#DIME and Place But Not Now
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Sterek Rival Lawyers AU
It's A (Court) Date
Imagine, high-class, Ivy League, hot-shot, attorney Derek comes back from New York to the family firm to take over as partners with his sister after his parents decide to step down. He may not be on the level of his mother yet, but he's cut his teeth against Wall Street wolves and ruthless white-collar sharks. Derek's more than proved himself, so he just can't fathom these small criminal court cases his family is making him take "before he's truly ready" to be a part of the family business.
Enter in his first case. Right out the gate, the state assigned defense is, not only late to court, but also arrives in a flurry of limbs and papers, tripping all over himself, and profusely apologizing to the room as a whole. "Sorry! Sorry! Car trouble!"
The guy is out of breath, tie crooked and hair a mess. It makes Derek wrinkle his nose at the unprofessionalism and the blatant disrespect to everyone's valuable time.
The presiding judge, the Honorable Ms. Lydia Martin, only sighs a heavy sigh, as if this sight is nothing new, and says "Mr. Stilinski, I suggest you don't let it happen again."
Derek is honestly getting annoyed by how easy this is going to be. He could've been doing literally anything else right about now rather than being here going against a common rent-a-lawyer with some Podunk community-college degree. The opening statement for the defense is laughably inept. Full of nervous stuttering, backtracking, running tangents, and babbling. He's still apologizing, trying to assure the jury that he's just having an off-day today.
It's embarrassing to watch.
Nonetheless, Derek goes through the motions, practiced and poised. Examines all the evidence, presenting times and dates, prior arrest records, the works.
During this time, Mr. Stilinski is frantically (and VERY LOUDLY) flitting through a cartoonishly large stack of papers and whispering to his client. Derek has to fight to grit his teeth through his presentation.
Finally, it's time for Mr. Stilinski to cross-examine Derek's client and, unbeknownst to him, the beginning of Derek's long, long spiral of madness for the rest of his career.
"Judge Martin, I would like to move to have this case thrown out."
"Oh?" asks Judge Martin. For some reason, there's an amused smirk, almost fond, tugging at her lips "On what grounds?"
A giddy, almost manic, grin takes over the defense attorney's face just then. "On the grounds that the prosecution's client is full of bullshit."
The judge rolls her eyes and an exasperated "Stiles," slips from her lips, seemingly against her will. (Derek's not really surprised by the familiarity between the two of them. With how often state-assigned lawyers are called to the courtroom on small cases, it wouldn't be too big of a leap to suggest they might be chummy.)
"Respectfully, of course." Mr. Stilinski--er Stiles?--winks back at her.
"Objection. Your honor, this is ridiculous."
"Overruled. Make your point, Stilinski."
"Mr. Davis says he saw my client at 12:30 P.M., on August 4th, attempting to take his back-right hubcap outside his apartment. Mr. Davis' apartment complex at that time, on that particular day, would have cast a huge shadow over the back lot as evidenced by the gaudy sundial-art-installation outside the courthouse. Meanwhile, my client's picture, when taken in for questioning, has a sunburn on the entire right side of his face. This would corroborate Mr. Lyle's story of walking home alone, down the upper, unshaded side of Elmore Street, during one of the hottest days of the year, for an hour straight. Also, the fact that Mr. Davis has no realistic idea how long it would actually take a person to steal a hubcap should be evidence enough."
"Uh-huh. And this wouldn't happen to be something you've ever had any expertise in, would it, counsel?"
"I plead the 5th."
And just like that, Derek's case is thrown out so quick, he's still reeling about it all the way home.
For the next two years, this becomes Derek's life. This man, this Stiles Stilinski, keeps showing up like a whirlwind and absolutely puts him in his paces.
Stiles, as he insists Derek call him, is a powerhouse. Relentless and unstoppable. That mouth can filibuster for literal hours (which, for those unfamiliar, is when someone legally cannot be forced to give up their time on the floor as long as they can keep talking), that brain quick as a whip, with a hunger for research, a mastery of the English language svelte enough to trip up even the most well-rehearsed lie, and an attention to detail like nothing Derek has ever witnessed before. It's like he knows every law inside and out. Lives it. Breathes it. It's like he had been raised on the law his whole life. Not only that, it's like Stiles enjoys it. Every case is a new game to get excited about.
All of it makes Derek's blood boil.
However, it's not always about losing to Stiles all the time, because, honestly, that might be less humiliating.
In truth, when faced against Stiles, Derek's bound to win about 60% of the time. Out of that 60%, only 5% of those wins actually feel earned. As for the other 55%?
He knows Stiles is letting him win.
Derek can't prove it, but he knows the asshole is holding back on purpose nearly half the time. Knowing that Stiles could have beaten him if he wanted to, but didn't, is somehow more frustrating than just losing.
He hates Stiles.
He hates that the guy is so chipper and playful all the damn time. He hates that Stiles could probably work at any firm he wanted, could make enough money to get a decent car that doesn't shit out all the time, could buy a proper-fitting suit, but instead CHOOSES to stay here "watching out for the little guy", as he so put it.
He hates that facing Stiles in court is the most challenged, the most motivated he's ever felt in his entire life. He hates that Stiles brings out in him the spark of passion and drive Derek had long thought had died. He hates that Stiles always tries to banter with him during recess or whenever they have to exchange evidence.
He hates finding out that Stiles only loses cases on purpose when his endless amounts of research points to the defendant actually being guilty of horrendous crimes, because Stiles is a good fucking person.
He hates Stiles' constant teasing and he hates that Stiles is somehow able to bring Derek down to his childish level to tease back. He hates how much he looks forward to court-dates with Stiles now. He hates being invited out by Stiles over and over to grab a bite together after a long day, as if Stiles hasn't been wiping the floor with him on this case for the last month. He hates it even more that he always accepts and that now they have their own designated booth at the diner across the street. Derek's so unbelievably frustrated, it makes him want to bite Stiles at the neck just to hear that smartass mouth squeal.
"Hey, I ever tell you I was thinking of quitting before you arrived?" Stiles asks one night as they're walking to their cars.
Derek's head immediately snaps to him at that. "What?"
Stiles smiles distantly at the thought. "Oh, yeah. Things had started feeling like being trapped in a cubicle, y'know? There wasn't any challenge in it anymore."
"What made you stay?"
"Well...you did. You were the first, serious competition I'd faced in a while. It wasn't a matter of winning just to win, anymore. Going against you always reminded me of the reason why it was important for me to win. It gave me stakes, because now there was an actual chance I could lose and an innocent person could go to jail. You, I don't know, kinda reignited my passion for fighting the good fight, I guess."
Derek can feel his heart thumping hard in his chest. He wants to say 'You did the same for me!' He wants to tell Stiles that he didn't think his life could ever be this fun or happy or messy or chaotic or exhilarating or challenging or fulfilling before coming to Beacon Hills.
But just as Derek goes to open his mouth to sing Stiles' praises, he instead finds himself roughly shoving him up against the Camaro and biting hungrily at that mouth and tongue that's been the bane of his existence. There's a surprised little squeak that Derek quickly swallows up, but it isn't long before they're both tearing at each others' clothes and fucking each other dirty in the backseat of Derek's car.
What's crazy is, after they get together, nothing in their careers really changes. The only difference is now they get to fuck each others' brains out after an intense battle in court (and the sound Stiles makes when Derek bites him is exactly what he always imagined it would sound like). They still face against each other on opposite sides in court. They still give it everything they got, no conceding even if they are dating now. Not to mention, Derek wouldn't dream of tempting Stiles over to his firm. Not when he knows Stiles is at his best staying where he's at.
The day Derek's family finally decides it's time for him to take over the firm with Laura is the best day of his and Stiles' lives.
Not only does Derek tell them he's declining, he hires Stiles as his attorney to negotiate terms against his entire family of well-seasoned lawyers.
The entire month-long negotiation results in Derek, not saying a single word, but absolutely beaming as he watches his boyfriend run circles around his mother, his father, his uncle, and both of his sisters on contracts. It's so unbelievably hot, they're banging on whatever flat surface they can get their hands on every time they leave the boardroom. There's even one very memorable blowjob in the empty hall outside the boardroom when Stiles somehow manages to get Peter to agree to a (most likely illegal) clause dictating the firm will pay Stiles a finder's fee for any pro-bono case Stiles takes on outside of Beacon Hills that strikes his fancy.
And, no one says it, but they all know Derek definitely, 100%, dragged his own firm through this negotiation just to show off how incredible Stiles is to his family and preen about it.
--
Fast-forward, Derek is going to be in the audience for the first time for one of Stiles' cases.
While waiting in the hall, Derek sees a familiar face from his New York days. The prosecution has hired the eighth best lawyer money can get, Jackson Whittemore. He's sporting a Rolex, sunglasses indoors, and the face of someone who thinks he's above literally every other person in town.
Well, at least until he sees Derek.
For some reason, Jackson seems to think Derek is all the way out in the middle of nowhere to 'watch a master at work' (which...well...is technically true...).
As Derek goes to sit in the audience, Jackson tells him in passing, "This'll be over so fast, probably won't even get a chance to learn the other guy's name."
Derek chuckles and says back, "Ooh, buddy, you have no idea."
Before Jackson can think more on that, a whirlwind of limbs and papers suddenly hurls through the doors.
Derek sits back, gets comfy, and waits eagerly for the show to begin.
My first moodboard. Hope you enjoy. AU based on a discussion with @casually-eat-my-soul (I suggest checking out their version). This was kind of like a divergence from that (the brain juices just started flowing).
#sterek#lawyer au#negotiating terms as a form of foreplay#Derek might have a competency kink#Stiles' contract states the firm will pay his salary without influencing his decisions as a shadow employee and his clients pay nothing#He's also allowed to travel anywhere he wants for a case on company dime#Unbeknownst to Derek most of the Hales had at one point in time all faced off against Stiles in court before#The only reason Derek was called back from New York in the first place was because they consider a 'Stiles Case' a rite of passage#âGetting Stiles'dâ is something all Hales must go through to be humbled#The Hales call Stiles The Reaper in private behind closed doors#No one thought Derek would end up marrying the Boogeyman the insatiable nightmare creature that haunts the Hale name#And now they have to live with this court goblin as their new inlaw#For those who don't know pleading the 5th is enacting your right to not reveal information that could get you in trouble with the law#meaning Stiles has definitely stolen a hubcap off a car before which may or may not have been a police cruiser#Also pro-bono means a lawyer choosing to represent a client free of charge as a form of charity#They absolutely fucked nasty after Derek got to witness Stiles smear Jackson's smug career across the pavement#teen wolf#derek hale#stiles stilinski#tyler hoechlin#dylan o'brien#mieczysĆaw stiles stilinski#minific
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âŠso uh.
On the bright side I donât have to pinch my pennies so much for a few weeks and maybe even not feel guilty about buying extravagancies like *reads notes* food.
Maybe I can even buy something fun for myself again. Looking forward to that.
