#But question: How do they smooch
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Hey I was just wonderin, could I request a wholesome Steven x Peter artwork? That would really make my day (but its cool if no) ^^
GAY PHONES GAY PHONES GAY PHONES GAY PHONES-
I don't usually draw this ship cuz I don't really see it happening in canon, but I honestly think it's pretty cute!
#Also I hope you're doing better!#dsaf#dayshift at freddy's#dsaf steven#dsaf peter#steven X peter#I dunno the ship name for this#I remember seeing it somewhere before but I forgor#I lobe gay phones#But question: How do they smooch
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Ooh. 5, 14, and/or 24 for the ask game?
(Just answered 5!)
14. Is there a character or ship you were so sure you would never write/draw but now youâve changed your mind?
If iâm being real here, yes: MY OWN OCS HAHAHAHAH i was so convinced i would never even make ocs, much less draw them, ship them, write for them⊠The Julie of the not-so-distant past would be starstruck!
24. Whatâs you favorite thing about [Phoenix]?
AHHHH THIS IS SO DIFFICULT!!! I love so many thing about him iâm literally sitting here like âoh my favorite thing? [lists everything]â. That being the case, safe to assume literally anything i say will fit soâŠ. I love how he fights for what he thinks is right, and does so with that pathetic tweak in his spine that signals to the audience his homosexual flair:
also his dark/brown eyes iâd do anything for u gorjus
#sorry for cheating on 14 but thatâs what came to mind⊠they have been taking over my brain lately lol#genuinely yall are giving me the toughest questions like how do i PICK JUST ONE??? PHOENIX WRIGHT IS MY BELOVED#kissing him kissing him kissing him kissing him kissing him kissing him kissing him smooching him even and then kissing him some more SMOOOO#asks#ask meme
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NO FACE (CREEPYPASTA) SCARA <33
HAS BEEN FLOODING MY FEED AND I AM AO GLAD FOR IT
I NEED HC I NEED DOOPLERGANGER/ALTERIERTE HC I HONESTLY WOULD SMOOCH IT
(Even if it tried to kill me OR MAYBE ITS LIKE A CAT AND RUBS HIS FACE ON US WHO KNOWS) my inner creepypasta simp is saying heâs a good fellow when he definitely isnât
YES OMG PLEASE SEND ME ALL THE FACELESS WANDERER STUFFS!! I CANâT STOP THINKING OF HIM!<333
ok ok we need to establish if faceless wanderer is actually wanderer or a doppelgĂ€nger. i personally think doppelgĂ€nger would be hella cool and ANON YES WHAT IF HE HAD A SCARAMEOW FORM TOO?! iâd be fucking terrified if he rubbed his face on me lmao
also is faceless wanderer just trying to kill, fuck, fall in love, or enact revenge? is he the corrupted manifestation of what wanderer thought he erased of himself in irminsul? definitely the yandere type except he wants to replace real scara imo.
âCanât you see this body, the way I hold you, the way I touch you⊠am I not just like him?â â€ïžâđ©č
#[âsigned by kuni].âż#how do you smooch a faceless man tho?? is his face a shadow?#asking the real questions#and not me chatting up a faceless wanderer ai for funsies hehe
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thinking about dream daddy again and god brian makes me so mad
#random thoughts#dream daddy#HIS ROUTE ISN'T EVEN ABOUT HIM#okay so the thing about the fleshed-out routes is you can tell a lot about a character depending on how many people are around#like with craig his first two dates involve at least one of his kids and a lot of social interaction because he's so overworked#so his final date where you just spend time with HIM one-on-one hits a lot harder#while with joseph he surrounds you with people but takes little periods of time to be alone with you to make a move#before instantly surrounding you with people again so you don't have enough time to question if he just made a pass at you#which is why his final date with you on the boat hits so hard: he purposefully isolated you in a place you could not easily leave#so he could make his move#and with brian... all his dates involve daisy in some way#which would imply he's trying to maintain some sort of distance? but he's not. he actively wants to befriend you#daisy and amanda keep tagging along... and for what?#they're eventually sidelined anyway! each date involves a moment where daisy and amanda are gone and you get a moment alone with brian#brian is the dad whose kid is the most present in his route and it says. literally nothing about him#make it so your character keeps inviting brian out and brian keeps making it a 'bring your kid and make it a playdate' thing or SOMETHING#maybe he's been raising daisy by himself for so long he's a bit rusty on how to interact with someone he's interested in?#on the second date daisy and amanda could have stayed home. it would change nothing#have daisy be sick and amanda be otherwise involved (maybe imply they're both faking to get out of fishing/get brian and mc to smooch)#like i don't think i'd mind daisy being around so much if she wasn't such a nothing burger of a character#give her some flaws! have amanda think she's weird or creepy! show us why she has no friends!#why is brian's route centered around our mc's daddy issues. we don't know his dad. we don't give a shit about his dad.#brian's route's main conflict ISN'T EVEN ABOUT HIM??? WHAT THE FUCK#you're essentially forcing us to make a character choice based on a backstory you also forced on us. you fallout 4'd us.#like okay. there's a lot of 'here's a part of your backstory you didn't know about' in dream daddy but this specifically doesn't work#like the ska band? it's a jokey plot device that's kind of weak but also a bit whatever#alex? is an explanation for why you're a single parent. very sad. not very fleshed out.#mc's dad? IS THE FOCUS OF AN ENTIRE ROUTE?????? WHAT THE FUCJ#literally no reason to do that. it makes brian a flatter character whose whole purpose is to react to your daddy issues#GIVE HIM FLAWS. MAKE HIM THE ONE WHO TAKES THE COMPETITION TOO SERIOUSLY
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am curious. how would irelia feel about knowing kayn is born noxian?
or in other words, what's her opinion about nature vs nurture.
â @axewhirl
GOOD QUESTION, IT LIVES IN MY HEAD RENT FREE THANKS FOR GIVING ME AN EXCUSE TO SHARE MY THOUGHTS ILY REY
so. irelia's feelings about noxus and noxians are very simple, of course â they deserve to die. i've spoken before about the dehumanization of the enemy and how it was also a coping mechanism to her, but when it comes to long-term effects, it definitely impacted her ability (and willingness, perhaps more importantly) to show them any sympathy. they're not people. she's content to look at them as barely human, in a way. of course it's not that easy, but she had no reason to challenge that notion so far (except, perhaps, during the sentinels event with riven but... bleh i don't like how anything about irelia and being a sentinel was handled).
which is an overly rambly prologue to get to the real question. how would she feel about learning kayn is noxian? i think there's no ultimate answer for that, because to a point it depends on her relationship with kayn. were she to see him as an enemy, wouldn't it be simple to blame how awful he is on his noxian birth? but i personally don't think an enemy is ever what she sees in him; she doesn't look down on the yanlei as much as many other ionians, because she is well aware their origin as an order and her own path aren't that unlike. they chose to fight. they did things considered extreme. so did she â even if not to the same extent, and even if there are things she disagrees with them greatly, such as the matter of wild magic.
in game, her interaction with kayn is the same as for other 'ionian villains' (zed, syndra and jhin iirc). she wants to believe there's good in him, as she wants to believe there's good in any of the others. would she still be as hopeful if she knew he was noxian? honestly, without a personal connection, maybe not. but i'm inclined to say regardless of having any sort of relationship with him, knowing he's noxian by birth wouldn't ultimately result on her regarding him as a lost cause. because despite everything, kayn is ionian in every way that matters. he was raised as ionian for a good portion of his life, he fights for ionia too. he hates noxians as much as she does. how can she possibly just throw him along the rest of them?
so, yes, i think despite her views on noxus as a whole, she wouldn't think he's fated to be just like the other noxians because he's noxian by birth. of course, that might force her to question some of her other stances towards noxians, who she'd have dismissed as all being the same (because if he is not, others may be different too â and he wasn't even raised as ionian from early infancy, so when does one draw the line? when do they become irredeemable?). it's something else to consider whether or not she'd want to make that distinction for other cases. personally i think she'd be content to just make him an exception (because that's easy, and comfortable, and she would have seen him as ionian well before she saw him as noxian; it's easier to ignore the other implications), rather than truly let that change her outlook on things more broadly.
i think the moment she learned about it, it'd be a shock (because, like i said, her view of noxians is really black and white; they're evil, they're monstrous, they deserve to die). immediately, there's no way it wouldn't have an impact because i don't think irelia would know how to feel about it (but the extent of that impact depends on how much she cares about him, too; like with cyn's kayn, where there is a relationship, then she obviously cares more, and in turn it is more of a shock to learn that he was born noxian than in a situation like canon, where they haven't really interacted). still, i don't think the confusion would manifest as aggression or rejection, and that it'd be pretty short-lived (both in the sense of an immediate reaction and in any lingering, posterior doubt). kayn may have been born noxian, and he may have spent the first years of his life a noxian, but he has long since left that behind. zed took him in and kayn embraced his new life, a life he leads as an ionian. if she accepted him as that before, knowing he was born noxian wouldn't change she accepts him as that still. knowing he was born in noxus doesn't change what he is or what he does now.
#» out of character â âmain sup irl.â#i smooch you rey for giving me this tasty question and i hope there's something of understandable in all that rant#i did my best#sanfaskdjfnasdkfn#but yeah honestly i think#she'd never throw kayn with the rest of the noxians#there's a stark contrast the way she sees it#but i also don't think that's entirely hmmm indicative of her stance on the nature vs. nurture debate because#ultimately i do think she'd still think the rest of Them is what it is bc noxians#although that's deeply impacted by the Us vs Them mentality related to the war too#(and how can she possibly think of kayn as one of them when he too suffered bc of the war?)#i'm rambling again i'll stop#ksfnjaskfn#but yeah no kayn is safe from being judged by irelia as noxian even if/when she learns about it#» character study â âboth the tranquil sea and the tempest.â
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Iâm trying to do drafts but I keep getting distracted by my job. :/
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ROOM FOR RENT
PAIRING: logan howlett x female reader
RATING: explicit (18+) | WORD COUNT: 5.3k
SUMMARY: logan finds a new roommate.
AUTHORâS NOTE: i have logan howlett brain rot and iâm not sorry. big smooch to everyone who let me yell about this to them including @eupheme @pedgito @wannab-urs @chaotic-mystery @kedsandtubesocks @undrthelights and @murder-wife đ
WARNINGS: post deadpool & wolverine, variant!logan howlett, able bodied reader, reader being picked up (enhanced strength babyyyy), roommates to lovers trope, meddlesome pet cat, a splash of canon typical violence - mentions of blood and knife wounds, wade wilson/deadpool appearances, mild angst, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact) - dirty talk, pain kink, biting, pet names, praise kink, oral sex - m & f receiving, a little dacryphilia during a blowjob, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, begging, size kink. if iâve missed any, please let me know!
LINKS: masterlists | support for palestine
If Logan has to wake up to Wade's constant yapping for the rest of his life, he's going to go insane. Every morning he's jolted awake by Wade singing in the kitchen. When he notices Logan is awake, the singing stops and the one-sided conversation begins and doesn't end until Logan finally gets up from the couch and leaves the apartment with nothing but the clothes on his back.
Today, with some money in his pocket from a few odd jobs he's picked up, he finds solace in a quiet coffee shop. Sat beside a bulletin board, he scans the postings.
Art show, art show, yard sale, job opening, roommate wanted, art show--
Roommate wanted? Logan tears the paper from the pin.
Room for rent in 2 bedroom/1 bathroom apartment. One cat. Laundry on site.
He folds the ad up and stuffs the paper in the pocket of his jacket before gathering his empty coffee cup and tossing it in the trash on the way out the door, an uncharacteristic spring in his step.
Your phone rings with a number you don't recognize. You consider sending it to voicemail, already exhausted from fielding similar calls about your room for rent, but ultimately decide to answer.
"Hello?"
A man clears his throat on the other end of the line before responding with, "This the number for the rental?"
"Yep," you reply. "Were you interested in seeing it or have any questions?"
"How much is it?"
"Your half would be $950.â
"And it's a whole bedroom?"
"As opposed to a half bedroom?" You laugh at your joke but the man remains quiet and you wince. "I mean, yes. It's a whole bedroom."
"I'd like to come see it, if you've got the time."
"Sure, how's this Friday sound?" You suggest. "What's your full name?"
"Why do you need to know that?" The man's tone grows defensive and alarm bells ring in your head.
"Well, I'd like to make sure you're not, like, a wanted criminal or something," you tell him with an awkward laugh. He's quiet and for a moment you think that he may have hung up on you. "Hello?"
"Yeah, 'm still here," he sighs. "Name's Logan Howlett."
"Logan Howlett," you repeat. You give him your name in return, though he doesn't do much but grunt in acknowledgment. "Alright, well, do you have something to write down the address?"
"Just tell me, I'll remember."
After listing off the address, he ends the call with a rough goodbye. You get to work on your personal research, entering his name into a search engine.
No results.
You refresh the page, thinking that must be an error, but the same message appears.
No results.
You try spelling his name differently.
No results.
You set the phone down, anxiety starting to creep up your spine. It's hard to believe that there's absolutely nothing online about this man, who now has your full address, name, and phone number.
A sharp meow shakes you from your thoughts and you find that your cat has taken up residence on your lap, staring at you intently as his tail flicks back and forth. You run your hand over his head, scratching beneath his chin.
"You'll protect me, right?" You ask.
He leaps from your lap and struts away, fluffy tail disappearing down the hall that leads to your bedroom. You sigh.
Hopefully you havenât just done something stupid.
Logan's attempt to leave the apartment unnoticed does not go as planned. Althea is sitting on the couch, a re-run of a talk show playing loudly, when he tries to make a run for it. He's distracted, watching her too carefully that he doesn't realize Wade has just returned from god-knows-where.
"Whatcha doin', twinkle toes?" Wade asks, startling Logan, who slams into the kitchen table with a curse.
"Fucking hell," Logan curses, rubbing his hip. "When did you get in here?"
Wade shrugs. "Sometime around the start of your 007 impression."
"My what?"
"Nevermind," Wade sighs. "You look snazzy. Got a hot date?"
"No," Logan grunts.
"A cold date, then?"
Logan pinches his nose. "No."
"Well, care to share, sugar plum? What's got you sneaking around like the Black Widow?"
"The who?"
"May she rest in peace," Wade says, tone suddenly somber.
"He's tryin' to move out," Althea chimes in. Wade's mouth drops open in shock.
"You're abandoning us?!" he exclaims. "After all we've been through?"
"Let the man do what he wants," Althea says. "Damn co-dependent freak."
"Harsh," - Wade places a hand over his chest, -"you know I have daddy issues. And mommy issues. And abandonment issues. And--"
"Enough," Logan snaps. "Yes, alright? I'm looking for a new place. I can't sleep on that couch forever."
"Is it because it smells like old people?" Wade whispers, pointing an accusatory finger to Althea, who flips him off.
"Look, this is your universe. Your timeline. Mine is gone and it's time I start making this whole thing less temporary."
Wade tilts his head and places a hand on Logan's shoulder. "My little Wolvie, all grown up," he says, wiping at a fake tear. Logan shoves his hand away, storming past him for the door.
"Remember to smile! Give 'em the ol' razzle dazzle!" Wade shouts as he slams the door behind him.
You pace your small living room and check the stove clock for the hundredth time in the past five minutes. Logan is due to see the apartment and your nerves have gone from a simmer to a full blown boil waiting for the mysterious man with no digital footprint to show up. Your cat is lounging on the windowsill, blissfully unaware of your inner panic.
Three sharp knocks at the door cause your pulse to skyrocket. You take a deep breath before crossing the short distance to the door, pulling it open with a smile.
"Hi! You must be--â
Your greeting dies on your tongue as you take in the man crowding your hallway. He's wearing a leather jacket over a white tank top that stretches tightly across a broad chest and jeans that highlight thick thighs. His dark hair is cut shorter on the sides than on the top of his head, the ends fanning out in a manner that reminds you of a cat's ears and he's sporting an impressively thick beard.
"'m Logan," he says in the same deep voice you heard over the phone, holding a hand out towards you. You slip your palm against his much larger one and you're surprised by how warm his touch is.
"H-hi," you stutter, shaking his hand. You clear your throat. "Sorry, hi. Uh, come on in."
You move aside to let him through the doorway, not missing the fact that his shoulders practically brush the frame as he steps inside. Your apartment opens up directly into the living room and kitchen with a small dining area set in between and you gesture around.
"Well, this is most of it, to be honest. I know it's not much but--"
"It's quiet," Logan interrupts. "Ain't used to quiet."
"Where, uh," -- you twist the hem of your shirt -- "where are you coming from? Exactly?"
"Kind of a long story. Right now I sleep on a couch in a shitty one bedroom apartment shared by an asshole who doesn't shut the fuck up and a blind cocaine addict."
"Oh," you reply, nodding despite your lack of understanding. "Yeah, it's just me here. Well, and Dumpling."
"Dumpling?"
As if summoned by his name, your cat appears, making a swift beeline for the newcomer. He twists around Logan's legs, butting his head against his shins. You bend down, scooping him up in your arms.
"This is Dumpling. He's cute, but he'll knock over any plants so I wouldn't recommend you take up indoor gardening if you decide to live here." Logan eyes Dumpling warily before holding a hand out. Dumpling sniffs his fingers daintily and rubs head against his palm. "I think he likes you."
Logan huffs, the sound close to a laugh, and it makes you smile. He looks up at you and for a moment you forget that you're complete strangers who have just met. He feels inexplicably familiar, his presence comforting, and you're surprised by it.
"Let's look at the bedroom," you finally say, breaking the moment. You turn, heading for the hall and he follows behind you, steps surprisingly light for such a large man. You take him to the last door at the end of the hall and enter the empty room. "This is it. It's kind of small, but all the rooms in New York are pretty much shoe boxes. It's got a closet and access to the fire escape, though.â
"Better than the couch," he says, looking around the room. "You said $950?"
"Plus half of the utilities," you add. He nods.
"Look, I'll be honest. I'm...between jobs right now." He sighs. "And my schedule can be...unpredictable."
"Oh," you mumble. You think about it for a moment. Renting the apartment to Logan would be a risk but...you can't help but notice that exhaustion in his eyes, how it's clear he's trying to get back on his feet in one way or another. "That's okay. We can work something out."
He raises an eyebrow at you. "Really? You sure about that?"
Were you?
"Yeah," you reply. "I'm sure."
Having a roommate is...an adjustment.
Logan is great. He does his dishes in a timely manner, doesn't leave any clothes on the bathroom floor, and even cleans Dumpling's litter box from time to time.
But he drives you insane and it has nothing to do with his qualities as a roommate and everything to do with how unbearably attractive he is. He could be doing the most mundane activity and suddenly you're more turned on than a faucet on full blast. On top of it all, he's surprisingly sweet for such a gruff man.
Currently, you're watching him pour himself a glass of whiskey. You know he's probably preparing to take the drink to his room so that he can have a cigar on the fire escape, but you find yourself wanting his company.
"Logan?" you ask. He looks at you over his shoulder.
"Yeah, bub?"
"Would you...want to watch a movie? With me?"
He turns to fully face you, leaning against the counter and taking a sip of his drink, dark eyes on you over the rim of the glass. You swallow nervously, prepared to retract your offer and hide out in your room for the rest of eternity, but he puts you out of your misery.
"Sure." He comes over to the couch, taking a seat that's a respectable distance away. "What are we watching?"
"Have you seen The Greatest Showman?"
A musical. He's sitting through a goddamn musical.
"You kinda look like that guy," you say from beside him. Logan tilts his head.
"I don't see it."
"It's the bone structure."
"I'm bigger than him." You mumble something under your breath that he doesn't quite catch, though he thinks it sounded suspiciously like yeah, you are. "You say somethin'?"
"Huh?" You shake your head. "No, nope. Didn't say anything."
Logan relaxes against the back of the couch, settling in. You're curled up against the armrest, a blanket covering your legs and your arms wrapped around a throw pillow. You look relaxed, at ease, a stark contrast to how you had been when he first moved in. You spent more of your time hidden in your room and he's happy to see you're getting more comfortable around him.
It's also torture. You're like a drug that he can't get enough of, a high that doesn't last long enough. He clings desperately to every smile you grace him with and falls asleep with the sound of your voice echoing in his head. He wakes up looking forward to seeing you, even if it's just in passing before you head out for your very normal job as part of your very normal life.
That's what gives him pause. You're not like him, not built for violence, and he would never drag you into that life. He thinks about Vanessa and Wade and the wedge that was driven between them they're working to repair and he can't bear the thought of having you just to lose you.
Logan's so lost in his own thoughts he doesn't realize that the movie has ended and you haven't moved. Your head is angled in a way that has to be uncomfortable, your mouth dropped open as you breathe slowly and deeply. He grabs the remote from the coffee table and turns the TV off, plunging the room into darkness as he stands and quietly approaches you.
He slides one arm beneath your knees and using the other to support your back, lifts you from the couch. You settle your head against his chest but otherwise your sleep remains undisturbed as he carries you down the hall into your room.
It's not the first time he's been in your personal space. One time he woke up to Dumpling clawing at his chest and he marched the animal back to your room for the night, barging in on you while you had been up reading. He remembers the queen sized bed in a wooden frame and a dresser with a drawer that won't shut take up most of the space, the plain white of your walls replaced by a soft blue. You've installed what he first thought were regular shelves but later learned are meant for Dumpling to use for late night acrobatics that he can sometimes hear from his room.
Logan sets you gently on your bed and pulls the quilt up to your shoulders. Before he can think better of it, he reaches a hand toward your face, tracing his thumb over the high point of your cheek. You turn towards the sensation, chasing his touch, and his chest grows tight. He sighs, stepping back and turning for the door.
Dumpling sits in the doorway, flicking his tail. Logan steps around him into the hallway, the cat's gaze following him.
"Shut up," he whispers.
Dumpling meows in return.
You're disoriented when you wake the next morning. The last thing you remember is being on the couch with Logan and watching The Greatest Showman, but somehow you've ended up in your room. You turn over in bed to find Dumpling on your other pillow, curled in a ball.
"Morning, Dumpy," you murmur, scratching his head. "How'd we end up here?"
Dumpling blinks unhelpfully at you before uncurling from his spot and hopping from the bed, leaving through your open door. It's then that you notice that you can hear grunting noises coming from the living room.
You get up to investigate and stop dead in your tracks, mouth dropping open when you find the source of the noise is a shirtless Logan doing push ups on the living room floor. The broad muscles of his back ripple with each movement, each push accompanied by a small grunt that makes your thighs clench together, imagining him making that noise when--
Logan stops, jumping to his feet and you shake your head free of the salacious image it began to create. He turns, giving you an uninhibited view of his thick chest that's covered in dark hair that trails down over defined abs before disappearing beneath the elastic of his sweatpants. You have to say something, anything, but your brain is full of static, unable to operate when he's standing there looking like that.
