#as i point this out to my partner who has watched the show three times now they are BAFFLED

[jazzyjesse]

im the bearer of the curse <– is decent at recognizing voice actors

[daechwitatamic]

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:

“Marshall, with all due respect, I don’t know why you’re calling me,” you admit. “You were there. You saw what happened. Seungcheol and I can’t drift anymore.”

“You couldn’t then,” he points out. “That was three years ago. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift… they’ve had time to mellow.”

He’s wrong, and you want to tell him so. Nothing has mellowed. You love Seungcheol just as much today as you did then.

“Have you talked to him about this?” You’re afraid of the answer. 

The Marshall’s voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Choi will follow orders,” he says evenly, “and so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.”

“You can’t order us into being able to drift again,” you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest. 

“No,” the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, “but I can - and will - order you to try.”

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.

That’s 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.

That’s what made him a great jaeger pilot. Not the brute strength - strong men are dime a dozen, always have been - but the watching.

You’d marked him as your first choice.

You were both nineteen. You’d grown up in the Shatterdome, the only child to a couple who piloted a neon green jaeger named Charron’s 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 parents’ giant, mechanical footsteps one day. You just needed the right partner.

You needed Seungcheol.

The jaeger program didn’t 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 you’d 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 we’d 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 couldn’t get his hands on you, not when you used his own inertia against him at every turn. What you didn’t 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 didn’t talk after the match - your father whisked you away to recover before your second-rated match, and you didn’t see Seungcheol for the rest of the day.

The second-rated match was a dud. But you already knew, even then, that it didn’t matter.

You’d met your co-pilot. You’d found your partner.

—

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 didn’t get from you.

“I know who you are,” he said by way of greeting. You raised a brow at him, waiting. “Your parents piloted Charron’s Revenge.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “That better not be why you picked me.”

He gave his head an annoyed little flick. “Of course not. I picked you because you’re fluid - and I’m not.”

Appeased, you felt your hackles settle back down. “That’s true,” you allowed. “You’re not fluid. But you’re purposeful, and-”

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.

“Cherry, did you hear?” he asked you, ignoring the new-comer. “The crew for Fatal Rapids got called back in for misconduct.”

“Choi Seungcheol, Yoon Jeonghan,” you said, introducing the two young men. “Hannie does more than gossip, I promise. He’s one of the pilots for Devil’s Advocates. Their drop stats are insane.”

“In practice only,” Jeonghan demurred. “For now.”

“Cherry?” Seungcheol parroted, raising a dark brow. “That’s not what I wrote on my paper earlier.”

“Just a nickname,” you explained. When you were very small, you’d struggled with the name of your parents’ jaeger, calling it Cherry’s Revenge instead of Charron’s, and the crew - who doted on you like their own - started the habit of calling you Cherry. Somehow, it had spread, and stuck. “Only my parents use my real name. But you can call me whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“No,” he said, frowning as if deeply considering his options. “I like it.”

You folded your arms on the table, leaning in to peer at Seungcheol. “So, what’s your story? You’ve heard of me. I haven’t heard of you.”

He shrugged, glanced around, then decided he could talk freely. There’s something about being in a room that’s positively teeming with people and conversation - it gives you privacy without feeling too intimate. You’re not alone.

“Not much of a story, not like you,” he admitted. “I grew up thinking I’d take over my dad’s business. We lost my dad… then, we lost the business. I have no marketable skillset, and university was out of the question. But…” He trailed off, then met your gaze firmly. Something in his look demanded you forgo any pity or sympathy, demanded you take him seriously. “I’m strong. So I came here. I came to fight.”

You sidestepped the bruises he’d bared. “Not like me,” you repeated with a bit of a scoff. “I hate to disappoint you, but my parents are the pilots - the story is theirs. I don’t have one, not yet.”

Something playful glinted in his eyes, the first true sign of personality you’d seen. “So all the rumors about the Princess of the Shatterdome aren’t true?”

Your jaw dropped. You’d 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, you’d be able to prove them wrong. “What rumors?”

“You’re spoiled,” Jeonghan supplied, having decided he was part of the conversation after all. “Entitled.”

You spluttered as Jeonghan stood, giving you a cheerful pat on the shoulder. “And bitchy! That’s just what I’ve heard. Of course I know better. Anyway, I’ve got to go. Love ya!”

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.

“I don’t…” you started to say, but your voice caught in your throat. You cleared it, tried again. “I don’t think I really deserve all that.”

He nodded, lips pushed into a semblance of a thoughtful pout. “What I’d heard,” he said calmly, “is that you’re a hell of a fighter, scary smart, and that you take no shit. Unless it’s from your friends, apparently.”

This made a bitter little laugh bubble from you. You still simmered with humiliation, feared that maybe he’d decide he didn’t want to co-pilot with you after all.

“I think it’s up to you which story gets told,” he said finally.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “That’s what I always said. So… let’s get started.”

—

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 Rapids’s 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 Seungcheol’s 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 didn’t 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 wouldn’t 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. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll meditate together. Talk to each other. Get deep about it. If you’ve talked about it out here-” he swept an arm across the deck, “-it won’t take hold so strongly in there.” He’d jabbed a finger in the upward direction of Duellona Fury.

Seungcheol didn’t look at you, nor the Marshall. Instead, he kept his eyes on Duellona's unfinished frame, stories above you. “Yes, Sir,” he said steadily.

Your parents weren’t technically retired yet, the year you and Seungcheol started training together. Charron’s Revenge still sat in the well below the Shatterdome. They still lived on the base, still took part in daily training. They hadn’t 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.

“Congratulations,” your father said warmly from across the table. “You worked hard to get here.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling shy beneath the praise. “I hope the drift will work for me and Choi Seungcheol.”

“What do you think of him?” your mother had asked, her sharp eyes honing in on you, watching your reactions.

“I think he’s a great fighter,” you said. “The rest… I guess I’ll have to learn.”

“Do 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?”

You swallowed. She’s right for her intensity - they will be putting their daughter’s life in her co-pilot’s hands, every time there’s 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.

“Yes,” you said, so quietly that you cleared your throat and said it again. “Yes, I trust him.”

“Then we wish you luck,” your father said, and raised his glass. “To Duellona Fury.”

“To Duellona Fury,” 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 she’d done what they had done; greying hairs, softening bodies, deepening of wrinkles. Then the pictures stopped.

You never asked them if they missed it.

—

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.

“Have you done this before?” you asked, as you both settled in, shifting weight and adjusting ankles.

“Not with someone else,” he admitted, lips protruding in a bit of a pout. “Only alone.”

You nodded. You’d 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.

“Normally,” you explained, “you 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 there’s no resistance.”

“Have you done this before?” Seungcheol asked.

You wobbled your head around - not yes, but not no. “I’ve practiced it - I’ve done the meditation with partners. But I’ve never moved forward to an actual drift with anyone.”

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 Seungcheol’s 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 hadn’t 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 Seungcheol’s shins, he asked you, “Where do you wish you were right now? If you weren’t here.”

You laughed at yourself before answering, knowing how silly you would sound. “In a tree.”

A disbelieving smile played on his lips, almost as if he wasn’t sure you weren’t making fun of him somehow. “A tree?”

“No, really,” you insisted, still smiling a little. “There’s not a lot of nature here, in case you didn’t notice. I grew up in the Dome - never got to leave, much.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond to this, just nodded like he understood, his small smile going a bit tight around the edges.

You frowned, reading him exactly. “You think I’m sheltered,” you observed. It wasn’t a question. He couldn’t say no.

He looked at you, then. “You were sheltered,” he said, voice low. “But when I say it, I don’t mean naive. I just think… there’s a lot of world out there. A lot of things to see. You won’t see any of it if you spend your entire life under the Dome.”

You nod, accepting this. “I won’t see any of it if it gets destroyed, either. There’s a lot of world out there - that we’re trying to keep safe.”

Seungcheol watched you intently for a moment, lips downturned and gaze heavy. Then, he asked, “Have you ever seen a kaiju? I mean - in person?”

“Sort of,” you mumbled.

He’d rolled from his back to his front, closer to you, putting you shoulder to shoulder. “Kind of seems like a yes-or-no question.”

Your lips twisted. “Then, no. But I’ve stood in the bay and listened to Mission Control talk my mom and dad through a fight dozens of times, watched Charron’s Revenge on the screens and prayed I wouldn’t see her get sawed in half.”

You stopped, trailed a finger through the thin layer of dirt on the floor. “I know it’s not the same as looking one in the face myself,” you whispered. “But the fear… shouldn’t that fear count, shouldn’t it feel the same?”

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.

“When Menaceclaw attacked,” he said, “he missed my home by one block. We watched him go by from the sidewalk. I wasn’t even as tall as his foot. But even with him towering over the buildings, taking them down without even trying, I don’t 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 don’t know.”

“You knew what you lost,” you said quietly. “Part of you did.”

He looked up at you, nudged his finger into yours. “You never knew anything different. It wasn’t a loss. The fear was just always part of the deal.”

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.

“What?” he asked through the quiet laugh. “Why are you looking at me?”

“What else?” you mused. “What else am I going to find when we go tiptoeing through your memories?”

He smiled faintly and then mirrored you, laying his head on his arm, his eyes swimming as he thought.

“A lot of my family, probably,” he said. “A lot of fighting. Menaceclaw. Probably some very mid sex.”

You laughed without meaning to. “My condolences?”

He grinned at you, pleased. “Eh, what can you do? I try to treat everything like a learning experience.”

You laughed again, and his smile grew, gums showing. “What about you?” he asked off-handedly.

“Mid sex?” you asked, eyebrows raising. “I hate to inform you, Choi Seungcheol, but I don’t do anything mid.”

“No,” he protested, laughing, reaching out to gently shake your shoulder. “I meant - what will we see when it’s your turn?”

“The Dome,” you said, half-joking - but it was true. “Training. My parents. Their fights, their accomplishments.”

And, as a true drift partner should, he understood what you weren’t saying.

“We’ll have our turn,” he promised, pushing himself to sit up, then stand, reaching down to help you up. “We’re gonna be fucking unstoppable. Let’s go again.”

Fire sparking behind your ribs, you nodded seriously, then reached up to take his hand.

—

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.

“Meet you there?” you asked, still half-breathless, your body starting to ache as the adrenaline from a fight melted away.

“Sure,” 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 didn’t know.

Seungcheol appeared at your elbow, frowning dramatically. “Our table,” he whined.

“There’s Chan and Wylie,” 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.

“You’re bleeding, Cherry,” he said, before inhaling an entire mouthful of rice.

You started to scan your arms - you didn’t feel pain anywhere - but Seungcheol found it first, gingerly swiping his thumb along your cheekbone.

“Sorry, Cherry,” he murmured. “I should’ve pulled that punch.”

“No you shouldn’t have,” 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. “You pull shots in practice, you’ll hesitate in the field.”

“She’s right,” Chan said from his physical tangle with Wylie. “What you practice will show up in your muscle memory. You’ve got to mean it, every time.”

Wylie reached across his arms and took a bite from his plate, then asked, “Did you guys see the new jaeger?”

“I did,” Seungkwan said eagerly. “Chaser Supernova, or something like that? She’s smaller, but she’s supposed to be fast.”

“Is that her team at our normal table?” 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 Seungkwan’s two co-pilots - settle in.

“Talking about Supernova?” he asked, hands busy opening his drink. “They seem okay - they’re a trio, like us.”

“Where is Seokmin?” Seungkwan asked, scanning the room. “I haven’t seen him in like two hours.”

“Talking to Jihoon, I think,” Soonyoung answered absently, focused on his meal. “He lost another co-pilot today.”

“Not again,” you and Seungcheol both blurted, matching levels of exasperation.

“That was freaky,” Wylie said, just as Chan told you, “You two are acting like us, now.”

“We do not need another Chan-and-Wylie,” Seungkwan said seriously, shaking his head.

Seungcheol sent you a sideways, sheepish grin.

“We won’t be,” he promised the group, but his eyes were still on you.

—

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.

“Don’t be nervous,” you told Seungcheol as the tech team worked around you both like a choreographed dance.

“I’m never nervous,” 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.

“It’s only practice,” you reminded him. “And it’s only me.”

He licked his lips quickly, eyes darting to the side and then back to you. Then, he gave you a small nod.

“Normally,” your chief tech - a beautiful woman with jet-black hair named Nainsi - told you, “right now, you would be ready for the drop. In the simulator, we skip that step because we aren’t dropping onto a jaeger. Instead, we’ll engage the pilot to pilot connection protocol sequence.”

You and Seungcheol nod in tandem.

“You’re all good?” Nainsi checks. “Then I’m going back into the tech bay - you’ll hear me through the intercom.”

Alone in the simulator, you met Seungcheol’s gaze and couldn’t 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 didn’t return your smile, instead giving you a tight nod, expression serious.

Over the intercom, you said clearly, “Ready and aligned.”

Nainsi answered, “Prepare for neural handshake.”

You took a deep breath and steeled yourself as the artificial voice of the simulator’s tech system spoke around you, 3… 2… 1… neural handshake initiating…

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 Seungcheol’s childhood home. You didn’t 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.

“It’s not real,” you reminded him gently. “It’s just a memory.”

“I know,” he said back, voice hushed, as if he might scare them away. “It’s just… good to see them.”

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, you’re 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… 1…

“It’s only a memory,” 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 disengaged…

“Seungcheol!” you yelled, pulling your helmet off and wheeling on him as best you could with most of your body still strapped in. “What the hell was that? You pushed me out!”

He was breathing hard, eyes a little wild. “Not that,” he said, a little ragged. “I’ll let you in but - not that.”

“You don’t get to choose!” you snapped. Part of you knew this was just growing pains, he’d 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. “It’s kind of an all-or-nothing thing!”

He let out a billow of air, reaching a hand up to rub at his face. “Sorry. I’ll… let’s try again.”

You didn’t answer, fuming silently instead.

“I’m sorry, Cherry,” he said. “The stuff with my dad…”

“You can’t cherry-pick what we see and what we don’t,” you fired back. His eyes shot to yours and his mouth quirked and you read the joke all over his face. “Don’t you laugh, Seungcheol, it’s not funny!”

But you were laughing through the scolding.

“Stop,” you whined.

Your anger defused, he looked at you again, taking a bracing breath. “It’s not about you,” he tried to explain. “I’m not keeping you out. I’m keeping me out.”

“Don’t chase the rabbit,” you told him, shaking your head. “See what it wants you to see and move on. Find the next door. If you stand there and let your hurt - or your, I don’t know… grief - rise up… that’s when we’re going to have trouble.”

“Find the next door,” he repeated, eyes on the floor. “Got it.”

“You can’t push it away,” you reminded him, “but you don’t have to stay in it, either.”

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.

“Seungcheol.”

He turned to look at you, wide-eyed, but you hadn’t 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 don’t have to stay, to remind him that he could move forward. Instead, you heard yourself say, “I’m here.”

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 father’s 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.

—

It got easier quickly. Seungcheol’s ability to press on, to maintain focus, strengthened.

The strolls through your mind went easier - you’d had years to practice maintaining focus, waiting until after to let the emotions hit you.

Seungcheol learned to be ready for you, after. He’d sit with you, silent, and breathe in tandem as you worked to let go, to release the images of Charron’s Revenge on the tech bay screen, the sounds of your parents’ frantic communication as they fought together, the fear crawling its way up your legs every time until someone in the bay said, “Charron’s Revenge, cleared to return.” 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.

“Seungcheol!” you called across the mess hall, practically racing to your table. He turned, eyebrows raised, as you crossed the large room.

“We’re approved to drop!” you told him excitedly. It churned in you - finally, finally you could fight, you could prove what you could do, you could help. “We’re on the drop schedule for tomorrow!”

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 didn’t go off, because you weren’t on duty, weren’t 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.

“Cat-3 in the west bay,” someone shouted.

“Deploying Devil’s Advocate!”

You reached the tech bay, trying to stay out of the way but not unseen. When the Marshall strode by, you stepped sideways.

“Let us drop,” you said quickly, knowing time was precious. “It’ll be like practice. We can be back-up. We’ll hang back.”

“Absolutely not,” the Marshall said, already moving to work past you. “You’re not approved yet. We don’t need a liability right now.”

“We’re scheduled for tomorrow!” you protested, and then you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“We’ll get our turn,” Seungcheol told you quietly. Of course he’d come out, of course he found you.

You deflated. “It could have been us. We are hours from approval.”

He gave your shoulder a tiny shake. “We’ll get our turn,” he repeated. “Don’t make trouble.”

You glowered, but you knew he was right. “Fine,” 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, “Devil’s Advocate, cleared to return.”

Only then did you try to go back to sleep. Seungcheol gave your shoulder one more squeeze.

“Tomorrow,” he promised.

“Tomorrow,” you repeated.

—

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 planner’s 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 you’re 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.

“She looks sick,” he said, the grin taking over his face.

“I can’t wait to fuck shit up,” you murmured, your reverent tone at odds with the flippancy of your words.

“Ready?” the Marshall asked you, coming up to your left. “We’ll get you calibrated and dropped, and then you’ll do a lap of the bay. We’re sending out Pretty Savage just in case you run into trouble.”

The defensiveness rose in you quick, like a snakebite.

“We don’t need a babysitter,” 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.

“It’s just safety protocol.” The Marshall was unphased by the outburst. “Have fun, you two. Enjoy your first joy-ride.”

You screamed when you dropped, the exhilaration rushing out of you as Duellona Fury fell story after story before slowing and attaching to your jaeger’s mainframe.

Goosebumps raised along your arms when the Shatterdome’s 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 Seungcheol’s delight, his low-simmering desire to fight, to do something a perfect mirror of your own.

“How is it?” Soonyoung’s voice crackled in your ears, reminding you that Pretty Savage wasn’t far behind you.

“Incredible,” Seungcheol answered him, at the same time that you said, “It’s everything.”

It didn’t matter that you came from a family of pilots. It didn’t 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.

—

The west bay became Duellona’s 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.

“Come in, Duellona Fury,” Nainsi’s voice came through. “We have a reading just a few miles north of you. Cat-2. Approaching at -”

Duellona Fury was turning due north before the command was even given.

“Are you ready for this?” you shouted to Seungcheol as Duellona slid through the water, the adrenaline singing in your system already.

“You know I am,” 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.

“Let’s fucking go,” 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 Duellona’s shoulder, knocking you back several steps. Beside you, Seungcheol roared as sparks flew near the bite.

“Are we breached?” you yelled, trying to steady your balance again.

“Not yet!” 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.

“Cherry!” Seungcheol yelled, desperation laced in his voice. “Cherry, don’t fight me!”

“Move with me!” you answered, and he did, miraculously, Duellona dodging left before an incoming attack.

Don’t fight me.

You rocked forward with Seungcheol as soon as you were clear of the kaiju’s trajectory, just as you’d done in practice thousands of times. Back in sync, Duellona Fury landed a kick to the kaiju’s middle that sent it stumbling.

“We’ve got him,” you said, feeling a win.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” 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.

Duellona’s 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.

“I don’t think we can hold it,” you managed through grit teeth.

“We’ve got this,” your partner promised, and with a mighty shove, you managed to flip the beast over your shoulder and beneath the waves.

“Drop the bombs and head for the east side,” you said quickly, already moving. Duellona Fury followed your command, turning and starting an easy run through the bay’s 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.

“Ready?” Seungcheol asked, a little breathless. “Are we far enough away?”

“Light him up,” you replied. Seungcheol reached up and tapped the button; somewhere behind you, the ocean exploded.

—

“How’s your shoulder?” you asked, later, in the med bay.

“Not that bad,” Seungcheol said, but you could see the blood-stains on the bandaging.

“It won’t happen again,” you promised. “I think I just… practiced alone for so long. I forgot to listen. I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol shook his hand, eyes finding yours. “There’s nothing to forgive, Cherry. Forget about it.” Then, he brightened. “You know what I want to do?”

“What?” you asked, not entirely past feeling guilty.

His smile was devilish. “I want to go celebrate our first fucking kill.”

– 

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. 

Seventy-two mainframe repairs.

Twenty-eight achievement awards.

Nine television interviews.

Six upgrades.

One ill-informed “vacation” during which you both itched with anxiety, spending the whole time messaging your friends back in the Shatterdome desperately, praying you wouldn’t miss a fight in which you were needed.

Seven hundred and thirty days of living in and around Seungcheol’s mind and heart. But that stat should’ve gone first.

It was a good high. Your team had a good run.

It wasn’t 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 couldn’t bear to be without, that he was part of you. But they weren’t.

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. 

You were twenty-three, on a routine patrol, when Mission Control radioed Duellona that there was a reading in the bay.

“Looks like it’s only a Cat-1,” Mission Control told you.

“On it,” you told them, feeling your body already mirroring Seungcheol’s as Duellona picked up her pace, striding through the waves. 

You glanced sideways at him, and immediately wished you hadn’t. He was already zoned in, eyes focused and jaw sharp as he concentrated. 

He caught your gaze for only a second. “Focus, Cherry,” he cautioned. “Don’t get cocky.”

“I would never,” you retorted, and he laughed. You were both cocky; you both knew it.

For a second, things felt better. 

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 you’d been sent for. 

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 other’s. 

This is what happens when sunlight hits morning dew: it warms, lifts, makes the air humid and sticky until it burns away. 

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. 

You panicked, tried to do several things at once - tried to shove the feeling down, tried to think of something else, tried to push Seungcheol’s consciousness out of yours.

Duellona Fury lurched around you, shuddering. 

“Cherry!” Seungcheol screamed to your left, and then the kaiju hit, its full weight slamming into Duellona’s mainframe.

You both staggered, trying to right yourselves, as the machines around you blinked and beeped and rebooted. 

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.

“Recalibrate faster!” 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. 

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.

“What was that?” Seungcheol demanded, later, as he sat in the med bay, waiting for his nosebleed to stop. The nosebleed you’d caused by letting him carry a neural load meant for two.

“I don’t know,” you lied, still panicked and desperate. 

“Bullshit,” Seungcheol countered, eyes narrowed. He reached up and pulled the cotton away from his face, examining it. “I’m fine now,” he announced, and tossed the wad into a nearby trash bin, standing.

You fought the urge to cower, knowing he’d 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, “What happened, Cherry? You pushed me out.”

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.

“I don’t know,” you repeated. Guilt poked at you until you relented, gave him something that was at least partly true.  “I got scared.” 

“That can’t happen, and you know it,” he said seriously, his large frame casting a long shadow to your left as he leaned into your space. “You can’t keep secrets - that’s piloting 101. We’ve got to handle it. You know what’s at stake here.”

You did; you did, and that was entirely the problem. It wasn’t just feelings, it wasn’t 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 parents’ wall of pictures flashed in your mind.

“I’m going to my mom and dad’s for a while,” you said quietly. 

He nodded, let you run away - trusted you to come back to him when you were ready, trusted you to let him in.

You weren’t sure if he was right or wrong, as you walked away and left him behind.

You didn’t go to your parents’, 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 jaeger’s torso, until someone dropped into the spot next to you, bumping their shoulder roughly into yours.

“Where’s Seungcheol?” Wylie, who co-piloted Fury Striker with Chan, was your closest friend in the Dome besides Seungcheol. 

“He’s pissed at me,” you answered, looking sideways, because the question had really meant, why isn’t Seungcheol with you? 

You weren’t sure she’d 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.

“What’d you do?” 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.

“Almost got us killed by a fucking Cat-1 tonight,” you muttered, angry at yourself, angry at your heart.

Wylie smacked your arm hard enough to send you sideways. “Cherry!” she scolded. 

“There was something I didn’t want him to see.” You said it in your head first, weighed the words, then forced them through your teeth. You hoped she’d just know what it was, hoped you wouldn’t have to force those words past muscle and bone, too.

Wylie’s face dropped into irritation. “Cherry,” she repeated, disappointment dripping from the two syllables.

You looked up at Duellona Fury again. 

“You can’t do that,” she told you, giving your ankle a little kick for emphasis. “You know you can’t do that.”

You can’t love him? Or, you can’t keep secrets from him?

You didn’t ask. You didn’t 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.

“Hey?” you tried meekly.

He nodded. Licked his lips. Stood. 

He’s pissed at me, you’d told Wylie. The energy radiating from your co-pilot was much more complex than that, the air around you palpably tense and teetering.

“How was it at your parents’?” he asked, voice low. 

You took one tentative step closer. “I didn’t go,” you admitted. One lie between you was already more than you wanted. “I watched them patch up Duellona instead. Talked to Wylie a little.”

He nodded, eyes still on you. Nervousness coursed through you, but it would be a lie - another one - to say it wasn’t 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, there’d be no question. He’d know all of it. The attraction, the desire, the fear, the affection, the love, the need. All of it. 

His eyes caught on a bruise peeking out from the short sleeve of your top. “You should’ve had them look at that,” 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. 

You shook your head. “You needed attention first. You carried the neural load alone.” Because of me.

“Only for a minute.”

“A minute too long. I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

It hung between you. You don’t know if you’d inched forward or he had, or both, but you were close enough to touch now when you hadn’t been just seconds ago.

He lifted his eyes, his gaze locking on yours. In the dim room, his eyes shone black. “You pushed me out.”

It was an accusation, but it was also a question.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, barely able to say it, your voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. “Seungcheol, I was scared.”

Maybe he was in your head. Maybe he did know all of it.

“Don’t be,” he told you. “Don’t be scared.”

His arms were around you though you didn’t see him move. It wasn’t the first time you’d 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 you’d 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. 

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 don’t 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 you’d wanted, everything you were afraid of, everything you needed, everything that could rip your life apart.

You didn’t 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.

“Cherry,” 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. 

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. 

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.

“Yours,” 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 couldn’t 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. 

He pressed his hips into you without reservation, your core clenching in response to the movement and the friction. 

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 he’d 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. 

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. 

You reached up to slide your thumb along his jaw and his eyes fluttered closed, his breath leaving him as in relief, as if you’d made some kind of admission. 

Making love to Seungcheol felt like drifting. His eyes on you as his fingers pulled you apart felt the same as the careful way he’d watch you when your memories got emotional, like he was watching for any sign that you weren’t okay, that you needed more or less or him. 

