hands finds their way to your thigh, touch ever so soft.

Your gaze flickers over to your phone, pulling your arm from under the cocoon of your blanket you tap on the screen, “It must have died, I didn’t notice. Sorry” you turn your attention back to your boyfriend.

“How about we get you washed, and then I’ll cook us something yummy?” he offers.

You throw the blanket back over your head at the sound of running water. Jungkook’s voice echoing throughout your bathroom as he hums a song he’d probably been listening to on his way over to your place.

“Come on” Jungkook tugs the blanket from your body, and goosebumps raise up the skin of your arms.

“Why are you shirtless?” you frown, fingers skimming the edge of your blanket.

“We’re taking a bath together. I put extra bubbles, just for you”

Release date: Sunday 29th January @ 11pm China standard time

Star girl can be read here

[euphoriabled-memes]

So Much (For) Starters.

All starters are lyrics taken from the album So Much (For) Stardust by the band Fall Out Boy, released March 24, 2023. Please feel free to change as you see fit. ( Seeing as I’ve made this meme the day this album came out, some lyrics may be incorrect. My apologies! )

Love From The Other Side

“You know I'm dying out here.”

“What would you trade the pain for?”

“You were the sunshine of my lifetime.”

“I'd never go, I just want to be invited.”

“Sending my love from the other side of the apocalypse.”

“Every lover's got a little dagger in their hand.”

“Nowhere left for us to go but Heaven.”

“Give up what you love before it does you in…”

Heartbreak Feels So Good

“No matter what they tell you, the future's up for grabs.”

“Is there a word for bad miracle?”

“Nobody said the road was endless.”

“Could we please pretend this won't end?”

“We could cry a little? Cry a lot?”

“We could dance our tears away, emancipate ourselves.”

Hold Me Like A Grudge

“When you ask how I've been, I know you mean well.”

“I guess I'm getting older 'cause I'm less pissed.”

“Silent killers are these years coming like waves.”

“You put the ‘fun’ into dysfunction.”

“Hold me like a grudge.”

“The world is always spinning, and I can't keep up.”

“Part-time soulmate, full-time problem.”

“I guess, somehow, we made it back.”

“I am a diamond on the inside, just add the pressure!”

“I thought I knew better, I thought it would get better.”

“I figured somehow by now, I would have got it together.”

“We'll do more than just get by.”

Fake Out

“Make no plans and none can be broken.”

“Do you laugh about me whenever I leave?”

“Do I just need more therapy?”

“Love is in the air, I just gotta figure out a window to break out.”

“My mood board is just pictures of you.”

“I'm not sad anymore.”

“We did it for futures that never came and for pasts that we're never gonna change.”

Heaven, Iowa

“Kiss my cheek, baby, please.”

“Would you read my eulogy?”

“I will never ask you for anything — except to dream sweet of me.”

“I will never ask you for anything.”

“Tell me when the party ends.”

“Will you still love who I am?”

“They don't know how much they’ll miss.”

“Save your breath; half your life you've been hooked on death!”

“Be careful what you bottle up.”

“I'm saving this all for later.”

So Good Right Now

“We'll drive until the engine just gives up.”

“I know I've made mistakes, but at least they were mine to make.”

“I'll be whatever you need me to be.”

“I cut myself down to whatever you need me to be.”

The Pink Seashell

“There's no point to any of this, it's all just a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes.”

“I take pleasure in the detail, you know, a, a Quarter Pounder with cheese? Those are good.”

I Am My Own Muse

“I like playing dumb, letting you figure me out.”

“I was faded, in my own defense.”

“We got to throw this year away.”

“The trumpets bring the angels, but they never came.”

“I know I keep my feelings so tucked away.”

“Just another day spent hoping we don't fall apart.”

“Let's twist the knife again like we did last summer.”

Flu Game

“I guess to you now, I'm just a face in the crowd.”

“Oh, God, kindly please, would you kill me now?”