"Morning," he says.
"Good morning!" you reply, voice pitched higher than usual. You walk past him in a way you hope is casual, heading for the kitchen and prepping the coffee machine. "You got any plans today?"
"Got a friend who needs my help with something. Don't know when I'll be back." His voice is much closer than you expected and you turn from the counter to find him right behind you, a scant few inches of space between your bodies.
"Oh?" you whisper, keeping your gaze firmly on his face. "Is everything okay?"
"It will be."
He drifts impossibly closer, chest nearly brushing yours. Your heart pounds in your chest, a frantic rhythm that's become familiar ever since Logan entered your life. Reaching above your head, he grabs two mugs in one large hand, setting them on the counter behind you before taking a step back and turning to head for his room without another glance in your direction.
You sag against the counter, a wave of lust addled adrenaline crashing over you and leaving you breathless. The last thing you need to be doing is getting involved with your roommate, no matter how tempting he may be.
Dumpling jumps up on the counter beside the coffee pot and stares at you, likely waiting for food, but it feels more like judgment in his green eyes.
"Shut up," you whisper to him.
Dumpling meows, batting you with a paw.
You're sitting on the couch when there's an unexpected knock at your door. Logan is still gone, helping a friend and you're not expecting anyone, so youâre not sure who it could be. You check the peephole before opening the door and see the distorted image of a man in a red suit and mask supporting the weight of your roommate against his side.
"What the fuck?" you ask as you open the door in a panicked rush. The masked man waves his fingers at you.
"Hi there! I've got a very," -- he grunts, adjusting his grip on Logan -- "heavy delivery."
Logan's eyes are closed, head flopped back on the masked man's shoulder. Blood stains his t-shirt in spots that look suspiciously like knife wounds and you gasp.
"What happened to him?!" you shout. "Oh my god, he needs to go to the hospital--"
"He just needs a little power nap," the man says. "I'm Wade, by the way. You mind if I just--"
Wade drags Logan through the apartment, depositing him on your couch with a huff, wiping his hands together. He looks around and you're shocked when the eyes of the mask seem to move, as if mimicking his facial expressions.
"This is a nice place," he says. Dumpling meows and Wade gasps. "You have a cat?! I wish I could pet you, sweet kitty, but Dogpool would put me in the dog house. Ha! Get it?"
"I'm confused," you manage to say. "My roommate is bleeding out on my couch after being dropped off by some wanna-be Avenger--"
"Ouch!"
"And you're saying he doesn't need to go to the emergency room?"
"Nope." Wade lifts Logan's shirt. "See? Good as new."
Despite the blood and tears on his shirt, there's no wounds on Logan's body. He shifts, lifting an arm to smack Wade's hand away as he groans, eyes fluttering open. He glares at the man.
"Get out," he growls.
"Now, now, that's not being a very good host, Logi. What, were you raised by wolves?" Wade replies. Logan roars, a ferocious sound that's more animal than man. His hand curls into a fist and sharp metal blades extend from between his knuckles. "Okay, okay, I'm leaving, no need for the murder mittens." Wade looks at you. "You should come to Sunday dinner!"
"Wilson!" Logan shouts. Wade finally heeds the man's warnings, rushing for the door without another word, shutting it behind him. Logan sags against the couch, blades retracting into his hand. He tilts his head back, closing his eyes.
You stand there in shock, trying to make sense of everything you just witnessed. Logan should be halfway to dead by now, but he doesn't even have a scratch on him. He has claws. How does he have claws?
"Can hear you thinking," Logan says, eyes still shut. "Just say it."
"Say what?" you ask. He lifts his head.
"Tell me to get out, scream, whatever it is."
You sit down on the couch, facing him. "Why would I do that?"
"Because that's what you should be doing."
His hand rests on his thigh and you reach for it, lifting it to eye level for a closer look at his knuckles. You trace your thumb over the smooth skin, up over his strong forearm. He watches you, face almost pained.
"I'm not scared of you," you whisper. "You wouldn't hurt me."
"But I could," he bites back.
"You won't." You're certain of that. You set his hand back on his thigh and stand from the couch, intending to grab him a glass of water from the kitchen, but he stops you with a hand around your wrist. His grip is loose enough that you could break free, but you don't.
Logan looks up at you with an unreadable expression, something close to fear mixed with a conflicting emotion that you think -- or hope -- might be desire. He tugs your wrist, bringing you to stand between his legs.
"How can you be so sure?" he asks.
You place your hand on his cheek, the coarse hair of his beard scratching at your palm. His eyelids flutter and his lips part on a sharp inhale.
"You're a good man, Logan Howlett," you murmur. He closes his eyes tightly and takes a deep breath.
His next movements are quick -- a hand on the back of your thigh, dragging you onto his lap, the other wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you close, his lips capturing yours in a savage kiss. You melt into him, meeting his urgency with your own desperation, tongues tangling together and fighting for dominance.
You pull back to trail kisses across his jaw until you reach his neck, sinking your teeth into the tan skin, just over his hammering pulse. Logan groans, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, pulling you tightly against him as his hips buck into yours.
"Fuck," Logan says, voice a deep rumble that you feel to your marrow. "Do that again."
"Do what?" you tease.
"Bite me," he demands. "Make it hurt."
You obey, biting down into his shoulder with greater effort, sinking your teeth in deep until he hisses from the pain of it and you let go, lifting your head to look at the mark you've left behind. It fades quickly, disappearing without a trace.
"Jesus," he says, pulling you in for another kiss, slow and deep, as his hands find the hem of your shirt. "Let me see you."
You allow him to lift your shirt up and over your head, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. His touch makes you shiver despite the heat of his hands as he traces the curve of your waist up to your chest, his thumbs finding your nipples and teasing them with slow circles. You drop your head back with a moan and he takes the opportunity to kiss your neck, your collarbone, moving down until his lips wrap around one taut bud.
"Logan," you whine, digging your fingers into his hair and holding tight. He hums, the sensation making your eyes roll.
"Thought about this," he murmurs, switching to your other breast. "Every time you'd wear those goddamn tight shirts of yours."
"Really?"
"Mhm."
"Wanna know what I thought about?" You tug his hair, pulling his head away from your chest. "Sucking your cock."
He raises his eyebrow at you and you take the opportunity to slide from his lap, settling on your knees between his spread thighs. You work his belt loose, followed by the fly of his jeans. He reaches past the waistband to free his cock and your mouth waters at the sight. You could tell he was big while you were on his lap, but he's even more glorious than you imagined. Thick, long, with prominent veins and a slight upward curve that you know will hit all the right places.
You take him in your hand, appreciating the weight of him in your palm as you hold him steady. With your eyes locked on his face, you open your mouth and stick out your tongue to lick from the top of your fingers to the flushed head. He groans, his hand curling into a fist that he presses to his forehead.
"Fuck," Logan hisses. You do it again, this time swirling your tongue around the tip before taking him into your mouth, moving down his length slowly. "God, look at you. Mouth stuffed so full you're drooling, huh?"
He's right. Spit gathers at the corners of your lips and runs down your chin as you use your mouth to pleasure him. The sounds he makes above you are downright filthy, deep moans and filthy praise that have you moving faster, taking him deeper, working to get as much of him in your mouth as you manage without gagging. He cups your cheek with one large palm, thumb tracing your stretched lips.
"Keep going, sweetheart. You can take a little more, can't you? That's it," he says. Tears burn your cheeks with the effort to obey, your throat tightening around the head of his cock. "Fuck, that's a good girl."
You breathe deeply through your nose, maintaining a steady pace and using your hand in tandem with your mouth for what you can't easily take. Logan's hips begin to flex beneath you, his words trailing off into guttural growls. His cock twitches in your grasp and he moans your name before his release floods your mouth and you swallow it down.
You pull off of him with a slick pop, gasping for breath. Before you can say anything, Logan is hauling you to your feet as he stands from the couch, lifting you up with one strong arm beneath your ass and urging your legs around his waist.
"What are you doing?" you ask.
"Just getting started."
Logan kicks the door open to your room, startling Dumpling from his perch. The cat races out the door, disappearing into the living area as the door clicks shut. He sets you down on your bed and quickly rids himself of his boots and rest of his clothing before returning his attention to you.
You're lying there in your little sleep shorts that drive him nuts. The fabric barely covers your ass and there's been more than one occasion where he's shuffled into the kitchen in the mornings to see you in them, all the blood in his body rushing south at the sight. He joins you on the bed, on his knees between your spread thighs, and extends a single claw. Your eyes widen, but you don't pull away. In fact, you start squirming, hips flexing minutely against the mattress.
"Scared yet?" he asks.
"I wouldn't say that.â
He carefully slips the blade beneath the hem of your shorts, inching it up until it peeks out above the elastic waistband before twisting his wrist and slicing through the fabric like it's nothing. Claw retracted, he removes your ruined shorts and takes a moment to appreciate the vision you make, legs spread wide and your dripping pussy on display.
"You're a mess," he says, smoothing his hands over the soft skin of your legs. He lifts one of your knees, pressing a kiss to the inside of it before resting it on his shoulder. "Gonna clean you up."
Logan dips his head to your center, dragging his tongue through your soaked sex, groaning when the taste of you blooms across his tongue. Your fingers curl against his scalp, a sharp point of pleasure-pain as he explores your body. He swirls his tongue over your clit, experimenting with broad circles and sharp flicks until you're writhing beneath him.
"Logan," you cry, hips bucking against his face. He dips his tongue into your cunt, nose brushing your clit as he does, and he hums in satisfaction as your thighs tense around his head.
He looks up at you and drinks in the picture you make, gorgeous skin glistening with sweat and your back arched from the bed, chest heaving with desperate breaths. He wants this exact moment burned into his memory, certain it could chase away the dark shadows that linger there.
Logan presses two fingers to your hole, sliding them in with little resistance. You're so warm and tight, squeezing his fingers beautifully, calling out his name as he curls them when he drags them from your body.
"I'm going to come," you gasp. "Oh, fuck, just like that!"
You pulse around his fingers and he slows his movements to work you through it until you collapse against the mattress with a deep sigh. He carefully removes his hand and sits up on his knees.
"Guess I made more of a mess," Logan says. Your eyes squeeze shut with a breathless giggle.
"I'll forgive you," you reply. You reach your arms up for him and he moves to hover over you to accept your embrace. "God, Logan," you murmur, tilting your chin up to kiss him.
In this position, he's able to drag his cock through the slick mess between your thighs and you shiver beneath him, gasping into his mouth. He does it again, more purposeful this time and it drags a moan from you both.
"Please," you murmur.
"Please what, sweetheart? Tell me what you want," he replies. "What you need."
"Need you to fuck me."
Logan reaches between your bodies and positions the thick head of his cock at your entrance, pushing forward. The stretch of him is unreal, almost too much even with how wet you are for him.
"Relax," he says, holding himself steady above you. "You can take it."
You nod and he pushes forward another inch, letting you adjust, and repeating the process until the coarse hair at the base of his cock tickles your sensitive skin. You've never been so full, no other experience compares to this. No other man compares to Logan, in any way.
He starts moving slowly, dragging his hips back until you're nearly empty before plunging back inside. Each thrust puts stars in your vision, makes the knot of want and need coil tighter in your lower belly, until you're moaning his name and begging him to move faster, harder, deeper.
Logan obeys, thrusting into you with enough force that your head board collides with the wall. He sits back on heels, dragging you up with him until you're sitting in his lap and he's able to thrust up into you.
"Feel so fucking good," he says, lips against your neck. "Need you to come for me, baby."
You nod, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and holding him close, meeting each of his thrusts with a rock of your hips that drags your clit against him, your nerves buzzing with the friction and fullness. While the orgasm he wrenched from you with his mouth felt like a wildfire, this one builds and builds, a wave cresting until it finally crashes and you cry out his name.
Logan leans forward to drop you back onto the bed, reaching a hand up to grip your headboard as he continues to roll his hips into yours, chasing his own release. His thrusts begin to grow more desperate until he presses in deep and you're flooded with warmth as he growls, long and low. The sound of splintering wood breaks through your post-orgasmic haze and you tilt your head back to find that his claws have extended through your headboard, splitting the wood and embedding into the drywall.
"I can fix that," Logan says breathlessly, tugging his hand free, claws retracting. You grin at him.
"Later," you reply, pulling him in for a kiss.
You've got better things to do right now.
Thank you so much for reading! For more of my writing, check out my masterlists!
#logan howlett#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett x fem!reader#logan howlett x female reader#logan howlett fanfiction#logan howlett fanfic#logan howlett smut#logan howlett fluff#logan howlett fic
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àż àż hot, hot summer !
in which you got the offer of a lifetimeâtakes place in 2006-2009 era! @mrrpmiao miao, youâre so responsible for the brain worm youâve instilled in my mindđââïž
a part of gojo's love entries
summer is as hot as you are pretty.
itâs an undisputed fact to satoru. after all, he chose you. so of course you were the best. he supposed even strangers here would eventually come to realize it too⊠as it wasnât the first time their kind had done so.
kamakura beach was packed in summer, and he stepped away a bit to get you shaved ice only to come back to this appalling sight.
âmiss! ooh! youâre so gorgeous!â
this suspicious-looking middle-aged manâwith goatee, long tied hair, wearing palm shirt and beach shortsâapproached you so merrily as you were chilling under the parasol.
âah thank youâŠ?â you pasted a taut smile, totally clueless and spooked, hoping he would go on his way.
âi mean it! your body is soâwow!â the man gasped dramatically, appraising you from head to toe. âyour bustâitâs perfect! youâd make a good cover girl, you know!â
you were wearing the bikini of the same brand inoue waka endorsed at satoruâs insistence, and true, it was indeed a sight for sore eyes.
his sore eyes, specifically. not others.
satoru scowled, and he marched towards where you were. he would do his job as alwaysâchasing away no-good men from you.
âhey you,â he barked. âwhat business do you have with my girl here?â
the bearded man regarded him with surprise, before he assessed him from top to bottom. âoh! youâre mr. boyfriend? whoa, you donât look bad yourself!â
âif youâre trying to bother myââ
âno, no! youâve got the wrong idea!â the man defended, raising both hands in surrender. âyou see, iâm about to offer the pretty lady a gig as a gravure model!â
wha? you gaped. satoru blinked.
âm-me?â you stammered, flabbergasted, pointing at yourself. âuh, are you sure?â
âyes! 100% sure!â the agent man replied with stars in his eyes. âmiss, with your assets, youâll outshine even inoue waka or kaoru sakurako themselves!â
âreally?!â you almost laughed. it was a strange compliment, but a compliment nonetheless.
but next to you, satoruâs face darkened, his eyes obscured. his fists clenched around the paper bowl of shaved ice so hard it shook. the next thing you knowâ
âhere, hold this.â he suddenly shoved the shaved ice to you, before he plucked his sandal off andâ
âYOU!â satoru raised the flip-flop above his head, his eyes blazing with fury, ready to swing it at the man. âGET LOST YOU SLIMY BOZO!â
ââ?! WAIT, YOUNG MAN!â
and then came the most disastrous scene before you: your boyfriend chased the agent with his sandal, throwing it at him that it bonked his head, then grabbed someoneâs big-ass water gun without permission and continued the pursuit, determined to catch him.
. . .
âhow could you?! why do you seem even remotely interested!?â satoru fierily questioned you after he was done cooking the gravure video agent, panting and sopping wet. in the end, the two of them got into a water gun fight that ended with him winning.
you turned to him, feigning an unimpressed expression. âhe said i can outshine inoue waka. who wouldnât want that chance?â
âyou canât!â he retorted almost immediately, aghast. âi mean, yeah you can! but no! no way! you canât flaunt your body for everyone to see!â
âwhy?â
âyou are mine!â he pouted hard, irked. âi donât want to share you! you are for the consumption of my eyes only!â
his blatant response made you giddy, truthfully. and as if to stress his point, he suddenly pulled you to his chest from behind, wrapping both arms around you, making you squeal.
âsatoru, youâre wet!â
âso? when i marry you someday, weâre going to share a lot of things together. wet is one of them.â
âdoes this mean youâd pick me over inoue waka?â you threw him a suggestive smile, looking up at him expectantly.
his face then turned pink, as he smooched you in the head. âyou know the answer to that, dummy.â
who would have thought that he would really keep his promise and that you'd come to the same beach years later...?
#đđđŁđ đđđĄđđđđ #gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#jjk drabbles#satoru gojo x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk imagines#jjk x you#jjk fanfic#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#gojo x you#gojo fluff#gojo satoru imagines#gojo satoru fluff#satoru gojo fluff#jjk gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jutusu kaisen x reader#satoru x reader#satoru gojo x you
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Steve and Eddie work together in an aquarium, and Eddie is losing his mind. He's in love, he's got the most embarrassing crush, but Steve doesn't even notice him.
They barely interact, and Eddie only knows Steve's first name. He doubts Steve knows he exists, he's just one of many tour guides (but he's amazing with kids and especially teenagers, so he's actually a great tour guide, thank you very much!)
Back to Steve. Steve, with his lean muscles, easy smile, thick hair and beautiful, but somehow sad eyes. That Steve.
The Steve who works in the aquarium as a merman.
Eddie could watch him for hours, floating in the tank with grace Eddie didn't know existed, with his sparkly yellow mermaid tail, flowing hair and chest hair, and that man can hold his breath for so long? Think of the options, the possibilities!
The mermaid show is insanely popular among all the kids and teens, even adults. His best friend Chrissy was the one who recommended Eddie to the aquarium, she's the main mermaid, and god, if Eddie wasn't gay, she'd have him at her feet. She always looks so effortless, twirling underwater in her emerald green mermaid tail, spinning around Steve. They make such a beautiful pair, it makes Eddie want to weep.
Fortunately, she's already in a happy relationship, so Steve is reportedly still single. Chrissy makes Eddie massage her feet in the evenings - he offered, they're cramping from a bad fit of the tail - and graciously answers all Eddie's reasonable questions, such as "how do his hands feel?" ("Wet. We're swimming, remember?").
She keeps telling Eddie to ask Steve out, but Eddie isn't stupid. That man is the god Poseidon himself, and Eddie is but a humble crab in his kingdom. So he admires him from afar, longing, pining and making Chrissy's head hurt.
But Steve's just so good with kids, Eddie can't keep his mouth shut. He always mutters something to Steve as he's ushering the kids away. "Great show, sweetheart," or "I love that smile, Stevie," or "need help getting that tail off?" He's only a man, and no one can hear him.
Except for a nosy tour coordinator listening in through his earpiece, Robin Buckley. She also happens to be Steve's best friend, Chrissy's girlfriend, and a menace to society.
And maybe one day she tells Steve to just smooch the tour guide, maybe she spills a few of the longing whispers and wishful stares, but she's only human too. A human who's had to listen to Steve's ramblings about the cute guy who always pulls the kids' attention like a magnet, who even through the blurry glass tank seems to be having an amazing time. Steve sometimes asks Robin for an extra earpiece and listens to the rest of Eddie's tour after the show. He loves his enthusiasm. Once Eddie even drew a heart on Steve's tank, can you imagine that, Rob?!
Maybe Robin and Chrissy have to work together to give the two idiots what they need, because Eddie considers himself too nerdy and plain for Steve, ans Steve thinks he's too dumb and shallow for Eddie.
Maybe Chrissy fakes slipping into the mermaid tank and drags Eddie with her. Maybe Robin is there and quickly gets Steve to jump after him. Maybe she makes the innocent mistake of insuating that Eddie can't swim.
And maybe, when Steve and Eddie are back on firm ground, confused and wet, Chrissy splashes them with water and asks if pretending that it's mouth to mouth resuscitation would help, or if they can finally kiss and stop pining for each other.
And one more maybe...maybe in a few weeks, when Eddie ushers the children away after the show, he kisses his palm and presses it against the tank, and watches Steve do the same, before he can give him a proper kiss after their shift.
#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#steddie#steddie drabble#steddie au#steddie fanfiction#robin buckley#steddie ficlet#chrissy cunningham#buckingham#buckingham au
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à Ë. I see it, I like it, I want it, I got it - OT7
(synopsis) â©đ§âč stealing enhypenâs clothes àł
ot7!enhypen x fem!reader â©đ§âč fluff, crack â©đ§âč petnames, smooches â©đ§âč wc 674
đłđđ đŻđđđđđđđ - ìŽíŹìč
"baby have you seen my grey sweatshirt? i can't find...it-" heeseung stood there, staring at you with a blank look on his face. there you were, snuggled into the grey sweatshirt he was looking for. "alright you little thief! since you look so cute in it, i guess you can have it," heeseung playfully sighed, scooping you into his arms. "yay!" you cheered, hugging heeseung's neck and planting a chaste kiss to his lips. "you're lucky you're so darn cute."
đ·đđđ đ±đđđđđđđđ - ë°ìą
ì±
since your boyfriend had stepped out of the room for a couple minutes, you decided to make haste and steal a warm sweater from jay's closet. when he came back, he immediately noticed the new sweater--that was 2x too big for you--you were wearing. "nice sweater," he smirked, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "thanks! i got it from my boyfriend," you winked, plopping down next to him. "finee, you can have it...but i expect it back by the end of the month!"
đșđđ đ±đđđđđ - ìŹìŹì€
"hey princess have you seen my- jacket...OH MY GOODNESS YOU LOOK SO ADORABLE!!" you were fully expecting to be scolded by jake for stealing his stuff but you also expected this exact reaction. jake's cuteness aggression. "you're not upset i stole it?" you questioned, smiling at jake's excitement. "nope! i would let you have my whole wardrobe knowing how cute you are in my clothes!!" "thanks jakey," you laughed. maybe you would take up his offer.
đ·đđđ đșđđđđđđđ - ë°ì±í
"hey doll? i've been looking for my black shirt, have you seen it?" sunghoon walked in to find you standing in the kitchen, wearing his "missing" shirt, and eating a piece of bread. "oh-" was all he said before whipping out his phone and snapping a quick picture of you. you were just too cute. "it suits me doesn't it?" you asked, your cheeks full of bread. "very much so doll. my clothes suit you very well," sunghoon chuckled. he then walked up to you, wrapping his arms around your shorter frame and placed a kiss to your neck. "so precious," he whispered.