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 father’s memory; both times, his fingers laced through yours and held tight until you could both breathe again.

He felt how you’d 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 didn’t 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 didn’t say the words that your lips tried to form - it’s so much, go slow for a little, Seungcheol, I love you, more - please, don’t stop. Maybe he heard them. Maybe this was a different way to drift, one that didn’t 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 couldn’t help but close them as they rolled back, your toes curling. 

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. “Cherry… Cherry…”

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. “Cheol,” you whispered. My Cheol. My everything. You didn’t say the rest as you lay together in the quiet, in the dark, your heartbeats competing. 

You didn’t know that you’d drifted together for the last time. You didn’t know that your ability to neural connect could be broken.

–

The wind whips around you, stinging your face. You barely flinch. When you’d 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. 

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. You’ve 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. 

Being unable to pilot, unable to fight. 

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. 

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 you’d swear it was at least a hundred. 

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 you’d first come, you’d 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. 

As you cross the courtyard between the trainers’ dorms and the mess hall, you breathe deeply, eyes on the birds alight above you. After a lifetime in the Shatterdome, you don’t take for granted the fresh air you’re afforded as you pass between buildings, outside, the sky open and changing above. You don’t 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. 

It was Seungcheol you could blame - at least halfway - for your relocation here, where there wasn’t a jaeger or even a city for hundreds of miles. 

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.

“You’re later than normal,” one of the other instructors notes as you reach for a piece of bread.

You shrug lightly, unbothered. “Still have plenty of time before the first class. What day is today, Thursday? I’ve got the little ones first, right?”

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. 

You’re 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 haven’t figured out how that happened. 

It would be a lie to say this wasn’t fulfilling, that you didn’t love the girls you cared for, that you weren’t 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 Seungcheol’s 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 you’d 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.

“Don’t do this,” Seungcheol had begged, and that had been the nail in the coffin.

Don’t do this, he’d 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 didn’t tell him you were asking to be reassigned. You didn’t want to give him the chance to say don’t do this a second time.

You’ve just ended a class, the girls starting to filter out through the training room’s side door towards the mess hall for lunch, when the center’s Administrator calls your name from the door.

“There’s a call for you on my line. I have them holding.”

A call? 

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.

You’ve 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. 

You greet the person on the line with your real name. 

“Cherry?”

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 they’ve said it on your weekly calls home.

“It’s me,” you affirm. “Is everything okay? My parents?”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, and you heave a relieved breath. “Everyone is fine. This is official business. I want to call you in.”

You shake your head, frowning, well aware that he can’t see your reaction. Your body has said no, but you force yourself to ask, “Me? Why?”

“We’re down a few teams,” the Marshall says. “And -”

“You’ve got more recruits than places to put them,” you counter before he can finish. “Call one of the new teams up. Call three new teams up. You don’t need me.”

“We do - we need teams with experience, teams that are ready. Not rookies bumbling around looking for mistakes. We need precision. We need Duellona Fury.”

Your Marshall lays out the situation: the teams that are out, the problems they’re having at the breach - less time between attacks, more monsters at once. You’ve seen this before, you all have, and there’s protocol in place - protocol that starts with all hands on deck. 

You shake your head again. From the door, the Administrator of the center watches you seriously, like she knows you’re being taken away. 

“Marshall, with all due respect, I don’t know why you’re calling me,” you admit. “What can I give you? I can’t pilot Duellona.”

Not anymore. 

The Marshall sighs, like he knew this argument was coming and didn’t have a good response. 

“I think you can,” he says finally. “I’m not saying it will be easy, and I’m not saying it will happen quickly or without effort. But I think you can.”

“No,” you say, the first time you’ve voiced it. “You were there. You saw what happened. We can’t drift anymore.”

“You couldn’t then,” he points out. “That was three years ago. You’ve both had a lot of time to…. You’ve both had a lot of time since then. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift… they’ve had time to mellow.”

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 Administrator’s pen. 

He’s 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 you’ve felt every day since you became aware of loving him has only worked its way deeper with time. 

And Seungcheol’s anger? The anger and betrayal he’d leveled at you, when he was sure you were keeping him out of your head on purpose? You couldn’t speak for him, but if you had to guess, there weren’t enough years in a human life to let that hurt mellow into something safe enough to drift with.

“Have you talked to him about this?” You’re afraid of the answer. 

The Marshall hesitates. “Not yet.”

“You might want to do that first,” you point out. “Before flying me back only to have him refuse.” 

The Marshall’s voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Choi will follow orders,” he says evenly, “and so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.”

“You can’t order us into being able to drift again,” you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest. 

“No,” the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, “but I can - and will - order you to try.”

The girls cry when you tell them you’re 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 center’s only beat-up van, waving out the back window as the training center fades away.

It’s 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 you’d lost at the Dome, for the fights you’d 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. 

You’d 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. You’d 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. You’d been scared it would ruin your partnership, your compatibility, your capability to co-pilot.

But that had happened anyway. You almost have to laugh. 

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 ship’s 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.

You’d 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 didn’t, everything between you could have changed - your friendship, your partnership, your ability to drift. It hadn’t seemed worth the risk to lose it all - his presence in your life, your ability to fight together. 

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, you’d 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 ship’s railing, away from the horizon and the sea, away from your mistakes. There’s no use looking back like this. You can’t change it. You aren’t even sure you can fix it.

You were hoping to sleep on the plane, but you’re 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 Seungcheol’s hurt has faded. Maybe, you think, maybe he’s moved on from harboring that anger. Maybe he’ll greet you warmly, maybe you’ll 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 you’d 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 someone’s 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 isn’t getting enough attention, you crave his voice echoing in your head long after he’s gone asleep because you heard him talk to you all day long. 

You crave his lips on yours, his teeth on your neck, his hands on your body, even if you only had it once. You’ve 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 can’t have it - any of it. The daydream isn’t real. Your curse will be to crave it forever, alone.

When you arrive at the Shatterdome, it’s your parents who greet you just inside. For a moment, you’re happy to be back, overcome with emotion as you hug them tight. They’ve aged in these three years. You’ve missed them awfully. You only tell them the latter. 

They walk with you to the Marshall’s office, where you’re meant to report upon arrival. 

You hesitate, covering the moment by tugging your duffle’s strap higher on your shoulder. Your mother reads you anyway, reaching out and giving your shoulder a squeeze. 

“It will be okay,” she whispers. 

Your father catches on. “You’ve faced down worse,” he reasons. 

You disagree. There’s 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 you’ll visit after dinner, and turn to knock on the door.

“Come in,” the Marshall’s voice carries through the door, and you turn the knob and step inside. 

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. He’s 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. 

You don’t know what reaction he’s fighting. You don’t know if he’s feeling happiness or hatred. You don’t know if he’s 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. 

He turns to face the Marshall, to receive orders, so you do the same.

“I trust your travel went well?” 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.

“Your orders,” he says then, a bit of a sigh on his tone - as if he knows the uphill battle this will be, “are to reconnect as best you can. You’ll follow your old schedule. You’ll spar, you’ll meditate, and you’ll talk. After some time, we’ll try the drift again, see if the connection has recovered any.”

Seungcheol’s voice startles you when he speaks. “How long do you imagine it will be before we try?” he asks, just cold enough to have a sliver of sarcasm in it. 

The Marshall’s eyes narrow, just slightly, as if he’d caught it. “That’s entirely up to you two,” he says evenly. “When 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.”

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. 

“Your allotted time in Sparring Room 7 begins on the hour,” he says. This is his way of dismissing you.

In the hallway, you pause. “I’m just going to drop my bag in the dorm,” you say quietly, not looking at Seungcheol. 

He gives a tight nod. “Fine,” 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. You’re 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 you’d spent together.

Neither thing happens. You aren’t overcome by a feeling of nostalgia and love, nor are you inundated by memories of what you’ve lost. Instead, the room feels exactly as it is: empty and still.

Your footsteps’ echoes taunt you as you walk through the kitchen, the sitting area, and into the bedroom. It’s 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, it’s 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 doesn’t 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 don’t 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 he’s 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 Seungcheol’s upper body untense, as if he’d been ready to fight and recognized that you weren’t.

“I’m good,” you mutter quickly, before he can ask. It feels better to lie to him before he actually asks you, like that’s somehow less dishonest. “Let’s go.”

Form One is basic - no hits, no fancy moves. At the training center, you’d 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, you’d tried more than once - do it blindfolded in perfect step with one another. Before. You don’t know if you still can. But, now, unblindfolded, it’s 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. You’ll have to touch for the first time, even if it’s 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 you’d have used this break to chat, but you don’t know what to say to him. You’re scared that he’ll shut down anything you say, whether you choose small talk or go straight for the heart of the problem, and you honestly don’t 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 you’ll spar for real.

You and Seungcheol had done this for years before things went wrong. You’d 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 it’s your first time again.

Seungcheol attacks as you’d 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 won’t be enough - eventually he’ll 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 can’t 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 you’re balancing on. You crash to the ground, heaving a breath and taking quick inventory.

You aren’t hurt. Not this time.

“Get up, Cherry,” he says darkly, moving back to the center to start again. “And don’t do that shit again.”

He comes at you full force in the next match, too. You dodge and weave, but you don’t try to strike. You know he knows it; this isn’t how it used to work. You can almost feel him get angrier as you fight, but you can’t 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.

“If you’re not going to fight, then leave,” he spits.

“Would if I could,” you retort without thinking. You mean that you don’t 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.

“I didn’t mean -” you start, and Seungcheol takes your arms and flips you over his shoulders.

“Don’t waste my fucking time,” he says, brushing his hands together and stepping back to give you room to pick yourself up.

“Don’t curse at me,” 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.

“Seungcheol,” 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.

“Cheol,” you try again. “Listen to me.”

“Marshall scheduled us time to talk later,” he says flatly. “Right now we’re scheduled to fight. So fight me, Cherry. Let’s go.”

The rest of the hour continues the same. By the time it’s over, Seungcheol storms out without speaking to you, furious over every single pulled punch.

You don’t know what to do to make it all better.

You shower quickly, dressing in dry linens, and then re-emerge for the hours you’re 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.

You’re wrong; trying to meditate together is just as desperately fruitless as sparring had been.

You can’t focus at all - can’t 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 can’t stop watching him, hoping you’ll see him relax, hoping you’ll see the moment that he lets go.

He doesn’t.

“Your eyes are supposed to be closed,” he murmurs, and you feel your face heat, embarrassed that he knew you were watching him.

“I can’t,” you admit. Maybe, you think, you should just be brutally honest, starting now. It’s not like you could make this worse. “I can’t stop noticing how angry -”

“Then stop pissing me off,” he snaps, eyes opening. “Just a suggestion.”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” you cry, and push yourself to stand. You’re not sure why - maybe just to pace. “You never used to talk to me like this. Who are you?”

He looks at the floor, the first sign of guilt you’ve seen since you came home.

“Fine,” he finally bites back, and you know it’s as close to sorry as you’ll get. “I’ll reign it in. Sit back down.”

You shift your weight, arms crossed defensively across your chest, and close your eyes, deciding.

“Sit down, Cherry,” he repeats, and it’s gentler now. That’s what makes you cave, and you settle back across from him.

He’s less tense this time, so you eventually manage to close your eyes and count your breaths. But you’re 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 it’s 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 you’re 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 won’t do any good, and you know it.

He was yours - you had him, you knew him, you could reach out to him and he’d pick you up. You’d taken it for granted, and you’d run away from it. You’d chosen to let it go, and now all you get is this: Seungcheol, cold and closed. Seungcheol, hating you for everything that happened.

—

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 haven’t 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.

“I missed you both so much,” you whisper, the only vulnerability anyone’s going to get out of you today.

“Then don’t leave again!” Wylie snaps, but you know the admonishment is full of love.

“I can’t promise,” you admit. Honestly, you’ve already made up your mind - you want to go back to Alaska. You’re not wanted here, not by the person who matters. What good are you, taking up a bed, if you can’t drift?

You’ve already given up hope that he’ll come around.

Seated at the table, you listen while your friends fill you in on what you’ve missed in three years - the fights in the bay, the new teams of pilots, the illnesses and injuries. You almost don’t notice Seungcheol silently takes a seat on Jeonghan’s other side, but something in you prickles, like you’ve sensed him.

The tension around the table heightens; the conversation goes a little stilted. When it’s apparent that he’s going to ignore you two seats down from him, Wylie slaps her hand flat on the tabletop.

“Come on, Seungcheol,” she scolds, and you’re sure no one wonders what she means.

His face goes dark so quickly it’s alarming. “Don’t,” 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, Chan’s eyes pingpong between them. He’s probably wondering if he should hold her back or join her.

“It’s fine,” you mutter, grabbing your tray and making to rise. “I’ll go.”

“Cherry, no,” Wylie protests, and then turns a glower onto your ex-co-pilot as if to say see what you did?

“It’s fine,” you repeat, standing. “I told my mom and dad I’d come by.”

You slink out before anyone else can argue.

You can’t 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 can’t have him anymore. He isn’t yours, not anymore.

When you return to your dorm, he’s already in bed, the lights out. He’s 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 don’t try to talk to him. You just go to bed.

—

You spend four days identically - fighting while sparring, not meditating, and avoiding Seungcheol’s ice-out. On the fifth day, your Marshall loses patience and changes your schedule. Your entire day is blocked to working on Duellona’s mainframe - buffing, repainting, greasing, and anything else you’re able to handle on your own.

“Since you can’t do anything else useful,” he adds, and you avoid Seungcheol’s eyes, ashamed.

Standing under Duellona’s unlit frame fills you with guilt. It feels like you’re 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. You’re not sure if it’s 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. “What are we doing?” you ask, and you hear the tool Seungcheol had been using cling loudly as he sets it down.

“Following orders?” he says, stepping around Duellona’s side to look at you. “Fixing up the jaeger?”

“Fixing up the jaeger we don’t get to pilot?” you ask, sitting back up to look at him better.

“Is that what you’re here for?” he asks, the sudden ferocity of it surprising you. “To fight? Is that why you came back?”

You reach up to the walkway’s railing and pull yourself up. You feel yourself frowning at his question, at the heat behind it. 

“I’m back because the Marshall gave me an order,” you say slowly. 

“And that’s it?” he demands. 

You stare at him. You feel sure there’s more to the question, more that he’s asking. You feel sure, after knowing Choi Seungcheol down to the last molecule, that he’s really asking, you didn’t come back for me?

And it confuses you. You try to think about your split from his perspective: you’d shut him out, then slept with him, and then vanished. You’d 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 he’s disgusted with you. “I should have known,” he says coldly. “Princess of the Shatterdome, I should have known you only cared about piloting - about your legacy.”

This is something you’ve never said to him - that your desire to shine as brightly as your parents has weighed on you. This is something he’d pulled from the drift, something he only knew from tiptoeing around your mind before a fight. 

“That isn’t fair,” you say, your voice hard. “Is there another reason I should have come back? I’d love to hear it.”

He hears the challenge as it is - you didn’t 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.

“Exactly,” you say curtly. The victory stings. It doesn’t feel like a win at all. “The bottom line is I’m here now, and we can pilot again if we can get our shit together.”

He shakes his head. “You left,” he says finally. “That’s the bottom line. You decided you were out, you decided you didn’t want me in your head, and then you left.”

He watches you, waits for you to say something. When you don’t, he lets out a derisive little laugh. “We’re both wasting our time here. The drift won’t work. We aren’t going to fix it.”

For the first time, fear slices through you like steel. “You can’t know that,” you say. You hear the fear in the way your voice comes out low and rounded, barely sounding like you at all.

“I can,” he retorts. “You know how I know? Because I don’t want to. You wanted me out of your head so badly? You got it. Can’t turn back now.”

He heads for the ladder, swings around and finds the third rung down with ease.

“So that’s it?” you ask his retreating form. Your heart is hammering and you’re starting to get tunnel vision. 

The only answer he gives you are his feet hitting each new rung with a clunk and a vibration that rattles up your legs.

—

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 Marshall’s 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.

“Requesting an audience,” you say flatly, fighting the instinct to cross your arms defensively.

He glances at his watch. “Five minutes.”

You step inside but leave the door open.

“I’m requesting transfer back to Alakanuk,” you tell him as evenly as you can manage. You’re sure he’s not surprised. “Seungcheol has made it very clear that we won’t be fighting together again. If that’s the case, then I can’t do anything useful here. But in Alakanuk I can.”

You pause, looking to see if you can read anything on the Marshall’s face - any hint that he’s considering what you’re saying, or that it’s a lost cause. He gives you nothing.

“Please,” you say. “Those girls need me. If I can’t help here, I can help them.”

The Marshall tilts his head just slightly. “Surely anyone can teach little girls the forms.”

You shake your head. “It’s more than that, and you know it. It’s not about the forms. I love those girls. I came back here to follow orders, and I tried. But if it isn’t going to happen… Please, don’t make me waste time here if I can be with them instead.”

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. “If,” he says, and your eyes widen with hope, “your co-pilot agrees, then I will reassign you back to Alaska. But only if he will agree.”

“No problem,” 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 Marshall’s 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. That’s always how it was, before.

You look at him disdainfully. “I assume you heard that conversation?”

He nods, once.

“So?” you ask. “Will you tell him you approve, so I can go?”

For the first time since you returned, Seungcheol smiles, tight and sarcastic.

“No,” he says easily, like it’s kind of funny.

Fury erupts inside you; you can’t even pinpoint where in your body it stems from. “Why?” you demand. “Because you feel like I took something from you, so you want to take something from me?”

He doesn’t respond to this. You know you’re right. You know him. You know his mind.

“I hate to fuck up your narrative,” you spit at him, “but I’ve lost out here just as much as you have. You’re not the only one who lost the ability to fight. You’re not the only one who lost their partner.”

You wish you could tell him the rest - you’re 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 you’d had to harbor your broken heart.

He shakes his head. “Poor baby,” he bites sarcastically, and then takes off down the hallway, into the dark.

—

You stop sleeping at the dorm. Sometimes you sleep at your parents’, sometimes on Wylie and Chan’s 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 Dome’s 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 isn’t 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, you’d been unwilling to hit Seungcheol. You’d been feeling guilty for hurting him, sad for your time apart, hopeful that if you were soft to him, then he’d be soft back to you.

Now, you’re fucking furious.

For the first time, when the match begins, you hit him first. He’s 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 he’s 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 can’t get a hit on you either - you’re too quick, spurred on by fury. You’ve been angry in a fight before. But you’ve 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.

“Shit!” you cry, hurrying closer. “I’m so sorry! Are you bleeding? Let me look.”

“‘M fine,” 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.

“You’re gonna have a fat lip,” you tell him regretfully. “But nothing’s bleeding. Teeth look okay. Anything loose in there?”

He pokes around his teeth with his pinky. “Nope.”

You take a step back, cowed. “I’m really sorry.”

He laughs a little, wryly. “I bet you feel better, though.”

You bite back a smile. “Actually…” you say, and he laughs again. You both do.

Somehow, this seems to be the thing that cracks the anger you’ve both been encased in, unable to move forward or backward. You feel melted, and you wonder if he feels freer now, too.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you say. You mean the kick, but the words land heavy.

He avoids your gaze. “I need some water,” 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.

“Hey,” he says, and you look over, brows raised in anticipation. “Tell me about Alaska.”

You can’t help but smile.

“It’s so beautiful,” you tell him. “God, Cheol, the ocean there. And the birds, and the snow…”

He’s 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 that’s mostly just following the eighth form. It includes some hits and blocks, but you both do them gently, easily, circling each other slowly.

“So you liked it?” he asks. You can hear how hard he’s working to make it sound casual.

“It was so beautiful,” you admit before ducking below a kick. “But it was also… really hard.”

“What was the best part?” 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. “Weirdly, it was taking care of them outside of class. We - the instructors - we kind of their moms, away from home, you know? I’m the one who knew Yejin won’t sleep unless someone sits by her bed for a while. I’m the one that knew that Farrah and Salome only argue because they’re competitive. I’m the one that knew that Maria and Anjali don’t know their times-tables, that Ximena can’t brush her own hair, or that Iseul is allergic to fish. I loved them. I loved knowing them.”

He looks at you for a long time. “Maybe you should go back,” he says finally.

It feels like a trap. 

You look at the floor, at the wall, then finally back at him. “If you’ll do this for real,” you say carefully, “then I’d rather be here. If we’re actually trying, then I don’t want to go.”

He’s quiet for a long time. Finally, he swallows hard, not looking at you.

“What was the worst part?”

There’s only one answer.

“Missing you,” you say. “Losing you.”

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.

–

You have a hunch on where you can find him, and you head to the jaeger bay. Sure enough, he’s sitting below Duellona, knees to his chest, staring up at her.

You sit next to him and he doesn’t get up and leave, which you take as a good sign.

“I can’t do this if you’re not all in,” he tells you without looking at you. “You walked away from me once. I can’t let you back in my head if there’s any possibility you’ll walk away again. If you’re with me, I need you to be with me.”

Something prickles in the back of your head. You feel like you’re starting to realize something - the seed of an understanding is pushing delicately through the dirt, but hasn’t yet spread out its leaves under the warmth of the sun yet.

Something about his hurt. Something about why.

“I think we should try to drift,” you tell him.

This seems to startle him - he forgets to be cold, turns to look at you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I can tell you how much I missed you,” you reason, “and tell you about how I spent every minute just… steeped in regret. Or we can walk through it - you can see for yourself.”

You know what you’re risking. If he gets into your head now, he’ll see it all - he’ll know everything, he’ll be able to feel for himself the depth of your loss, the height of your love. 

But what’s the harm, now? You can’t lose him twice. Maybe it’ll be enough for him to realize you hadn’t left him because you didn’t care about him. Maybe it’ll be enough for his forgiveness. 

Maybe then, he’ll tell the Marshall to let you go back to Alakanuk. 

It’s Seungkwan you bother, since he’d 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 you’d tried this, the neural handshake hadn’t even connected. There had just been nothing.

The second you hear neural handshake initiating, you almost sob with relief. You can’t even pay attention to the memories - Seungcheol’s 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 you’ve jogged through together hundreds of times: his first home, his school, his father’s hospital room, the Dome. Then you slow your pace, because this is new.

You’re facing the landing dock on the Shatterdome’s 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 chopper’s open door. You watch yourself leave, remember how hard it was to not look back.

You hadn’t known that Seungcheol had been there, that he had seen you go.

The pain that accompanies the memory hits you like you’re drowning, like it’s too deep and you can’t feel the bottom, and you feel the machinery falter around you.

“Hey,” you say quietly. “I’m with you.”

He nods, still doesn’t look at you. But the beeping stops, the connection holding. 

There’s knowledge in this memory, knowledge in this pain. Seungcheol’s 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 can’t stay here, can’t let him wallow in the memory of pain. You had to move forward - that’s how the drift works. Reluctantly you step towards the door, glancing over your shoulder to see if he’s following. 

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. You’re watching yourselves in Seungcheol’s bed. Thankfully, you’re 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. 

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.

“Seungcheol,” you whisper. Around you, the scene begins to flicker, the connection starting to react to the oversaturation of emotion.

“We can talk about it after,” he says, voice hard. “Don’t stay in it. Find the next door.”

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 he’d pushed you away, thinking that he scared you into running.

“Cherry,” he warns. “The drift can’t -”

You know. 

And you owe him your side of the story.

You take a steeling breath and head for the door. You don’t take his hand. You don’t know if you deserve to, if he’d want you to.

When you step through the doors, you’re confused - you’re 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. 

You feel the emotion the memory holds, which means Seungcheol does, too.

Fear. It’s still fear - fear that he’ll know, fear that what you just did together will make it worse, make it harder to hide. 

Beside you, Seungcheol’s eyes go wide. 

“We have to move on,” you tell him. He looks at you, then back at the memory. 

“You -?” he starts to ask.

“After,” you tell him firmly. “We’ll talk after.”

You open the door, and you’re suddenly outside, surrounded by white.

Alaska.

The emotion knocks you over with the fury of an ocean wave - even though you know you’re 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 didn’t know before, he has to know now. There’s no way he couldn’t.

Seungcheol squeezes your hand, and you almost jump. You look down at your linked fingers in shock, then up at him, eyes wide.

“We should go back and talk about this,” he tells you, but his grip on you is firm, assuring.

“Okay. It’s this way,” you tell him, trying to breathe, and you lead him by the hand through the snow. The fog strengthens as you walk, until you can’t see anything but grey, can’t see anything but Seungcheol’s 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 Fury’s conn-pod.

As you begin to work on the straps, you call through the intercom, “Kwan? We… need some privacy. We’ve got to talk - alone.”

His voice crackles back at you. “Yes, I’m leaving, I’m already gone. If you hear popcorn crunching, no you don’t.”

Seungcheol gives you a flat look. “Let’s go home and talk,” he suggests.

Home.

You are so afraid and so hopeful. You don’t know how to juggle both.

Back in your small living space, you sit like you’re meditating.

“Let’s figure this out,” he says. “No lies.”

“No lies,” you agree. Your knees touch, and you reach to take his hands. He lets you, giving your fingers a squeeze.

“You knew,” you say first, bordering on accusation. “I was trying so hard to hide how I felt about you… but you knew.”

He nods, his eyes on you. “And you,” he says slowly, “didn’t… know? That I knew?”

You shake your head, confirming. “I didn’t know. I thought I hid it.”

He smiles at you, a little placating. “Not as well as you would have liked.”

“And you…” You chicken out, swallow, force yourself to be brave. “You… loved me, too?”

He nods. “I did.” 

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.

“We felt the same,” you echo into your shins. “You loved me.”

“Cherry,” he says above you, his voice like a plea. “I don’t understand why - when we… when I… I felt like once I forced you to look at it, it was too much. You ran.”

You sit with this for a minute, stunned and processing. His hands are back in yours, which you take as a good sign. 

“You thought… wait. You thought, after that night, that I knew how you felt, too?”

He nods. “I thought you knew,” he says, confusion still present in his tone. “I thought we both knew. I thought if it was out in the open, the glitch in the drift would be fixed.”

You wipe at your face, trying to breathe. “And instead,” you realize, “we couldn’t 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.”