“Carved out a place in this world for two, but it's empty without you.”

“I've got all this love I've got to keep to myself.”

“All this effort to make it look effortless.”

“I can't be who you need me to be.”

“Every candle's gotta run out of wax.”

Baby Annihilation

“Time is luck, and I wish ours overlapped more.”

“The first time I took the mask off, just had another one on underneath.”

“I'm just melted wax on a birthday cake, another year fades away.”

“If you want a job done right, you gotta do it yourself.”

“What is there between us, if not a little annihilation?”

The Kintsugi Kid (Ten Years)

“I'm pretty sure, as far as humans go, I am a hard pill to swallow.”

“I spent ten years in a bit of chemical haze and I miss the way that I felt nothing.”

“Passed my old street, the house I grew up in. It breaks your heart.”

“Four of the Ramones are dead.”

“And I miss the way that I felt nothing.”

“You don't know me anymore.”

What A Time To Be Alive

“That’s the way the world used to be before our dreams started bursting at the seams.”

“I don't care if it's pretty.”

“The view's so pretty from the deck of a sinking ship.”

“Everything is lit except my serotonin.”

“Please, I just need someone to hold me.”

“Oh, what a time to be alive.”

“They say that I should try meditation, but I don’t want to be with my own thoughts.”

“I just want to be your cherry on top.”

“when I said ‘leave me alone’ this isn't quite what I meant.”

So Much (For) Stardust

“I feel like something that's been stretched out, over and over again.”

“I don't have the guts to keep it together.”

“Life is just a game, maybe.”

“I'm stuck in a lonely loop.”

“I need the sound of crowds, or I can't fall asleep at night.”

“Another year of possibilities left unwrapped like gifts the day right after Christmas passed.”

“I'm pretty positive my pain isn't cool enough.”

“I think I've been going through it.”

“In another life, you were the sunshine of my lifetime.”

“I used to be a real go-getter.”

“I used to think it'd all get better.”

“We thought we had it all.”

[ztarvokwrites]

Coming Out to the Strawhats

a/n: HAPPY PRIDE MONTH MY LITTLE STARDUSTS OR WHATEVER I WANT TO CALL YOU! these were going to be just some headcanons but i cba so here's a little fic for you all to enjoy!

this fic is not nsfw and strictly platonic!

word count: 920

don't forget to reblog if you like it and enjoy!

To say you are nervous is a massive understatement — you aren’t exactly sure how to approach this topic with them without freaking out, considering there are about ten other people on this ship with you. Their possible reactions frightened you so much that you were visibly sweating and biting your nails as you paced the deck.

“Y/N, are you alright? You don’t look so good, my friend,” Spoke Jinbei, the ship’s helmsman, his voice breaking you out of your thoughts. You look up at him as he returns your gaze, brows furrowed in concern. “Something on your mind?” 

He can always read you like a book, and you sometimes forget about that. A sigh leaves your lips as you shake your head, “Just thinking about something personal, that’s all.” Jinbei doesn’t seem to take your answer as a good one, but doesn’t say anything — instead, he just nods and gives you a small, comforting smile. 

Walking away, you find yourself in the aquarium library, sitting near the large tank of sea creatures and just blankly staring at them. In the corner of your eye, you can see Robin reading some sort of murder mystery novel as she sits at a table nearby. She glances at you as you look at her momentarily, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. The woman knew, of course, she knew. Nico Robin is one of the most sharp-witted people on the ship, always looking through you no matter how hard you try to keep to yourself. You quickly look away from the smart woman, her sapphire eyes holding the knowledge of a secret she has known for quite a while now.

Despite your discomfort throughout the day, you’re determined to speak your truth. No matter the outcome, you can no longer keep this part of yourself a secret. So, with your soul trembling, you gather your crewmates to the deck and stand in front of them. You can feel the sweat pouring out of your skin as you take a deep breath and speak your truth — coming out to them as a member of the LGBTQ+ community with a quivering voice.