đČđđ đșđđđđ - êčì ì°
sunoo had went to go pick up some food, giving you a good amount of time to commit some robbery. you quickly carried yourself over to sunoo's closet, picking out a few sweatshirts and shirts to bring back to your room. however, you clearly underestimated how much time there was because as you were scurrying back to your room, you were caught. "sweets? why do you have 6 sweatshirts and 4 shirts in your arms? where are you going with those?" sunoo was catching on quick. "uhhh- laundry! yeah! i was uhh folding laundry!" you mentally applauded your swift excuse but clearly he wasn't fooled. "and thatâs why you're wearing one too sweets?" he smirked. mission failure. (jk he let you have them all)
đđđđ đ±đđđđđđ - ìì ì
"jagi? i think i lost my hoodie but i wanted to ask if you've-" jungwon stopped in his tracks and slowly looked at you. you may or may not have stolen his hoodie and were wearing it right this minute..."ah, there it is..y'know what though? just keep it. you look adorable with it on," he smiled, his eyes practically turning into hearts just by the sight of you in his clothes. god he treasured you so much.
đ”đđđđđđđđ đčđđđ - è„żæ ć
"angel? i've lost my black hoodie and i was wondering if you've seen it?" ni-ki ran a hand through his hair while tapping his foot, trying to remember where he put it. "oh! this one?" you asked, tugging the material that you were wearing. you had barged into ni-ki's room and just grabbed the first item of clothing you saw, and then walked out with it on. "yeah...that one.." he mumbled, his cheeks turning slightly pink at how adorable you looked. "sorry, do you want it back?" you asked, already tugging it off. "no no no! wait! no! it's fine! i have tons of other ones! just keep it..it suits you..." he said, mumbling the last bit. only you knew that he actually only owned one black hoodie.
ughhhh this was so cute >.< i always love the prompt of stealing clothes from the s/o đ€ hope you guys enjoyed! likes, reblogs, and feedback is always appreciated! <3
đ§đđđ°đšđ«đ€đŹ: @en-diaries
â. Perm taglist: @vmpivory, @yuvany
#âËâčâĄđᄱȷŃ's đá„rks#đ ââ EN â DiARiES#en diaries <3#en-diaries#en diaries#enhypen#enhypen scenarios#enhypen x reader#ot7#lee heesung x reader#park jongseong x reader#sim jaeyun x reader#park sunghoon x reader#kim sunoo x reader#yang jungwon x reader#nishimura riki x reader#lee heeseung#park jongseong#sim jaeyun#park sunghoon#kim sunoo#yang jungwon#nishimura riki#enhypen fluff#soft hours#enhypen soft hours#enha#enha x reader
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"Stop the wedding!!"
So you get to see NRC food fighting RSA in the end lol Yan! NRC vs Yan! RSA x GN Isekai'd Player (Self-aware)
All the people inside the cafeteria turned their attention to you, an isekai'd player.
"(Name)!!" Idia beamed in tears, finally someone saving him! ... wait, someone? Oh no no no no! You are not just 'someone'!! Why did he even bother troubling you to this extent? He should have just kissed the bride!!!
"Make it right in time, you got me, Ace?" "Thank you for kicking me like a barrel toward the ghosts, pal," Ace replied dejectedly but posed no annoyance at all.
"Potato, since when do you have the funds to get yourself such a nice suit?" Vil questioned as he inspected your overall. The makeup and hairdo were not done to the utmost perfection but he can let it slide because anything on you equals absolute beauty.
"Oh, this? So you are smart enough to realize Crowley won't cover MY suit! I mean, he was trying teeth and nails to not let me join Ace and Co!"
"At least he does something right for the first time," Leona added. "White suits you though I thought you'd surely go with Black as usual?" Trey cocked his head to the side questioningly.
"Look, this is what Neige lent me. And all his attires are almost pristine white! I'm telling ya'!" At that statement, you saw Vil twitch despite not being able to move, he must have been very pissed at the mention of Neige's name alone.
"Originally I planned on taking Cheny'a's but I realized how eccentric his taste is so I decided to go with Neige. The RSA students are kind enough to assist Neige in tailoring it to my size too! Got them right in time before Crowley could shoo me!"
"Dude, even the RSA knows how to respect them, I don't know if I should be angry or nah but it certainly leaves a bad aftertaste seeing them wearing what RSA makes for them." Cater whispers something to the person next to him, inaudible to your ears.
"What do you say if we steal the suit and then burn it down in front of them after we are done here? I'd like to give them a nice thank you hug too while we are at it." "And we should leave them some of my... flowers collection too. This alone should be enough to show our gratitude right?"
"I'd say we should try giving them a proper form of token of gratitude too, how about Master Lilia's cooking?" Sebek added with a grin, he had his fair share of Lilia's cooking to the point he'd like to share it with the others.
"Oh? Then I'd have to make sure to add extra 'love' into it." He replied, this time intending to poison people so its horrifying taste was multiplied at natural without him realizing it.
"Wait, why would we even bother giving them a handmade cooki-" Jack was immediately silenced by Cater's eerie smile. He had his fair share and he knew they meant nothing well from it at all.
"Hey Ace, do something! Stop throwing all your work on prefect!" Deuce yelled by the sideline, ready to chew his ears off.
"I agree, you shouldn't let someone magic-less handle this handful situation alone, get a hold of yourself right now will you, Ace?" Azul scowled and started to usher Ace into work.
"Dude! Now all of you are cornering me?" "You haven't finished, Ace?!"
And Riddle's voice was all it took to make Ace cowered like a puppy. Rook shook his head in disappointment, this had taken way longer than the original gameplay.
"Hurry! We should wrap things up as though we are changing a dirty tablecloth into a new one!" Epel yelled out rather... unique lines. Was he trying to be as poetic as Rook? If anything, both Rook and Vil said nothing regarding this.
"Riiiiighhhhtttt, I'm kinda checked out now, to be honest." Idia's eyes immediately widened, not you too?!
Just before the other could chant another "Smooch the bride", you immediately lunged toward the bride. All those gym class training paid off! Basically, this and that until the ghost inflated.
And instead of Rook ordering you and Epel around, you took the steering wheel before anyone could. "Move yer' ass you glorified wood logs! Move move move!"
The lucky person is the person who gets to feel you dragging them. Absolute win!
--
"Urgh, I'm so gonna have phasmophobia now." Idia rolled his eyes as the ghosts departed but to be honest? He was happy to see you barging into the cafeteria like a knight in shining armor for him! (It was mostly the others fighting lol)
Idia was taken by surprise the moment your hand smacked his back. "Would you look at it, the star of the show, a handsome groom adorned in black! You look positively breathtaking, senior Idia."
"Eep-! Oh no, they have graced me with their words that are enough to deafen me! What should I do? How should I show them just how grateful I am to be even considered by them???"
"What did you say? I couldn't hear you really well." "Well, brother said that-" "N-n-no! Nothing! I uh... am thankful... for your assistance." He answered bashfully, his hair tip turned into a shade of pink.
"Now now potato, it's time to change, wearing that must have been uncomfortable right?" Vil immediately pulled you away from the pink introvert. "No...? Neige said that it's meant to be comfortable and it's true!" "Well, we have something even wayyyy more comfortable for you, shrimpy! Come on now, let's take it off and dress you up in something else!"
--
Lilia was leading everyone with a basket of something, a speaker in one hand and Neige's suit in the other hand, "Hey you RSA whippersnappers! Get down!"
The head mage was coincidentally away that day and it allowed the NRC students to lead a protest in front of the academy's gate.
Lilia threw the white suit onto the ground while Leona whistled, signaling Rook to shoot an arrow of fire toward it like an Olympic grand opening. (What a duo.)
"Yeah! Eat this you good for nothing!" Cater and Ruggie immediately took out the pie from Lilia's basket and threw it right onto the students' face. Kalim was generous enough to sponsor lots of baking materials for Lilia with Jamil assisting with the baking. It was badly burnt but still hard as a rock.
Cheny'a was careful enough to avoid Trey and Riddle while Vil was feeling rather generous in feeding Neige~ Oh, and Malleus is always bullseye in his shots, hitting everyone down in no time. He was pretty pissed (sulking) that he was not invited to join your fun. Silver was not being merciful too, he didn't fall asleep at all during this whole thing!.
Rollo was feeling rather grateful but also sad that you did not come to him to ask for his help :( And Crowley just watched everything from the sidelines while praying that nothing bad will be sent to him after this. Well, he's happy with how bright his students are.
#Yandere TWST#Yandere Twisted Wonderland#Yandere Riddle Rosehearts#Yandere Leona Kingscholar#Yandere Azul Ashengrotto#Yandere Kalm Al Asim#Yandere Vil Schoenheit#Yandere Idia Shroud#Yandere Lilia Vanrouge#Yandere Jade Leech#Yandere Floyd Leech#Yandere Jamil Viper#Yandere Rook Hunt#Yandere Epel Felmier#Yandere Malleus Draconia#Twisted Wonderland x Reader#Self Aware TWST#TWST x Reader#x GN Reader#Yandere Trey Clover#Yandere Cater Diamond#Yandere Sebek Zigvolt#Yandere Ruggie Bucchi#Yandere Ace Trappola#Yandere Deuce Spade#Yandere Jack Howl#Yandere Silver TWST#Pls Neige and Cheny'a dying from Lilia's pie#Yandere Dire Crowley
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Ghosted
Male Jock Yandere Ghost x Gender Neutral Nerd Ghost Reader
CW: Reader death, ghosts, spirit world, manipulative yandere, stalking, general yandere behavior, consensual sex
Word Count: 801
(Trying to get back into the habit of writing, this is the result, hope you like it! I consider a demented ghost as still being a monster and therefore still teratophilia.)
You had died in college. One moment, you were being your nerdy self, rummaging through your binder, and the next, you were on the ground. You didn't really remember much, all very fuzzy. Was it a stroke? A brain aneurysm? You had no idea.
Once you were brain dead, though, you stepped from your body and appeared on the ghostly plane. A fog filled realm that somewhat mirrored the world of the living. Though spirits could make alterations, there were spaces untouched by the activities of the still living.Â
There were a lot of ghosts. Many of them wandered aimlessly or were stuck in a loop of denial, acting out behaviors as if they were still alive. Others lashed aggressively, unable to regain their grip on their sanity.Â
You mostly kept to yourself. Like Jonesy taught you. He was a former jock about your age when he died in the late 80s. He still wore his letterman jacket. You weren't limited to the clothes you died in, but you figured it was a symbol of how he was still attached to his old life.
Jonesy had taught you a lot of things. He had pretty much been your mentor since you had died. He was there waiting when you passed. He said he had sensed someone might die as he was wandering the halls of the college, where he had also died years ago.Â
Jonesy said he was stuck in a loop. Being alone had made him lose his mental stability. But when he sensed you were about to die, it snapped him out of it. He said you saved him, so he wanted to get to know you and help you navigate the land of the dead.Â
Plus, being together would help prevent the two of you from getting mentally frail.Â
It was a bit of a paradox. Jonesy taught you to avoid most spirits, but communication and relationships were essential to staying sane.Â
"You just have to know the right types to befriend. Many of the people here have a darkness in them and can drag you down if you're not careful."
He also told you the other secret to remaining stable.Â
"You have to keep busy, do stuff. Don't get too bored."
There was a surprising amount you could do as a ghost. You could go to stores and yoink whatever you wanted, eat whatever you wanted, play video games, there was even a ghost version of the internet!Â
Getting infinite free popcorn at the movies was your favorite thing. Jonesy always did that lame pretend yawn thing that ended with his arm wrapped around you. It was nice, though. Made you feel safe. You had been touch starved in life.
The transition to him being your boyfriend was so seemless and natural that you barely noticed that it had happened. You had never stopped any of his advances. Cuddling you, holding you, and smooching your cheek.
You didn't even question it when chaste kisses led to him kissing you hungrily before carefully taking off your clothing, like he was removing the wrapping from something delicate.Â
Soon you found yourself laying ass up on his bed with him pounding into you, drinking in all your lusty moans and unabashed calling of his name.
He gripped your hips firmly as he came deeply into you; the pleasure made you see stars. His girthy cock stretched you wonderfully. You felt so lucky and special that this jock spirit had taken an interest in you, a lowly nerd.
Jonesy felt lucky too. He hadn't been in a loop. For a year before your death, he had been haunting you, It was difficult to peek into the living world, but once he found you, he was addicted.Â
He loved watching you read books, study, and watch anime. He especially loved watching you shower, fervently jerking hinself off as he did so.Â
It wasn't enough though. He needed to have you with him! You had been so perfect for him. You were kindred souls in a way. You were always alone and starved for attention. You'd fall for his affections easily, and you wouldn't just crossover beyond the purgatory the two of you were now in, you were too depressed for that.
Influencing people who were still alive was nearly impossible, but decades of being alone had made Jonesy angry and bitter. He used those emotions as fuel and tried many times to trip you down the stairs or get you to stroll into traffic absentmindedly. Finally, the jock was successful in busting something in your head.
At long last, you were with him. As he held you tightly, after making love several more times, he knew he'd be able to keep you there forever and he'd never have to be alone again.Â
#yandere teratophilia#yandere terato#yandere ghost#yandere x reader#ghost reader#yandere boyfriend#gender neutral reader#male yandere x gn reader#Yandere oc x reader#My OCs#My OC Jonesy#yandere situation#yandere scenario#yandere jock
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Okay! But like... big male yan!omega? Big strong man who doesn't fit into any societal omega ideal! Who gets confused for an alpha because he is so imposing and mean-looking and towers over everyone in any room. Who wants nothing more than to cuddle and purr for his cute small fem!alpha. He just wants to impregnate you, give you little babies for you to protect, but him to take care of. Who is so strong that he can push you down and hump you during his heat/your rut. He uses his omega instincts/hormones to keep you close by. Bby, don't you want to provide for him? He keeps sending you distressed hormones, you need to be a good alpha and keep him happy. Be a good alpha and kiss him better, make him a daddy and let him comfort you when your own alpha instincts flair up. He will be your perfect omega, carrying you around and smooching the top of your head. He will have a ginormous nest to keep the both of you safe and satisfied
Aww, gosh that is so wholesome!! (In yandere terms) I love it!! Thanks for sparking that idea â„
There's just so much to go off on, and we all know that omegas really wear the pants in the relationship because alphas are just so easy to manipulate. You'd instantly get concerned when you smell the drop in a stranger's mood, just because it's your nature. Yet, you find yourself comforting an unusually big and bulky omega, who immediately hugs and latches onto you as if you two have always known each other. As an alpha, you cannot leave a sulky or unhappy omega to their own devicesâeven if it feels bizarre to be so caught up with someone you met randomly on a night's out... You have to stay with them and protect them from other alphas that might sniff out the omega, even if the sight of you two inevitably leads to some confusion about who is who. It's quite surprising when other alphas want to get to you instead of the actual omega, but it is he who bares his fangs at them, and you are already drenched in his scent. Even so, your omega still accounts it as your win, letting you have the laurels when the other alphas scurry off in a huff. You find it almost funny, but you are thankful for avoiding a confrontation, even though you have mixed feelings about this situation.
That is until even your friends start to avoid you. They just don't want to hang around a fellow alpha that has an omega tower over them from behind all the time, menacingly. He's scaring them off, although you still believe it's unwillingly. He's an omega, no way he has bad intentions, right? You already don't smell like you used to anymore, and when they tell you to take care of your omega, waving you off with a pitiful smirk, and tell you to enjoy the mated life, you are so confused as to why everyone thinks you two are mated. However, when you confront the omega, you're immediately hit with the smell of rejection and fear. You hate your instincts for instantly reaching out to comfort him instead of continuing your questioning, telling him it's all right. You'll take care of himâjust like a good alpha would. Even if you curse yourself, there's not much you can do other than to keep this omega happy. It's not his fault he looks a bit intimidating to others; he's actually quite nice when you talk to him, just like an omega should be. He might even be a bit cute, you have to admit.
You agreed to take him home when he asks you since it's late, and "you know how alphas are"âwell, duh! It probably shouldn't have surprised you that when you go over to his place for the first time, there's already a huge nest awaiting you. He's not in heatâyou checked that multiple times after you met himâso technically, you shouldn't have anything to fear. You aren't even sure if you want to mate with him if that had been an option, so it was better to be safe than sorry. But damn, that is one hell of a fantastic nest. The blankets and pillows are so soft, the nest smells absolutely delightful with pheromones that kept pestering your nose all night, and a purr escapes you before you can even so much but clarify you're not staying over. The sight of the omega crawling back into his nest, lolling between the comfortable sheets and inviting you in so casually as if you already belong there, makes you gulp, your instincts rampaging, making you want to join him. Society and everyone around you conditioned you to not refuse your omega. Still, even though your body resists, your hormones spiking as you feel a rut incoming, you are so proud of yourself for turning on your heel and running.
It feels like you are a complete disappointment as an alpha, though.
You can't do it! Reasonably, you know that, but your body thinks otherwise. Ruts are too painful and tiresome without a mate to take care of you, and there had been a perfectly capable omega ready to embrace you. And you left. You barely get away a few blocks before you break down, your rut so spitefully overwhelming you, shutting down all your senses, dignity, and pride, that all you can think of is crawling back to the omega and begging him to help you. But even if you want to go back, need to go back, you can't bring yourself to it. All kinds of excuses come to mind: you're not in a place to provide the family life all omegas want, he's probably just using you for his own needs, you're too young to settle with the first omega that crosses your path, and you barely know the omega at all, you two only just me! You can't just get swept off your feet by the first omega that shows you his nest! And besides comforting him a few times, it's not like you two have a deeper relationshipâyou two are probably not even in love it's all just hormones!
You smell him before he even comes around the corner. Undoubtedly, he smells you, too. His eyes are instantly fixated on the picture of misery you must look like as you sit there on the sidewalk. He probably hates you for refusing him, and you get scared, hoping he won't abuse his power over you. But when he opens his mouth, it's all just sounds of comfort, his arms so strong and warm as he hugs you to his chest, lifting you up. He's not mad at all, and the alpha in you is overjoyed to smell his relief and be treated gently, even if you failed him before. He keeps asking you if you want his help, so concerned with your consent and how could you hold back? You know this omega will help you take care of the rut, make you forget about your inadequacies, and make a family while you two are at it. It's what you wantâeveryone wants it, right? Who needs free will when you can let your instincts take over and have an omega take care of you and the family you are about to make.
His neck is so perfectly, incidentally exposed to you; how can you not sink your fangs into it, marking this omega as yours while he takes you back to his nest, back home? Everything smells so amazingly, the omega is overjoyed, and you are happy. He's grinning from ear to ear as he puts you back down into his nest, sinking his fangs into your shoulder, your thigh, the nape of your neck. You've not made yourself a good alpha to bond so heavily to, but he does it with pleasure as he starts to take care of the mind-fogging rut that overwrites all your common sense.
"You're mine now. And I'm not letting you go," he says before biting you again and again, every fiber of your being stimulated as you press into him, moaning as if you are the omega in heat. You almost forget you're the alpha, but before that happens, you flip you both around, and the omega lets you, emitting sounds and smells of delight over you taking control, praising you just like a good omega should. So you make sure your omega is comfortable before exploring his body, making sure that by the time you spread your legs, your omega is just as happy as he makes you.
And from now on, you'll do everything to keep it that way.
Just like a good alpha should.
#omegaverse#yandere omega#yandere!omega#yandere talk#yandere#yandere omegaverse#yandere imagines#yandere headcanons#yandere scenarios#yandere fanfiction#yandere writing#yandere stories#yandere oneshots#yandere oneshot#yandere drabble#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#Yandere TW
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cherrybomb || csc
(banner by @sailorrhansol)
cherrybomb seungcheol x afab reader || angst smut fluff || exes2lovers, pacific rim universe NSFW - minors DNI
Summary: Piloting a jaeger requires a rare ability called drifting - a neural connection with your co-pilot. You and Seungcheol are masters of the drift... until you have something in your head that you don't want him to see.
wc: 19.5k
warnings: language, heavy angst with happy ending, fight scenes, fight scenes written by an author with zero fighting or martial arts knowledge lmfao thus they are vague as possible, feelings heavy plot light and smut light, kissing and pretty generic (and brief) p in v smut
Author's note: thank you for @sailorrhansol for 1) accidentally sparking this idea, 2) agreeing to collab with me, 3) reading this along the way and hyping me up, and 4) beta-ing my mistakes, a million smooches for you ily
This fic takes place in the Pacific Rim universe but I honestly don't think you need to know the lore, everything you need to know should be explained. If you think something is unclear without prior pacific rim knowledge, shoot me a message privately and I'll make some edits and credit you for the insight!
Also in this universe: storm breaker by @/sailorhansol
Teaser:
âMarshall, with all due respect, I donât know why youâre calling me,â you admit. âYou were there. You saw what happened. Seungcheol and I canât drift anymore.â
âYou couldnât then,â he points out. âThat was three years ago. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift⊠theyâve had time to mellow.â
Heâs wrong, and you want to tell him so. Nothing has mellowed. You love Seungcheol just as much today as you did then.
âHave you talked to him about this?â Youâre afraid of the answer.Â
The Marshallâs voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. âMr. Choi will follow orders,â he says evenly, âand so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.â
âYou canât order us into being able to drift again,â you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest.Â
âNo,â the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, âbut I can - and will - order you to try.â
Playlist: you're the smoke in my gun, blowin' like cherry bombs...
The first time you ever saw Choi Seungcheol, he was flipping a man four years his senior over his shoulder and slamming him into the ground. Satisfied, he staggered backwards, chest heaving from exertion, eyes narrowed in preparation for the next move.
Thatâs what Seungcheol did - he leveled whatever was in front of him, and he started watching for what was coming next before the body could even hit the ground.
Thatâs what made him a great jaeger pilot. Not the brute strength - strong men are dime a dozen, always have been - but the watching.
Youâd marked him as your first choice.
You were both nineteen. Youâd grown up in the Shatterdome, the only child to a couple who piloted a neon green jaeger named Charronâs Revenge. You knew everything about how jaegers and their teams worked by the time you were nine. You started training to fight years before that. There was never a question that you would follow in your parentsâ giant, mechanical footsteps one day. You just needed the right partner.
You needed Seungcheol.
The jaeger program didnât turn away recruits - everyone could do something - but there was an organized process to match up compatible pilots. Applying recruits would fight before an audience of previously-accepted but currently-unmatched potential pilots. The pilots would rank the fighters, choosing their top five based on perceived potential for compatibility.
Then, the roles would switch. The applicants became the audience. The audience became the show.
When it was your turn to fight, you silently pleaded with the universe that Seungcheol would mark you high as well. This was the only guarantee that youâd get a chance to spar with him, to test it out before the Marshall, who would make the final call.
Let him see, you begged. Let him see how perfectly weâd work together.
And, by some miracle, he did. In fact, he rated you first, as well.
Your sparring match went exactly how you expected - he barreled at you, and you dodged every move. He could easily take you out with a single blow, but he couldnât get his hands on you, not when you used his own inertia against him at every turn. What you didnât expect was your own inability to land a shot. For the whole fight, you were unable to move out of the defensive - keeping out of his reach took all of your effort.
It was a draw - the first sign of strong compatibility.