#long story short I had a relative who was going to help me put down a down payment on new place#only for them to get cold feet so now iâll be legally homeless until I find an apartment on my own again#I have a place to stay. no worries. iâll be ok. just a real bummer to have someone say âoh iâll help youâ and then not#probably will delete later#venting#another bright spot is never having to spend another dime on rent in this complex. good riddance
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meow meow meow meow meow
i want to tell you about dimes. again. help me hes all i think about. insane. crazy.
he cant tie a tie at all . its his dads tie but he doesnt know how to do it and if anyone ever taught him how too i think hed just start crying from gratitude.
also. im thinking about shoes and zeke again u shld tell me more about them please and thank you. - jack
ok so you know how shoe wears a tie? zeke has to tie it for him because he doesnt know how to tie it, so i think he would finally get fed up with dimes having his untied tie around his neck and just one day be like 'dude- c'mere.' and tie it for him without thinking and dimes is just standing there for like three minutes after like đšđ„ș and eel turns around and is like 'what.' and dimes just starts bawling
i also think eel's a very tactile person, like he loves hugs and like casual touches and stuff because his parents and brother never gave him that so he wants to make sure the rest of his boys get it, like if he sees someone hes close to he'll run up and hug them real big, like yknow the bear hugs when you kinda pick someone up and shake them a lil? thats all of his hugs
he hates crying, because his da told him it was a sign of weakness and that boys dont cry, but sometimes when shoe wakes up in the middle of the night and finds him gone, he'll go up onto the roof to see zeke sitting up there tucked in a ball looking at the stars, and they never talk, shoe just holds him until he falls asleep and carries him back down to their room.
shoe backstory a lil ig
so he's kind of a davey type, he had too many siblings so his parents sent him to the lodging house instead, but he had a formal education until he was like 12-13 so he speaks a little better than the other boys, but living in the lodging house for years has given him an accent. he wandered onto queens turf when he was selling, originally was kind of a freelancer, would buy his papers at any distribution center and wander around until he came into queens and they were like. dude. you cant do that you gotta have a borough. and took him to eel. eel was head over heels at first sight, but knew to hold back on that, and he had never had a second and was going bonkers because of it, so he was like 'heeyyyyy new kid do you wanna be boyfriends best friends and be my second?' and shoe was like sure youre really pretty lmao lets go
anywhizzle!! lmk if you want more/have questions and tell me abt dimes PLEASE i adore himđđ
#eel gets asks!#jackie's boy dimes#ezekiel 'eel' 'zeke'#harvey 'shoe' sellers#sheel#newsies oc#the boys have such a place in my heart and brain cells now<3
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everything is cottagecore if its in the woods. cryptidcore? cottagecore+monsters. cyberpunk with trees or sumn???? cyber cottage core. dark/light academia in the woods??? cottage acadamia. nothing is sacred. nothing ever was. everything is cottagecore.
#cottagecore#but perhaps it is just that nothing has ever been sacred that makes it all sacred in the first place#what gives a dime its value is that it is relative (and american but shh)#is it not?#dont mind me delving into bullshit philosophy tho cottagecore is now a religious belief system
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Hate my apartment complex so much lmao
#i wanted to move but they required 60 days notice to end lease but they sent me a misleading email#making it seem like i had an extra 2 weeks to make a decision if i was going to move or not#so anyways i decides i would just renew my lease anyway because every apartment place is the same here regardless#all shitty owned by shitty management companies#anyways i renewed it for another 8 months because for some reason that was the cheapest option#anyways i have been looking for jobs back on the east coast so i kinda am hoping ill find one#its expensive there but still i miss it more than i thought it would#i miss my old apartment back in utah too lmao it was not as nice since the building was like#20+ years old building but they didnt freaking nickel and dime for every little thing#this whole rant is starting because theyre going to start charging for parking now which is bs#anyways when will the US put some rent control laws in place??? hopefully soon lmao đ
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Not a dream, advice and help needed
I am so tired of scammers in dog cancer supplement world
Our vet recommended us to use Yunnan baiyao supplements on top of chemo to give the best chance for our dog who has sarcoma to do well
Except, there is not a single place to buy it at in Croatia
Last month we had a situation with a site in Germany but ended up receiving the goods after a lot of back and forth and a lot of stress
Now my mom ordered from another site and they were supposed to send her 6x6 packages but only sent her one set of six
She contacted their customer service and they apologized for the mistake (that's over 300 euros worth of products not being sent + she paid around 100 euro customs for the products because of the overall price, but didn't receive the products she paid for) and promised to send the products on their dime, but now they have contacted her again claiming she received everything already, when that's not the case
The size and weight of the package prove that
Trustpilot had a good score for the store that just went down to 2.7 with two new reviews that only recently appeared
Does anyone have any idea what can we do? Who to report this to if they refuse to send products that we paid for, that we bought for our dying dog?
We're over 400 euros out (over 430 usd) for products we didn't receive
As a family that lives paycheck to paycheck and we scrambled to cover this (I worked overtime many days to help) this is such a significant amount of money to pay for something not received
And the fact they admitted their mistake and then went back on it really scares me that we're not going to receive neither the products nor the refund
Not to mention that the customs were calculated for the full price, not the price received
It is so predatory to prey on desperate owners of dying animals like this
And it is reall, unprofessional to act this way, too
The site is American, btw. so please Americans help with advice
I believe they are located in Texas
If they do not end up sending us anything, who can we report them to?
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GIRL, I NEED A TASTE ft. PUPPYBOY! SATORU
â minors dni, needy + lovesick + puppyboy! satoru x fem! reader, tĂt sucking, subby! satoru, humping (dryhumping??), breeding + creampie mentions
â àŁȘ Ë sumâz notes.á i went a little overboard writing this <//3 strongest âpuppy-dog eyesâ user everyone
wc 1.4k
you give puppyboy! satoru an inch, and he will take several miles.
heâs ready to pounce on you 24/7: when you wake up, when you return home, when youâre fresh out of the shower, when you come back from a 5 minute bathroom break during movie night. itâs insane the way, if it were up to him, your pussy would never know peace.
in satoruâs âdefenseâ, he canât help wanting to stuff you full of himself all the time. he loves you, heâs in love with you and, in his eyes, what better way to show it than the overwhelming amounts of euphoria he could put you both through? satoru loves to give, give, give to you; his heart, his attention, his affections, and his cum at the end of it all.
you suppose his reasoning is understandable, more so from satoruâs point of view, but fucking every minute of every day isnât sustainableâitâs only fair you tell him ânoâ sometimes. and thatâs when satoru brings out the theatrics: whining, crying, whimpering and complaining about how heâs âsooo hardddâ and heâll âbe super quickâ. fluttering snowy white lashes to beg with those woeful, blue, puppy-dog eyes, glistening with tears that he seems to be able to summon on a dime.
satoru flashes you the cutest pout as he presses himself up against you, grinding his bulge against your ass as he nuzzles and nips at your cheek. slow, impatient sways of a fluffy tail, the perk of those twitching, adorable ears whenever you cast him even a glance. satoru whispers a hopeful âpretty pretty pleaseâŠjust once?â as he licks at the shell of your ear, raising goosebumps from your neck to spine.
it doesnât matter, really. he can do it all for as long as his heart desires, because in the endâŠ
âŠitâll get satoru exactly what he wants every time.
the movie you put on isnât nearly as immersive as youâd hoped. and even if it was, satoru keeps pulling your attention away with every nip and lick to your thighs.
âtoru.â, you deadpan, and he instantly weaponizes those wide, doe-like eyes of his. paired with a slight wag of his tail, a friendly gesture which he aims to placate with, and satoru has easily dodged your annoyance once more.
you brush off his bad habit with a sigh before your attention returns to the screen in front of you. and then, not even five minutes later, the sharp poke of his fangs sinks back into the fat of your thigh. itâs always steady and deliberate; satoru wants to see just how much youâll allow before jabbing an irritated finger to his forehead in disdain. meanwhile, once heâs satisfied with the depth of his teeth, he sucks harshly at the skin, glancing between you and the newfound hickey now blooming. then he goes in again, quicker but thatâs only because heâs expecting a sure-fire dose of your wrath this time.
âsatoruââ
âlook!â he interrupts, tail wagging eagerly. âbit ya in the shape of a heart, because i love you.â technically not a lie, but not the full truth, either.
and youâre so distracted with looking at satoruâs little sign of affection, which is indeed adorably heart-shaped, you forget altogether your reasoning for addressing him in the first place: to chide him again on biting you so hardâwhich is all part of his plan.
it takes no time before satoru has squeezed way more out of you than you meant to give. when you stopped warning him about the biting, he readjusted to âcuddleâ you. his head is on your chest like always, hands on your hips, but they quickly dip underneath the hem of your shirt to knead at your waist. and then theyâre slithering up further, grazing at your underboob before finally squeezing one of your breasts.
âsatoru.â he cowers under the angry heat of your stare. âif i have to tell you one more timeâŠâ
his tongue darts out to lap at your exposed neck, causing you to wriggle at the needy gesture. â âm sorry, theyâre like my little stress balls. can I touch, please?â
and you shouldnât have relented and said yes. of course you shouldnât have, you knew that. if you agree to this, he knows now that youâll agree to pretty much anything. but satoru stares at you with those dreamy eyes, gleaming with stars to whisk you away to a bad decision. it takes a single, pleading blink as he gives you a small squeeze, and you have fallen victim to his spell once again.
your shirt is pushed up hastily to expose your tits, leaving them subject to satoruâs merciless greed. he pinches, pulls, and tugs with both hands and mouth, sinking fangs into every inch of your breasts since he cannot stand to not see signs of himself on them. because he thinks youâre pretty, duh, but he thinks youâre prettier when your body is spotted up with the marks he loves to leave.
not long after, heâs shed you of your pants, tossed somewhere over the edge of the bed. what started off as a slow grind has turned to satoruâs bare cock humping your thigh, searing and sticky as he leaks a mess of precum all over your skin. just the sensation of it sends an aching rhythm of throbs to your core, your painfully empty hole sporadically fluttering around nothing.
in your mindâburied beneath thoughts of this dreadful movie and the excruciating desire to have satoruâs cock battering your insidesâare the very last remnants of willpower you cling to. you can visualize clearly the smug look sure to grace his face if you whine a single plea about satoru fucking you. after all, youâre the one who was all âno sex right now, âtoruâ. if you canât keep your word for even one night, you might be just as sex-crazed as he is.
there is a nonstop background noise of his tail thumping and sweeping against the bed. satoruâs wags havenât let up since you gave your first yes, and only grow stronger with each new whimpered plea you yield to. they pick up with the pace of his thrusts, a beat to harmonize with the sinful song of his desperate whimpers right before gojo reaches another highâhe lets loose a muffled cry into your chest, still pathetically humping your leg like a lovesick mutt as he gushes yet another pool of cum to coat your thighs and panties. after that, his wags ease up to a slow, easygoing thud, now overpowered by the raspy heaves of air he sucks into his lungs.
and itâs the same song and dance every time. satoru takes a few minutes to catch his breath, and then heâs ready for another round. from the corner of your eye, you notice those teary blues have locked on to you. he tests the waters, gradually rutting against you again, mouthing at your breasts to see if youâll tell him âthatâs enough, âtoruâ. he is pleased when the words never come, and his actions only grow bolder the longer you let it go on; he licks at your jawline, down your neck before placing a few nips here and there. tweaks your sore nipples between his thumb and index, plunging his dick harder and faster along your thigh for another repeat of the last few hours.
with each daring action over the course of the night, satoru has dragged you a little closer towards the edge with him. first it was pushing your top up, next, it was taking off your shorts. then, it was a bold move of pawing at your clothed pussy, which almost turned into his hand in your panties if you hadnât pinched his ear and told him no. though, he could just as easily get you to let him anyway if he asks in that very sweet voice of his, the one he always uses when he longs for something from you.