He looks at you in wonder. “That’s why you left,” he breathes, and you know he’s understanding this for the first time. “You thought we made the problem worse.”

It’s your turn to nod. “After we…I mean, I knew if I couldn’t hide it from you before that night, there was no chance I’d 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.”

The words lay bloody between you, but his grip on your hands is strong, and you take another breath.

You push on, adding, “I was afraid it would be too much. I was afraid everything would change.”

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. “We’re so fucking stupid,” he says, and you splutter out a laugh.

“We really are.”

“I can’t believe we lost three years over that,” he says.

“I can’t believe you thought it was your fault that I left.”

“I can’t believe you left in the first place.”

This makes you smile, guilty. “That’s fair.”

You push yourself to stand; Seungcheol mirrors you, as if you’re already in the neural handshake, bodies working in tandem. 

“Cherry,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “It could never be too much. I love you. I’m crazy about you. I’m only me when I’m with you.”

You remember him, the night you’d slept together, telling you, don’t be afraid. He’d told you, after all, and you’d 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 don’t wander this time - instead he holds you so firmly it almost hurts, like he won’t let you move an inch, won’t let you out of his grasp ever again.

You cradle his face between your hands, let your teeth gently scrape along his bottom lip. “Cheol,” you whisper, then kiss him again. “You’re everything.” It’s what you should have said aloud the night you’d 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.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t just say it.”

“Me too,” you tell him, holding him just a little tighter. “I should never have tried to hide it from you in the first place.”

He kisses your temple, and you hold each other, silently, each grappling with the time you’d wasted apart. 

You’re interrupted by a knock. You break apart, puzzled. You’re even more puzzled to see your Marshall at the door, and Seungkwan literally bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.

“I’ve heard your drift is working again,” the Marshall says dryly. 

You look over your shoulder at Seungcheol, grinning. “Seems like it.”

“There’s a Cat-1 reading in the bay. I was about to alarm for Pretty Savage to drop, but Savage’s team insisted I give you the opportunity first. They can follow as backup. How do you feel?”

Seungcheol is at your side. He looks at you, his face open and raw. “Well?” he asks you. “Are you in, or are you out?”

“I’m in,” you tell him seriously. “I’m with you.”

You thrum with excitement as a tech team helps strap you into the drive-suits, and you can’t help but shoot Seungcheol a wild grin, your happiness alive and unbounded. 

You tell mission control - Nainsi, probably, just like the old days - “Ready and aligned.”

Mission Control - definitely Nainsi - responds, “Prepare for neural handshake.”

The artificial voice bounces around you - 3… 2… 1… neural handshake initiating…

Around you, the machines flicker busily. Neural handshake strong and holding. Now calibrating…

You’re 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 hadn’t seen in years. You resist the urge.

“Ready to drop?”  He looks sideways at you, sly. 

You scoff at him, your own grin cocky and sure, like you’re twenty again, like nothing had ever been broken between you. “Been ready. Let’s light ‘em up.”

– 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!!

[lives-in-midgard]

You Are In Love

Pairing: Evan Buckley x reader

Summary: When you're out with your friends you meet a handsome firefighter. After a while you go on a date and decide to keep your relationship a secret until something happens.

Word Count: 1200

A/N: Hey. This is part of the Buddie-August challenge. This also includes some characters from the Rookie. I hope you like it!

Divider made by @firefly-graphics

Buddie-August hosted by me and @buckys-wintersoldier

Prompt: Kisses

911 Masterlist | Main Masterlist

After a long shift at work one of your colleagues had the idea to go to a bar. You don’t often go to bars with all of them, but today you all finally had time. A lot has changed for you since you started working as a police officer at the Mid-Wilshire Station. You found a lot of friends there and you love your job.

“I’m gonna get a drink, would any of you like one too?” You asked the others.

“Could you get me another one of these.” Lucy said, pointing at her drink and you nodded.

“What about you Tim?”

“I’m good, thanks.” He said, smiling at you. When the others said they didn’t need anything, you made your way over to the bar. While you were waiting in line for drinks, a cute guy stood next to you and waited as well. Somehow he looked familiar to you, but you weren’t sure where you had seen him before. He smiled at you and then you suddenly remembered him. You could never forget that smile.

“You’re firefighter Buckley, right?” You asked and he chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s me. Wait and you are officer L/n.”

“You can call me y/n.” You said with a smile.

“Only if you call me Buck because that’s what everyone calls me.”

“Okay, deal.” You said and he had that sweet smile again. You talked for a few more minutes until your drinks were ready.

“See you around, Buck.”

“See you and be safe.” He said and watched as you walked back to your table. You handed Lucy her drink and sat down next to Tim again.

“Who was this guy?” Tim asked curious.

“Oh, just a friend.” You answered and Tim nodded. You and Tim have been friends and partners for a long time and over time he has become very protective over you. He always knows when something is wrong and is there for you as best as he can.

The next day you kept thinking about your meeting with Buck. He was so sweet and you hope to see him again. You didn’t think you’d see him again soon because just when you had an emergency call and had to call the ambulance, it was the 118 that showed up. You couldn’t really talk to him, but it was great to see each other again.

When you were grocery shopping and walking through the halls someone said your name and when you turned around you saw that it was Buck.

“Hey Buck.” You greeted him with a smile.

“Hey, good to see you.”

“I was wondering if you would like to have a coffee with me sometime?” He suddenly asked.

“Yeah, sure. How about I give you my phone number.” He nodded and pulled out his phone. You tipped in your number and he called you, so you had his number too.

Two days passed until you got a message from Buck. He asked if you were free tomorrow and you agreed to meet after work. At work Tim noticed that you were different, happier and more excited. He didn’t ask you about it, but it made him happy to see you happy.

The coffee date with Buck went very well. You talked about everything that came to your mind. You both really enjoyed it and had a great time. He asked you out on a date and that date turned into another date and suddenly you were in a happy relationship.

You had been dating for about three months now. Usually you were at his house or yours or sometimes you were going out. Favorite things to do together include cooking, watching movies, going to the beach and you enjoying it when he tells you a story from work and then you tell him some stories too. You’re very happy together and try to spend as much time together as possible, even if it can be a bit difficult due to your work shifts. Some people don’t think a relationship between a police officer and a firefighter is a good idea, so you decided to keep the relationship a secret for a while, which wasn’t always easy especially if you would see him on a call.

Today you have been called into a very difficult situation. You called for backup, but things quickly escalated, and you injured your left arm. Luckily, Officer Harper, Officer Nolan and Officer Bradford arrived at the right time to arrest the person. While Harper and Nolan arrested the person, Tim ran over to you and called an ambulance.

“Tim, I’m aright, it’s just a small scratch.”

“Let’s wait and see what the medics say, okay?” Tim said and put some pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. A few minutes later you could already hear the ambulance driving near you. When the doors opened you could see that it was Buck. As soon as he saw you, he ran towards you.

“Babe, are you okay? What happened?” He asked, looking at your arm. When you looked over, you saw that Tim had a confused look on his face.

“I’m okay, it’s just a small scratch.” You said again.

“Let’s go to the truck and I’ll take a look at it.” Buck said, placed his hand on your back and guided you to the truck. Then he removed the cloth from your wound and gently tried to stop the bleeding. You took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, babe.” He looked into your eyes and tried to smile at you. Then he looked back at the wound.

“The cut isn’t too deep, so it’s okay if I just bandage it.” He said and you nodded. Buck gently put the bandage over your wound and then gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you, honey.”

“Anytime.” He said, then Buck tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and gently pulled you into a passionate kiss. When you broke the kiss, you reached for his hand and smiled at each other.

“I have to go back to work.” You said after a few seconds, even though you didn’t want to say goodbye.

“Me too.” He said, looking over his shoulder to see his friends looking at you both with smiles.

“I guess they all know now.”

“They definitely do.” You said with chuckle. You noticed how happy they all were and then looked over at Tim who was as happy as they were.

“I think I have to go now. See you later.” Buck said and gave you a quick hug.

“See you.” You said, waving at him as you walked away. As you walked to your car, Tim was still standing next to yours and looked at you with a grin.

“Now I know why you’ve been so happy lately.”

“Yeah, Buck makes me really happy.” You confirmed and opened the car door.

You were glad that Tim and Buck’s colleagues now found out about your relationship, but you definitely want to meet them soon on a better occasion. Buck has told you a lot about them, so you’re very excited to meet them.

Taglist:

@cevansbaby-dove | @buckys-wintersoldier

@beaubbdoll

[pinkynana]

am i the asshole? (most likely, yes)

a series where either you or the member does something morally wrong for an unjustified reason. all seven stories are in its own universe so they are not connected in any way. the order of the fics being published are random, not in age order. this may or may not take awhile.

mark - aita for immediately going to comfort my best friend's ex after they broke up so we could link up?

Since the very first time mark saw you, he knew he had to have you. The only problem was that you were introduced as Johnny’s girlfriend to him. Which is why when johnny texted him that the relationship was over, he immediately sprinted to your apartment so he could play the good guy who’s lending a shoulder to lean on while you cried your eyes out. He had it all planned out.

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renjun - aita for being possessive about my childhood best friend’s virginity?

It has been awhile since you last met Renjun. Perhaps your last encounter was right after graduation. You recently came back to your old neighborhood, having drinks with your favorite childhood best friend. And it slipped out of you that you had never had sex, despite a whole semester in college. Renjun took that as an invitation. Afterall, you experienced every one of your firsts with Renjun.

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jeno - aita for seducing my step brother because i got jealous that he got a girlfriend?

It’s been a year since your parents got married and you were officially Lee Jeno’s step sister. Despite living under the same roof, you never really seriously connected with him and it’s all because of your huge crush on him. You didn’t want Jeno to see you as a family member, so you kept your distance. Until he brought home a girl and something inside you just burns at the thought of him sleeping with her.

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haechan - aita for fucking my girlfriend while my webcam was still on so my friends could watch?

Haechan always showed you off to his friends and you didn’t mind it at all. You find it hot anyway. What you didn’t know was the fact that he also always showed your body off to them too. All the times you had recorded your sexy times, all went into Haechan’s friends’ folders.

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jaemin - aita for only agreeing to be friends with benefits with him so i could play with his cats?

You partnered up with Jaemin by chance, not knowing that he was a father to three adorable cats. And to say that you’re a cat person was an understatement. Since then, you always came over to Jaemin’s apartment which resulted in you being under him at some point. If you were saying frankly, you didn’t give a fuck about the sex. All you think about everytime you were there were luna, lucy and luke.

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chenle - aita for hooking up with a random man i met at the club while i was in a fight with my boyfriend?

Your boyfriend always told you that he hated girls at the club, saying that they were easier than prostitutes and such. Which drove you to the decision to go to a club after your hundredth fight with him, just to provoke him. It was never your intention to be in another man’s arms that night.

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jisung - aita for not deleting the nudes that my best friend accidentally sent me?

Jisung knew about your situationship that’s been going on for about five months. He doesn’t know the details, though. Truth be told, it’s embarrassing to admit to him that your situationship barely ever pays attention to you lately. So you decided to take it up a notch by sending him nudes. Which then you only realized 20 minutes later that you sent it to Jisung by mistake.

read here

[inupibaldspot]

I don’t want to hide it!

Pairing : actor!Gojo x actor!Reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : Both you and Gojo are in the entertainment industry and one unspoken rule and maybe somewhere in the contract is that you can never reveal you are in a relationship | artcredit

You breathe out as you look out at the dark starry night, a haze comes into vision indicating how cold it actually was.

There was a buzz in your pocket making you reach into your jacket pocket and smile when the name popped up.

Satoru <3

I’m here,baby. 2:47am

Just then a dark car with also dark tinted glasses drives through and parks near you were standing. You quicken your footsteps as you wave at him. “Don’t come outside.”

“Sorry.” Of course he doesn’t listen. “What did you say?” Gojo steps out of his car as he quicken his steps to you; he was dressed in black from head to toe, with a hat trying to hide his hair and a mask to hide his face. Just like you.

You both were always public’s eyes afterall. Gojo was a singer turned actor who was probably in him prime. You were also an actress,about three years into debut yet you had a huge impactful movies under your name.

Gojo’s hands go over to the door handle of the car and opens it for you, his other hand wraps it to your back as he holds you in. His masked lips places a kiss on your forehead. “You look so divine, babe.”

You laugh. “Even though I’m covered like this.” You bring your hands up where you then place your chin on your hand.

“Of course.” Gojo nuzzles closer. “I can recognize that fat ass anywhere.”

“Gojo!” You shriek out, as you puff at Gojo’s words. The man laughs as he pull away when you are sat in place and closes the car door. He then walks over and sat on the drivers seat.

As soon as his butt hits the car seat, his first reaction is to pull down his mask as he leans into you and places a kiss on your lips, your mask pulled down by his left hand. Your heart takes a leap and you press your lips to his. Instantly, Gojo cradles your face, refusing to separate from you.

Gojo doesn't stop, sensuously kissing every available surface of your lips until he's tired of waiting to kiss your lips once more. You give in and let yourself fall until the point of no return - even if Gojo was the devil incarnate, you would gladly hand over your soul for an eternity of his love.

Building up every once of strength in you, you hold onto his jacket and pull away from the kiss. You blush when Gojo looks at you, face smeared with lipstick. “We shouldn’t stay here for long. We could get caught!”

Gojo growls as his feet place on the clutch and break before driving with the gears in place. “I don’t get why we have to hide it. Our contract has nothing restricting us.”

You sigh. “You know we don’t know how the public will react…” 

Gojo said eyes at you and sees that your eyes were lowered and you were nervously playing with your own fingers. Shit…he made you feel bad.

He forces a smile and places one of his hands on your thigh making you look up at him. “So princess, are you gonna tell me what you’ve been doing today.” He asks.

You smile, the tense air finally dissipates. “I had to shoot an ad at 6am and then a 13 hour shoot in the woods for my new movie.”

“Shit babe.” He says concerned, both his hands on the steering wheel as he makes a turn and parks the car. They were in a secluded area by the river side. “You sure you don’t need to sleep?”

You shake your head as you place one of your hands on Gojo’s face, lips curled into a small. “I want to spend my time with you. Besides, I was taking cat naps in between sets.”

“So what were you doing,my prince?“ Gojo smiles at your words.

“I was watching the avatar the whole day.”

You laugh “yeah?”

“Oh—that’s right!” You clap your hands together as you look at him. “Tomorrow we are scheduled to emcee at that music show.”

“I think I did hear something like that from Ijichi.” Gojo taps his temple when his finger as he remembers his manager in tears begging him to listen. “But I didn’t know we were partners.”

“Satoru…you have to be careful on stage.” You peer in close to him face, eyes begging him to listen. “Don’t be obvious.”

Gojo leans in quick as he pecks your lips making you blush in surprise. “Fine. What ever you say, princess.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The next day,you nervously bite the inside of your cheeks as music blasts in the background; all eyes were focused on the idol group performing right now. Beside you,stands tall Gojo Satoru who has a glow near him as he mentally gushing on how adorable you looked, all dolled up and ready for the camera—so pretty.

Ijichi nervously bits his thumbs,all nervously. The company including him knew about Gojo’s relationship with you, at first the company tried to threaten him to break up with you but then Gojo threatened them back with termination of contract. The company can’t afford to lose their main money maker! So they decide to let the relationship stand but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t beg and pay every paparazzi to not release any pictures.

With every look and smile Gojo gave to you Ijichi’s job was on the line.

Suddenly a different type of music was playing making all idols make way toward you and Gojo; an interview session were to take place.

“Welcome back—!” You smile at the camera then at the ground where the members smiled and bowed back. So pretty.

“Oh my!” You smile cheerfully at the idols who await your expression. So pretty.

“That was such a show! The performance struck right through our hearts!” You smile and look at him, his blue eyes into your. Gojo almost can’t breathe. So pretty.

“Right Gojo-san?” So pretty.

Your beautiful face contours slightly as he takes on a worried expression. “Right Gojo-san!” Oh—right… He was Gojo.

You gulp hard as you quickly look to the idols, “it seems as if Gojo-san is still in awe from your performance.” making the audience laugh. From then on Gojo tried to act normal—he really did! But every time you speak, he is giddy with emotions.

Somewhere in between nervous laughs and in this case, chewing on his nails; a man rushes to him. Breathing heavy as he places a hand on Ijichi’s shoulder. “We’re fucked…”

Ijichi gulps.

The man who came up to him, one of Gojo’s managers lift up his phone where what is written on the screen.

[⭐️EXCLUSIVE] Actor Gojo Satoru and y/n on a date!

There were pictures of you, who was slightly unrecognizable from all the cover up of clothes but there was a mole on your body with could be traced back to you.

There was another picture where Gojo comes out of the car, this one surely couldn’t pass. There was a peak of his white hair slipping through hat, and his blue eyes ever so recognizable. The freaking paparazzi even routed how Gojo’s car went from his residence to yours at such odd hours!

And finally the nail in the coffin where he takes you home hands by your waist, with you nuzzled into his jacket waddling forward with a peak of lipstick smeared on his face. A lipstick shade you’ve been always seen wearing during casual days!!

Ijichi grabs his hair before his phones buzzes…an endless buzz which will probably cost him his job.

Now the audience seemed to buzz, showing each other this exclusive new of the people who are literally right infront of them. How entertaining! The mass now seemed to take various pictures in real life by the audience and others screenshoting the music show you guys were emceeing, all obviously trying your best.

Then another posts starts posting on all the gossip post with Twitter having a field day with it in particular.

[⭐️Hot!] Gojo Satoru can’t really seem to get enough of y/n! Hahahaha

The post contains pictures of Gojo staring lovingly at you when you were emceeing, when you laugh he laughs, when you smile he blushes.

The comments under the post was entertaining though.

User128

What ever he is being accused of, he is guilty.

Bbystru

Ahhh—he is definitely a shojo male lead

User827

The company doesn’t even need to say anything! The proof is infront of our eyes.

Luvie28

Wow! Gojo is so funny! y/n is working so hark to make up for it.

The company of Gojo fell into despair because at how the stocks where falling for the company, they were mildly surprised and extremely pleased when the stocks went flying up and up— because after the pictures went viral; it seemed even overseas, there were a whole new audience now interested in their love sick actor!

Mean while Gojo was simply happy he didn’t have to hide their relationship, no more stuffy dates all covered up, no more keeping 100m distance from you in public places and no more hiding your lipstick stain over his lips and peppered all over his neck, to his chest and maybe even lower.

Who knows maybe he even show up on the red carpet like that one day.

Reblogs, like and comment are appreciated! Love this work? Check out other here

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Transferrable Skills Part 2

Transferrable Skills Masterlist

You don’t often use your MyFet beyond finding a group or conference to attend. You periodically clear out your messages, just in case an acquaintance wants to reach out. So you almost delete the message from the anonymous profile on autopilot, but the subject line intrigues you.

Interested in Distance Play, No Punishments - 14 Hrs Ago

Intrigued, you open it because… at least they read a little bit of your profile.

I noticed your profile because of your self-rope pictures. The rest of your profile is very interesting to me - specifically your engagement in solo play and dislike of punishment. I liked the post you made about obedience as an ongoing active choice.

I’m a man in my 30s with a classified job. I travel a lot, and I’m looking for someone to have a strictly long-distance arrangement with. I’m interested in: non-restrictive rope, obedience, behavior modification, praise. I’m sure there’s more, but I’ve written this message six times. Please let me know if you’re interested in discussing.

Well, that’s refreshingly straightforward and devoid of unsolicited smut. You read the message again, then click into his profile. G_987654321_ It’s… pretty bare. But if he’s got a classified job, that makes sense, right? Location: Antarctica. His age is listed as 33, and he’s listed himself as dominant and seeking acquaintances and play partners. Not interested in hookups, interested in casual nudity, obedience, praise. Hard limits of degradation and humiliation.

It’s not much more information than the message itself, but it’s more than some of the men who have asked if you want to meet up in private. You review his original message and bite your knuckle. Worst case scenario, he’s some troll who will call you a range of slurs and waste your time, and then you’ll block him. Best case scenario… he means what he says.

What are you looking for? Who, What, When, Where, and Why?

You send the message and log out of the app before you can chicken out. Your inner voice is grumbling (stupid stupid stupid), but that’s normal. You let yourself watch two and a half episodes of your latest show, and then make a hearty dinner.

You’re surprised when you pick your phone back up. One new message.

The whole time you’re cursing the app for glitching and logging you out and forgetting your password, you’re sure it’s not him. Most likely, it’s an event announcement from a friend or a bot. But you like going to events, so it’s worth it.

It’s a message. It’s from him.

Who: You and Me What: Praise-based, goal-oriented obedience play When: Twice weekly when we’re both available, but I won’t always be available. Sometimes weekly, sometimes a greater time between meet ups. Where: Virtual meetings. Video preferred, audio-only acceptable. First couple of discussions will be text based until I can get secure video set up. Why: Mutual relaxation and well being. Sexual connection preferred, but obviously not required.

Having a guide was helpful. Thank you.

Well… That’s something.

—

You follow Simon towards the fighting, which is not where you wanted to go. When you point this out, he barely acknowledges except to say “You don’t want to go the other way.” So you keep low and stay quiet and breathe like he told you to.

He leads you down a few halls and you don’t bother trying to remember the route. He seems to know where he’s going. One or twice he has you stop while he checks around a corner, but eventually, he herds you into a small conference room. You freeze when you see three men, but Simon drops the muzzle of his gun to the floor, so you must not be in too much danger.

“Who’s this then?” A man in tactical vest and boonie hat steps forward, and you sidle behind Simon before you know your feet are moving. He gives you a considering look before looking to Simon.

The man in question fishes you out from behind his and plants you in front of him with a heavy hand on your shoulder. “Found Bambi wandering the halls.”

Boonie Hat’s eyebrows pop up. “Bambi?”

“’Bout scared the piss out o’me,” Simon confirms.

“Well, that throws a wrench in things,” the other man says. “But there’s nothing for it. Stow her for now, we’ll keep her safe.”

Simon’s hand guides you to the other side of the large table and pushes you gently into a plush rolling chair. He puts his huge body between you and the others, who look at you curiously,

“Eyes up, li’l fawn,” he intones.

You aren’t sure how well you hide the flinch when you see the skull covering his face, again. He’s quiet as you look between his eyes, clasps his gloved hands in his lap so you can see them when you look over him.

There’s a lot of him to look over.

Now that you’re not moving, you can see the brown spots on the edge of his mask, flecked on his tactical vest. His thighs spread a bit beneath his black pants where they meet the table. His biceps bulge, which is a whole different experience in person than it is online. Theres a gun on his hip, and a knife. Two knives. Three. How many knives does a man need?

Enough for everyone’s throats. You have to bite back terrified giggles.

“You’re gonna stay ‘ere,” Simon tells you, interrupting your musing. Your horror must be plain on your face because he shushes you, again. “Shhh. Easy. This wing’s secure. Can’t keep you safe if I’m wonderin’ where you’ve wandered to. Acknowledge.”

“What if something goes wrong?” you blurt.

“You follow Price if you can't see or ‘ear me. ‘e's the Captain, outranks me,” Simon answers. He points to Boonie Hat, then to the black man, who smiles at you, and a white man with a mohawk, who looks at you like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s seen all day. “This is Gaz, that's Soap. You can't find the Captain, you sit tight and wait for one of them to retrieve you."

“But-!”

“Acknowledge, Bambi.”

You swallow back tears. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

“’M goin’ where the guns are,” he answers. “’S my job to take care of you, right? Acknowledge.”

It’s hard to get the words out, but you do. “Acknowledged. You have to take care of me.”

“’M not always going to be able to do that the way you want. Acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged. Not always the way I want.”

“’M gonna keep you safe as I can,” he says. “’Nd it’s okay that you’re scared. But this is my job. ‘S not a scene. So I can’t negotiate. Acknowledge.”

“It’s your job,” you say, taking a deep breath and letting it out. Unfortunately, you can feel the day catching up with you, and your eyes start to prickle. “It’s not a scene, we can’t negotiate right now. Acknowledged.”

The one called Gaz approaches from the other side of the table. “Ghost, we’ve got to get moving.”

Before you can integrate the realization that Simon is apparently called Ghost, the other one, Soap, peeks around Simon’s shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “This your bird, LT? Le’s get her tucked away, aye?”

Something about the way he asks if you are Simon’s bird, his girl, flips a switch in your brain. Because you’re not Simon’s girl. You’re not even supposed to have ever met in person. You’re an online sub, a weird, awkward, anxious person who couldn’t find an in person connection. And yeah, Simon-Also-Called-Ghost is an online Dom but apparently that’s because he’s running around Europe rescuing people from hostage situations!

It’s a little much.

You suck in a breath through your mouth as everything gets blurry with tears. Your whole body shakes with the sob that you try not to let out. You simultaneously want to lock every muscle in place and curl up on the ground to die.

A hiccup shakes you hard enough that you almost fall out of your chair.

Simon’s gloved hand grips the back of your head, and you’re guided to press your forehead against his thigh.

"Shhhhh," he whispers, and you can almost pretend that you’re listening to him in your ear from thousands of miles away. His pants are tough and scratchy, nothing like your pillow, but the steady pressure of his hand is so steadying. "It's okay. I know this isn't a scene, but the same rules apply. You feel overwhelmed, don’t know what to say, you hold up 4 fingers. No punishments for feeling something. Show me."

Holding up 4 fingers feels familiar. The way his hand cups the back of your skull doesn't. But it's still nice.

Sooner than you’d like, Simon guides you down off the chair and under the table. You can’t pay attention to the others, though you can see their boots on the other side of the room. Instead, you keep your eyes on his his right hand, stuck on the inane detail of skeleton themed gloves. Your dom wears skeleton gear to work. His work is killing some people and saving others.

That hand cups your chin and makes you look up into his face. His eyes are dark, piercing. His voice, when he speaks, sends shiver down your spine. “Stay. Acknowledge.”

You’re already about as low down as you can get, but you still duck your head as much as you can while keeping eye contact. “Acknowledged. Stay.”