You didnât talk after the match - your father whisked you away to recover before your second-rated match, and you didnât see Seungcheol for the rest of the day.
The second-rated match was a dud. But you already knew, even then, that it didnât matter.
Youâd met your co-pilot. Youâd found your partner.
â
He found you in the mess hall that night, dropping into an empty spot on the other side of the table, his tray in his hands. His black hair was loose and wavy, and his right arm sported a sizeable bruise that he definitely didnât get from you.
âI know who you are,â he said by way of greeting. You raised a brow at him, waiting. âYour parents piloted Charronâs Revenge.â
You narrowed your eyes at him. âThat better not be why you picked me.â
He gave his head an annoyed little flick. âOf course not. I picked you because youâre fluid - and Iâm not.â
Appeased, you felt your hackles settle back down. âThatâs true,â you allowed. âYouâre not fluid. But youâre purposeful, and-â
You were interrupted when Yoon Jeonghan dropped into the seat to your left, chuckling under his breath as he fixed his long, dark hair into a spiky ponytail at the back of his head.
âCherry, did you hear?â he asked you, ignoring the new-comer. âThe crew for Fatal Rapids got called back in for misconduct.â
âChoi Seungcheol, Yoon Jeonghan,â you said, introducing the two young men. âHannie does more than gossip, I promise. Heâs one of the pilots for Devilâs Advocates. Their drop stats are insane.â
âIn practice only,â Jeonghan demurred. âFor now.â
âCherry?â Seungcheol parroted, raising a dark brow. âThatâs not what I wrote on my paper earlier.â
âJust a nickname,â you explained. When you were very small, youâd struggled with the name of your parentsâ jaeger, calling it Cherryâs Revenge instead of Charronâs, and the crew - who doted on you like their own - started the habit of calling you Cherry. Somehow, it had spread, and stuck. âOnly my parents use my real name. But you can call me whatever youâre comfortable with.â
âNo,â he said, frowning as if deeply considering his options. âI like it.â
You folded your arms on the table, leaning in to peer at Seungcheol. âSo, whatâs your story? Youâve heard of me. I havenât heard of you.â
He shrugged, glanced around, then decided he could talk freely. Thereâs something about being in a room thatâs positively teeming with people and conversation - it gives you privacy without feeling too intimate. Youâre not alone.
âNot much of a story, not like you,â he admitted. âI grew up thinking Iâd take over my dadâs business. We lost my dad⊠then, we lost the business. I have no marketable skillset, and university was out of the question. ButâŠâ He trailed off, then met your gaze firmly. Something in his look demanded you forgo any pity or sympathy, demanded you take him seriously. âIâm strong. So I came here. I came to fight.â
You sidestepped the bruises heâd bared. âNot like me,â you repeated with a bit of a scoff. âI hate to disappoint you, but my parents are the pilots - the story is theirs. I donât have one, not yet.â
Something playful glinted in his eyes, the first true sign of personality youâd seen. âSo all the rumors about the Princess of the Shatterdome arenât true?â
Your jaw dropped. Youâd heard the nickname before - it was never meant nicely. You tried to ignore it as best you could - people could think what they wanted. When you had a crew, when you had a jaeger, youâd be able to prove them wrong. âWhat rumors?â
âYouâre spoiled,â Jeonghan supplied, having decided he was part of the conversation after all. âEntitled.â
You spluttered as Jeonghan stood, giving you a cheerful pat on the shoulder. âAnd bitchy! Thatâs just what Iâve heard. Of course I know better. Anyway, Iâve got to go. Love ya!â
You stared incredulously after him as he disappeared, your face burning with embarrassment and your heart hammering with adrenaline. Fight, your systems told you.
If only you could.
Seungcheol bit back a smile, reaching out to pat your arm placatingly.
âI donâtâŠâ you started to say, but your voice caught in your throat. You cleared it, tried again. âI donât think I really deserve all that.â
He nodded, lips pushed into a semblance of a thoughtful pout. âWhat Iâd heard,â he said calmly, âis that youâre a hell of a fighter, scary smart, and that you take no shit. Unless itâs from your friends, apparently.â
This made a bitter little laugh bubble from you. You still simmered with humiliation, feared that maybe heâd decide he didnât want to co-pilot with you after all.
âI think itâs up to you which story gets told,â he said finally.
âYeah,â you said, nodding. âThatâs what I always said. So⊠letâs get started.â
â
You and Seungcheol lucked out - the team that had been recalled for misconduct were terminated from their posts in the weeks following the sparring trials, and their jaeger Fatal Rapids had been disassembled, the parts up for grabs.
You and Seungcheol repurposed Rapidsâs main frame, your crew working to individualize the bot to your needs as best they could. You splurged on quad-processors for her legs to allow your jaeger to keep up with how you move - quick and lithe. Seungcheol lobbied for (and won) some extra power in the top half, and you compromised and chose a mix of red and blue sections for her paintjob.
Duellona Fury, you named her. Duellona for you, the destroyer. Fury for Seungcheol, because that was where his fight came from.
You got to know Seungcheolâs fury very well. Especially when you started trying to drift.
None of it happened fast - not the building of your machine, nor your neural handshake. In fact, you didnât pilot Duellona Fury together for a whole calendar year.
You started with physical compatibility - you sparred almost all day, every day. You fought - with each other and against each other - until all you could do was lay on the ground and pant, blinking to make the ceiling stay in focus.
Seungcheol may not have grown up training in the Shatterdome the way you did, but he kept up without complaint. You learned his way - force and strength - and he learned the way you favored - to weave and dodge.
The fighting was the easy part.
You had never drifted with someone you had true drift compatibility with. Seungcheol had never drifted at all. The Marshall wouldnât even consider hooking the two of you up to the machine until you went through the proper training.
On the day you and Seungcheol were officially declared as co-pilots-in-training, you both stood below the half-built shell of your towering jaeger, sparks flying and drills screaming as the crew worked on her.
Your Marshall looked seriously at his new team-in-training. âStarting tomorrow, youâll meditate together. Talk to each other. Get deep about it. If youâve talked about it out here-â he swept an arm across the deck, â-it wonât take hold so strongly in there.â Heâd jabbed a finger in the upward direction of Duellona Fury.
Seungcheol didnât look at you, nor the Marshall. Instead, he kept his eyes on Duellona's unfinished frame, stories above you. âYes, Sir,â he said steadily.
Your parents werenât technically retired yet, the year you and Seungcheol started training together. Charronâs Revenge still sat in the well below the Shatterdome. They still lived on the base, still took part in daily training. They hadnât been called into a fight in years, though; the assignments went to the younger crews.
You took dinner in their quarters instead of the mess hall, that night.
âCongratulations,â your father said warmly from across the table. âYou worked hard to get here.â
âThank you,â you said, feeling shy beneath the praise. âI hope the drift will work for me and Choi Seungcheol.â
âWhat do you think of him?â your mother had asked, her sharp eyes honing in on you, watching your reactions.
âI think heâs a great fighter,â you said. âThe rest⊠I guess Iâll have to learn.â
âDo you trust him? Can you trust him out there, when the sea and the wind are trying to knock you down, and hell itself rises up from the depths?â
You swallowed. Sheâs right for her intensity - they will be putting their daughterâs life in her co-pilotâs hands, every time thereâs a fight. You knew firsthand how terrifying it was to stand in the tech bay and wait, not knowing if your loved ones will make it back.
You thought about how you and Seungcheol fight together in the sparring rooms. You thought about how you weaved and your opponent followed your movement, only to be knocked sideways. You thought of how Seungcheol followed your motion backwards, ducked in tandem with you to avoid a hit, and how you followed his momentum forward and up to attack. Your bodies followed each other like they were magnetized. And Seungcheol was always watching for the next hit.
âYes,â you said, so quietly that you cleared your throat and said it again. âYes, I trust him.â
âThen we wish you luck,â your father said, and raised his glass. âTo Duellona Fury.â
âTo Duellona Fury,â you echoed.
On your way out of the quarters, later, you slowed as you passed the wall where they hung their accolades and awards, the newspaper clippings, photos, and medals. Before your eyes they aged - the photographs changing through the years, no longer showing a bright, fiery couple, instead displaying proof of passing time: a baby bump, then a toddler, then a child beaming alongside them as if sheâd done what they had done; greying hairs, softening bodies, deepening of wrinkles. Then the pictures stopped.
You never asked them if they missed it.
â
You and Seungcheol started meditating together the next morning; it seemed logical to begin at the easiest step. In an empty sparring room, you sat facing each other, knees touching.
âHave you done this before?â you asked, as you both settled in, shifting weight and adjusting ankles.
âNot with someone else,â he admitted, lips protruding in a bit of a pout. âOnly alone.â
You nodded. Youâd grown up learning all of this - the right way to fight as a team member, how to be in tune for a neural connection. It led to you teaching Seungcheol often - yet when you fought together, any leadership fell away.
âNormally,â you explained, âyou focus on your breath, keeping your mind clear. But for our practice, you want to focus on our breath. We breathe together. And when your mind wanders, your awareness should be coming to peace with my presence there. Like, making a path for the neural connection - for later. So thereâs no resistance.â
âHave you done this before?â Seungcheol asked.
You wobbled your head around - not yes, but not no. âIâve practiced it - Iâve done the meditation with partners. But Iâve never moved forward to an actual drift with anyone.â
This seemed to appease him, and he settled his weight backwards, letting his hands rest near his knees.
You let your eyes float closed and inhaled, listening and feeling for Seungcheolâs inhale to end, letting your breath out when he did. It took no time to match your breaths, to let your mind go blissfully quiet. You focused on feeling open, readable - any thought that floated through your mind, you pretended he could hear, too. You tried to feel and release any defensiveness, any urge to close off.
When the timer went off, it surprised you. You opened your eyes, and the feeling that struck you was this -
It was surprising to see Seungcheol before you. It hadnât felt like he was beside you. It had felt like he was you.
You meditated, you fought, and finally, you talked.
Laying on the sparring room floor, your head somewhere near Seungcheolâs shins, he asked you, âWhere do you wish you were right now? If you werenât here.â
You laughed at yourself before answering, knowing how silly you would sound. âIn a tree.â
A disbelieving smile played on his lips, almost as if he wasnât sure you werenât making fun of him somehow. âA tree?â
âNo, really,â you insisted, still smiling a little. âThereâs not a lot of nature here, in case you didnât notice. I grew up in the Dome - never got to leave, much.â
Seungcheol didnât respond to this, just nodded like he understood, his small smile going a bit tight around the edges.
You frowned, reading him exactly. âYou think Iâm sheltered,â you observed. It wasnât a question. He couldnât say no.
He looked at you, then. âYou were sheltered,â he said, voice low. âBut when I say it, I donât mean naive. I just think⊠thereâs a lot of world out there. A lot of things to see. You wonât see any of it if you spend your entire life under the Dome.â
You nod, accepting this. âI wonât see any of it if it gets destroyed, either. Thereâs a lot of world out there - that weâre trying to keep safe.â
Seungcheol watched you intently for a moment, lips downturned and gaze heavy. Then, he asked, âHave you ever seen a kaiju? I mean - in person?â
âSort of,â you mumbled.
Heâd rolled from his back to his front, closer to you, putting you shoulder to shoulder. âKind of seems like a yes-or-no question.â
Your lips twisted. âThen, no. But Iâve stood in the bay and listened to Mission Control talk my mom and dad through a fight dozens of times, watched Charronâs Revenge on the screens and prayed I wouldnât see her get sawed in half.â
You stopped, trailed a finger through the thin layer of dirt on the floor. âI know itâs not the same as looking one in the face myself,â you whispered. âBut the fear⊠shouldnât that fear count, shouldnât it feel the same?â
Seungcheol swallowed, trailed his own finger through the dirt until his fingertip just barely touched yours. It felt like energy sizzled in the centimeter between your pointer and his.
âWhen Menaceclaw attacked,â he said, âhe missed my home by one block. We watched him go by from the sidewalk. I wasnât even as tall as his foot. But even with him towering over the buildings, taking them down without even trying, I donât think what I felt was afraid. I think I just felt resigned. Like I knew, at seven, that even though we survived this one⊠nothing was going to be⊠the same, or okay. I donât know.â
âYou knew what you lost,â you said quietly. âPart of you did.â
He looked up at you, nudged his finger into yours. âYou never knew anything different. It wasnât a loss. The fear was just always part of the deal.â
You rolled sideways, laying your head on your bicep for a pillow, regarding the dark-eyed, dark-haired young man across from you. His face scrunched in a laugh, brows furrowing and lips pouting.
âWhat?â he asked through the quiet laugh. âWhy are you looking at me?â
âWhat else?â you mused. âWhat else am I going to find when we go tiptoeing through your memories?â
He smiled faintly and then mirrored you, laying his head on his arm, his eyes swimming as he thought.
âA lot of my family, probably,â he said. âA lot of fighting. Menaceclaw. Probably some very mid sex.â
You laughed without meaning to. âMy condolences?â
He grinned at you, pleased. âEh, what can you do? I try to treat everything like a learning experience.â
You laughed again, and his smile grew, gums showing. âWhat about you?â he asked off-handedly.
âMid sex?â you asked, eyebrows raising. âI hate to inform you, Choi Seungcheol, but I donât do anything mid.â
âNo,â he protested, laughing, reaching out to gently shake your shoulder. âI meant - what will we see when itâs your turn?â
âThe Dome,â you said, half-joking - but it was true. âTraining. My parents. Their fights, their accomplishments.â
And, as a true drift partner should, he understood what you werenât saying.
âWeâll have our turn,â he promised, pushing himself to sit up, then stand, reaching down to help you up. âWeâre gonna be fucking unstoppable. Letâs go again.â
Fire sparking behind your ribs, you nodded seriously, then reached up to take his hand.
â
Weeks of sparring melded into months of meditation and talking. The next phase of training co-pilots was learning to drift in one of the simulators - but not in a jaeger. Not yet.
You and Seungcheol finished training in one of the sparring rooms shortly before dinner would be served in the mess hall.
âMeet you there?â you asked, still half-breathless, your body starting to ache as the adrenaline from a fight melted away.
âSure,â he agreed, and you disappeared into the changing rooms, scrubbing the sweat and dirt away as quickly as you could. You changed into something clean and made your way to the mess hall.
You scanned for familiar faces, frowning when your normal table seemed to be occupied by a team of new recruits that you didnât know.
Seungcheol appeared at your elbow, frowning dramatically. âOur table,â he whined.
âThereâs Chan and Wylie,â you said, nodding to another corner where your friends sat practically on top of each other. Chan and Wylie had never understood personal space, not when it came to one another. They barely noticed when you and Seungcheol plopped onto the benches next to them, but Seungkwan did.
âYouâre bleeding, Cherry,â he said, before inhaling an entire mouthful of rice.
You started to scan your arms - you didnât feel pain anywhere - but Seungcheol found it first, gingerly swiping his thumb along your cheekbone.
âSorry, Cherry,â he murmured. âI shouldâve pulled that punch.â
âNo you shouldnât have,â you grumbled, swatting at his hand and wiping roughly at the spot, your hand coming away with a small smear of red - nothing to be alarmed about. It would stop on its own. âYou pull shots in practice, youâll hesitate in the field.â
âSheâs right,â Chan said from his physical tangle with Wylie. âWhat you practice will show up in your muscle memory. Youâve got to mean it, every time.â
Wylie reached across his arms and took a bite from his plate, then asked, âDid you guys see the new jaeger?â
âI did,â Seungkwan said eagerly. âChaser Supernova, or something like that? Sheâs smaller, but sheâs supposed to be fast.â
âIs that her team at our normal table?â you asked dryly, shooting the rookies a dark look over your shoulder. Seungcheol jostled you playfully, sending you a smile that brought you back.
The bench dipped to your left, and you turned to see Soonyoung - one of Seungkwanâs two co-pilots - settle in.
âTalking about Supernova?â he asked, hands busy opening his drink. âThey seem okay - theyâre a trio, like us.â
âWhere is Seokmin?â Seungkwan asked, scanning the room. âI havenât seen him in like two hours.â
âTalking to Jihoon, I think,â Soonyoung answered absently, focused on his meal. âHe lost another co-pilot today.â
âNot again,â you and Seungcheol both blurted, matching levels of exasperation.
âThat was freaky,â Wylie said, just as Chan told you, âYou two are acting like us, now.â
âWe do not need another Chan-and-Wylie,â Seungkwan said seriously, shaking his head.
Seungcheol sent you a sideways, sheepish grin.
âWe wonât be,â he promised the group, but his eyes were still on you.
â
The simulators were built to be exact replicas of the conn-pod, so that trainees could get used to the feeling of being strapped in, of moving with the gear. But the real purpose was to practice the neural handshake without risking damage - to the jaeger, to the tech bay, to each other.
âDonât be nervous,â you told Seungcheol as the tech team worked around you both like a choreographed dance.
âIâm never nervous,â he said, suddenly cocky.
If you could reach his hand from where you were strapped in, you would have. If you understood anything about Seungcheol - if any part of him mirrored you - it was the way he showcased bravado, the way he used it as his most-familiar mask.
âItâs only practice,â you reminded him. âAnd itâs only me.â
He licked his lips quickly, eyes darting to the side and then back to you. Then, he gave you a small nod.
âNormally,â your chief tech - a beautiful woman with jet-black hair named Nainsi - told you, âright now, you would be ready for the drop. In the simulator, we skip that step because we arenât dropping onto a jaeger. Instead, weâll engage the pilot to pilot connection protocol sequence.â
You and Seungcheol nod in tandem.
âYouâre all good?â Nainsi checks. âThen Iâm going back into the tech bay - youâll hear me through the intercom.â
Alone in the simulator, you met Seungcheolâs gaze and couldnât help the excited grin that spread across your face. Finally, finally you were here. Once you could do this successfully, the next step was to fight in your own jaeger - to drop into Duellona Fury and walk into the sea.
He didnât return your smile, instead giving you a tight nod, expression serious.
Over the intercom, you said clearly, âReady and aligned.â
Nainsi answered, âPrepare for neural handshake.â
You took a deep breath and steeled yourself as the artificial voice of the simulatorâs tech system spoke around you, 3⊠2⊠1⊠neural handshake initiatingâŠ
At first, you thought something went wrong. Everything went red behind your eyelids, and you blinked, instinctively trying to clear it away.
The red faded, and you found yourself in Seungcheolâs childhood home. You didnât know how you knew that - you just knew. It was as familiar to you, inside the drift, as your own. You knew that to your left was a small kitchen with two broken floor tiles; you knew - without having ever seen it - that to your right was a narrow hallway that led to a bathroom and two small bedrooms.
Two small boys played on the carpet; rather, the smaller one played with some toy cars while the other watched the television with rapture. Behind them, at the kitchen table, a woman typed busily on an outdated laptop, bags heavy under her eyes.
Somewhere around you, a voice floated by, telling you, neural handshake strong and holding.
You could see Seungcheol in your periphery - the adult Seungcheol, the Seungcheol of now - as he looked at his mother, his brother, himself.
âItâs not real,â you reminded him gently. âItâs just a memory.â
âI know,â he said back, voice hushed, as if he might scare them away. âItâs just⊠good to see them.â
The house evaporated as gently as morning dew under a mid-morning sun; you stood in a schoolyard. Seungcheol, the small one, had a bloody lip and a mean swing.
You felt a rush of affection for him - him, the child, face contorting with misplaced anger, using strength as a bandage. You wanted to stand in front of him, between him and the anger, him and the other kids, and let him take a breath. You wanted to tell him to step with his punch to get more power. You wanted to put a hand on his shoulder and tell him, youâre going to be fine.
And he knew all of it, because he was in your mind.
Seungcheol - your Seungcheol - walked away from the swarm of children egging on the fight and opened a door. You followed.
Inside was not the school, but a hospital room. Your body jolted forward, distracting and alarming. You heard, faintly, a series of beeps, that robotic voice needling in your ears, saying, calibration failure⊠recalibrating in 3⊠2⊠1âŠ
âItâs only a memory,â you said again, but the warning beeps were coming stronger, louder, more clearly. The hospital room looked opaque, and Seungcheol walked backwards towards you, away from it, herding you both out of the room. The room - a bed, a pulled curtain, a lot of white - flickered, like a glitch, and then vanished, leaving you standing in the simulator.
Neural handshake disengagedâŠ
âSeungcheol!â you yelled, pulling your helmet off and wheeling on him as best you could with most of your body still strapped in. âWhat the hell was that? You pushed me out!â
He was breathing hard, eyes a little wild. âNot that,â he said, a little ragged. âIâll let you in but - not that.â
âYou donât get to choose!â you snapped. Part of you knew this was just growing pains, heâd never drifted before, he was learning. But the rest of you smarted and stung - both from his rejection and from your failure to train, to succeed, to check off this final step before you could get inside your jaeger. âItâs kind of an all-or-nothing thing!â
He let out a billow of air, reaching a hand up to rub at his face. âSorry. Iâll⊠letâs try again.â
You didnât answer, fuming silently instead.
âIâm sorry, Cherry,â he said. âThe stuff with my dadâŠâ
âYou canât cherry-pick what we see and what we donât,â you fired back. His eyes shot to yours and his mouth quirked and you read the joke all over his face. âDonât you laugh, Seungcheol, itâs not funny!â
But you were laughing through the scolding.
âStop,â you whined.
Your anger defused, he looked at you again, taking a bracing breath. âItâs not about you,â he tried to explain. âIâm not keeping you out. Iâm keeping me out.â
âDonât chase the rabbit,â you told him, shaking your head. âSee what it wants you to see and move on. Find the next door. If you stand there and let your hurt - or your, I donât know⊠grief - rise up⊠thatâs when weâre going to have trouble.â
âFind the next door,â he repeated, eyes on the floor. âGot it.â
âYou canât push it away,â you reminded him, âbut you donât have to stay in it, either.â
He nodded, eyes already lighting up, ready to go again.
The second time, you saw him steel himself before opening that same door, watching carefully as he shuffled inside, only looking sideways at the hospital room that materialized around you.
âSeungcheol.â
He turned to look at you, wide-eyed, but you hadnât called him. The voice, weak and hoarse, had come from the other side of the fluttering curtain.
The glitching started almost immediately - the image around you flickering like a bad wall projection. Something rocked beneath your feet, an earthquake only inside your minds.
You opened your mouth, started to tell him, you donât have to stay, to remind him that he could move forward. Instead, you heard yourself say, âIâm here.â
The tremors under your feet quivered to a stop. You watched with trepidation and Seungcheol closed his eyes and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Then, he held his hand out, waiting.
You slipped your hand into his, and then he turned and continued walking, ignoring his fatherâs memory calling out to him. The flickering stopped, the picture you were part of brightening again as you found the next door, stepped through, left his pain behind.
â
It got easier quickly. Seungcheolâs ability to press on, to maintain focus, strengthened.