âcan I take off your panties?â, satoru finally asks, tilting his head to stare you right in the face.
you wonât meet his eye, and he knows you wonât. because both of you know if you do, he will quickly shred that last bit of self-control at the tips of your fingers. a single bat of his lashes and youâll be nodding your head, raising your hips so he can tear away your underwear. and then it will only be a matter of time before satoruâs pinning you down to stuff his cock in your walls as deep as you can take. itâs all he wants, all he craves. but as long as you avoid looking into his alluring eyes, you may hold off satoru and his contagious desires for just a little longer.
tagz: @blkkizzat @teddybeartoji @lxnarphase @hellkaiserinphoenix @cinnamoneve @satoruxsc @rosso-seta @sapphireandange @starlightanyaaa @manyno @sugu-love @leilalilox @sataraxia @apatauaia @luvvforliaa @purplegemadventures @v0ctin @kissesfrombelle @babytoshiii @biscuitsngravie @neptuneblue @staryukis ( HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN LOGANNNNNNđŒïżœïżœïżœïżœâŒïžâŒïžđđ©”đđđ©”đđđ©”đđđ©”)
#pubbyboy! satoru. . .â#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader#jjk x reader#satoru gojo drabble#satoru gojo imagine#gojo satoru imagine#jjk imagine#satoru gojo smut#gojo smut#gojo x reader smut#satoru x reader smut#gojo satoru x reader smut
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If you buy a lot of books and end up not liking some of them very much, can I suggest checking them out from your library first?
I worked in bookstores for a long time, and of course lots of my paycheck went directly back into the store. I've ended up "weeding" a lot of those books and donating them to different places just because I knew I wasn't ever going to read them again.
Now I'm a librarian, and I'm realizing just how much money I'm saving by checking books out FIRST. Maybe I check something out and I end up DNF'ing it within 50 pages. Maybe I check something out and I enjoy it, but not enough to read it again. Maybe I check something out and I really love it, but it freaked me out so bad it's tattooed on the inside of my eyeballs and I won't need to read it again (Drew Magary's The Hike, I'm looking in your direction).
Or maybe I check something out and I love it! And then I go buy a copy to own because I know I'll reread it, probably with a pen to mark up the margins in a way I know I can't with a library book!
Idk man. If you want to be more intentional with the way you spend your money, if you want to combat the commercialization of the publishing industry, if you hate that authors are being forced to do all their own marketing on TikTok and that readers are feeling shame about not purchasing and finishing literal hundreds of books per year... Maybe start by going to your local library. You can still post haul photos of library books without spending a dime.
#librarians of tumblr#booklr#bookblr#books & libraries#librarians#public libraries#reading#adult literacy#booktok#bookstagram
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Bakugou Katsuki
⥠TW: omegaverse, size difference, somewhat subjugating omega politics, old-fashioned high-class politics of sorts
⥠GN reader
Bakugou doesn't tell people about his home life, so you can imagine the Bakusquadâs utter surprise when they invite themselves over only to find out he has a little omega housewife waiting for him.
âOh, hello,â you say when the four additional Alphas pour in through the door after your Katsuki.
They all look at you unblinking. The biggest one, a redhead, doesnât seem all that surprisedâas though heâd had some suspicion thatâs now been laid to rest. But the other three, an electric blond, a guy with raven hair, plus a woman with cotton candy curls, look at you as if theyâd just stumbled upon a mouse in a lion's denâall slightly horrified at the sight of you.
Your alpha, the tightly wound grump seething with annoyance, stomps over to you and plants a quick kiss on your hairline. âThey just barged in,â he grumbles under his breath. âSorry if we scared you.â
You hum calmly in turn, âThatâs okay. I heard you yelling in the driveway, so I wasnât surprised.â
The four members of the Bakusquad are all gobsmacked at the domestic sightâthe boss, their boss, their hard-headed macho boss, bending over and apologizing to this little omega half his size.
âAre you hungry?â you ask, peaking over the breadth of his hunched shoulders to the others with a warm smile on your pretty face. âI just finished dinner.â
âNo,â Katsuki growls grumpily and winds his arms around youâlike an old, tired dog, voice gruff, âUninvited intruders donât get my dinner.â
You only giggle it off, brushing his stubble with a soft hand, gently handling him further down to your level so you could place a kiss on his other cheek. âOh, stop, Katsuki. Be nice to your friends.âÂ
Then you walk off to the kitchen.
Calling out sweetly over your shoulder, âI went a little overboard, so thereâs more than enough for everyone.â
And by god, if they don't fall in love with you right then before theyâve even got a single word out.
But love at first sight isn't all so strange. None of them have ever seen an Omega outside of on filmâmuch less been hit with the scent of one. They're all bewitched and confused at the feeling as they trail after you as if they've been compelled by some higher power.
"Please sit," you smile, gesturing to the long table where only two seats have been made. "Katsuki, hon, help me, please"
They all scoot into each their unplaced seat while your big lousy Alpha begrudgingly helps set the table for the unwanted dinner guests. They remain silent as you serve them like the perfect homemakerâall crimson-cheeked and ashamed at how they sniff after you as you pass them by.
You sit just as brightly despite the awkward tension. "Please, enjoy."
They all obey, eating in utter silenceâevery single one of them trying hard not to stareâand all failing miserably.
Kaminari's the first to speak, having been left shaken by curiosity he no longer could contain.
"So... did he kidnap you, or?"
It's a fair question to some extent. Omega's are a dime a dozen, all regulated strictly by protective institutions. You can't just find one to mate like in the old days. You need to apply for one and be vettedânot to mention they cost a fortune.
"Denki!" Kirishima whisper-shouts in admonishment, shaking his head from across the table.
"What? I'm I the only one who's thinking it?" he throws his hands up and defends.
Katsuki's fist strains around his fork, but you lay your mit atop his, and he calms down shortly.
âDon't worry, Mitsuki and Masaru made the arrangements and paid the dowry," you giggle, running your hand through your Alpha's ashen hair with fondness in your eyes. "I was a graduation present of sorts. They worried Katsuki wouldn't take care of himself once he started working and thought having a mate might help him with his busy day.â
If Katsuki appreciates you spilling his business like that, he doesn't say anything about itâjust continues eating.
Denki sighs and sags in his chair. âI always knew Bakugouâs folks were loaded. How nice...â
Sero grins, âYour jealousy is showing.â
Denki pouts, âIâm not exactly tryna hide it.â
"Yeah..." Mina pipes up. "Can't deny I'm jealous, too."
Sero's grin falls as well with his confession, "Yeah, me neither, actually."
You keep smiling sympathetically, "Well, you're all welcome hereâI don't mind the extra company."
"Really?" Denki lights up.
Mina and Sero, tooâin awe and in unison, saying, "She's an angel."
"Get yer own," Katsuki grumbles. "Now shut up and finish your food. Then you're leavin'âall of you."
"Oh, come on, man," Denki whines. "Have a little pitty for your fellow Alphas."
"Let's stay respectful, guys," Krishima buds in lightheartedly. "Think about what you're asking."
Then, rethinking the conversation, the other three all realized how it had sounded, even though they hadn't meant it that way. And they all blush even darker than before.
And still, you just smileâalphas are all so cute.
Especially your hyper-protective one.
⥠prequel ⥠BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ⥠BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist
#yandere bakugo#yandere bakugo katsuki#yandere boku no hero academia#yandere bakugou#yandere katsuki#yandere katsuki bakugou#yandere bnha#yandere my hero academia#yandere mha#yandere bakugo x reader#yandere katsuki x reader#bakugou katsuki#bnha bakugo katsuki#bakugou x you#bakugou x reader#bnha bakugou#bakugou smut#bakugou x y/n#mha katsuki#katsuki bakugo headcanons#katsuki smut#katsuki bakugo x reader#yandere x reader#yandere#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere smut#yancore#yandere bakugou katsuki#yandere bakugou smut
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âHey, have you seen Harrington? Guyâs totally wasted. Can't even stand. Tried to get up, fell down like a goddamn turtle. Garrison's over there throwing chips at him. Itâs hysterical, you gotta check this out, man.â
The upside to being the guy everyone calls âthe Freakââthe guy no one wants to talk to unless theyâre looking to buyâis that Eddie can disappear whenever he wants. And tonight, heâs been in full stealth mode, almost ghost-like in the way he drifts through the shadows of this overcrowded house party. When heâs not standing on lunch tables at school, giving speeches, or taunting the assholes who think they run the place, Eddie finds that people tend to forget heâs even there.
Which makes it real easy to hear all kinds of things he probably shouldnât. Not that Carver's announcement is any kind of secret, not with the way heâs broadcasting it to the entire room. Ever since Harrington lost his King Steve status, the rest of the jock squad has been scrambling to claw their way to the top. Itâs desperate. Pathetic, really, if you ask him. But no oneâs ever asking Eddie for his opinion.
He should get out of here. Most of his stash is gone, and itâs getting late. Thereâs leftover mac and cheese in the fridge with his name on it, and if he bolts now, he might just catch the midnight rerun of The Thing.
Eddie tries to ignore the mental image of HarringtonâSteve, Steveâsprawled out on that grimy carpet, covered in crumbs and dirt, drenched in stale beer. He must feel defenseless. The kind of defenseless that Eddie knows too well, the kind that gets you laughed at, or worse. But just because Harrington buys a dime bag off him every week doesnât mean theyâre friends. Even if theyâve had a few surprisingly not-awful conversations. Even if Steveâs actually kind of funny for a rich kid, for a jock.
Thereâs no reason for Eddie to care about whatâs happening to Steve Harrington, just like Steve never cared about him.
So why the hell are his feet carrying him toward the living room instead of the back door? Why is he elbowing people out of the way, pushing through the circle of gawkers around Steve? Why are his hands grabbing Steve by the shoulders, hauling him up, and dragging him out before anyone even knows whatâs happening?
And why, for the love of God, is he driving to his trailer with Steve snoring in the passenger seat, instead of dumping the guy at his parents' mansion and going home?
Eddie wishes he knew. But his bodyâs on autopilot, and heâs watching it all happen like he's outside himself, like heâs not the one doing it.
The trailer park is quiet, too quiet for a Saturday night, but thatâs January for youâcold as a witch's tit, and getting colder. The vanâs heater barely works, and Eddie can see both their breaths fogging up the air, little puffs of steam in the dark.
Eddie cuts the engine, and the sudden silence fills the van like a held breath. Steve shifts in the seat, muttering something incoherent, his head lolling against the window. For a split second, Eddie considers just leaving him here. Would serve him right, honestly. Let King Steve wake up alone, freezing his ass off in a busted van in a trailer park at the edge of town. But then Steve lets out a soft groan, and Eddie canât help but roll his eyes.
"You're a real piece of work, Harrington," he mutters under his breath, pushing open the driver's side door.