The following silence is awkward, to say the least, with you unable to meet their gaze as they stare at you for a moment that feels like an eternity. It’s almost as if you can feel them judging you, steely eyes glaring you down as if you were a mere ant or unwanted stowaway on board the Thousand Sunny. However, your negative thoughts fail to completely cloud your mind as a voice snaps you out of your head’s deepest pit.

“...Was that it?” Questioned a bored-sounding Zoro, earning himself a smack upside the head from the feisty navigator next to him. Your eyes finally meet theirs, and you notice how their gazes have softened upon seeing you face them. Nami, after giving Zoro an earful about being sensitive, is the first to step forward, engulfing you in an embrace that had the wind knocked out of your lungs.

“Y/N, I’m so proud of you,” She begins, grinning down at you and stroking your hair in a comforting way as the air returns to your lungs. “You’ve been nervous to tell us this whole time because you didn’t know how we’d react, but we’re your friends — your family! We love you for who you are, right guys?”

Looking to your left as Nami lets you go, you see Franky come up to you with tears in his eyes — his large hands lifting you effortlessly and holding you to his heart like a father would a new-born baby, babbling about how proud he was of you being so brave to tell them. Robin chuckles as Franky sets you down after Jinbei expresses his concerns about him accidentally crushing you.

“It was obvious to me, but I didn’t want to make you more uncomfortable than you have been today,” Speaks the archaeologist, placing her hands on your shoulders. Her lips tug into a sweet comforting smile as she continues to talk. “I’ve never been more proud of you — it takes courage to tell something so big.” One by one, your crewmates give you their love and support, comforting you as you cry out for relief. Jinbei gives you the softest hug he could give, Brook hands you a pin that has your pride flag on it (he’s had it for years, apparently) and Chopper asks you basic questions like ‘How did you know?’ and ‘What does it mean to be that?’.

Sanji gives you a pat on the head, offering your favourite snack to make you more comfortable now that the anxiety is somewhat gone. Zoro looks like he’s about to go to the Crow’s Nest to doze off, but he gives you a smirk to show his appreciation for your braveness. Usopp promises to make you something to commemorate your bravery and your captain….

“...So what if you are what you say you are,” Interrupts Luffy, grinning big and bright. “You’re still our friend and a member of my crew. Nothing is gonna change that. Besides, I’m AroAce — whatever that means — so all I care about is my crew, becoming King of the Pirates, and meat. Speaking of which—”

“Luffy! We just ate!” Usopp growls, making Luffy pout. Seeing your crew and captain accept you so bluntly makes you chuckle. You were expecting a lot more questions but this?

This is just one of the many reasons why you’re proud to be a Strawhat Pirate.

starnote: on my shark-week rn and i just cried out of frustration because i can not get into my old linktree to delete it so guess who's created a new one??!!! :D

creds to @/firefly-graphics for the lgbt heart divider!

[slowandsteddie]

I was thinking about participating in WIP Weekend this weekend, but ultimately decided against it.

We’re putting my baby down tomorrow and I just don’t want to put that kind of pressure on myself.

Well,,, technically, he’s my aunts dog. And she’s having a hard time with it. It’s time to stop putting it off so hopefully she doesn’t change her mind again.

His name is Bandit. He was born 4 July 2016. He is a Siberian Husky, German Shepard, grey wolf mix. He is the bestest boy. All brown and black with the most amazing brown eyes that I have ever seen. His muzzle is just starting to go grey.

He loves cuddles, cats, cheese, and stealing dirty laundry. I cannot even begin to count the amounts of underwear and socks that he has stolen from the household. Sometimes he hides it. Sometimes he eats it. I swear in years to come, we will still be finding under garments in the most random of places.

Cancer has taken a lot out of him. His fat, his muscle. It’s curved his spine and made it all but impossible for him to walk more than twenty steps. He’s being carried up and down the stairs everyday.