The strolls through your mind went easier - youâd had years to practice maintaining focus, waiting until after to let the emotions hit you.
Seungcheol learned to be ready for you, after. Heâd sit with you, silent, and breathe in tandem as you worked to let go, to release the images of Charronâs Revenge on the tech bay screen, the sounds of your parentsâ frantic communication as they fought together, the fear crawling its way up your legs every time until someone in the bay said, âCharronâs Revenge, cleared to return.â The loneliness of being the only kid in the Dome, having no outlet except fighting. Everything that threatened your mind while you piloted, everything that you had to save for later - save for him.
You were both freshly turned twenty when you got green-lit to drive.
âSeungcheol!â you called across the mess hall, practically racing to your table. He turned, eyebrows raised, as you crossed the large room.
âWeâre approved to drop!â you told him excitedly. It churned in you - finally, finally you could fight, you could prove what you could do, you could help. âWeâre on the drop schedule for tomorrow!â
His grin was unfettered, unfiltered, just for you. He reached up a fist and you bumped it enthusiastically. You were too excited to eat, too excited to sleep. You tossed and turned, imagining experiencing a drop for the first time, imagining striding through the mighty sea like it was nothing, imagining staring down hell itself and bringing it to its knees.
You were still awake when you heard the alarms down the hall. Yours didnât go off, because you werenât on duty, werenât approved to fight.
Down the hall, there was a flurry of commotion - shouting, rushing, people pushing past you as they pulled on boots and jackets.
âCat-3 in the west bay,â someone shouted.
âDeploying Devilâs Advocate!â
You reached the tech bay, trying to stay out of the way but not unseen. When the Marshall strode by, you stepped sideways.
âLet us drop,â you said quickly, knowing time was precious. âItâll be like practice. We can be back-up. Weâll hang back.â
âAbsolutely not,â the Marshall said, already moving to work past you. âYouâre not approved yet. We donât need a liability right now.â
âWeâre scheduled for tomorrow!â you protested, and then you felt a hand on your shoulder.
âWeâll get our turn,â Seungcheol told you quietly. Of course heâd come out, of course he found you.
You deflated. âIt could have been us. We are hours from approval.â
He gave your shoulder a tiny shake. âWeâll get our turn,â he repeated. âDonât make trouble.â
You glowered, but you knew he was right. âFine,â you grumbled as Joshua and Jeonghan slinked past you in matching jackets and matching shit-eating grins. You stayed out of the way as they prepared to drop.
You stayed through the fight, listened to the control room buzz and chatter, until you heard, âDevilâs Advocate, cleared to return.â
Only then did you try to go back to sleep. Seungcheol gave your shoulder one more squeeze.
âTomorrow,â he promised.
âTomorrow,â you repeated.
â
Some people feel God at church. The history of tradition and the sanctity of ritual speak to them, help them feel part of something, help them feel that unnameable swell of something spiritual.
Some people feel God in nature. The patterns of the universe, the way math exists without human touch, the harmonies and patterns that seem too intricate for coincidence help them believe in a plannerâs touch. The beauty of the outdoors allows them to wonder, to feel like they belong as a piece of this clockwork.
But you - you felt God when you stood before your jaeger, marveling at the power, the beauty, how it feels like yours, how it feels like Seungcheol before youâre even inside it. Duellona Fury promises you power, promises you purpose.
That hand was on your shoulder again, and it slid down to the center of your back before removing itself.
Beside you, Seungcheol stared up at your glorious machine.
âShe looks sick,â he said, the grin taking over his face.
âI canât wait to fuck shit up,â you murmured, your reverent tone at odds with the flippancy of your words.
âReady?â the Marshall asked you, coming up to your left. âWeâll get you calibrated and dropped, and then youâll do a lap of the bay. Weâre sending out Pretty Savage just in case you run into trouble.â
The defensiveness rose in you quick, like a snakebite.
âWe donât need a babysitter,â Seungcheol said, voice hard. You reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze - a reminder to watch it, just as his hand on your shoulder frequently did for you.
âItâs just safety protocol.â The Marshall was unphased by the outburst. âHave fun, you two. Enjoy your first joy-ride.â
You screamed when you dropped, the exhilaration rushing out of you as Duellona Fury fell story after story before slowing and attaching to your jaegerâs mainframe.
Goosebumps raised along your arms when the Shatterdomeâs sea-doors slid open, shudders traveling your body as you and Seungcheol stepped together, Duellona Fury stepping with you, her gigantic, metal form following every movement.
For the first time in your whole, careful life, you felt powerful. Your jaeger cut through the ocean waves like they were nothing, making an easy perimeter of the bay. In your head, you could somehow both hear and feel Seungcheolâs delight, his low-simmering desire to fight, to do something a perfect mirror of your own.
âHow is it?â Soonyoungâs voice crackled in your ears, reminding you that Pretty Savage wasnât far behind you.
âIncredible,â Seungcheol answered him, at the same time that you said, âItâs everything.â
It didnât matter that you came from a family of pilots. It didnât matter that you were raised in the Dome, training since you were young. None of that mattered. You were born for this - born to fight for your planet, born for Duellona Fury, born for Choi Seungcheol.
â
The west bay became Duellonaâs playground; you and Seungcheol were often assigned to patrol there.
It was only a few months in that you faced a kaiju for the first time.
âCome in, Duellona Fury,â Nainsiâs voice came through. âWe have a reading just a few miles north of you. Cat-2. Approaching at -â
Duellona Fury was turning due north before the command was even given.
âAre you ready for this?â you shouted to Seungcheol as Duellona slid through the water, the adrenaline singing in your system already.
âYou know I am,â he answered, something hard in it, and the thrill in your stomach sparked.
When the sea split in half, the kaiju rising from the depths with an unearthly roar, you sank into a defensive stance, feeling Seungcheol move beside you, doing the same.
âLetâs fucking go,â Seungcheol said darkly, and launched forward, your arms rearing back for momentum before the first swing. The punch landed solidly, your whole body shaking once as the kaiju faltered backwards a few steps.
It opened its mouth and you glimpsed three rows of teeth bigger than a cow before it was lunging at you; Duellona Fury lurched. You tried to duck sideways as Seungcheol tried to move towards your opponent.
The moment of indecision cost you - the kaiju got its teeth on Duellonaâs shoulder, knocking you back several steps. Beside you, Seungcheol roared as sparks flew near the bite.
âAre we breached?â you yelled, trying to steady your balance again.
âNot yet!â he yelled back, and you swung again, a hit landing hard enough to knock the kaiju loose, spitting it back into the sea.
You tried to move into a defensive crouch again; again, the jaeger faltered.
âCherry!â Seungcheol yelled, desperation laced in his voice. âCherry, donât fight me!â
âMove with me!â you answered, and he did, miraculously, Duellona dodging left before an incoming attack.
Donât fight me.
You rocked forward with Seungcheol as soon as you were clear of the kaijuâs trajectory, just as youâd done in practice thousands of times. Back in sync, Duellona Fury landed a kick to the kaijuâs middle that sent it stumbling.
âWeâve got him,â you said, feeling a win.
âDonât get ahead of yourself,â Seungcheol warned you. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the kaiju exploded from the dark ocean, limbs flailing as it flew towards you.
Duellonaâs arms came up and locked it in battle, the impact shaking you so hard that your teeth chattered against each other. You groaned with exertion as you tried to match its strength.
âI donât think we can hold it,â you managed through grit teeth.
âWeâve got this,â your partner promised, and with a mighty shove, you managed to flip the beast over your shoulder and beneath the waves.
âDrop the bombs and head for the east side,â you said quickly, already moving. Duellona Fury followed your command, turning and starting an easy run through the bayâs churning waters, away from where the kaiju was struggling to its feet, furious and vengeful. As she ran, she dropped three small explosives, about sixty feet apart. The explosives slipped into the ocean depths.
âReady?â Seungcheol asked, a little breathless. âAre we far enough away?â
âLight him up,â you replied. Seungcheol reached up and tapped the button; somewhere behind you, the ocean exploded.
â
âHowâs your shoulder?â you asked, later, in the med bay.
âNot that bad,â Seungcheol said, but you could see the blood-stains on the bandaging.
âIt wonât happen again,â you promised. âI think I just⊠practiced alone for so long. I forgot to listen. Iâm sorry.â
Seungcheol shook his hand, eyes finding yours. âThereâs nothing to forgive, Cherry. Forget about it.â Then, he brightened. âYou know what I want to do?â
âWhat?â you asked, not entirely past feeling guilty.
His smile was devilish. âI want to go celebrate our first fucking kill.â
âÂ
You marked the passing of two years in statistics.
Three hundred and forty-six explosives detonated.
Two hundred and eighty-three drops. Two hundred and eight-three kills.Â
Seventy-two mainframe repairs.
Twenty-eight achievement awards.
Nine television interviews.
Six upgrades.
One ill-informed âvacationâ during which you both itched with anxiety, spending the whole time messaging your friends back in the Shatterdome desperately, praying you wouldnât miss a fight in which you were needed.
Seven hundred and thirty days of living in and around Seungcheolâs mind and heart. But that stat shouldâve gone first.
It was a good high. Your team had a good run.
It wasnât a kaiju that reduced it to ash, not an attack that took your team out of the rotation of main fighters and sent your jaeger to gather rust and dust below the Dome. It was your own stupid heart.
There were a lot of moments that could have been it. Each time you walked into a fight knowing the danger, each time he ended up in the med bay reeking of antibacterial ointment and resentment. Each time you slid into your place beside him - space he saved only for you. Each time his voice bidding you goodnight from the bottom bunk was the last thing you heard at the end of the day. Any of these moments might have been the one to make you stop, gasp, suddenly slammed with understanding. That you loved him, that he was everything you couldnât bear to be without, that he was part of you. But they werenât.
There was no moment of realization at all.
Instead, it slowly seeped into your consciousness, as gently and naturally as morning dew collecting on pre-dawn petals. The knowledge clung to you, as impossible to ignore as damp feet after running barefoot through the yard just after sunrise.
If you knew something, that meant your co-pilot would know it, too.
Unless you tucked it away, pushed it down deep and cast his attention elsewhere, a mental sleight-of-hand. Look here instead.Â
You were twenty-three, on a routine patrol, when Mission Control radioed Duellona that there was a reading in the bay.
âLooks like itâs only a Cat-1,â Mission Control told you.
âOn it,â you told them, feeling your body already mirroring Seungcheolâs as Duellona picked up her pace, striding through the waves.Â
You glanced sideways at him, and immediately wished you hadnât. He was already zoned in, eyes focused and jaw sharp as he concentrated.Â
He caught your gaze for only a second. âFocus, Cherry,â he cautioned. âDonât get cocky.â
âI would never,â you retorted, and he laughed. You were both cocky; you both knew it.
For a second, things felt better.Â
The fight was almost easy, when the ocean seemed to split in two and the waves fell away like wrapping paper to reveal the kaiju youâd been sent for.Â
You swung and ducked, dropping explosives strategically, Seungcheol moving in unison with you. There was something graceful about it - something beautiful in the sync, something holy in the way your muscles mimicked each otherâs.Â
This is what happens when sunlight hits morning dew: it warms, lifts, makes the air humid and sticky until it burns away.Â
It rose up in you, your love for him, infusing the air around you, infusing the neural handshake that he was deeply imbedded in.
No.Â
You panicked, tried to do several things at once - tried to shove the feeling down, tried to think of something else, tried to push Seungcheolâs consciousness out of yours.
Duellona Fury lurched around you, shuddering.Â
âCherry!â Seungcheol screamed to your left, and then the kaiju hit, its full weight slamming into Duellonaâs mainframe.
You both staggered, trying to right yourselves, as the machines around you blinked and beeped and rebooted.Â
Seungcheol grunted under the neural weight of driving alone as you gasped and closed your eyes, trying desperately to fix it. Around you, you heard the floating words - recalibrating.
âRecalibrate faster!â you shouted, glancing sideways to see your co-pilot struggling to hold the monster in place, his face contorting with effort, arms straining against the machinery. He bared his gritted teeth, exhaling in a hiss between them.Â
You gave yourself a shake, bouncing on the balls of your feet, desperate for the connection to take again so you could pick up your half, take the literal weight from him. As soon as you felt the neural handshake, you gave a mighty shove and Duellona flipped the monster backwards, the ocean receding and then coming back to slam her shins, swallowing the monster whole.
You both sank into a defensive stance, ready for the beast to rise again.
âWhat was that?â Seungcheol demanded, later, as he sat in the med bay, waiting for his nosebleed to stop. The nosebleed youâd caused by letting him carry a neural load meant for two.
âI donât know,â you lied, still panicked and desperate.Â
âBullshit,â Seungcheol countered, eyes narrowed. He reached up and pulled the cotton away from his face, examining it. âIâm fine now,â he announced, and tossed the wad into a nearby trash bin, standing.
You fought the urge to cower, knowing heâd never let it go if you did. You followed him silently out of the med bay and back towards your dormitories. Halfway there, he slowed, then stopped.
Then, more calmly this time, he asked, âWhat happened, Cherry? You pushed me out.â
There was a slight pout to it, a sliver of hurt, and it sliced through you like something tangible, like you were actually wounded from it, like it might actually bleed.
âI donât know,â you repeated. Guilt poked at you until you relented, gave him something that was at least partly true. âI got scared.âÂ
âThat canât happen, and you know it,â he said seriously, his large frame casting a long shadow to your left as he leaned into your space. âYou canât keep secrets - thatâs piloting 101. Weâve got to handle it. You know whatâs at stake here.â
You did; you did, and that was entirely the problem. It wasnât just feelings, it wasnât just your relationship with Seungcheol at stake. It was your relationship with your co-pilot - your ability to fight was at stake, your ability to keep others safe. Your legacy.
Your parentsâ wall of pictures flashed in your mind.
âIâm going to my mom and dadâs for a while,â you said quietly.Â
He nodded, let you run away - trusted you to come back to him when you were ready, trusted you to let him in.
You werenât sure if he was right or wrong, as you walked away and left him behind.
You didnât go to your parentsâ, though. Instead, you went to the tech bay and sat, watching Duellona undergo simple repairs from her fight. You stayed there, the metal cold beneath your thighs, watching the tech team buff over a scratch on your jaegerâs torso, until someone dropped into the spot next to you, bumping their shoulder roughly into yours.
âWhereâs Seungcheol?â Wylie, who co-piloted Fury Striker with Chan, was your closest friend in the Dome besides Seungcheol.Â
âHeâs pissed at me,â you answered, looking sideways, because the question had really meant, why isnât Seungcheol with you?Â
You werenât sure sheâd understand what you were going through - she and Chan had been obsessed with each other since they were kids. Neither of them had ever had to fear that their love for each other would mess anything up. It had been part of their deal from the start.
âWhatâd you do?â Wylie demanded, turning her full, unfettered attention on you. You wanted to shrink from the intensity of it - but that was always how Wylie worked: full wattage, all the time.
âAlmost got us killed by a fucking Cat-1 tonight,â you muttered, angry at yourself, angry at your heart.
Wylie smacked your arm hard enough to send you sideways. âCherry!â she scolded.Â
âThere was something I didnât want him to see.â You said it in your head first, weighed the words, then forced them through your teeth. You hoped sheâd just know what it was, hoped you wouldnât have to force those words past muscle and bone, too.
Wylieâs face dropped into irritation. âCherry,â she repeated, disappointment dripping from the two syllables.
You looked up at Duellona Fury again.Â
âYou canât do that,â she told you, giving your ankle a little kick for emphasis. âYou know you canât do that.â
You canât love him? Or, you canât keep secrets from him?
You didnât ask. You didnât want to know the answer.
Seungcheol was waiting up for you when you finally returned to the dorm. You opened the door to find the first room - an entryway and kitchen, both - dimly lit. Beyond it, in the small sitting space, Seungcheol sat facing the door, his chin in his hand.
You knew the look on his face. You knew it so well that you almost ran from it, almost turned right around and went back out to the hallway.
Brows slightly furrowed, mouth a straight line, jaw tight. Eyes focused, locked in. It was the face he made in training before he bodied someone. It was the face he made in the field before an offensive strike. It meant he had his sights on a target, a problem, and he was about to throw everything he had at it.
And right now, you were the problem.
âHey?â you tried meekly.
He nodded. Licked his lips. Stood.Â
Heâs pissed at me, youâd told Wylie. The energy radiating from your co-pilot was much more complex than that, the air around you palpably tense and teetering.
âHow was it at your parentsâ?â he asked, voice low.Â
You took one tentative step closer. âI didnât go,â you admitted. One lie between you was already more than you wanted. âI watched them patch up Duellona instead. Talked to Wylie a little.â
He nodded, eyes still on you. Nervousness coursed through you, but it would be a lie - another one - to say it wasnât laced with a little excitement. He was stunning, always, but like this - it almost took your breath away.
If he was in your mind right now, thereâd be no question. Heâd know all of it. The attraction, the desire, the fear, the affection, the love, the need. All of it.Â
His eyes caught on a bruise peeking out from the short sleeve of your top. âYou shouldâve had them look at that,â he said, reaching out like he wanted to run his fingers over the dark splotch, but he was just too far away, fingertips closing around the air just an inch or two away.Â
You shook your head. âYou needed attention first. You carried the neural load alone.â Because of me.
âOnly for a minute.â
âA minute too long. Iâm⊠Iâm sorry. I didnât mean to.â
It hung between you. You donât know if youâd inched forward or he had, or both, but you were close enough to touch now when you hadnât been just seconds ago.
He lifted his eyes, his gaze locking on yours. In the dim room, his eyes shone black. âYou pushed me out.â
It was an accusation, but it was also a question.
âIâm sorry,â you repeated, barely able to say it, your voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. âSeungcheol, I was scared.â
Maybe he was in your head. Maybe he did know all of it.
âDonât be,â he told you. âDonât be scared.â
His arms were around you though you didnât see him move. It wasnât the first time youâd let him embrace you - after a fight, in relief, or in victorious delight, or sometimes just in sleepy affection at the end of a long day. It was far from the first time that youâd found comfort in the space between his arms, strong and capable around your frame, your forehead pressed against his sternum as his heart beat directly into your bones.Â
But it was the first time that his fingers, confident and sure, tipped under your chin, guiding you to look up at him, guiding your mouth to meet his.
You donât know if you melted or exploded - it was somehow both at once. You gripped his back, feeling the muscles move beneath his t-shirt, relaxing into his hold and focusing on the feel of his full lips firm and hungry against your own. This was everything - everything youâd wanted, everything you were afraid of, everything you needed, everything that could rip your life apart.
You didnât mean to whine, but it slipped up your throat and into the gasped space between your lips and his as you tried to pull in a desperate breath. He responded with a grunt, walking you backwards until the edge of the kitchen counter jutted into your lower back. His hands traveled, up to the back of your neck, back down to the slight curve of your waist, around to the back of your ass. He tugged your hips against his roughly, and you let your head fall back, panting, head spinning.
âCherry,â he breathed against the newly bared stretch of your neck, his lips close enough to drag against your skin as he spoke.
Your hands found the back of his neck, gave the slightest tug upwards, and he followed, bringing his mouth back to yours. His tongue pressed yours briefly, your moan muffled entirely by his mouth as you tried to press him closer, closer, as if you wanted your rib-cages to meld, to slip together like fitting puzzle pieces.Â
His hand slipped lower from your ass and wrapped around your thighs, taking only a second to lift you onto the counter behind you. You wrapped yourself around him immediately, pulling him into the space between your legs, arms around his neck, pulling him in, wanting to feel every bit of him against you.Â
His hands found the hem of your shirt and lifted; you raised your arms in compliance and felt the cotton slip over your head and your hands.
âYours,â you murmured, but he had already reached back between his shoulder blades, his own top joining yours on the floor.
Your hands found him on their own, sliding over his skin, fingers dipping between muscles, thumbs sweeping over shadows.
You kissed until you turned liquid, molten, your fingers wrapped in his hair. His fingers mapped every inch of your skin, as if his job was to report back on every previously unknown dip, every rough circle, every beauty mark or blemish. His fingers traced them all, his hands passing over you reverently.
The brush of his bare chest against your own was torturous; delicious until you were full, until you couldnât take it anymore, until the electric-sharp thrill became uncomfortable. You tilted backwards, creating more space between your torsos but pushing your hips firmly into his.
You both groaned at the contact. You could feel the heat and weight of him now, and everything instinctual within you urged you to shift further, to bring that heat and heaviness closer to the part of you that ached for it.Â
He pressed his hips into you without reservation, your core clenching in response to the movement and the friction.Â
Then he leaned back, his hands gripping the edge of the counter, his arms bracketing you on either side, his chest heaving as he struggled to control his breathing. He drank you in, his eyes as molten as you felt. You leaned back on your elbows and met his gaze.
The moment expanded; nothing existed but his eyes and the pant of his breath and the way he smelled like heâd just finished a fight and the way he felt between your thighs, unmovable and steady.
Neither of you was connected to jaeger machinery, but you may as well have been, because you knew without a shadow of a doubt that your minds were connected, the drift be damned. Your eyes locked, you knew he felt everything you felt - the gravity of what you were doing, the love that drove you, the fire coursing through you. If there was going to be hesitation or questioning, this was the moment, this was the pause. But you were one, your minds were one, and there was none of that.Â
His unvoiced question definitively answered by the certainty that flowed between you, Seungcheol moved to lift you again, taking you easily from the countertop into the dark of the room you share, settling you on your back on his bottom bunk.
Above you, mostly shadowed, was your other half, the only person who knew and understood every cobwebbed corner of your consciousness, the only person who had walked through your mind and found himself mirrored in every way that mattered. He was beautiful in the fractured light, his expression serious and gaze intense.Â
You reached up to slide your thumb along his jaw and his eyes fluttered closed, his breath leaving him as in relief, as if youâd made some kind of admission.Â
Making love to Seungcheol felt like drifting. His eyes on you as his fingers pulled you apart felt the same as the careful way heâd watch you when your memories got emotional, like he was watching for any sign that you werenât okay, that you needed more or less or him.Â
The way his breath and shoulders shuddered when he pressed into you for the first time felt the same as when he faltered in face of his fatherâs memory; both times, his fingers laced through yours and held tight until you could both breathe again.
He felt how youâd always known he would. Perfect - a perfect fit for you, a physical compatibility you had never tested but had always trusted would be there. He took you apart without even trying, and all you could do was hold onto him, feel all of him, feel all of it, and try to remember to breathe.
You didnât speak as you moved together in the dark; the only sounds in the tight room were muted gasps, tiny moans muffled against necks, skin on skin, the obscene squelching sounds that accompanied each snap of his hips. You didnât say the words that your lips tried to form - itâs so much, go slow for a little, Seungcheol, I love you, more - please, donât stop. Maybe he heard them. Maybe this was a different way to drift, one that didnât need wires.