His thumb caresses your cheek for a long moment. And then he’s standing. Chairs are pushed in to surround you, and four pairs of heavy boots dash from the room.

You curl up, hug yourself, and let the tears fall.

You wake up with a start. Your whole body hurts, shoulder and neck and hips tight like they haven’t been in a long time. And of course they are. You’re on the ground, lying under a conference table. Why the hell are you under a conference table? You’re not in college anymore, you’re too old for this shit.

And then you see a pair of huge boots round the edge of the table and remember.

Your heart is in your throat as two chairs are shifted away and a huge form drops into a crouch. A part of you flinches back from the mask, the tactical clothing, the blood you almost can’t see shining on his boot. But then you see those eyes and think, Oh. You came back for me.

[kyaroscuro]

All About You

Maybe it's all about you when your youth is filled with each other's names and your heart has never changed. That's what Juyeon finds out when he falls in love with his best friend.

pairing : bff!juyeon x gn!reader (+bf to ex!sunwoo) genre : fluff, bestfriends to lovers, slow burn, slight angst but happy ending warnings : swearing/cursing, sex jokes, implied sex, mention of burnout, alcohol consumption, heartbreak, pet names (sweetheart, good girl, pretty, baby) notes : it's been a long road but i'm happy to introduce y'all to my baby! i've been (and still am) obsessed with juyeon since the zeneration 2 concert and i guess i've had a lot to write about him... i hope you'll find out the few references i've managed to sneak in! enjoy ✧.* shout out to my dear @winterchimez for proofreading and helping me during the whole writing process, you were a great help <3 words count : 13745

No one ever told you how relationships work. So when you fell in love with your best friend Juyeon at 16, you felt a little helpless. Should he be the first thing you think of when you wake up in the morning? Was it wrong to lean on him when he welcomed you into his arms for a movie night? Eventually those feelings faded as you both started dating, and you wondered if it was even true love. Maybe the 16-year-old teenager you were was just attracted to the idea of being close to another soul, mentally and physically.

Maybe yes.

The only thing you know right now at 24, is that the feelings you had for Juyeon back then were nothing compared to the ones you have for Sunwoo today. The attention and love he gives you makes everyone jealous. Even Juyeon himself.

If he wanted to take you out to dinner, you would turn him down because you already had plans with Sunwoo. Arcade, karaoke, late night walks, picnics, fancy restaurants or fast food, you’re always together. Sometimes when you feel like staying in, Juyeon would show up, hoping to watch a movie like the good old days. But he’s met with Sunwoo at the door and doesn’t have the energy to see you being all lovey-dovey.

He knows better than to be a third wheel. As much as he understands the time you spend with your boyfriend, he can’t help but feel jealous and left out. You’re not trying to make him feel that way, you just needed Sunwoo’s presence.

The two of you met in your 3rd year of thesis. He was actually the student under your supervision for his end-of-studies internship. You obviously spent six months seeing each other and working together – in the lab, the library, cafes and even at home. You both grew closer in no time, and that’s only fair given the fact that Sunwoo is a living comedian. You don’t think you would have made it through the whole editing process without his support.

The funniest thing he had ever done was that he was proofreading your work while you did the same for his. Sure enough, you both graduated with the help from one another and a couple of kisses were shared.

From Juyeon’s point of view, those six months felt like an eternity. He had a girlfriend at the time and couldn’t really go out with you. You were both busy for different reasons, but still tried to see each other once a week. But when you did see each other, you always talked about Sunwoo and he talked about his girlfriend. That’s what your lives were made of, but it was a little heartbreaking that you were best friends who only talked about your partners.

“How’s the job hunt going?” He asked at one of your meetings.

“Great actually, I felt like giving up, but I didn’t endure those three years to throw it all away, did I? Sunwoo helped me a lot, he’s my lifesaver.”

Juyeon felt like throwing up, as if his heart had been stepped on the moment he heard those words, and he didn’t know why.

“What about you?” You asked him, cutting his train of thought.

Oh, he knew you were talking about his own job, which he quit a few months ago (more like he’s on a break because he’s burned out). But it’s not like he has to tell you; he doesn’t have the guts to anyway. He thinks you would be sad and angry with him, when all you really want is for him to be happy. And he’s also upset that he’s had to give up on his dream job because it was affecting his health. Thankfully, his boss has been kind enough to give him a chance to rest up for now. Maybe all he needs to keep going is your reassurance?

“We broke up.” He says quietly, looking down at his hands.

“I’m so sorry Juyo, aren’t you too sad?” You say as you reach out to him.

“To be honest, I am.” He admits, looking up at you, a small smile forms on his lips. “It was a mutual agreement, but I feel like I screwed it up. She said I needed to think about my own needs and wants.”

“And what do you want?”

“To spend time with you.” He says straightforwardly.

Your cheeks flushed at his sudden comment. Has he always been so honest?

“I’m free tomorrow if you’re fine with that? Sunwoo is going out with his band.” You say, eager to spend more time with him. “Oh, and Juyo; you should know that I will always make time for you. You’re a big part of my life and I care about you more than anyone else so please do not hesitate to reach out if you need anything. I’m just one call away.”

“I know that but I always seem to bother you.” He says, a little ashamed to think so.

“You don’t. What makes you think that?” You frown at his words, wondering if he actually meant them. “You have no idea how much I look forward to our weekly meetings! It keeps me going during the week, I swear, ask Sunwoo he only hears about you.”

“Oh,” he responded, feeling delighted with your words.

“Yes Juyo, I miss you a lot.” You gasped shyly, suddenly very focused on your hot cup.

“I miss you even more.” He looks for your eyes with a hint of fondness that you don’t notice, even when you raise your head to tell him,

“So tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he smiles, pleased to see you smile back with the same touch of affection.

When you think about it, you don’t understand how it is possible to break up with Lee Juyeon. You didn’t really know the girl he was dating, you never met her, you only saw her face in a picture once. But you do know your best friend, and he’s not the type to break someone’s heart. He would fight for the person he loves, even if it doesn’t work out. Juyeon is love personified. So how can you reject him?

Woo ☼ (3)

Sweetheart I miss you

When are you coming back home

I have a present for you

What kind of present?

Me ;)

OMW

Juyo <3 (1)

Thanks for today, I can’t wait for tomorrow. Pick you up at 10?

Will be pretty and ready!

Always pretty but ready? I’m looking forward to it

As soon as you read his message, your heart began to thump real loud and your cheeks immediately flushed red. Who are you and what have you done to Juyeon? When did he become so flirty? Or maybe he has always been like this and you never cared before. But why do you even care now? 

When you were 16, you remember vividly how he kissed your hand goodbye because he was a gentleman and you were a darling. Everyone at school made fun of you for being so old-fashioned, but little did they know that you liked it. Eventually, when you turned 17, he dropped the act and started kissing your forehead instead. It was a hundred per cent worse. Your cheeks turned pink every time you thought about it and people were calling you out for being highkey on PDA and asking you to spare the singles.

Maybe then he was always this flirty.

It didn’t matter much to you because it was puppy love. The first man you ever loved. Until Sunwoo came into the picture.

“How was your date sweetheart?” You laugh into the kiss he greets you with.

“Pretty good, I think I’m developing feelings, I don’t know, he’s just so sweet and- Ouch Sunwoo!” You yelped, surprised by his sudden, somewhat erotic gesture.

“What?” He giggles innocently.

“You didn’t have to pin me against the wall, did you?” You ask rhetorically, knowing full well what his answer will be.

“I did,” his sparkling eyes turn to onyx, his tongue runs over his lips and his gaze travels up and down your body as he answers.

“Yeah?” You whisper, aroused by his deep voice.

“Yes.”

His plump lips are all over yours in an instant, taking your breath away. To deepen the kiss and emphasise his need to be closer, he grabs your legs so you can wrap them around his waist and welcome him in. Your arms wrap around his neck as you yield, kissing him back with passion and love. He doesn’t let go until you’re both out of breath, and then he kisses you again and again like a madman. Eventually, you’re so lost in the pleasure of his kisses that when you feel him nipping at your neck, you push him away, panting.

“I understand that Juyeon is your best friend,” he says with a heavy voice. “But you can’t joke about dating another man.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to answer as he runs his tongue over your lips before kissing you lazily. You stick out your tongue, waiting for him to resume his kiss. He chuckles at your behaviour but kisses you nonetheless.

“Good girl hm, are you hungry?” He utters with lustful and honey dripping eyes.

“Let’s take this into the bedroom then.” At his promise to take you to heaven, you nod eagerly, excited to see what he has planned for you.

You don’t quite remember what happened after that, too lost in lust and love. You felt the kisses on your forehead and the caresses in your hair before he left the bed.

Suddenly, nothing. All you felt was emptiness.

You turn to check your phone when you yelp in pain because your back hurts. Your man was a beast last night.

Wait.

9:30am?

You hurriedly get out of bed, taking in your dishevelled appearance and the hickeys Sunwoo had the courtesy to leave on your body. You’re ashamed to go out like this, because you know that you have little to no time to cover them up.

More importantly, Juyeon will notice them. It’s not that you cared about exposing your sex life, you have a lot of fun with Sunwoo and he’s the greatest in and out of bed. But for Juyeon to see you in such a vulnerable way? It does something to you and you can’t figure out why.

You never talked about your sex life with Juyeon although you are best friends; you two are kind of secretive. Sure, there were times when you complained that your exes were terrible kissers or that dates were horrible. But when it comes to any form of intimacy, it was out of the books. You both never joked about kinks, never asked about turn-ons. Yet, you shared your very first kiss with Juyeon when you were 16.

It was a bit messy and hilarious because you had no idea what you were doing. You remember how when he dropped you off after school or after a playdate, he had this cute habit of kissing your hand goodbye. It was also at that age when you started going to parties – a party between friends, no alcohol, maybe just some cheap beer that tasted like grass. But that was fun and it was also the time when you were introduced to love, through couples and kisses.

Love has always been a foreign language to you. You know for a fact that love is what your parents share with each other, through physical touch, words of affirmation, acts of service, quality time, gifts but also through struggles.

But you also know that the person you’re closest to doing those things is Juyeon. You both were always cuddling, fighting over movies or places to eat. You both would also cheer, support and reassure each other.

You both would always have each other on your minds, sending texts, calling or buying sweet things. It’s only fair that you thought you were in love with him, isn’t it?

And that faithful night, at your birthday party, he thought it would be a great idea to carry you and run around in circles until he lost his balance and fell with you laying on top of him. You didn’t know what was going through his mind, but you saw flames in his starry eyes, and then he pecked at your lips. He brushed it off by pulling you up and wishing you a happy birthday but your heart was racing and so was his.

“Sorry Ju, I woke up late, I didn’t want to keep you waiting,” you pout as you reached his car, pressing a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank god your prettiness makes up for lost time,” he jokingly hugs you, his hands laying a little low on your waist. “But you have to take responsibility for making me wait.”

“Juyeon! It’s been 5 minutes you can’t blame me for the delay!” You wriggle into his embrace and put your head in the crook of his neck, a little embarrassed but wanting to be close to him.

“I can, and that’s exactly what I’m doing,” he whistles, taking you out of his arms to observe the love bites on your fair skin. “Maybe you’d be on time if you hadn’t had so much fun last night.”

“Y-Yeah, I walked into a trap,” you stammered, speechless.

“The kind of trap you can’t refuse, I bet.”

And he opens the passenger door before giving you his hand to help you get in. You look at his hand and then straight into his eyes to understand where that confidence comes from, but he just smiles and nods.

“Come on, we have much to do before the carriage turns into a pumpkin.” He smiles and fights with the wind to tuck a wild strand of hair behind your ear.

Spending time with Juyeon is one of the things you adore the most in the world. You were so used to spending your days with him when you were teenagers that you almost forgot what it was like. The princess treatment, the cafe dates, the shopping and giving opinions on outfits, the restaurants. Now that you’re all grown up, reliving those moments feels a little bit odd but great. After all, you’re the same people who dance to the music in every corner shop and laugh at every silly move you make.

Going out with Juyeon is also all about treats and gifts. You have this implicit rule that when you’re out and about, you’re encouraged to pay in turns – be it at the restaurants, bars or for desserts. And of course, he pleases you more often than you please him, but you tend to buy more things related to him – matching items or clothes that reflect his style.

“Look at this cute bracelet! We should get it to celebrate our 10 years offriendship,” you beamed, slipping the bracelet around his wrist without a word of protest to see how it looks.

“But it’s paired with a promise ring?” He comments, in case you haven’t noticed and had a change of heart.

“Then we can get the ring in another 10 years,” you giggle and squeeze his hand to reassure him that this is what you want.

Happy with your little joke, you went to the cashier to buy the bracelets. But it sparked something within Juyeon’s heart. He may be slow to understand, but you don’t have to tell him twice. You consider him to be your significant other. That’s what a promise ring means.

After all, you wanted to commit yourself to him for the rest of your life. You’re his best friend and that should be normal. It is normal to stick by each other’s side. But why is his heart missing a beat?

If you ask Juyeon about his relationship with you, he would describe it as “enchanting”. You’re the most important thing to him. Ever since he bumped into you in 3rd grade, you two have been inseparable. But there’s something that’s always bothered him.

In the beginning, he thought it was because you were the only one that he was really close to. He didn’t look at you any differently. But every time you smiled, he felt a twist in his stomach. Then he made it his goal to make you blush and to kiss your hand. It was thrilling to see you all flustered by his own actions.

He grew up and unfortunately that feeling never went away. In the end, he thought that maybe it was just the hormones. A 16-year-old boy needs to get to know his body and its needs. That’s what he did. Eventually the feelings vanished, but the uncomfortable feeling stayed. Even when he was with his ex.

He’s well aware that you are in a relationship with Sunwoo and that the two of you are in love. He’s never been happier for you. After all the people who have taken advantage of you, you deserve someone positive. Someone who will be there for you and will make you feel loved and truly fall in love. Like Sunwoo.

And yet, he doesn’t know why he’s so attracted to you. He needs to explore his feelings. At least to understand them. Even if it costs him.

“How about a drink?” He asks as the sun is about to go down.

“No, you need to drive safely.” You flinched, clearly against the idea of losing him in such a stupid way.

“What about my place? You know I have this amazing balcony overlooking the sea.” He offers in return with a smirk.

“Deal,” you say with gleaming eyes.

You love Juyeon’s apartment; it has a soft and romantic atmosphere and it’s even more beautiful when the sun goes down. The many plants he has turn a warm orange with the colours of the sky and you swear, it’s so beautiful, like a haven of peace.

“Red or white?” He asks, holding the two bottles out for you.

“Anything’s fine, choose for me please Juyo,” you sing-song, happy to share this moment with him.

While you are setting up his balcony table with candles and wine glasses, he returns with a red bottle and appetisers. He gestures for you to sit on the bean bag and pour the wine like a real chef. You whistle, impressed by his newfound skill. Furthermore, it wouldn’t be Juyeon if he didn’t do a little dance to make you laugh before handing you your glass.

Now that he’s seated, you allow yourself to take in your surroundings. It’s quiet, but you can hear the faint music coming from the living room speakers. Juyeon has never liked the silence, so he always needs to have some kind of background music to feel comfortable. He says it calms him down, especially when he’s nervous, and you have to agree with that.

But does that mean that he was nervous right now?

He never needed music with you, as he always said your voice was his own melody – the harmony he couldn’t get enough of. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, pulling you out of your reverie.

You nod, knowing exactly what he means, and reach out to take his hand. He intertwines your fingers and, in the pink-orange hues of the sky you catch yourself blushing. You risk a glance to see him starring absent-mindedly into space and you seize the opportunity to stare him down.

His bangs, usually on his forehead are pushed back, giving him a more mature and sexy look. His eyes, in a beautiful crescent shape, shine with the intensity of the stars. His pretty nose sits up on his face, like a trophy ready to be claimed. And his lips. They’re curled into a gentle smile.

Without a care in the world, he runs his tongue over them and opens them as if he wanted to speak. But no sound comes out, except for the tongue he’s now biting. Suddenly, as if he was aware that you are looking at him, he turns to meet your gaze. Truth be told, you weren’t very discreet. His dark eyes hold yours, then move to your lips, and you see the faint beginnings of a smirk on his lips before he bursts into laughter. 

“Like what you see?” He points out, all smug.

That fucker.

You slapped him playfully before you realised you were biting your lips. Yet, he still looks at you as if you were the one who hung the stars in the sky and shone in their place.

All of a sudden, his eyes turn mischievous and you find yourself in his arms as he leads you into the living room. He turns up the music, grabs the camera, puts on a pair of framed glasses and starts dancing. You joined him, because there is no world in which you wouldn’t follow Juyeon. You dance like you’re in a club, grab the wine bottle and shout the lyrics at the top of your lungs. Juyeon films you through the mirror and you play along, you’re the model, he’s the artist. Until he puts the camera in a corner to film the both of you and starts to dance an old choreo that you both did. You smile broadly and the night goes by like this. In between drinking and dancing.

At some point, you find yourselves taking a stroll, jumping and dancing around poles. Oh, but you’re not drunk! Juyeon took out his camera and kept filming you, laughing. The man was hyping you up, the street was your runway! And even though it was a little embarrassing, you had a lot of fun. Trust Juyeon to make you feel the best!

Around midnight, you were eating ice cream in the nearest park when your phone screen lit up with a call.

Woo ☼.

Oh, no. You forgot to inform him you were going out with yesterday’s activities.

“Babyyyyy,” he whines, sounding tired, “where you aaaat.”

“At Juyeon’s, we-“ You’re cut off as Juyeon steals your phone, brushing against your hands a little too long.

“Sorry,” he hiccups, “is it all right if we keep each other company for the night? I can’t drive right now.” Juyeon tries to apologise but is cut short by Sunwoo.

“Had a fun night I see?”

You can feel his anger rising from the way his voice drops an octave. Sunwoo has always been jealous of Juyeon. When you got together, he was very insecure at first, knowing that you had a male best friend and seeing you spend so much time with him. It took some time, but the trust you’ve built up has overcome that awful feeling.

You still have to reassure him sometimes, and that’s okay because Juyeon is your best friend and Sunwoo is your boyfriend. You love them both in different ways. You talked about it with Juyeon and later he got jealous because you spent all your time with Sunwoo on your trip to comfort him. It wasn’t easy, but they learnt to trust you. Along the way, you may have convinced yourself that everything would be fine.

“Sunny, baby, I’m sorry I didn’t inform you. I will sleep at Juyeon’s and be back first thing in the morning before you wake up,” you say in a soft voice, trying to soothe him.

“I’m sorry too,” he voices out, letting out a breath lost in his own emotions, “I panicked when I didn’t see you at home. But I’m glad you’re all right.”

“I know,” you sighed, glancing at Juyeon, “I’m in good hands, I promise.”

“Hurry back, I miss my goodnight kiss already.” He replies, seemingly content with the current arrangement.

“Will be there in no time,” you giggled.

“I love you,” he answers, a smile blooming in his voice.

“I love you too.”

He hangs up just as he called, smiley, which makes you beam in return. However, when you turn to face Juyeon he’s anything but smiling. In his frowning eyes you decipher a sombre mood. Something in complete contrast to the joy you shared tonight. You reach out to grab his hand, but he pulls it back before you can do so.

“We should head back, it’s getting late.” He says firmly.

Your heart breaks at his words. Without giving him a chance, you cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. The hurt look in his eyes makes your heart swell. You scan him to see if he wants to answer, but he avoids you. You’re so close and yet so far away. You feel like throwing up, because your best friend never acted like this around you. He never once avoided you nor stopped talking to you. Thus, you did the only thing you can think of.

You hugged him, as tightly as you can.

You feel his heart pounding and wonder if it’s from the unknown emotions he’s carrying or from your physical touch. You put your hand on his broad chest to feel his heartbeat and plant a kiss on it to reassure him. It stirs something in Juyeon and he hugs you back so tightly you think you’ll lose your breath. He holds you in his arms for what seems like an eternity, your head nestled in the crook of his neck. But you don’t complain, you felt safe.

You stay there, in the warm embrace that contrasts with the cool of the night, squeezing him a little tighter when you hear passers-by whistling lovingly at you. When he lets go, you can see the faint pink colour that tints his cheeks, brought out by the street lights. But little did you know that you have the same colours on your face, if not stronger?

“You okay?” You ask as you rub small circles on his back.

“Yes I am,” he lies openly in a husky voice, “I’m okay.”

Juyeon is fucked. Completely screwed. He’s absolutely, unquestionably and sincerely in love with you.

He has been for quite some time, now that he thinks about it. But he never admitted it. That damned twist in his gut that never left his mind, he knows where it comes from now.

In order to cope with his newfound feelings he lets you use the bathroom first while he changes the sheets and tidies up the living room. He’s floating, not sure if he will ever get a wink of sleep. Especially if you both sleep in the same bed. Because to you, he’s just your best friend, the one you’ve slept with countless times. No strings attached.

He can’t imagine you in his arms, nor can he look forward to waking up by your side. You’re not his.

“Juyo?” Your tired voice echoes from the corridor. “C-Can I get some clothes?”

Oh. That doesn’t mean anything. You have always shared clothes. Then why was he so excited to see you in them? Right, because he’s madly in love with you and knows you will look ravishing in his big shirt. Also because sharing clothes is such an intimate thing couples do. If he lends you his current pyjamas because they have his scent on them, you couldn’t blame him. He’s just a man.

“Are you coming?” You inquire, walking towards him.

It’s worse than anything he’d ever imagined. The shirt is definitely too big for you going down one shoulder, showing the beginning of your chest and reaching halfway up your thighs. What’s more, your pretty thighs are covered by the shorts that rises up when you sit next to him. He looks away, embarrassed to be staring at you.

“I will sleep on the couch, don’t worry about me.”

“No way,” you retorted with little energy left, “your bed is big enough for both of us.”

He’s been acting strange today. First he was feeling all overconfident, then flirtatious, followed by anger, and now shyness and embarrassment. You take a piece of the blanket lying on his lap and you stretch your legs out on the sofa, letting your head fall on his shoulder. Sleep can wait, Juyeon can’t.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Don’t lie to me.” You ask, breathing softly into his ear.

“No,” he shudders, with a faraway look in his eyes, “I’m not okay and I don’t know how to get through this.”

“What’s wrong Juyo? Do you want to talk about it?” You pause to gauge his reaction. “Is it about your ex?”

“More or less,” he breathes out. “The breakup wasn’t that bad, like I said, it was a mutual decision. It’s just- when you started dating Sunwoo I was so happy for you, happy that you found someone who was worthy of your love and loved you the right way. And I thought I would be happy if I found that special someone, I longed for it. But I ended up in different relationships throughout the year, never lasting more than two months. And that’s ok, maybe they weren’t the right person for me, maybe it wasn’t the right time, maybe this, maybe that. I really thought I was going to be happy and I ended up getting my heart broken every time. As much as I believe now that I don’t deserve to be loved. I think I went into my last relationship in that state of mind, and I think she felt it too. Hard not to, is it? We had long talks and great times together; I think I really liked her. And I know she liked me back, I’m just not ready to be in an exclusive relationship right now.”

And everything he said is true, he’s more than happy for you and he thought he would be happy. But he can’t be happy in a relationship that isn’t with you.

“There’s also something I’ve never told you,” he continues, sniggering at the absurdity of his reasoning. “Something I should have told you a long time ago, it doesn’t make me proud, and it sort of reflects why my love life was so messed up. I can’t say it’s the only reason, but it played a big part in my mental health.”

You want to cry so badly, he has endured it all alone and it must have weighed heavily on him. At this point, you’re just waiting to speak and respond but every word that comes out of his beautiful mouth leaves you speechless. You’re such a bad friend that you’ve never noticed the way his eyes get dark and gloomy, or how he cancels your plans at the last minute because he’s got something else planned. When in fact it was sadness overload. Sure everyone has their own coping mechanisms, you wish you could have been there for him, but here you were Juyeon letting you in and you’re here to stay.

“It’s been two months since I was diagnosed with burnout and stopped working. It started off as something mild when I came home more exhausted than usual. I thought I wasn’t getting enough sleep but then I started to feel mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted. It was hard to concentrate on my daily tasks and you know how much I love my job? I felt like I was going to die because I couldn’t even have fun doing what I love. Going out with you, my friends or my ex felt great, but I wasn’t as invested as I used to be.” He pauses to catch his breath and swallow back the tears.

“Don’t get me wrong, today was absolutely perfect and I was hyped, I still am. Today felt like going back to when we were sixteen and I loved it. I’m actually starting to feel better. The break up helped a lot because it was taking a toll on my mental health. I know I said I liked her and I did, but I couldn’t help but feel unwanted. Even when she was riding me,” he chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

“And it hurts that I didn’t have the guts to talk to you about it because I was afraid of how you would react. Like, hello, I’m taking a break from work because I feel like shit? And I would really like to get your approval so that I can move on. Because you mean everything to me,” he ends shyly.

“Juyeon,” you say in a soft and caring voice, “you mean the world to me too.”

You continued. “You mean the whole world to me and I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me the most. I could come up with something, but it wouldn’t make up for what you’ve been through. You are strong, stronger than anyone. It’s so hard to keep your head above water that I’m proud of you for speaking up and even stopping work. Because focusing on your health is the most important thing. Situation and money may go but I will always stay. I’m so proud of you, proud of who you are and who you’re becoming. You’ll never stop growing and I’ll be there every step of the way, watching you blossom and be happy.”

“And I know you feel like you’ll never be happy,” you resumed, holding his hand. “The only thing I can say is, as hard as it seems, everything you live makes you stronger. Even more beautiful. There’s someone in this world waiting patiently for you, to love you properly, to make you feel loved and wanted. You’re an exceptional person, Juyeon. By that I mean you go above and beyond the call of duty, you give your total support and care, you show up when something’s wrong and I bet you’re an even more protective lover. We did everything together, cried, laughed, smiled, loved. My youth was filled with you and I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t happy because you were and are always by my side.”

“Today was the best time I’ve had in weeks, and that’s because I am with you. We danced, a lot. And you know how dancing has always been our escape,” you paused as you saw the first hint of a smile creep across his face as you continued. “I saw your smile, it was genuine and you were so beautiful. It may have been hard, you’ve been hard on yourself, but today the man I saw was happy. I’m happy because you’re happy, and I’m sad when you’re sad. We are one Juyeon, and I want you to know that I’m here for you, always.”