The cold air hits him like a slap, biting through his jacket and sending a shiver down his spine. He makes his way around to the passenger side, yanking open the door and catching Steve before he can tumble out. The guy's heavier than he looksâdead weight, limp as a rag doll. Eddie grunts, struggling for a grip, and finally manages to sling one of Steve's arms over his shoulder.
"Okay, big boy, up you go," Eddie mutters, half-dragging, half-carrying Steve toward the trailer. Steve's head drops forward, his hair brushing Eddieâs cheek, and he smells like a mix of beer, Steve's usual cologne, and something elseâsomething clean, like laundry detergent or fresh air. It's weirdly comforting, and Eddie has to shake himself out of it.
Inside, the trailer is dim, lit only by the glow of the old TV Eddie left on. He kicks the door shut behind them, maneuvering Steve over to the sagging couch. Steve flops down with a heavy thud, eyes still closed, mouth slightly open. For a second, Eddie just stands there, looking at him, wondering what the hell heâs doing.
Why didnât he just leave him there at the party? Why did he care?
Maybe it's because Steve looks different like this. Not the smug, popular guy who used to strut down the halls like he owned the place. Not the guy who had everything and then lost it all. Just... some kid, really. Some scared, drunk kid who probably doesnât know where he fits anymore.
âAlright, Sleeping Beauty,â Eddie mutters, leaning down to untie Steveâs sneakers. âLetâs get you comfortable before you choke on your own puke.â
As he pulls off one shoe, then the other, Steve stirs, his eyelids fluttering. For a moment, his gaze is unfocused, hazy, but then his eyes lock onto Eddieâs, and thereâs a flicker of recognition.
âMunson?â Steveâs voice is low, rough from whatever heâs been drinking. âWhat the hellâŠ?â
âYeah, itâs me, genius,â Eddie says, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hide the faint smile tugging at his lips. âYou got yourself in a bit of a mess tonight, Harrington.â
Steve blinks, slowly piecing things together. âWhyâd you bring me here?â
Eddie shrugs, feigning nonchalance. ïżœïżœSeemed like the right thing to do, I guess.â
Steve snorts, like he doesnât quite believe him. âRight. The Freak playing Good Samaritan. Whatâs the punchline?â
Eddieâs smile fades. It inexplicably hurts to hear Steve call him that. âThereâs no punchline, man. Not everythingâs a joke.â
Steve stares at him, as if searching for something in Eddieâs face, something to latch onto. Finally, he just nods, leaning back against the couch, eyes half-closed again. âThanks,â he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear. âI guess.â
Eddie feels something strange twist in his chest. âDonât mention it,â he says, a little too quickly, like heâs trying to convince himself as much as Steve. He turns away, grabbing an old blanket from a nearby chair and tossing it over Steve. âYou sleep it off. Iâll be in my room.â
But even as he walks away, he can't shake the feeling that somethingâs shifted tonight, some invisible line crossed. Maybe itâs nothing. Maybe in the morning, Steve will wake up, make a snarky comment, and itâll all go back to the way it was.
Or maybe, just maybe, it wonât.
#steddie#pre relationship#pre steddie#steddie fic#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#my writing
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it gets worse before it gets better. it gets worse before it gets better. it gets worse before it gets better.Â
#the power of three will set me free right#i'll just click my heels three times and I can go back home#I don't have the strength for this#i'm trying my fucking best#i hate him#i hate him so much it fucking hurts#if i have to listen to him insult me and gaslight me for one more second i'm going to break#my lease is up in four weeks#and I don't have a place to go#and I will not get a place with him#i wont' do it#i have a friend I met at a music festival a few months ago with an extra room in tampa and htat's my only fucking option right now#to abandon my job and what little support i have and my sons school and everything else and go stay in tampa#because my family has no room for me#and i can't afford to spend $2500 a month in rent on one income#and chase is already fighting me on how he's going to make sure I don't get a dime of child support#he'll make sure i'm homeless so he can get a palce and take kai#and i can't doi t#I can't do it#but I have to#I have to find a way#and it can't include him#i can't pretend like living in seprate rooms and coparenting can be healthy#i can't say one more year and i'll have enough saved ro better creit or a better job#i'll never be in a good place alone#and one more year will kill me#i'm so fucking tired#i'm so fucking tired and everything hurts#and i'm sorry for everyone i ever made feel this way#i just want some help
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the great reddit API meltdown of '23, or: this was always bound to happen
there's a lot of press about what's going on with reddit right now (app shutdowns, subreddit blackouts, the CEO continually putting his foot in his mouth), but I haven't seen as much stuff talking about how reddit got into this situation to begin with. so as a certified non-expert and Context Enjoyer I thought it might be helpful to lay things out as I understand themâa high-level view, surveying the whole landscapeâin the wonderful world of startups, IPOs, and extremely angry users.
disclaimer that I am not a founder or VC (lmao), have yet to work at a company with a successful IPO, and am not a reddit employee or third-party reddit developer or even a subreddit moderator. I do work at a startup, know my way around an API or two, and have spent twelve regrettable years on reddit itself. which is to say that I make no promises of infallibility, but I hope you'll at least find all this interesting.
profit now or profit later
before you can really get into reddit as reddit, it helps to know a bit about startups (of which reddit is one). and before I launch into that, let me share my Three Types Of Websites framework, which is basically just a mental model about financial incentives that's helped me contextualize some of this stuff.
(1) website/software that does not exist to make money: relatively rare, for a variety of reasons, among them that it costs money to build and maintain a website in the first place. wikipedia is the evergreen example, although even wikipedia's been subject to criticism for how the wikimedia foundation pays out its employees and all that fun nonprofit stuff. what's important here is that even when making money is not the goal, money itself is still a factor, whether it's solicited via donations or it's just one guy paying out of pocket to host a hobby site. but websites in this category do, generally, offer free, no-strings-attached experiences to their users.
(I do want push back against the retrospective nostalgia of "everything on the internet used to be this way" because I don't think that was ever really trueâlook at AOL, the dotcom boom, the rise of banner ads. I distinctly remember that neopets had multiple corporate sponsors, including a cookie crisp-themed flash game. yahoo bought geocities for $3.6 billion; money's always been trading hands, obvious or not. it's indisputable that the internet is simply different now than it was ten or twenty years ago, and that monetization models themselves have largely changed as well (I have thoughts about this as it relates to web 1.0 vs web 2.0 and their associated costs/scale/etc.), but I think the only time people weren't trying to squeeze the internet for all the dimes it can offer was when the internet was first conceived as a tool for national defense.)
(2) website/software that exists to make money now: the type that requires the least explanation. mostly non-startup apps and services, including any random ecommerce storefront, mobile apps that cost three bucks to download, an MMO with a recurring subscription, or even a news website that runs banner ads and/or offers paid subscriptions. in most (but not all) cases, the "make money now" part is obvious, so these things don't feel free to us as users, even to the extent that they might have watered-down free versions or limited access free trials. no one's shocked when WoW offers another paid expansion packs because WoW's been around for two decades and has explicitly been trying to make money that whole time.
(3) website/software that exists to make money later: this is the fun one, and more common than you'd think. "make money later" is more or less the entire startup business modelâI'll get into that in the next sectionâand is deployed with the expectation that you will make money at some point, but not always by means as obvious as "selling WoW expansions for forty bucks a pop."
companies in this category tend to have two closely entwined characteristics: they prioritize growth above all else, regardless of whether this growth is profitable in any way (now, or sometimes, ever), and they do this by offering users really cool and awesome shit at little to no cost (or, if not for free, then at least at a significant loss to the company).
so from a user perspective, these things either seem free or far cheaper than their competitors. but of course websites and software and apps and [blank]-as-a-service tools cost money to build and maintain, and that money has to come from somewhere, and the people supplying that money, generally, expect to get it back...
just not immediately.
startups, VCs, IPOs, and you
here's the extremely condensed "did NOT go to harvard business school" version of how a startup works:
(1) you have a cool idea.
(2) you convince some venture capitalists (also known as VCs) that your idea is cool. if they see the potential in what you're pitching, they'll give you money in exchange for partial ownership of your companyâwhich means that if/when the company starts trading its stock publicly, these investors will own X numbers of shares that they can sell at any time. in other words, you get free money now (and you'll likely seek multiple "rounds" of investors over the years to sustain your company), but with the explicit expectations that these investors will get their payoff later, assuming you don't crash and burn before that happens.
during this phase, you want to do anything in your power to make your company appealing to investors so you can attract more of them and raise funds as needed. because you are definitely not bringing in the necessary revenue to offset operating costs by yourself.
it's also worth nothing that this is less about projecting the long-term profitability of your company than it's about its perceived profitabilityâi.e., VCs want to put their money behind a company that other people will also have confidence in, because that's what makes stock valuable, and VCs are in it for stock prices.
(3) there are two non-exclusive win conditions for your startup: you can get acquired, and you can have an IPO (also referred to as "going public"). these are often called "exit scenarios" and they benefit VCs and founders, as well as some employees. it's also possible for a company to get acquired, possibly even more than once, and then later go public.
acquisition: sell the whole damn thing to someone else. there are a million ways this can happen, some better than others, but in many cases this means anyone with ownership of the company (which includes both investors and employees who hold stock options) get their stock bought out by the acquiring company and end up with cash in hand. in varying amounts, of course. sometimes the founders walk away, sometimes the employees get laid off, but not always.
IPO: short for "initial public offering," this is when the company starts trading its stocks publicly, which means anyone who wants to can start buying that company's stock, which really means that VCs (and employees with stock options) can turn that hypothetical money into real money by selling their company stock to interested buyers.
drawing from that, companies don't go for an IPO until they think their stock will actually be worth something (or else what's the point?)âspecifically, worth more than the amount of money that investors poured into it. The Powers That Be will speculate about a company's IPO potential way ahead of time, which is where you'll hear stuff about companies who have an estimated IPO evaluation of (to pull a completely random example) $10B. actually I lied, that was not a random example, that was reddit's valuation back in 2021 lol. but a valuation is basically just "how much will people be interested in our stock?"
as such, in the time leading up to an IPO, it's really really important to do everything you can to make your company seem like a good investment (which is how you get stock prices up), usually by making the company's numbers look good. but! if you plan on cashing out, the long-term effects of your decisions aren't top of mind here. remember, the industry lingo is "exit scenario."
if all of this seems like a good short-term strategy for companies and their VCs, but an unsustainable model for anyone who's buying those stocks during the IPO, that's because it often is.
also worth noting that it's possible for a company to be technically unprofitable as a business (meaning their costs outstrip their revenue) and still trade enormously well on the stock market; uber is the perennial example of this. to the people who make money solely off of buying and selling stock, it literally does not matter that the actual rideshare model isn't netting any incomeâpeople think the stock is valuable, so it's valuable.
this is also why, for example, elon musk is richer than god: if he were only the CEO of tesla, the money he'd make from selling mediocre cars would be (comparatively, lol) minimal. but he's also one of tesla's angel investors, which means he holds a shitload of tesla stock, and tesla's stock has performed well since their IPO a decade ago (despite recent dips)âeven if tesla itself has never been a huge moneymaker, public faith in the company's eventual success has kept them trading at high levels. granted, this also means most of musk's wealth is hypothetical and not liquid; if TSLA dropped to nothing, so would the value of all the stock he holds (and his net work with it).
what's an API, anyway?
to move in an entirely different direction: we can't get into reddit's API debacle without understanding what an API itself is.
an API (short for "application programming interface," not that it really matters) is a series of code instructions that independent developers can use to plug their shit into someone else's shit. like a series of tin cans on strings between two kids' treehouses, but for sending and receiving data.