You did your best to hold his gaze, losing sight of him only when you strained up to kiss him, when you nuzzled your face into the warmth between his neck and shoulder and gasped against a wave of sensation, when you couldnât help but close them as they rolled back, your toes curling.Â
He pressed his forehead to yours when he finished, your name slipping out of him, as if it had been literally squeezed from his lungs. âCherry⊠CherryâŠâ
You lay together in silence for a long time, feeling your hearts slow, your skin cool. Your thumb traced his jaw again and again, slow, worshipful. âCheol,â you whispered. My Cheol. My everything. You didnât say the rest as you lay together in the quiet, in the dark, your heartbeats competing.Â
You didnât know that youâd drifted together for the last time. You didnât know that your ability to neural connect could be broken.
â
The wind whips around you, stinging your face. You barely flinch. When youâd first relocated here, three years ago, the cold had made you literally cry during your first month. Just from having to walk from the door of the dormitory across the yard to the mess hall dorm, the intensity of it had sent you spiraling into misery - damning the circumstances that had sent you here, away from everyone and everything you knew and loved, to a place where the air hurt.Â
You were sure it would hurt, this intensely, forever.
But time eased the sting, and despite your doubts you did adjust. Now the early morning wind feels bracing and refreshing rather than painful. Youâve adjusted to a lot of things since relocating to a small training center in Alakanuk, Alaska: the climate, the food, the no-frills campus you lived and worked on. Being away from your parents, from Wylie and Chan and Seungkwan and Jeonghan and all the other pilots you were friends with at the Shatterdome.
Being away from Seungcheol. Being partnerless, a half instead of a whole.Â
Being unable to pilot, unable to fight.Â
Being brokenhearted.
Just like the cold, the pain of your losses was the same - the sting of heartbreak and loneliness and homesickness faded to something ignorable, something you could keep tucked tight in the back of your mind.Â
You can hear the noise from inside the mess hall before you even cross the courtyard. There are short of fifty girls ranging from ages seven to eighteen being housed here, but from the noise youâd swear it was at least a hundred.Â
The buildings are single-storied, painted with a heavily-chipping grey-blue that sometimes seems to belong to the mist you often get rolling in from the ocean. When youâd first come, youâd legitimately thought they were painted that way as camouflage, meant to blend in with the sea. The other trainers had a good laugh about that.Â
As you cross the courtyard between the trainersâ dorms and the mess hall, you breathe deeply, eyes on the birds alight above you. After a lifetime in the Shatterdome, you donât take for granted the fresh air youâre afforded as you pass between buildings, outside, the sky open and changing above. You donât take for granted the rhythm of the ocean, the cries of the gulls, nor the distant treeline.
It was Seungcheol who had noted that you were sheltered, having never lived outside of the Dome.Â
It was Seungcheol you could blame - at least halfway - for your relocation here, where there wasnât a jaeger or even a city for hundreds of miles.Â
When you pull open the flimsy door to the mess hall, the noise triples. Several of the girls call out to greet you, and you give them a quick wave as you head to the table where the staff eats.
âYouâre later than normal,â one of the other instructors notes as you reach for a piece of bread.
You shrug lightly, unbothered. âStill have plenty of time before the first class. What day is today, Thursday? Iâve got the little ones first, right?â
The all-girls training center is meant to teach fighting and the groundworks for drifting, but no jaegers are housed here, no teams launch into the icy bay. The girls here will grow up to pilot - if they get selected, if they get paired with a partner.Â
Youâre mostly here to teach them to fight, the way you trained in the Dome, but you do plenty more. Help brush hair in the mornings, console tearful faces, teach games and sports, mediate arguments. You also got sucked into running one literacy class a week, though you still havenât figured out how that happened.Â
It would be a lie to say this wasnât fulfilling, that you didnât love the girls you cared for, that you werenât happy here with the ocean and birds and trees and laughter. In many ways, the seclusion of this training center is exactly what you needed to get back on your feet, to find strength in yourself, to heal with distance and time.
But, god, what you would give for a real fight. What you would give to feel both loved and threatened by Wylie, to rib at the guys, to hug your mom. What you would give to hear Seungcheolâs teasing pout, to catch his gaze across the span of your jaeger and know what his body and yours will do, to feel his fingers just barely graze your back when he knows you need to be reminded to focus.
The final time youâd tried, the neural connection never took. It was like trying to connect with a stranger. It had simply been still, a thing that was never alive.
âDonât do this,â Seungcheol had begged, and that had been the nail in the coffin.
Donât do this, heâd said. It had landed like blame. Like everything was your fault, and only yours. Like you had broken the connection on purpose, were keeping him out, barricading your mind from his when you desperately wanted everything to go right back to normal.
After that failure, you didnât tell him you were asking to be reassigned. You didnât want to give him the chance to say donât do this a second time.
Youâve just ended a class, the girls starting to filter out through the training roomâs side door towards the mess hall for lunch, when the centerâs Administrator calls your name from the door.
âThereâs a call for you on my line. I have them holding.â
A call?Â
Adrenaline races through you; it has to be an emergency. Your parents and friends can reach you on your own device, which is tucked into your back pocket. To call the mainline here at the center means this is a base-to-base call, not a personal one.
Youâve only been in this office a handful of times in your few years here, and you shuffle awkwardly around the desk and pick up the receiver that sits abandoned on the chipped, wooden desktop.Â
You greet the person on the line with your real name.Â
âCherry?â
Your Marshall - your old Marshall, from the Dome - sounds unsure if he has the right person on the line. No one has called you Cherry in three years. Even your parents have used your given name the few times theyâve said it on your weekly calls home.
âItâs me,â you affirm. âIs everything okay? My parents?â
âI didnât mean to scare you,â he says, and you heave a relieved breath. âEveryone is fine. This is official business. I want to call you in.â
You shake your head, frowning, well aware that he canât see your reaction. Your body has said no, but you force yourself to ask, âMe? Why?â
âWeâre down a few teams,â the Marshall says. âAnd -â
âYouâve got more recruits than places to put them,â you counter before he can finish. âCall one of the new teams up. Call three new teams up. You donât need me.â
âWe do - we need teams with experience, teams that are ready. Not rookies bumbling around looking for mistakes. We need precision. We need Duellona Fury.â
Your Marshall lays out the situation: the teams that are out, the problems theyâre having at the breach - less time between attacks, more monsters at once. Youâve seen this before, you all have, and thereâs protocol in place - protocol that starts with all hands on deck.Â
You shake your head again. From the door, the Administrator of the center watches you seriously, like she knows youâre being taken away.Â
âMarshall, with all due respect, I donât know why youâre calling me,â you admit. âWhat can I give you? I canât pilot Duellona.â
Not anymore.Â
The Marshall sighs, like he knew this argument was coming and didnât have a good response.Â
âI think you can,â he says finally. âIâm not saying it will be easy, and Iâm not saying it will happen quickly or without effort. But I think you can.â
âNo,â you say, the first time youâve voiced it. âYou were there. You saw what happened. We canât drift anymore.â
âYou couldnât then,â he points out. âThat was three years ago. Youâve both had a lot of time toâŠ. Youâve both had a lot of time since then. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift⊠theyâve had time to mellow.â
This blow knocks you into silence. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, eyes steadfastly on the warped wood of the desk, fingers toying absently with the Administratorâs pen.Â
Heâs wrong, and you want to tell him so. Nothing had mellowed. You love Seungcheol just as much today as you did three years ago. The splitting ache in your chest that youâve felt every day since you became aware of loving him has only worked its way deeper with time.Â
And Seungcheolâs anger? The anger and betrayal heâd leveled at you, when he was sure you were keeping him out of your head on purpose? You couldnât speak for him, but if you had to guess, there werenât enough years in a human life to let that hurt mellow into something safe enough to drift with.
âHave you talked to him about this?â Youâre afraid of the answer.Â
The Marshall hesitates. âNot yet.â
âYou might want to do that first,â you point out. âBefore flying me back only to have him refuse.âÂ
The Marshallâs voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. âMr. Choi will follow orders,â he says evenly, âand so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.â
âYou canât order us into being able to drift again,â you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest.Â
âNo,â the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, âbut I can - and will - order you to try.â
The girls cry when you tell them youâre leaving, and it makes you want to cry, too. You hold it together as you give them hugs, hold it together as you pack your single bag of belongings. You hold it together in the passenger seat of the centerâs only beat-up van, waving out the back window as the training center fades away.
Itâs standing on the deck of the ferry, the coast receding and the sea wind clawing at your face, that you let it go. You bury your face behind your hands and feel it release behind your ribs. You cry for all of it - for leaving the girls behind, for leaving a place that had sheltered you like a sanctuary. For the time youâd lost at the Dome, for the fights youâd sat out, for the years with your parents and friends that had slipped away like sand between your fingers. For your fear that Seungcheol will turn you away, just as hurt and angry as he was one thousand and ninety-five days ago.Â
Youâd been so determined to keep him from walking through the depths of your love for him, in the drift. You were so scared it would be too much, too intense, too much emotion for the drift. Youâd been scared it would be too much for him - that the weight of it would inherently ask for more than he could give you in return. Youâd been scared it would ruin your partnership, your compatibility, your capability to co-pilot.
But that had happened anyway. You almost have to laugh.Â
As furiously as your tears begin, they peter out quickly. You take a few deep gulps of salty air, use the backs of your hands to wipe at your cheeks and beneath your nose. As you calm down, you keep your eyes on the horizon, your hands tight on the shipâs railing, and you let your mind wander back to Seungcheol. Here, thousands of miles away, you let yourself think back to those last weeks before you left the Shatterdome. You let yourself wonder, for the first time, what exactly caused everything to crumble.
Youâd been so afraid to let Seungcheol into your head once the loving him had taken over. Why had it scared you so badly? As you keep your eyes on the grey of the horizon, you puzzle it out in your mind.
Had it been the uncertainty? That had certainly played a part. Did Seungcheol love you, back then? If he didnât, everything between you could have changed - your friendship, your partnership, your ability to drift. It hadnât seemed worth the risk to lose it all - his presence in your life, your ability to fight together.Â
But maybe he had. If he did love you, back then⊠that would have changed things, too. What if starting something romantic affected your drift? There were too many maybes, too many variables. It had seemed safe to push it all down, to try and keep him away from it. To try and keep things the same.
Of course, youâd lost it all anyway.
Even if he did love you three years ago, you think as the sea air whips around you, did he love you the way you loved him? What if it had been too much - the way you could breathe once he was with you, the way you kept each other in check - what if he had loved you, but not that much?
Had it been a mistake to keep him out? Maybe. But it could have been just as catastrophic to let him in. There was no way to know, now.
You turn away from the shipâs railing, away from the horizon and the sea, away from your mistakes. Thereâs no use looking back like this. You canât change it. You arenât even sure you can fix it.
You were hoping to sleep on the plane, but youâre woefully awake well after take-off. Determined not to keep ruminating on what had happened before you left, instead you wonder what awaits you now.
The most-likely scenario, you think, professional and polite - but cold. Like you, he takes duty and responsibility seriously. The airplane bumps, a pocket of air jostling the small craft, and your hands find the armrests and cling tight until it stops.
The best case scenario, of course, would be that enough time has passed that Seungcheolâs hurt has faded. Maybe, you think, maybe heâs moved on from harboring that anger. Maybe heâll greet you warmly, maybe youâll pick up right where you left off.
This hope, this day-dream, aches, so much that you blink it away and turn to watch the clouds through the window, a desperate distraction. You crave Seungcheol - you crave feeling safe with his arms around you, you crave the elation youâd feel when he entered the room you were in, you crave the peace that comes with two minds engaged in neural handshake - the peace of someoneâs mind interlaced with your own, understanding you, operating with you, picking up half of your mental lift.
You crave his giggle when you say something stupid in the dark of the dorm before bed, his pout when he feels like he isnât getting enough attention, you crave his voice echoing in your head long after heâs gone asleep because you heard him talk to you all day long.Â
You crave his lips on yours, his teeth on your neck, his hands on your body, even if you only had it once. Youâve craved it ever since.
You crave closing your eyes and pressing your forehead to his sternum, feeling safe and quiet and like you belong. You miss the sanctuary of that space, chest to chest with him, something sacred in the way it exists only for you.
You know you canât have it - any of it. The daydream isnât real. Your curse will be to crave it forever, alone.
When you arrive at the Shatterdome, itâs your parents who greet you just inside. For a moment, youâre happy to be back, overcome with emotion as you hug them tight. Theyâve aged in these three years. Youâve missed them awfully. You only tell them the latter.Â
They walk with you to the Marshallâs office, where youâre meant to report upon arrival.Â
You hesitate, covering the moment by tugging your duffleâs strap higher on your shoulder. Your mother reads you anyway, reaching out and giving your shoulder a squeeze.Â
âIt will be okay,â she whispers.Â
Your father catches on. âYouâve faced down worse,â he reasons.Â
You disagree. Thereâs no monster in the sea bigger than your love for Seungcheol, no wounding possible that could hurt more than losing him has. But you appreciate the sentiment, so you give them each a grateful nod, tell them youâll visit after dinner, and turn to knock on the door.
âCome in,â the Marshallâs voice carries through the door, and you turn the knob and step inside.Â
All you see is Seungcheol; the Marshall, the office furniture, the flickering screens on the walls all snap into nonexistence in the presence of your former lover. Heâs the only thing in the room that comes into focus. Everything else is just fuzzy noise.
His face wavers for a moment when your eyes meet his, the muscles rippling as he fights to get them under control.Â
You donât know what reaction heâs fighting. You donât know if heâs feeling happiness or hatred. You donât know if heâs fighting a smile or a scowl.
You give him a quick bow in greeting, and he returns it. His face is stone, now, his mouth tight and eyes flat.Â
He turns to face the Marshall, to receive orders, so you do the same.
âI trust your travel went well?â the Marshall begins.
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Even the single syllable of yes will come out of your mouth like gravel and dirt and sand, getting everywhere, leaving a trail.
âYour orders,â he says then, a bit of a sigh on his tone - as if he knows the uphill battle this will be, âare to reconnect as best you can. Youâll follow your old schedule. Youâll spar, youâll meditate, and youâll talk. After some time, weâll try the drift again, see if the connection has recovered any.â
Seungcheolâs voice startles you when he speaks. âHow long do you imagine it will be before we try?â he asks, just cold enough to have a sliver of sarcasm in it.Â
The Marshallâs eyes narrow, just slightly, as if heâd caught it. âThatïżœïżœs entirely up to you two,â he says evenly. âWhen you were young and hungry to fight, you trained yourselves into exhaustion. You spent every waking second trying to cultivate the bond that would carry you into your jaeger. With the same intention and drive, I imagine you could be piloting Duellona within the week.â
You fight to keep your chin up, your eyes on the Marshall, instead of ducking your head and watching the floor. The Marshall lifts his arm and glances at his watch.Â
âYour allotted time in Sparring Room 7 begins on the hour,â he says. This is his way of dismissing you.
In the hallway, you pause. âIâm just going to drop my bag in the dorm,â you say quietly, not looking at Seungcheol.Â
He gives a tight nod. âFine,â he says, and turns to go the other way, towards the sparring and training rooms. Clearly he intends to meet you there. You heave a deep breath, and turn back towards the wing with the dorms.
Stepping into the dorm you used to share with Seungcheol hits you harder than you thought it would. Youâre not sure what you expected - to feel like coming home, maybe, or perhaps to be slapped with the memories of you and Seungcheol together, dancing around each other as you hurried to get dressed for a drop, lazing around in the sitting area after a full day of training. And, of course, the single night youâd spent together.
Neither thing happens. You arenât overcome by a feeling of nostalgia and love, nor are you inundated by memories of what youâve lost. Instead, the room feels exactly as it is: empty and still.
Your footstepsâ echoes taunt you as you walk through the kitchen, the sitting area, and into the bedroom. Itâs pristine to the point of detriment; it feels like no one lives there. You set your bag on the floor near the foot of the bed - you can unpack later, after training - and turn to go.
Strangely, itâs stepping into the training room that slams you with memory and nostalgia. The wood cool beneath your feet, the vague smell of sweat and citrus-y cleaner, the sounds of punches landing and grunts of effort from the training rooms on either side - they all cocoon you in history, making goosebumps rise on your arms as the emotions surround you.
It makes sense, you think, as Seungcheol glances over his shoulder at the sound of your arrival. He doesnât speak to you, just swaggers to the center of the room and takes a stance you recognize from Form One. Your body leads you opposite him, muscle memory guiding you into the first form you ever learned with him. It makes sense that this would be what felt like home - your minds going empty together, your bodies following the steps in unison. The sparring forms are the closest you can get to drifting without an actual neural connection.
Well, that and sleeping together, but you donât see that on your agenda.
You stare at him across the invisible circle between you and try to read him. His face is cold and empty, but that already tells you so much about what heâs feeling. Seungcheol was never cold with you. When you fought together he slipped into that mode you loved so much - ready to level anything, chin lifted, eyes narrowed, confident and so very strong. But it was when you were together outside the fights that you had loved him best - often pouting, lips protruding, voice lifting into a whine. And the best of all - that smile, dimples creating shadows that beg for your thumb to press them, eyes squeezing shut with happiness or laughter.
Something must show on your face, because you watch the muscles in Seungcheolâs upper body untense, as if heâd been ready to fight and recognized that you werenât.
âIâm good,â you mutter quickly, before he can ask. It feels better to lie to him before he actually asks you, like thatâs somehow less dishonest. âLetâs go.â
Form One is basic - no hits, no fancy moves. At the training center, youâd teach it to the littlest ones until they had it memorized. It was really about control and communication - precision and alignment with your partner. You had to breathe together as your feet traced opposite circles across the knots in the wooden floor. You had to rise and bend in unison. It was about watching and listening.
You and Seungcheol could - literally, youâd tried more than once - do it blindfolded in perfect step with one another. Before. You donât know if you still can. But, now, unblindfolded, itâs too easy.
You move through forms one through six without incident - both of you flowing as easily as water.
Form Seven is the first form that incorporates actual hits and blocks. Youâll have to touch for the first time, even if itâs forearm to forearm or ankle to shoulder. You move right as he moves left, crouch and circle as his right foot flies over your head, stand and punch where you know his open hand will be waiting to stop you.
It is, and you press your fist against it for just a second before spinning away to continue the form. You ache, even as your body continues following the steps, to have him entirely again - to meet his eyes and smile the way you both used to, because you were pleased with what your bodies could do. Because you had each other, completely.
After the tenth form, you bow, turn, and walk out of the ring. You drink some water, your back to him. Years ago youâd have used this break to chat, but you donât know what to say to him. Youâre scared that heâll shut down anything you say, whether you choose small talk or go straight for the heart of the problem, and you honestly donât think you can shoulder his rejection right now. So you stay quiet.
After a few short minutes of rest, you return to the center of the room. This is when youâll spar for real.
You and Seungcheol had done this for years before things went wrong. Youâd long ago adjusted to how hard you should hit, how to dodge his moves, how to make this a dance as much as a fight. Now, you feel like itâs your first time again.
Seungcheol attacks as youâd expect - all offensive, pushy, succeeding in herding you backwards even as you dodge each blow. You know his goal is to flip you, and normally you can avoid that by forcing him to go on the defensive as he avoids your own hits. Simply dodging wonât be enough - eventually heâll cage you in unless you distract him.
You throw yourself into a summersault and manage to get behind him - an opportune moment to strike. You shift your weight to follow the blow as you twist your hips to send a kick towards his unprotected head. He turns just too late - the blow will land.
You canât do it. You freeze, your core working to keep you upright as you fight your own momentum, halting the kick inches from his temple.
You know immediately that pulling the hit was a mistake. His eyes narrow, and he sweeps his foot at the ankle youâre balancing on. You crash to the ground, heaving a breath and taking quick inventory.
You arenât hurt. Not this time.
âGet up, Cherry,â he says darkly, moving back to the center to start again. âAnd donât do that shit again.â
He comes at you full force in the next match, too. You dodge and weave, but you donât try to strike. You know he knows it; this isnât how it used to work. You can almost feel him get angrier as you fight, but you canât make yourself hit back. You want him to knock you down, you deserve to take some shots.
You take two blows to the back and one to a shoulder; you fall back unsteadily but manage to find your footing and roll away from his next kick.
The match continues - you taking a handful of blows, though none with the force to level you, and Seungcheol with his lip curled in fury.
âIf youâre not going to fight, then leave,â he spits.
âWould if I could,â you retort without thinking. You mean that you donât want to be here like this - not talking, cold, at odds. But you know it reads as not wanting to be here at all.
It seems like everything you say and do only hurts him more.
âI didnât mean -â you start, and Seungcheol takes your arms and flips you over his shoulders.
âDonât waste my fucking time,â he says, brushing his hands together and stepping back to give you room to pick yourself up.
âDonât curse at me,â you answer, pushing yourself to your hands and knees, pausing to catch your breath before rising fully again.
He shakes his head, rolls his eyes a little.
You hate this side of him.
You know you deserve it. For pushing him out. For leaving him here. For loving him, messing everything up, when he never asked for that.
âSeungcheol,â you say, but he ignores you, pacing a few steps and then turning to face you, lowering himself into a defensive stance, ready to spar again.
âCheol,â you try again. âListen to me.â
âMarshall scheduled us time to talk later,â he says flatly. âRight now weâre scheduled to fight. So fight me, Cherry. Letâs go.â
The rest of the hour continues the same. By the time itâs over, Seungcheol storms out without speaking to you, furious over every single pulled punch.
You donât know what to do to make it all better.
You shower quickly, dressing in dry linens, and then re-emerge for the hours youâre scheduled to meditate together. You hope that maybe this will help the situation - maybe not talking will be good for you, give you a chance to feel your connection without the chance to fuck it up with words.
Youâre wrong; trying to meditate together is just as desperately fruitless as sparring had been.
You canât focus at all - canât shift your attention to your breath, to your body, to the earth beneath you, to the energy of your partner.
Your partner is the distraction, though he sits perfectly still, eyes closed. He might as well be yelling. His shoulders are tight, his jaw still clenched. Anger radiates off him so strongly that it makes your stomach hurt, makes you want to cower from it. You canât stop watching him, hoping youâll see him relax, hoping youâll see the moment that he lets go.
He doesnât.
âYour eyes are supposed to be closed,â he murmurs, and you feel your face heat, embarrassed that he knew you were watching him.
âI canât,â you admit. Maybe, you think, you should just be brutally honest, starting now. Itâs not like you could make this worse. âI canât stop noticing how angry -â
âThen stop pissing me off,â he snaps, eyes opening. âJust a suggestion.â
âDonât talk to me like that!â you cry, and push yourself to stand. Youâre not sure why - maybe just to pace. âYou never used to talk to me like this. Who are you?â
He looks at the floor, the first sign of guilt youâve seen since you came home.