Long before you have finished speaking, he has taken you in his arms. His embrace is not heavy, but you can feel the weight on his shoulders lighten. You have so many feelings for him, they all blend together and you don’t seem to feel the butterflies in your stomach or the fire he has lit in your heart.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he confesses.

“And what would I be without you?”

Your head rests on his chest and he’s suddenly afraid you can hear his heart beating. You’re so beautiful, your tired eyes fighting sleep and your lashes fluttering. His shirt slipped off your shoulder as he held you in his arms and the permanent smile on your face makes him completely weak. He could kiss you right now. If only you were single.

“Let’s go to sleep, hm?” He caresses your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Together?” You cracked yet another smile.

“Together,” he grins from ear to ear.

Your arms find their way around his neck and you bend your head to make an implicit request. His hands go around your waist and below your knees before he stands up and carries you bridal style. You both laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but also blushed at the romantic gesture. He sets you down on (what his brain calls) your side of the bed and plants a kiss on your forehead.

He then goes through his nightly routine before coming back to you, wrapped in the covers, fast asleep. His heart is about to explode. Now that he is aware of his feelings, he is overwhelmed by the love he has been repressing. He slides in next to you and holds back from embracing you. And if you happen to get close and make your way into his arms, he’ll be delighted to hold you tight.

“Sleep well Starlight, I love you,” he mumbles, kissing your hair.

“I love you more Juyo.”

Waking up the next morning wasn’t as awkward as Juyeon might have thought after the pseudo-confession you heard. He woke up first when he felt you shift in his arms. Because yes, you ended up in his arms, face against his torso. He tried not to make a big deal out of it, calming his breathing and enjoying the warmth of your body. Absentmindedly, his hand caresses your tangled hair, smoothing it and slowly waking you from your slumber.

“Good morning Starlight,” he says, honey dripping from his hoarse voice. “Slept well?”

“Like a baby, you?” You yawned, looking up from his chest.

“Even better than a baby.” He doesn’t want to let you go, once you’re out of his bedroom he’ll have to go back to his little miserable life without your starlight to light it up.

“Shall we take you home? Your boyfriend might get impatient,” he laughs, remembering the events of the previous night.

“Well, he’ll have to wait until I’m full from breakfast! I know someone who makes pancakes to die for,” you winked as you get out of his clothes and disappear into the bathroom.

You know you said you’d be back before he wakes up, and you want to. You miss him. But being in Juyeon’s arms, feeling the regular beat of his heart, makes you feel at home. You don’t want to end what you both have now.

You eat breakfast in relatively silence, except when Juyeon tries to flip the pancakes in the frying pan only to have one stick to the wall. And you watch him adoringly from where you sit, trying to make up for his silliness.

In the end, you leave his apartment in no time at all, dreading your return to your own home. Even though you know that Sunwoo is patiently waiting for you. The last two days you spent with Juyeon were out of time, it was an enchanted interlude and the return to real life suddenly seems very difficult.

He drops you off in front of the building, not without kissing you on the cheek and saying goodbye for the last time. You try not to think of it as a date night as you head for the front door but he’s quick to say “We’re not done yet, you’ll see me more often now” he chimed as he watches you smile and gets in.

The smile doesn’t leave your face until you turn the key in the lock and come face to face with Sunwoo, smiling from head to toe. He takes you in his arms and spins you around before planting kisses all over your face.

“Sunny,” you giggled, “please.”

“But I missed you,” you press a kiss to his lips as he answers, and you feel him smile through it.

“I’m sorry I overreacted, you know I get scared easily, but I shouldn’t take it out on you when you haven’t done anything,” he apologised, bowing his head.

“No, it’s my fault too,” you shake your head. “We had a crazy night and when I woke up you were gone. I was also late and didn’t want to keep him waiting.”

“You know that I’m jealous of Juyeon, right? He might be your best friend, but he might see you as more than that. You can’t say you didn’t want him to wait, because what, you’re willing to make me wait like yesterday but not him? It’s unfair, because you always end up prioritising him.” He bellows, frustrated.

“Sunwoo please,” you begged. “Sunwoo, listen to me, please.” He takes a step back, feeling his anger rising.

“To say what? That you needed to be with him? That he needs you? Bullshit, look me in the eye and tell me he doesn’t have feelings for you!” He shouts in a pissed off rage.

He goes back into the living room and you follow him to see him pacing back and forth. You can tell he’s furious. He always gets angry when you mention Juyeon and it pisses you off. You can’t even spend a day with your best friend because he gets jealous? You’ve been together long enough to think he’s finally understood that he’s the one you love. But as displeased as you are, you’ll never stop telling him and reminding him that you love him. Because couples fight, because he’s insecure and because you care.

“You might as well develop feelings for him!” He spits vociferously.

“He broke up with his girlfriend and lost his job,” you drop, tired of this pointless battle. “So yes, he needed me. And yes, I needed to be with him. I feel like an absolutely shitty friend because I’ve been sitting in his company for weeks and I didn’t even notice that his heart was being broken to pieces. You can shout at me as much as you want Sunwoo, but you’re the one I love. Juyeon may need me again in the future and I’ll be there for him, but at the end of the day I love you and only you.”

“You’re lying. T-There’s no way he…“ He tries to take your hand but you step back, annoyed.

“Have I ever lie to you, Sunwoo?”

The sheepish and upset look on his face is enough to tell you that he’s blaming himself. So you lead him over to the sofa and tell him everything, from the break-up to his exhaustion, which means burnout, but leave out the private details. It’s a lot to take in, and you wonder if he’ll ever believe you. Why would you lie about something so important?

You love Sunwoo, you really do. But you can’t help but be a little irritated by his behaviour. You feel terrible for even thinking and feeling this way, but Juyeon is your best friend! What was wrong with that? What doesn’t he understand about the word “best friend”? You sighed as you take him in your arms and stroke his back, both to calm him down and to ease your own mind. You hold each other for a while, for as long as your hearts desire, but your minds wander to Juyeon. You miss him and you wonder what he’s up to, when you’ll see each other again. Another sigh escapes your lips and Sunwoo looks at you questioningly.

“Movie?” You ask, trying to divert your attention from Juyeon.

“It’s 11,” he chuckles, finally at peace.

“Yeah, so? We can order pizzas and spend the day at home?” You kiss his hand with doe eyes.

“Sounds like a fabulous idea,” he quickly grabs his phone to place an order, “same as usual?”

“I’m feeling adventurous today, so pick whatever you like!”

You hear your own phone buzzing as he focuses on the app again. And obviously it’s the boy of all the arguments, the one who’s been on your mind since you got home and who seems to be distracting you a lot.

Juyo <3 (1)

I miss ya, whatcha doing?

Thinking about u

That ain’t possible

Whyyyy

Because I’m thinking about you

“Who are you talking to with that smiley face?” Sunwoo asks, tilting his head.

“Changmin, he’s talking about the person he met and he seems so in love.”

It's a half-hearted lie, because Changmin told you about the person he recently met, but also because if you say Juyeon's name right now, civil war will break out.

Juyo <3

Oh yeah, prove it?

Seconds later, your phone rings with an incoming call from Juyeon.

Juyo <3

JUYEON YOU CAN’T DO THIS

YOU SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME

Aw pretty’s scared by a sudden phone call?

Actually…

You take a second to answer, pondering if it’s a good idea to tell him about your couple’s conflict. Especially when he’s the one causing it.

Juyo <3 (1)

Am I disturbing you?

You always turn my world upside down

Same goes for you Starlight ;)

So?

I had a fight with Sunwoo

Nothing bad, we already made up

But it’s becoming a recurring thing, and I hate it

Have you talked about it?

That it’s getting hard for you?

Yes and no

We always talk about it, set limits and make up but weeks later it’s as if the conversation never happened

As much as I love him I’m tired Ju

No, you don’t have the right to say you’re tired, because that would mean you’re ready to give up on your relationship for a few fights?

I’m afraid that’s not a valid reason

And I know you’re not the type to give up on someone you love

So take matters into your own hands, spend the day with him and make out ffs

Yeah, haha, you’re right

We’ll eat pizzas and watch a film, that’ll definitely help

And I’ll see if he’s nice enough to make out with him

I can be good for you instead ;)

Yah! You’re losing points Lee Juyeon!

I’m only aiming for the 10s sorry!

Right in the bull’s eye

Which is my heart yes

GTG JUYO

TTYL I LOVE YOU

<3

And I love you more <3

You saw his message through the notification, which you cowardly rejected, but that didn’t stop you from smiling. The conversation had to end quickly, as you were venturing into uncharted territory that doesn't leave you impassive. Besides, Sunwoo was getting suspicious of your big smile.

And he’s right, because what the hell was that? You’re such a coward whose heart beats a hundred miles an hour. He’s definitely winning points, but you’ll never admit it, and to what end? Your heart doesn’t know yet.

On the contrary, Juyeon’s heart beats wildly at your bravery. He doesn’t want to flirt despite his growing feelings, but you leave the door open too wide for him not to come in.

You’re still his best friend, so if you ever need advice or a listening ear, he’ll be there. Like that horrible joke about making out, he hated it. But he knew that it would make you laugh and feel better, because he knows you better than anyone else.

So why can’t he read your feelings? You're not usually so cryptic for no reason, he's sure of that. Yet the changes in your heart can be seen gradually: your sweet words, as well as the ambiguous ones, all carry a special and deep meaning. You’re a book Juyeon is dying to read, but you’re not descriptive enough for him to decipher just yet.

Sunwoo used to read you easily, but he’s not sure of anything anymore. He knows that you love him, that your love language consists of words of affirmation and that you never stop reminding him of it. And yet his insecurities always get the best of him and you end up fighting. The truth is, he’s afraid. You’ve always spent a lot of time with Juyeon and that’s fair, you’ve known each other for almost ten years. But shouldn’t you make up for that time with your one-year boyfriend?

He knows he can’t restrict you or your outings, that would be a dick move and he’s not a dick. You have lots of boy friends and he’s okay with that, but Juyeon? Juyeon annoys him. He seems too perfect to be true:  his looks, his gentle and romantic nature. He’s in a one-sided competition because Juyeon couldn’t care less. Or so he thought until now.

Halfway through the film, you're cuddled up in his arms, laughing, when his phone vibrates. Why on earth is Juyeon texting him?

Juyeon (1)

I just wanted to apologise for yesterday. This is not a valid reason, but I wanted to keep my best friend to myself for a while. I’m sorry if that hurt you.

Apology accepted. We’re adults and you’re defo not the one to blame but I appreciate it.

Thanks man

It cost Juyeon a lot to send that message. But in his place, he would have been furious if the situation had happened to him. So he toned it down, to ease the tension and make you feel better. But he’d do it again any time; anything to spend time with you.

And that’s exactly what happened in the weeks that followed.

You spent the whole week with Sunwoo after your meeting with Juyeon, going with him to his band rehearsals, shopping for clothes, accessories or window shopping, going on dates to the cinema, the park and restaurants. You did everything with him.

But that didn’t stop you from texting Juyeon every day. Sometimes he was the one who initiated the conversation, and other times you had to spam him to ask his opinion on the latest clothes you bought or because you missed him. Your weekly outings have also become two or three times a week, and you often meet up on his balcony for a night of dancing and drinks.

Everything is done with respect for your relationship, but you feel his hands on you longer than necessary, always within limits and sometimes in places that make you blush. For an example, he would place them on your hips, and you would be a fool to say that his little touches did not make your heart flutter. When he opens the door for you, when he orders for you without asking and never makes a mistake, or even when he gives you presents that you’ve looked at with envy. He’s so observant and attentive that causes butterflies in your stomach. The more time you spend with him, the more you can’t deny the attraction you feel.

He makes you feel like you are 16 again.

He kisses your forehead, cheek or hand when he drops you off. He holds your hand so you don’t get lost in the crowd. Even if it’s just an excuse, you let him because deep down you want him to.

And you hated yourself for it. You feel so guilty about Sunwoo. Yes, Juyeon may be a little more enterprising than usual, but he hasn’t changed his ways. You’re the one who reacts to harmless words and lazy touches. But your heart hasn’t changed. You love Sunwoo. Those feelings for Juyeon aren’t real. It is an attraction that arises because you spend all your time together, because he’s handsome and cares for you.

You’re not… in love with him.

Isn’t that right?

“Sweetheart, I bought fried chicken on the way home!” Sunwoo says one day after his rehearsal.

“Oh Sunny, you don’t know how much I’ve been craving it,” you clap, looking forward to devouring it. “Thank you.”

“Can I get a hug for being the most awesome boyfriend ever?” He asks sweetly.

“Oh you do,” you giggle, jumping into his arms.

“I love you,” he kisses your nose.

“Me too,” you reply, tiptoeing to kiss his forehead.

“Sunnyyyy,” you call out his name on a Friday afternoon. “Can I go out for the night with Kev, Minnie, Chani and Ju?”

“Sure! Don’t come back too late hm? And be careful.”

“Yes! I’ve got the four horsemen of the apocalypse to look after me and myself!” You laughed.

“Have fun Sweetheart, I love you,” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

“Me toooo Sunny,” you smiled.

And yet, as he does his best to be there for you, to shower you with love and care, you notice that your interactions are gradually diminishing. He’s not the problem but you are. Just like yesterday, you’ve been exchanging messages and at the end of all your conversations you have this cute habit of saying I love you. Except this time, you haven’t replied. You liked his message and replied with a heart.

But that’s not the only case, because you catch yourself not saying “I love you” back when you talk to him. Yet you’re still physically and intimately close. It’s as if you’re giving yourself to him in order to compensate for the emotional changes that you’re going through. And then what? You won’t even be able to kiss him? Hold his hand? Be intimate? You felt terrible, and this has been going on for months.

Perhaps the best (or worst) thing to do is to talk to him about it.

“Sunny? Can we talk?” You say out of the blue one morning.

“Yes baby, tell me?” He replies as he comes out of the bathroom, shirtless.

“Get dressed first,” you giggle.

“Why, don’t you like what you see?” He pouts, crossing his arms to emphasise his torso and you look away, ashamed to be turned on when you’re about to break his heart.

“Oh I do, but you’re distracting me from the point!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughs as he pulls on a t-shirt, “is it better now?”

“Yes, thank you,” you sigh.

“Are you okay?” He asks suddenly, sensing your discomfort. “You know you can tell me anything, I’m here for you.”

“Sunwoo, I-“ you take his hand in yours for support. “You need to know that I love you, it has never changed and it will never change, the feelings I have for you are very much real and I cherish them as much as I cherish you.”

“You’re not breaking up, are you? Because I won’t let you.” His eyes are shining now and you want to go back in time. You want to erase everything that has happened in the last two and a half months, the growing romantic feelings and the hurt.

“Sunwoo, I’m not breaking up with you, you’re the person I care about the most in the world, I would never let you down. And I hate myself for what I’m about to say.” You take a deep breath and as you do you know he’s figured it out and tears start to roll down his sweet face.

“I- fell in love with Juyeon,” you drop your head in shame.

You don't have the courage to look up and see the disappointment on his face, but you force yourself to. And when you finally did, his reaction catches you by surprise. It was obviously pain and sorrow, but also resilience?

“May I ask, how?” His voice is low, almost a murmur, but his eyes search yours for the truth.

“I- don’t know, it just happened.”

“Come on, you don’t just fall in love with another man by accident,” he laughs sarcastically.

“And yet I did!” You raise your voice in annoyance. “I didn’t choose it Sunwoo. And I would go back in time if I could!”

He takes a minute to consider your words, to decide whether or not you’re telling the truth. You didn’t expect this conversation to be easy, but he doesn’t make it any easier for you. You expected him to be in denial, to yell at you and cry. Instead he went straight towards the acceptance stage and he had this heartless look on his face. You knew you deserved it because he’s right; you don’t fall in love with another man by chance.

“Does he know? That you-“ he struggles to find the words, but you let him, because it has been hard for you too. You’re in love with your best friend, and you’ve probably been in love with him since you were 16. “That you love him?”

“No, oh god no!” You panic, finally thinking of the consequences, “I wanted to tell you first because I love you and I owe you the truth.”

“But you intend to tell him?” He worries and suddenly you feel like you’re talking to your best friend, the same conversation you had before you started dating Sunwoo.

“No Sunwoo, it was never a question of telling him or not. Yes, I love Juyeon romantically, but you’re my boyfriend. And I’m not trying to fool myself by saying that I still love you, I love you. And I love Juyeon too, but I’m not going to do anything with it.”

“You’re silly,” he chuckles affectionately. “Within the two months since our fight, I’ve watched you for a long time baby. I observed your body movements, your facial expressions and your words, hoping that it was all temporary and that we’d come out of it stronger together. But all I saw was love, but towards someone else. You came home giddy, eyes full of stars. Sometimes even in a frenzy of exaltation from which I found it hard to pull you out, because knowing that you were happy made me happy. So I won’t say that I knew it, but I sensed it. And I know that you love me, I have never doubted it and I don’t doubt it now. But you love him silly. Perhaps even more than you love me. I’m not mad at you, I saw you falling for him, I just ignored the signs. And I know you didn’t choose it, nor did you want to break my heart. Your love for him is stronger and I can hear it. Thank you for telling me, it must have cost you a lot.”

You start to cry, because what else can you do but cry? You love him and it hurts you to hear him say that you love someone stronger. But he’s right. No matter how much you try to deny it, you love Juyeon unconditionally.

“Why,” you cry out.

“Why what baby,” he takes you in his arms, guiding your head in the crook of his neck and your tears start to soak his t-shirt.

“I’m pretty sure I broke your heart and stomped on it, so why aren’t you mad at me? Why are you taking it so well? I don’t understand. I feel like shit and you’re too perfect?”

“You have no idea of the pain, anger and emptiness I feel right now, I’m far from perfect,” his voice falters as he tries to hold back his tears, “but I can’t take it out on you, even though you deserve it, because you didn’t want it? Also because I didn’t speak when I realised you were drifting away. I know you blame yourself, and yes, I am heartbroken, I can’t wait to cry but I don’t want to make you sadder than you already are.”

“I don’t deserve you Sunny, I’m sorry, I love you to the moon and back,” you smile shyly.

“And I love you just as much, thank you for the love that doesn’t make me feel lonely,” he smiles back as he rubs your back in slow motions. “Can I kiss you? One last time?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

When his lips touch yours, it has never felt better. The kiss is a little salty because you have both been crying, but also sweet. It is your last kiss and you devour each other’s lips as if it were the first, not wanting to part. You quickly run out of air, but he presses his lips to yours to convey his feelings one last time and you smile, knowingly, as you kiss him back.

“You should go to him,” he says, lips swollen and eyes puffy.

“Yes, to be with my best friend. And you should call Eric for the same reason,” you sobbed, and he giggles.

“Coward,” he laughs, “but I will.”

“And Sunwoo,” you start again. “I would never do anything without your approval.”

“Thank you,” he replies, touched and aware of the feelings you will always have for him. “For everything, but especially for being with me.”

“I should be the one thanking you, my lifesaver,” you kissed his cheek as you take his hand in yours. “Let’s remain good friends, in the future.”

“Absolutely, if I ever get over you,” he laughs in a reassuring way.

You know that the joke is just his way of breaking the tension, so you laugh it off, saying that he should, and you imitated a knife at your throat as a warning, which makes him laugh heartily. Then, your heart sinks at the sound of you no longer being the recipient. Yes you fell in love with someone else, and it will be just as hard to get over him. But you have Juyeon, and he’s your rock.

Juyo <3

Juyo can I come over?

Sure, is something wrong?

These three words are enough to turn your heart upside down. He’s always been thoughtful, and now that you’ve accepted your feelings, you feel butterflies swirling in your tummy.

Juyo <3

Sunwoo and I broke up

I’ll pick you up in 5

Yes pls, drive safely

He pulls up in the parking lot exactly 5 minutes after his message, just like he said. You rush down the stairs, too eager to melt into his arms to wait for the lift. He doesn’t have time to get out of the car before you throw yourself on him, crying. Tears of separation and heartbreak, and tears of joy when you see him again because you know you love him.

“I’m here,” he whispers in a panicked voice, probably not expecting you so soon and in such a state. “I’m right here, let it out.”

And you do, the feelings you’ve been burying for 2 months are just waiting to be expressed. You cry until your body aches from lack of air and your eyes are dry. Finally, you shiver and regret having gone out so quickly without covering up. But Juyeon is just as quick to pull the jacket he was wearing over your shoulders and you hum happily as his scent washes over you.

“Let’s go home?” He caresses your hair tenderly.

You’re amazed that he doesn’t ask any questions, he just stands by you and supports you through this difficult ordeal that he knows only too well. And the truth is, he’s even sad for you. No matter how much he loves you, you’re the definition of love to him. For you to break up with Sunwoo, for whatever reason, doesn’t make any sense. It’s not his place to ask if you don’t tell him first, so he just holds your hand on the way back, and when he has to let go to change gear, he makes sure he puts it back on your thigh.

This makes you blush like a tomato, how dare he put his big hand on your thigh, almost completely covering it whole. You’re pretty sure your feelings are written all over your face, but he mistakes your blushing for embarrassment, when in fact it’s just romantic stimulation. You look up to see if his hand placement has any effect on him, only to find that he is blushing as well. Being as dense as he is, you mistook his shyness for embarrassment.

You two definitely make quite the pair.

“Make yourself at home Starlight,” he says as he opens the front door, never stopping to hold your hand.

You step inside as he tells you to and try to take off your shoes, planning to curl up on the sofa under the blanket while you wait for him and his hugs. But he had other ideas as he grabs your wrist to pull you closer, pinning you between him and the newly closed front door. Your surprise translates into a gasp that becomes a choke as he drops to one knee. Your heart pounds in your chest at the way he looks at you, worshipping you. Without warning, he bends down to untie your shoelaces, still smiling and even a little mischievous.

“What?” He smiles proudly. “Can’t I look after my Starlight?”

You open your mouth to speak but no sound comes out, too surprised by his playful tone.

“Cat got your tongue?” He sticks out his tongue as he stands up.

“Yes, you got it!” You slap him gently as a reward for nervousness.

“Not in my mouth though…” He whispers so quietly you almost don’t hear it, and that earns him another slap, only he steps back to avoid your blow and you stumble and fall on top of him.

“I guess it will be easier to carry you now,” he chuckles, kissing your forehead.

He puts his arms under your knees and around your waist and you squeal as he lifts you up, bridal style. This man will be the death of you. Oh, how you would kiss him if you weren’t so heartbroken and hadn’t just broken up. And he would kiss you just as much. You’re both madly in love and it shows.

He wraps you in a blanket as he lays you down on the sofa before kissing your forehead for the umpteenth time. Then he goes into the kitchen and fetches your favourite foods, drinks and desserts, which he sets out on the coffee table. You were surprised by the homemade dishes, as if he’d made them with a special purpose in mind. But he doesn’t say a word or make a comment, he just slips under your blanket when he’s done and hugs you, breathing in your scent.

You stay in each other’s arms for a while, not saying a word, just enjoying your hearts beating in unison. It feels heavenly, relaxing and you can almost feel yourself coming back to life. If Sunwoo was your lifesaver, Juyeon is your guardian angel. He is always looking out for you and giving you his utmost special care, just like right now, for no particular reason (even if there is one now).

He doesn’t pry, he just waits for you to speak while he grabs the remote to put on the latest show you’ve started together and feeds you. You’re quite grateful for the little comments he makes during the show, distracting you from the truth: the burning love you have for him that consumes you. In the end, you tell him that you still love Sunwoo, but that your recent incessant arguments have taken their toll on you.

That, against all odds, you’ve spilt up properly. And that it will be a while before you move on, but that the door is not closed. You made sure to emphasise this part, because what if there’s a small chance that Sunwoo was right and Juyeon is a fool in love with you? You’re not ready yet, but when the time comes, you want to confess your love to him and live out the childhood romance you’ve always dreamed of, until death do you part.

The next few of weeks passed in a blur, and you have basically settled into Juyeon’s apartment – going back and forth to your house to pick up your things and put them in his closets. Your shoes sits nicely in the new shoe rack he bought for you to go out together, and your toothbrush sits proudly next to Juyeon’s. You even have matching ones. Oh, and Juyeon can finally happily say that you’ve got your side of the bed, with your cute belongings on the bedside table and a picture of the two of you at 16 in a frame.

In fact, you slowly become a domestic couple-like going grocery shopping together and going on so-called dates. Life with Juyeon is easy. Whether you go out at dawn or dusk, he’s always with you, matching your pace and holding your hand from the streetlights to the dancing starlight. When you saw your hands touching and your steps overlapping, it reminds you of your first encounter and the fluttering of your heart. How you shyly looked at him, only to see him already looking at you lovingly, red on his cheeks. That cold winter you spent together was actually the warmest moment of Juyeon’s life, and that day might have been the day you hid a present for each other in your sleeve.

Even more slowly, your relationship with Juyeon develops as the months go by. It was hard not for it to blossom, considering the fact that you live together and that you absolutely do everything together, but it’s happening. Juyeon has started to walk around bare chest when he gets out of the shower and sometimes! He even goes to bed naked, with just his pyjama pants hanging low on his hips.

Of course, you get to snuggle up against his warm chest and cuddle to sleep. When it comes to sleeping, you don’t even try to fall asleep on your own side of the bed anymore because you always wake up in each other’s arms. You have definitely grown closer and closer in just a few months.

Your touches with one another have become more sensual and romantic and your words more flirtatious. You wear his clothes more often than usual, sometimes getting out of bed in just his t-shirt and underwear, awakening certain feelings within him. From time to time, he dares to put his hands under your (his) t-shirt and kiss your forehead tenderly, for lack of being able to kiss your lips sensually and make you his, right when you wake up.

“All pretty for me hm?” He said the first time you went to sleep in this garment. “You know I’m just a man.”

And if you sat on his hips to cuddle him afterwards, maybe the message got through. Maybe a little too much, given that a few minutes later he pretended to be in a hurry and the water ran for a long time. He’s just a man.