APIs work by yoinking data directly from a company's servers instead of displaying anything visually to users. so I could use reddit's API to build my own app that takes the day's top r/AITA post and transcribes it into pig latin: my app is a bunch of lines of code, and some of those lines of code fetch data from reddit (and then transcribe that data into pig latin), and then my app displays the content to anyone who wants to see it, not reddit itself. as far as reddit is concerned, no additional human beings laid eyeballs on that r/AITA post, and reddit never had a chance to serve ads alongside the pig-latinized content in my app. (put a pin in this partâit'll be relevant later.)
but at its core, an API is really a type of protocol, which encompasses a broad category of formats and business models and so on. some APIs are completely free to use, like how anyone can build a discord bot (but you still have to host it yourself). some companies offer free APIs to third-party developers can build their own plugins, and then the company and the third-party dev split the profit on those plugins. some APIs have a free tier for hobbyists and a paid tier for big professional projects (like every weather API ever, lol). some APIs are strictly paid services because the API itself is the company's core offering.
reddit's financial foundations
okay thanks for sticking with me. I promise we're almost ready to be almost ready to talk about the current backlash.
reddit has always been a startup's startup from day one: its founders created the site after attending a startup incubator (which is basically a summer camp run by VCs) with the successful goal of creating a financially successful site. backed by that delicious y combinator money, reddit got acquired by conde nast only a year or two after its creation, which netted its founders a couple million each. this was back in like, 2006 by the way. in the time since that acquisition, reddit's gone through a bunch of additional funding rounds, including from big-name investors like a16z, peter thiel (yes, that guy), sam altman (yes, also that guy), sequoia, fidelity, and tencent. crunchbase says that they've raised a total of $1.3B in investor backing.
in all this time, reddit has never been a public company, or, strictly speaking, profitable.
APIs and third-party apps
reddit has offered free API access for basically as long as it's had a public APIâremember, as a "make money later" company, their primary goal is growth, which means attracting as many users as possible to the platform. so letting anyone build an app or widget is (or really, was) in line with that goal.
as such, third-party reddit apps have been around forever. by third-party apps, I mean apps that use the reddit API to display actual reddit content in an unofficial wrapper. iirc reddit didn't even have an official mobile app until semi-recently, so many of these third-party mobile apps in particular just sprung up to meet an unmet need, and they've kept a small but dedicated userbase ever since. some people also prefer the user experience of the unofficial apps, especially since they offer extra settings to customize what you're seeing and few to no ads (and any ads these apps do display are to the benefit of the third-party developers, not reddit itself.)
(let me add this preemptively: one solution I've seen proposed to the paid API backlash is that reddit should have third-party developers display reddit's ads in those third-party apps, but this isn't really possible or advisable due to boring adtech reasons I won't inflict on you here. source: just trust me bro)
in addition to mobile apps, there are also third-party tools that donât replace the Official Reddit Viewing Experience but do offer auxiliary features like being able to mass-delete your post history, tools that make the site more accessible to people who use screen readers, and tools that help moderators of subreddits moderate more easily. not to mention a small army of reddit bots like u/AutoWikibot or u/RemindMebot (and then the bots that tally the number of people who reply to bot comments with âgood botâ or âbad bot).
the number of people who use third-party apps is relatively small, but they arguably comprise some of redditâs most dedicated users, which means that third-party apps are important to the people who keep reddit running and the people who supply reddit with high-quality content.
unpaid moderators and user-generated content
so reddit is sort of two things: reddit is a platform, but itâs also a community.
the platform is all the unsexy (or, if you like python, sexy) stuff under the hood that actually makes the damn thing work. this is what the company spends money building and maintaining and "owns." the community is all the stuff that happens on the platform: posts, people, petty squabbles. so the platform is where the content lives, but ultimately the content is the reason people use redditâno oneâs like âyeah, I spend time on here because the backend framework really impressed me."
and all of this content is supplied by users, which is not unique among social media platforms, but the content is also managed by users, which is. paid employees do not govern subreddits; unpaid volunteers do. and moderation is the only thing that keeps reddit even remotely tolerableâwithout someone to remove spam, ban annoying users, and (god willing) enforce rules against abuse and hate speech, a subreddit loses its appeal and therefore its users. not dissimilar to the situation weâre seeing play out at twitter, except at twitter it was the loss of paid moderators; Â reddit is arguably in a more precarious position because they could lose this unpaid labor at any moment, and as an already-unprofitable company they absolutely cannot afford to implement paid labor as a substitute.
oh yeah? spell "IPO" backwards
so here we are, June 2023, and reddit is licking its lips in anticipation of a long-fabled IPO. which means itâs time to start fluffing themselves up for investors by cutting costs (yay, layoffs!) and seeking new avenues of profit, however small.
this brings us to the current controversy: reddit announced a new API pricing plan that more or less prevents anyone from using it for free.
from reddit's perspective, the ostensible benefits of charging for API access are twofold: first, there's direct profit to be made off of the developers who (may or may not) pay several thousand dollars a month to use it, and second, cutting off unsanctioned third-party mobile apps (possibly) funnels those apps' users back into the official reddit mobile app. and since users on third-party apps reap the benefit of reddit's site architecture (and hosting, and development, and all the other expenses the site itself incurs) without âearningâ money for reddit by generating ad impressions, thereâs a financial incentive at work here: even if only a small percentage of people use third-party apps, getting them to use the official app instead translates to increased ad revenue, however marginal.
(also worth mentioning that chatGPT and other LLMs were trained via tools that used reddit's API to scrape post and content data, and now that openAI is reaping the profits of that training without giving reddit any kickbacks, reddit probably wants to prevent repeats of this from happening in the future. if you want to train the next LLM, it's gonna cost you.)
of course, these changes only benefit reddit if they actually increase the companyâs revenue and perceived value/growthâwhich is hard to do when your users (who are also the people who supply the content for other users to engage with, who are also the people who moderate your communities and make them fun to participate in) get really fucking pissed and threaten to walk.
pricing shenanigans
under the new API pricing plan, third-party developers are suddenly facing steep costs to maintain the apps and tools theyâve built.
most paid APIs are priced by volume: basically, the more data you send and receive, the more money it costs. so if your third-party app has a lot of users, youâll have to make more API requests to fetch content for those users, and your app becomes more expensive to maintain. (this isnât an issue if the tool youâre building also turns a profit, but most third-party reddit apps make little, if any, money.)
which is why, even though third-party apps capture a relatively small portion of redditâs users, the developer of a popular third-party app called apollo recently learned that it would cost them about $20 million a year to keep the app running. and apollo actually offers some paid features (for extra in-app features independent of what reddit offers), but nowhere near enough to break even on those API costs.
so apollo, any many apps like it, were suddenly unable to keep their doors open under the new API pricing model and announced that they'd be forced to shut down.
backlash, blackout
plenty has been said already about the current subreddit blackoutsâin like, official news outlets and everythingâso this might be the least interesting section of my whole post lol. the short version is that enough redditors got pissed enough that they collectively decided to take subreddits âofflineâ in protest, either by making them read-only or making them completely inaccessible. their goal was to send a message, and that message was "if you piss us off and we bail, here's what reddit's gonna be like: a ghost town."
but, you may ask, if third-party apps only captured a small number of users in the first place, how was the backlash strong enough to result in a near-sitewide blackout? well, two reasons:
first and foremost, since moderators in particular are fond of third-party tools, and since moderators wield outsized power (as both the people who keep your site more or less civil, and as the people who can take a subreddit offline if they feel like it), itâs in your best interests to keep them happy. especially since they donât get paid to do this job in the first place, wonât keep doing it if it gets too hard, and essentially have nothing to lose by stepping down.
then, to a lesser extent, the non-moderator users on third-party apps tend to be Power Users whoâve been on reddit since its inception, and as such likely supply a disproportionate amount of the high-quality content for other users to see (and for ads to be served alongside). if you drive away those users, youâre effectively kneecapping your overall site traffic (which is bad for Growth) and reducing the number/value of any ad impressions you can serve (which is bad for revenue).
also a secret third reason, which is that even people who use the official apps have no stake in a potential IPO, can smell the general unfairness of this whole situation, and would enjoy the schadenfreude of investors getting fucked over. not to mention that redditâs current CEO has made a complete ass of himself and now everyone hates him and wants to see him suffer personally.
(granted, it seems like reddit may acquiesce slightly and grant free API access to a select set of moderation/accessibility tools, but at this point it comes across as an empty gesture.)
"later" is now "now"
TL;DR: this whole thing is a combination of many factors, specifically reddit being intensely user-driven and self-governed, but also a high-traffic site that costs a lot of money to run (why they willingly decided to start hosting video a few years back is beyond me...), while also being angled as a public stock market offering in the very near future. to some extent I understand why redditâs CEO doubled down on the changesâhe wants to look strong for investorsâbut heâs also made a fool of himself and cast a shadow of uncertainty onto redditâs future, not to mention the PR nightmare surrounding all of this. and since arguably the most important thing in an IPO is how much faith people have in your company, I honestly think reddit wouldâve fared better if they hadnât gone nuclear with the API changes in the first place.
that said, I also think itâs a mistake to assume that reddit care (or needs to care) about its users in any meaningful way, or at least not as more than means to an end. if reddit shuts down in three years, but all of the people sitting on stock options right now cashed out at $120/share and escaped unscathed... thatâs a success story! you got your money! VCs want to recoup their investmentâthey donât care about longevity (at least not after theyâre gone), user experience, or even sustained profit. those were never the forces driving them, because these were never the ultimate metrics of their success.
and to be clear: this isnât unique to reddit. this is how pretty much all startups operate.
I talked about the difference between âmake money nowâ companies and âmake money laterâ companies, and what weâre experiencing is the painful transition from âlaterâ to ânow.â as users, this change is almost invisible until itâs already happenedâitâs like a rug we didnât even know existed gets pulled out from under us.
the pre-IPO honeymoon phase is awesome as a user, because companies have no expectation of profit, only growth. if you can rely on VC money to stay afloat, your only concern is building a user base, not squeezing a profit out of them. and to do that, you offer cool shit at a loss: everythingâs chocolate and flowers and quarterly reports about the number of signups youâre getting!
...until you reach a critical mass of users, VCs want to cash in, and to prepare for that IPO leadership starts thinking of ways to make the website (appear) profitable and implements a bunch of shit that makes users go âwait, what?â
I also touched on this earlier, but I want to reiterate a bit here: I think the myth of the benign non-monetized internet of yore is exactly thatâa myth. what has changed are the specific market factors behind these websites, and their scale, and the means by which they attempt to monetize their services and/or make their services look attractive to investors, and so from a user perspective things feel worse because the specific ways weâre getting squeezed have evolved. maybe they are even worse, at least in the ways that matter. but Iâm also increasingly less surprised when this occurs, because making money is and has always been the goal for all of these ventures, regardless of how they try to do so.
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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. âThatâs 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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bombshell of the bau was soo good, I need more of those two pls!!!