âFine,â he finally bites back, and you know itâs as close to sorry as youâll get. âIâll reign it in. Sit back down.â
You shift your weight, arms crossed defensively across your chest, and close your eyes, deciding.
âSit down, Cherry,â he repeats, and itâs gentler now. Thatâs what makes you cave, and you settle back across from him.
Heâs less tense this time, so you eventually manage to close your eyes and count your breaths. But youâre still feeling for him, reaching for him in your mind, and coming up with nothing between you fingers. Touching him is as possible as touching the fog that used to blanket the training center, thick enough to blind you but impossible to grasp.
The pain feels like a cramp, except itâs behind your ribs instead of in your muscles. The pain grips and tightens, takes over. You want him, you want to be his again, you want to be inside these walls - where you used to fit comfortably. The fact that youâre out here, without him, aches so badly it makes you nauseated.
You want to beg him - let me in again, let me back in, let me be close to you again.
It wonât do any good, and you know it.
He was yours - you had him, you knew him, you could reach out to him and heâd pick you up. Youâd taken it for granted, and youâd run away from it. Youâd chosen to let it go, and now all you get is this: Seungcheol, cold and closed. Seungcheol, hating you for everything that happened.
â
Dinner is just as bad.
You go to the mess hall eager to see Wylie and Jeonghan and Seungkwan and all the other friends you havenât seen in years. Wylie screeches like a banshee when she spots you, crossing the mess hall in a blur and hugging you so tightly that you both stagger, off balance, until Seungkwan joins the hug and rights you again.
âI missed you both so much,â you whisper, the only vulnerability anyoneâs going to get out of you today.
âThen donât leave again!â Wylie snaps, but you know the admonishment is full of love.
âI canât promise,â you admit. Honestly, youâve already made up your mind - you want to go back to Alaska. Youâre not wanted here, not by the person who matters. What good are you, taking up a bed, if you canât drift?
Youâve already given up hope that heâll come around.
Seated at the table, you listen while your friends fill you in on what youâve missed in three years - the fights in the bay, the new teams of pilots, the illnesses and injuries. You almost donât notice Seungcheol silently takes a seat on Jeonghanâs other side, but something in you prickles, like youâve sensed him.
The tension around the table heightens; the conversation goes a little stilted. When itâs apparent that heâs going to ignore you two seats down from him, Wylie slaps her hand flat on the tabletop.
âCome on, Seungcheol,â she scolds, and youâre sure no one wonders what she means.
His face goes dark so quickly itâs alarming. âDonât,â he tells her darkly, one finger coming up to point at her in warning.
Her own eyes narrow and dart to her fork. Beside her, Chanâs eyes pingpong between them. Heâs probably wondering if he should hold her back or join her.
âItâs fine,â you mutter, grabbing your tray and making to rise. âIâll go.â
âCherry, no,â Wylie protests, and then turns a glower onto your ex-co-pilot as if to say see what you did?
âItâs fine,â you repeat, standing. âI told my mom and dad Iâd come by.â
You slink out before anyone else can argue.
You canât even be mad at him - you did this by pushing him away. You hammered every last nail in the coffin by requesting to transfer. You pushed him out and you left him behind and now you have to face the reality that you canât have him anymore. He isnât yours, not anymore.
When you return to your dorm, heâs already in bed, the lights out. Heâs facing the wall so you can only see his back, can only see the angry, tight shoulder poking out the top of the sheets. It tells you everything you need to know.
You donât try to talk to him. You just go to bed.
â
You spend four days identically - fighting while sparring, not meditating, and avoiding Seungcheolâs ice-out. On the fifth day, your Marshall loses patience and changes your schedule. Your entire day is blocked to working on Duellonaâs mainframe - buffing, repainting, greasing, and anything else youâre able to handle on your own.
âSince you canât do anything else useful,â he adds, and you avoid Seungcheolâs eyes, ashamed.
Standing under Duellonaâs unlit frame fills you with guilt. It feels like youâre letting her down, disappointing her by letting her rust here, failing your half of the bargain. You run your hands gently over the metal, finding the rough spots that need attention. Somewhere to your left, you can hear the telltale sounds of Seungcheol tightening bolts.
You work in silence for hours.
Eventually, you crack. Youâre not sure if itâs the monotony of the task, the tension woven into the silence between you too, or being so close to your jaeger but unable to fight in it - maybe a combination. Something pushes at you from the inside, like a balloon trying to inflate under your skin and running out of room.
You flop backwards on the metal walkway, the grooves digging into your back. âWhat are we doing?â you ask, and you hear the tool Seungcheol had been using cling loudly as he sets it down.
âFollowing orders?â he says, stepping around Duellonaâs side to look at you. âFixing up the jaeger?â
âFixing up the jaeger we donât get to pilot?â you ask, sitting back up to look at him better.
âIs that what youâre here for?â he asks, the sudden ferocity of it surprising you. âTo fight? Is that why you came back?â
You reach up to the walkwayâs railing and pull yourself up. You feel yourself frowning at his question, at the heat behind it.Â
âIâm back because the Marshall gave me an order,â you say slowly.Â
âAnd thatâs it?â he demands.Â
You stare at him. You feel sure thereâs more to the question, more that heâs asking. You feel sure, after knowing Choi Seungcheol down to the last molecule, that heâs really asking, you didnât come back for me?
And it confuses you. You try to think about your split from his perspective: youâd shut him out, then slept with him, and then vanished. Youâd made a lot of assumptions about his anger since then. You assumed he was angry at you for pushing him out of your head. You assumed he was angry at you for sleeping with him and then leaving. You assumed he was angry with you for ruining your drift, for ripping him away from the ability to fight. You assumed he was angry because he never knew why - never knew what it was that you were so desperate to hide, never knew why sleeping together had made things so much worse that the neural connection had fizzled into nothing altogether.
Is there more to it, his anger?
Should you call him on it, should you ask?
You take too long deciding. Seungcheol scoffs, like heâs disgusted with you. âI should have known,â he says coldly. âPrincess of the Shatterdome, I should have known you only cared about piloting - about your legacy.â
This is something youâve never said to him - that your desire to shine as brightly as your parents has weighed on you. This is something heâd pulled from the drift, something he only knew from tiptoeing around your mind before a fight.Â
âThat isnât fair,â you say, your voice hard. âIs there another reason I should have come back? Iâd love to hear it.â
He hears the challenge as it is - you didnât ask me to come back, the Marshall did. You let me go.
He has nothing to say for himself, just stares back at you, eyes narrowed in anger, chest moving too quickly as he battles with his temper.
âExactly,â you say curtly. The victory stings. It doesnât feel like a win at all. âThe bottom line is Iâm here now, and we can pilot again if we can get our shit together.â
He shakes his head. âYou left,â he says finally. âThatâs the bottom line. You decided you were out, you decided you didnât want me in your head, and then you left.â
He watches you, waits for you to say something. When you donât, he lets out a derisive little laugh. âWeâre both wasting our time here. The drift wonât work. We arenât going to fix it.â
For the first time, fear slices through you like steel. âYou canât know that,â you say. You hear the fear in the way your voice comes out low and rounded, barely sounding like you at all.
âI can,â he retorts. âYou know how I know? Because I donât want to. You wanted me out of your head so badly? You got it. Canât turn back now.â
He heads for the ladder, swings around and finds the third rung down with ease.
âSo thatâs it?â you ask his retreating form. Your heart is hammering and youâre starting to get tunnel vision.Â
The only answer he gives you are his feet hitting each new rung with a clunk and a vibration that rattles up your legs.
â
You go to the training rooms alone and run through the forms just to do something; your mind turns the problem over and over as your body goes through the motions. After, you take a longer shower than normal, letting the water run hotter than you normally would.
After, you go to the Marshallâs office, determined. Or maybe resigned.
When he opens the door, he already looks irritated, like he knew exactly who would be on the other side.
âRequesting an audience,â you say flatly, fighting the instinct to cross your arms defensively.
He glances at his watch. âFive minutes.â
You step inside but leave the door open.
âIâm requesting transfer back to Alakanuk,â you tell him as evenly as you can manage. Youâre sure heâs not surprised. âSeungcheol has made it very clear that we wonât be fighting together again. If thatâs the case, then I canât do anything useful here. But in Alakanuk I can.â
You pause, looking to see if you can read anything on the Marshallâs face - any hint that heâs considering what youâre saying, or that itâs a lost cause. He gives you nothing.
âPlease,â you say. âThose girls need me. If I canât help here, I can help them.â
The Marshall tilts his head just slightly. âSurely anyone can teach little girls the forms.â
You shake your head. âItâs more than that, and you know it. Itâs not about the forms. I love those girls. I came back here to follow orders, and I tried. But if it isnât going to happen⊠Please, donât make me waste time here if I can be with them instead.â
The silence when you stop speaking seems to last for hours. Your heart pounds, and you work on keeping your breathing even. If he tells you no, you might just lose it, just give up entirely.
Finally, he takes a breath and seems to consider you. âIf,â he says, and your eyes widen with hope, âyour co-pilot agrees, then I will reassign you back to Alaska. But only if he will agree.â
âNo problem,â you say quickly. Seungcheol was the one who said it was over. He should have no problem letting you leave.
When you step out of the Marshallâs office, Seungcheol steps out of the shadows. You should be surprised to see him, but in the Shatterdome it feels right that he just is wherever you are. Thatâs always how it was, before.
You look at him disdainfully. âI assume you heard that conversation?â
He nods, once.
âSo?â you ask. âWill you tell him you approve, so I can go?â
For the first time since you returned, Seungcheol smiles, tight and sarcastic.
âNo,â he says easily, like itâs kind of funny.
Fury erupts inside you; you canât even pinpoint where in your body it stems from. âWhy?â you demand. âBecause you feel like I took something from you, so you want to take something from me?â
He doesnât respond to this. You know youâre right. You know him. You know his mind.
âI hate to fuck up your narrative,â you spit at him, âbut Iâve lost out here just as much as you have. Youâre not the only one who lost the ability to fight. Youâre not the only one who lost their partner.â
You wish you could tell him the rest - youâre not the one who spent three years with a broken heart on top of it. He had lost you as a partner and a friend - you had lost him in the same ways, and youâd had to harbor your broken heart.
He shakes his head. âPoor baby,â he bites sarcastically, and then takes off down the hallway, into the dark.
â
You stop sleeping at the dorm. Sometimes you sleep at your parentsâ, sometimes on Wylie and Chanâs tiny couch, sometimes in bed with Seungkwan, who kicks at you and whines that you take up too much space. Sometimes you sleep inside Duellona Fury, sitting up, your back against her metal frame.
The Marshall seems to have taken some pity on you. He schedules your mornings training the Domeâs recruits, and lets Seungcheol get back to what he was doing in your absence - which seems to be on track to move up in rank, to maybe become a Marshall himself, someday. It isnât quite the same as being back with your girls, but training recruits feels at least somewhat fulfilling. And it keeps you and Seungcheol busy - separately - until afternoon.
Then, he schedules you to spar.
In your first week, youâd been unwilling to hit Seungcheol. Youâd been feeling guilty for hurting him, sad for your time apart, hopeful that if you were soft to him, then heâd be soft back to you.
Now, youâre fucking furious.
For the first time, when the match begins, you hit him first. Heâs surprised for only a second, eyebrows shooting up as he stumbles for balance, and then you watch something delighted and devilish fall over his face. Like he knows exactly what dance this is, and heâs been learning the steps in secret.
The match is brutal, reminiscent of your very first one, when you were both nineteen. You throw hit after hit his way; he blocks or dodges all of them. But he canât get a hit on you either - youâre too quick, spurred on by fury. Youâve been angry in a fight before. But youâve never been angry at him.
You spin and throw up a kick, expecting his forearm to rise and block it. Instead, you knock him in the jaw.
He grunts, hand flying up to cover his mouth, and you drop your stance with a gasp.
âShit!â you cry, hurrying closer. âIâm so sorry! Are you bleeding? Let me look.â
ââM fine,â he mutters thickly from behind his hand, but you ignore him. For a second, things are how they used to be between you. He lets you peel his hand away, lets you gingerly turn his head this way and that, even opens up so you can check his teeth.
âYouâre gonna have a fat lip,â you tell him regretfully. âBut nothingâs bleeding. Teeth look okay. Anything loose in there?â
He pokes around his teeth with his pinky. âNope.â
You take a step back, cowed. âIâm really sorry.â
He laughs a little, wryly. âI bet you feel better, though.â
You bite back a smile. âActuallyâŠâ you say, and he laughs again. You both do.
Somehow, this seems to be the thing that cracks the anger youâve both been encased in, unable to move forward or backward. You feel melted, and you wonder if he feels freer now, too.
âI didnât mean to hurt you,â you say. You mean the kick, but the words land heavy.
He avoids your gaze. âI need some water,â he says, turning and heading to the side of the room.
You do the same, sitting heavily on the bench where your water waits for you.
âHey,â he says, and you look over, brows raised in anticipation. âTell me about Alaska.â
You canât help but smile.
âItâs so beautiful,â you tell him. âGod, Cheol, the ocean there. And the birds, and the snowâŠâ
Heâs watching you, listening, but while he listens he stands and heads to the center of the ring, settling into a starting form. With a small smile, you follow, standing opposite him. He starts an easy match thatâs mostly just following the eighth form. It includes some hits and blocks, but you both do them gently, easily, circling each other slowly.
âSo you liked it?â he asks. You can hear how hard heâs working to make it sound casual.
âIt was so beautiful,â you admit before ducking below a kick. âBut it was also⊠really hard.â
âWhat was the best part?â he asks.
You smile, block a hit. He almost gets his hands on you for a flip, but you dodge around behind him. He turns to follow you. âWeirdly, it was taking care of them outside of class. We - the instructors - we kind of their moms, away from home, you know? Iâm the one who knew Yejin wonât sleep unless someone sits by her bed for a while. Iâm the one that knew that Farrah and Salome only argue because theyâre competitive. Iâm the one that knew that Maria and Anjali donât know their times-tables, that Ximena canât brush her own hair, or that Iseul is allergic to fish. I loved them. I loved knowing them.â
He looks at you for a long time. âMaybe you should go back,â he says finally.
It feels like a trap.Â
You look at the floor, at the wall, then finally back at him. âIf youâll do this for real,â you say carefully, âthen Iâd rather be here. If weâre actually trying, then I donât want to go.â
Heâs quiet for a long time. Finally, he swallows hard, not looking at you.
âWhat was the worst part?â
Thereâs only one answer.
âMissing you,â you say. âLosing you.â
He manages to get both of your arms and hauls you over his shoulders. You land on your back so hard that the air is knocked out of your lungs and your eyes close protectively. For a second, you lay there panting, waiting for the pain in your back to settle down, waiting for the stars behind your eyelids to calm.
When you open them again, the ceiling coming into focus above you, the room is empty.
â
You have a hunch on where you can find him, and you head to the jaeger bay. Sure enough, heâs sitting below Duellona, knees to his chest, staring up at her.
You sit next to him and he doesnât get up and leave, which you take as a good sign.
âI canât do this if youâre not all in,â he tells you without looking at you. âYou walked away from me once. I canât let you back in my head if thereâs any possibility youâll walk away again. If youâre with me, I need you to be with me.â
Something prickles in the back of your head. You feel like youâre starting to realize something - the seed of an understanding is pushing delicately through the dirt, but hasnât yet spread out its leaves under the warmth of the sun yet.
Something about his hurt. Something about why.
âI think we should try to drift,â you tell him.
This seems to startle him - he forgets to be cold, turns to look at you, eyebrows raised in surprise.
âI can tell you how much I missed you,â you reason, âand tell you about how I spent every minute just⊠steeped in regret. Or we can walk through it - you can see for yourself.â
You know what youâre risking. If he gets into your head now, heâll see it all - heâll know everything, heâll be able to feel for himself the depth of your loss, the height of your love.Â
But whatâs the harm, now? You canât lose him twice. Maybe itâll be enough for him to realize you hadnât left him because you didnât care about him. Maybe itâll be enough for his forgiveness.Â
Maybe then, heâll tell the Marshall to let you go back to Alakanuk.Â
Itâs Seungkwan you bother, since heâd been in mission control before finding his team of co-pilots. The sideways look he gives you as he walks to your conn pod is withering, but you know better than to take it personally.
You buzz with nerves. The last time youâd tried this, the neural handshake hadnât even connected. There had just been nothing.
The second you hear neural handshake initiating, you almost sob with relief. You canât even pay attention to the memories - Seungcheolâs memories - floating around you; you want to collapse, to press your palms to the ground and thank the universe for letting you back in.
His first memories are a breeze - the ones youâve jogged through together hundreds of times: his first home, his school, his fatherâs hospital room, the Dome. Then you slow your pace, because this is new.
Youâre facing the landing dock on the Shatterdomeâs roof. Seungcheol stands with his back to you, watching through the glass walls as a helicopter waits, the pilot talking into his headset.
You watch yourself walk towards the chopperâs open door. You watch yourself leave, remember how hard it was to not look back.
You hadnât known that Seungcheol had been there, that he had seen you go.
The pain that accompanies the memory hits you like youâre drowning, like itâs too deep and you canât feel the bottom, and you feel the machinery falter around you.
âHey,â you say quietly. âIâm with you.â
He nods, still doesnât look at you. But the beeping stops, the connection holding.Â
Thereâs knowledge in this memory, knowledge in this pain. Seungcheolâs thoughts in this moment read in your head as clearly as if he said them aloud - I did this. I pushed her too far; I made her run.
You canât stay here, canât let him wallow in the memory of pain. You had to move forward - thatâs how the drift works. Reluctantly you step towards the door, glancing over your shoulder to see if heâs following.Â
He is. His jaw is tight and fists are clenched, but he is.
When the next memory - not in order of chronology, clearly - appears before you, you want to vanish into the floor. Youâre watching yourselves in Seungcheolâs bed. Thankfully, youâre sleeping - this was after. But in the memory, Seungcheol is awake, laying on his side, his eyes drinking in your sleeping form.
The emotions and the knowledge come with it in an instant. The tenderness and the love he felt in that moment surround you now in the memory, unignorable, impossible to mistake.Â
He had loved you. He had known you loved him, and he was showing you how he felt. The understanding slams you so hard that you think you stop breathing.
âSeungcheol,â you whisper. Around you, the scene begins to flicker, the connection starting to react to the oversaturation of emotion.
âWe can talk about it after,â he says, voice hard. âDonât stay in it. Find the next door.â
Your eyes find the door, but you feel frozen. You want the connection to drop, you want to unlock yourself from the stupid drive-suit and throw yourself into his arms, you want to apologize for leaving him thinking heâd pushed you away, thinking that he scared you into running.
âCherry,â he warns. âThe drift canât -â
You know.Â
And you owe him your side of the story.
You take a steeling breath and head for the door. You donât take his hand. You donât know if you deserve to, if heâd want you to.
When you step through the doors, youâre confused - youâre still in your dorm. Your bodies are both in the bed.
Now, though, Seungcheol sleeps, and you - the memory of you - sits on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands.Â
You feel the emotion the memory holds, which means Seungcheol does, too.
Fear. Itâs still fear - fear that heâll know, fear that what you just did together will make it worse, make it harder to hide.Â
Beside you, Seungcheolâs eyes go wide.Â
âWe have to move on,â you tell him. He looks at you, then back at the memory.Â
âYou -?â he starts to ask.
âAfter,â you tell him firmly. âWeâll talk after.â
You open the door, and youâre suddenly outside, surrounded by white.
Alaska.
The emotion knocks you over with the fury of an ocean wave - even though you know youâre not supposed to let it. This was how you had felt every day that you were gone, and it screams at you now, determined to be heart, determined to be felt. The loneliness, the regret, the despair and heartbreak all rise up in you, overtaking you, as snow falls gently and silently around you.
And the love. That never went away. That never mellowed, as the Marshall had put it.
If he didnât know before, he has to know now. Thereâs no way he couldnât.
Seungcheol squeezes your hand, and you almost jump. You look down at your linked fingers in shock, then up at him, eyes wide.
âWe should go back and talk about this,â he tells you, but his grip on you is firm, assuring.
âOkay. Itâs this way,â you tell him, trying to breathe, and you lead him by the hand through the snow. The fog strengthens as you walk, until you canât see anything but grey, canât see anything but Seungcheolâs hand in yours.
You continue on. You know where to go. When you step through, the fog vanishes as if it was never there, nothing gradual about it. With the fog gone, you can see clearly where you are - inside Duellona Furyâs conn-pod.
As you begin to work on the straps, you call through the intercom, âKwan? We⊠need some privacy. Weâve got to talk - alone.â
His voice crackles back at you. âYes, Iâm leaving, Iâm already gone. If you hear popcorn crunching, no you donât.â
Seungcheol gives you a flat look. âLetâs go home and talk,â he suggests.
Home.
You are so afraid and so hopeful. You donât know how to juggle both.
Back in your small living space, you sit like youâre meditating.
âLetâs figure this out,â he says. âNo lies.â
âNo lies,â you agree. Your knees touch, and you reach to take his hands. He lets you, giving your fingers a squeeze.
âYou knew,â you say first, bordering on accusation. âI was trying so hard to hide how I felt about you⊠but you knew.â
He nods, his eyes on you. âAnd you,â he says slowly, âdidnât⊠know? That I knew?â
You shake your head, confirming. âI didnât know. I thought I hid it.â
He smiles at you, a little placating. âNot as well as you would have liked.â
âAnd youâŠâ You chicken out, swallow, force yourself to be brave. âYou⊠loved me, too?â
He nods. âI did.âÂ
The air leaves your lungs so forcefully that you bend over, pressing your forehead to the tops of your hands. He pulls his hands from yours and you feel his touch, firm and reassuring, cupping your shoulders and rubbing his thumbs along them.
âWe felt the same,â you echo into your shins. âYou loved me.â
âCherry,â he says above you, his voice like a plea. âI donât understand why - when we⊠when I⊠I felt like once I forced you to look at it, it was too much. You ran.â
You sit with this for a minute, stunned and processing. His hands are back in yours, which you take as a good sign.Â
âYou thought⊠wait. You thought, after that night, that I knew how you felt, too?â
He nods. âI thought you knew,â he says, confusion still present in his tone. âI thought we both knew. I thought if it was out in the open, the glitch in the drift would be fixed.â
You wipe at your face, trying to breathe. âAnd instead,â you realize, âwe couldnât even connect, because I was still trying to hide it from you, and then you were hurt. I thought it was broken. I thought we really broke it forever.â
He looks at you in wonder. âThatâs why you left,â he breathes, and you know heâs understanding this for the first time. âYou thought we made the problem worse.â
Itâs your turn to nod. âAfter weâŠI mean, I knew if I couldnât hide it from you before that night, there was no chance Iâd be able to hide it after. I kept you out in the first place because I⊠was afraid. I was afraid for you to see how much I loved you. It seemed⊠hopeless to keep trying.â
The words lay bloody between you, but his grip on your hands is strong, and you take another breath.