Yes, your man.

Another time, when you were out shopping at the mall, people addressed you as a couple and you didn’t mind, oh no. Perhaps it was the smiley eye contact you made, or the way he held you in his arms and you leaned into him, almost as if you were going to kiss, that gave it away. At least, that’s what gave Sunwoo, who was watching you nearby, the courage to send you a message.

Woo ☼ (1)

Hi, hello! I saw you at the mall with Juyeon, can we talk? I’m with Changmin, we can ditch them together?

Hi Sunny!!! Sure we can, the cafe nearby?

Juyeon was a little reluctant to leave you alone with Sunwoo due to the countless nights you spent crying and the difficulty you had opening up (not to mention your blossoming love for Juyeon) but he quickly gave up because he knew you wanted it and he was happy to spend time with Changmin. Juyeon is the love of your life and you can’t pretend that he isn’t anymore.

“Hi Sweetheart, I saw you left your shopping bags with your man,” he laughs and you kick him under the table so as not to draw attention to yourself.

“Stop that Kim Sunwoo!” You whine.

“Stop what? Calling you sweetheart or calling him your man?”

“Both!” You laugh embarrassed and shy.

“How are you?” He changes the subject after one last laugh and you’re happy to see that he hasn’t changed, he’s still as playful and lively as ever.

“I’m fine, nothing has really changed since our last messages. I told you I got my dream job, so Juyeon and I are treating ourselves with my first salary. Oh, and Juyeon has also found a new job he’s really enjoying. Hence, the reason why we’re out shopping.” You went on to rave about your everyday life, happy to share this new chapter with him, whom you still love very much, just not romantically anymore.

“You must love him a lot,” he says softly, almost as if he were muttering to himself. “It’s cute, you’re cute, I’m happy for you.” And you don’t answer, curious to hear what he’s going to say next.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot over the past six months,” he begins. “Thank you for always reaching out to me and not ghosting me despite the break-up, it meant a lot to me. Being away from you has been hard. I will not lie. But it also taught me that I was too dependent on you and it felt great to spend time by myself and with our friends. I got news from them and saw that you were doing well, as anyone going through a break-up would be. And it made me realise that, if you were fine, I should be fine, even if it was just a facade, that somehow the sadness would pass.”

You nod to let him know you’re listening and that you’re on the same wavelength as him.

“And it did,” he whispers almost happily, as if the weight he was carrying close to his heart has been lifted. “I thought I would love you for the rest of my life, but then I met someone.” You gasp at his words and tear up a little.

“It came as a blessing, without me even looking for it, and I can say that I’m happy now. So when I saw you so happy on Juyeon’s arm, looking at him lovingly like he hung the stars in the sky I thought: “Ah, you’re really on cloud nine with him”. I shouldn’t hold you back from your happiness. You have my blessing, not that you need it but date him, kiss him, make love and live happily ever after.” To emphasise his words, he squeezes your hand which he has started to hold somewhere in his monologue, and kisses it.

You swear you didn’t want to cry, and Juyeon will probably be worried to see your swollen eyes, but how can you remain impassive in the face of so much love? It’s true, you held back and would have kissed Juyeon if it wasn’t for Sunwoo. But now you’ll both be happy.

You chatted for quite a while, enjoying your reunion as friends, learning more about the person he had met and ranting about your life with Juyeon, when he appeared before you with Changmin, impatient to get you back. You missed him. How did you manage to live without Juyeon so far? Ecstatic, you jump into his arms and bid your goodbyes promising to meet again soon. As you walk away, Juyeon’s phone beeps and he just shrugs at the message in his inbox with a smile. Then he ruffles your hair, earning a pout from you that he kisses away at the corner of your lips. You wonder what the message was, but the kiss is definitely more important.

Sunwoo (1)

I’ve seen the way you look at each other, it’s full of love. Give it a shot!

Yes, there will be many more kisses now.

And here you are today, on Juyeon’s couch, enjoying your home date for the tenth anniversary of your friendship, with Sunwoo’s blessing in the back of your mind. You spent the day cooking together, sweet and savoury, having fun with the shapes of the cakes and pizzas (hearts and dicks like the children you are), playing games, dancing and listening to music in a good-natured atmosphere.

Today’s a day to celebrate your friendship. Yes friendship, when all you want to do is kiss him senseless. Maybe confessing today is not such a bad idea. Especially when you see him coming out of the shower in all his glory, beads of water running down his naked torso, hair tousled and wet, tongue running over his lips sensuously as he looks you straight in the eye, ready to pounce on you. Oh, and, his cinnamoroll pyjama pants, low on his hips and revealing the Apollo belt of his abs, make you smile as much as it turns you on.

Juyeon takes his place between your legs, smiling, his hot muscular back resting on your chest as he lays his head back on your shoulder, dampening your matching melody pyjamas. He chuckles as he turns his head to see you gawping. His big veiny hand that had been squeezing your thigh flies to your cheek, turning your flushed face towards him so he can kiss the pout at the corner of your lips. His beautiful lips linger a little longer on your neck, but you welcome his touch with open arms and lean into his embrace.

His eyes are full of stars when he rises from your embrace to grab the remote and turn on your series. But he remains seated between your legs, unconsciously resting a hand on your knee to preserve the intimacy you’re so immersed in. You help him on with his t-shirt, not without kissing his shoulder first, making him shiver. And your hands take the opportunity to wander down his torso to his waist, making him smirk as well. You become more and more adventurous, he loves it and can’t wait to run his lips all over your body, discovering all of it.

You place a kiss on the crown on his hair and when you notice that it’s already dry, an idea crosses your mind. Juyeon’s focus is back on the show, so much so that he can barely feel your hands playing with his hair. You give him a rather pleasant massage, moving down to the small of his chest, across his neck and up into his hair, twisting it between your fingers.

“How does it feel?” You murmured in a hushed tone.

“Heavenly,” he moans.

The tension is palpable as you continue your services, your hearts beating wildly, almost as one. He takes one of your hands in his to kiss it, the attention making you blush, before replacing it in his hair and nodding for you to continue. So you undertake one of the most romantic acts of love in your eyes, braiding his hair. Strand by strand, your fingers caress the edges of his face. The braids come undone as quickly as they are made, but he smiles broadly as he touches them, feeling butterflies in his stomach and his heart beating erratically.

“I could see our everyday life like this,” you whisper in his ear. “Together.”

Juyeon, who had been purring at your display of affection, becomes still when he hears your words. He slowly turns to face you with the most charming smile and tenderly takes your hand to place it on his chest, where his heart burns with love. The fire in his eyes burns inexorably, lighting up his already sunny face, unable to leave him. You’re captivated by this intensity and he doesn’t look away, also in love with your sparkling eyes, even when he reaches out to grab a little box that has always been right in front of your eyes. Yes, his love has always been on display. You were just too slow to catch on.

But you get it now. You’re two fools in love.

“You know how our youth is filled with each other’s names?” He says, voice a little hoarse and heart beating fast under your palm. “Well, my heart has never changed, I’ve always wanted to be with you. You are my breath of fresh air, the warmth that keeps me going through the winter, and the words I’m about to tell you will never melt away. My everything is all about you, it has always been about you.” He pauses to take a deep breath and kisses the palm of your hand, which he then links with his own, intertwining your fingers.

“I love you,” he sighs with love and happiness. “I love you so much that I was reading my destiny inside your eyes without even knowing it.” The flame of love he has carried all these years dances in his eyes, making him irresistible and captivating. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you wait for his question, palpitations he feels through your bound hands.

“Would you be mine?” His gaze, dropping to your lips then back to your eyes, is determined as he opens the velvet box to reveal two rings. Not just any rings, the matching promise rings to the bracelets you bought months ago. The ones on your wrists that you’ve never taken off.

As if on cue, as a sign of future commitment, he kisses your left ring finger and places the ring on your right with such tenderness that you almost cry. No, you’re pretty sure tears are rolling down your face because he puts his thumb under your eyes to gently wipe away the tears and kisses the salty drops that have run down your cheeks, close to your lips. With that, you mirror his actions by kissing the ring, his left ring finger and placing it on his right finger with a dazzling smile, as an unspeakable promise – that you’ll spend the rest of your lives together.

“I have always been yours. I love you Juyeon, so much that I’m going crazy.”

Even now, after confessing his feelings and hearing yours, he remains respectful and lets you make the first move with a victorious smile. You grin, feeling the cool material of the ring on your cheek as he cups your face in his hand, reminding you that this is all real and that he loves you.

And he does.

So you finally lean in, closing the gap between you to rest your lips on his. It was meant to be a soft and quick peck, but he captures your body and deepens the kiss, years of longing and wanting not to be wasted, leaving you breathless. His lips search yours every time you pull away, not wanting to let go, intoxicated by your lips and this new closeness. If you spend the rest of the evening making out and exploring each other, no one will say a word. Not even your neighbours.

Ah, you’ve never been in love and wanted to be with anyone as much as you do with him, and this since you were 16.

[shares-a-vest]

While my shoulder has been fucked up I've been watching a lot of football AND sports commentary shows, which I have found myself enjoying??? As always, I've kept the actual sports ball details vague seeing as I barely know American sports.

Eddie walks into the living room to find Steve on his feet and standing far too close to the television. He has the phone to his ear and his shoulders are tensing.

"I cannot believe this," he says to Robin, who Eddie knows is on the other end of the line and probably just as agitated.

She must say something Steve vehemently agrees with because he nods, all stern and vibrating in agreeance. But he soon scoffs, holding the phone away as the Sportsman on the television says... Something about something baseball-related.

Steve swooshes his hand through the air in disapproval.

"Rob, are you hearing this asshole?"

The oven dings and Eddie decides to take his chances and step forward. He tip-toes quietly, making sure to keep his distance as he moves into his husband's field of vision and boy, is Steve mad about... Whatever tonight's Sports Problem is.

It's a big enough to-do that it is being discussed on (Eddie knows this much) Sportscenter.

Steve's frown deepens and his mouth down-turns to a cute – albeit grumpy – pout that has only become more accentuated with age and wrinkles.

"Dinner," Eddie mouths, adding an innocent, wiggling hand wave.

Steve props a hand on his hip and nods at him before he turns his attention back to the television. He heaves in a breath and now Eddie frowns. Because yeah, sure, Hellfire still gets his heart a-fluttering every once in a while, but these days he and the boys carry out quieter, more laid-back campaigns that would make their former selves gasp in horror.

And, Sport Problems, or not, he doesn't like the idea of Steve getting so worked up that he's wheezing.

"Rob!" Steve scolds in disbelief down the line, "What? Ugh, fine... Fine!" he looks at Eddie, "My dinner is ready too... Alright! Call me back... Mhmm," he pinches his nose, "Yes, I'll do the three-way call thing with Sinclair instead... Fine! Okay, bye."

He ends the call with a forceful pressing of the Talk/End button and murmurs to himself, practically sneering as he shoots the panel of sports commentators a look.

"Okay-p," Eddie says, clasping his hands together as he decides to charge for the remote.

He points it at the TV and gleefully reduces the group riling up his husband's undead universe-induced asthma to black nothingness.

"Calm down, Stevie-bear," he says, discarding the remote on the couch so he can rub at his back, "No more Sportscenter for now."

"But, Eddie, can you believe –"

Steve cuts himself off as Eddie loops an arm around his middle and leads him to the four-seater dining table.

"I know your hip is too bad for you to play ball these days, sweetheart, but you gotta calm down," he bargains, relieved when Steve's breathing begins to even out, "Dinner time is our quiet time."

"Yes..." Steve glances around.

Eddie narrows his eyes the moment he realises his partner has located their iPad on the breakfast bar. He tilts his head, hoping to block Steve's view of it and they soon become engaged in a silent stand-off despite standing in the middle of their living space attached at the hip, arm in arm.

It only stops when Steve purses his lips, no doubt readying himself to bring out the big guns and say something with the deadliest of bitchy lilts.

"Nope," Eddie says, chopping his hand through the air, "You're not rewatching that... play you are so cranky about on the iPad. I'm sure you are right about it anyway."

Steve says nothing. Hell, he probably saw straight through that ever-so-slightly condescending attempt at deflection. But Eddie can't bring himself to be all that worried about his tone as some very real panic sets in at the sound of the pot on the stove bubbling up a little too much.

He detaches himself from his partner, thinking that ruining dinner and taking Steve away from the television will start up a World War III, the likes of which he hasn't seen since the time he brought a stray cat into the apartment, who promptly hid in the closet and pooped in Steve's new Nikes.

"I am right," Steve says, all perky and chipper now as he pulls out a chair, "Can you, uh... Do the, uh..."

He trails off, looking at the phone's keypad and gesturing to the buttons.

Eddie reaches forward and plucks the phone from Steve's hand.

"I'll set up the three-way call for you later," he says, reading his mind. He presses a kiss to his forehead and sets the phone down on the table, "Promise."

"Lucas will be ready to talk at – "

"Eight o'clock," Eddie nods, "Just in time for the replay, I know."

He pats Steve on the shoulder with reassurance. When his husband finally takes a seat, Eddie heads off to the kitchen just in time to salvage their dinner.

[evermoredeluxe]

How Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour Took Over the Entire World

By Chris Willman

By Alissa Gao for Variety

On the morning that Taylor Swift’s “Eras Tour” is about to begin a three-night stand in Dublin, the older gentleman taking charge of my passport at airport customs has clearly had his fill of Swifties, probably processing them by the hundreds already today. When I reveal myself to be one too — despite being arguably the wrong gender, inarguably old and lacking a telltale “Lover” mascara star over my right eye — his disdain is palpable. Suddenly, I’m getting way more screening questions than anyone not on a watch list should. “What do you like about her?” he sneers, peering up over specs.

This is probably the wrong time for me to point out Swift’s Irish heritage, or to assert that she is this generation’s James Joyce. (The original king of the Easter eggs, right?) I wouldn’t really go that far — I’m only on record as doing my best to certify her as this century’s Beatles. Trying to figure out how to answer him, the past 18 years of extolling Swift in print flash before my eyes. I end up murmuring the bare minimum: “Um, her songwriting.” This seems to disturb him further. He snaps back: “Aren’t they all the same song” — a slight pause, and I know what’s coming next — “about her breakups?” Then, abruptly, he stamps me through, sparing me a detour to Interpol for more grilling.

In the cab into town, the driver is blasting a local talk-radio personality sharing his dismay about the fans of an awful superstar taking over his country. The host reads an email sent in from a hater who says, “A year ago, when tickets went on sale, my partner and I made a reservation to take our kids out of the country this Friday morning. … Thank you for creating a safe space with your show.” I start to wonder if Swift might have met her match at the Cliffs of Moher.

But from my drop-off forward, the next three days are like living in a Swift-topia. The mile and a half to Aviva Stadium each night is like Disneyland when it shuts its doors early for an affinity group. Whether stopping in the pubs or walking through the charming neighborhood of Victorian brick homes adjoining the fancy new stadium, there’s that warm feeling of people who are united by one quality: They are all super in touch with their feelings — or else they wouldn’t be Swift fans. And they all are happy to stop on the street or over pints to talk about poetical expression. (Well, except for the occasional taciturn, invariably straight young male who has signified his supportive-plus-one status by wearing a jersey bearing the name of Swift’s Super Bowl beau, Travis Kelce.)

So it is that I end up chatting with a middle-aged gay man in a sequin-covered shirt whose female companion whispers to me, while he steps away to trade friendship bracelets with a 10-year-old girl and her mum, that Swift’s music just helped him through a difficult breakup. The girl then runs off to trade her homemade bracelets with a pair of high-helmeted Dublin policemen loaded up to their own elbows with friendship swag — unexpected accessories for long arms of the law.

All the stories about American Swifties swarming overseas to catch “The Eras Tour” turn out to be true: You couldn’t swing a neon golf club around here without hitting a Yank. Approximately one out of every five fans I approach is visiting from the States — and the jubilation they’re feeling about the night’s impending concert is compounded by the fact that nearly all of them financed a European vacation and a concert ticket for roughly the same amount they would have paid on a secondary ticketing site for a typical four-figure ticket to one of last year’s predatorily repriced U.S. shows.

Remember the venerable stereotype of the Ugly Americans, brusquely trampling over refined Europeans in their travels? Thanks to Taylor Swift, who has a gift for laying out global welcome mats, this is the summer of the Spangly American.

At the stadium on night one, just down the row from me are a group of millennials from New Jersey, several in glam unitards inspired by the “Lover” or “1989” portions of the career-spanning show and looking like they were costumed by Swift’s own designer, with fake jewel-encrusted microphones to match. I ask how many hours went into perfecting these nearly pro-grade outfits.

“About 80 hours for mine,” says Megan McLaughlin. “Hers probably longer,” she adds, nodding toward one of her sisters, Margo Steinberg. “She knows all the glues and the best gems.” Indeed, confirms Steinberg, “I was working on mine since January. And, yes, I did quit my job to finish it!” She adds, when I ask if she cares to share any secrets to a particularly good look, “You have to use the B-7000 glue.” (A third sister, Amelia McLaughlin, admits she resorted to buying her spangly dress off Etsy — “I was doing a PhD, but I had to match these girls’ enthusiasm” — while a fourth, Carolyn McLaughlin, skipped the glitter and went for a red dress that matches Swift’s from the “I Bet You Think About Me” video.)

Certainly, there is an element of cosplay to many of the fans’ outfits. Some have seen footage of the new segment Swift added to the tour beginning in April 2024 — devoted to her most recent album, the 31-song “Tortured Poets Department” — and have managed to manufacture gowns that look like they’re made of paper and feature lyric excerpts printed on them in script, à la Swift’s custom-made Vivienne Westwood dress. I meet a group of American women who became friends as literature majors in college who have “Tortured Poets”-themed outfits, one duplicating the Westwood dress and the other with handmade printouts of the latest album’s lyrics pinned all over her black dress, as if she were literally pulling pages out of Swift’s playbook.

It’s the devotion to lyrics, even more than glitter, that is most impressive about the bespoke outfits fans have concocted for the occasion. There are scores and scores of Swifties wearing homemade T-shirts — sometimes singular, sometimes matching with a friend, like walking Burma-Shave signs. Some of the messages are obvious, like the dozens of laddies wearing “It’s me, hi, I’m the husband/boyfriend/father, it’s me” shirts. (Bet that seemed really original at one time.) But a lot of them refer to more obscure songs or stanzas, as if every nearby street or stadium loge section is full of human Easter eggs, begging to be unpacked. It’s hard to think of any other superstar in the history of stadium tours who could have inspired as much fan-crafted clothing rooted in the power of words.

Combos of middle-aged mothers and their teen or 20-something daughters abound; some of them have seized on Swift’s mentions of her own mother, Andrea, to come up with their T-shirt ideas. On Lansdowne Road, I talk to a mum whose red-on-black shirt says, “Had to listen to all this drama,” accompanied by a daughter bearing the legend, “And here’s to my mama.” (This is a reference to Swift’s song “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things.”)

Later, in a stadium Guinness line, I chat up a pair of thirsty locals, the daughter’s shirt reading “I call my mom, she said …,” with the mom’s shirt completing the thought: “It was for the best.” (Damn it, I had to Google to recall that’s from a “1989” Vault track that came out last year.) I ask the daughter if she had to explain to her mom what she was wearing. “She’s 52,” she replies. “I don’t think she knows.”

Age is really no guarantor of not getting it — the popular #SwiftieOver50 hashtag on X proves that. Although outnumbered, plenty of older people are unaccompanied by a minor, or by anyone who has been a minor in the past 20 years. I approach a middle-aged couple, Jean Sebastian Conley and Natasha Gagne, again bidden by their matching shirts — “Who’s Taylor Swift?” and “Who’s Travis Kelce?” They turn out to be French Canadians who found their 206-euro SRO tickets to be a steal compared with the extravagant resale prices they briefly considered back home after being shut out of the initial on-sale. I ask what attracted them to Swift since, unlike so many others here, they didn’t grow up with her.

“I really fell in love with her with the ‘Folklore’ album,” Conley says, referring to her low-key Grammy-winning album recorded during the early months of the pandemic. “I think different audiences and older audiences found her through that and ‘Evermore’ because they were more singer-songwriter, a little bit rougher indie music, and that’s what we like most. So that’s how I got hooked.” For her part, Gagne says, “I like everything she represents. And when she redid all her masters, that’s where I thought she was a lady boss.”

It’s a reminder that, for however many mini-narratives Swift packs into the three hours and 20 minutes of an “Eras” show, there are really four or five years of backstory that feed into the audience’s shared awareness. When she sings the ominous ballad “My Tears Ricochet,” accompanied by a coven of stone-faced dancers, at least some fans will understand it as a distant reflection of her very public feelings about the men she considers her business bêtes noires, Scooter Braun and Scott Borchetta, who bought and sold (respectively) the rights to her first six albums, spawning much vitriol as well as four “Taylor’s Version” rerecorded albums to date.

When the dancers put their grins back on, Swift plays an ebullient excerpt of a very recent “Poets” bonus track, “So High School,” which every person in the crowd will know is inspired by Kelce. There are some breakup songs of recent vintage too — yes, Mr. Customs Man! — like “The Smallest Man in the World,” which may or may not have cost Matty Healy, the 1975 frontman and former Swift paramour, a night of sleep.

The whole tour is themed around not just the newer records but the rerecordings that have made every older album in her catalog feel improbably fresh. It was, quite possibly, the single most baller move in the history of the record industry … and led to the career-retrospective concept for what is already unquestionably the biggest tour in the history of popular music.

Any discussion of the charms of fandom isn’t meant to forestall discussion of “The Eras Tour” as big business. The numbers are fuzzy because Swift’s camp does not release grosses from her shows, unlike nearly every other artist at the stadium or arena level. Even when the tour wraps after 20 months on Dec. 8 in Vancouver, it seems likely those numbers will continue to be guarded with a zeal on par with the government of North Korea’s. Many industry experts believe the gross will approach or even surpass $2 billion.

What is known for certain — even without a confirmation from Swift World — is that she broke the all-time tour-gross figure when she hit the $1 billion mark, whenever exactly that might have been. The two trade publications that specialize in the touring industry have slightly differing estimates: Billboard calculated a cumulative gross of approximately $900 million when she took a break at the end of 2023, figuring that she would crack $1 billion shortly into the tour’s resumption in April, while Pollstar estimated that she had passed $1 billion by the conclusion of last year. Any way you guesstimate it, Swift took less than a year to break the previous record of $939.1 million, which Elton John grossed with his “Farewell Yellow Brick Road” tour across nearly three years of shows.

One source close to the production said early in the “Eras Tour” era that her average gross each night is $14 million. Others believe that is a highly conservative estimate, with a possible total that on at least some nights edges closer to $17 million. One remarkable aspect is that this does not include the revenue from any inflated resale tickets — which, as anyone who has tried to get tickets through Vivid Seats or StubHub knows, mostly have gone for several times their face value. It was little publicized, but Swift had “dynamic pricing” turned off for her ticket sales, possibly to avoid the controversies Bruce Springsteen encountered when the face value on some of his tickets leaped to the four-figure range upon their first sale. Swift left money on the table by not participating in the scalping of her own tickets, which had an average price of around $230 and topped out at $499, excepting VIP packages, which zenithed at $899 — all well short of what some other superstars ask nowadays. Of course, neither Argentina nor anyone at Wembley Stadium ahead of Swift’s opening night performance in June will be crying for her when she’s in reach of $2 billion without the resale inflation … not to mention the hundreds of millions of dollars in merch.

(This is extraordinary also because Swift hasn’t done any press to promote the tour, except for when she was selected as Time Magazine’s Person of the Year in December. But she doesn’t need to — the tour is constantly being celebrated on social media with every outfit change. And it’s also become so huge, it’s featured more A-list sightings than the Oscars, from Julia Roberts to Tom Cruise to Stevie Nicks, who had the surprise song “You’re on Your Own, Kid” dedicated to her in Dublin.)

Benson Boone, whose “Beautiful Things” is the most-streamed song of 2024 in the U.S. and the world, says he felt dwarfed when performing as the opening act at one of Swift’s seven shows at London’s Wembley Stadium. He has forever committed to memory the exact attendance figure he was given for the night: “89,497,” he says. “Just her stage alone is bigger than anything I’ve ever seen — 300 feet of it!” he says. “I took in every moment. It was cool for me to experience another artist’s world and learn from it. I want to work that hard and be the captain of my ship.”

Although it’s maddening to a media that likes official box office reports and can’t get them, it’s easy to see the wisdom in not flaunting those figures if you’re a superstar artist who counts on being seen as relatable. Swift certainly is proud of breaking records — she posted a tweet when “The Tortured Poets Department” spent its first 12 weeks at No. 1 on the album chart, one of only three albums in history to do so. But she’d rather count fan impressions than dollars. By the same token, she doesn’t publicize or confirm acts of generosity that leak out, like the sizable food-bank donations she makes in every city she tours, or the $100,000 bonuses that the tour’s 50 truck drivers reportedly got for Christmas.

An addendum to all this is how the “Eras Tour” film — released last fall, less than halfway through the actual tour — grossed just over $180 million domestically and $261 million globally, beating the records set by Justin Bieber’s concert film in the U.S. and Michael Jackson’s globally. Massive big-screen spoilers only heightened, rather than diminished, resale demand for the shows yet to come on the 152-date tour and helped precipitate the movement among Americans to head overseas, to make up for the supply found sorely lacking at home.

“She is the torchbearer for the live industry,” says Andy Gensler, editor of Pollstar. “It’s nothing we’ve ever seen before, and it’ll be a long time before we see it again. Her timing was exquisite: The pandemic created this yearning and hunger for live entertainment like nothing else in our history, so she couldn’t have picked a better time to go out.” Pollstar called last year a “historic golden age” for touring, as the top 100 global tours collectively surpassed $9 billion — up 46% from 2022 — with Swift obviously contributing a significant chunk of that total. (This year, the trade reports that overall tour attendance is down, with flat grosses, representing a slight reckoning for the live industry that, obviously, isn’t impacting “Eras.”)