Aghhhhhh thanks! Okay, upon popular demand, hereâs a part two.
Bombshell Of The BAU~ Part II
Spencer Reid x Fem!Agent Reader
Summary: With all the attention you get, itâs hard to hide something as scandalous as what you and Spencer have going on. Often times, it comes down to stolen moments and too close calls.
But you donât expect the team to find out the way they do.
Warnings: Tehehehehe. Okay, 18+ content, suggestive material, smut, MDNI, um theyâre so cute! Morgan being a c!ck block on like too many occasions, slight voyeurism kinda?? Exhibitionism kinda? Two second mention of Reidâs addiction. Reader gets hurt by UbSub but sheâs fine. Idk, enjoy.
âYou sure you donât want a drink?â Emily asks as she walks with you down the hallway.
You pull the clip from your hair so it softly falls down around your face. A sigh leaves your pouty lips that are long gone of lipstick.
âAfter the day I had? Iâd much rather take a very long shower, order room service on Hotchâs dime and watch Sex and The City.â
Emily laughs. âThat sounds pretty perfect to me. Hey, did Morgan really make you crawl up in that attic?â
A shiver runs through you. âI donât want to relive that trauma.â You claim.
She rubs your arm affectionately. âWell, you try your best to recover.â
âIâm a fighter, Iâll be okay.â You say dramatically, flicking your hair out of your face.
Emily drops you off at your door. âCall me if you need anything.â She says.
âAw, sugar, I can always count on you.â You place a kiss on her cheek, the way you always do as a goodbye to your female agent friends.
You dig the room key from your pocket and press it into the slot. Though, you donât push the door open, you instead look to the elevator where Emily disappears in, headed down to the lobby where most of the team resides.
When the coast is clear, you briskly turn further down the hall, passing multiple doors until you come to stand at the right one. Sparing another glance over your shoulder, you raise your knuckle to the wood.
The door opens after two knocks, and that arm raised in the air is grabbed and tugged, making you fall swiftly into the room.
You let out a soft giggle, though itâs cut off by an equally smiley kiss.
The door clicks shut behind you as you wrap your arms around his neck.
âSpence.â You sigh dreamily against him. âLong time, no see, handsome.â
He pulls back to look down at you, that lopsided smile you love so much, playing on his lips.
âI saw you this morning at the station.â He reminds, letting his hands roam up your sides to hold your face.
Heâs learned how to be comfortable in his actions, knowing now that you arenât going to push him away when he reaches out. For three months, the two of you have been hiding this well kept secret, and maybe it was wrong to keep something like this from the team butâŠ
Both you and Spencer agree that itâs nice, having something to yourselves.
So thatâs why the two of you steal away any moments you can, like being on the same hotel floor after solving a case.
You give a pout. âBut Iâve been stuck with Morgan all day. He was so cruel to me.â
Spencer matches your rutted lower lip. âOh, he was cruel, huh? How was he cruel, angel?â
You love it when he calls you that.
Your hand slips into the hair on the back of his head, itâs definitely gotten a little longer.
âMade me follow him all around town, boosted me up into an icky crawl space to search for evidence.â You explain, trying to kick your heels off.
âOh, you poor thing.â Spencer jokes, his thumb rubbing your cheek.
âIt was a miserable, miserable day.â You sigh, dropping a few inches in height once your shoes are off. âBut Iâm here now and let me tell you, Iâve been thinking about you all day.â
Spencer gets that slight blush he always does. âHave you?â
âMhm.â You nod, pulling him down for another searing kiss.
Instantly, lips are parting and heâs tasting that unique-to-you taste of your tongue. Maybe itâs a placebo effect, but after awhile, heâs addicted to that sweet flavor that lingers on your lips.
You sigh and melt into him, ready to forget about all the work the two of you went through today. Taking your hand, you grasp one of his and bring it down to your belt. He gets the hint, then quickly tries to get you out of the clothes you canât bear to be in any longer than you need to be.
While you pull his tie loose, he pulls the concealed carry holster from where it was tucked inside your waist band. He sets it on the nearby table, then pulls your shoulder holster off. You chuckle against him as you pull his own fire arm off and join it with the other two.
âSo many guns.â You comment.
Without a risk in the way, he untucks your blouse. âOccupational hazard.â He adds.
Slowly, articles of clothing are making a home on the floor, and once youâre down to your underwear, youâre falling onto the bed with a laugh.
âYouâre on my hair.â You wince.
âSorry.â He adjusts, gripping your waist as he flips the two of you over.
Knees on either side of his hips, youâre free to do the thing youâve been thinking about all day. Your favorite thing is the little gasp Spencer gives you when you first create a dizzying friction against him. You absorb it with your mouth on his, hands on his cheeks, manicured nails slightly pressing into his skin. You still havenât figured out what flips inside of you, or what it is exactly that he does that makes your brain think âI want to eat himâ.
âWhat time are we flying out tomorrow?â You ask, placing his hands on your hips.
His fingers flex into your skin, and drags you against his lap.
â7:00.â He answers, knowing how much you hate early mornings, and long flights home.
âI have a bone to pick with that Hotchner guy, I think heâs out to get me.â You huff. âHe ships us out when the sun comes up, he puts me with Morgan all day, and he never lets me hang around when youâre doing paperwork in the briefing room.â
Spencer, much more brave now, trails his lips down your jaw and neck.
âThatâs because youâre distracting.â He states.
You gasp. âI am helpful!â
âHelpful when you have your hand between my legs under the table?â
You giggle. âIâm helpful in more ways than one, baby, and you are no better than me.â
With a slight disbelief of his eye, he pulls away from tracing your pulse with the tip of his tongue, and shakes his head at you.
âHow am I no better?â
You slightly tug at the ends of his hair. âSpence, you almost got us caught when you shoved me into the conference room on your lunch break and Emily was looking all over for me.â
He smirks, feeling all too proud of himself for that bold move. âIt was my lunch breakâŠI was having lunch.â
Ever since Spencer learned how much he enjoys his face between your thighs, itâs like heâs a junky all over again and can only go so long without making you fall apart for him. You remember thinking that there was no possible way the two of you could get away with it as he pushed your skirt up and sat you on the edge of the table, kneeling before you. You also remember thinking this was one of the hottest things he has ever done.
In the beginning, you were worried that he thought you only wanted sex. The sex, itâs great, itâs âŠwell, itâs wow. But being with Spencer means laughing more than you ever have, spending days off together, holding his hand in public and going to as many bookstores as he likes. Itâs all so much more than you ever had before.
At work, itâs the same as itâs always been, you shamelessly flirt and Spencer, being the victim of your sultry ploys, keeps stumbling his words and hardly ever raises red flags.
Sure, the team noticed that heâs a little more out of his shell, has more confidence about him, but they just think he started believing all those compliments you tell him. In all actuality, he just feels proud that he has someone like you in his life, whose socks end up in his laundry and who leaves lipstick stains on the collars of his shirts.
Fingers trace up your spine, raising goosebumps on your skin as they aim for the clasp of your bra. Heâs getting pretty good at undoing the hooks.
But just before he can try to beat his time, a knock comes from the door.
The two of you pause, your lips pull back, your fingers leave his hair.
âWhat do we do?â You whisper.
Panting slightly from the lack of oxygen he receives when your tongue is slotted to his, he just shrugs. âMaybe theyâll go away.â
Just like that, your hips continue their motion and heâs going to free your chest.
Another knock.
âReid, itâs Morgan.â The voice comes.
Spencer lets out a rather irritated huff, his eyes shut as he swallows hard, willing the man to just go away.
âReid! Open the door.â
Nope, heâs not leaving.
âSon of a bitch.â He grunts.
âOh, watch that dirty mouth, Doctor.â You tease as he pulls you off his lap.
He stands, running through mathematical formulas to try and calm down in his boxers. He scoops up a sweatshirt that lays on the back of the desk chair and pulls it on. In a panic, you roll off the bed and hide behind it on the floor, trying to be as quiet as possible.
âReid-â
Spencer pulls the door open. âWhat?â He snaps.
Derek is surprised by his bluntness, but he takes in his disheveled appearance and is more confused.
âWhat were you doing?â He asks.
âR-reading.â
Derek looks at his bare legs. âWithout pants on?â
Go away, go away, go away.
Spencer breathes out. âI was about to take a shower. Now, whatâs up?â
Morgan folds his arms over his chest. âEverybody is downstairs, donât be a loner up here.â
Spencer shakes his head. âIâm pretty tired so uh, Iâm gonna turn in.â
Morgan looks at him for a moment too long. âYou sure youâre okay? You seemâŠflushed.â
âIâm fine, Morgan, really.â He reassures.
Laying face down on the carpet for a few minutes while the two men hash out whatever it is Morgan needed to, you come to the realization that youâre actually exhausted. By the time Spencer finally gets Derek to leave, youâre sitting yourself back up on the bed with a frown.
âWhat is it?â His brows furrow as he sees your expression.
Never have you ever had a partner so attentive, so loving in every touch they gave you. But Spencer runs his fingers through your hair as you tell him how you long for sleep, and he reassures you that it was okay you werenât in the mood anymore.
He brought your bag from your room to his, though you truly just fell asleep in a t shirt and panties.
In the morning, you pretend you were in your room the entire night, and you meet the team in the lobby, fresh faced and ready to fly home.
âWhatâs your plans for this weekend?â Morgan asks after discussing with Emily what sheâll be doing.
You, who is currently taking up too much space on the couch, look over at the pair and shrug.
âIâll have you know I have a very hot date with my bathtub when I get home and a very big plan to clean my apartment.â
That was all a lie.
Youâd be over at Spencerâs this weekend, youâd be spending all your time with him, acting like a normal couple in public, having dinner and heâd get flustered when youâd kiss him in public.
But the team canât know that.
Spencer comes back from the back of the jet, only to see his spot on the couch has been taken by your legs. He stares at you for a moment.
âOh, Iâm sorry, did you want to sit here?â You innocently question.
âYeah, Iâd prefer to.â He nods, watching you smirk.
âAll you have to do is ask nicely.â
âPlease?â
You sit upright, planting your feet on the ground. âAlways so eager to beg.â
Emily laughs, Spencer goes red in the face.
To them, itâs exactly how it always has been between the two of you.
He sits beside you, not too close, but your fingers twitch to reach over and touch him. Your nails go to your mouth instead to keep them busy.
Without truly paying attention, Spencer reaches over and tugs your hand away from your mouth and instead hands you a sucker he pulled from his bag.
Itâs such a domestic act that though thereâs nothing too suggestive about it, Emily notices. She clocks the behavior as something a little odd. Sure, you and Reid have always been close but since when has he carried around things for you?
Truly, you shouldâve known that Emily would be the first to suspect something, but you continued on blissfully, believing that the team was so caught up in everything else that they wouldnât catch what was happening right under their noses.
âThe station was able to get us last minute rooms but thereâs only four available, some of us are going to have to double up.â Hotch says nearly a month later on a case in a small Texas town you were only supposed to be in for the day.
But when the case turned into something far more complicated than anticipated, the team opted to stay for a bit longer.
The team shares a few looks as Hotch holds the motel room keys in his hand, all knowing that he wasnât about to bunk in with Rossi anytime soon.