You push on, adding, âI was afraid it would be too much. I was afraid everything would change.â
Which it did, you think. He nods, like he hears this, like he agrees.
He releases you and leans back, blowing out a loud breath. âWeâre so fucking stupid,â he says, and you splutter out a laugh.
âWe really are.â
âI canât believe we lost three years over that,â he says.
âI canât believe you thought it was your fault that I left.â
âI canât believe you left in the first place.â
This makes you smile, guilty. âThatâs fair.â
You push yourself to stand; Seungcheol mirrors you, as if youâre already in the neural handshake, bodies working in tandem.Â
âCherry,â he says quietly, stepping closer. âIt could never be too much. I love you. Iâm crazy about you. Iâm only me when Iâm with you.â
You remember him, the night youâd slept together, telling you, donât be afraid. Heâd told you, after all, and youâd missed it entirely.
You close the distance between your bodies and kiss him hard. His arms circle your waist immediately, like they were waiting for you. He kisses you back hungrily. His mouth meets yours eagerly, his tongue stroking yours confidently before he shifts his attention to your jaw, your neck, then your mouth again. His hands donât wander this time - instead he holds you so firmly it almost hurts, like he wonât let you move an inch, wonât let you out of his grasp ever again.
You cradle his face between your hands, let your teeth gently scrape along his bottom lip. âCheol,â you whisper, then kiss him again. âYouâre everything.â Itâs what you should have said aloud the night youâd slept with him.
When the kiss breaks, he presses his lips to the top of your head and holds them there, melting around you a little. You give his middle a squeeze, revel in his heartbeat surrounding you like music.
âIâm sorry,â he whispers. âIâm sorry I didnât just say it.â
âMe too,â you tell him, holding him just a little tighter. âI should never have tried to hide it from you in the first place.â
He kisses your temple, and you hold each other, silently, each grappling with the time youâd wasted apart.Â
Youâre interrupted by a knock. You break apart, puzzled. Youâre even more puzzled to see your Marshall at the door, and Seungkwan literally bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.
âIâve heard your drift is working again,â the Marshall says dryly.Â
You look over your shoulder at Seungcheol, grinning. âSeems like it.â
âThereâs a Cat-1 reading in the bay. I was about to alarm for Pretty Savage to drop, but Savageâs team insisted I give you the opportunity first. They can follow as backup. How do you feel?â
Seungcheol is at your side. He looks at you, his face open and raw. âWell?â he asks you. âAre you in, or are you out?â
âIâm in,â you tell him seriously. âIâm with you.â
You thrum with excitement as a tech team helps strap you into the drive-suits, and you canât help but shoot Seungcheol a wild grin, your happiness alive and unbounded.Â
You tell mission control - Nainsi, probably, just like the old days - âReady and aligned.â
Mission Control - definitely Nainsi - responds, âPrepare for neural handshake.â
The artificial voice bounces around you - 3⊠2⊠1⊠neural handshake initiatingâŠ
Around you, the machines flicker busily. Neural handshake strong and holding. Now calibratingâŠ
Youâre crying, but you ignore it. You beam through tears, looking sideways at your co-pilot. His eyes dance as he smiles back at you. You want to unstrap yourself to the drivesuit and go kiss his dimples, the dimples you hadnât seen in years. You resist the urge.
âReady to drop?â He looks sideways at you, sly.Â
You scoff at him, your own grin cocky and sure, like youâre twenty again, like nothing had ever been broken between you. âBeen ready. Letâs light âem up.â
â end
thank you so much for reading!!!!
stay tuned for more fics in this universe! Wylie and Chan will get their own fic written by @sailorrhansol, as will Woozi! I'm also planning a Vernon x Reader in this universe, too! Should be a fun time!!
#kvanity#svthub#svt fanfic#svt fic#svt x reader#seventeen x reader#seventeen fanfic#svt imagines#scoups fanfic#s.coups fanfic#seungcheol fanfic#scoups fic#seungcheol fic#s.coups x reader#scoups x reader#seungcheol x reader#choi seungcheol x reader#scoups x you#scoups x y/n#seungcheol x you#seungcheol x y/n#choi seungcheol x you#scoups angst#scoups smut#seungcheol angst#seungcheol smut#exes to lovers#pacific rim au#fic: cherrybomb
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Hi! I love all of your writing, could please do Benedict and best friend reader at a ball and he over hears some girls bullying reader and goes OFF and reader runs off and he thinks heâs embarrassed her but when he finds her she explains she found it super hot and then some smut please! đ
You are in love 1 || B.B
Part 2 of " you are in love"
Pairing: Benedict bridgerton x best friend! Reader, + Polin
Warning: fem! reader, no description of reader, friendly flirting and teasing, mutual pinning, use of inappropriate words, reader has a step sister. Fluff and angst, part 1 of you are in love. Part : 2 will be smut
Rigel's note đȘ©: Thank you for requesting, and the compliment<3333 *smooches* I hope you don't mind me doing it in two parts :) the title is taken from Taylor Swift's song " you are in love", it popped as soon as I read best friend reader, hope it's not as bad as it's in my head, sending love back, also part 2 soon.
" Perks of being a woman, you don't have to dance with Eloise bridgerton." You remarked when it was the fifth time Eloise stepped on lord White's toe.
Benedict snorted on his lemonade as he looked at you sideways, his iconic lop sided grin plastered to his smug face.
" I was her dance partner, " Benedict fake sniffed, wiping the fake tear, ", that too, before she started lessons."
You winced at the idea of Eloise before her lesson and gave Benedict a pat on his back for being ever the sacrifice.
" I thought that's why you danced wierd " you told him, smiling when he looked at you scandalously.
" Excuse me ?! " He narrowed his eyes, " you take that back ! " He slammed the glass down with force.
" Will not, you dance like...like a snowman ! " You beamed, slamming your fan down and glaring back, nose to nose, eye to eye.
" That never stopped you from dancing with me." He said smugly and retreated to his space with a satisfied look in his eyes when your jaw slacked slightly.
" You don't dance like a snowman with me." you told him in a small voice and that's when it hit you how gracefully he twirled you around when he was practically running away from other beautiful young ladies.
Benedict smiled, his eyes twinkling at you as he raised his brow, like in a question.
" And why would you think that ? " His mouth twisted and you didn't know what to say.
" Perhaps because I dance well...? " You tried and despite it being not the answer he expected, he laughed all the same.
" You dance like a ... a Kangaroo." Benedict thought hard and a muscle in his jaw twitched, he smiled proudly when he got the right word to annoy you.
" What's a kangaroo ? " You asked, you had heard it somewhere but it was easier to ask him than think hard.
" It's like..." Benedict motioned with his hands something like a vase," it's a cute animal." He finally said when nothing more could be made out from his gestures.
"Oh." You nodded and then it hit you, " Did you just call me an ANIMAL ?! " You snarled at him and he shaked his head with a chuckle.
" I called you cute too." He squabbled.
" Kangaroo's aren't cute ! " You jabbed at him and he chuckled, grabbing your wrist firmly, a spark so bright jolted inside you and you felt your face grow hot.
" Then I don't dance like a snowmanâ" you sticked your tongue out at him and he was lost in words, just looking, you saw the opportunity and yanked your hand away from his grip. He relented like a gentleman.
" You are always like..like running away and leaning off while dancing and it's so so snowman like." You argued and Benedict's eyes twinkled like moon.
" Have you seen a snowman waltzing ? " Benedict asked and you shaked your head, while clutching at your chest, you couldn't help the giggling.
" Yes if we are talking about a tall, handsome and smug snowman."
" You think I am handsome ? " Benedict ducked his head closer to your face and you felt your breath hitching in your throat, like air was punched out of your chest.
You rolled your eyes when it became too apparent that no word would come out of your traitorous throat and you couldn't help but gaze back at him, he looked back just the same, all fire and blaze.
" You didn't answer my question." He said slowly, each word carefully and it squeezed your heart how close his face was, how beautiful those eyes were, and that nose, and those cheeks, those lines when he smiled, he oftened and it was so warm and gorgeous, how you never noticed how captivating he was, every atom of his body was tied with an invisible thread with yours, a golden one. And you would be damned to think of that mouth, your lips parted at the ethereal site and Benedict smiled at that.
" No." You just said it, eager to say anything and break this moment, it was swirling you around in a storm.
" No ? " He questioned, frowning and he was handsome at that too, you were so doomed.
" You are silly like handsome, like some lord Byron poetry." you murmured softly, safe guarding the hammering heart in your chest and blinking at the sudden burn from his gaze on you, drinking you in, his brow knitted in funny way, a mock annoyance crossed his face.
" Lord Byron ?! Really, " he dropped back to his seat and you finally took a breath, then he covered his face like a damsel in distress and when he glanced sideways at you, he was smiling his brightest, oh, you just realised how goofy and precious and mesmerizing his smile was, you wished to stop time and paint it under your lids so everytime you close your eyes, you could meet him there, in your secret gardens and then a death like that would be sweeter.
" What ? " You exasperated when he refused to look away, even when your nose wrinkled and face basked in it's warmth, he wouldn't let go of you, taking each and every detail in like he was wishing to stop time too and paint you. He could, he was an artist.
" You called me poetry..." His mouth quirked up in a delightful grin, like it explained all the merry and you groaned, looking away as you huffed the tingling in your body that wouldn't go, your eyes landed on a very eventful moment.
" Is that our Colin ? " You raised your brow at Benedict who sat up straighter and turned his gaze to the other side of the hall.
" Why is he eye murdering lord Debling ? " You asked him, he winked and pulled your chair closer, not caring if any mama saw or perhaps lady whistledown herself.
" Penelope is dancing with lord Debling, and well she's laughing at something too, ohâ" Benedict whispered in the shell of your ear and you barely nodded, Colin looked like he had enough, he was making his way through the crowd towards Pen.
" Forty shillings if he punches lord Debling." You piped up, Benedict shaked his head.
" You are gonna lose cupcake, he's gonna take Miss Featherington's hand andâ" you gasped when Colin stopped abruptly, said something urgently and took Penelope's wrist between his hand, Benedict cocked his head to his side and winked smugly.
" And ? " You drawled and it amused Benedict beyond limits, like he has been waiting for it.
" Birds and bees." He said in a code like hushed whisper, you smacked the back of his head.
" I don't have a mother, you know." You told Benedict and he touched his upper lip with the tip of his pink tongue, he nodded along knowingly.
" Well, someone's gotta teach you."
" Mm.. you are my best friend." You would look anywhere but at him but your eye's were locked in his, he was being brave then so can you. One step, not much.
" I can not tell you birds and bee." Benedict said sincerely.
" Colin helped Pen ! " You said, nose flaring as he worried his jaw but didn't say anything.
" He told her how kids are made, something like going to a farm and then...well he kissed her but that's not the point." You blurted in a whisper, he listened intently.
" He kissed her already ? "
" Well a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell but a lady can, but that's not the point! " You pouted, his resistance crumbled but then again, bloody bridgerton.
" That's not my place cupcake." He was breathing hard, his mouth would open and snap close again, taking back all the things left unsaid.
" Well thenâ" you hated how choked your voice got, you tried, didn't you, it's not like you left it on god's cue, this was the biggest hint you could have given him and if he didn't got this, then only bricks might work.
Give him one more, a small voice said in your head, it was yours, but stronger and braver than you.
" âthen you can tell me about love."
Benedict laughed on that, like it was the funniest thing you had said.
" You know what? I take it back, I am gonna ask someoneâ" you smoothed your skirt and began to get up when he pulled you down.
" Sorry, I didn't mean that, sorry, don't go leaving me stranded." He pleaded.
You looked at him hard, looking for any sign of humour and you found none, he was glittering when he clapped his tongue and opened his mouth, his soft tongue resting like a tired cat.
" Love," he began," is like music."
" Like music." You repeated, struggling with the fit laughter that shook your shoulders.
Benedict glanced at you offended but when he spoke next, it was how the poets said, with longing and desire, like bleeding for your beloved and when no blood was left then it was ink and parchment.
" You can hear it in the silence." He said, you remembered those afternoons when no word was said between you and your bestfriend and yet nothing was hidden and left unsaid.
" You can feel it on your way home." He said, penetrating his gaze in you eyes and he remembered damn well that night after he rescued you from the lake when you almost drowned, the terror of losing you, the spark of holding you closer than ever.
" You can see it with the light's out, it's so bright and golden." Everything is more beautiful with you Benedict, you told him one Sunny afternoon, basking under a tree while he read you poetry, Better than Byron.
" Loving that one person will make you love yourself, with them, you are enough." He was whispering now, chest heaving as his hand trembled and unknowingly yours found his under the table, locked eye's and joined hands and sacred whispered chants. It was enough.
" You aren't too much, or too little, or loud or boring, you don't have to be interesting or witty or anything, being youself with them is enough." I like myself with you, he had told you when you were sixteen.
" That's love, being safe with them is love, being their home is love, to be able to leave all shades behind and be naked in just body and soul and not being afraid, not being embarassed is love."
" Benedict..." Your voice was soft and sweet and it took him a moment to realise he was crying, when you gently wiped it's proof with your handkerchief.
" I...I will be back in a momentâ" he stumbled out, still smiling a small smile and oh god what you have done, you have ruined him as well your self and nothing will ever be the same.
" Yes...." You said, because he was waiting for your approval, he nodded back when he got it and disappeared amongst the crowd as you watched him leave.
Love was indeed like music, the one you liked, it could be light as bee buzzing and sharp as thunder roaring in clouds, it could be slow and rhythmic and soft like water flowing, it could be the sound of his laughter and the way he drew his breath, it could be how he whined and joked and played and teased, for you, love was the music and muse of Benedict bridgerton and yes, you were very much doomed.
" What a pleasant site, a spinster smiling on her own, have you planned some scandalous plan of yours to bag some noble man ? " Claire wheezed in a duckling like laughter, shared with Asha Patil and Gissele Turner.
You refused to say anything, it only further added spice to their boring marital lives, with their husbands out and wombs empty.
" Would you look at her ? She's giving us that attitude, no wonder she's still unmarried ! " Scowled Asha, with her frizzy hair and crooked nose, her eyes coated in loathing of most tainted kind.
" She might had gotten the ring if she wasn't being Mr. Bridgerton's bitch." Gissele whispered it down to you and anger shot up through your veins and your eyes snapped to her, it didn't matter if she was your elder sister and the rage that blinded you was so fierce that you didn't feel when two big tears rolled down your cheek.
" Don't cry now, you can always be his mistress atleast." They all laughed, loud and big and white teeth flashing, with their fake diamond rings rubbing in your eyes but it was too blur, you saw nothing, you heard nothing, everything was drowning around you.
" Speaking of mistresses, Lord Hasting has bought a bigger estate for his mistress than your home in east London and I wouldn't blame him lady Hasting."
You can hear it in the silence.
It was your love's voice, it was your Benedict speaking and you lifted your mascara stained lashed eyes at him.
If you had known him less than you couldn't have known of the terrible anger that was shaking him, that smile was no ordinary, it was feral and stray, wanting to tear anyone who dared to come near, he was burning in anger that was beyond words.
Claire sizzled at that remark, turning her hand to her palm side and only moments ago she was flashing her ring and now, she was hiding it.
" Don't ruin your reputation by showing ungratefuls such as her your pity Mr. Bridgerton." It would've hurt less, were it Claire or Asha, but it was your own half sister, be it half blood but blood all the same.
" Lady Turner, i have no wish to speak to you, you have hurt my best friend beyond words, you had taken her affections for granted so if someone's ungrateful then it's sorely you, you don't deserve a sister like her, she's too good for all of us." He was carefully placing the word and his anger slipped between, his teeth grinded and breath hitched, you stared, just at him and him, everything was getting dimmer but you knew in that moment, you would know him in darkness.
you can feel it with the light's out.
He had done many things for you, Benedict stole Anthony's horse to take you out on a midnight ride, he nicked Colin's sword and taught you fencing, bought ribbons of your favourite pastel silk, saved your favourite sweets, and so many and so more, but this was something you couldn't have done yourself if you wanted, he had done it, he had stood up for you and it was the most gleaming moment of your life, he wasn't playing hero, he wasn't being mean, he was protecting your with your honour and Benedict, the gentleman who wouldn't hurt a fly, he was going to dagger them down with words alone.
He was speaking and speaking and they were all quiet, their eyes low and nose bowed down, he was speaking and speaking, words clear with pure affection and respect and then your felt it.
The warmness aroused in your womanhood and an inaudible gasp parted through your lips as you felt the slicky wet feeling caress your inner thigh and the sensation was so electrifying that you had to close your eyes in order to take a breath and even then, you could feel his words, soft and praising, " ......if you were half good as a woman she is....." He was breathless and he wasn't stopping and something inside you wanted to cup his face and tell him, don't Stop, never stop.
And then his eyes looked for you, he found your gaze and held it and you felt the shame, you couldn't do this to him, this burning desire would take you both down in flames and what it would be to become one, only in ashes, it was scaring you.
And before you could think of say anything, you were already on your feet, stumbling through the crowd with your gown kissing the floor behind you.
You didn't know where you were going but far, away and this feeling wouldn't let go, you knew well but you wanted air, the warmness that was spreading was maddening and the hunger was tugging under your skin.
He was calling out your name, you hated yourself but you needed to run, this love would ruin you, what if Benedict hated you if you told him how you felt, how you thought about him, would he call you a whore along with Gissele, would it hurt more ?
More than anything.
His voice turned to pleading as crowd thickened and you were getting out of his sight. You wouldn't look back, because if you did then you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from doing something very stupid.
You were out of the gates, descending down the stairs as one heel slipped out but you didn't care, you were on a run.
Johnny was already motioning the horses as you frantically climbed in, you could see Colin chasing down Penelope's carriage in a distance as you opened the window to inhale heavy gulps of air.
Would Benedict Chase you down too ? Would he come and look for you ? And if he did, what would you tell him ?
You are my best friend.
Part 2
#bridgerton#benedict bridgerton#Benedict bridgerton x reader#Benedict bridgerton x you#Benedict bridgerton x y/n#Benedict bridgerton x female reader#Benedict bridgerton x fem!reader#Benedict bridgerton imagine#Benedict bridgerton fluff#Benedict bridgerton angst#Polin#Colin x Penelope#bridgerton s3#x reader#Benedict bridgerton fics#Benedict bridgerton smut#x reader fluff#x reader angst#bridgerton s2#bridgerton fanfiction#bridgerton x reader#taylor swift#1989#you are in love#folkloregurl ficsđȘ©
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CS55E2
Pairing: carlos sainz x fem!wife!reader
Genre: smut
Warnings: morning sex
It was almost 6 in the morning. You had to get up to make breakfast for the kids and get them ready for school. Obviously the nanny was going to do it anyways but you always helped out despite your busy schedule. Today was one of those mornings where work started late into the afternoon so you had some morning time.
Despite your attempts to get yourself up from bed a hand held you down in place. Holding you close to a warm body. It was none other than your husband who was enjoying his holidays after the end of the season.
Trying to move away only made it worse for you as you felt your body being held even closer to the warm body behind you.
âMi amor trying to get me horny early in the morning?â Questioned a raspy voice to your ear.
You shuddered at his words and as you felt his now erection press against your back you groaned.
âCarlos not today. I have to get the kids ready for school.â
âBut baby you still have time no?â He asked manhandling you to turn around to face him.
You smiled when your eyes met his sleepy ones. His voice gave away his unawake form but his features told you otherwise. With sun rays beaming across his tanned skin, glowing his brown eyes Carlos looked ethereal in front of you. You let your fingers run through his thick locks that you and his fans equally adored as Carlos moved forward to kiss the exposed skin on your shoulder. Making sure to suck on a certain spot to leave a mark and earning a small whimper from you in the process.
After he was done marking you he grabbed your face with a hand and pulled you in for a kiss. Your hands swept across his bare chest as you felt his heartbeat beneath your palm. He kissed you so passionately making you completely awake and aroused.
Right after he was done kissing you and placing smooches all across your face to let you know how much he adored you the alarm on your phone went off. You turned around to off it and got off of bed right after that.
But Carlos was much faster and moved across the bed, while making sure the blanket was still covering his lower torso, to grab hold of your hand.
âCariño donât leave me here alone,â he begged giving you his signature puppy eyes.
You laughed looking at him and pointing at the clock, âHello? The kids need to go to school. Are you even a dad?â
With a hard tug he pulled you to the bed and on top of him, âYes I am a dad but before that I am your husbandâ
With a cheeky smile he looked up at you. Messy bed hair and a silk gown that barely managed to cover you up as you lay on top of him.
You looked down at him in awe. How lucky you were to have him as your man. You let your fingers gently glide across his chest and traced patterns on his prominent facial features. You felt his erection harden underneath you for the second time. Smiling you leaned down to kiss him ever so passionately. Your tongues moved against each other in fiery passion and his hands rubbed your arms radiating goosebumps all over your body.
Quickly you slipped yourself under the blanket. Your naked core touched his erection which drove you crazy. Kneeling up and aligning yourself you looked at him for a signal and pushed yourself down in one go. An uncontrollable moan slipped out of your lips which you managed to tone down. You took him in slowly and took him nearly out slowly. With your hands against his chest you rode him taking all of him as deep as you could take and lifting yourself up to push yourself down and do it all over again. This went for a couple strokes until Carlos got impatient and was aware about the time.
Pushing his knees up to cradle your back against his thighs and pulling your upper body into him he thrusted hard into you making you almost scream with the simultaneous pleasure and pain which strung though you.
âI need you to be a good wife and take what Iâm going to give you alright. Because weâre running out of timeâ
You whined as he pushed his hips inside of you, rutting into your core at a hard pace. His hands was gripping your hips at a bruising manner pushing you into him. You tried muffling your moans into his pillow as your hands tugged at his lucious locks. A few grunts later he came undone just as you did.
Carlos dropped his legs flat on to the bed and hugged you closer to him letting your mixed cum not leak out of your bruised hole. You lifted your tired head up and kissed him sloppily. Just then you felt his erection start to stir up again.
Shaking your head with a laugh you pushed yourself off of his and limped off to the bathroom throwing a mom like remark at him,
âNot again horny boyâ
To which Carlos simply chuckled.
#carlos sainz#carlos sainz smut#carlos sainz blurb#carlos sainz doc#carlos sainz fanfic#carlos sainz fanfiction#carlos sainz x female reader#carlos sainz x y/n#carlos sainz x you#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz imagine#f1 blurb#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1#ferrari#smut
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