“What my partners and I talk a lot about is how it’s one thing to have a big tour in North America. It’s another thing to have an equally big tour wherever you are in the world and to do doubles and triples in these markets,” says Bernie Cahill, an Activist founding partner and manager of acts including the Grateful Dead and the Lumineers. “It’s an anomaly. It’s not normal. And don’t forget, you’re going into what I call asymmetric venues, which are venues that are not really built for music; these are venues that are built for football games or soccer games and can be very challenging to do music. And they get it right every time — Louis Messina [Swift’s tour promoter since her earliest days] and his team are world-class.” But for all that globe-trotting, he notes, “there are some artists that you see do a show and you know they don’t even know what city they’re in. I always feel like Taylor knows exactly where she is. She has a relationship with that city or that market and those fans and she’s connected to them in ways that are very authentic, that you can’t fake.”

The one big snafu in the rollout of “The Eras Tour” occurred in November 2022 when the Ticketmaster system melted down after too many North American dates went on sale at once, causing thousands of fans to experience long delays. The on-sale broke the all-time record for tickets sold in a single day at 2 million, but it also nearly broke the world’s largest ticketing platform. Swift herself was Teflon in this situation, as the blame fell on a ticketing system not capable of handling so much of the Swift-loving world at once. And although most of the problems people have with Ticketmaster are different from what fans faced in the “Eras Tour” debacle — mainly, hidden fees and monopolistic practices — it could have big legislative consequences anyway. Dean Budnick, co-author of “Ticket Masters: The Rise of the Concert Industry and How the Public Got Scalped,” believes that the Swift hullabaloo was the main catalyst for Congress enacting reform. “There’s no question that perhaps there’s gonna be some meaningful change in ticketing as a result of what people experienced with that on-sale.”

That sense Cahill spoke about of the singer making it clear to an audience she knows exactly where she’s at is in full force in Dublin. Swift introduces the “Folklore”/”Evermore” segment by suggesting that she had a spiritual locale in mind when she started writing that more intimate material, locked in during the first part of the pandemic. “It keeps me up at night all year long: Which era is the most Irish?” she half-jokes to the crowd. “I’m gonna make a case for it being ‘Folklore’ … This album’s imaginary world had a whole aesthetic — like I lived in this cabin in a really green, nature-y, moss-covered landscape. You see where I’m going?… Another thing that I think makes it more Irish than the other eras is, ‘Folklore’ was all about storytelling. And I know you hear this a lot, but you guys are naturally gifted storytellers, right?”

Later on, Swift will cement the local connection by playing, as a “secret” surprise acoustic song, “Sweet Nothing.” She doesn’t have to give the crowd any explanation for that: From the first notes, Irish Swifties will immediately recall that the lyrics reference to the coastal town of Wicklow. The real cherry on top of the show for locals at any international Eras Tour stop, though, comes with a customized moment each night during “We Are Never Getting Back Together” when the spotlight is put on backing dancer Kameron Saunders for a couple of seconds, as he blurts out something locally appropriate, and cheeky. One night in Dublin, it’s the Irish catchphrase “the neck of ye!”; on another, he yells out “pog mo thoin,” meaning “kiss my ass!”; the massive, knowing laugh that inside joke gets makes it clear this isn’t entirely an audience of American tourists after all.

But the basic theatrics and emotional currents remain consistent from show to show. If Swift is surprisingly reticent to make her “Eras Tour” numbers public, that may be, in part, her desire to keep the focus primarily on a personal fan connection. Music industry veterans are taken aback by Swift’s ability to be giant and intimate onstage. “She’s a master marketer of herself — and she is not afraid to be vulnerable to her fans,” says Michele Bernstein, who runs a consultancy that works with stars like Drake. Bernstein could almost be quoting the lyrics of “Mastermind,” where Swift describes herself in almost comically omniscient terms, then dives into a bridge about how no one would play with her as a little girl.

People like my guardian of the customs gate may complain about Swift’s songs centering on her romantic splits, but that subject matter magnifies her own insecurities and weaknesses, expressed in genuinely eccentric wordplay, in ways that keep the audience in thrall to someone they perceive as a humble underdog as well as a veritable cage fighter. She could do a $10 billion tour someday and still keep the crowd enraptured by how she measures up to, or rallies to exceed, the smallest man — or men, or Kardashians — in the world.

This plays out in the “Eras” show in all sorts of symbolic ways, like the new segment in the “Tortured Poets” section where she seems to have fainted from the vapors of failed romance. Dancers in tuxedos try to revive her while a swing version of “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart” plays over the PA. A pair of women dressed as nurses fit her with what looks like a majorette’s uniform — or, with all its off-white stripes, is it really meant to resemble a straitjacket? The resemblance is probably not coincidental. Swift fans know there’s nothing like a mad woman.

The most exhilarating moment that has been added to the show this year has her gliding down the ramp on a platform, appearing to anyone at floor level like she is levitating like the witch she makes herself out to be in “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?” Taylor Swift: She was Agatha all along!

Yes, there is much to unpack. But in Dublin and in every other city where “Eras” has alighted, there is also pure inspiration for those who maybe haven’t always felt like they’ve had a voice, whether it’s her LGBTQ+ fan base or, well, women. It’s a modern transmutation of Beatlemania in which Swift manages to be all four Fabs, and a mirror, as well as object, of that gaze. You don’t have to be a woman to experience the explosion of pure female joy that takes place on a mass scale at an “Eras” gig, but for men, it doesn’t hurt to have a healthy sense of where you might sit on the female spectrum.

Outside Aviva Stadium, two young Londoners have formed their own two-woman straight-gay alliance: One is wearing a shirt with the hand- drawn words “You’re obsessive and crazy,” and the other’s shirt has the phrase “You’re gay,” each with an arrow pointing to the other. This echoes the original lyrics to Swift’s 2006 oldie “Picture to Burn,” which was rerecorded after some were offended by “gay” as a possible teen epithet. “I am obsessive and crazy, and she is gay,” laughs Zoe Gibson, pointing to her friend, India Day. “We want to bring back the original lyrics. We never found them homophobic — we want to reclaim it.” Day adds, “We’ve listened to her since we were 4 years old, so obviously there’s the nostalgia factor. But for me, she speaks on quite a lot of issues like gay rights and feminism, and all of her songs perfectly sum up the experience of being a woman.”

Some of the shirts are apropos for Pride Month. Seeing a boy of no older than 15 or 16 wearing a homemade “But Daddy I Love Him” shirt (the title of a “Tortured Poets” fan favorite), it’s easy to imagine some courage was required to don that apparel. Along the same lines, I spot any number of women making their own statement in shirts with the modified exclamation “But Daddy I Love Her.”

Gay or straight, 6 years old or 60-something, female or just female-allied, the crowd inside gets its sway on early in the show, with the arrival of the gentle, waltz-time “Lover.” It’s not one of the big set-pieces of this nonstop Broadway-style production — the spotlight is just on Swift and her acoustic guitar — but it might be the one where the entire audience feels like it’s at a four-minute campfire. No wicked witchiness here, just winsomeness.

Down on the floor, I’m seeing what amounts to a Taylor Swift mosh pit: gangs of two or three or five young women, ignoring the fact that Swift herself is just yards away from them on the ramp. They’re singing and acting out every last line to each other, as if the superstar isn’t even towering right over them. A waste of their euros? Hardly. Swift will capture their full attention again as the show proceeds, but in the moment, she isn’t just a superstar — she might be the world’s greatest community organizer.

[nanamissuit]

Any chance for a 141 boys with a lil feral partner who loves to mark them 🩷

Marks - 141

Pairing: 141 x GN! Reader

Warnings: Biting,None,Fluff

John Price:

He adores you so much, even if you leave bite marks,hickeys,and scratches on him.

He actually shows off his markings like their trophies to his teammates.

They Are all shocked but they keep their thoughts to themselves.

Now price he LOVES when you mark him

Have it be accidental or on purpose he loves it

“Baby, you’ve been chewing on my neck for like 30 minutes.” “I have? I’m sorry…But I’m not done.” “Right baby, go on then.”

And you just kept nibbling at his neck

Now when he would fall asleep during your movie time you would bite his chest.

“Ouch, I’m awake sweetie calm down.” “Mhm.”

When you finally stop biting him he knows you fell asleep so he wraps you in a blanket and falls asleep with you.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick:

If you marked his whole entire body he wouldn’t even bat an eye.

His teammates? They’re so used to him flexing it they don’t even care anymore

He loves the fact that you give him attention even if it's biting him and scratching him leaving marks on him.

“Whatcha doin’ Lovie? Trying to leave a mark, yeah?” “Mhm, I’ll just leave one I promise.” “Right…I totally believe you.”

And one became two and two became three…You get the point.

You definitely left more than one mark but who is he to complain about his love just showing their love for him?

He flexed to all his teammates the following day.

John 'Soap' Mactavish:

He LIVES for when you mark him, it could be the smallest thing but he adores it and just stares at all of them you leave on him.

Does he show off to his teammates? Yes. Wayyy too much they all start to tune him out.

He loves when you mark him all up and watches with heart eyes.

“You havin’ fun biting and markin’ my arm all up, huh bonnie?” 

You just nodded at him as you continued to bite him all over and scratch him.

He just watched you and his TV show while he played with your hair.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley:

He didn’t mind you marking him up because he’s always covered

He doesn’t tell a soul, not because he’s embarrassed but because he knows how the boys would react so he lets them find out for themselves

When he’s home and you just lay on him while scratching his arm he just lets you

“You wanna bite as well or you wanna keep scratching there sweetheart?” “I dunno, I'll see as I go along.” “Alright then.”

He’d watch you chomp down onto his arm, but that man has been shot and badly injured. He doesn’t have a reaction, he just smiles at you.

You smile back against his arm as you continued to chew at him

You left several marks but you didn’t regret it.

The boys saw later that day, needless to say they teased the shit out of him.

This was so fucking cute omg I loved this THANK YOU FOR THISSS<3!!

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

My Place or Yours? [Joel x f!reader]

Read on Ao3

Ship: Joel Miller x you/f!reader

Tags/warnings: Reader doesn't like weddings, kissing.

Summary: You're being tortured at a wedding, but there is a man there who saves your evening.

Words: 1,550

A/N: This is written for the Summer Lovin' challenge by @pedgito, who also made the moodboard. I picked the theme 'wedding', which was a weird choice for me because I really hate weddings, but I got Joel to help me get through it. Enjoy!

”I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Had those magic words only been the end of your misery, this day would have been easy-peasy. But no, you wouldn’t get off the hook that easily. It was only the beginning of an evening filled with awkward speeches, parental tears, and drunk best men giving dubious toasts.

You just don’t do weddings well. Anyone you ever talked to would tell you that it’s because you’ve been burned, because you’re single, ”once you find Mr Right you’ll start to plan your own wedding!”, et cetera, et cetera. Maybe that’s true, but with your disposition, it doesn’t seem likely that you’ll ever understand the point of paying hundreds of thousands of dollars for one single day during which both your parents get to watch you make out after a minister has sprinkled some magic words over the two of you. It’s just not in your nature. You never dreamed about a fairytale wedding when you were little, and you thought your friends would wise up when you got older, but no. As soon as the question was popped, they all reverted back to their childhood selves, and began planning as if for the event of the millennia.

You’ve been to three weddings these last few years, and it doesn’t get any easier. It’s embarrassing, lavish, awkward, and weird. And as always, you’re there without a partner, and must sit there with a fake smile plastered on your face, with no one to bitch to. At least you’re not the only single one at this wedding; that’s happened before, and even if you didn’t mind being single, you were definitely feeling blue when you got home that night.

At least dinner is good. This particular bride isn’t following any fad diets that she’s forcing on everybody, so you’re enjoying a really delicious three course meal. Still, what would a wedding dinner be without interruptions in the form of long, meandering speeches? You are forced to put down your cutlery one too many times, and by the time you’re finishing your delicious medium rare steak, it’s already cold. Chasing leftover sauce with a piece of bread, you nod encouragingly at the waiter asking you if you want more wine. You want to ask them to leave the bottle, but they probably wouldn’t find it funny.

Too tired to make polite conversation, you start to wait for the unofficial break between main course and dessert, when people get up to stretch their legs. It’s your opportunity to get away for a bit. You even have a modus operandi for it: you bum a cigarette from one of the smokers even though you’ve never smoked, go to the side, and pretend to smoke it for as long as you can. If the venue is nice, you then walk around and inspect it. This wedding offers a lot in that aspect: it’s a big house, almost a mansion, in the countryside, with a park and lots of smaller, old buildings on the premises. Perfect for hiding, and then you can just return back to the dining-hall late and blame getting lost.

When the break finally is announced, you let the smokers leave first. By the time they're greedily sucking on their cigarettes, you show up and ask for one. Cigarette in hand, and nod in agreement with the light conversation: yes, it was a beautiful ceremony, yes, the dinner is delicious, yes, the bride is so pretty and the groom so handsome. Eventually, you make a break for it, saying something about wanting to see the premises. So you walk away, flicking away the pillar of ash on your unsmoked cigarette.

The din of the house grows distant as you walk across the yard, shamelessly dropping the cigarette and crushing it with your foot before heading for the garden, quickly as if to escape the disgusting smoke. Once you reach the first, fragrant rose bushes, you start to relax. You find a bench and sink down on it with a relieved sigh. The light breeze smells of oleander, the birds are chirping, and it's pleasantly warm. Perfect.

You dig into your evening bag and check your phone. No messages, of course: most of your friends are at the wedding. Putting the phone away to instead enjoy the garden, you remain seated for a little longer than you know is considered polite. When you finally rise to go back, you notice someone approaching you. A man, around your age, a friend of the groom's, you think, but you've never talked to him.

"Hi," he calls out. "You okay?"

"Sure," you nod easily, "I just needed some air."

"A lot calmer here, isn't it?" He's standing in front of you now, all broad shoulders and narrow hips. Very handsome, but you're feeling defensive, and when your answer delays a little too long, he clears his throat.

"Sorry. Hi." He extends his right hand. "Joel. I'm a friend of Mark's."

You take his hand and give him your name. He doesn't let go immediately after shaking your hand.

"Nice to meet you." That smile. Goddammit, that's a charming smile. When his warm hand finally unclasps yours, you want to reach for it again.

"Can I help you, Joel?" you ask instead, trying to sound unperturbed.

"I saw you leave and wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

He shrugs lightly, passing a hand over his hair. A curl bounces back to gently lick his forehead.

"You just looked like you weren't maybe having such a good time."

Well, shit. You thought you  had been keeping a straight face, but clearly you had failed. Your gaze flickers, and you clear your throat.

“Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not good at weddings.”

He chuckles low, but not maliciously.

“It shows.”

“Yeah, well, it’s hard to keep a straight face for all these hours,” you snap, a little harsher than intended. Joel holds his hand to his chest.

“Didn’t mean to offend you.”

You shake your head. “Don’t worry. We better get back before they send out a search party.”

“Hey, lemme make it up to you. Can I have the first dance with you?”

Frowning, you eye him, expecting him to be joking. But his gaze is open and honest.

“Sure,” you eventually smile. “Find me when the dancing starts.”

And so it is that after dessert and another couple of meandering speeches, after the bride and groom have danced their first dance, Joel finds you in the crowd. He leads you to the dancefloor with a steady hand, and when he puts his arm around your waist, you don’t mind that his hand comes to a rest a little lower than expected. He keeps eye contact, but not in a creepy way as he makes small talk, asking you about your life more than he talks about his own. He seems genuinely interested in you, and that makes your head swim more than the alcohol.

When the music changes to something more energetic, you pull him to the side.

“Not my cup of tea,” you explain, and he nods, seemingly happy with being off the dancefloor as people begin to shake their asses.

“A drink?”

“Sure.”

He takes you to the bar and you both get drinks. The bride and her bridesmaids are cheering loudly on the dancefloor, and the noise is beginning to wear you down.

“Let’s go out?” you suggest to Joel, who nods.

There are some people scattered around the yard, but the garden is empty. The smell of roses is even stronger now when the hour is late, and you notice that you’re actually enjoying yourself. Joel is so easy to talk to, you’re comfortable in his company, and he makes you laugh.

“Hey,” you finally say. “Thanks for not being weird about me not liking weddings.”

“Why would I be weird about it?” He sounds genuinely surprised.

“Because everybody loves weddings, and I just can’t,” you shrug, but with a hint of desperation in your voice. “And if you don’t like them, then you’re just bitter and probably in need of the right person to have your own wedding with.”

He’s quiet for a moment, sips his drink.

“I know I can keep a secret,” he starts, his voice low, “but can you?”

“I can.”

“I don’t like weddings, either.”

You stare at him for a moment before slapping his arm.

“You could’ve told me earlier!”

He laughs. “I know, I know, I’m sorry!”

“Asshole!” you blurt out, but can’t say more, because Joel’s lips are on yours, and you drop your glass on the gravel where it shatters, splashing liquor over your feet. And you don’t give a single goddamn. Your hands come up to his shoulders, pulling him closer, and you kiss him back, tasting the whiskey on him, a peppery twang from the steak he had earlier, the bristles on his face scratching your skin.

When you finally have to step back to take a breather, he licks his lips and looks at you with heavy-lidded, dreamy eyes.

“Not too soon?”

“No,” you shake your head, “Just perfect.”

He grins. “How soon d’you think it would be polite to leave?”

“I don’t care, we’ve suffered enough. My place or yours?”

[joanquill]

How Touching

How Albert would react to a reader who doesn't like physical intimacy at first in the modern era.

Albert James Moriarty

A/N: Sorry for the long absence, a lot has happened and writer's block has made a home in my head rent-free at this point it's almost homophobic :) (as you can probably tell with this one so advanced apologies!) late happy pride month! 💕🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

Tag/s: One-Shot with Headcanons, Modern!AU, Long (2.2k words)

Warning/s: Slightly Suggestive(???)

When you first joined the Moriartys with their plan to abolish the class system, the group welcomed you with open arms.

Quite literally with how Bonde tried to hug you as a greeting.

You evaded him smoothly, surprising the man and the others.

But you explained how you were uncomfortable with physical touch, and everyone respected your boundaries.

Despite the awkward start, everyone still welcomed you.

And as time passed, you slowly grew closer to everyone in the group.

But especially with the oldest Moriarty, seeing as your job usually involved assisting him.

Whether being his partner on missions or attending parties with the rich, you two are usually seen together.

It also doesn't help that you were mostly in charge of maintaining the manor in London when Louis and Master Jack were away.

Because of this, you also tend to stay with him in London while William and the others are back in Durham.

This leads to you and Albert sharing chores in London.

While Albert is a master when it comes to cleaning, you always make sure he's nowhere near the kitchen or at least have you there to supervise.

The first time you tried his cooking, you were out of commission for three days.

Because of how much time you spend together, you two started to get closer.

And this didn't go unnoticed by your housemates.

"(Y/N), have you seen my-?"

"-It's in your coat pocket," 

"And the-?"

"-It's already in your suitcase,"

"And did you already inform-?"

"-Yes, Director Holmes is aware of your return to London tonight," you answered as you showed him the email you sent to the director.

Albert chuckled as he loosened his collar, "What would I do without you?"

You smirked at his remark as you fixed his loosened collar and necktie.

"Well, aren't you just a perfect match," Sebastian commented from the couch, watching you two blankly.

You froze at his words as you turned away, making sure your expression remained neutral. 

"It's almost freaky, to be honest..." he shuddered, making you chuckle.

"Don't you have a chimney to sweep, colonel?" Albert reminded, earning a glare from Sebastian as the doors burst open, Bonde running inside the room.

"You're really leaving already? We planned to go to that new restaurant this afternoon," Bonde asked as he walked in, seeing you and Albert grabbing your coats.

"Yes... The director suddenly called saying it was an urgent matter, so our plans will have to be rescheduled," you explained, much to Bonde's disappointment.

You smiled softly at him as you gave him a gentle hug.

"Don't worry, I'm sure we can go there some other time," you reassured as you pulled away, seeing a shocked expression from the three men.

"...What?"

"You hugged him..." Sebastian pointed out, making you raise a brow and smile.

"Yes, and what about it?" you teased, hugging Bonde again, surprising them for a second time.

"What the-?!"

"Awww, (N/N)!" Bonde smiled as he hugged you back tightly, cherishing the moment as you laughed.

"No way..." Sebastian breathed out a smile, "To think Bonde would be the first..." he smirked, looking over to Albert, who held a faux smile as he walked up to you and Bonde.

"(Y/N), I believe it is about time for us to leave?" he reminded, making you gasp.

"Right! I'll go call a cab," you hurriedly walked out of the manor, hoping you wouldn't miss the last train back to London.

Sebastian laughed wholeheartedly as the door behind you closed, hitting Albert's back while Bonde kept a hand over his mouth, hiding a proud smile from the oldest Moriarty.

"Didn't expect you to be the possessive type!" Sebastian snickered, making Albert lightly scoff and swatted Sebastian's hand.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Albert denied as he grabbed the bags.

"(Y/N) is a reliable comrade to all of us,"

"Then why don't you let them stay in Durham with us?"

"Because their skills are needed in London,"

"But what if William asks them to stay with us?"

"Then there's no helping it, I suppose,"

"Oh?" William's voice cut through, catching everyone's attention.

"Then you finally agree to have (Y/N) stay with us for this weekend?" he asked, but Albert stayed silent as he kept facing away from the group.

"You seemed quite adamant about having them join you back to London mere moments ago when we were discussing in my office," William added, making Albert sigh as Sebastian and Bonde grinned from ear to ear.

"My, my, Al. How unprofessional," Bonde teased as he tried to see Albert's face, now contorted in irritation as he kept his smile.

"It seems (Y/N)'s skills are needed here in Durham more than in London," Sebastian added, wrapping an arm around Albert's shoulders,

"Such a shame..."

William chuckled as he walked up to the group, giving Albert a piece of paper.

"Here are the details for your and (Y/N)'s next mission in London. It seems (Y/N) is more needed in London after all," William innocently smiled, making Albert sigh.

"...I will make sure to visit again next week with them,"

"Thank you, Nii-san. And do not worry about (Y/N)'s affections," William commented, perking Albert's ears.

"I'm certain they also consider you one of their closest companions. But you must be more proactive if you wish for them to see you as something more," he reassured the oldest Moriarty, catching everyone's attention.

"That is not-"

"-The cab's here!" you announced as you hurried back inside, seeing everyone gathering around Albert.

"...What? Do we have another meeting before leaving?" you questioned, making the others share a look as they left, saying their goodbyes as Albert walked up to you with your bags and coats.

"What were you discussing while I was gone?" you questioned as Albert gave you your coat and scarf.

"Just..." Albert replied, looking down at the paper William gave him,  "Have courage"  written on it, "... Just the details for our next mission," he smiled, pocketing the piece of paper as he helped you with your scarf, careful not to touch you.

"...I shall tell you later,"

During the trip back to London, you noticed Albert has grown quiet, deep in his thoughts.

As you tried to ignore the man's change of behavior, he suddenly called your name and asked what you thought of everyone in the group.

Confused by the sudden question, you shrugged it off and answered honestly, seeing everyone as a trusted companion, possibly even family.

"Really?"

"Yes. Don't you see me as one?" you jokingly asked, making Albert smile widely.

"...No, I cannot say the same," he answered, shocking you. You quickly turned to him and saw him looking at you with straightforward eyes.

"You may have started as one of my most trusted companions, but I never saw you as family," he explained, straightening himself up as he grabbed the end of your scarf.

"But as a lover," he clarified, gingerly kissing the end of your scarf as he kept his eyes on you.

After his declaration of love, the trip back to London felt excruciatingly long.

Nonetheless, you admitted you felt the same you both agreed to take it slow.

Albert was a true gentleman in the whole relationship, making sure you were comfortable with everything.

He makes sure to spend time with you, whether it's just at home or out on a date, giving you gifts, and words of reassurance.

He would never make you feel you were lacking or guilty about taking the relationship slow.

He also never tried to touch you or force himself on you.

He might feel jealous whenever you and others hug, such as Bonde, Fred, or your close friends, but he won't force you to do the same to him.

"You will be gone for three weeks?" you repeated in disbelief as Albert nodded dejectedly.

"Yes, which is why we discussed that you should stay in Durham with the others in the meantime,"

"I see... If that's the case, I need to see some things before I leave," you muttered, trying to plan your sudden leave as you looked around the manor.

Albert breathed out a laugh as he let out a dramatic sigh, catching your attention.

"How cold... And I thought you would miss me more," he teased, opening one eye at you with a playful smile.

You scoffed as you walked up to him, cradling his cheek.

"You will be coming back home to me after, are you not?" you questioned, making him smirk.

"Always," he reassured, taking your gloved hand and kissing your knuckles.

You smiled as you interlocked your fingers with his, clasping it.

"Then I have nothing to worry about,"

"(N/N)!" Bonde beamed as he ran up to you, giving you a hug as he squeezed you tightly.

You giggled as you hugged him back, returning the same affection.

"You should go on more overnight trips, Al," Bonde joked, making Albert roll his eyes with a smile as he put on his hat.

"Next time, I shall bring (Y/N) with me," Albert mused, kissing your gloved hand again.

"Take care, Albert-nii-san," Louis smiled as Albert waved goodbye to everyone.

"Goodbye,"

"Take your time~,"

"Be careful...!" you warned, sighing at the memory of Albert returning home in a bloody uniform.

"Aww... Miss him already?" Bonde teased with a toothy grin, making you scoff and lightly push him off.

"Come on... I remember Louis saying we're doing some spring cleaning in the manor?" you reminded, making Bonde and Sebastian freeze. 

"Oi! Keep your mouth shut...!" Sebastian shouted in a whisper as he grabbed your head, making you grin.

"That's right..." Louis started, a dark glimmer shining from his glasses, "I hope you two are done with your portions?"

It's been two weeks since Albert's trip, and he has been calling you every night and leaving short, sweet texts throughout the day.

But, you couldn't help but feel uneasy.

"Hey, (Y/N)!" Sebastian called out, snapping you out of it.

"Y-Yes?"

"William's calling everyone for a meeting," he reminded, raising a brow at you.

"What's wrong with you?" he questioned, making you shake your head.