âIâm not sleeping with Reid.â Morgan declares as he begins to feel like itâs going to be assumed. âMake the girls share a room.â
All three of you begin to protest, knowing youâre fine with sharing but not fine with Morgan making that decision for you.
He holds his hands up in surrender.
JJ, always such a leader, looks to you. âIf you and Prentiss want to share, Iâll bunk with Reid.â She sighs.
Spencer starts feeling like heâs a child again, watching his parents talk about custody, knowing one parent truly doesnât want him.
The suggestion, though innocent, has your nails pressing into your palms. Itâs a terrible idea in your mind, because here is a chance to stay with your golden boy for the night and itâs getting taken away.
âIâll stay with Spencer, I donât mind. Is that okay with you, Spence?â You turn to look up at him, innocent smile, sultry eyes.
âOh, uh, yeah, sure. Fine- itâs fine with meâŠIâll take the floor.â He stutters awkwardly, sealing the deal with a cricked smile thatâs very Spencer Reid.
Hotch narrows his eye as he hands you a room key. âKeep the flirting to a minimum.â
âHow can I when he just makes it so easy?â You joke, taking the key.
As you grab your bag, Morgan begins to uncontrollably laugh.
âGo easy on him.â He jokes. âHeâs a romantic.â
âMorgan.â Reid sighs, following behind you.
âYou have a fun sleepover! Hey, you still got that whistle? Yell fire if she gets to be too much!â
I glanced back at Morgan, shaking your head before looking to Spencer. âCome on, lover boy, I donât bite.â
âYes you do.â He mutters.
âOnly sometimes.â
Hotch prays heâs not going to get an email from HR. Heâs already hearing it from Strauss, a meeting needs to be set up for inappropriate conduct between coworkers, and everyone knows Garcia and Morgan arenât the only ones to blame, not when youâre addressing Spencer as âhandsome geniusâ in work emails.
The door clicks shut and you turn the lock, letting out a sigh and taking in the modest room, everything decorated in a dated western fashion.
âWere you serious about taking the floor?â You ask, causing him to look back over to you.
âIf you want me to, yes.â
Bless him and his gentleman qualities, it has you wanting to jump him in the most passionate way.
âNow, why would I want you to be down there when Iâll be up in the mattress all alone? Here I thought you had a high IQ.â You tease, opening your go bag. âYou mind if I shower? You could join me if you want.â
The offer is tempting.
âI better stay here in case someone comes knocking, might be a little suspicious if weâre both dripping wet at the same time.â He says, feeling proud that he still can think logically, though itâs far too hard when youâre around.
A smirk pulls at your soft lips. âI thought I was the only one who knew anything about being dripping wet.â
Spencer becomes flush, his cheeks burning as he says your name, prompting you to stop your explicit behavior.
âSorry, baby, itâs just so easy.â You come to kiss his jaw before finding your way to the bathroom.
The shower is warm and the low light in the bathroom is soothing, you rinse clean and shampoo your hair, making the steam smell like your scent. Spencer browses the minimal television selection, then fights his urge to unmake the bed because he knows youâll want to adjust the blanket and sheets a certain way.
âThe water pressure is surprisingly good.â You say after about fifteen minutes, coming out, releasing that waft of steam.
Toweling your hair, you come back to your bag to find your various travel lotions, though you donât get very far because Spencer is looking at you like you just hung the moon.
âWhat?â You ask, slightly adjusting your robe with an unsure smile.
He smiles softly. âI justâŠitâs unfair how beautiful you are in every form.â
Your heart swoons like it always does when heâs around.
âYou have no room to talk, mister.â You remind, abandoning the skin care and come to stand between his knees that he parts for you.
Your finger traces the line of his jaw as his hands gently place on the backs of your thighs.
âYouâre so sexy with your hair pushed back like this. Did you start wearing it like this because you knew it would drive me crazy?â You ask coyly, half teasing, running your fingers through it.
âItâs getting long.â He says.
âNonsense, I love it.â
âYou love everything.â
âI love you.â
The two of you pause. Those are three words you havenât exactly expressed often. Itâs been said, in a ramble from Spencer where it just came out and you had beamed up at him like youâve won a prize.
Now, you say it with certainty, and he wants to hear it again.
âI love you.â You say with more intensity, leaning down to where you have his face in your hands, holding him there as you kiss him.
âI love you too.â He mumbles against your lips.
You donât pull away when he slowly reaches for the tie of the silky robe, youâd never reject him.
Heâs already lost his shoes and socks, his tie and the top buttons of his shirt, but he loses more as you help him. Further up on the bed, you let the open robe fall off your shoulders, not feeling bashful as he studies you with his eyes.
Spencer could never look at you in anything other way than adoration.
âHotch is dumb.â You decide in his lap, placing his hands on your hips.
âWeâre taking advantage of the situation.â Spencer declares, face falling to your shoulder as you sink further down onto him.
âI feel no remorse.â You breathe.
This isnât the first time youâve had sex, the first time was a long time coming and it was perfect. So gentle and warm and everything the two of you craved. You laid in his sheets and traced the freckles on his skin and itâs a moment you think of often because you often donât get them.
Now, you have a moment and are seizing it.
âYou okay?â You ask with the drag of your hips.
âYouâre heavenly.â Spencer proclaims, tasting the clean skin of your neck.
âSpence.â You gasp, getting the hang of a rhythm. âFuck.â The word leaves your lips as soon as he thrusts up into you.
You and Spencer have always worked well together so this is no different.
Itâs addictive, the feeling stirring in you, the shear pleasure washing over him. He knows a thing or two about addiction and he can confidently say that you make him feel far better than any needle in the vein did.
At some point, with your hands in his hair, mouth hot against his, and his grip moving you how he wantsâŠ
Your phone rings.
At first, you do your best to ignore it, but it continues in an annoying fashion.
âNo.â You plead, trying to chase that oncoming feeling.
âWho is it?â Spencer breathes heavy as you reach for the device.
âEmily.â
His head falls in defeat, movements slowing, prompting you to answer.
You do your best to not sound aggravated as Emily asks if she can bring dinner by, but the idea of a burger does sound nice.
âYeah, we could eat.â You state, free hand over Spencerâs mouth to keep him quiet as your slow movements continue.
âLet me know if you need anything else.â Emily states in a kind yet suspicious tone.
âWill do, thanks Em.â
You throw the phone away, overwhelmed and determined to reach the high that was slowly slipping away.
âI hate our team sometimes.â You determine, frustrated that you lost momentum.
Not so gently, Spencer adjusts you to be on the mattress, taking over when you threaten to call off the entire idea because there was a stumble in the step.
âThey should just know not to call on the off chance two coworkers are breaking HR rules.â He jokes, entering you without hesitation, making you gasp out.
The roll of his hips is slowly bringing you back to the precipice at a dangerously fast rate, leaving your legs to shake a touch.
âEmily is going to be here soon.â You stress, digging your skull into the pillow.
âWeâll be done before then.â He assures, reaching his hand down to rub his thumb against your clit in a hot friction.
âEmily could stand here and watch for all I care.â You state, pleading for a release. âI just- I need it, baby, please.â
âI know, I know, angel, youâre going to get it.â
How could a man be so soft when heâs doing such dirty things to you? Itâs a mystery youâll never quite understand, but Spencer has always been a wonder, so this is to be expected. Heâs coaxing you to the finish, letting you suck on his shoulder to keep your noises down.
And when it happens after the build up of waiting for weeks, it hits like a tidal wave, leaving you speechless, open mouth gasping silently for air. Spencer is shuddering and pressing his face into that space between your jaw and collar bone.
You half expect a phone call, some kind of urgent message that will ruin this moment but nothing comes. Itâs just you and Spencer.
At some point after getting cleaned up, you lay side by side, limbs tangled. Your eyes threaten to shut at the way he traces the shape of your face.
âSometimes Iâm just waiting to wake from this dream.â He whispers, tucking hair behind your ear.
You hum. âItâs not a dream, thatâs what makes this so great.â
He shifts slightly, tilting his head down to brush his nose to yours. âSometimes I think it is, because in what reality am I really the person you choose?â
You donât like that, it obvious on your face. âIâd choose you in every universe, even if you donât choose me.â You say sternly, a hand pushing his hair back.
He likes when youâre genuine. Well, youâre always genuine, but you also always have a face on, one of coyness and humor. When youâre like this, emotionally bare, he likes you the most.
âIâd never not choose you.â He states before turning to kiss your wrist.
You want to comment about how romantic he is without trying, but Emily knocks like you knew she would.
The two of you spring up, thankful youâre already dressed. You take a calming breath as you head to the door, and Spencer quickly tries to straighten the wrinkled sheets.
Emily isnât dumb, she knows something is different, but she truly doesnât suspect anything yet, which is questionable because she has a perfect view of signs that indicate adult activities when she comes in to deliver the burgers.
She goes and tells JJ that the two of you act different, a little more guilty, but Emily doesnât know for sure until a completely different scenario comes about.
Two weeks later, when youâre sent into a living nightmare. Hotch makes the call to send you into the Unsubâs house alone first, you do it without hesitation because that is just how you do your job when it comes to the life or death of three missing children.
âHouse is clear, Iâm going down to the basement.â You say into the com on your vest, confirming your safety to the team.
But you speak too soon, the Unsub does something the profile was wrong about. Hotch sent you in there because he suspected the man to be submissive to confident women of higher standard.
Though you were cautious, you werenât expecting the Unsub to attack you at first chance.
You do your best to fight back and get the kids free, but youâre completely blindsided. Who knows what would have happened if SWAT and the team didnât storm in when they did.
When you sit in the back of the ambulance, in shock, a paramedic cleaning up the gash on your forehead, Spencer is there with concern and comfort.
âThe kids?â You ask.
âTheyâre safe, theyâre going to be okay.â He reassured, holding your hand between both of his.
âI didnâtâŠI shouldâve-â
âShh.â He frowns. âYou did good, angel, everythingâs alright. Do you feel okay?â
Your brows draw and you shake your head. âI donât feel well. Do I look well?â
âYou have a concussion, sweetheart.â He says, gently pushing your hair back behind your ear.
âAm I still gorgeous?â You ask in a dreamy voice.
âYouâre always gorgeous.â He assures, cradling your cheek. âYouâre just gorgeous with a head injury that youâre going to go to the hospital to get it looked at.â
Your eyes shut as you hum, the warmth of his palm runs through you. The two of you embrace gently, completely forgetting how casual you are supposed to be appearing.
The team sees it now, of course they do.
Youâll have to explain the secret youâve been hiding from them later, but now youâre just listening to Spencerâs voice murmur to you, wrapped in his FBI jacket, fighting the urge to adjust his hair.
#criminal minds#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x fanfiction#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid#spencer reid hurt/comfort
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introducing... bitchy reader!
rafe never pays attention to sarahâs friends. new yet similar faces seem to make the rounds through tannyhill every week; the place was a revolving door. the occasional familiar girl would say hi to him, which would of course be ignored since he doesnât care enough to say hi back.
so naturally, you become the exception to his little rule.
you and sarah are on opposite sides of the counter, flicking through magazines and taking sips from overpriced iced coffees, when he overhears a conversation that makes him stop and listen.