But you look at him and he’s still there. His eyes still light up and his tail thumps against the floor so hard that you can almost feel it vibrate. He still eats. He’s still gentle and loving. He still lets both cats lay on him and chew on his ears. He hasn’t gotten mean.

He’s best boy. Best friend.

We’ve had to let many dogs go.

This one hurts the most.

They say that we’re all made of stardust. I think his and mine have always been close together, ever since The Beginning. He is the dog I was meant to have, and I thought we’d have so much more time…

[acaciapines]

Your nanowrimo pieces are soooo goooood they hit so hard fr fr. I’m especially LOVING today’s one with the owl & the collector even tho I don’t rlly know that much abt toh bc I haven’t watched it but I can tell that u LOVE IT & I can’t wait to learn more thru osmosis once the fic is poooosteeeed✨ (i WILL read it i PROMISE i SWEAR)

Anyways give us the thoughts, the tea, tell us how you make the words do that✨ anything u wanna give in regards to today’s bit!! We’re not picky!

Hope y’all are doing okay! Gal says hi :) Remember to eat and drink something, take breaks, and look after yourselves and each other! We love you! This has been a Daily Interaction Ask <3

he he :3 im glad youre enjoying!! its been really fun to pick out my favorite bits even when usually those are the ones w/out context lol. look at my owl and weep boy. firefly <3

YOU WILL LEARN SO MUCH VIA OSMOSIS....literally now that im also doing something for s1 its like. why watch owl house we have owl house at home (the owl house at home is a 1 million word daemon au) (<- 1 mil is not a joke btw idk if it'll hit it but itll at least come very close. no idk why i did this.)

as for today! hmmm...

its truly so fun to write the collector. like im not joking about him being my favorite owl house character despite his maybe twenty total minutes of screentime, so its been such a JOY to expand his role in this series!!

bc like. god. actually i think i wrote a whole like. bit of flash fiction/prose poetry type thing for them a while ago. probably in my files somewhere. but just. youre an immortal eight year old. you are in these years where you need to interact with other people for your own mental stability and health. to figure out the whole Being A Person thing. and you are trapped for like, centuries. trapped away from everyone and everything and DUST, which, in universe, in literally connection personified. you're cut off from all of this.

and you are, let me say again, eight years old.

truly the collector is just. hes had everyone he ever cares about leave him--his siblings the other archivists left him behind not out of any sense of cruelty, really, but because caring about people just isnt really a thing they do. quite frankly they live so long they didnt even notice. theyre far-away stars. not far because they're mean. just because thats what stars do.

and then king's dad (who um. doesnt have a name <3 this is why the collector calls him 'the big bully' its literally bc i never gave him a name--) was an adult the collector actually trusted and looked up to (he meshed REALLY WELL into titan society until the archivists started Doing A Murder since titans are the only beings that match them in power and they have very very different ideas about dust). like ive said before the collector is owlbeastkin but before that they never had a super stable sense of identity--in another world where they stayed w/ the titans they wouldve ended up a titan.

and then king's dad just. trapped him in a tablet forever.

and like, to be fair to king's dad he was reacting out of fear and the best knowledge he had (he assumed the collector led the archivists to the titans, and like, he did, but its not like he knew he was doing that, and, you know, poor guy had seen a huge chuck of his fellow titans killed including babies and eggs of which he had an egg to consider), but it still TRAPPED THEM. and then he died and so did all the rest of the titans so nobody could free the collector even if they wanted to.

and then BELOS, who manipulated and lied to the collector for so long and was also literally his only friend after being alone forever, so like, of course the collector just blindly went along with whatever he said. he was gonna free them!! he listened to them when they talked about stardust which nobody else ever did! he had no idea what the fuck a witch was! he just liked being able to see the stardust sometimes, and belos brought him to places with a lot of stardust. to destroy it, but like--you know. it was THERE.