"It's nothing," you faked a smile as you walked ahead, unsure if it was a topic you could bring up to the man.

As you walked ahead, Sebastian couldn't help but let out a sigh as he followed you along.

"Lovebirds... What a pain,"

"Well! This is new," Bonde smiled as he swirled his martini while Sebastian downed his third whiskey for the night.

"I didn't think you would be the type to offer free drinks, (N/N),"

"I'm not," you sighed, nursing your cup of water, "But I would like to talk to you both in private..." you muttered, looking around your booth for any familiar faces or peeking heads.

"Since you two seem the most... acquainted with this subject..." you added, fiddling your fingers as you stared down at your drink.

Sebastian raised a brow while Bonde furrowed his brows, looking at each other as if trying to figure out what you were alluding to.

"So... What is it?" Bonde asked, taking a sip of his drink while Sebastian tried to catch the attention of a nearby server.

You felt your face burn as you took a deep breath, gathering up all of the courage you had.

"How do you know when's the right time to be physical with your partner?" you asked in one quick breath with your eyes shut.

Sebastian froze while Bonde choked on his drink, making him cough.

"A-Are you all right, sir?" the server Sebastian called asked Bonde, who dismissed him.

"Y-Yes... I'm fine," Bonde coughed as you tried to give him your drink while Sebastian asked the server to just bring more whiskey.

"Thanks..." Bonde sighed, clearing his throat as he looked at you.

"(Y/N), by... physical, you mean...?" Sebastian asked in a hushed tone as he and Bonde leaned to you across the table.

You felt your face flush as you looked away, hiding behind your hands.

"L-Like kissing, and such..." you clarified, stunning the two men.

They both sighed as Sebastian leaned back in his seat with a hand over his eyes while Bonde had his face in his hands.

"That's what you meant..."

'It'll come naturally, huh...'  you thought, remembering your conversation with Bonde and Sebastian.

You sighed as you focused on your chores and hoped for the best, just as they advised.

As you fixed the dinner table, you heard the front doors open, making you gasp and look back.

"I'm back," Albert announced, wearily putting away his coat.

You instinctively ran out of the dining room and to the entrance.

As Albert caught sight of you, he immediately smiled as you kept running up to him.

"(Y/N), I found-" you wrapped your arms around him tightly, sighing as your body eased up at his warmth.

Albert, on the other hand, was stunned as you kept hugging him.

"(Y/N)...?" he called out as he hovered an arm around you.

You breathed out a smile as you looked up at him, squeezing him lightly,

"Welcome back," you greeted as you cupped his cheeks, kissing his lips.

Albert blinked in surprise before wrapping his arms around you, deepening the kiss.

When you pulled back, you felt Albert leaning to you before opening his eyes, and smiling at you.

"I missed you too,"

[chaos-is-beautifvl]

𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 & 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: lip gallagher x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: if there is one notable trait of lip gallagher other than his over-the-top cockiness and brains, it’s his disdain for all things lovey-dovey. but what happens when someone comes around who turns his world upside down?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1964

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i quickly finished this wip so i could meet my goal of posting at least one fic per month. next month will definitely have more writing but i hope you all enjoy this very late valentine’s day fic

check out my other lip fic, distractions here and my writing here! preview to my new lip fic, stress relief || fic here!

buy me a coffee!

— • —

Lip has never been one for theatrics or romance or anything of the like, and he prides himself on that. He thinks of himself as a simple guy who doesn’t need much charm to get laid.

So why is he standing in line on a cold, bitter morning to buy flowers?

When he met you, Lip had sworn off getting attached or dealing with girls who would be attached. He had dealt with so much drama and crazy exes over the years, and honestly, he was over it.

But, somehow, you had wormed your way into his life, or rather, him into yours. Something about the chase - you not wanting him and him wanting you - made the idea of being with you even more intriguing. Now, he knew no meant no, but after a month or two or three of him pursuing you, you finally obliged.

Unbeknownst to the brunet, your want for him didn’t suddenly start after he chased you. From the beginning, you’d found an interest in him, but unlike the previous girls he’d dabbled with, you weren’t looking for a wham-bam-thank you ma’am situation. 

You weren’t a sap. You loved your rom-coms, but you weren’t looking for Prince Charming to swoop down and rescue you. You certainly could save yourself. So, what were you looking for? You wanted someone who didn’t care about holding your hand but wanted to. You were looking for someone who wanted you for you and not what was in your pants. And that’s why Lip was not the person you had in sight.

You had too many people in your life who wanted you for the wrong things, and though you were strong enough to kick them to the curb, it hurt a little. You watched rom-coms, so of course, you’re a bit sensitive. And you’d be lying if you said those movies didn’t affect what you wanted in a partner.

So when Lip came around, all smirks and cockiness exuded, the only thought that crossed your mind was: “Hot.” Lip might have been hot, but he wasn’t so hot that he clouded your judgment. You’d quickly deduced that your interests were not aligned and didn’t even spare him a second glance.

Okay, that’s a lie. You thought the guy was hot, so saying you only looked once is incorrect. But there’s a difference between looking and fucking, and you certainly were not fucking him.

But sure enough, after getting to know him, you felt your walls crumbling down. Gone were the days when you would ask your coworkers to inform you if he came into the shop so you wouldn’t be unprepared. You liked the unannounced visits. 

You took the whole self-love thing pretty seriously, so before you let someone into your life, who could easily hurt you without hesitation, you wanted them to deserve you. Seeing his dedication made your heart skip a beat faster than you would like. And every time he showed up, you found a smile creeping on your face.

At one point, your manager even asked if you two were dating with how often Lip came around. He was a regular at your job and a constant in your mind.

He always came down to the little shop you worked at, chatting you up until the customers came in. Even then, he’d be staring at you, pulling faces and winking until you would roll your eyes and turn your head to hide your grin.

But despite the numerous butterflies he unleashed upon you, you were still hesitant, and rightfully so. Though Lip had proved himself to be caring, both of you knew that this whole dating and being romantic thing wasn’t him.

So, that’s why, when Ian was thinking about what he should get Mickey for Valentine’s Day, Lip knew what he needed to do. 

The idea was so foreign to him that he felt like a dumbass, but with the number of rom-coms you forced him to watch and how you fawned over the courtship, Lip pushed the discomfort away. After all, you were the only “normal” girl he’d ever been interested in that was interested in him too.

With how fast the news spread in his family, it didn’t take long before everyone asked about you - where you were from, what you were like, why you wanted to be with him, of all people. The last one had lowkey offended him, but he couldn’t disagree. 

You were special. You were the kind of person someone like him rarely came across, and he wasn’t letting you go that easily. Not if he could help, so brave the cold he did.

Lip was blowing hot air on his hands to warm them from the crisp winter air. He debated walking away and picking you some dry flowers from the ground but decided against it when he reminded himself that you deserved better than that.

Just when he thought his joints would lock in place, the line dissipated, the last person escaping the cold with their flowers in hand. Finally, it was his turn, but as he approached the stand, he was immediately overwhelmed by all the different shapes and colors.

His eyes scanned over the entire display as he fidgeted. Lip thought it would be easy to find you a bouquet of flowers, but it was proving to be more difficult than he thought. He racked his brain for any memory of you mentioning flowers you liked, but he came up empty.

“Can’t decide?” The seller asked, a hint of a smile on their face.

Lip laughed shortly, “Yeah, something like that. There are so many fucking flowers.”

“I like to have a variety. You’d be surprised how many people ask for the oddest flowers.” The seller watched Lip’s eyes flit from section to section before offering a reprieve. “What do you have in mind?”

Lip shoved his hands in his pockets, brows pinching together. “Uh, shit, I don’t know. Something purple, maybe?”

“Purple?” They clarified, nodding. “I can work with purple.”

As they readied their supplies, they nodded over to Lip. “Is this your first time? Buying things like this?”

The brunet suddenly felt exposed. “That obvious, huh?” He asked though he was sure his constant shuffling and wide-eyed expression answered his question.

“I’ve been doing this for a while, picked up some people-reading skills. For one, you look like you might throw up.” The scents were making his nose twitch. “And two, you’re nervous as hell. That usually means one of two things: you’re just awkward, which I totally get, or you don’t want to fuck up. I’m going to take a guess and say it’s the latter, right?”

Lip smirked, “Yeah, you got me. I don’t do this whole,” he removed his hands from his pockets to gesture to the wide display of flowers “romantic thing if you couldn’t tell.”

The seller smiled as they delicately placed the flowers together. “Oh, no, I definitely couldn’t tell. So I'll take it that this person is pretty special, huh?”

The brunet nodded, his smirk morphing into a genuine smile, “Yeah. Pretty special, yeah.”

“What’s so special about them?”

He had no idea where to start. There was so much Lip loved about you. “So, this girl, right? She’s one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met, and honestly, I don’t know what she sees in me because I can be a piece of shit sometimes. I’ve never really felt obligated to do this for all the other girls I've been with before, but the thing is, with her, I don’t even feel obligated. Like, she’s not forcing me or some shit. I just want to, you know. She knows I’m not into all this sappy bullshit, and I doubt this is the last place she’d expect me to be, but I don’t know, it just feels right.”

Lip had been rambling about you for so long that he hadn’t even noticed that the seller had finished the bouquet and was listening to his words with a smile. “Ah, love is a beautiful thing.”

His eyes widened more than they had when he approached the stand, and the look of shock on the brunet’s face sent the seller into boisterous laughter. Lip’s words came out frantic. “I mean- love is a strong word- I don’t know. Maybe?” 

“Hey, don’t sweat it, kid.” The seller handed over the bouquet. “But you talk about someone like that, don’t let them go, ‘kay?”

-

All the way to your apartment, Lip thought over the seller’s words. He didn’t love you. Really, really like you? Sure. Love? No. Absolutely not. He just enjoyed your company, and you made him smile even on his bad days, and you didn’t give him shit whenever something came up with his family and-

Shit. He might actually love you.

He didn’t have long to ponder when the door to your apartment opened. Your roommate was on her way out when she bumped into Lip. 

“Oh, hey,” she said. Lip nodded in acknowledgment, adjusting the gift in his hand, which caught her attention. “You got her something for Valentine’s Day?”

Lip looked down at the bouquet, “Uh, yeah. Is she here?”

“Yeah, you know her, never leaves the apartment. But it's sweet of you. She’s a major sap, so she'll love it.” Lip was glad to know your best friend approved. He never sought other people’s opinions, but he knew you valued hers.

“I’ve got a date to get to, but I swear to whatever you believe in that if you hurt her, I’ll hurt you.” 

Now, Lip wasn’t easily deterred, but the smile on your roommate’s face as she threatened him had him slightly concerned. You saved him when you emerged from behind the door with a knowing smile. “Leave him alone. You’re going to be late.”

Your roommate checked her phone. “Okay, okay. I’m going.” She innocuously smiled at you before giving a silent warning sign to Lip, and it was then that he knew he needed to walk around eggshells when it came to her.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Lip produced the flowers with a smirk to hide his nervousness. Though he had been hesitant about getting you the flowers, watching your face light up made waiting in the cold and getting threatened by your roommate so worth it. 

You gushed appreciation, the smile on your face growing wide as you placed your flowers in a vase after inviting him inside. Lip watched you with a smile of his own as you added water and set it on the window sill.

You approached him with a simpering grin. “You must really like me, huh?”

He thought back on what both the seller and your roommate said. He wouldn’t just do this for anyone. But for you, he’d stand out in the rain if he had to.

He squinted his eyes, bringing you closer to him. “Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe I need a little convincing.”

You hummed, leaning forward to press your lips against his. You pulled away, leaving him chasing after you. “Only a little, right?”

“Maybe a little more.”

You kissed him again, this time more heated than the last. His hands circled your waist as he deepened the kiss. Your fingers found purchase in his hair, weaving through the messy tufts.

You were about to show him how convincing you could be when your phone chimed loudly, disrupting the moment. Much to his reluctance, and yours, you separated from him to check the message.

“use protection, kids,” was the text from your roommate. You showed it to Lip, who only donned a smirk as he reached for you again.

“Looks like we should take her advice, dontcha think, babe?”

———

click here for a preview to my upcoming lip fic, stress relief!

fic here

[grandlinedreams]

I love your writing! Could your write something where Law has to work with Luffy and Kid again and he’s pouting to his s/o about it. I just really like how he interacts with the two. There are no brain cells there. Maybe Luffy and Kid meets his s/o and they’re like “how did emotionally stunned Law manage to land this?”

PLEASE I showed mom where they're bickering and said "there are no braincells. Whatsoever"

[Heads up!: nothing, just them being idiots, reader is amused]

"This is getting annoying."

Crouching, you study the cluster of plants growing at the base of a tree, reaching out to drag a finger against one of the waxy green leaves, watching as it promptly folds and recoils. Interesting.

"The least they could do is be on time, I don't know why I expected them to be considerate." Law turns on his heel, frowning as he spots you with your back to him, engrossed in your examination of the island's plant life. "You could stop me from ranting, you know."

You glance over. "Where's the fun in that? It's cute to see you so worked up."

Law huffs, reaching to pull at his hat as he looks away. "It's not cute. It's annoying."

You watch him with a small smile, then blink as there's a call of, "Heey, Traffy! Where are you?"

"Finally," Law grumbles, and you straighten to follow him in the direction that you'd come from, dirt giving way to sand and the smell of ocean. "About time you showed up."

"Watch it," grunts Kid from nearby, distaste for both Luffy and Law clear on his face. "You're lucky I even decided to entertain this little meeting of yours."

It's clear that Law wants to say something just as scathing back, but you decide to step in, knowing nothing will get accomplished if you leave those three to their own devices.

"We wouldn't have asked you to meet us here if it wasn't important," you say, "and the less time you spend arguing amongst yourselves, the better chance we have for actually getting something done."

There are three sets of eyes on you before Luffy points at you. "Hey Traffy, who's this?"

"You've met before, idiot," Law snaps. "This is [name]." When Luffy still looks confused, Law heaves a sigh. "They're my..." He searches for an appropriate word. "Partner."

Luffy looks content to leave it at that, but the sly narrow of Kid's eyes says that he knows what Law means by that ㅡ and your boyfriend glares back. "If you're going to run your mouth, I suggest you don't."

Kid bristles, and you sigh, shaking your head as you retreat a couple feet and settle into the sand, rummaging in your bag for your notes. If they're going to insist on arguing like a bunch of children, at least you can be productive.

ㅡ

"I think that went rather well."

Law scoffs. "I'm not so sure. I went over the plan three times and I'm still not convinced Strawhat understood any of it."

You stifle a laugh at the almost sulky expression on Law's face. "Maybe so, but he's always done his own thing, you know that. And it usually works out, doesn't it?"

"Not without more hassle than necessary." He glances over at you and the leather bound book still in your hands. "I thought you came with me to play mediator."

"I did, but I know lost battle when I see one." Your tone is amused. "Besides, I told you. You're cute when you're worked up."

What follows is a rare sight, blush dusting across his cheeks and tinging the tips of his ears as he scowls and looks away. "Whatever. I'm not cute."

You step to his side, fingers intertwining with his as you lean to kiss his jaw, then his cheek. "Whatever you say, Law. Whatever you say."

[yesimwriting]

I love ur felix fics sm!! ur one of my fave writers on here<<333 and no I don’t think itd b crazy to write for Nate!! I’d love to see how u would write him!! (Maybe grumpy x sunshine hehe)

hi!! this is such a nice ask :)) i'm so happy you like my felix fics

omg i love ur train of thought for a nate fic!! i've been thinking about that kind of dynamic for them, but in a really niche way

anyways let's have some thoughts on nate jacobs and sunshine/kind of sheltered reader!!

----

thinking about the moment in which you find out nate jacobs is your assigned partner for a project that's worth 35% of your final grade. if this was happening to you a year ago, maybe even two or three months ago, you might have been nervous for an entirely different reason.

but you're not that version of yourself anymore. you go out to parties now; you wear shirts to school that your mom buys for you the same way she used to buy you impulse barbies, with a wink as the cashier scans them, making you promise that you won't show dad what you got at the store; you're friends with maddy and cassie...you're on your way to best friends with maddy and cassie.

so you can't dismiss the gossip and the stares nate gets in the halls as a standard part of high school, not the way you used to. you can't just see him across the hall at his locker and mentally acknowledge that you get why girls talk about him the way they do. you can't just get paired up with him for an extremely long assignment and think oh, at least he's cute.

every story maddy's ever mentioned during sleepovers, everything she's teared up about after one too many drinks hits you at full force when your teacher reads your name and then his off of her list.

would she see this as a betrayal? it's not like you picked him and asking for a new partner is out of the question, a fact your teacher made clear at the beginning of the year. but maddy's loyal...fiercely loyal, and she expects that kind of commitment to be symbiotic.

you don't move, can't move until jules leans towards you, so close her hair spills onto your desk. "no fucking way." she whispers it in a way that'd make you laugh if this was about someone else.

you're silent, eyes finally pulling away from a brightly colored poster explaining the roles of each branch of the US government. you turn your head enough to look at where nate sits, the back of the room with a few other football players.

he's already looking at you. and when nate realizes you're finally staring back, he has the audacity to let the corner of his mouth pull into a smug sort of smile you're sure another version of you would have considered swoon worthy.

you're all instructed to use the last few minutes of class time to talk to your new partners, to make some kind of preliminary plan. nate's standing up and you're still recovering from the whiplash.

helplessly, you look over at jules who's clearly trying to get to the other side of the room before nate can get to you. she mouths a "sorry" that feels genuine, and points at the girl she's supposed to work with in a way that feels like over kill. you roll your eyes, picking up your pen and pressing the pad of thumb against its side to have something to do.

nate's in front of you before you know it. he's so tall it's a little intimidating when he's right there, especially with you still sitting. "you're everywhere now." a reference to the fact that you were both at the same party last weekend. you can still hear maddy's slurred i can't believe he's fucking here, before she dragged you out to the house's patio.

he's probably seen you more places. you're around maddy pretty regularly these days and from what you've heard, you wouldn't put stalking above him. he's probably a stalker in the way guys from the news are stalkers, calm and untouchable until they feel like the girl they're watching is moving on. then they snap and some news anchor reports that there were warning signs for months beforehand.

you're partially aware of your potential exaggerations, but you can't bring yourself to care. you've never really interacted with nate, but you want to hate him as more than the monster you hear about when maddy feels like ranting. you want to viscerally hate him. it's such an instinctual tug that you can't pretend it's all about morality. you're craving innate repulsion the way an elementary school girl wants the other half of a magnetic necklace with the word "best" etched into cheap metal. it's kind of pathetic, but then again...

"not last year, or last semester--"

he's baiting you and you're completely aware and you still can't help yourself. "what? it's illegal to make new friends now?"

your tone surprises you more than the fact that you interrupted him. you've never been overly shy, but you've also never been much of a fighter on your own behalf. maybe this is like the parties and barbie-style-bought-shirts, just another facet of the improved you.

nate seems surprised too, only he wears it like there's something funny about it. "no, you've always been friendly."

he says it like there's a joke in there that'd make the football players a few rows back laugh. it digs at you more than it should. he gets under your skin in a way that bugs. maybe that means genuine hatred is on its way.

you look up at him, eyes as unimpressed as you can manage. "so," the word is definite, intentional. "the project..." you're glad for the excuse to turn your attention back to your notebook, "i don't know if you want to work out a time to--"

"i'm leaving in like five minutes." you're about to point out that class doesn't end for another when he explains, "football game." ugh. another thing you can decide to be annoyed about. your homework schedule is now going to revolve around high school football. "can i get your number?" the idea of existing in nate jacobs's phone feels so wrong you can't immediately reply. he picks up on your hesitation, because he tacks on the one phrase that could get you to do anything, "35% of our grade."

you nod once, expression as blank as you can manage as you write out your phone number on the corner of a page. You tear off the bottom corner and hand it to him. "don't save my number."

it's so rude, your jaw almost drops, "what?"

"you're going to see maddy before the project's over, right?"

the implication immediately makes your stomach knot. you're not--you can't not tell maddy. she won't like it, but she can't hold a random partnering against you. and--and it's worse if you don't tell her, because then it's like you're sneaking around with nate. and it's--it's all for school.

"i'm not going to lie to her for you." it's so ridiculous, you can't even hold eye contact. his silence adds a second loop to the knot in your stomach. "why would i lie?" your own genuineness sickens you, you're backtracking immediately. "and--and it's just a dumb school thing, so she probably won't care that much."

"and you're sure she's going to believe that?"

"yes," the word is firm because it has to be. "because that's what it is."

"she gets paranoid."

no, no--he's doing this to get into your head and cause problems. "if she's paranoid it's because you're crazy."

"fine." he shoves the scrap of paper into his pocket. "save my number, don't save my number. tell maddy, don't tell maddy."

you sigh. "why do you care?" they're broken up...even if maddy takes it the wrong way, the fall out will be a you problem.

"she's going to think i fucked you to hurt her." you hate this--the situation, the conversation, the fact that you can't completely dismiss his train of thought. "who's known maddy longer?"

you're about to try again, to defend your friendship with maddy and call him crazy again when the static of the intercom speakers interrupts you. all football players are being called out of class to leave for an away game. nate gives you one last look before turning towards the door.

when jules slips back into her seat and asks if you're okay with everything, you nod and attempt a joke about catching fuck boy germs, but it doesn't come out the way you want it to. she still laughs, so you do too, but that's not as natural as it should be, either.

----

lmk if you like this concept/want more of it!! i had fun writing this :))

[avelera]

I know it's been a while since it came out but when thing I really appreciated about Deadpool & Wolverine is that it and the rest of the Deadpool franchise really understood what fans want in a way that MCU movies have otherwise failed to grasp for a rather bafflingly long period of time which is this:

Happy Endings.

That might sound silly or childish (I can hear Deadpool's snort at the rude definition of happy endings in my ear even as I write this) but seriously, when was the last time a Marvel movie or show just gave us an unequivocal happy ending without any ambiguity?

For so long, Marvel has been feeling the need to provide some sort of hook, to set up that "not all is well" in order to keep people coming back for the next film.

But the thing is, I watched Deadpool 1, and Deadpool 2, and I came back for Deadpool & Wolverine even though technically all three ended with a happy ending. All three ended with the hero getting what they wanted, and the age-old reassertion of domesticity that is considered so cliche in so many happy endings (ie, everyone went home with their heterosexual partner and lived happily ever after in their white picket fence after the adventure was over).

What I actually loved, nay, even adored about Deadpool 2 was that it took the time to (spoilers) bring Vanessa back to life. It was in the credits, sure. But Wade/Vanessa is hands down my favorite het ship in the entire extended Marvel universe because they actually feel like they're in love, not just that they're falling in love or might have the chance to be in love someday (like Steve/Peggy) but that they actually have been in a long term relationship and they don't just love but actually like each other too, and they have what it takes to go the distance or, continue to be friends if they part ways as lovers. Like. MCU is so bad at het romance you guys, it's insane, but Wade/Vanessa actually feel like a real loving couple so even if I ship him with Logan too, I love how Wade/Vanessa was handled. I still get choked up about the whole Calendar Girl sequence and I was devastated in the second movie when she died.

And that's why it's so important to me that they brought her back. They didn't just leave it on "the girlfriend got fridged and while the hero still mourns her, he has grown stronger through the trials he suffered in the aftermath, etc etc." No, they understood she's a beloved character too, and it's a fantasy movie, and part of the fantasy is, yes, in the credits using the awesome magical powers at our disposal, we took an extra 10 seconds to make sure you know, as a fan, that everyone was ok in the end. Everyone got to live happily ever after, we brought back people who died, everything got to be ok.

The MCU hasn't done that in ages! WandaVision ends with Wanda losing everything, it's beautiful and devastating but it's also gut-wrenching and unsatisfying, especially after Multiverse of Madness. Winter Soldier ends with saving the world, sure, but the hero doesn't get everything back because we need to hook into the next movie, so Bucky needs to still be on the run and not reunited with Steve. Even Endgame, the end of the whole damn arc, ends with beloved characters (at least at the point of writing this) being dead and staying dead even though we have literal universe altering time magic at our disposal to, theoretically, bring them back and let everyone end on a happy note where they got everything they wanted.

Look, I get it, an all-around happy ending where everything is nicely tied up and everyone is alive and got their loved ones back can feel a bit childish. But throughout the MCU it has felt just so relentlessly withholding that no one gets this unequivocal, unambiguous happy ending in ages. It's like in their rush to hook you to the next movie, they completely forgot that part of the reward for the audience in watching these heroes go on these adventures is the hero getting what they want in the end, and not just getting strung along to the next adventure.

Deadpool understands that. Heck, it understands that you can give the all-around happy ending and still have problems that emerge down the line. Deadpool 2 ends happily but Wade still has problems that emerge in Deadpool & Wolverine, part of them are the outcomes of getting what he wanted that had unexpected consequences but don't diminish getting what he wanted after Deadpool 2. He wanted the white picket fence happy ending, sure, but as a result his life got dissatisfying and his relationship fell apart in a completely normal, human way. That doesn't actually diminish Deadpool 2 and saving Vanessa, btw, because bringing her back to life means life will go on and sometimes life just happens that way. Bringing her back means she has the chance to go on living and sometimes that means making decisions that aren't all about Wade. That's a good thing.

And likewise, Deadpool & Wolverine might get another sequel. I'm actually fine if it does! I'm fine if another villain just pops out of nowhere to interrupt their peace and quiet.

But here's the thing it will be interrupting their hard-won happy ending. They got the happy ending. We got to see Deadpool save his world of 9 people and add Worst Universe Logan to it. We got to see Logan from the Worst Universe find a loving family, even if he didn't get the original one back. We got to see everyone in peace and at rest having got what they wanted and what they needed. We got to see characters we love be happy.

Deadpool as a franchise understands that. It understands that we love these characters and, at some point, we want to see them happy after their trials and tribulations are over. I wish the MCU would remember that more often in its other stories, that not everything needs to end on a hook. Sometimes it can end with happily ever after and that still doesn't mean the story is over forever. Maybe it's just for now, but whether or not the story continues, Deadpool understood we on some level want to see our beloved characters left behind in a good place.