â-and heâs not like topper, like, at all. heâs really nice and actually talks to me instead of at me-â
âwow,â he hears you say, dragging out the syllables and sarcasm dripping from your voice. âsuch standards you have. no, really.â
âshut up. heâs totally sweet-â sarah says, but you interrupt her.
ïżœïżœïżœheâs, like, totally a dirty pogue.â that catches his attentionânot just the fact that thereâs something going on between his sister and some pogue, but the way you say the sentence, how the words sound coming from your mouth.Â
you nearly sound like rafe.
âthat is so rude-â
âwhat? iâm just being honest. iâd be a bad friend if i didnât tell you the truth.â
âwhat truth?â his sister questions.
âthat youâre settling for some pogue boy because youâre bored of top. i get it. if i was dating him iâd be bored enough to fuck a pogue too.â
rafe cringes at the topic even though your word choice makes him laughâtopper is boring, though he doesnât think heâs heard anyone else bring it up until now. he steps back into the doorway, watching the two of you. the crass words are coming from you, dressed in a sunny yellow dress and tapping pretty pink nails against the counter.Â
âhey! iâm not bored-â
âyou mean, you like hearing about his boat and golf every single day?â
âhe has other hobbies! like-â
âlike what?â you pause, watching sarahâs expression before giving her a pointed lookâa look that says told you so. âwho are you really trying to convince right now?â you flip through another magazine, finding something that must have caught your eye. you lift it to show sarahâsome pinked striped pajamas and fuzzy slippers on the pages. âdonât i totally need this?â
âshut up.â
âthatâs what someone says when they know the other personâs right,â you say with a mocking smile, setting down the magazine. heâs watching the whole thingâyouâre funnier than he would have thought. âand if you change your mind just go to country club. topâs dime a dozen there.â the two of you start laughing.Â
âiâm not gonna change my mind-â
âthatâs what you said when you started dating topper,â you say it deadpan, and rafe holds back a laugh.
â-because heâs really nice. heâs a good guy.â
âugh, sarah. making out with a dirty pogue at a bonfire is one thing. youâre talking like youâre in love. get a grip.â
âwhat? whatâs so wrong with that?â sarah asks, taking a sip of her drink.
âbecause you canât be in love with someone you have to hide your valuables around.â thatâs when he decides to walk inâsarah sputtering on her drink while you roll your eyes.
âand whatâre you girls talkinâ about?â rafe asks, and two sets of eyes turn to look at him. you look at him a little confusedâin all the years youâve known sarah and times youâve been at tannyhill, rafeâs never once spoken to you.
âi donât think itâs any of your business-â his sister says, and then he rolls his eyes. you interrupt right away.
âsarah, itâs okay.â you turn to rafe, looking right at him and leaning in a little like youâre gonna tell in something. âitâs really not any of your business.â
blank face, trying to be annoyed but not actually feeling annoyed, he stares back at you. his sister laughs stupidly, heading into the living room. she leaves you alone with rafe in the kitchen, but as you grab your drink and try to follow sarah, rafe says something.
âyâknow i heard that shit you were sayinâ. youâre funny, kid.â you turn back to look at rafe.
âthanks. i wasnât joking.â
âyeah. good. at least one of my sisterâs friends has âer head screwed straight.â you laugh, but the look on your face says you didnât think it was funny.
âare you trying to compliment me? by insulting all my other friends?â he wasnât expected that retort.
âno. no, i-â
âmaybe if your friend wasnât such a shit boyfriend, sarah wouldnât be talking to some pogue. but hey, what do i know?â
âhey, kid, i-â
âdonât call me that.â you roll your eyes, walking to the living room without even glancing back at rafe. he calls out after you again.
âso have you?â you pause, turning again.
âhave i what?â âmade out with some pogue at the bonfire.â he shrugs. âthatâs what you said to sarah, isnât it?â
âagain, how is that any of your business?â you ask, cocking your head at him.
âthatâs not an answer.â
âi donât owe you an answer. but for the record, no, i havenât. i actually have standards.â he doesnât miss the remark and what it says about his sister.
âgood,â rafe says, looking at you. his eyes rake over your body before he can stop itâyour short hem, the jewelry dangling on your wrists and neck, the heels even though you hadnât gone anywhere.
âshut up. weirdo.â you walk to the living room where sarahâs waiting for you.
rafeâs gonna have a hard time staying away from you.
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The Crypt anthology
âYou dropped this.â
You whirl on a dime, legs twisting together and rolling you off balance at the last second, the strangerâs hand shooting out to try to steady you before you catch yourself. âAlright little love?â Powder blue eyes hold you tight, some sort of virose thrall bearing down into your temples, rooting around in the matter between your ears.
âIâm fine.â You manage, but the words lack conviction. Long fingers dig in the soft spirals of your brain, looking for something, picking and pulling.
âLookinâ a bit peckish there, sure youâre alright?â All you can manage is a nod, one foot sliding behind the other, placing you firmly out of reach.
âIâm fine.â The two words are all you can manage, still trying to escape the trance, the dark tug behind your ribs. Long silence plays out, and with a closer look, you register him fully. Tall. Broad. Shoulders wide enough to close in around you, green jacket faded into sun parched moss. It wouldnât button around his chest, the waffle henley beneath doing you no favors by the way it tapers to his belt, a strong jaw cloaked by a swath of beard and moustache.
Older than you, stronger than you, an astral man amidst a city of depravity.
Step closer.
A storm cracks outside, thunder rattling the windows, your vision tunneling inside the market, people doing their shopping ebbing around you, a rock in water, stalls and their goods fading into the distance.
The only thing you can see is this stranger and his bright blue eyes. âThanks,â you croak, knuckles tense on the strap of your bag, net of spilled oranges now safely tucked inside the canvas. When did that happen? Your smile is forced, seasick though the ground is solid beneath you, and when the eye contact breaks to flicker over your shoulder, you jolt back to your sense, and turn away.
The blue eyes stay with you all the way home, into your flat, through the night. You think about them as you cook yourself dinner, as you pour yourself a too generous glass of wine. You feel them as you curl up on the couch, malignant presence lingering just outside your window.
Itâs only once you undress and slip under your blankets that you finally feel a semblance of peace, as if the gaze has moved on, the undying focus abated in a sliver of moonlight.
Your dreams are filled with blood.
An oil slick across an ocean, too vast to know where it ends and begins, you fight to keep your head above water, legs kicking frivolously in the dark, terror tight around your throat, horror lurking on the outside of your mind. Thalassophobia renders you almost useless, the panic just enough to keep the drowning at bay.
Can you die in a dream?
A hand appears from nowhere, and you cling to it, wailing and gasping until youâre pulled ashore, laid flat on your back against black stone sand.
âAlright little love?â Him. The same eyes peer down, shining like the sun, chasing away the darkness settled in around you. He stuns you.
âY-yeah.â Heâs close enough cigar smoke permeates your air, your fingers gripping the front of his shirt like a lifejacket. It takes a moment, a second of realization-
Youâre covered in blood. Hands, feet, forearms, face. It coats your lips, iron and earth in your nose, soaked all the way to your lungs. Heavier than tar, slicked to your windpipe, drowning your beating heart in ichor.
âOh god, oh my god, what- what is this, what is this-â Youâve never heard your own voice at this pitch, shrill, piercing, the sound of someone crying, the sound of someone freefalling.
That canât be you, can it?
âEasy now.â He holds you by the shoulders. The sun and moon cycle overhead, light and darkness rotating, disorienting you further, a whimper crawling from your throat. âShhh, I know, I know,â he rubs your temple, thumb stained ruby red, and then lifts it to his mouth, lips curled into a devilish smile, âknew youâd be perfect fâme.â The ground begins to shake, the sky splitting apart, white tendrils snaking across the sea to your ankles, and he frown, disappointment lingering in the lines of his face. The rough scrape of his beard presses to your cheek with a kiss, and he nestles a coin into the palm of your hand, the dream turning opaque before disappearing completely, your eyes opening to ceiling of your bedroom.
Just a dream, you remind yourself throughout the day. Just a dream, though itâs nearly impossible to keep your mind from wandering, remembering, tasting the salt of the ichor like itâs still fresh on your tongue.
âHey!â Your coworker snaps her fingers, alarm flashing across her face. âAre you okay? You look⊠sick.â
âIâm just tired.â
âMaybe you should call it a day. Seriously, you look like death.â Your agreement is weak as she practically shoves you out the door. âGo home and take a nap or something.â
âHello again.â Your heart jolts, battering against your bones in a frantic beat. âNo need to be scared.â You blink. âIâm John⊠from the market yesterday? You dropped your oranges?â
âJohn.â Your tongue ties around his name, and though its polite to give yours, you canât force it out. His brow furrows.
âYou look like youâve seen a ghost.â Good sense and manners appear, spurred on by years of chastising by your mother, and you grimace.
âOh. Sorry. Iâm a bit under the weather.â He looms ahead of you, blocking a portion of the sidewalk.
âHeaded home then?â You nod. âIâll walk you.â
âOh, no. Thatâs not necessary.â He gives you a sharp look, the dispel to an argument, razored, jagged teeth closing in around your attempt at a refusal, and pulls at your wrist, thumb holding steady over your pulse point, heart rate slowing from a panic to a lull.
Your head hangs, and you slump, exhaustion tugging your limbs down towards the ground. The path doesnât split before you, no way to choose one way or another, hedgerows too tall to peer over, lost and unable to discern the way. Your hands find your pockets, and brush across something unfamiliar and cool.
A coin.
Darkness closes in around you-
And the word goes black.
You wake in a bed.
Not your bed.
Itâs big, wide enough your legs and arms spread out with touching the edge of the mattress. The sheets are fine, cotton you could never afford, threads delicate, spun silk. Luxury. A far cry from your one-bedroom flat.
âThere you are.â Time jolts, bringing you into the present with startling speed, a hand clasping over your mouth before you can release a scream. âNo need for that.â
âJohn?â You mumble into his palm. Your head is natant, woozy with the rocking, feet scrambling on a ship far away, desperate to hold tight to a rail, a lifeline, a moment of balance in a violent storm. âIâm gonna be sick.â
Thereâs a haunting, familiar taste on your lips and you lick them over and over, the tip of an iceberg, a memory just barely visible above placid water. You grasp at it, tug yourself closer, swallow the nostalgia until it rears its head-
Blood.
Horror wraps an unforgiving fist around your throat.
âWhat-â
âWelcome home.â What? Your feet tangle in the sheets, a net around your ankles. His big, warm hand flattens over your chest, blue gaze honing in, the predator ready to devour his prey. âCan hear your heart, little love.â
âThis isnât my h-home.â
âIt is now.â Heâs casual, leaning by your hip, now stroking deft fingers over your ribs. âThis is my home, and now itâs yours too. You donât need to worry, youâll be well cared for.â The cold green sick feeling surges, and you roll over to the side of the mattress, spewing the contents of your stomach onto polished hardwood floors.
Itâs not bile, or water, or even food.
Itâs red. Dark red, dripping off your lips like rain, flooding the grooves beneath you. He rubs your back like youâre a child who needs soothing, grip tight on your arm when you try to rip away.
âIt wonât always be like this,â he coos, clucking his tongue in sympathy, âthe taste is difficult to get used to.â
âThe taste of what?â
âBlood.â
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