but all these people were just USING them, and they never really understand that until king comes around. and king's also a scared eight year old!! but like. king's also not wrong. the collector did aid belos in destroying the entire isles. like no joke belos SUCCEEDS here. like not long-term obvi this has a happy ending but at the point we're in at for the future? it doesnt matter that the draining spell failed. all the palistrom trees are dead. witch society Cannot come back from that even if they did end up beating the collector. theyre doomed.

anyways what was i saying. collector. right.

so like, then they meet firefly/grr-click-growl/wings-across-night/the owl beast (king of having so many names i love her <3) and shes like, the first person who cares for them and ISNT using them. even king is using them!! but firefly has seen Some Shit. she sees the collector as a hatchling who was kicked out of his nest and is doing her best to be some sort of stable figure for him, but she doesnt Not see the stuff he's done.

the collector took over the world bc he's scared--all he's ever known is being used and trapped so he doesnt exactly trust most people easily. firefly would Love to not be in this world anymore. shes also got a loyalty to eda and king and luzmari. and, like, cool motive, still trapping an entire society of people.

but like. shes the one who is here right now and nobody else is trying to help this kid.

but the collector just. hes just an eight year old. a very, very old eight year old. but he doesnt understand things like "you can make the wrong choices and still choose to do better later" and "im mad at what you did but that doesnt mean i dont care about you."

he just sees someone upset with him. just sees another person who used him and doesnt care and is going to leave bc everyone leaves him and in a world where EVERY SINGLE PERSON comes in pairs, hes the only one who stands alone.

basically tl;dr: collector my beloved <3

[rebootgrimm]

Art dump of stuff I’ve done during the strike because it’s 12 AM our time! Under cut because I’ve been preparing for ArtFight

The pfp for the Spider-Bow blog! All that’s really left to do is make the opening post for it :)

Molly McBell! She works at Two Stud Camp with Sarah! She can’t enter the elevator, but can be seen in an out-of-bounds are with Sarah during the map until the fires go out as the alien ships arrive (Regretevator OC)

Ace redesign! I never posted them here, but they work at Kard Daycare with their twin Diamond and work with babies and toddlers

Diamond. It works at Kard Daycare with its twin Ace. It works with kids aged 4-9.

My page thing for ArtFight this year! We’re on team Stardust and if you want to follow us the link will be at the end! We have who is featured on our page because putting in pictures is h a r d . We don’t do friendly fire, but will do revenge chains (if there’s motivation) and regular revenges :)

Reboot redesign! She probably won’t be my sona for long because I made them before the trans egg cracked and went “ah fuck. agender”

Art Fight Account: https://artfight.net/~_Reboot_

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

Okay so as a fellow FOB enjoyer I have to know, do you have specific songs you associate with each South Park boy? Because I'm desperate to know if you'd pick the same ones I would 👀 👉👈

Oh DUDE!!! I love this ask so much and I REALLY wish I had a better answer than this 😂

As a group, the first that comes to mind is The Kids Arent Alright, 100%. Also Champagne For My Real Friends Real Pain For My Sham Friends. Alone Together for sure. And DEFINITELY Sophomore Slump Or Comeback Of The Year!

As for the boys individually, it really just depends on which iteration of them we’re talkin, as well as the pairing. Like a “disgraced former rockstar” Stan fits Golden and The (After) Life Of The Party, whereas a “small town hero” Stan feels more America’s Suitehearts to me, if that makes sense.

In general Stan is the one I MOST associate with Fall Out Boy, so I can really only pick for him lol sorry

(These are all just blanket Stan songs to me personally, not really any particular au)

The (Shipped) Gold Standard, From Now On We Are Enemies, GINASFS, Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner, I’ve Got A Dark Alley, Reinventing The Wheel To Run Myself Over, Don’t You Know Who I Think I Am, Bishop’s Knife Trick, The Last Of The Real Ones, Heavens Gate, So Much (for) Stardust, What a Time to Be Alive.

That’s it for now lmao I hope this answer was at least something 😂